Maggie Lee (Book 7): The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops by JB Lynn

get to work, Ms. Lee,” Ms. Whitehat informed me smoothly.
    “I’m sort of in the middle of something.” I hurried back toward the hallway so I wouldn’t disturb anyone with my call.
    “But there’s no time like the present.”
    I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.
    “Ms. Lee? Are you there?”
    “Unfortunately.”
    “I understand that you’ve had a rough day.”
    “You could say that.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    It occurred to me that Ms. Whitehat could use a class or two in empathy training like I’d been forced to take at Insuring the Future. Then she would have known to add, “ I’m sorry to hear that. ” Instead she said, “Too bad.”
    Clapping my hand over my mouth to hold back the hysterical chuckle that rose in my throat, I opened my eyes in time to see a harried woman about my age rushing into the cafeteria.
    “You have a job to do,” Whitehat reminded me sharply.
    I didn’t bother to mask my less-than-stellar attitude. “Hard to do considering you haven’t told me what it is.”
    “I told you. You have to save a police officer.”
    “Someone specific or just any cop?”
    “The one who’s wearing a bright pink banana clip in her hair.” Whitehat didn’t disguise her revulsion at the woman’s choice of hair accessory.
    “Banana clip?”
    “It’s plastic and makes a…” I could practically see the uptight Ms. Whitehat shuddering. “It makes a ponytail. On a grown woman. An accessory named after a piece of fruit that makes an animal part.”
    “The horror,” I mocked dryly.
    “Save her,” Whitehat ordered.
    “From what?”
    “The same poor choices you’ve made.” With that mysterious missive, she disconnected the call.
    I stared at my phone for a minute, waiting for her to call back to give me a little more to go on, but nothing happened.
    “A banana clip,” I muttered. “Save the banana clip. Save the world.”
    When I re-entered the cafeteria, Armani was sitting with her back to me, engaged in conversation with the harried woman who’d walked past me earlier. I had a job to do, albeit a bizarre job even by my standards, and really didn’t have time to make chitchat with a stranger, but I didn’t think Armani, who had three bowls of pudding in front of her, would care about my plight.
    “Hey,” I said as way of greeting, approaching the table.
    The other woman, around my age, wearing a navy blazer that was a size too small for her over a black T-shirt, eyed me warily as I approached.
    “Maggie, meet Joy.” Armani waved her good hand between us, making introductions. “Joy, meet Maggie.”
    “Hello. Nice to meet you,” I said automatically. Aunt Susan would have approved of my manners.  I extended my hand.
    The other woman grasped it firmly, pumping it twice with no-nonsense efficiency.  “Joy.”
    “Joy has a relative here too,” Armani supplied helpfully.
    “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I said the phrase so often at Insuring the Future that I wasn’t sure if the sentiment was genuine or a trained-response. Sometimes I feel like a trained seal. There’s not much difference between clapping on command and spouting faux sympathy.
    I moved to lower myself into the chair beside Armani.
    “We need spoons.” My friend looked at me expectantly.
    I froze, half-squatting over my seat, before straightening. “Okay, I’ll get some.”
    “Thanks, Chiquita.”
    I hurried to get the plastic elements, thinking that the faster I could get them, the quicker I could get Armani out of the cafeteria so I could get to work finding the mysterious banana-clipped cop who needed saving.
    Snatching up a handful of spoons, I spun back toward the table.
    “And napkins,” Armani shouted. “We need napkins.”
    Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a bunch of napkins, wondering if Vinnie felt this stupid when Delveccio made him do his demeaning tasks.
    Making a mental note to thank Vinnie the next time he got stuck doing Delveccio’s bidding, I returned to the table. I almost missed