The Accidental Cases of Emily Abbott #1
Red Rover, Red Rover
Perry Elisabeth Kirkpatrick
Copyright ©2018 by Perry Elisabeth Kirkpatrick
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by www.PerryElisabethDesign.com with images from www.depositphotos.com
www.perrykirkpatrick.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Thank you for reading!
About the Author
Chapter 1
EMILY TURNED THE KEY in the ignition, but Old Blue just made grinding sounds and refused to start up. She lowered her head to the steering wheel and squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, God?” Bringing her wrist beneath the curtain of her hair, Emily checked her watch. She shook her head slowly, causing the steering wheel to wiggle again.
“One more try, and then I’ll have to start walking to even remotely make it to work on time.” She sat up. “Jogging, actually.”
Taking a deep breath, she tried starting her car again. The grinding turned to a choking sound and the engine almost caught, but with a tired shudder, something under Old Blue’s hood gave up. Probably the starter, she thought.
“Yeah, thanks, dad,” she muttered to herself, gathering her worn purse and lunch sack. “Glad I can identify what’s probably wrong with my car.”
She cranked down the window and reached for the outside handle to open her door. The inside handle had quit working last month. Getting out into the muggy heat, she dropped her keys into her purse and rolled the window back up, popping the lock down and then slamming the car door shut.
The gas station attendant must have noticed her car’s pathetic attempts at starting. He came out of the convenience store at a jog.
“Hi,” she said, heading him off before he suggested something expensive, like calling a tow truck. “I just finished pumping the gas, but apparently my car’s starter has decided it doesn’t like me now. Mind if I leave it here and come back for it later? I mean—not here, here. Not in front of the gas pump. Maybe you could help me push it to the parking spaces over there?”
The man stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked from her to the car for a long moment. “Okay, sure. I guess it doesn’t hurt anything for you to leave it over there. Can’t guarantee it won’t get towed if you leave it overnight, but...”
She shook her head. “I’ll figure out something if I can. But I’m gonna be super late for work if I don’t hustle. Do you mind?”
The man shrugged and walked around the back of the car. Emily almost sagged in relief. “Thanks a million for helping.”
They pushed together, and the car moved forward slowly. A tall, lanky kid hopped out of a nearby truck and pitched in. After a few, slow minutes, the car was safely in a parking space across from the pumps. Emily thanked her helpers. The kid rejoined his mother and they drove away. The gas station attendant shoved his hands back in his pockets.
“Well,” he said with a shrug, “I hope your day gets better.”
“Yeah,” Emily said, “me too.” She scrubbed at the perspiration on her forehead and took another fearful look at her watch. “Yikes. I gotta run.” Literally.
She jogged away, heading for the sidewalk.
“If you wait, a bus will be stopping right here in maybe 15 minutes,” the attendant called.
“No time!” she called over her shoulder. And no money. I just put it in the gas tank!
Since monsoon season had arrived, it had actually rained overnight, leaving the temperature just under 100 degrees. The humidity was stifling, however, and Emily felt her jog slowing to ragged walk as she took gulps of air and tried to ignore the rivulet of sweat running down the center of her back.
She sincerely hoped the patrons of Sunrise Coffee wouldn’t notice if her anti-perspirant gave up. “My bigger problem would be if Terry noticed...” The thought of the manager of the downtown location, made her pick up the pace once again. She was already late and she still had two more crosswalks to make it through. Her dad’s favorite words of frustration bubbled up inside her as she checked her watch. She stuffed them down, however, with a silent prayer of apology.
So Old Blue wouldn’t start. That was not entirely surprising, given the little two-door’s age and mileage, but it was very, very inconvenient. She tried to guess what a tow truck would cost.
Too much.
And then there was the trouble of deciding where to have it worked on. The only mechanic she knew was buddies with her dad, but she didn’t particularly care for his friends.
She could ask at church. Someone there was bound to know of a reputable garage, but could she afford it?
“There’s $4,467 dollars in my savings. I can afford it, but—” she stopped speaking aloud since her lungs were already taxed enough from jogging in the soupy air.
She stopped at the street corner and smacked the crosswalk button with a sweaty hand. She rested both palms on her knees and took long, deep breaths.
Three lanes of cars zoomed past her on the one-way street, but she tuned out the noise and focused instead on subtracting out her best estimates for a tow truck and a new starter.
“Leaving the college fund at—” The light changed and she started into the crosswalk. On her left, a car revved and she whipped her head around.
With a gasp, she ran the rest of the way across the street. One-way streets were a nightmare for drivers and pedestrians—but especially pedestrians. She didn’t stop running until she reached the back entrance to Sunrise Coffee.
She paused just a moment outside the door and waited for her hammering heart to settle. She wiped her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut against a headache that was threatening.
Hooray for heat and humidity. And we always say Phoenix is a dry heat.
It would be cool inside, but she hesitated just a moment, her finger hovering over the keypad on the door. Terry wouldn’t be happy she was so late.
Grimacing, she punched in the code and slipped into the back of the coffee shop. She removed a homemade salad from her lunch bag, placed it in the small refrigerator, and hung her purse on the hooks near the door.
She pulled a black apron over her head, still feeling a little dizzy from the heat. Something niggled at the back of her mind. Something was different. She looked around her curiously. The back room of the coffee shop looked the same as it always did. Boxes of supplies stacked on neat, metal shelving. A small table for lunch breaks. A door leading to a tiny bathroom.
She tied the apron snugly around her waist and turned to walk down the short hall to the coffee prep area and her station behind the counter.
“What—?” She clapped a hand over her mouth and stared.
Standing at the register—her register—was a very tall, lean ma
n with dark, almost-black hair. He wore an apron matching hers—although tied very sloppily—and was meticulously counting out change for a beaming customer.
He deposited the change in the person’s hand and said, “We’ll get that mocha ready for you.”
He turned sharply on his heel and saw Emily. She snapped her mouth shut, wondering how long it had been hanging open.
“Oh, hi,” he said, dimpling.
Chapter 2
THEY HIRED SOMEONE? When did they hire someone? Terry didn’t say anything about—
He was clean-shaven with a nice jawline and a cleft chin. He had lighter eyes—whether they were blue or green, Emily couldn’t say, but they were smiley. His dark black hair was a bit shaggy on top, tousled, but finger-combed into some semblance of order.
The man’s expression was looking a bit quizzical, and an amused half-smile played around his lips.
“Oh—sorry,” Emily stuttered. “Who are you?”
“He’s the new recruit,” Terry said, appearing from around the corner. She looked Emily up and down, making her squirm. “I don’t even want to know what happened to you. You just get busy training the new guy. We’ll talk about your tardiness later.”
Emily’s gaze darted to the man. He was measuring out coffee beans—wrongly. She winced. “Of course, Terry.”
The older woman narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, accenting the fine wrinkles around her mouth. “When you wash up, you might want to take a look in the bathroom mirror,” she added in an undertone.
Emily’s heart lurched, and she touched her cheeks. I’m probably a complete and utter mess after that run in the heat.
But now the new guy was going to totally mess up the espresso machine. ”Hold on there—” she sought out the name tag on his apron “—Brent. That’s not how—. Here, just—um.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, “I told the customer I’m new, so they expect me to be slow. I’ll sort of putter around while you go—” he waved his hand vaguely at her. “When you get back, you can show me proper espresso etiquette.”
“You got it, mister,” Emily said, releasing a pent-up breath. “Just—don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”
She hurried to the tiny bathroom in the back and flicked on the light. “Oh goodness,” she groaned, covering her face with both hands.
Her face was red as a cherry from the heat and exertion, and sweat lines tracked through a fine layer of grime. And her hair—!
“Ugh. Messy buns aren’t supposed to be this messy!” she hissed to herself, mortified. Tugging the ponytail holder free, she finger-combed her hair into submission and redid the bun as fast as she could.
Brent can only buy me so much time before it gets awkward, she thought.
She frowned at her reflection, splashed cold water over her face, and then washed her hands thoroughly. She shook her head. At least her appearance was cleaner—less like heat-stroke on legs, and her messy bun was back to an acceptable degree of intentionally messy.
Best go meet the new guy properly. They’d better not be replacing me. I’ve worked here a year, and I’m good at it. The college fund needs—
She headed out of the bathroom and caught Terry’s scrutinizing look as she passed through the back room. She sighed and squared her shoulders.
“Sorry about all that,” she said in an undertone, joining Brent at the espresso machine once again.
He shrugged and gave her a crooked smile. “Rough morning?”
“You have no idea.”
Brent darted a glance behind them, and she did the same. The customer was beginning to jangle her keys impatiently.
“You know what, let me just make this order, and I’ll introduce you to our espresso machine after.” Brent agreed with a nod. He turned and leaned back against the counter, watching her prepare the drink.
In a jiffy, she’d handed the impatient woman her drink and thanked her for her patience.
“You’re good at this,” Brent commented. “Been doing it a while?”
“A little over a year,” she said, quickly wiping down the counter. “What’s your experience?”
Brent shrugged noncommittally.
She eyed him but didn’t get to press it further. One of their regulars had just pulled open the glass door and was sauntering to the counter.
Emily bit back a sigh. “I’ve just decided you owe me one. Take this guy’s order, if you would?” she whispered.
Brent eyed the skinny teen boy approaching the counter, and then glanced back at Emily with that confused and amused look before heading to the register.
“Hey, man, what can I get ya?”
Emily busied herself checking the water reservoir on the espresso machine and sweeping invisible particles off the countertop near her. She kept her back to the kid and Brent.
When she heard the order, she started prepping it.
“So, smoothies—” Brent’s voice said quite near her all of a sudden.
She jumped. “Goodness, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
He tried to look contrite.
“I can tell you’re trying not to laugh at me,” she said, trying to sound severe. “There’s frozen fruit arranged alphabetically in the freezer.”
Emily started to shove the blender cup at him, but then realized if she sent him off to get the ingredients from the freezer himself, she’d be left to talk to the skater kid staring holes through her back.
“I’ll show you.”
“You do that,” Brent said.
They rounded the corner to the chest freezer in the short hall leading to the back room. Emily handed him the blender cup. “One scoop each of frozen bananas and blueberries. Make sure you seal the containers up well each time, or they’ll get frostbite.”
“Frostbite, really?” Brent echoed, mirth evident in his voice.
“Oh, stop it. Freezer burn. Whatever.”
“So what’s the deal with Skater Boy?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Kid’s like 15 and has this massive crush on me. It’s hard to get him to leave once he strikes up a conversation.”
“Not your type, I take it.”
“Oh, stop it.”
He looked like he wanted to say something more—something teasing—but he bit it back and saluted smartly instead. “Yes, ma’am.”
She took the blender from him and returned to the prep counter. Adding the milk, sugar, and vanilla, she settled it onto the blender base and turned the loud beast on. It roared as it chewed through hunks of frozen bananas and obliterated the blueberry seeds.
The blissful lack of conversation while blending was her favorite part about making Skater Boy’s smoothies. When she couldn’t possibly go any longer without turning it into a melted drizzle, she turned off the blender.
Pouring the smoothie into a cup, she turned to hand it to Brent. He was busy scrubbing the counter and had his back to her.
Fine. She walked the few steps to where Skater Boy lounged against the pickup counter and held out the cold cup.
“Here you are.”
“Hey,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Thanks a bunch, Emily.”
“Yep,” she said with a grim smile.
The kid was undeterred. “Hey, so—” he said in a whisper, leaning across the counter. “You gonna give me your number yet, or what?”
Emily closed her eyes for a moment. We’ve been over this. Her eyes flew open and she held out her hand. “You know what? Sure. Give me a scrap of paper.”
The kid looked like he’d won the lottery. He fished his receipt out of the pocket of his skinny jeans and passed it to her.
Flipping it over she scrawled something and handed it back.
The teen’s eyes widened and then narrowed as he read it. His muttered curse caused Brent to turn toward them, alert.
“You think this is funny?” Skater Boy asked, leaning forward and glaring at her. He took a long, noisy slurp of his smoothie.
Hope he gets a brain freeze.
; “You think you’re so smart! My doc thinks I might be lactose intolerant, so now I guess if that milk you put in there kills me, you’ll be getting a big fat lawsuit.”
Emily frowned. Was he threatening her?
“You need to lighten up, kid.” Brent’s voice at her elbow startled Emily yet again. “And just a quick tip from a guy who’s pretty good at not running the girls off: when they tell you no—just drop it.”
Something in his voice made Emily half-turn and glance at Brent. He was staring steadily at Skater Boy, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
Whoa! Major bodyguard stance, there.
“Whatever, man.” The kid slunk out of the coffee shop, but not before flipping off the new barista.
“What did you write on the receipt?” Brent asked, the amused tone returning to his voice.
Emily looked up at him. “Oh nothing much, just ‘I’m too old for you; knock it off.’”
Brent threw back his head and laughed.
“Well, it’s true! I’m 19! Way out of his—oh, never mind.” Emily shook her head. “Glad I’m so funny.”
Chapter 3
“YOU ARE WITHOUT A DOUBT, the second-worst barista this shop has seen,” Emily said seriously, staring down at the splatter pattern made by 16 ounces of iced soy latte.
“Second worst?”
Emily didn’t answer him immediately. “I’m sorry, sir, it will be just another moment,” she said apologetically to the businessman waiting at the pickup counter. He nodded without looking up and continued typing rapidly on his phone.
Brent had already located the mop and was starting in on the mess.
“Yes,” she said, starting the drink over from scratch. “Second worst because the last new-hire didn’t even try. She just seemed to be here to watch me work.”
“Huh,” Brent said. “Well, maybe she was undercover—one of those mystery shoppers, checking up on you. Or maybe a health inspector?”
“I don’t think you can become a health inspector at 16.”
“Well, you do have a point.” He wheeled the mop bucket away as she handed the replacement coffee to the waiting business man.
Red Rover, Red Rover Page 1