Page 42 of To Catch a Latte Thick as Thieves

“Don’t worry, Annie-girl, we’ll catch whoever’s doing this,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “It just hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Why? It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but I hate to see you so sad,” he said.

“I’ll get over it,” she declared, trying to be more stoic than she felt.

He sent her a dubious look but didn’t argue with her.’

“So, what can I do to help around here?” he asked.

“I...I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “I don’t suppose you cook?”

“I can’t even boil water without melting the pot,” he said. “Besides I’ll need to work out in the shop if I’m to see everyone who comes and goes.”

“Denise works the counter and I have two waitresses already,” she paused. “I don’t want them to have to divide up their tips anymore than they already do. I could use a busboy however.”

“Busboy?” He looked offended.

“Yes, that’s perfect!” She clapped her hands. “During the rush, it’s a struggle clearing the tables. This would be a tremendous help. I’ll go get you an apron.”

“Apron?” he asked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What’s the matter?” she teased. “Afraid you can’t bus a few tables?”

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“You bet I am,” she admitted with a grin. Seeing Fisher clear tables was going to be a hoot. Was it wrong to savor a small bite of revenge at his expense? Nah.

Pulling a pink, ruffled apron out of the cupboard at the back of the kitchen, she threw it at him. “I think the domestic look will work for you.”

“Annie,” he growled, catching the apron before it hit him in the face.

“Do you have a better idea?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted with a frown.

“Here’s your bin,” she said and handed him a big, plastic basin to fill dishes with. “We open in fifteen minutes. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my waitresses.”

“Sonia, Beatrice, meet Fisher,” Annie called as she entered the main room of the coffee shop. “He’s going to be helping us out by busing tables.”

The two women glanced up from where they were filling sugar bowls. They didn’t look surprised. Annie knew they were thinking she’d found another stray to take in. She was tempted to tell them the truth. But knowing it would jeopardize Fisher’s investigation, she bit her tongue.

“Nice to meet you,” Beatrice said, her gray eyes narrowed behind her round glasses. Beatrice was what Annie’s grandmother would call a hippie. She had ten earring holes in each ear, she wore an eclectic selection of clothing from the local thrift store and the scent of sandalwood flowed around her as if it permeated her skin. She was a hard worker and had a great rapport with the customers. Annie knew she could depend on Beatrice, and she genuinely liked her company.

Sonia was as opposite from Beatrice as incense from a Glade plug-in. Shy and quiet, she was a sophomore in college but still lived at home with her parents. She wore Peter Pan collared blouses under pastel cardigans. She was fluent in Spanish and devoted to her church.

“Hello,” Sonia said and a blush bloomed across her cheeks.

“Nice to meet you both.” Fisher inclined his head.

Annie glanced at him. Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, he appeared casual, but there was no disregarding the lean strength of his frame or the subtle bunch of muscles beneath his shirt. Annie noticed Beatrice ogling Fisher’s forearms, and she frowned. He did have powerful-looking arms, not the kind one gets by hefting barbells, but by performing actual physical labor. But he was an FBI guy, didn’t they just push paper around all day while staking out bad guys? She gave him a considering look. How much did she know about him anyway?

“It looks like we’re going to need the extra help,” Beatrice observed. “Denise hasn’t shown up yet.”

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