Page 50 of Toxic Apple Turnovers
“They don’t call me Owlbert Einstein for nothing.”
Great, I’ve got a wise guy on my hands. Hey? Owlsarewise. I’m totally correct in my assumption.
I spot the bright orange bin, and before Owlbert can say another word, I’ve all but pole-vaulted my way into the office. My feet carry me deeper inside, despite the fact my brain is screamingget out. I prattle my way around spastically, mining through the trash—nothing but wadded-up tissues and candy bar wrappers, the desk—pencil city. I check every drawer and nook and cranny I can find, but there’s nothing here of any use to me.
“This way.” Owlbert leads me to the secretary’s desk. “Try that contraption,” he says, floating to the oversized monitor.
“It’s probably locked,” I can hardly maintain my breathing as I sit behind the behemoth desk, and the monitor brightens in an instant. “It’s on,” I marvel, pulling the keyboard forward, and the screen lights up with multiple files sitting right on the desktop. “And it’s not locked.”
“This is a church, Lottie, not a prison.”
“Yeah, but you never know when a common criminal will waltz right in.”
“Or a baker.”
I pause a moment to shoot him a look. “I’d kill you, but the Grim Reaper beat me to it,” I tease.
He chortles with a laugh. “A little gallows humor. I do appreciate the morbidity of it all.”
“Look at this,” I say, opening a file and quickly perusing it. “It’s employee records. This is perfect. And here’s Pastor Gaines’.” I click it, reading over it quickly. “It’s just your basic application. Name, social security number, a few odd facts, the previous church he worked at.” I pull out my phone and take pictures of it from top to bottom. “I think that should do it. Help me get out of here.”
Owlbert illuminates my path as I make my way back out that window. “Unfortunately, it’s not going to be put back together, and terrifyingly enough, it has my fingerprints all over it.” I look up at the ethereal being flying just above my head. “Well, genius? What now?”
“The janitorial closet is still ajar. Might I suggest a little window washing?”
And window wash I do. I spray liquid detergent over the front and back of both pieces of glass and run the hose nearby over it before hopping into my car and making a squeaky clean getaway—emphasis on theclean.
* * *
The sun has risen justa notch. It’s usually at this point in the new day that I have my ovens filled with croissants with the dough I made up the night before. I park out back like I usually do and note the door ajar.
“Did I leave the door open last night?” I’m about to get out of the car when a seam of light flashes underneath the door, and every muscle in my body tenses.
I throw the car into reverse and turn the heck around with my heart pounding a mile a minute. I pull in just shy of the cleaners down the street and call Noah. Thankfully, he picks up on the first ring.
“Mrs. Fox? How can I help you?”
“I just passed by the bakery. I think I’m being robbed.”
“Don’t move!” he roars, and from there it’s just a blur.
A giant blue cargo van comes barreling down the street, and I seize.
“It’s the van!” I shout. “The one that Nell saw. They just took off past me. I can follow them,” I say, starting up my engine once again.
“Don’t you dare!” he riots in my ear. “Just tell me which way they’re headed.”
“West,” I say, pulling my car forward, but it’s too late. They’re already gone. I park in front of the bakery and wait for Noah.
He shows up in seconds, followed by a bevy of squad cars.
“Lottie!” he thunders as I get out of the car and he lunges for me.
Noah holds me tightly as if he almost lost me. “You could have been killed.” He runs a breathy kiss over the top of my head before pulling back. “You’re usually inside at this point.”
“I was running a little late.” I wince up at him as if it wasn’t true.
“Thank God. I’d hate to think what would have happened if they found you in there alone.”