Delia said with thick sarcasm. Brushing past her, Birdie entered the kitchen and deposited the tray of dirty dishes in the sink. At the massive stove, Finney attacked a steak with her spatula. Grease sizzled and snapped. Birdie glared at Delia, who was stuck to her heels like a hound dog. “Don’t badger me. How many times do I have to ask you to drop it?” “Drop what?” Finney asked, flipping the steak. Delia pouted. “Something’s had her blue for days.” Birdie yanked open the dishwasher. Every time the baker, Natasha Jones, came into The Second Chance for a meal, she suffered through the woman’s friendly conversation—something she didn’t deserve, not after what she’d done at the parade. She’d lifted forty bucks from the woman’s purse. For the first time ever, she was seized by the urge to return something she’d stolen. Her newfound conscience was like a bratty kid throwing tantrums whenever Natasha crept into her thoughts. Tough break, and the baker wasn’t the only issue waging war on her peace of mind.
