Ellen Gentry was mad as hell. She had worked at this
floral shop for five years and not once had she called in
sick. If her name was on the schedule, she was
here—unless, of course, she was in the hospital or the
morgue.
Apparently, she was the only employee with proper work
ethics. Too bad her paycheck didn't reflect her dedication.
She'd had to run around like a chicken with its head chopped
off to fill this morning's orders all by herself. Nearly
every one had been for an anniversary—not that she was
complaining about that part. Anniversary arrangements were
good for business and almost always included generous tips.
Husbands, even the not so nice ones, typically went all out
for that special celebration. A big old bouquet of flowers
could get a guy out of hot water faster than almost
anything.
Ellen placed the final arrangement in the walk-in cooler
and breathed a sigh of relief. "Done."
It wasn't brain surgery, but her work gave her a sense of
accomplishment. Speaking of surgery, she wouldn't mind
snagging a doctor. There were plenty of them in Birmingham.
She smoothed a hand over her hair and straightened her
apron. These black slacks and white blouse were her
favorites. They fit exactly right. She'd added a nice little
red scarf as an accent. Looking her best wasn't just
something she did for work. It never hurt to showcase her
assets especially since all those husbands would be coming
in to pick up their orders. Married guys were always telling
their single friends about hot chicks they ran into. She
looked pretty good even if she was about to turn thirty.
There was still time to land a husband.
"Before all the good ones are gone," she grumbled. Or
maybe they already are.
Time for a break—if she could find her drink. A
quick survey of the counter and she spotted her Coke Zero
right where she'd left it behind the cash register.
As she guzzled what she fondly called her coffee in a
can, a frown scrunched up her brow. Why was that child still
standing on the sidewalk outside the shop? The traffic was
lighter now that the morning commute was over, but there
were still plenty of cars whizzing along Sixth Avenue.
Ellen tossed the empty can into the trash and wandered to
the door. The little blond haired girl had been standing in
that same spot for going on an hour. Where in the world were
her parents?
Some people were so stupid they didn't deserve to be
parents. Ellen pushed through the door and the bell jingled
overhead. The hot, humid air enveloped her instantly. It was
going to be another scorcher. A few steps outside the door
and she was already sweating.
The little girl didn't turn around. She stared out at the
street as if she were lost. Was someone supposed to pick her
up? Had a parent dropped her off and then driven away? How
crazy was that?
"Hey there." Ellen crouched down, putting herself at eye
level with the little girl who couldn't possibly be older
than four. "What's your name, sweetie?"
The child turned to Ellen and then drew back in fear. Her
little face was red from crying. "Don't be afraid," Ellen
said gently. "Where's your momma?"
The child just stared at her without saying a word. A
piece of plain white paper had been folded and fastened to
her pink dress with a big safety pin. Ellen reached for the
note. Surprisingly, the child held still as she removed it.
This was totally spooky. Ellen's heart beat faster as she
unfolded the paper. The words there were formed with letters
cut out from the newspaper and pasted together. "What in
God's name?" She read the lone statement again.
Take me to Deputy Chief Jess Harris.
Excerpt from Vile by Debra Webb All rights reserved by publisher and author
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