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I couldn’t.
Ruh-oh.
2
My boss had just dropped dead, right here in front of everyone—well, at least a couple coworkers and one customer who sat sipping a cold brew in the corner. Even though I couldn’t find a pulse, I attempted chest compressions. But Harold was already gone.
“I’m calling an ambulance!” Kelley, our newest barista, shouted from behind the cash register.
Drake, our shift manager, tromped over to the door and flipped the open sign around, then drew the blinds.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” I told our lone customer. “We’re going to have to ask you to leave now. If you have your punch card handy, I can give you a couple extra points as an apology for the inconvenience.”
Had Harold been alive, he would have fired me for that, given his propensity to nickel and dime both his staff and his customers for all they were worth. But I guess that didn’t really matter now.
The woman took a long swig of her cold brew, her green eyes wide as she regarded me, then tossed the remainders in the trash can, gathered her belongings, and high-tailed it out of there. I couldn’t say I blamed her.
Kelley rushed over to my side and glued herself there. “An ambulance is on the way.”
“Won’t do any good if the jerk is already dead,” Drake said with a scowl.
“Don’t talk like that,” Kelley shrieked, clutching a hand to her chest. “A man just lost his life!”
“Probably a heart attack,” I offered with a shrug. “It’s sad, but it happens all the time. Harold wasn’t exactly in the best of shape, besides.”
“Yeah,” Drake added with a sarcastic laugh as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “And considering his heart was at least three sizes too small, I’d say it had a pretty hard time keeping up.”
I kept my lips pressed together in a tight line. Even though I agreed with Drake’s assessment of the man, it was a terrible thing to witness his death. Add to that the uncertainty of my future employment, and today was just an all-around crummy day.
We had a few gawkers peek through the edge of the windows where the blinds were cut slightly too short and thus allowed a glance inside. One even knocked despite the CLOSED sign. Drake pounded on our side of the door and screamed threats at the would-be customers.
I decided to focus on my work even though there was no one to make coffee for. I cleaned down all the tables and counters, praying help would arrive soon. There was something so creepy about being locked in with a dead body.
I think Drake felt it, too, because he continued to pace and prowl, all the while muttering something under his breath.
By the time the emergency workers arrived, Kelley had taken up a spot on one of the squishy club chairs, her knees drawn into her chest as she sobbed silently.
Since neither of my coffee colleagues were in shape to play host, I welcomed the paramedics and the policewoman inside, then relocked the door behind them.
“He’s right over here,” I announced, walking them toward the back area that housed Harold’s small office and gave the rest of us a place to stash our coats and scan our timecards.
Poor Harold lay on his back with his head slouched against the wall and his neck bent uncomfortably. One hand set atop his chest and the other lay splayed out at his side. His face had already started losing its color, giving him that waxen appearance that no amount of postmortem makeup could hide.
The paramedics bent to examine Harold while the policewoman remained standing at my side. “Is there a place we could go to have a chat?” she asked, her face giving nothing away.
“Sure.” I led her to the one booth we had in the back corner of the cafe, a relic from the shop’s previous life as an old pancake place. “Would you like a coffee or something?”
She shook her head and pointed to her shirt pocket. “I’m Officer Dash. And you are?”
“I’m Gracie. Gracie Springs.”
She took out a notebook, licked her finger, and flipped to a fresh page, then drew a small pen out of the binding and held it poised above the paper. “And you worked for the deceased?”
“Yes. For the past few months.”
Officer Dash scribbled away with a frown.
“Why is this important?” I asked, tapping my fingers against the tabletop.
