Chapter 3 - The Threat in the Foyer
When Lucy stepped back out into the restaurant corridor, she didn't see Eleanor. Instead, she found her path blocked by Raymond Pierce.
The manager was holding a black trash bag, his face twisted into an expression of utter disgust. "Look, girl," he hissed, stepping closer so his shoulder blocked the exit to the main dining room. "I don't know what kind of con you're pulling on Mrs. Whitmore, but she is a grieving widow and a major shareholder in this restaurant's parent company. I am not letting some gutter rat take advantage of her loneliness."
"I'm not pulling a con," Lucy said, her voice shaking but her eyes holding his. "She invited me."
"She invited a charity case to make herself feel better," Raymond snapped. "Here." He thrust the trash bag toward her. "I had the kitchen pack up the remaining salmon and the dessert. Take it and get out through the back door. If I see you back in the main dining area, I’m calling the police to report a stolen wallet. Do you think the cops will believe you or me?"
Lucy looked at the bag, then past his shoulder. She could see the top of Eleanor’s silver head near the window. The temptation to run—to take the food, escape the threat of the police, and hide in her alley—was overwhelming. The streets had taught her that survival meant avoiding conflict at all costs.
But then she felt the hard, metallic edge of the crescent moon pressing against her ribs.
"Move out of my way, Raymond," Lucy said, her voice suddenly losing its tremor.
Raymond blinked, surprised by the sudden iron in the homeless girl's tone. Before he could grab her arm, a calm, terrifyingly quiet voice echoed from behind him.
May you like
"Is there a problem here, Mr. Pierce?"
Eleanor stood at the entrance of the hallway, her cream suit pristine, her arms crossed. Her eyes weren't tired anymore. They were the eyes of a woman who had broken corporate boards and forced city councils to bend to her will.
