A Breath of Dead Air (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 8)
Page 21
“Aww.”
“No, it’s true. Dad always wanted me to be an architect, but drawing isn’t my strong suit.”
“Or math.”
“Or any of the other skills involved.”
“Too true.”
“So that’s how I got into the business. I owe it all to V.”
“Aww.”
“It’s true!”
Suddenly a soft whistle sounded. Searching around for the source of it, Yvonne was surprised when it seemed to emanate from Matt. His face was all red again, and he seemed to be blowing through his teeth.
She then saw Brian staring at her with something of awe in his eyes. “They’re good. They’re really good.”
“I’ve had it,” declared Matt, shoving back his chair. It scraped on the floor with a horrible sound. Just like a piece of chalk scratching across the blackboard. She hated that sound. “I’ve had it with you two!”
Yvonne felt her own temper rising. She knew where this guy was coming from. She knew it all too well. “We’re garbagewomen and we’re proud of it, buster.”
“Damn proud!”
“Too long the profession has been dominated by men. Well, we’re here to tell you that women can do that job and do it well!
“Do it better!”
“And if you don’t like it, you can lump it!”
“Tell him where to put it, V!”
“You can take your petty masculine prejudices and your wounded ego and shove it up your—”
“Matt! Brian!” Feet slapped the cement floor as Frank came racing into the room. Yvonne hadn’t even noticed he’d left. The angular agent was waving a tablet computer in his hand, and seemed extremely excited about something. Panting, he placed the tablet on the table, and pointed at something.
“What’s happening, V?”
“That Frank fellow you like so much just came waltzing in here with his iPad and now he’s showing it to the hot guy who’s jealous of the fact that women can pick up garbage as well as men.”
The hot guy held up his hand with a pained expression. “Please. Refrain from speaking.”
Brian tut-tutted. “You gave them the truth serum, Matt. Now don’t be cross when they speak their mind.”
“They’re driving me nuts. Now what do we have here?” He studied the information for a moment, then his eyes perceptibly widened. “It can’t be.”
Frank nodded excitedly. “It is.” He pointed at something else on the tablet.
Matt shook his head. “No way.”
“Way. Look.”
After a long pause, the three men looked up simultaneously, and gazed at Yvonne intently.
Matt was the first to speak. “You are a sanitation worker.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Uh-huh. And if you’ve got a problem with that, you can shove it up your—”
“Your whole family works in the waste management industry.”
Yvonne lifted her chin. “Assenheimers are the waste management industry.”
“You tell em, V.”
“You don’t know Oswin Grant.”
“Well, unless he’s Hugh’s brother, I’ve never heard of the man.”
She noticed with interest how a small vein on Matt’s left temple was throbbing. The man definitely had anger management issues. “So what the hell were you doing there?”
“Picking up garbage of course. What do you think we were doing there?”
He angrily stabbed at the tablet. “I have your schedule here. You weren’t supposed to be anywhere near Canal Street!”
Yvonne’s eyebrows shot up. Oops. “I, erm…”
“Did I get it wrong again, V? Is that what they’re saying?”
“It’s all right, Iz. I’ve got this.” She glared at Matt. “We thought it more time efficient to do Canal Street first, sir. After all, we are professionals and, being professionals, we sometimes like to interpret the schedule in a, erm, creative way.”
“I took the wrong turn again, didn’t I?” Izzy gave a short laugh.
“Let me handle this, Iz.”
Matt eyed her blankly. “You took a wrong turn?”
“Not wrong per se, sir. Just different.”
“Third time this happened to me this week. Duh.”
“Don’t say another word, Iz. You’re discriminating yourself.”
“Incriminating,” Brian intoned automatically.
“We are sanitation workers and we like to do things our way. And that’s the last thing I have to say on the matter.”
She would have folded her arms across her ample chest at these words, but since her hands were still strapped behind her back, she found it difficult to accomplish that particular feat.
For a moment, silence reigned supreme as the three men stared at her, seemingly lost for words. Then the oldest one, the white-haired one, gave a short jerk with his head, and as if on cue, his two younger colleagues joined him for an impromptu meeting out of earshot of Yvonne and Izzy.
Yvonne gave a deep sigh. “We’re so busted.”
“I’m sorry, honey. Each time that GPS thingie says left, I always think it really means right.”
“It’s fine, Iz. They can’t fire us over a little thing like that. Can they?”
“Of course not. They’d be crazy to fire two fine workers such as ourselves.”
“We did forget to take our shots.”
“That’s true.”
“And we did mess up the schedule.”
“True, too.”
Yvonne closed her eyes with a groan. “Pops will kill me. No Assenheimer has ever been let go from the DSNY before.”
Finally, the three men seemed to have concluded their little meeting, and approached. Judging from their inscrutable faces, Yvonne feared the worst.
“You’re going to fire us, aren’t you? Hottie Matt?”
“Don’t fire us, Hottie Matt. I promise I’ll learn to distinguish left from right.”
At the mention of the moniker, Matt furrowed his brow. “Would you stop with the hottie thing already?”
Yvonne knew it was all over. “If you don’t fire us, I’ll bear your children! I mean, I’d bear your children regardless, cause you’re so hot—the hottest man I’ve ever seen—”
“Enough already!” he roared, slapping the table with his palm.
“Ouch. That must hurt,” said Yvonne as she watched him wince.
“You two are without a doubt the most skilled agents I’ve ever seen. To my knowledge, no one has ever beaten Sodium Pentothal before. The fact that you did, tells me all I need to know.”
“Uh-huh.” She knew the ax was about to fall, and she braced herself.
Matt fixed her with a stern gaze. “Yvonne Assenheimer and Izzy Superczyński?” Suddenly his face creased into a wide smile. “I would like to formally request you to join the operation in full employ.”
Yvonne managed a feeble smile. “Join? The CIA?”
“A division of the CIA, to be precise,” murmured Frank.
Matt gave her a grin. “We are ASS. Actionable Secrets Service. More intelligent than the CIA. More secure than the NSA. More investigative than the FBI. More, um, homely than the DHS. We are the cream of the crop. The best of the best.” His smile widened. “And we’d be honored to welcome you two remarkable ladies on board.”
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About Nic
Nic Saint is the pen name for writing couple Nick and Nicole Saint. They’ve penned 40+ novels in the romance, cat sleuth, middle grade, suspense, comedy and cozy mystery genres. Nicole has a background in accounting and Nick in political science and before being struck by the writing bug the Saints worked odd jobs around the world (including massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).
When they’re not writing they enjoy Christmas-themed Hallmark movies (whether it’s Christmas or not), all manner of pastry, comic books, a daily dose of yoga (to limber up those limbs), and spoilin
g their big red tomcat Tommy.
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Also by Nic Saint
The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse
One Spoonful of Trouble
Two Scoops of Murder
Three Shots of Disaster
Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
A Twist of Wraith
A Touch of Ghost
A Clash of Spooks
Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)
The Stuffing of Nightmares
A Breath of Dead Air
Standalone Novels
When in Bruges
Once Upon a Spy
The Whiskered Spy
Copyright © 2016 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.
Published by Puss in Print Publications.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
Editor: Chereese Graves.