Cathy found her Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper in the back of the break-room refrigerator, crowded away by other lunches. She stretched to her limit and carefully threaded it through the maze of bottles and thermoses. She’d almost succeeded when she jostled someone’s paper sack. It fell to the floor with a hollow sound.
The bag was curiously light when she picked it up. She glanced around, and then opened the top to peer inside: a shaped Styrofoam insert. A prop. Why would someone need a prop lunch?
Cathy told herself the sudden chill was just the air conditioning kicking in.
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