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Harper grabs a cup and scribbles his name on it. “Sure thing.”
I walk over to the display and slide the glass door open. After grabbing the largest muffin with a set of tongs, I put it in a bag and set it in front of the register. A few keystrokes later, I give Mr. Bailey his total. He hands me the necessary bills, and I arrange them in the till, all facing up with the serial numbers in the same direction.
“If these muffins weren’t the finest in the city, I swear I’d never come back here,” the man grumbles.
He’s not wrong. I think the pastries at the Sugar Cube are the best, and they’re the reason I haven’t starved to death. How can I when my boss lets me eat whatever I want when I’m clocked in?
“Here’s your change,” I say. “Have a good day.”
Then I pump hand sanitizer onto my palm and spread it all over my hands.
Money is disgusting. And I mean that in every way possible. That doesn’t stop me from needing it.
Mr. Bailey huffs and takes his items, heading to the corner seat, where today’s paper sits on the table. As it does every day. He settles in the chair and takes the newspaper, but not before shooting me a glance. After a curt nod to thank me, the man’s gaze leaves mine to absorb the ink on the page.
“So, where were we?” Harper asks.
I hold up my hands in mock surrender, the lemon scent from the sanitizer tickling my nostrils. “I don’t want to continue that conversation.”
“You’re lucky someone else just walked in,” she whispers. “Welcome to the Sugar Cube,” Harper says at a normal volume to the newcomer. “What can I get for you this fine morning?”
The man’s gaze zeroes in on me and I flag him down with a small wave. “He’s here for me,” I say to Harper.
“In what capacity?” She eyes the man without an ounce of shame, taking in his casual attire and blank expression. “Business or pleasure?”
“Business.”
“Could be both.”
I blow out a breath of exasperation. “No, it isn’t. Hopefully, this won’t take long.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, waving a hand in dismissal. “It’s all good until the brunch rush.”
I remove my apron, signaling I’m on break, and wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. “Good morning, Mr. Calvin. Right this way please.”
The man follows me to the set of chairs that are furthest from Mr. Bailey. And Harper. She might be my best friend—myonlyfriend—but the details of my father’s murder aren’t something I want to discuss with anyone. I can barely process the crime myself, and it’s been four weeks since I buried him. And hired this private investigator.
“Did you find anything new?” I ask, lowering my voice and leaning forward.
The man shakes his head. “This case is turning out to be more difficult than I expected. With your father being a high-profile politician, I knew there would be a lot to dig through to uncover the truth. However, everything’s been buried so deep I’m not sure I can find the person responsible for his death.”
My heart cracks, and the fractured pieces fall, hitting my ribcage before settling in my gut. “My father was the only family I had. I need to find out what happened to him. Please, help me bring his killer to justice.”
I blink back tears while the man scratches his chin. “Miss Green…” he begins.
“Call me Calista.” I force a smile. My father always said that in order to humanize yourself to people, you had to break down social barriers and make them see the flesh and blood person underneath. “We’ve been working together for several weeks now, and I really appreciate all the effort you’ve put into this so far.”
That “effort” has taken every single dime I own. My father’s name might’ve been cleared in court, but his debts haven’t. Between paying off his legal fees and hiring this man to look into his untimely demise, I’m one breath away from living on the streets.
Ironic, since I used to volunteer at a children’s shelter.
“There is one avenue of inquiry I could look into,” the man says, “but that would require you to retain my services for another month.”
I smooth my features, struggling to keep my panic from showing. “Last month’s payment wasn’t enough to cover this? Especially considering you haven’t discovered anything new?”
“Miss Green, I’m paid based on my time, not on results I have no control over.”
“I understand. Do you think I could pay you at the end of the month?” When his brows lift and his mouth thins, I hold out my hands in supplication. “I’ve already picked up more hours at this place, and I’ve applied for other jobs as well. I just need time to get the money. That’s all.”
