No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

bagel toaster, a cash register, syrup bottles. Then she opened
the drawers, starting at the bottom and working upward.
Bagged coffee beans, vanilla, powdered milk, jingling spoons
—
“Anything?”
“Nothing useful.”
Ed checked the back. “No landline phone, either.”
“There has to be one.” Darby searched the next set of
drawers, peeling off a yellow Post-It note: REMINDER,
PLEASE MOP RESTROOMS — TODD.
“Any knives?”
“Spoons, spoons.” She slammed another drawer. “Nothing
but spoons.”
“What kind of coffee shop doesn’t have knives?”
“This one, apparently.” Darby wiped sweat from her eyes,
glancing back to the cash register (too heavy), to the pastry
case (not a weapon), to the toaster (nope), to the coffee
machines lining the countertop. “But … okay, these things will
dispense scalding hot water. Someone, please, fill a carafe.”
“For a weapon?” Sandi asked.
“No. For fucking coffee.”
“We already have coffee.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
Pattering footsteps behind her — she’d expected Sandi to
come forward — but it was Jay. The little girl carried the
COFEE carafe and placed it under the spout. She stood on her
tiptoes to press the button. The machine grumbled.
“Thanks, Jay.”
“No problem.”
Sandi was still at the front of the room. On her knees,
peering outside through a three-inch gap between the flipped