Death Before Decaf Read Online Free Page A

into the staff. It was working on Camille and Brandon, who were practically huddled in a corner. Rhonda and Dave, not so much. “Again, not the point.” Looking at each staff member in turn, I fumed, “A man nearly
died
here today because of our negligence in preparing his food properly. This is
never
to happen again. Are we clear?”
    They murmured in agreement, except Dave, who looked away.
    I snapped, “All of you get back to work. And, Dave, get your dirty ass off that prep table, NOW!” Dave grunted and slid off the table. “Make sure you clean it off immediately…the table, I mean,” I added icily as I stalked away.
    Maybe taking this job wasn’t such a good idea after all. The place wasn’t making money, Rhonda and Dave were giving me fits, Camille and Brandon hadn’t said two words to me, and from what Pete had said, the evening staff was going to be difficult to wrangle at best. To cool down after the morning’s events, I decided to go outside and get some air. I went to my favorite spot—out back under a big shade tree where Pete and I used to sit when we took our breaks. It was also the place where the infamous bee sting incident had occurred, but this time I had the sense to put my EpiPen in my pocket.
    Java Jive was nestled in a formerly residential area between the Belmont and Vanderbilt campuses. It used to be an old house, as were most of the mom-and-pop shops in the neighborhood. That was part of its charm—it was like you were in someone’s home. Not only that, there were trees and shrubs and flowers everywhere, the area largely unmarred by parking lots and strip malls. Aside from the dumpsters and the occasional car in the alleyway, hanging out behind Java Jive was like hanging out in your own backyard. It was always a great escape. Unless you got stung by a bee and nearly died, of course.
    It wasn’t long after I’d sat on the grass that Pete showed up and plopped down next to me. “I saw you through the office window. You look like you’re a million miles away.”
    Truthfully, I was. I wrinkled my nose at him. “Just trying to stuff Redheaded She-Devil back into her cage. I can’t believe my first official managerial duty was to stab a guy with an EpiPen to save him from anaphylactic shock.”
    Patting me on the back, he said, “It was good that you were here. The rest of us might not have realized what was going on.”
    “I guess.” I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. Turning to him, I asked earnestly, “Pete, do you think I’m ever going to connect with the staff? I think they hate me.”
    “You’ve only been here a few hours, during which you ripped all of them a new one. Give them some time.” He was trying to hide a smile, but failing miserably. “I have to know. Did you really tell Dave to get his dirty ass off the prep table?”
    I closed my eyes. “You heard?”
    “He tattled on you.”
    “Dave can suck it.”
    He laughed. “I have no doubt that you two will figure each other out sooner or later. It’ll just take a little time.”
    I gave him a sideways glance. “You’re not much help, you know that?”
    “I’m a musician, not a restaurateur. And so are you, for that matter. Not that I don’t need you here, but when are you going to get your head out of your ass and go back to performing?”
    “Pete,”
I warned. I didn’t want to talk about it.
    “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He paused, his expression and voice becoming wistful. “I just miss hearing you sing, that’s all.”
    I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. That one hit me in the gut. I wanted to sing onstage again so badly. I really did—performing was what I had intended to do with my life. I just couldn’t. I was too scared. Forgetting the lyrics to a
song you wrote
in front of hundreds of people can do that to a person.
    Pete must have noticed my reaction, because he covered with a joke. “Suck it up, buttercup. The evening shift will be here any minute. Maybe you can make a better