Someone-some idiot-had double-parked and blocked him in. He strode over to the offending vehicle and peered in the window of the dilapidated Dodge.

The car was empty.

"Terrific. The owner probably abandoned this junk heap." He straightened and blew out a long breath. "What else can go wrong today?" No sooner had the words passed his lips than a huge raindrop landed smack on his nose.

Chris closed his eyes and shook his head. "I had to ask."

Lugging the heavy warmer, Melanie limped in one shoe across the lobby to the security desk. The guard dialed Slickert, Cashman, and Rich and handed her the phone. She let it ring twenty times. No answer. She hung up and called the Pampered Palate.

"Pampered Palate," a gravelly voice said at the other end. "Gourmet To Go. It's on time or it's on us. May I help you?"

"Nana, it's Melanie. I'm-"

"Melanie! Thank goodness you called," Sylvia Gibson said. "The lawyers canceled their order not five minutes after you left."

Melanie huffed out a breath. "Great. I'm here now. What happened?"

"I don't know. Some emergency. They all had to leave. Looks like we'll be eating chicken for a while."

"I guess so." Melanie blew her hair out of her eyes. "How are things going there, Nana? Is everything all right?" Melanie worried that her seventy-five-year-old grandmother would overwork herself.

"Everything's great. Mike's brother came in to help out with the deliveries, and Wendy's manning the front register."

"Good." She glanced at her watch, forgetting it was broken until she saw it still read 7:10. "I'm leaving now. I'll see you within half an hour."

"Take your time, dear. All's well here. The evening rush is over."

Melanie hung up, thanked the guard, and hefted the heavy box into her arms. She limped across the lobby, then struggled with the revolving door, maneuvered herself around, and stepped outside.