Fifteen minutes later I was back at Taste Teas. I parked in my usual spot in the back and grabbed my purse, the bag of food from the drive-thru, and the large cherry limeade. It was a hassle trying to juggle all that and unlock the back door but worth it as going through the front would ensure that every one of my employees stopped me for one asinine reason or another. I could just hear them whining in my ear:
Evie, can you help me with this customer? Evie, if you're back, I'm taking my break. Evie, this establishment has a very large carbon footprint. Have you considered changing to paper straws? Evie, can we talk about the schedule? I need Tuesday off. Evie, the recipe for this muffin is booty! Let me change it.
I'd recently promoted Pasha from barista to assistant manager but there was still something about seeing the boss on the floor that made everyone lose their collective minds. But if my ninja skills were tight enough, I could slide into my office, enjoy an uninterrupted five-minute break, and eat my sandwich in peace before everyone inevitably got on my nerves.
Once I got the door open, I peeked my head down the long hallway. It was perfectly empty, so I stepped inside, dashed to my office, and closed the door behind me with a giddy little two-step. No one spotted me but the cat that lives in the alleyway. So far, so good.
I dropped my purse off in the cabinet drawer and sat down at the pleather chair behind my desk with my eyes darting between my food and the closed door. Now I just know, as soon as I get a good mouthful Pasha or Jackson are going to run in here on some bullshit.
But no. Doctor Deb says I should be more positive, so I will choose to believe bullshit won't come for me until after I eat. Let's put that power of positive thinking to work.
I'd gotten the Sheik's famous steak in a sack with a side of seasoned fries. The smell of steak and onion stuffed to the brim of that soft pita bread made my mouth water. I laid out a couple of napkins (rather than risk a trip to the kitchen for a plate), got my sandwich ready, laid my fries out, and made sure that diabetes causing cherry limeade was in arms reach and dug in like I hadn't eaten in three days.
You'll be happy to know I got three glorious bites into my lunch before the cell rang. Why didn't the lord bless me with the wisdom to turn that shit off when I'm on break? I could let it ring, but if it was mama or grandma, I'd have to hear about it later. They know that sonofabitch is always attached to my hip. Could be business, though. And business is business, so I took the time to finish chewing before grabbing the phone. "Hello?" I wiped the greasy goodness from my lips with a napkin.
"Hello?" Said a woman. "Is this Harper Investigations?"
"It is. This is Evie Harper" I pulled a notepad from the top drawer and grabbed a pen. "What can I do for you?"
"Do you find lost objects?"
"Lost objects?"
"My mother died recently."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you. Well, anyway she always talked about giving me her necklace—it's pearl and diamond and she used to let me play with it a bit when I was a child. I loved it." There was a pause, then a throat clearing. "Since she's died it's missing."
"And you want me to find it?"
"If you can."
It seemed unreasonable to me, but I only had thirty minutes of lunch left and no time to argue. "I have an open appointment today at four."
"Oh, fantastic!"
After giving her the address, I got fifteen minutes of continual silence in which I blissfully ate my lunch without disruption. Then I even had eight minutes left to sit, relax, and not think about a certain boyfriends' spontaneous declaration of love. Which was totally not bothering me by the way. Everything is fine.
Anyway, all breaks must end, so after resting my feet a bit I went back to the grind.
Out front Pasha was busy pouring coffee as you'd expect from a barista turned assistant manager. Jackson was in the kitchen cleaning the residual flour bomb from this morning's fresh baked goods before he clocked out for his second job as a janitor. And Lana wasn't scheduled until three as she was still in high school.
My newest employee, Devonte, had just clocked in. His schedule was arranged around the morning classes he took at the neighboring college. He was behind the counter with Pasha, both wearing their Taste Teas monogrammed company tee shirts, as he listened attentively as she gave a hands-on demonstration of latte making.
I'd left his training up to Pasha—a sort of preliminary period for both of them. So far, she'd risen to the challenge and become my right hand. That meant she handled most of the front of house dealings now while I handled the books and the business. Her next challenge would be a detailed eval of Devonte's abilities. They were both still on probation, though Pasha's was mostly a formality.
"Devonte," I said as I came around the counter. "I need you to go do the dishes. They're backing up."
His head shot up at the sound of my voice. He straightened his six-foot frame and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"You don't have to call me ma'am."
"Yes...okay." He scuttled along to the kitchen.
"How's he doing?" I asked Pasha when he was gone.
She put a lid on the latte and slid it across the counter to a customer. "He's a quick learner. Respectful. Always on time. Caught him on his phone a couple of times though."
"How's he handling the workload?"
"Very well," she accepted the cash for the latte and put it in the register. "I ask him to bus tables, sweep floors, wash dishes, or handle customers, he does it no complaints."
"What about register?"
"That's a little more complex than pouring a smoothie but he'll get it."
"So, you think he's doing good?"
"Oh, yeah! Tae's been great." Tae? "He's funny too."
"I've never heard him tell a joke."
"You're the boss. He's still a little intimidated by you." She leaned back against the counter to give her feet a rest. "Jackson's been showing him how to work the donut fryer."
"I didn't tell him to do that."
"I delegated."
Well, look at miss thang over here. "Good job."
Maybe I should bring Jackson in on the eval too. Or would that be too much? I've never had an assistant manager to handle the training before. All the others were trained by me personally. But then again, maybe I should take the time to teach him something. Sounds like the kid's scared of me.
Jackson walked out of the kitchen sans apron and with his backpack slung over his shoulder. "A'igt Evie. I'm out."
"Hold on." He half turned toward me as I walked over. "I wanted to ask you how you did on the G.E.D."
His face dropped a bit as he suddenly had trouble looking me in the eyes. "Well...it was a tough test, you know?"
I softened my voice and kept my face as neutral as possible. "Yeah, I mean, everyone doesn't pass on their first try. Probably not even most people."
"Yeah...but everybody ain't me!" This fool pulled a whole certificate from behind his back like Houdini and pushed it into my face. "I crushed that shit!"
I read the certificate with a smile. Department of Education...State of Florida...Jackson Reynolds. And there in big bold letters: High School Diploma.
And he passed on his first try. "Congratulations!"
He slid the certificate back into his bag. "Couldn't have done it without you."
I shrugged. "I just helped you study. You did all the work."
He nodded his approval. "Grandma's throwing a graduation party Saturday night."
"Of course, she is." Grandma never needed an excuse to throw a party.
"You'll come by, right? Everybody's gonna be there." He started easing toward the exit.
"Everybody?"
He rolled his eyes. "Everybody that lives in town."
"Wouldn't miss it."
"A'ight, cool."
After he left the rest of the day was a breeze. Then my four o' clock appointment walked in. An appointment I all but forgot about, but to be fair people shouldn't assign me tasks while I'm eating. All I remembered was my sandwich!
"Hello," She looked around, unsure. "I have an appointment with Evie Harper."
She was dressed in what looked like a tailor-made charcoal business suit that fit her like a glove and these lovely dark heels some ladies would sell their souls for. The whole look was topped off with a head full of immaculate, medium sized box braids that hung just below her shoulders.
"I'm Evie Harper." I shook her hand and gave her a big bright business smile.
"Alexis Dupont." If her handshake was anything to go by, Ms. Dupont was a career gal like me.
"Please, follow me." I lead her from the dining area and into my office and closed the door behind us. "Can I get you a drink?"
"No thank you." She sat down with her very expensive looking purse across her lap and crossed her legs at the ankle like a proper debutante.
I sat down in my chair and pulled out my trusty notepad. "When you called you said you're looking for a necklace?"
"Yes. I think my sister stole my mother's necklace."
"Why would she do that?"
"It's a beautiful piece. And it's worth a fortune." She unconsciously stroked the gold pendant around her neck. "But mom intended for me to have it."
"This seems more like a job for small claims court. I'm a P.I, usually I track people, not things."
"I understand that, but I don't want to have to resort to suing my own sister. That would make dinner very awkward." No doubt.
"So, what exactly are you asking me to do?"
"My mother's funeral is on Saturday. I want you to take the opportunity to search my sisters' things."
"I don't do breaking and entering." Anymore.
She sniffed and tucked a couple of stray braids behind her ear. "You'd be invited."
"To the funeral?"
"And the repass, yes." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat; crossing and uncrossing her legs. "I'll level with you Ms. Harper, you probably won't find it, but I need to make sure I've explored all avenues before I confront my sister."
"If your sister's smart, she's already sold it or put it in a safety deposit box."
She raised her eyebrows and smirked. "But she's not smart. And she likes to show off."
This sounded like the worst type of snipe hunt to me...but desperate rich people were the best kind of customers. "Okay. I'm in."
"How much?"
Like most business there was a set price list for common services, usually billed by the hour. I think my spouse is cheating—fine. That's forty an hour, usually one to two hours a day for four days or less. But infiltration and object recovery was strange. So, in this case, the price was negotiable based on my risk plus time minus whatever it was worth to her. And judging by the scent of wealth wafting around her presence she was worth a lot, so she was going to get the rich person upcharge on top of that. "A hundred eighty-five."
She didn't bat an eye. "Okay." Damn, should have pushed for two hundred! Always start the negotiations high...
"Do you have a picture?"
"I do." For a painfully awkward five minutes she scrolled through the photos on her phone while I eased the discomfort by scratching out pointless details in my notepad. "Here's one."
She turned the screen around, and my breath caught in my throat. The woman in the photo was dressed to the nines in a sleek black dress that sparkled under the light of various cameras. Her curly hair circled her face like a shining black halo. Her smile was toothy but beautiful, a dab of red lipstick gave her a look of elegance. I was so gob smacked that for a moment I forgot to look at her necklace.
When I regained my cognitive functions, I looked at her hard. "Your mother is Diana Dupont?"
She chuckled. "Yes."
Diana Dupont. Founder and CEO of Dupont Cosmetics. The legend who had revolutionized the black hair care industry—specifically their formulas intended for natural hair.
I wrote a paper about this woman in college. I followed her career for years. I obsessed about her model for a successful business while I was getting Taste Teas off the ground.
When I went natural five years ago I chose her hair products in a market that's since been saturated with natural hair care lines who woke up after decades in business and realized I'm a woman too and thus also spend money to look good.
"I'm...kind of a fan."
She smiled a big toothy smile and it was like Diana Dupont was sitting right across from me. Same heart shaped face. Same comely eyes. Same bright, honey brown skin. How am I only now seeing it? "She inspired a lot of people."
I'd seen the news recently when they'd announced her death and mourned a pioneer but even still, I didn't put together that the Alexis Dupont coming to see me today was the woman's daughter.
"Well, alright." I'm not sure if I think I can really succeed at this bizarre find it quest or if I just want to get closer to one of my hero's but getting to attend the woman's funeral is an opportunity I never dreamed of. Plus, that hundred and eighty ain't bad either.
Alexis stood up, smoothed the creases out of her slacks, and turned to go. I stood too. "I have one question," I said just as her manicured hand grabbed the doorknob. "Why didn't you go to Wolff Investigations?" Low key they were the best P.I. in the city. They were also the most expensive which meant a lot of poorer clients came my way for the discount. I doubt Ms. Dupont struggled to afford them.
"Honestly? They turned me down." She smirked and tossed her hair over her shoulder like a true diva. "Said my sister probably already pawned it."
They didn't hire fools at Wolff's. I should probably follow their lead on this one...
"Email the details of the funeral to me, if you would. And that picture of the necklace. And a floor plan of the house."
She nodded and turned to leave. "See you Saturday."
"See you Saturday."
When she left, I leaned back in my chair and smiled. What an interesting turn of events. Looks like tomorrow morning I'd be mingling with my hero's family at a mansion in one of the richest neighborhoods in town. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday.
The alarm on my phone buzzed once. I checked it to find that Alexis had already sent me the address of the funeral parlor, the picture of Diana wearing the necklace, and a crudely drawn and photographed map of their house. I opened the picture of Diana and zoomed in. The necklace was a symmetrical pendant crafted in rose gold, with diamond studded lattices and teardrop pearls. It hung just above the breast and was certainly distinctive, but it was also big, clunky, heavy and, well, the sort of gaudy thing rich people wear less so because it's pretty and more so because it's obviously expensive. If Alexis was having trouble finding that gigantic, gaudy thing it was probably because it was long gone.
But hey, for a hundred and eighty dollars I'd say that was none of my business.