Vintage Veronica by Erica S. Perl

Author:Erica S. Perl [Perl, Erica S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Industrial & Organizational Psychology, Social Issues, Love & Romance, Psychology, Health & Daily Living, Juvenile Fiction, Work, Vintage clothing, Business; Careers; Occupations, Summer employment, Fiction, Job Hunting, Careers, Clothing & Dress, Peer Pressure, Overweight persons, General, Friendship, Business & Economics, Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance
ISBN: 9780375859236
Publisher: Random House Digital, Inc.
Published: 2010-03-09T05:00:00+00:00

s I enter the Mooks, the smell of donuts and coffee is comforting enough to almost make me forget why I’m there. The sight of the place brings me back. It looks like a bomb went off. There are chairs tipped over, tables askew. For reasons that are not immediately clear to me, there’s flour all over the floor and some of the tables and chairs.

Most of the Mookie’s employees are sitting around one of the larger tables. A few of them are behind the counter, and one of them is actually sitting on the counter. The one on the counter is the first to notice me come in.

“We’re closed,” she informs me. Her voice carries none of the false cheer of retail.

“Yeah, uh, I …” I almost turn and leave. But instead I tell her, “I’m, um … it’s … about the snake?”

“Yeah?” she says.

“I, uh … I know something about the snake.”

She stares at me for a moment.

Then she yells, “Mr. Singh!”

A man appears at the counter and I instantly recognize him as the man who gave Zoe the free donuts. He looks tired, and there is flour all over his striped polo shirt.

“Yes?” he says.

“This girl says she knows something about the snake.”

“I …” I suddenly worry that this is going to lead to me sharing a jail cell with Zoe and Ginger. “It’s not my snake!” I blurt out. “I just … I know the guy who owns the snake, and I just thought maybe I could help get it back to him? It’s not poisonous … I mean, venomous … or anything.”

Mr. Singh looks even more tired.

“Your friends,” he says finally. “Tell them not to come into my donut shop anymore.”

“They’re not my friends,” I tell him sadly.

Mr. Singh doesn’t look convinced. He motions for me to follow him and takes me behind the counter.

The display wall of trays of donuts under fluorescent lights momentarily distracts me. I’ve never been so close to so many donuts before, and I am struck by how lovely they are, all lined up in rows. They look almost like jewelry, some of them; edible bracelets painted with glistening frosting and adorned with jewels—colored sprinkles, toasted coconut, cinnamon sugar. I am tempted to take one, even though I know Mr. Singh will see me and besides, I am not even hungry.

“There,” says Mr. Singh, and I turn and look.

On the floor lies what I almost mistake for a long piece of dough lying in a pile of flour. Then one end twitches and I realize it is Dep the Snake and he is either dead or about to die. There’s flour all around him, too, although the floor shows through here and there like he thrashed around for a while. But the sickening part is there’s a shoe print in the flour right across his middle, and he’s wider there, where he was clearly flattened. Oddly, there is no blood.

“Oh my God,” I say, wincing.

Mr. Singh takes a pair of tongs and pokes Dep tentatively with them.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.