The last time I’ve seen Miss Veronica was after my shift, which ended about four hours after hers ended for that day. 

It was 9 in the evening when I punched out. I took a shortcut through an alley that cut through the streets on the way home, when I saw her sitting atop a dumpster. I blinked. Was it really her? Or was it a local gangster? I silently cursed myself for taking such a dark road past 7 in the evening. 

But it was really her. She was still wearing her uniform, down to the store’s signature cap with the teddy bear ears. Her fingers absently fiddled a cigarette, reduced to a mere stub. Miss Veronica looked like she was…how would the Literature Club describe it? Beside herself. Yes, that must be it. I turned back and started retracing my path out of the alley, but…it was too late.

“Mariette. Did you tell anyone?” was the bare whisper that came from her direction. I stopped in my tracks, yet when I turned back, she wasn’t looking at me, but the cigarette.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tell about what?” I asked, biting my lip. All I wanted that night was to sink into the bed that my mom would have had aired and prepared for the night. I didn’t want to deal with anyone at that moment, and surely not Miss Veronica!

“The Order.”

The Order of the Freelance Wealth Redistribution Specialists? They tried to recruit me a while back, but I didn’t even stay to listen to what they had to say back then. I was too scared. “Uhm. No.” 

Miss Veronica looked like she was about to retort, but held herself back. “Oh, I see.” She threw the cigarette to the ground. “I thought so, too. Well, goodnight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

I never saw her again after that.

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I opened the door leading to the dark, cramped storage room. Boxes upon boxes of stock imbued with the smell of cigar smoke. A faint light emanated from the farthest corner of the room. Illuminated by the light of the computer monitor was the face of the Manager; who seemed to be engrossed with something other than the usual MS Excel spreadsheet.

I was reluctant to interrupt him, especially when he was focused in whatever he was doing..but! It was now or never. The boy could have escaped with a game or two already, and I don’t think Jillian would appreciate another pay cut even if the deduction will be shouldered by all employees in the shift. I gulped. “Mr. Manager?” I whispered.

“H-huh?” The Manager blinked his eyes and immediately closed the lid of his laptop. He was that surprised to see me? I wouldn’t blame him; I rarely go out of my way to get his attention on anything…

“Mariette? What do you want?” The Manager wiped his brow with a hankerchief. I promptly told him about my suspicions.

“Hrm. If that’s the case, call Veronica,” he said.

M-miss Veronica? “But, why not…” I had difficulty in saying it. “Why not me, sir? I can follow him and—”

“I said no, and that’s final, Mariette,” the Manager said with a harrumph. “She’s of more use than you when it comes to these things.”

I never knew what he actually meant back then. Of course, I thought it was because that I was clumsy, unreliable, and I couldn’t do simple math off the top of my head. But it became more or less clearer to me when I heard Mr. Manager and Miss Veronica’s conversation.

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It was a drowsy weekday afternoon when I first saw him. I already knew he was trouble: he had been browsing the shelves; had been shuffling along the aisles more than aimlessly…it was the typical behavior of one who was waiting for the chance to get away with something. I decided to take action. It was my chance to prove myself!

“Uhm, Miss Veronica?” I whispered, not wanting anyone else to notice my agitation. Yet I could feel my face going beet red.

She merely looked at me, away from the ledger she was working on, without saying a word. 

“That boy,” I pointed to him, who was looking around for cameras, no doubt. “I think he’s up to something.”

“Like?” Miss Veronica liked saying one-liners, at least to me. Was it because she didn’t want to waste her breath on me?

Should I make an outright accusation? I felt like the school gossip monger. Mariette. This is your chance. Say it! ”I think he’s going to steal something.” There. I said it. 

“Interesting,” was all Miss Veronica said in reply. 

“But—” I was desperate. Wasn’t she interested, enough to listen to me at least?

“I’m not interested in catching thieves.” She then walked away, leaving me quite deflated. 

Tears threatening to spill over, I approached the manager as she instructed. I’ll show her! I’ll take care of the thief myself! 

…

But, as it turns out, I messed everything for everyone, and Miss Veronica is in quite a pickle right now. It’s all my fault.

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