Loose Lips (3 page)

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.”

Remembering the pecan pie latte, I glanced
back over my shoulder to see if there was a calorie count
listed.

“My reputation.” His gaze followed mine.
Then he looked back at the cupcake box. As he slid his thumb under
the tape, I realized what I’d done.

Not the red velvets.

I dove forward, but it was too late, he’d
already lifted the lid.

Poop. Poop on a cupcake. With
flies.

I stepped back, ready for the anger,
outrage, something. Instead, he just blinked again, looked from the
box to the kiosk and finally back to me.

“Message received.” He tossed the pastry box
into the back seat of his sedan. “Send a list of your demands to my
office.” Then he wrenched his steering wheel away from me and sped
off.

Peeled out actually. Not something you saw a
full–sized luxury sedan do too often.

I stood behind in the semi–dark parking lot
feeling ashamed and lost. I was not a fan of Darrell’s, but I’d
never intended to insinuate that he was... poop. Or should eat it,
or whatever horrid message he’d taken from those cupcakes.

I should call and explain. Call and
apologize.

But for what? Cupcakes? They were tasty. I’d
already eaten three, sugar fly and all.

He was over–reacting. I was over–reacting.
And if the cupcakes got me my window display...

I shook my head and wandered back to the
Jeep. It was late, I was tired and not in a state of mind to delve
too deeply into such a moral dilemma.

I wouldn’t give away any more of the
cupcakes though. I’d just have to eat them myself.

Hard job, but someone had to
... I
opened the door to the Jeep. The smell of sugar and butter smacked
me in the face; a glob of frosting did too.

Kiska leaned low over a half–eaten box of
cupcakes. Literally, the box itself was half eaten. I’d left the
cupcakes in the back; he hadn’t seemed to realize they were there,
but obviously, I’d chummed the waters with the two that I’d
dropped.

As I stared, stunned at my own stupidity, he
grabbed what was left of the cardboard and swung it back and forth
in his jaws, chewing and gulping as if the survival of the entire
malamute breed depended on him downing the thing before I came to
my senses and jerked it away.

I didn’t... come to my senses or try to jerk
the box away, at least not until the last bit of white pastry board
had disappeared down his furry gullet.

At 3 a.m., I awoke to a scene and smell I
only hoped at some point in the future I’d be able to scrub from my
mind. Hopefully more thoroughly than I was able to scrub Kiska’s
post–cupcake feast from my floors and couch.

With only the worst cleaned up, I shoved him
outside and opened every window in the place. I even managed to
force open a couple that had been sealed by paint a good two
decades before my occupancy.