Death Before Decaf Read Online Free

sister.
    Returning my thoughts to the present, I said, “Now I need to go kick some ass. I’m going to have a little discussion with the staff.”
    He sighed. “I was afraid of that. Let’s get it over with.” Pete was never one for a big, ugly confrontation.
    Putting a hand on his arm, I said, “No, Pete, I need to do this on my own. You’re the good cop, and this is more of a bad cop situation.”
    “Redheaded She-Devil is going to make an appearance, isn’t she?”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “I really will go and stand beside you and be a united front.”
    “Thanks, but I got this. Besides, I need someone to cover the cash register.”
    I picked up the man’s sandwich and marched straight for the kitchen. On my way, I barked to Camille and Rhonda, “Staff meeting in the kitchen. Now.”
    They followed me hesitantly down the hall. I busted through the kitchen door, startling poor Brandon into spilling the soup he was pouring into a bowl. I found Dave sitting on the food prep table, eating a sandwich. Gross. This was going from bad to worse. There was no way I was eating food from here until the entire kitchen had been disinfected. Heaven knew what else went on in here when no one was looking. The whole place seemed a lot grimier than I remembered.
    “Dave,” I snapped, and he turned his head in my direction, but made no move to get his ass off the food preparation surface. “First, it’s a health violation to sit on the prep table. And if you’re going to eat lunch, eat out in the dining area, not the kitchen.”
    Dave didn’t answer—he just glared at me. I could tell that this conversation was not going to be pleasant for anyone involved. Dave was a ginger, just like me, and it’s been my experience that two gingers can’t disagree on a subject without it becoming ugly.
    Once everyone was in the room, I threw the sandwich down next to Dave on the prep table and announced, “We have a problem. This was the sandwich that was served to the man who left here in an ambulance. It has onion on it, and I can’t imagine someone with a severe onion allergy would have ordered it like that. Who was taking orders earlier? Rhonda?”
    “Yes, it was me,” Rhonda said defensively.
    “Do you remember taking the order for the man they just wheeled out of here?”
    “Sure. He asked for a grilled chicken sandwich, no onion. What of it?”
    “Did you enter it that way for the kitchen? Noting the fact that there was to be no onion on the sandwich?”
    “Yeah,” she said. She might as well have said “duh,” which was what her tone implied.
    “Did he say anything about being allergic to onions?”
    “I’ve never heard of anyone being allergic to onions,” Rhonda said coldly, but I could sense that she was dodging the question.
    “Rhonda…” I warned.
    Rhonda’s eyes widened, and she began fidgeting. “He may have mentioned it.”
    I exploded. “Then why in the hell didn’t you write it on the ticket in big letters?”
    “Yeah, Rhonda,” Dave said snidely.
    I turned on him. “Watch it, Dave. That doesn’t get you off the hook
at all
. Did you make this sandwich?”
    He shrugged noncommittally. “I dunno. I make lots of sandwiches.”
    Growling, I replied, “You make
all
of the sandwiches, Dave. When our customers order a sandwich a certain way, they expect to receive what they ordered.” He just continued to stare daggers at me, obviously not intending to share any of the blame. “Hey, don’t give me that attitude. It may not seem like a big deal to you, but the customer was allergic to onions. That makes it a big deal.”
    Dave sneered, “Couldn’t the idiot smell the onion or see it on the sandwich?”
    Redheaded She-Devil really wanted to slap Dave, but I kept her in check. “That’s not the point. He could sue us for negligence, and we would be at fault. And then we could all be out of a job.”
    “Isn’t that what insurance is for?”
    It was, but I was trying to put a little fear