Murder in Waiting - Lynn Cahoon Page 0,8
the chairs at the other tables and took the rag I’d brought out on the tray and washed the tabletops. “And this shift is taken. I’m not giving it up for anyone.”
“Actually, it’s for a friend’s daughter. She’s looking for a job to supplement her grants while she finishes her degree. I’m not sure what exactly she needs, but can I send her your way?” He stood, waiting for my answer.
“I’m not sure if we’re hiring right now. But have her send us a résumé and mention your name. I’ll talk to my aunt to see if we’re going to need some summer help or not.” I paused at the door. “We don’t hire a lot here. She’d probably have better luck finding a job in Bakerstown.”
“I’ll mention that too. Her dad has a place just down the highway. She’s back home after a bad breakup. My friend has asked me for the name of a good criminal lawyer, just in case he goes ballistic on this guy.”
I knew he was kidding, but I understood the feeling. Sometimes murder was just about how big a jerk the victim was when he was alive. Not to say I condoned any type of murder, but I did understand it. “I know some of those too. The criminal lawyers, I mean, not the homicidal fathers.”
He chuckled. “I got it.”
When he left, I did my opening chores, thanks to a laminated list my aunt had made for every shift. Just in case we forgot what to do from one day to another. I went back to the message whiteboard, where we all left messages for one another. The board was clean except for the words, Work Your Open and Close List. Thank you, Captain Obvious. I picked up my pen. Are we hiring for shifts yet? Jay’s friend’s daughter is looking for a job. Then I signed my name, just in case my aunt didn’t recognize my handwriting. Okay, so maybe I was related to Captain Obvious.
Then I grabbed an urban fantasy magic book and a fresh cup of coffee and sat down to read, waiting for the next customer.
When Deek showed up at eleven, I’d only been disturbed twice. Once for a commuter who needed coffee because her husband had forgotten to buy coffee at the grocery store run last weekend. And a family who was here on vacation and looking for reading material. The daughter, who must have been eight, came to the counter with no less than eight books. The son, a year or so younger, had two. The parents mirrored the kid’s buying habits. The wife bought four paperbacks and a new release hardback from a woman’s fiction author I loved. He brought up a well-reviewed book on the life of Lincoln. My aunt would be pleased at the number of books sold this morning. My shift was usually more of a coffee-buying one.
Things were good in my world. I mean, there was the whole Amy party planning thing and the fact that nobody official cared that I had the last original wall to the South Cove Mission in my backyard, but all in all, things were great.
I decided I’d finish up the party planning this afternoon. And tonight, while we had dinner, Greg and I would make the decision about what to do or not do about the wall.
Chapter 3
The sense of peace and tranquility didn’t last long. My aunt came down five minutes into my reading time and thrust a paper at me. “Did you see this?”
Carefully placing a bookmark to save my spot, I set down the book regretfully and took the papers. “I don’t know if I saw this or not. What is it?”
“The Council is raising our fees for the business group. They are blaming us for the price increase because our charges for the room and refreshments are so high.” My aunt put on her reading glasses and pointed to a paragraph in the middle. “I’ve gotten five emails today asking why we’re fleecing the city.”
“I only charge out what they eat. Maybe if people didn’t have two brownies, the monthly costs wouldn’t be so much.” I stared at the paperwork. Reading the letter, it was clear the message was that the fault was ours, not the council’s. Way to make it not about the City Council’s decision and shift the blame. “I’m calling Bill. He needs to fix this. If we get the entire community mad at us, our sales will plummet.”
“Whatever