Page 7 of Keepsakes and Kismet

“I’m not that kind of emp⁠—”

“Okay,” I sigh.

This woman is giving me nothing to work with.

“Unable to identify temp zone, unfamiliar with cooked poultry… Can you at least tell me the hand washing procedure here?”

She starts rummaging through a purse on the counter, completely distracted. “There’s this pink foaming soap they have in the kitchen. It makes your hands feel really soft. Mrs. Chung said it’s from a women’s collective Up North, and it smells like cherry blossoms. I think I might buy some for myself. You should definitely check it out before you leave.”

I narrow my gaze. “Perfumed soap for staff isn’t a core violation, but generally frowned upon when handling food.”

She squints at me. “Listen, Inspector Gadget⁠—”

“Inspector Galvin,” I mutter.

“—I’m not the right person to be talking to you about any of this. Mr. and Mrs. Chung stepped out back to receive a delivery. I work here, but I don’t really work here.”

I squint right back at her. “What is it that you do?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

I almost drop my pen. “What? No.”

She folds her arms across her chest. “I’m invoking my first amendment rights.”

“Warrants are the fourth amendment.”

Raising an eyebrow, she says, “You would know, Officer.”

“I… I’m not law enforcement.”

“Then why do you have a badge and talk about amendments so much?”

I shake my head incredulously. “You were the one who brought it⁠—”

“Anyway, I need to get going, and I’m sure you need to start your inspection. Those temperatures won’t zone themselves.” She grabs her purse and walks toward the front door, pausing at the threshold. “Mr. and Mrs. Chung should be out any minute. Can you watch the place until they get back? Don’t forget to check out that soap before you leave. You won’t be sorry.” She winks, letting the door fall closed behind her.

I stare, mouth agape, wondering who she is, what she was doing here, and if her fixation on the cherry blossom soap is cause for concern.

“Can we help you?”

I snap out of my golden-haired-girl-induced haze to find who I assume to be a confused-yet-smiling Mr. and Mrs. Chung.

“Erm, hi, yes. I’m Callum Galvin, a Health Inspector from the Toledo-Lucas County Health Department.” I hold my ID up.

The smiles fall from their faces—a classic occurrence. It never feels good, per se, getting a dismal reaction upon meeting business owners as if I’m the Grim Reaper of Food Service. But it’s something I’m used to.

“This is only a courtesy consultation. I’m not here to pass or fail your restaurant. Where’s the best place to wash my hands?”

They point to the bathroom, and I head in the direction they indicate for a double wash—the first step of any inspection when you’re not distracted by an inscrutable woman who commands your full attention. I dispense the soap, immediately overwhelmed by the fragrance. Huffing out a laugh, I give the foam an extra sniff. Cherry blossom, just like she said.

Who was she?

I decide to wash a third time, hoping the scent sticks to my skin.

A bit rattled and a lot confused, I walk out of the bathroom and meet the Chungs behind the counter.

“Do you mind showing me the kitchen area?” I ask.