Mug Shot Read Online Free Page B

the milk, it shoots out everywhere.”
    “I’m never going to figure this stupid machine out,” she wailed.
    I refrained from pointing out that if she actually listened to the instructions I kept giving her, she would have already figured the stupid machine out.
    Cole, who unfortunately was my best and most experienced night shift barista now, rolled his eyes at her. “Dude, seriously. Why don’t you work the pastry case for a while, Tiff? At least the cookies can’t attack you. Damn.” Ouch. If Cole, of all people, cast doubt on your intelligence and job skills, you were pretty much a loser.
    Pouting, Tiffany slouched over to the pastry case, letting Cole take her spot at the espresso machine. Haley, my other new hire, was at the cash register, watching our exchange through her big, buggy glasses and chewing on a piece of her hair. I grimaced. I couldn’t stand it when she played with her hair while she was behind the counter—it was so unsanitary. Someone was going to end up with her hair in their food at some point. But, every time I said something to her about it, she would dissolve into tears and cause a big scene, and then I had to deal with that. I didn’t have the energy tonight, so I let it slide. At least she was handling money instead of food.
    Near closing time, I went back to the office to do the end-of-day report, and, more importantly, to hide. I was dead tired. I had worked all morning, attended the funeral and the repast, dealt with all of the Hollingsworth drama, and then come back to work until closing. I could think of nothing better than curling up in my bed the minute I got home.
    Cole stuck his head into the office and said, “Juliet, there’s a fancy-looking dude out here who wants to see you.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “A fancy-looking dude?”
    “Yeah. He kind of looks like…that old guy. George Clooney.”
    Stan. I didn’t agree with Cole’s assessment that he looked like George Clooney (mainly because his hair was light brown and he wasn’t old enough to be my dad), but he was undoubtedly every bit as handsome. Puzzled, I wondered why in the world Stan would have come here to see me. The warnings about Stan from Pete and Ryder replayed in my head, and I began to get an uneasy feeling. Did he come here to smooth things over, or did he come here to threaten me to keep my damn mouth shut?
    Warily, I came out of the back hallway. Stan was sitting at a table, looking haggard, which wasn’t like him. His tie was crooked, and his jacket was rumpled. When he saw me, he broke into a tired-looking smile. Ever the gentleman, he stood when I approached his table and offered me a chair.
    We both sat down, and he began, “Juliet, I can’t imagine what you think of me right now, but it’s very important to me that you know I would never hurt my sister.” His eyes were anguished and pleading, something I had never seen from him before. He took my hands in his. His were shaking, poor guy. “I don’t know exactly what you saw, but it’s not what you think. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
    I smiled, but regarded him carefully. He seemed truthful enough, but the last two men I dated lied right to my face, repeatedly, and I had no clue. I hated feeling gullible. “I don’t know what to believe, Stan. I didn’t see you up there myself, because I was busy helping Abigail. Do you know how she’s doing?”
    A pained expression crossed his face. “She’s doing as well as can be expected. She twisted an ankle and broke a wrist, and she has a mild concussion. She should be able to go home tomorrow.” He rubbed his eyes. “It happened so fast. You have to believe that I had nothing to do with it.”
    I wondered why it was so important to him that I believed his story. Pete saw him at the top of the landing overlooking the foyer, which was not a point in his favor. Not that it meant Stan pushed her, but something was definitely going on. I certainly didn’t want to put blinders on