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“See what I mean?” Betty pointed at Max. “If that’s supposed to scare me, then he’s wasting his time. Are you sure he was in the police? Was it the real police force, or those guys in ill-fitting uniforms that patrol shopping centers?”
“I’m going to…” Max took a step toward her.
Betty was unimpressed. She dismissed him with a roll of her eyes before raking around in her handbag.
“Max,” Lake said. “Go take a break.”
“Aye,” Betty said as she brought out a brown paper bag with a steaming hot Scotch pie inside. “Away and powder your nose.”
He let out a strangled growl and slammed the front door behind him when he left.
“Quit winding up the staff,” Lake ordered.
“Quit hiring namby-pamby wee bairns.” She took a bite of her pie. “Where’s my tea?” she said around a mouthful of food, almost losing her false teeth in the process.
A piece of crust fell out her mouth and onto her favorite tartan dress. She picked it up and popped it back in. When she looked up, Lake was shaking his head at her.
“What?” she demanded.
“I swear you get worse every year.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a grin.
There was a noise behind Lake, and a tall, gangly brunette came through carrying a tray with a teapot, a cup and a plate of biscuits. Betty sniffed. Okay, so maybe not all the new recruits were totally useless.
The girl put the tray on the table beside Betty’s old chair, which sat in the corner of the shop. She scurried away, without even looking Betty in the eye.
“I thought you said this one had more backbone than the last receptionist?” Although to be fair, at least Betty saw Astrid now and then; she’d only ever spotted Julia from a distance.
“She’s perfectly fine around normal people,” Lake said.
Betty took his dig as a compliment. She’d never aspired to normalcy.
“You know, it’s sexist to hire women for reception and men as security specialists.” She took another bite of her pie.
“I have women on my security team.”
“Aye, Megan Donaldson.” Betty shook her head in disgust. “I don’t see why you made her a trainee but wouldn’t make me one. Her only experience is dyeing the Baxter sheep pink. I have a lot more tricks than that up my sleeve.”
Lake stopped going over the paperwork in front of him. “You’re eighty-nine. You’re too old to be a trainee.”
“I’m still fit.” She sat up straighter as though that would prove it.
“A snail can run faster than you.”
“But can it outthink me?” She tapped her temple.
Lake huffed a laugh. “I’m not taking you on as a trainee. You’re a liability just hanging out in the shop.”
“Coward. I’m going to call Callum and make him give me a job in London. He’s got more spine than you and a better attitude. He’s my favorite now.”
“I’ll make sure to give him a call and congratulate him.”
Betty narrowed her eyes at him. “At least he’s Scottish.”
Lake pointed to his face. “Look how little I care,” he said in that poncey English accent of his.
Betty had just opened her mouth to tell him where to stick his amused face, when the door opened and Lake’s wife, Kirsty, walked in. She spotted Betty and her shoulders slumped, brightening Betty’s day no end.
