Clem Hoolahan hated seeing anybody do better than he was. It irked him that Rude Crawlback seemed to be making money hand-over-fist and helping Ethyl Esther at the same time.
It was three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon when Clem snuck through the back door of the Crawlback Inn’s add-on kitchen.
There they were: the flaky, lighter-than-air biscuits left over from lunch; Clem knew that Ethyl Esther was counting on them for the chicken and biscuit casserole advertised on the chalkboard out by the front.
Quickly he grabbed the whole plate and slid the biscuits into his greasy coat pocket.
Then he took a furtive look around and his heart skipped a beat. He wouldn’t just take the product; he would take the means of providing the product.
That’ll teach her he thought. Ethyl Esther could have had a real nice life out on my ranch, cooking for me and the hands but no, she had to go and work for this jerk.
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