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Michael
Michael “Where do you want this, Sally?” I hover in the door, a cardboard crate in my arms. She peers over the top, poking at the contents, muttering to herself. “Flour… Cooking brandy… Dried fruit… Thanks, Michael. Just put it on the counter over there. Want a coffee while you’re passing through?” “I will, yes. Everything under control?” She gives me a brisk smile. “No problems at all. We’re fully staffed for the holiday period and my daughter’s on standby to help out if anyone comes down with that flu that’s going around.” “Great. Is there…?” The double serving doors bang open and Klempner strides in. “Ah, Michael. They told me I’d find you here. A favour to ask. I wonder if I could borrow that truck of yours?” Sally pushes a mug into my hand, c***s a brow at Klempner, who nods. “
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