“Then the kids stormed in and chased us, caught us, tied us up, and hooted and hollered. Miss Petunia never came!”

“Miss Petunia is the manager? Where is she?” I queried.
“We don’t know! The kids were saying she was gone!”
“She didn’t come down for breakfast, which she hasn’t been on account of her waking up late with a hangover.”

“Hangover?” I prodded.
“Oops. I shouldn’t have said that. She’s only done it once or twice the last week!” the lady tried to cover for her boss.

“Go on.” I prompted.
“The kids said she left, and they were in charge, and they overpowered us and went crazy.”
“They broke things, and spray painted things, and thank goodness you arrived!”

“What about the babies?”asked one
“They will go with the rest to Child Services. Hopefully they all have warm beds in foster homes tonight. Don’t worry, ladies. Oh, and don’t go far. I’ll need you to stick around for more questioning later.”
“Alright.” They sounded dejected. “Can we go home? We can give you our addresses…” they begged.

“I guess.”