Page 38 of Tamiko and the Two Janitors
“I know.” Rook smiled softly. “You’ve been receivingmessages in quick succession. It may be urgent.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. Maybe she should have turned her phoneoff during working hours. “May I?”
He shooed her away, and she hurried to her locker in thechanging room. Pulling her phone from her pack, she strolled toward thebreakroom while opening her messages. They were all from Tami. She must havebeen texting at regular intervals for the last hour.
Sorry. I’m here.
Something has come up at home.
Are you able to get away?
I’m at work, and I have a
practicum this afternoon.
Can someone cover for you?
Could you skip class?
A principal is asking
me to skip class?
I’ll give you a note if it would help.
What’s going on?
Hard to explain.
Grandad thinks you’ll understand.
Why me?
What came through next wasn’t an explanation. It was asnapshot of Uncle Abel holding a child who was clearly of Amaranthine descent. Only,the little girl didn’t resemble any clan Melissa was familiar with. Butidentification wasn’t her first concern. When it came to Amaranthine children,protection always came first.
Let me talk to my boss
Might take me a while to reach you
But I will be there asap
Thank you.
No rush. Be safe.
We’ll be waiting.
Melissa’s thoughts were reeling when she came out of theback, just as two gentlemen stepped up to the counter. The African-American wasbuilt like an athlete, though he gave an air of maturity that suggested he’d becoaching rather than playing. He spoke softly to a beautiful man with aprofusion of artfully disheveled gingery curls. The former was smart with histailored suit and spectacles, while the latter was arrayed in an ensemble thatlooked both offbeat and expensive.
They radiated importance, and Melissa wondered how they wereaffiliated with Bellwether—guest lecturers, board members, wealthycontributors, museum curators, symphony members, patrons of the arts. At thevery least, they could be alumni who’d made it big.
Where was Rook? Until she could talk to him, it would haveto be business as usual. When the taller man looked up, she said, “Goodmorning.”
Usually, that worked. Customers generally rattled off theirorder without further prompting. But the man’s eyebrows drew together, and hedemanded, “Where is your nametag?”
“I’m new,” she murmured apologetically.
“I am aware. But that was not my question.”
