Dinner for Two, Death for One

I ran into my boss when I was complaining to my best friend about how he actively made the workplace hostile for me.

He fired off a barrage of questions, "Where's the annual report? Where's the script for the speech? I can't believe you have the gall to enjoy a meal when you have a mountain of work to do!"

That was it.

I slammed the table. "It's due tomorrow! What's the rush? Are you going to hold a funeral for yourself tomorrow?"

My boss stormed off in a huff. I asked for the bill, but the waiter came with two. My table came up to 60 dollars, but the other ran up to 3,750.

"Your boyfriend said you're paying for both. Cash or credit, miss?"

Shawn Goodall put that impossible bill on my tab and called himself my boyfriend? Unbelievable!

I called him, utterly incensed. Yet, he had the gall to say, "Get the receipt and claim it from finance."

Then, he hung up.

The waiter was going to call the cops if I didn't pay up, so I had no choice but to accept this bitter defeat.

I was trying to claim the money the next day, but the cops arrested me instead.

"Shawn Goodall died at midnight and was found in his house. You're his girlfriend and the last person he met. You're coming with us."

It's Impossible

The metallic cuffs chilled my wrists. Did I hear him right? Did my boss die right at midnight? I immediately blurted, "You're not arresting me just because I suggested he was holding his own funeral, are you?"

A frown creased the cop's forehead. "We take crimes seriously."

"You've got the wrong person!" I held up my wrists, struggling. "First of all, I'm not his girlfriend. Secondly, I was with my friend, Queenie, after I left the restaurant. She's working at the coffee shop downstairs! She can prove I'm telling the truth!"

I held up my hands and tried to call Queenie, but the cop saw the resignation letter under my receipt.

He picked it up and demanded, "How convenient. You're quitting your job right after your boss died? Are you trying to run away?"

I stomped my foot in frustration. "I was going to quit in the first place!"

The cop dragged me away, obviously not buying my story. We ran into Queenie after I was escorted out of the building.

Before I was taken into the police car, I said quickly, "Queenie can prove I was with her! I came to work straight from crashing at her place last night!"

Queenie was panicking and on the verge of tears.

She did her best to defend me, "Yes, we even cooked supper at 11 p.m. and watched a movie until 1 a.m. before going to bed! There are surveillance cameras around the neighborhood! They can prove she never left my place!"

The cop's captain ignored her. Instead, he stonily shoved me into the car and slammed the door shut. As the car drove off, I spun my head around only to see Queenie chasing after the car. She shouted hoarsely, "It'll be alright, Natasha! It's alright! I'm here!"

The car roared straight into the police station. Although the windows kept the noise from coming in, the noises in my heart refused to cease. My eyes were on the cuffs, my mind filled with my boss' hypocritical face.

The guy was shoving his power in my face the night before, making me pay for his bill. And now, he was dead.

I was taken into the interrogation room. Two cops sat across from me. One had sharp eyes, and his badge number showed proudly on his chest. Felix Chance, a captain in CID.

He played surveillance cam footage with his notebook. "We've taken footage from Shawn's apartment last night. The woman with the cap at the neighborhood's entrance and the one in the elevator wore the same clothes you did last night. Your build's similar, and even the length of your hair's the same."