Free Evil Eclairs by Jessica Beck

we’re about to violate here.”
    I waved around with my hand. “Do you see any police tape anywhere?”
    “No,” she admitted reluctantly.
    “Any cops doing any investigating?” I asked.
    “No.”
    “Then we’re okay.”
    I tried the driver’s side door.
    It was locked.
    “Check the other doors,” I said.
    No luck. The car, if it had a single clue in it that the police had overlooked, wasn’t going to do us any good.
    Grace headed back toward the Jeep. “Too bad it didn’t work out coming here, but you’ve got to admit, that happens sometimes.”
    “I’m not finished yet.”
    I went to the building’s door and tried the handle. It, too, was locked. Someone had to be there. The station couldn’t run itself, could it? I pounded for a full minute.
    “Give up. It’s no use.”
    Just as I was about to take her advice, the door opened.
    A young man I didn’t know answered, wearing a faded blue jumpsuit with his name emblazoned on the pocket.
    “Hi, Tim,” I said.
    His gaze narrowed. “Hello. How did you know my name?”
    “I thought it was something you might want to get off your chest.”
    “Excuse me?”
    Grace pushed past me. “Pardon my friend; she’s got an odd sense of humor. She’s talking about your coveralls.”
    He looked down and saw his own name stitched in red, then nodded his understanding.
    Grace continued, “My friend was interviewed here yesterday, and she left her purse. Do you mind if we look around for it?”
    “I don’t know,” Tim said. “I could get in trouble.”
    “How about a dozen free donuts tomorrow before you go to work?” I asked. In the past, donut bribes had gotten me places that even cash couldn’t.
    Tim looked around outside to see if anyone was watching us, and then held the door open. “Can I get them early? I go to work at six A.M. ”
    “Perfect. I open at five-thirty.”
    He grinned, and then added, “Don’t take anything, and don’t go anywhere marked off-limits. You’ve got twelve minutes.”
    “One for each donut,” I said with a smile.
    He went back to his cleaning, and I started looking for Lester Moorefield’s desk. I’d half expected to find it blocked off by police tape, but it was bare. I started checking drawers, but someone—most likely the police—had cleaned everything out.
    “There’s nothing here,” I said.
    Grace looked around. “Nothing that’s going to help us, at any rate.”
    “Hang on a second, I’m not ready to give up yet.”
    “I have to say, you’re obsessed when you get an idea in your head.”
    I found Tim cleaning up in the break room. He glanced at his watch. “Done so quickly? You’ve still got seven minutes left.”
    “We might not need it. Did you empty the trash can by Lester’s desk today?”
    He looked confused by my question. “Sure, but why do you care? Do you think someone threw it away?”
    “Threw what away?” I asked.
    “Your purse. That’s why you’re here, right?”
    For an instant I’d forgotten all about our ruse. It was a good thing I wasn’t a spy. I’d never be able to keep up with all the lies I’d have to tell. “That’s right; my purse. It’s not all that big, so it could be anywhere.”
    He rooted around in the collecting bin. There was a divider down the middle; one side held general trash, and the other held papers, disposable bottles, and other recyclables. “Sorry, there’s no purse here.”
    “But you emptied Lester’s can today,” Grace repeated.
    “I did it just before you two came in, but it was mostly just paper. I’d have noticed a purse.”
    I nodded, and made an urgent gesture to Grace that I hoped Tim wouldn’t see. She caught on without any more coaching. “Tim, is there supposed to be water leaking in the bathroom in the hallway?”
    “I thought they fixed that,” he said as he grabbed a mop from his cart and sped for the hall.
    The second he was gone, I said, “That was an oddly freaky good guess.”
    “Don’t give me too much credit.