Getting Dumped by Tawna Fenske Page B

we didn’t respond immediately, he shook his head and went back to rinsing his fruit fly.
    “Nothing,” I said. “I’m not being sexually harassed and my workplace isn’t unsafe. We’re here about the handbags.”
    “It’s a very serious issue,” Lori added.
    Ignoring us, Frank opened the top of a tiny glass container and nestled the fruit fly inside. Setting down his tweezers, he screwed the top back on the container and folded his hands, looking back up at us.
    “Look, ladies – I’ve gotta tell you that digging through the landfill to figure out if someone, somewhere, might be making fake purses – that’s not real high on our priority list right now.”
    “But—” Lori began.
    “How do you even know someone’s making these things locally?” Frank asked. “Maybe someone bought a bunch of purses in China or something and tossed ‘em in the landfill.”
    “Because we found fabric swatches, not handbags,” Lori snapped. “If you look at the fabric, it’s obvious these are remnants from a manufacturing operation and not just pieces that have been torn out of old handbags. See here how it looks like someone’s been practicing different types of stitching, and then these pieces here are all close enough in design that it’s obvious someone’s reviewing sample fabrics to choose—”
    “Look, miss,” Frank said, unclasping his fingers and touching the edge of Lori’s business card. He yanked his hand back and stuck a finger in his mouth, and I tried not to be too glad about the paper cut. “We’ve got gangs. We’ve got drugs. We’ve got homicides to deal with. Really, where do you see purses fitting in with all that?”
    I straightened in my chair and cleared my throat with authority. “The sale of counterfeit luxury items funds terrorism and drug cartels and has ties to human trafficking and—”
    Frank sighed. “And likewise, if you have lunch at Mel’s Diner down the street, you’re probably funding his wife’s coke habit.”
    Lori narrowed her eyes at him.
    “That was an example,” he said. “There’s no Mel’s Diner down the street. I was just giving you an example.”
    “An example,” Lori said, gripping the arms of her chair so hard her knuckles turned white. I recognized the signs that she was on the verge of a full-fledged elf tantrum.
    “What about her intern?” I asked. “Her name is Macy, and Lori asked her to do some snooping into this whole handbag thing. We haven’t heard from her since.”
    There was a faint flicker of interest in Frank’s eyes. “A missing person?”
    “I left her a few messages, but she hasn’t called back, and we weren’t able to connect with her last night for drinks and her car isn’t at her house,” Lori supplied.
    Frank frowned. “Why wasn’t this the first thing you mentioned?”
    I sighed. “Well, the thing is, Macy has the tendency to travel. A lot. Without actually notifying her friends or her employer or—”
    “So how long has it been since you’ve heard from her?”
    I looked at Lori. She shrugged. “About eighteen hours.”
    Frank stared at us. “Let me get this straight. Your girlfriend – who, by your own admission, disappears frequently without warning – has not called you for eighteen hours and you want to report this to the police.”
    “Well—” I stopped. Okay, fine, when he put it that way, it did sound a little dumb. Maybe we should have stopped with the handbag thing.
    Officer Frank had already turned his attention back to his fruit fly, and Lori appeared to be considering stabbing him in the eyeball with his own tweezers. With a sigh, I grabbed my sister’s elbow and hoisted her up.
    “Fine,” I said. “Thank you for your time. I’ll let you know if I uncover anything else that might be relevant to the case.”
    “Case?”
    “And because you at least tried to be helpful, I’ll pay extra special attention to any fruit flies I encounter in the course of my work.”
    “Oh. Well, that’s very