The Shut Mouth Society by James D. Best Page B

top of his list. He bounded up the stairs to the kitchen to find Baldwin at his breakfast table, sipping coffee and reading the Los Angeles Times. He had caught his thief.
    “ Good morning. I see you found the coffee.”
    She pointed over her shoulder with a single finger. “Right next to the coffeepot. Papers on the stoop. Simple deductive logic.” She looked up from the paper and smiled. “Would you hire me as a detective?”
    “ Depends on how neat you left my guest room.”
    She made a point of surveying his spotless kitchen. “Perhaps I’ll withdraw my application. I can never be this tidy.”
    Evarts poured himself a cup of coffee. “I get that a lot.” He returned to the kitchen table. “Anything in the papers?”
    “ Nothing in the Times . I guess the story broke too late.”
    “ I’ll check the local paper.”
    They read their respective papers and sipped coffee like this was something they did every morning. In less than ten minutes, Evarts said, “The story’s here, front page, but no details and no mention of a hate crime.”
    She folded up her paper and said, “I’ll bet your police didn’t let any reporters onto the property.”
    “ You got that right. The city leaders are nervous as hell.” He folded up the local paper and stood to carry them over to the trash compactor, when the phone rang. The ringing continued incessantly until he reached the library to take the call out of earshot.
    When he returned, he said, “Chief’s tied up. They told me not to come in until afternoon.”
    “ What’ll we do?” she asked.
    “ Breakfast. We need nourishment for our research.”
    Evarts checked outside from the vantage of his rooftop patio and kept Baldwin inside until he had reviewed the situation again from street level. With no visible threat, they walked the couple of blocks to a beach shanty that called itself Mrs. Olson’s Coffee Hut.
    When they entered, the waitress—probably once a hot item, but now paunchy and time beaten—looked over Baldwin’s expensive attire and said, “Slumming, are we?”
    “ Greta, be kind or I’ll tell her you molest children.”
    “ Matt just needs a place to stay. Besides, he’s twenty-seven years old.”
    “ A child, nonetheless.”
    Greta laughed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Seat yourself.”
    The Hut had been cheaply furnished with Formica-top tables covered with strawberry-patterned oilcloth. Evarts picked a small table for two in the rear. Greta followed them over. “What ya have, hon?” she asked Baldwin.
    “ Oatmeal. Do you have any fresh fruit?”
    “ Of course, we opened the can just an hour ago.”
    “ Then just oatmeal with raisins, walnuts, and maple syrup. Whole wheat toast.”
    “ Got the oatmeal, got the raisins, got the whole wheat bread, but I’m betting you won’t like our imitation maple syrup, and I sold all the walnuts to that gent over there.” She hooked a thumb behind her at an empty table.
    “ Then just bring brown sugar on the side.”
    “ Of course.” Greta turned to Evarts with a look that said, “Where did you pick this one up?”
    Evarts said, “Bacon and eggs, over easy, hash browns, and rye toast. Coffees.”
    “ Like I couldn’t have guessed that,” Greta muttered, as she walked away to place their order.
    Baldwin looked around, concerned. “Are we safe here?”
    “ I think so. Locals only. Inlanders stand out like a sore thumb.”
    “ Like I did?”
    “ Yup.”
    Greta brought their coffee. After a sip, Baldwin looked down and said, “Greg, I’m scared.” When she lifted her head, her designer glasses failed to hide eyes that looked ready to tear.
    “ Me too.”
    “ Really? I’m not sure that’s reassuring. You’re supposed to be the tough-guy cop. Have you ever been scared in the line of duty?”
    Evarts thought about it. “No.”
    “ Not even in the military?”
    “ I was in Intelligence. A desk job. No spy stuff. We’re both actually just a couple of researchers.”
    Baldwin