a glimpse of a small black electronic device.
She passed the card through it before processing the payment normally.
The entire movement took only a moment.
Then Madison smiled.
“Thank you, Mrs. Pratt. Enjoy your afternoon.”
I recognized the behavior.
After nearly twenty years in restaurants, I’d attended numerous payment-security training sessions.
What I’d witnessed strongly suggested someone was secretly collecting customers’ card information.
Then I noticed Kyle glance toward Madison’s hands.
His expression changed.
“OUT!” he shouted.
He pushed me through the doorway.
I stumbled onto the sidewalk, landing on my knees and hands.
Through the glass, I heard him laugh.
But I barely noticed him.
My thoughts were racing.
Walt Henshaw.
Mrs. Kowalczyk.
The family that had complained about poor service.
Had customers experienced unauthorized charges after eating at Rosie’s?
Was that why so many regulars stopped returning?
I stood slowly and reached for my phone.
My first
instinct was to return inside, reveal my identity, and fire Kyle immediately.
But then I realized that if the device disappeared, proving what I’d seen could become difficult.
So I stepped toward the side window and discreetly recorded the hostess area from outside.
Several minutes later, another customer approached to pay.
I watched Madison repeat the same suspicious movement beneath the counter.
Now I had something investigators could examine.
Suddenly, the restaurant door opened.
I quickly lowered my phone.
It was Amber.
She carried a white paper bag.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re still here,” she said. “Are you okay?”
She noticed my scraped hands.
“I’m so sorry about what happened.”
“I’m all right.”
She handed me the bag.
“There’s more soup inside, some bread, and a little money. Please take it.”
I looked at her.
“Why would you risk getting into trouble for a complete stranger?”
Her expression softened.
“Because
