the one coffee shop in the area that employed my amazing friend George.
âItâs not too busy today,â George murmured, sidling up next to me in the crisp white shirt and black apron that served as her uniform. âThatâs lucky. Itâll make âDudeâ easier to spot.â
I nodded. âI already have, like, three potential âDudesâ picked out,â I whispered. âThe bald guy at table one, the redhead at table eight, and the biker guy sitting at the bar.â
George surveyed my candidates with interest. âThe biker guy ordered a strawberry mocha dream-a-chino,â she whispered back, âjust in case that takes him off any kind of âpotential criminalâ list.â
I shot her a horrified look. âGeorge, criminals drink all kinds of coffee drinks!â
âThereâs no coffee in that,âGeorge corrected me. âBut there is a mountain of whipped cream.â
I looked back at Biker Dude just in time to watch him put down his mug, revealing a huge whipped-cream mustache. I glanced at George and couldnât help giggling.
âGeorge, did you wipe down table seven?â Georgeâs boss, Lydia, interrupted our giggle-fest. She leaned over from her desk just inside the kitchen, frowning.
âIâll get right on it,â George replied, shooting me a sorry, but she pays me look. Lydia hadnât exactly been thrilled when weâd explained that we wanted to turn the Coffee Cabin into a recording studio. Sheâd nixed Bess having any part in it, so Bess had headed downtown to get her much-craved manicureâbut not before we promised to keep her updated via text. Meanwhile, Lydia had been staring daggers at my back since Iâd arrived, sarcastically asking how our âlittle detective gameâ was going.
When George left to wipe the table, I looked to the doorway as the bell jingled, indicating a new customer.When an older woman walked in, I felt myself deflate a little.
I looked out the window, across the street, where a River Heights police cruiser idled. Iâd had quite a hard time getting the River Heights Police Department to take me seriously when Iâd gone into the station to tell them everything I knew about the Black Creek case. They told me the only crimes actually committed (the vandalism and contamination of the crops) had been outside their jurisdiction, and that a meeting of two potential culprits didnât warrant sending an officer to the scene. It took a gentle reminder that the noted attorney Carson Drew would be very upset if anything were to happen to his darling daughter to get them to agree to send Officer Bailey over to wait outside the café in his squad car, âmonitoring the situation.â He still looked pretty unhappy about it, with his folded arms and grim expression. He glanced over at the coffee shop, and I waved brightly. I swear he rolled his eyes before giving an exaggerated yawn.
I was so busy watching Officer Bailey that I almostmissed the door opening again, setting off the jingling bells. George was nearly back to the kitchen and turned to look too. When I saw who was entering, though, I frowned. It was Holly, Georgeâs old Girl Scouts leader. If she saw us here, sheâd want to know what was going on with the Black Creek Farm case, and I didnât want to get into a long conversation with her that would distract me from Jack and âDude.â I ducked into the kitchen just before Holly could spot me and waved to George to wait on her. George nodded and walked out to the register.
âCan I help you?â I heard.
âOmigod, George ! I totally forgot you worked here! Can I get a large soy latte?â
âOf course! How are things going?â
âOh, you know, I canât complain. I just started teaching this new yoga class over at the community centerâwater yoga? Have you heard anything . . .â
I tuned their voices out
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