Malpractice Makes Perfect

Chapter 2

            Fifteen minutes later I was back at Taste Teas. I parked in my usual spot in the back and grabbed my purse, the bag of food from the drive-thru, and the large cherry limeade. It was a hassle trying to juggle all that and unlock the back door but worth it as going through the front would ensure that every one of my employees stopped me for one asinine reason or another. I could just hear them whining in my ear:

          Evie, can you help me with this customer? Evie, if you're back, I'm taking my break. Evie, this establishment has a very large carbon footprint. Have you considered changing to paper straws? Evie, can we talk about the schedule? I need Tuesday off. Evie, the recipe for this muffin is booty! Let me change it.

          I'd recently promoted Pasha from barista to assistant manager but there was still something about seeing the boss on the floor that made everyone lose their collective minds. But if my ninja skills were tight enough, I could slide into my office, enjoy an uninterrupted five-minute break, and eat my sandwich in peace before everyone inevitably got on my nerves.

          Once I got the door open, I peeked my head down the long hallway. It was perfectly empty, so I stepped inside, dashed to my office, and closed the door behind me with a giddy little two-step. No one spotted me but the cat that lives in the alleyway. So far, so good.

          I dropped my purse off in the cabinet drawer and sat down at the pleather chair behind my desk with my eyes darting between my food and the closed door. Now I just know, as soon as I get a good mouthful Pasha or Jackson are going to run in here on some bullshit.

          But no. Doctor Deb says I should be more positive, so I will choose to believe bullshit won't come for me until after I eat. Let's put that power of positive thinking to work.

          I'd gotten the Sheik's famous steak in a sack with a side of seasoned fries. The smell of steak and onion stuffed to the brim of that soft pita bread made my mouth water. I laid out a couple of napkins (rather than risk a trip to the kitchen for a plate), got my sandwich ready, laid my fries out, and made sure that diabetes causing cherry limeade was in arms reach and dug in like I hadn't eaten in three days.

          You'll be happy to know I got three glorious bites into my lunch before the cell rang. Why didn't the lord bless me with the wisdom to turn that shit off when I'm on break? I could let it ring, but if it was mama or grandma, I'd have to hear about it later. They know that sonofabitch is always attached to my hip. Could be business, though. And business is business, so I took the time to finish chewing before grabbing the phone. "Hello?" I wiped the greasy goodness from my lips with a napkin.

          "Hello?" Said a woman. "Is this Harper Investigations?"

          "It is. This is Evie Harper" I pulled a notepad from the top drawer and grabbed a pen. "What can I do for you?"

          "Do you find lost objects?"

          "Lost objects?"

          "My mother died recently."

          "I'm sorry to hear that."

           "Thank you. Well, anyway she always talked about giving me her necklace—it's pearl and diamond and she used to let me play with it a bit when I was a child. I loved it." There was a pause, then a throat clearing. "Since she's died it's missing."

          "And you want me to find it?"

          "If you can."

          It seemed unreasonable to me, but I only had thirty minutes of lunch left and no time to argue. "I have an open appointment today at four."