Fifteen minutes later, Mara walked into the bakery to see a knot of people clustered in front of Ping’s counter and display case. Two women and a man sat sullenly at the tables out front, clearly waiting for something that didn’t appear to be coming very soon. Mara weaved through the tables without looking at them and edged around the crowd to pass through the gap at the end of the counter. Standing behind it next to the register, holding a cheesecake, Ping nodded tiredly to a large woman. He was pale and covered with a sheen of perspiration and flour. His grease-stained apron hung loosely around his neck, its strings flapping as he gestured with his unencumbered hand.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Haden. It will be just another ten minutes, and your pumpkin pies will be ready to go. They just ne
