Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 32: Selling

Neither Jacob nor Angela showed up at the restaurant for a few additional nights. I kept myself occupied with work, so much so that I earned more tips than normal. Maybe it was because the troll wasn't breathing down my neck, or that I was doing well blocking out all my problems. Either way, the heavy business was an escape.

I heard nothing from Jacob—no phone calls, no texts. Radio silence. I knew deep down that I longed to see him again. There was a hole in my chest I boarded up years ago when my mother left me and with Jacob gone, it was like the wooden planks broke apart, not sturdy enough to withstand the hurricane of emotions I felt.

It wasn't that I was worried about not seeing him again—we agreed to—it was a matter of when. Would it be tomorrow? Next week? In two months? How much time away was enough? Whether I was jumping the gun or not, I had a vicious desire to see him soon. I knew I could only distract myself with repetitive job duties and home life for so long.

When I arrived at work, Payton was the only one of my coworkers there. She greeted me with a wide, hysterical grin.

"You won't believe it!" she cheered.

"What?"

"Angela's stuff isn't here; her office is empty."

"You're kidding?" I asked in disbelief. I threw my bag on the bar and scampered down the steps. Sure enough, her desk that was once a mess of papers was now cleared off.

I rushed to clock in, then took a quick glance over the vacancy. I almost couldn't believe my own eyes. There wasn't a trace of her belongings left, just a bare desk that now revealed the age-old scratches and nicks all over the top.

Tony arrived shortly after I got back upstairs and he was jubilant over the news. "The wicked witch is dead?"

His comment irked me—My blood ran cold and speculated if he had discovered a connection between her and Jacob during any of his unwarranted research. However, Tony made no glances at me and casually continued his usual routine.

The older couple who owned the Last Olive Bistro visited on Friday. It was a slow afternoon and everyone took turns catching up on their greetings, informing the owners of how we were doing in our respective jobs. They gave us each the chance to make suggestions about how they could improve the place. Some said new carpeting should be installed at the entrance, Payton said she could use a faster hostess computer, but none of us brought up the motion that the assumed removal of Angela was all we could ever have asked for.

Payton and I hung out up front as the owners did their examination. We watched them conduct a thorough inspection, top to bottom, in and out, front to back. The only other time I met them, they did a simple once-around, this was much more exhaustive.

"Do you really think Angela was fired?" Payton asked. "Or she quit?"

"I don't know," I said. I had my own ideas about why she disappeared, but nothing of which I could share with Payton, nor anyone. Tony's offhand remark still bothered me as to how much he actually knew.

The owners eyed a small crack in the wall above the bar. Tony coolly brushed it off and said that it had been there for years; it was probably just broken plaster and he suggested a new coat of paint would do the trick.

"We'll have to note that for the foundation inspection," the male owner said to his wife.

"They said they were bringing in their own people to check everything," she responded. "They're buying as-is."

The husband shrugged. "It's better to have two opinions, just in case they try to swindle us. I have my guy and they have theirs."

Tony cocked his head. "Who?"