Loose Lips (20 page)

Wiping tears from her eyes, Cindy paused.
“Wait. I gave you cupcakes with coffee cups on them?”

“Yes and they were really cute. Like I said,
I meant—”

“Did you eat them?” She didn’t look angry or
amused anymore, just curious.

Not sure whether to admit the truth or not,
I flushed. “My dog did.”

“The big one?” She looked around. “Where is
he?”

“I left him in the Jeep. He and Darrell
aren’t that close.”

She looked like she was going to say
something else, but then she laughed. “No one is close to my
uncle.” She paused and then laughed again. This time more of a
chuckle. “Unless they’re being paid, of course.”

She turned around so her back was to the
door. “Did you say he promised you something that he didn’t
deliver?”

I nodded and then thought better of it.
“Well, I don’t think he—”

She’d turned back around and was peering
into the house through one of the windows. “That, maybe?”

I pressed up beside her. Leaning against the
wall in full sight was the painting of Ruby. It wasn’t boxed. It
wasn’t even wrapped. But it had been moved. Surely that meant that
Darrell had meant to follow through on his promise.

“He probably got busy,” I muttered.

Another laugh from his niece. “Oh, he got
busy all right. The pig.”

She spun back around. “If you want to borrow
the painting, you’re welcome to it, but you’ll have to haul the
thing yourself. Can you do that?”

Since we were both still standing on the
front porch with no signs of being let inside the mansion any time
soon, I didn’t see what the purpose of this conversation was, but I
agreed. “I can.” Or Peter could. Assuming my acquisition of the
painting was 100% legal.

I looked at Cindy again. “I can,” I repeated
with a bit more emphasis on the “I.”

“Great. And you have that Jeep. You could
haul some other stuff too...”

She didn’t wait for my answer. She hopped
down the steps and trotted toward the path that led between the
mansion and the bed and breakfast. “I’ll call you!”

Then she was gone, leaving me to wonder what
I had just committed myself to and just how illegal Peter might
think it was.

With Cindy working on a plan to retrieve the
painting, I was forced to go back to my “to dos” and pick another
one. Kiska and I headed back to Dusty Deals and the equally dusty
boxes.

I’d barely ripped the tape off the first box
when Betty popped out of my office. “It’s done. A rough
anyway.”

I glanced around, hoping she was talking to
someone else and I wasn’t just embarrassingly uniformed.

She rolled her eyes. “The website for the
Caffeine Cartel. Come here.” She dragged me into my office where my
computer was on and a website that put mine to total shame was on
the screen. Then I noticed the logo.

“Did you draw that?” I asked, eyeing what
appeared to be a Cutie with two over–sized coffee mugs tipped
provocatively toward her chest.

Betty tilted her head to the side to study
her work. “Do you like it? I thought about making them bigger.”

“Uh... no.”

She scowled.

“I mean... they are
perfect
just as
they are. I wouldn’t change a thing.” But then, with my art skills,
I couldn’t change a thing. If I could...

“You think so? What about the steam?”

Steam from the cups curled upward, caressing
the Cutie and somehow making the whole thing just a tad more
X–rated. Well, maybe not X, but a strong NC–17.

“They are...” At a loss for words, I blurted
out, “...steamy.”

Betty clapped her hands together. “You
betcha they are. Exactly what I was going for. Appropriate, too.
Don’t you think?”

Appropriate was not the word that came to
mind, but not wanting to admit what that word actually was, I
nodded.

“Great. Here’s the URL. They have Internet
at the kiosk, right? If not, you’ll have to pull it up on your
phone.”

She said a bunch of other stuff as she
shoved me back out of the office and toward the back door.

A few feet from the exit, I put on the
brakes. “You want me to go now?” It was fairly obvious that she
did, but I’d been in the middle of something and lunch was coming
up.

Betty arched one brow. “How much did she say
she’d pay me?”

In other words, yes. She wanted me to go
now.

o0o

The line at the kiosk was shorter than any
time I’d seen it.

I knocked on the door and waited, wondering
if Missy’s death had slowed business or if the Cuties had turned
over a new non–flashing leaf. As soon as I’d had the thought,
another followed. If business had slowed, it would only add fuel to
the idea that Joe had killed the Cutie to help his own
business.

Feeling a bit sick, I knocked again.

This time Rachel answered.

“Oh, it’s you.”

It wasn’t exactly the warmest welcome that
I’d ever received, but it certainly wasn’t the coldest either.

“Betty finished your website.”

For a minute, she looked confused. “My
what?”

“Web—”

She waved a hand. “Oh, that. Okay.” She
stepped deeper into the kiosk, leaving the door open behind her.
Taking this as an invitation, I followed.

A car pulled up. Rachel filled their order
and then closed the window, sending two more cars away without even
looking at them.

Missing sure sales worked prominently into
four of my top 10 nightmares. “You don’t have to turn down business
because of me.”

She glanced over her shoulder as if
surprised to hear cars had been waiting. “Oh, no big deal. Our key
customers are very loyal. I can afford to lose a few drivebys now
and again.”

With an owner who had an attitude like that,
I could see why the line was shorter than in the past.

But I wasn’t here to give her business
advice. I handed her the piece of paper where Betty had written the
website’s URL and asked, “Did you want to look at it?”

“Sure. Why not?” She retrieved an electronic
tablet from under the counter.

Nervous as to how Rachel would take Betty’s
interpretation of her business, I waited close to the door. I
didn’t want to have to scramble over anything if a hasty exit was
needed.

She laughed. Her eyes bright with interest,
she asked, “Is that how people see us?”

“I don’t know what—”

“Of course you do. I just want to know. Is
that...” She pointed at the two over–sized mugs. “How people see
us?”

My eyes widened, and I thought about
claiming the need for a potty break.

She raised a brow.

“Well... yes... I have heard some talk
about.” I motioned to my breasts.

She laughed again, but this time in a
self–assured manner. Then she smiled. “I love it, but it isn’t
quite right for the
new
Caffeine Cartel.”

“New?”

She slipped the tablet back under the
counter. “Yes, with Missy gone, we... I’ve made a few changes.”

I didn’t see any changes except the shorter
line. But they had quit selling Cindy’s brownies, and I hadn’t seen
any sign of flashing... Not that I had proof that had ever been
part of their business plan.

“We’re going more upscale.
Classy
.”

An upscale coffee kiosk. I tried to imagine
what that might mean. I couldn’t.

I checked out her t–shirt. Appeared to be
the same tight cotton Cutie T from before. Maybe they’d changed
their coffee.

Or maybe Rachel was delusional. Except her
expression said she wasn’t all that fond of this new direction. But
if she wasn’t, then why was she heading toward it?

“So... they arrested your friend.” She shook
her head. “I knew he had issues with us, but I didn’t think he was
dangerous.”

“He isn’t.”

Her brows rose. “He killed Missy.”

“He didn’t.” My defenses were rising, and I
knew it showed, but I couldn’t help myself.

“They found the murder weapon in his store.
And I told you Missy said he’d been going through our trash. It’s
sad, really. What kind of life must he have to get that upset over
competition?” She shook her head.

My feathers ruffled at her assurance that
Joe was the killer, but something else she said got my attention
more. “Missy said? When? When did she see Joe going through the
trash?” I’d been hoping someone had seen him after the murder, but
if Missy had been the witness, that was ruled out.

Rachel blinked. “I don’t know. Sometime that
week, before she was killed. It doesn’t matter now. The police have
their proof.”

My feathers splayed out full force. “The
police may have found something, but they don’t think he did it.
He’ll be getting released any day.” I didn’t have any idea if the
last was true, but she had me so annoyed, I had to say something to
shut her down.

Her head tilted. “Really? Why do you say
that? Oh, that’s right... you date a police detective, don’t
you?”

I wondered briefly who she’d been gossiping
about me with, and then realized she was hitting way too close to
the target.

The very first time Peter shared something
with me too.

But I could fix this. I squared my
shoulders. “I also used to be the crime reporter at
The
News
. I still have sources.”

“Do you?” She looked genuinely interested
and impressed. That soothed me a bit.

I nodded.

“And they say the police don’t think Joe
killed Missy? Even though they found the murder weapon at his
shop?”

“They called an expert,” I blurted, and then
cursed myself. Guilt raised its scaly head for a minute, and then I
remembered, Peter knew better than to trust me. He really couldn’t
blame me for being, well, me.

Still, I needed to be better. I sealed my
lips and held them together as tightly as I could.

Missy, however, knew how to play hardball.
She leaned forward, with an expression that practically dripped
anticipation and admiration. “An expert? Wow. Well, it’s good to
know they’re taking Missy’s murder seriously. I was really worried
they wouldn’t. Her just being a coffee kiosk owner and all.”

I tilted my head in acknowledgment. “The
Helena Police Department take all crimes seriously and certainly
all murders.” I should know. I’d been involved in enough of
them.

“And they don’t think Joe killed Missy?”

“No. They don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes and then muttered to
herself as if we were playing some quiz game. “He couldn’t have had
an alibi... They found the murder weapon... He had a motive—”

I must have made some kind of noise.

Her head jerked up.

“They don’t think his motive was strong
enough? But he went through our trash. He drove by all the
time.”

She seemed so genuinely confused and even
upset that I knew I had to tell her something. She had lost her
friend and partner. She deserved to be told something.

“They said...”

Her gaze sharpened.

I backtracked. “I mean, I
heard
it
was how she was murdered. They didn’t think the method fit with his
motive.”

“Didn’t fit with his motive?”

I understood her confusion. “I don’t know
what that means. I actually don’t know how she was killed or what
the murder weapon they found was. Do you?” I asked the last
innocently enough. I was glad the police were seeing the light with
Joe, but knowing a few more details about everything wouldn’t hurt
either.

Rachel, however, had gone somewhere else.
She chewed her lip and stared at the wall.

I repeated my question.

She jerked and blinked a couple of times as
her focus came back to me. “What? No. How would I? I’m not the one
dating... I mean, with sources.”

I didn’t give in to her obvious assessment.
I just stared back.

“You know though. That doesn’t mean they
have the wrong man. Maybe we all just have the motive wrong.”

“Wrong? But what other reason—”

“Jealousy. Or just obsession. He was
obviously stalking Missy. It might not even have been about him
losing business. He’s probably one of those sad people who lock
onto someone else and think they’re in love.” Her eyes widened in
horror. “It could have been me.”

“He isn’t like that.”

“Like what?”

I couldn’t say any of the words that
described what she was saying. “You know... obsessed.”

She studied me for a minute. “Okay, I lied.
I do know what he used to kill her. That reporter Bev told me.”

Damn, Bev. She had nowhere near the
connections I did. How had she gotten prime information like
that?

It took me a minute to realize Rachel was
waiting for some kind of response from me. To continue the
conversation at this point felt disloyal to Joe, but even though
every cell in my body said I should just leave now, I couldn’t. Not
without finding out. “What?”

“A stocking. They found it in his
store.”

“Christmas?” I asked, hoping.

“Fishnet.”

Personal. Definitely personal.

More than a little shaken, I left after
that. I’d imagined that whatever the police had found that got Joe
locked up could be explained away. That it would be something that
made sense for him, a fellow coffee shop owner, to have.

But a stocking? And not the kind you left
hanging on the mantle.

I prayed Joe either had a secret girlfriend
that I hadn’t met or had taken up cross dressing.

o0o

By the time I got back to the shop, Betty
was gone, which was just as well, since I hadn’t returned with a
big fat check for her or even mountains of praise.

Not that the praise would replace the cash,
but it might soften the blow.

I left most of the lights off, turning on
just enough to make it to my office where Kiska was snoozing on his
bed. My chair creaked as I pulled it out and creaked more as I sat
down.