Chapter 7
Meg
I see his truck pulling away out of the corner of my eye and breathe a sigh of relief as I enter the haven known as Doe’s.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the strong scent of espresso mixed with the sweet pastries floating through the air.
Walking up to the counter I smile at my close friend, Piper.
She is leaning behind the display case, filling it with freshly made apple danishes.
My mouth is watering. Piper straightens up and looks over the counter.
“Morning, sunshine!” She exclaims, smiling widely and puts the tray down as she makes her way over to the register. “I didn’t hear the green beast pull in!”
“I got a ride this morning,” I tried to answer casually, as if it were no big deal. Piper was a dog with a bone. When she wanted information she would’t let it go. If she sensed there was a story there, she would be all over it.
“Got a ride,” she stated questioningly, arching a light brown eyebrow. “Who gave you a ride, and why would you need one?”
Here comes the Spanish Inquisition. I sigh.
“I broke down last night on my way home from the Gala in High Ridge. I happened to breakdown in front of an auto body shop and the owner was still there. He has been kind enough to chauffeur me around until he can get it fixed,” I explain to her.
I hope that it was enough to curb her curiosity.
I know that she will think about it this morning some more, but at least I will have a few hours before she starts the interrogation again. “Can I get a latte with 2 extra espresso shots and one of those pastries you just put in the case?” I was hoping to distract her with my order.
“Sure, give me just a sec—I’ll get those right out for you. And don’t think you are getting away with that bare bones story you just told me,” she wags her index finger at me and smiles. She tucks a loose strand of her coppery colored hair behind her ear and spins away.
I stand off to the side and start scrolling through my phone. I fire off a few e-mails and notice one from a sender I don’t recognize. It isn’t one of my regular clients or a friend. I skip over opening it, and decide to look at it when I’m in my office. It could be a referral.
“Here you go, Meg. You are all set,” Piper cheerfully announces. I reach in my backpack for my wallet only to be stopped by her tsk. “ It’s on the house this morning, think of it as prepayment for the entertainment you will provide me with your story from last night.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, that sounds fair,” I mutter.
“ I have a lot of work to do and only have a few hours to do it.
I scurry out the back door and ascend the staircase.
My office is on the second floor behind the coffee shop.
It truly is heaven on earth for me. My office is above a COFFEE SHOP.
I unlock the door and go to step over the threshold and freeze.
There is a piece of paper on the floor. Someone must have slipped it under the door.
I reach down to pick it up and unfold it.
My breath hitches a bit at the two words—Die, Bitch.
“Could have been a bit more original,” I mumble trying to shake off my nerves with a bit of sarcasm.
First, my green monster— and now someone leaving a threatening note.
Generally, I don’t believe in coincidences.
I’m having a hard time fooling myself right now.
I scan my small office. Everything looks to be in place.
My desk sits undisturbed, it is a bit messy, but that is how I left it.
The “conference room”, which is really another office that has a small table and chairs in it, is just like I left it too.
I gingerly set the note on the side of my desk and sit down in the chair. I am trying to come up with a logical explanation for this. Mistaken identity? Weird stalker?
My mind is spinning. I don’t recall upsetting anyone this much. Maybe they think I am someone else? I am mulling this over and jump when my phone starts to buzz. Picking it up, I see that it is Piper.
“Heyyy there,” she says slyly. “Will you be free at lunchtime? I’ll bring you a sandwich—as payment of course for this story that you are going to share,” she explains.
“Can you take a break today,” I ask, hoping that she will tell me that she can’t. My hopes are dashed with her response.
“Oh yes, I hired a part-time position— I’m free as a bird. For an hour or so,” she exclaims gleefully.
“Great,” I say, unenthusiastically. She laughs. “See you in a couple hours,” she says. I can almost picture her rubbing her hands together mischievously. Before I can respond, she ends the call.
I pull out my laptop and power it up. I had a few things to get done for clients. The donut shop needed a few designs for social media to get her through the week, the adventure company needed some copy written for their website. I threw myself into the work for a bit. Then I turned to my inbox.
I delete a few junk e-mails and respond to others. Finally, I make my way to the e-mail that I don’t recognize. I open it and need to read it twice, before it registers in my brain.
Did you get my note? I meant it. Too bad about your truck.
I instinctively look around, like the person that wrote these 13 words will be somewhere in the office. All of a sudden it seems a bit cold. The door is pushed open and I jump. I sigh and relax quickly. It is Piper, she has come with lunch. She doesn’t notice my distress, and I recover quickly.
“So, what did you bring me,” I ask her. From the looks of the bag, it looks like she ran across the way to the farmers market and picked up something.
“I grabbed you their special, chicken salad on a croissant and some banana pudding,” she sets the bag down on the conference room table and begins to pull things out. I stand up and walk the few feet to the door.
“Sounds great,” I exclaim. I am thrilled that she picked up my favorites, but my brain is still stuck on the note, the email, my truck. She can tell I’m distracted, because she stops and looks up at me, arching her eyebrow.
“What is going on with you? You seem off today,” she muses and continues to study me.
I don’t know if I want to tell her about all of this stuff yet.
I don’t want to blow this out of proportion yet.
What if it is something though, my brain whispers the question.
Shaking my head, I respond to her question.
“Nothing is wrong, I’m just a little tired— and stressed. I didn’t expect to pay for a truck repair this month, that is all,” I explain.
She takes what I say at face value—for now. We have known each other for a long time. She will see through that explanation soon.
“Speaking of, spill— I want all the details about last night,” she demands. She sits down and pulls her burger towards her. I can’t tell if she is salivating over the food or if it is the anticipation of the gossip, but I cave and begin.