Loose Lips Read online

  While she and Betty laughed, Phyllis stewed. “Someone needs to shut them down.”

  It did seem to be at the very least a completely unfair competitive advantage. How was Joe supposed to compete with that?

  His brass was even more tarnished than Betty’s.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sympathetic as I was to Joe’s situation, I had competitive issues of my own to deal with. After leaving Rhonda’s, I picked up Kiska from my shop, and we wandered down the Gulch. As he sniffed and peed, I made small talk with passersby and other business owners about the sesquicentennial, coyly ferreting out information on my competition for the big window display contest.

  The children’s bookstore down the block, I discovered, was appropriately doing something on frontier toys and games. The owner, who met us at her door with a smile and body language that said she’d prefer we kept our shopping to the window variety, had already gathered a dozen images of children dressed in their best, posing with dolls, spinning tops, and horses carved out of wood.

  Obviously proud of herself, she laughed and bragged about her big plans for adding more toys and even live children dressed in period costumes for when the judges walked by.

  Antique toys and images of children from the time period were, if not easy to come by, easier than something that could be definitively tied to brothels and madams.

  A quick inventory of my merchandise had come up with only a couple of books on prostitutes in the old West. Nothing truly old and original.

  Afraid my jealousy was showing, I cooed at her idea and offered the loan of a china–head doll and an image of a boy with a goat. Then, cursing my own stupidity, I turned to leave.

  I was so going to lose, and I was adding to my defeat by loaning the competition things for their own displays.

  The bookstore owner raised her hand to stop us. “You know... I bet the Deeres might have something you could use. You know their great–grandmother was a prostitute.”

  I stopped, frozen by my own stupidity. I should have thought of the Deeres myself. I’d even, for a very short period of time, had possession of a ruby that had belonged to Ruby Deere. Of course, I hadn’t known I had the ruby, but still... and the family did kind of owe me for uncovering what one heir had planned for the gem. Namely, selling it off without anyone else in the family learning of its existence.

  I thanked the woman, and after a brief, losing tussle for whatever Kiska had just snarfed up from the sidewalk, set off to call in old chips.

  o0o

  It didn’t take much research to track down my prey. Frosted, Cindy Deere’s bakery, was located in a kind of unattractive part of Helena, not that far from the railroad tracks.

  As Kiska and I pulled in, I heard the train sounding its whistle and saw cars lining up to wait for the crossing gate to lift so they could pass.

  I got out of my Jeep and glanced around. There was one other car in the parking lot, if you could call the four spaces in front of the bakery a lot.

  It was a Tuesday. Not exactly a booming day for retail. But still, located where Frosted was, I had to wonder how Cindy stayed in business.

  I, however, knew nothing about the bakery business. Maybe most of her income came from weddings and other such events that didn’t require a walk–in clientele. Or maybe she hired a high school student to stand by the railroad crossing and sell cupcakes to those stuck there.

  I knew I’d longed for cake more than once when stuck at a light or railroad crossing. I actually hadn’t realized Frosted was so close...

  Cocking my brow at what was obviously a genius idea, I lowered the window of my Jeep to give Kiska some ventilation and walked toward the shop.

  Inside, Frosted was dark and smelled of sugar.

  The poor lighting was a bit disturbing for a place that sold food, but the smell of sugar pretty much wiped out my concerns.

  Cindy was working alone, waiting on a customer who, from the back, didn’t look as if she’d tasted so much as a sprinkle, much less a cupcake.

  Cindy glanced at me. I couldn’t tell if she recognized me or not. We’d only met once before, during a painful mountain bike excursion that I’d stupidly done to impress a male.

  Luckily, my love life was currently wrapped up, and any thoughts of submitting myself to silly self–improvement efforts were safely behind me.

  Based on Cindy’s chosen profession, and the fact that she looked as if she’d put on a few pounds since our last meeting, I assumed that they were behind her too.

  After a quick nod my direction, she returned her attention to the skinny minnie.

  “So, a double batch tomorrow? I can do that, but I’ll have to let you know about Thursday. Our...”

  She glanced at me. Realizing I’d had my hands and nose pressed against the display case’s glass in an attempt to see whether the cupcakes inside were red velvet or just plain chocolate, I stepped back and studied a sign posted with pricing instead.

  “...flour supplier hasn’t returned my call. We should be okay, but there’s always a possibility of a shortage.”

  There was a pause in the conversation, making me feel like one or both of them was looking at me again. I took another step away. Encroaching on Cindy’s space would do little to help my case when I asked to borrow whatever she might have access to from her family’s past.

  “I understand,” the female customer replied. “But if this is going to become an ongoing issue—”

  “It won’t.”

  Cindy was a bit abrupt with her customer, but then the customer threatening to take her business elsewhere seemed less than polite too.

  I shrugged off the exchange and went back to planning my cupcake order... and what I was going to say to Cindy to plead my case, of course.

  Cindy disappeared for a moment and then reappeared with a disposable aluminum pan that was covered with another sheet of aluminum, making it hard for me to say for sure what was inside.

  Well, not that hard. I smelled brownies. Chocolate ones.

  I hadn’t seen them on the menu. Wondering what other delights had been left off, I looked back at the sign.

  “Tomorrow we’ll be okay, but Thursday we’ll need more. I can stop before five. If it’s later than that, you will have to deliver. By six a.m. we’ll be swamped with customers.”

  Swamped with customers and by six a.m.?

  I turned to see who this business phenomenon was.

  The woman holding the pan of brownies was young, maybe twenty two, although her braids made her look even younger. She was also attractive, with assets that said she wasn’t afraid of surgical enhancement, and a smile that said she knew that I had noticed.

  It wasn’t, however, her assets or her smile that caused me pause. It was her t–shirt, emblazoned with the title Caffeine Cartel Cutie. The string tie of a bikini top poked out the neck.

  Joe’s newest competition, the coffee kiosk, was called The Caffeine Cartel. I hadn’t realized the girls working in it were known as Cuties.

  Not that I could argue with the title. She was cute. Way cuter than Joe, darn her.

  She left with a bounce in her step that I was fairly certain was for my benefit. I watched her go, feeling old and decidedly un–bouncey.

  The door had barely swung shut when I heard the tell–tale sound of a malamute wooing. I considered ignoring it, but after catching Cindy’s eye and her annoyed expression, I thought better of it. I walked to the door and peered out.

  My dog was standing in the Jeep with his head, up to his eyeballs, shoved out the obviously too–large crack that I’d left in the window. The Cutie, busy stowing the brownies in her car, looked over her shoulder at him and laughed.

  To my surprise, she didn’t stop there. After securing the baked goods, she walked back toward my Jeep, a dog cookie held out between two fingers.

  “Can I help you?”

  I turned to find Cindy watching me with an impatient frown on her face.

  I hesitated, but just for a moment. Kiska had no
allergies, and if someone was offering him food, the last thing he would do is alienate them by growling. He’d be fine. The Cutie would be fine. And me rushing outside to check on either of them might lose me my opportunity to talk with Cindy.

  I let the door close and pointed at myself. “Lucy. We met a year or so ago... on the bike ride.”

  Cindy blinked. I could see her going through the Rolodex of the past year of her life, and I knew the minute she landed on my card.

  “Oh, yeah. You’re the antique store owner who had my great–great–grandmother’s ruby.”

  That didn’t sound as grateful as I’d hoped.

  “Did your family get it back?” I asked, upbeat and enthusiastic.

  “No.”

  “Oh... that’s too bad.” The conversation wasn’t going as I’d hoped. Time to redirect. “So, was that the owner of The Caffeine Cartel? She’s young, isn’t she?”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Yeah.”

  “And already so successful. I drive by every day and the line almost wraps around the lot.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “I’d been wondering what they were doing to get such a crowd. I mean coffee is coffee, right?” I bit my lip, grateful that Joe wasn’t nearby listening to this. “But now, I know it’s you.”

  “Me? I don’t think so.” She widened her eyes, obviously startled by my praise.

  “Sure... you supply their pastries, right? That has to be the draw.” I expected at least a smile at my blatant flattery.

  Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “I need to close. Did you want to buy something?”

  Her terseness took me off guard. “Uh... I...”

  “If not...” She waved her hand toward the door.

  I snapped to attention. “Of course... cupcakes.”

  She grabbed a piece of wax paper and slid open the case. “How many?”

  There were two full shelves of cupcakes. Even I couldn’t eat that many before they went stale, but the more I bought, the longer I had to turn the conversation to my real purpose.

  “All of them!” I declared.

  She blinked again. “All of them? Even the ones in the back?”

  I swallowed. “How many do you have in the back?”

  “Sixty four. I had a retirement party cancel.”

  Eek. Maybe I could do some kind of promotion, free cupcake with purchase, or donate them somewhere. Phyllis was always trying to get me to do some kind of charitable work. What was more charitable than free cupcakes?

  “There is one thing,” Cindy added.

  I waited.

  “The ones in the back have a kind of distinct theme.”

  o0o

  Twenty minutes later, Cindy came through the door from the kitchen holding four white cardboard boxes.

  A smile stuck on my face like half–chewed taffy on a malamute’s coat, I waited as she lifted the lid off the top box. There was an assortment of cupcakes inside, with a variety of decorations, everything from smiling suns to tiny coffee cups.

  “Cute,” I said, trying to look appreciative.

  I must have pulled it off. She warmed. “But these others are the ones I’m most proud of.” She pulled the top off another box.

  “Oh,” I exclaimed, unsure how I was supposed to react. “They’re...”

  Cindy completed my sentence. “Piles of poop.” She tilted her head to the side as she studied the tiny “specimens.” “I usually do a full sized cake with the flies on it...” She waved her hand toward the cupcakes. I noticed there were indeed tiny flies dotting each one.

  “Marzipan,” she explained. “They’re edible.”

  She said the last as if I would want to eat a fly, sugar or not.

  I did have my limits.

  “This many flies really adds to the cost, but since you didn’t order them, I’m throwing them in for free.”

  Yay, me. I nodded and reached for my wallet.

  “The poop cake is really popular,” she babbled. “Especially for retirement parties, divorce parties, that kind of thing.”

  I found my checkbook and started scribbling. I was just about to tear it out when I remembered that I’d ordered all of these cupcakes to get on Cindy’s good side so she’d loan me some Deere memorabilia.

  “Are you doing anything special for the sesquicentennial?”

  She raised both brows.

  “For Helena? One hundred and fifty years old?”

  “Oh... that. No.” She plopped the last of the cupcakes from the display case into a third box and reached for the tape dispenser to seal it shut.

  “That’s too bad. The Downtown Association is having a window contest.”

  She widened her eyes while maintaining an expression of complete disinterest.

  “I’ve chosen... early women of the West.”

  “Like Sacagawea?”

  “Uh, not that early,” I stuttered. “More, well...” I pretended to think and then brightened. “Like your great–great–grandmother, actually. Ruby Deere.”

  “Oh.” She set the filled box on the other two and held out her hand. “$192. That includes a discount on the poop ones.”

  Gulping, I finished filling out my check and held it out to her. “You know, I hadn’t thought of it before, but you don’t happen to have anything of Ruby’s that I could borrow, do you? I would love to feature her.”

  She stared at me blankly. “Is that why you’re here?”

  I waved my hands in the air, making a flapping noise that was embarrassing, even to my ears. “No, no, no... of course not. Actually, I didn’t want to mention it, because Joe, of Cuppa Joe, is my friend, but I’d heard you were supplying the baked goods for the Coffee Cartel and I just had to see what all the fuss was about.”

  She frowned. “What fuss?”

  “You know... buzz. The line? Like I said, I knew it couldn’t just be coffee pulling them in.” I winked at her in what I hoped was a friendly, just us girls, kind of way.

  She jerked the check from my fingers and slapped the full boxes down in front of me. “If you want to borrow something of my great–great–grandmother’s, you’ll have to talk to Darrell. He’s still hoarding it all. If you want to taste my baked goods, there.” She nodded to the boxes. “If...” She leaned forward until her breasts brushed the tops of the closed pastry boxes. “...you want something else... say it.”

  She stared me down for the count of three and then took a step back.

  Unsure what I had done to make her demeanor take such a turn, I grabbed the boxes, mumbled my thanks and darted out of the shop.

  o0o

  Cindy’s suggestion that I talk to Darrell if I was interested in borrowing something of Ruby Deere’s pretty much blew up any chance I had of securing said memorabilia.

  Since I’d uncovered Darrell Deere’s plans to cheat his siblings out of their share of the family ruby, we hadn’t been exactly what I’d call close. So unless I could come up with a plan to endear myself to him, or blackmail him, it looked I was S.O.L. for those plans.

  Still, when I drove by the coffee kiosk that night and saw his luxury sedan second in line, I couldn’t help but turn in.

  I drove slowly, as if Kiska and I were having a hard time selecting from one of the fifty open spots in the lot.

  It was past ten. Everything in the center except the Caffeine Cartel was closed, and the line to it was the shortest I’d ever seen. Just a truck and Darrell.

  I was surprised the Cartel wasn’t closed too.

  And buying coffee after 10, Darrell had to be a hardcore addict.

  As the truck pulled away, Darrell pulled forward. Sensing my opportunity, I zipped the Jeep into a parking spot and hopped out. After a moment of consideration, I reached back inside the Jeep for a box of Cindy’s cupcakes. In my rush, the box fell open and two tumbled out. Damn and they’d been perfect too, what looked like German chocolate with marzipan coffee cups on top.

  The car in front of Darrell
’s revved its engine and pulled away, allowing Darrell to roll forward.

  Afraid I was going to miss my chance, I grabbed a new box and raced to position myself between the kiosk and Darrell’s open window.

  “Lucy!”

  He didn’t look thrilled to see me. I didn’t let that deter me though. Honestly, I was kind of used to the reaction.

  “Darrell! It’s been a while. I was visiting with Cindy today. Have you been to her bakery? She supplies the Caffeine Cartel with their brownies.” I turned to look over my shoulder at the kiosk, only to discover that the window was closed and a shade of some sort had been pulled down, blocking my view of anything inside.

  Darrell’s gaze followed mine, and his frown deepened. “Brownies? Really.”

  “Yes, I was hoping to try one...” I motioned to the now–closed kiosk, “but I guess I’ll have to come back...” Trying to sound pensive, I turned to study the menu. “Maybe I’ll have a...” There were no brownies listed on it. No baked goods at all. There was though a pecan pie latte that sounded enticing...

  “I see you still have that dog.”

  Kiska was standing in the front seat, eyes glued to me and the box of cupcakes that I’d smuggled out of the Jeep.

  I smiled and nodded, as if I didn’t notice Darrell’s tone. Darrell and Kiska were even less friendly than Darrell and I were.

  “Well, since you’ve cost me my—” Darrell tapped his steering wheel, cutting off the end of whatever he’d been about to say.

  “Oh, yes, sorry. I just saw you and, as I said, I’d been by Cindy’s, and she’d had a special on cupcakes which I couldn’t pass up, but then I realized, I can’t eat them all. I mean I could, but...” I was rambling, and I could tell by his expression he didn’t find it endearing. “Here.” I shoved the box of baked goods into his car.

  “Uh...” He blinked, but took them.

  Figuring this was as good an opening as I was going to get, I plowed on. “But listen, as long as I’ve got you here...” I worked my way through another rambling monologue. This one about how excited I was about Helena’s birthday this year and what a supporter of Helena history he was and how I’d been thinking... “I’d give you full credit, of course. I know how important your reputation is to you.”