Read Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) for Free Online

He’s turning into a wild animal, like his father.”
    Betsy held herself tightly, even as the urge to flinch struck her. Hellman always brought up her mother’s crimes somehow, as if she needed the reminder. “He belongs in a lunatic asylum,” she agreed.
    “You receive your paycheck tomorrow,” Hellman said, pausing before he continued with a thought that seemed unconnected. “I’ll borrow what I need off you then.”
    “I could buy a house with what you’ve borrowed over the years,” she said, holding her spine so rigidly that the back of her head ached from the compression of it on her neck.
    “You never know, I might marry you yet,” he said, inhaling another half handful of currants.
    “Not on your life.”
    He chuckled. “Ah, but life means so little to you and your bloodline. Play your cards right, you pretty little whore. I might grace you with my name yet.” He doffed his hat in a parody of politeness and opened the door.
    “I’ll see you at the back door tomorrow eve,” he said, smiling genially at a baker who walked by, glancing at him curiously. He strode off, whistling.
    The baker poked his head in. “Courting at work, Miss Popham? I’d not have thought you the sort.”
    Betsy crossed her hands over her striped blouse. “Mr. Hellman was teasing. We’re old friends from the days when he worked with my father at the Bristol factory.”
    The baker nodded. “I think he has his eye on you, miss. You ought to have a word with your father if you aren’t interested. He’ll set that bloke straight.”
    She forced a half smile. “You are quite right. Now tell me, who in your department is sneaking his lunch in the storeroom?”

    Half an hour later, she had the honey culprit identified and had turned the matter over to Mr. Soeur. She couldn’t consider it a firing offense, given that the man was a bit slow and never would have realized his honey habit might bring unwanted vermin into the storeroom. Still, the situation reminded her that she had an unresolved issue in the shop, so she went into the rear hall.
    Her foot squelched on the tiled floor. Squelched? She looked down to find her shoe had landed in a dribble of cream. Crouching down to examine the mess, she found drips of chocolate on the wall as well. Her eyes narrowed. They had excellent night janitorial staff. When her finger touched the chocolate, it still felt soft.
    She leaned against the wall and pulled off her shoe, then wiped it clean with her apron. Then she put her shoe back on, removed her apron, and tucked it into a bin, before silently entering the shop.
    Half a dozen customers perused the glass cases holding an array of spring treats. Fresh rhubarb crumble in individual ramekins was selling briskly, as were flat trifles dusted with coconut and savory pies with a creamed asparagus filling. Betsy wandered behind the staff, looking for telltale evidence of éclair eating. At the far end of the counter, where the glass cases ended against the wall, she found the newest hire, a faint streak of chocolate marring her otherwise spotless apron. Her white cap had canted slightly toward her right ear. Was that gin on her breath? No wonder she was so clumsy.
    “I’d like a word,” Betsy said.
    The girl blinked in a slow, bovine manner, then started to move to the opposite side of the bakery, ignoring a fashionably dressed customer who’d just come up to them, a hopeful gleam in her eye. Betsy wished the girl to perdition as she helped the customer buy a guinea’s worth of teatime treats. After she’d sent the customer on her way, she found the girl leaning on the wall by a cart. Even worse than her slouched posture, she was munching on a preserved pear tart. Where was she hiding all the food? The girl was slender as a reed, and just as unsteady.
    “Miss Brown,” Betsy said. “Did you eat an éclair back here this morning?”
    “I had my elevenses,” the girl said defensively.
    “I wasn’t aware elevenses was a Redcake’s