by Rae Davies
Eve piped up. “Phyllis invited her.”
Kristi looked skeptical. Which told me she didn’t know Phyllis as well as she thought she did, if my holding the cup of wine was coloring her impression that I couldn’t live up to Phyllis’s standards. It was totally true that I didn’t live up to Phyllis’s standards, but not because of drinking alcohol. It was all my other faults that made me lacking.
Bev stepped forward. “She also found that girl’s body.”
Kristi inhaled sharply, and all eyes turned to me.
I took another drink.
My drinking buddy Laura stepped back enough that she could size me – or at least parts of me – up. “You don’t look like a Cutie.”
I knew where her eyes were going. I held my cup, the plastic one filled with wine, over them.
“She’s not,” Bev answered for me. Her eyes lit up like one of the electronic poker machines at The Castle. She thought she’d hit the jackpot.
“I told you. I own Dusty Deals. It was early and my dog had thrown up and...” I went on, babbling out the same convoluted, but mostly true, story that I’d told Detective Klein.
“So you were actually going to buy coffee there?” Kristi’s revulsion and judgment were clear.
“It was early and close and—”
She held up her hand, cutting me off. “This kind of weak morals and lack of dedication will be the end of this country.” She straightened her shoulders and shook her head, somehow adding a little extra poof to her hair.
I took another drink of wine. A big one.
“Anyway,” Kristi heaved out. “Bev saw the photo that the Daily News ran of us and then, of course, the horrible news of that girl’s death.” She paused, in what I guessed was a nano–second of respect for the deceased. “And, even though she hadn’t had the time to cover our original protest, she wanted to give us some support.” Another pause, this one with a bit of judgment for dear, dear Bev. “We were chatting about how that dreadful detective had sought me out, acting as if just because I cared enough about the direction this town and country are going to participate in a protest, I might be involved in her death.” She shook her head, obviously ashamed for Klein that he couldn’t appreciate how upright a citizen she was. “Then, of course, I knew he had chatted with a few of you too.” She waved her hand as if anyone else’s conversations were trivial compared to what she’d been forced to endure.
And maybe they were. I looked at her with new interest, wondering just how much she had wanted to shut the kiosk down. I also, though, had to wonder how the others in the group felt about her oh so nicely sucking them into the reporter’s vortex with her.
“And Bev pointed out that talking to the entire group might offer wider interest than...” She waved her hand again as if whatever she’d been about to say wasn’t important, but she’d said enough that I got it. She’d wanted her friend Bev to do a piece just on her, but the reporter’d had bigger game to hunt. Or at least a bigger herd.
And now it seemed I was part of it.
o0o
As it turned out, Bev might have done as well, or better, sticking to just Kristi for her “profile.”
Even after Kristi tried to single one or two out, Laura and Phoebe in particular, the women just sat semi–politely, minus a rolled eye here and there and a derisive snort from Phoebe pretty much every five minutes like clockwork. In other words, they clammed up. Completely.
So completely, I thought about stretching out on the jerky scented carpet and sleeping off the wine I’d consumed.
Finally, after an hour of very little talking, Bev passed around her business cards and told us each goodbye with a heartfelt, “I’ll be in touch.”
She’d barely left the room before Kristi exploded. “You are the most ungrateful group—”
Phoebe, who had been simmering the entire time, stood and met her outrage for outrage. “She doesn’t want to help us. She wants to exploit us. Prove that one of us killed that poor girl. Stupidity like this makes me think Phyllis had the right idea, sneaking off.”
A sudden uncomfortable silence fell over the group. All eyes shifted to me. Kristi’s gaze, in particular, nailed me in place.
With the unsettling feeling that I was expected to offer some kind of explanation for Phyllis’s disappearance, I shifted in my seat.
Frowning, Phoebe turned back to Kristi. “Who knows what that woman is going to say about us?”
Her attention still fixed on me, Kristi jerked. “What can she say? You didn’t tell her anything. This was our opportunity to explain the protest and admit our mistakes.”
Phoebe folded her arms over her chest. “Mistakes?”
Kristi nodded. “Yes, obviously, it was a mistake. A girl was killed. What if our protest caused that? What if we gave someone the idea?” She shook her head.
Phoebe stood firm. “That didn’t happen.”
“You don’t know. Some poor jealous woman may have seen what we did and figured out why her husband was spending so much on coffee. Someone like—” She bit off whatever she’d been about to say.
Everyone froze and looked at me.
Laura broke the silence. “She means me. My husband’s a cheating rat bastard,” she explained. “Hates coffee, but he’s been hitting that kiosk five days a week since they opened. Maybe more.”
Sally One looked up from her knitting. “Mine too. They’re flashers.”
“Flashers?” I asked, as politely as I could.
Sally tugged on the hem of her shirt. “Peepers. It’s disgusting. Those girls are less than half his age.”
The Mardi Gras thing Phyllis and Betty had mentioned.
Kristi cleared her throat. “Of course, it’s disgusting and immoral, but the protest was a mistake. Besides, there’s a new girl in charge now. We should give her a chance. Maybe she isn’t like that other one.”
I wasn’t sure how referring to the recently deceased Missy as “that other one” would play if Detective Klein heard it, but I wasn’t here to judge. Of course, I would judge, but that wasn’t why I was here.
“I thought the woman who was killed was the owner,” I said.
“Co,” Kristi explained. She looked back at the group. “And she might be entirely reasonable.”
Laura, in the middle of a big sip of wine, choked. “Really? You think so?”
“The Lord forgives. We should as well.”
Phoebe waved her plastic glass. “I’m all for forgiveness, but that doesn’t mean the other person is going to change just because I want them to. I want a BMW, but that VW outside just keeps staying what it is. Better to get the police to do their jobs.”
“And haul them off,” Sally One added, sounding pretty chipper at the idea.
I glanced at her knitting, just to make sure handcuffs or a noose weren’t dangling from her needles.
“We do need more evidence though,” Phoebe added.
Sally Two nodded. “But how to get it? The Cuties know all of us. Even the ones who weren’t working during our protest, thanks to that picture.”
“We need someone they won’t suspect. Someone who isn’t part of our group,” Phoebe offered.
Laura agreed. “Yeah.”
I glanced at the wine box. One big problem with box wine was that without walking to it, there was no way to see how much was inside.
“So, will you?”
Startled, I looked back at the group to see that once again they were all staring at me. I sat up. “I...”
Looking a little alarmed at her complete loss of control of the group, Kristi raised both brows. “I don’t think that is a good idea.”
Phoebe, however, kept going. “You did come because you wanted to join us, right? To help?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“It’s settled then.” Phoebe addressed the rest of the group, completely shoving Kristi out of the leadership role. “Lucy will be our inside man.”
Kristi held up a hand in objection.
“And...”
Phoebe conceded. “She will let us know if the new owner is taking things a different direction.”
Kristi, somewhat appeased, smiled.
After a short, annoyed glance her direction, Phoebe continued. “Laura is our secretary. You can relay your report to her, then she’ll get it to the rest of us, or you can relay it yourself at the next meeting.”
“Maybe you could get a job there.” Sally One suggested, cheerful.
I grimaced.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day, in my most padded, pushed–up bra, I headed to the kiosk. Honestly, I’d lost track of exactly why I was doing this. I’d gone to the WIL meeting with the hopes of finding out what had happened to Phyllis and discovered zero on that front. Somewhere along the way, it had seemed that getting in good with the women was important, and maybe it was. They obviously knew a side of Phyllis I wasn’t familiar with, and they obviously knew more about the Cuties too. So some innocent snooping at their bequest couldn’t be a bad thing and might just lead to something good like finding out where Phyllis had gone or who had killed the Cutie.
Or at least that’s what I told myself.
I waited until ten, when I thought the morning rush would be over and the lunch rush, if places that sold only coffee and dessert had them, wouldn’t have started.
To my surprise, the line was as long as it had been when I’d driven by at 8.
I tried driving by slowly, passing the cars and trucks waiting, and casually glancing to my left to see if I could steal a peek inside of anything flesh–colored and bouncy, but the kiosk had some kind of dark plastic shield that protruded from its window. Handy to keep out the elements I was sure... and prying, non–paying eyes.
Sighing, because this couldn’t just have been easy, I parked my car, adjusted my bra and headed to the kiosk’s door.
After a five–minute wait, the girl who’d found me inside with the dead Missy opened up. She was fully clothed in a Cutie T and frowned when she saw me. “Do I know you?”
I didn’t really want to remind her of our first meeting, but it seemed I had no choice. “I was the one who...” I motioned to the floor where I’d found Missy.
“Oh, yeah.” She frowned deeper. “Why are you here? I’m not changing my story. I saw you standing over her.”
I could have argued this point since when she’d found me, I’d actually been sitting on my butt. Splitting hairs, however, was beneath me. I shook my head and tried to look contrite. “That’s why I came by. I never got to explain why I’d been here to start with.” Not to her anyway. “And I also wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened to Missy. She was a good soul.” The last I said with confidence. I might not have known the owner, but I’d seen her give my dog a cookie.
The Cutie raised a brow. I smiled, innocent, contrite, and trustworthy, all at the same time.
“Thanks. I have customers waiting, but if you’d like to come in...” She held open the door.
A bit surprised at the invitation, I hesitated.
Someone in the line honked. The Cutie swore and stomped into the kiosk, leaving the door open behind her. Deciding my hesitation was silly, I followed her inside. When she realized that I was behind her, she mumbled something to herself and reached up to flip a switch next to the window.
A light that I hadn’t noticed while I was outside switched from green to yellow.
“Are you closing?” I asked.
“Not exactly.”
The truck that had been sitting in front of the window drove off. A few more vehicles rolled by too, but not all. An older jeep filled with what appeared to be high school kids stopped and placed an order. Four coffees and four brownies.
She leaned forward. “Sorry, no brownies. We’re dropping the baked goods. Just coffee.”
The driver, a blond, freckle–faced boy of maybe seventeen, made an understandable sound of outrage. “Seriously? But—”
The Cutie cut him off. “Seriously. No more. Just coffee. Do you want some or not?”
After a few minutes of mumbling and grumbling among themselves, the kids took their coffees and left.
After two more vehicles, there seemed to be a lull in business. She turned with a smile.
“So, you knew Missy?”
“Well...” I stammered. “Not well, but we met. I’d been talking to her about...” As I’d planned my visit, my thoughts hadn’t extended to what I would say once I was here. Honestly, I hadn’t expected to make it past the door. Then the answer occurred to me. Betty. Or at least Betty’s talents.
“Posters!”
“Posters?”
“My employee, Betty Broward, won the Silver Trail poster contest this year. She does great work.” I whipped out my phone and pulled up a picture of Betty standing next to the easel with her winning work.
She took my phone and smiled. “I love sled dogs. My uncle has a team.”
I instantly warmed to her. I held out my hand. “I’m sorry. Did I introduce myself? I’m Lucy.”
She smiled in return. I could feel the beginning of a beautiful, trusting relationship.
“Rachel. So, what? You wanted to sell us some of these? I’m not sure where we would store them.”
“Actually, Missy was thinking having them done for the kiosk.” This was, of course, a complete fabrication, but since Missy wasn’t around to contradict my claim... “You know featuring the kiosk and the Cuties that you could give out to customers. I’m not sure what size she was thinking, but really, you could get them printed any size and I’m sure Betty could do something great for you.” Right after she got done burying my dead body in Rhonda’s herb garden for giving her extra work.
Rachel shook her head. “It’s a fun idea, and something I can see Missy loving, but we’re trying for more... low key now.” She smoothed the front of her t–shirt in a manner that might have come across as prim from someone of less pin–up worthy features.
This, plus the fact that she was wearing the t–shirt and hadn’t flashed anything bead–worthy since I’d been there, pointed to Kristi being right. This Cutie was turning over a new leaf.
Except I just wasn’t that trusting, and I guessed that some of the other WILers wouldn’t be either.
I took back my phone and looked around, grasping for some other idea that would buy me another visit or two to the kiosk.
Betty had gotten me this far. I dug deep, thinking of all her other talents. “We also talked about a website. With pictures of all the Cuties.”
Her eyes brightened. “With bios? That is a good idea. You say Missy wanted to do that?”
I nodded, but she didn’t seem to be paying attention. Her eyes had taken on a calculating gleam. “That’s low key, right?”
When I looked unsure, she added, “Classy?”
I nodded. “For sure. Betty is the queen of classy.”
Or maybe that was brassy...
o0o
I spent another hour at the kiosk, getting information on what Rachel wanted included on her site. The website guise gave me an excuse to gather all kinds of information, like the Caffeine Cartel’s menu, a list of the Cuties – which was surprisingly long, hours, and specials, many of which made no sense to me.
But I hadn’t pushed. It wasn’t my website, after all, and the more I questioned, the more likely she’d want to add something extravagant that would equal more work for Betty and thus cost for me, unless I got my new friend Rachel to actually fork up the cash for the site herself at a rate Betty would accept.
“On cost,” I started.
Busy dropping a twenty into the cash drawer, Rachel waved her hand. “As long as it’s good and classy, I’m not worried about the cost. Your friend’s graphic work is great. How is she with SEO?”
Having zero idea what SEO was, I assured her that Betty was a complete genius at it.
“Well, then, I’d expect it to cost a few thousand. Would you take a thousand upfront as a deposit? I should have that much in cash.” She dug through the money,
pulling out twenties, fifties and even a hundred dollar bill and tossing them onto the counter. After counting out a thousand, she handed it to me.
I swallowed. “I don’t have a receipt to give you.”
She waved the bills in front of her face. “That’s okay. Here.” She handed me the money and pulled out her cell phone. “Lucy, what did I give you and for what?”
Holding the money next to my face, I robotically repeated the amount and purpose of the cash I was holding.
She pushed a button on the side of her phone and slipped it back into her pocket. “By now it’s already in the cloud, safe and sound. Instant receipt.”
Something about that was unnerving, but nowhere near as unnerving as realizing I had a thousand dollars in cash in my possession for which I was now one hundred percent responsible.
I glanced around, looking for something to hide it in. After tucking it inside a paper bag, I said my goodbyes, headed to my Jeep and drove as fast as I could to my shop.
Betty was inside at the computer as usual. I pulled out my bag and dropped it on the counter in front of her. “Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news first?”
o0o
Betty did not kill me. Maybe because instead of waiting for either “news,” she opened the bag and found the wad of cash inside.
After that, I think she was just glad to hear I hadn’t decided to add bank robber to my list of skills.
She waved the bills like a fan in front of her face. “A coffee kiosk had this kind of cash?”
I nodded. “And there was more. A lot more.”
She looked at the clock on the computer. “And it’s what? Not even noon. What time did they open? Don’t they deposit their cash every day?” She shook her head. “That’s bad business, especially in a kiosk. No wonder that other girl got murdered. It had to be a robbery attempt.”
She looked pretty convinced, but I couldn’t share her conviction. “But I don’t think anything was taken.”
She waved the bills again. “Maybe Missy was better with the cash than this Rachel, but if someone thought they had this kind of money on hand, that would definitely be a motive.”
