mine cemented Solomon, Delgado and me as bonafide family.
I glanced over my shoulder again, surveilling the street beyond. It seemed quiet outside, traffic was low and only a few pedestrians littered the sidewalk, but who could tell? Perhaps there was a sniper crouched in a building with their sites trained on me? Maybe they would take me out before my mom could sign me up for the friendship class? A small mercy. "Now I'm worried," I said, risking another glance to peruse the roof of the building opposite, just in case. "Who wants to swap seats with me?"
Flaherty and Delgado shook their heads. I looked at Steve Fletcher but he was too busy ogling the donuts with hungry eyes. After what probably felt like several lifetimes with the CIA, Fletcher deserved any small pleasures. So, I slunk a little lower in my seat and hoped my death was both swift and graceful, not while busily stuffing a jelly donut in my face.
"If you've all finished tormenting Lexi with impending doom, I'm ready," said Solomon. He shuffled the small stack of files into neat order and looked around.
"I notice you didn't offer to swap seats," said Delgado.
Solomon fixed him with a look and Delgado shrugged. "Just sayin’."
"He has a point," I said. "My own husband is putting me in the crosshairs."
"You are not in the crosshairs," said Solomon.
"Moody ass hairs," I mumbled.
"Gross," said Delgado, making a face.
"Would you like to swap seats?" asked Solomon, holding back a sigh.
Solomon was at the head of the table, the position of power. If I swapped, my colleagues might infer I was a scared, little woman who couldn't bear the idea of a dance with death. They would tease me relentlessly. It wasn't worth it. I worked too hard to earn their respect and had actually faced death too many times already.
"I'm fine, thanks," I said as nonchalantly as I could while seriously contemplating the donuts. Jelly or coconut? Chocolate or maple glazed? Sometimes life threw good questions at me.
"Then let's..."
"If I do get shot in the back of the head and don’t survive," I interrupted, "I would like Queen's ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ to be played at my funeral."
"Good choice," said Fletcher.
Solomon started to rise. "Swap seats," he ordered.
I waved him down with the donut I just pried from Fletcher's paws. "I said I'm fine," I told him as I tossed my hair theatrically. "Unless I come back as a zombie."
"That would be rough," said Fletcher.
"Maybe I should choose ‘Staying Alive’ by the BeeGees to be played instead," I pondered.
"Not gonna happen," said Solomon, barely restraining an eye roll.
"What do we have?" I asked.
Solomon fixed me with a long look. When it became uncomfortable, I smiled and bit into my donut. "A few interesting cases," he started. "A possible cat theft ring in the Bedford Hills. Several expensive pedigree female cats are missing and the owners are considering asking us to look more deeply into it."
"No need for that," said Delgado. "I have an informant in the neighborhood who says all the female cats are in heat; they’re just escaping for a little fun, if you know what I mean."
"I can't believe this is how my day is starting," I muttered while taking another bite of the donut.
"Who's your informant?" asked Solomon.
"The local veterinary surgeon. Cool guy. Says he's been trying to convince the homeowners to neuter their cats for months but they won't listen. Now maybe they will, since it sounds like there will soon be a crossbred kitten explosion."
"I'll let them know to contact us in a few days if the cats don’t return," said Solomon. He put the file to one side. "Next up is a strip bar on the outskirts of town. Their cash register comes up short every night and they want someone to look into it. They can employ one of us undercover until we get a camera system up and running."
All eyes except Solomon's turned to me. "Nope," I said. "I'm not going undercover as a stripper."
"There won't be anything undercover about it," spluttered Fletcher as he tried not to laugh.
"The undercover role will be at the bar," said Solomon. "No nudity required."
"What about dancing on the bar?" asked Flaherty. He looked at me. "Do we know anyone specifically proficient in that area?"
I chewed my donut and stayed quiet.
"What exactly do they wear behind the bar?" wondered Fletcher. "Do we know anyone who wears tight clothing and tosses her hair all the time?"