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I found it on the couch.
Before I could make it out the door, though, Booth had me by the hand. “We’re probably going to be late for dinner tonight, bro. We have what, an hour? Let’s push it back to six-thirty. That way we can hopefully get whatever this is figured out.”
Bourne nodded once, and we walked out of the house, my stomach tied in knots.
“Tell me again what the guy said,” Booth ordered as we drove to my shop.
I did, telling him everything, all the way down to what kind of accent he had.
Booth glanced at me with delight, as if he found it amusing that I would think that sounding Southern changed who he was and how he would be dealt with.
He pulled into the parking lot of my business, and I started to pull up the app on my phone that I would use to unlock it as well as disarm the alarm.
Before I could disarm it, though, Booth swung the door open with a frown.
“You usually leave this open?” he asked.
I shook my head. “When I left this morning, Ken, the man that does the cleaning for me in the afternoon after I leave, was still here. He was well on his way to finishing the kitchen, though.”
Which was why I hadn’t thought twice about Ken.
Ken did an amazing job cleaning up and prepping the dough for the next morning.
If I didn’t trust him, I wouldn’t have given him a key that allowed him to get in and out of my place of business any time he wanted to.
Booth nodded and walked right into my shop, his eyes taking everything in.
“It’s unlocked. And the alarm is disarmed,” he said as he looked around.
“The alarm company turned it off for me,” I said. “But I guess that means that Ken forgot to lock it on his way out.”
Booth grunted something and made his way through the shop, systematically taking everything in from the peak of the ceiling to the molding on the floor.
Once he’d made a thorough walk through, he came to a stop directly next to me.
“This place doesn’t have rats,” he said. “This place also doesn’t even have a fuckin’ crumb. So I highly doubt that it would’ve been Ken who made the complaint.”
I did, too.
“One of them is probably just fuckin’ pissed that you’re changing their hours around. They had a pretty cushy job here. They got to come in at eight, leave at noon, and got paid almost full-time for it.”
That was true.
They did.
But of my three employees, all of them were older. Ken was in his early sixties. During the early afternoon hours, he worked for me making dough. When he wasn’t working for me, he taught a CrossFit class at his local gym.
Mirena, the woman that sometimes opened for me if I needed her to, was in her early fifties with two college-aged kids. The only reason she was working here at all was because she needed something to do with her time now.
The last employee, who had worked for me the least amount of time, and was my prime suspect, was in her forties. Her name was Moshe, and she was my new donut decorator.
She made her own hours and came in only when I couldn’t keep up with the orders. She was actually more than happy about the extra orders we’d now be taking, but she wasn’t excited about the hours. Something in which she said she would have to think about before she committed to it.
But even her, I couldn’t see doing it.
“I just don’t see that,” I admitted. “None of them were upset about the change. The only one that really said she even might have a problem was Moshe, and that’s only because she’s a runner, and she has her long runs on Saturday mornings. I really don’t see her as having such a problem that she would call the health department on me.”
“Speaking of health department,” Booth murmured, his eyes going to the plate glass windows that held my sparkly pink bakery letters. “He’s here.”
We both watched as the man got out of his truck, clipboard in hand.
He was taking in the sign on the plate glass windows, grinning slightly.
I was sure it was all the glitter.
Most men lifted their lips up at it upon first sight.
I’d gone with the most obnoxious shade of pink I could find, then asked them to add glitter to it.
Honestly, I loved it.
But it wasn’t a man’s favorite thing in the world upon seeing it, either.
The moment he walked through my door, my voice froze in my throat.
Luckily, Booth was there.
He walked over to the man and introduced himself.
“Hi, I’m Dillan Davidsdottir’s man, Booth,” he said, holding out his hand to the health inspector.
The health inspector took his hand. “I’m Green. First name, not my last. It’s nice to meet you.”
