The yellow custard smiled at you as you opened the fridge. The centrepiece of a tasty éclair with one big drawback. Someone had quite clearly taken a bite out of it. By day three I was resorting to asking my colleagues whether it was their snack that was languishing in the cold. But none of them admitted to either owning the éclair or having had a bite.
More perplexing still was that no-one even attempted to take a second bite. I started wondering why. Surely this was not due to some dormant territorial angst as no-one would ever know if you took another bite. Perhaps it was caution. The éclair might contain some deadly poison and could have been placed in the fridge by a psychopath. Not unfathomable considering the amount of shifty strangers that pass through our offices on a daily basis.
Thursday and Friday came and went without any new developments in the increasingly odd mystery of the half-eaten éclair in the fridge. But on Monday morning the pastry was no longer there. Just two crumbs and a single wiggly droplet of custard on an otherwise empty plate.
Most people’s money was on Alexandra being the culprit, since she was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. In the end, sickened by the incessant insinuations, she quit.
She’s running her own bakery now. Or so they say.
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