Page 50 of Tackle

Nothing happened.

She got braver, moving stuff around and looking behind boxes. No rats or even a sign of them.

She stepped out of the pantry and turned off the light. “I didn’t see anything.”

“I swear something ran past my feet.” Britney was still on the counter looking like she was going to camp out there.

“I’m not saying something didn’t, but there’s nothing there now.”

“What the hell?” Emerson turned to see Mack coming in from the back alley, carrying a large cardboard box. “Get off my counter!”

Britney scanned the floor one last time before slowly lowering herself to the ground. She couldn’t get out of the kitchen fast enough.

Not that Emerson blamed her, Mack’s face was beet red.

“Now I’ve got to disinfect the whole damn thing,” he grumbled, setting down the box.

“I’ll take care of it,” Emerson appeased. “You just go back to doing what you were doing.”

His expression cleared, and he nodded, “‘preciate it.”

And after that she needed to call the exterminator and have them come out and take a look. Better to be safe than sorry.

The next day the health department showed up.

Emerson was behind the bar prepping for the lunch crowd when Mack poked his head out of the kitchen, signaling for her.

She entered to find two men, both were dressed in short-sleeve, white dress shirts and ties and had badges around their necks attached by lanyards. She could see some kind of official looking seal but couldn’t make out the words wrapped around it. The man on the right held a clipboard.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“Ms. Kelly?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Inspector Franks, this is Inspector Lopez,” the man with the clipboard said. “We’re with the Multnomah County Health Department.”

What the hell? She frowned. They weren’t due for an inspection that she was aware of. “Can I ask what this is regarding?”

Franks looked down at his clipboard, but it was his partner who said, “We’re here to investigate a code violation.”

“Violation?” Emerson was bewildered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Looking a little impatient, Franks chimed in, “Is it okay if we have a look around your kitchen?”

“Sure.” She had nothing to hide.

She was back at the bar, filling a drink order when she heard raised voices. Well, one raised voice, her chef’s.

She rushed back into the kitchen to find Mack, face beet red and brandishing a spatula like a swashbuckler from the days of old. “I’m telling you, that was not there this morning. I run a spotless kitchen.”

“What’s going on?”

Mack turned to her. “These men,” he waved his spatula at the offenders, “say they found rat droppings. In. My. Kitchen.”

“What!” Emerson looked over at the gleaming steel surface of the counter Mack was standing in front of. “That’s not possible.”

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