She glanced through the open window into the kitchen. No one there. Ernie, the brawny, tattooed fry cook, must have stepped out back for a smoke. I hate working here without Dad around, Chelsea thought. Come to think of it, I hated working here when he was around. She sighed. At least the job paid her enough for some new clothes and an occasional CD. After four days Mr. Richards was still in intensive care at Shadyside General, but the doctors were encouraged by his progress. Chelsea glanced up at the pink-and-blue neon clock. Twenty to seven, nearly closing time. If she hurried, she’d be able to see her dad at the hospital before visiting hours ended at seven-thirty. She let her eyes roam slowly over the empty coffee shop. It was kind of scary being alone in there. What if those three creeps came back? “Hey—Ernie?” she called, suddenly frightened. Ernie was big and very tough looking. He’d protect her if there was any trouble. But where was he? “Ernie?” No reply. He must still be back in the alley, she realized.
