“What is going on down here?” a familiar nasal voice demands from the shadows. “Just who gave you permission to be here after hours?”
Gasping, the girls turn to see Mr. Tracy glaring over the banister of the stairwell landing. The blood drains from his face when he sees the dripping soda mess, bedraggled ribbons, and cellophane candy wrappers strewn about the floor and counter. His eyes bulge, taking in the empty cupcake plate, dirty soda glasses, half-melted candles, and oozing candy mess.
“How dare you! You’ve ruined our Easter display! Tomorrow is the biggest candy sale day of the season!” he yells, running down the stairs.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish