“Jameson! What happened?” Barbara’s voice rises in sympathy. “Why, you poor, poor, poor thing, you’re all wet! Here, I’ve got some tissues right here. Let me help you—”
“Where’d she go? Did you see her—the little thief?” he sputters. “Well?” he demands. “Which way?”
Barbara clucks and coos, but he must be having none of it because she says more clearly, “Well, I didn’t actually . . .” A groan from Jameson. “Let’s see. I was working on my sales numbers for our spring promotion, sitting right over there, when I heard someone go that way, I suppose.” Seconds later, she calls out, “Listen, are you sure you don’t want me to—”
“All I want is that little criminal behind bars! Now!”
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