He nodded.
“And in uniform!” she added with a smile.
He looked down at his apron. “I took the shirt and apron home and washed them a few times to make them softer. I think it worked. The fabric isn’t bothering me like it was yesterday.”
“Good to hear! So you’re thinking of jumping on the register?”
“If that’s alright...” he said. “You’re the boss.” He eyed her. Bridget thought she sensed a hidden message behind his look. He has information for me, she thought. I’ll have to ask him about it later. My first priority is to talk to Christine.
“It’s fine by me,” she said. She looked at Christine and wondered if now would be a good time to pull her aside for questioning.
Sebastian seemed to read her mind. “If you two have things to talk about, I can handle this on my own.”
“You sure?” Christine asked. “Because we all saw how food went for you yesterday.”
Bridget heard Adrienne, somewhere behind them, give a hearty guffaw. Sean snickered.
Bridget was afraid that Sebastian would take offense. To her surprise, he chuckled. “I made a mess of that,” he said. “But I’m feeling pretty confident about the register. Bridget, you and Christine have something to talk about, don’t you?”
“That’s right... actually,” Bridget said, giving Sebastian a subtle nod of thanks. “We do. Christine, can I chat with you in the back for a sec?”
She heard Sebastian greeting a customer as they walked away. “Welcome to Glitter Cup, what can I get started for you, sir?” he asked.
Bridget smiled to herself. It seemed Sebastian had undergone somewhat of a transformation the night before, and she wondered if the change in his demeanor had anything to do with what they’d talked about.
When she reached her office, she motioned for Christine to sit.
Christine did not. Instead she hovered over a cardboard box that was sitting on the edge of Bridget’s desk. “Oh! It’s the St. Patrick's Day decorations! Can we open them? I can’t wait to put them up!” she clapped her hands.
Christine had always reminded Bridget of a cheerleader. It didn’t seem far outside of the realm of possibility that Christine might at any moment pull pom poms from her apron pocket and burst into a song and dance about the latest Glitter Cup Café special deal. Bridget loved the company she worked for, and she suspected that Christine loved it even more. Could someone so enthusiastic and cheerful stoop so low as to try to blackmail another person—especially her boss’s father?
It seemed very unlikely to Bridget, which was why she’d left questioning Christine for last. Though Bridget didn’t suspect Christine, she was hoping that the cheery blonde barista might have some information that would implicate either Adrienne or Sean. Bridget also knew that she might be surprised, and Christine could be the guilty party herself.
“Maybe we’ll start decorating Monday,” Bridget said. “I didn’t pull you back here to show you the decorations. I actually want to talk to you about Tuesday morning—the morning that my dad’s folder went missing.”
She watched Christine’s reaction carefully, but didn’t see any signs of guilt—no rush of blood to the cheeks, averted gaze, or worry lines. Instead, Christine looked right back at Bridget with a steady gaze and said, “Right... your dad’s folder with the multi-million-dollar idea inside. Do you think someone stole it?”
Bridget gave a noncommittal shrug. “Did you happen to see it that morning? Sean said you were the one who cleaned off the tables.”
Christine rolled her eyes. “Of course I was. Who else would?”
“Sean,” Bridget said.
Christine laughed. “I wish! No, he doesn’t do much to help with opening duties.”
“He doesn’t?”
For the first time, Christine looked uncomfortable. She sat down in the folding chair. “Sorry, Bridget,—I’m not trying to throw him under the bus or anything; you know I love Sean. He’s my friend. I’m just saying... ever since he started designing that tiny house, it’s all he talks about.... The siding, the roof, the walkway, yada yada yada.” She rolled her eyes again. “On and on and on he goes. That morning, he was all fired up about something that happened with his buddy who was helping him build it. While I was working, he was on his phone, probably sending messages to that guy. Tim, I think his name was.”
Bridget nodded. What Christine was saying fit with the rest of the information she’d gathered so far. “I’m sorry you’ve had to carry so much of the weight,” she said. “I’ll have a word with Sean.”
“I’m not sure it’s going to do any good,” Christine said, “since he’s already got one foot out the door.” Her eyes widened. “Oops!” She clamped her hands over her mouth. Through her fingers she said quietly, “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”
Bridget sighed. “It’s okay. I know about his plans to quit once his house is built.”
“Did he tell you?”
Bridget shook her head. “I just kind of pieced it together.” Just because Sean had money problems and was planning to quit soon didn’t necessarily mean he was the blackmailer. She needed more evidence before she confronted him. “Christine, do you remember seeing the folder while you were wiping down the tables?”
Christine shook her head. “I would have had to move it... and I didn’t, so I’m sure it was no longer on the table when I cleaned.” She frowned. “Oh, wait a sec—there were some books on the table. I picked them up and brought them into the back room so that one of us could put them away when we got time. Maybe I scooped up the folder along with the books...?”
“You brought the stack of books into the back room?” Bridget said.
“Yeah, I remember now,” Christine said. “I did.”
“When was that?” asked Bridget.
“Oh, I don’t know, probably after getting all the coffees brewing,” Christine said, “and that usually takes a good twenty minutes. Then I usually get the tables wiped down while I bring out the cream and milk. So, must have been about 6:20 or 6:30. Then I brought them over to the bookstore side to reshelve them when I had a lull, probably about a half hour or so before you got in.”
Bridget thought about Tuesday morning. She’d arrived at work a little bit before 9:00. “So that would have been at about 8:30,” she said aloud. “And the folder wasn’t with the books at that time?”
Christine shook her head. “Nope,” she said.
“Got it,” Bridget said. “So it sounds like the folder was in the back room from 6:30 to 8:30.” She was getting closer. She imagined Christine walking into the back room with the stack of books in her hands. The folder could have been at the bottom of the stack, unbeknownst to Christine. That’s strange, she thought. When I talked to Adrienne, she didn’t say anything about Christine bringing books to the back room. Why not?
Bridget asked a few more questions, but nothing new or enlightening popped up. Then Christine chatted about a vacation request she was going to put in for a late April trip to the Bahamas. As Christine talked about the turquoise water and white sand, Bridget started to wish for a vacation herself. The tension of the last few days, plus the lack of sleep, was starting to catch up with her. She had a throbbing headache as she dismissed Christine from her office.