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I can see now that those offers of dinner were probably his way of being nosy and getting fodder for the gossip grapevine. No telling how many rumors I’ve been subjected to that started on his forked tongue. I roll my eyes in annoyance and call out, “Ask him to bring me a coffee, black as my soul,” I say in a deep, hollow voice and then add an evil, maniacal laugh. “Mwah-ha-ha.”
Is it wrong? Yeah.
Is it funny? Absolutely.
And hell, maybe it will get me a fresh coffee if Jeff’s feeling generous. I planned to call him before the end of the day anyway to share what I found, so this saves me the trouble.
Thanks, Alver! I think with saccharin sweetness and a pleased-with-myself smile. If he’d seen that, he definitely would’ve shat himself.
Oddly, that doesn’t make me feel bad like it once did. I am starting to realize that maybe Holly’s been right all along. People who have problems with me . . . they’re the problems.
It’s not me, it never was me.
I move the most recent piece of paper that’s driving me crazy around a few more times, turning it clockwise over and over, even flipping it to the other side. It’s solid white, after all. There could be any number of places it’d go in this invoice puzzle.
There!
I get it slipped into place and pick up another one. I’m so close I can smell it! Victory, not trash. Still don’t smell that.
Turn, turn, turn, flip, turn, turn.
I pull on my magnifying glasses to look at the edge a little closer. On a few pieces, I’ve been able to tell which side is the front by the tear.
Hmm, it looks like it goes this way. Here? No. Here? No.
Grr. I’m making such good progress, but it’s not coming together. With the magnification glasses on, I lean down close to scan the pieces I have left to get into place and one catches my eye.
I pick it up and examine it closely under the light, reading the text printed there.
This is it!
I slot the tiny bit of paper into place and read out the name of what Yvette Horne ordered from the online folk remedy pharmacy. I’m not familiar with it offhand, but through the magic of Google, I will be.
I sense movement beside me and see a blue blob in the doorway out of the corner of my eye. My eyes are fine, but they’re used to the magnifying lenses now so my regular vision, even peripherally, is a bit wonky.
“Hey, Jeff,” I say, looking up and knowing I must look like Sybill Trelawney, eyes huge behind these glasses.
“Zoey.” He sounds tired, frustrated, and maybe a teeny-tiny bit amused way down deep under his gruff exterior.
Way, way down deep.
“Thanks for coming down. Did you bring my coffee?” I ask casually as I set the magnifiers on the table, careful to not mess up my puzzle work.
Nothing to see here, just a regular old visit to Zoey’s morgue.
Jeff’s brows jump together, a sound of confusion grumbling in his throat. I lift my brow and cut my eyes from Jeff to Alver, who’s standing back smugly.
“You used to bring me dinner,” I remind him. “Is a coffee now and again too much to ask? Especially when you’re creeping around like a creepy creeper.”
I wiggle my fingers to mimic his stalking about. Okay, so my insults aren’t much better than my pep talks judging by the twitches of Jeff’s lips and mustache and the confused look on Alver’s face.
“Alver, will you get Zoey a coffee, please?” Jeff asks without turning around. It’s not really a question at all but an order.
“Make it two, actually. One for me and one for Jeff,” I add.
Alver huffs and spins on his heel for the stairs. When he’s gone, I whisper, “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want one, but I don’t trust him not to poison me or spit it in. Hopefully, if there’s a chance it’s yours, he won’t risk it.”
I look around for wood, holding a finger up to Jeff to step closer to my desk. One touch and crossed fingers, but I still don’t feel lucky. I figure I’ll have to judge whether or not to actually drink that coffee by the gleam in Alver’s eyes when he comes back.
Jeff smiles, shaking his head in amusement. “Okay, Alver came shuffling up to tell me you’re spreading trash everywhere, bitching about health codes.” He holds his hands up high, waving them around urgently in what I can only assume is an impression of Alver’s presentation. “Hate to say it, Zoey, but he might have something on ya this time.” Jeff swirls his finger in a circle, indicating my tables of what is obviously . . . trash. “Whatcha doing?”
I drag my chair over, warning, “You’ll probably want to sit down for this.”
