Loose Lips (8 page)

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.

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
WIL
ers 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.