Page 69 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Thrown for a Loss

horses flicking their manes to drive off insects. I suppose boys found
it attractive.
“Sure, they’re always around here on my shift. I mean, not just on
mine, but that’s all I can swear to. Sometimes they come up and try
talking some trash to me, but I give them the chill, you know what I
mean? Not my type. Too young, no cars, no money. Just a lot of
attitude.”
“Which of them came up here today?”
She pouted. “You really want me to remember? I get a lot of
business on weekends. Let me think.” She looked down at the tubs
of greasy doughnuts basking beneath heat lamps. A customer would
be known by his or her purchase, I realized. Or by what went into the
large plastic cup by the cash register marked ‘Tips’. It was the only
non-standard-issue Go Nuts item before us. But the mall rats would
not be dropping much silver in that container unless they wanted to
make an unusually good impression on what did not appear to be a
particularly impressionable mind. That reminded me of the coins
hitting the floor just before the incident. Coincidence? Inspiration? I
had to admit that the boys were looking more like suspects than
witnesses every minute. Or was that just something I picked up from
the lieutenant?
“Okay. Now I have it. Luke was here closer to noon and bought a
jelly doughnut. He didn’t have much to say. Then Curt came up a
couple of hours ago but didn’t buy anything. Just wanted to see if he
could tease me with some stupid joke—I won’t repeat it. Cal—is it
really Calvin?—stood here a long time a little while after that,
pretending to have trouble making a decision. He finally bought a
chocolate twist. I could tell he likes me and wants to say something,
but thank God he is too shy and kept quiet. Did leave me a quarter
tip. I can tell by the sound of the coin hitting the others. I always
prime the pump to make it clear to the slower customers that there is
a very simple way to thank me for being polite in spite of their
rudeness and piggy eating right on top of the counter! You wouldn’t
believe the messes I have to clean up. I’m not paid for that kind of
dirty work. Thank God for these cheap plastic gloves. I can save my
nails, anyway. Oh, yeah, getting back to those guys: the last one was
that creep with the smirk, Newton. He was up for his usual sugar-
dusted doughnut a little while before the accident. No one else was

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