Free To Helvetica and Back by Paige Shelton

her the less-than-happy news. She’ll take it better from you than she would anyone else.”
    â€œWill do,” I said.
    Chester put the note on the door and locked it after me. He waved and I watched as he and Baskerville made their way through the store and to the back.
    He seemed perfectly fine.
    I hoped he truly was.

5
    â€œI have some sugar cookies,” Mirabelle said. She was standing in front of her pantry, holding an old, wrinkled bag of cookies. From my vantage point in the kitchen doorway, it looked like it might just be an empty bag.
    â€œNone for me. Just some coffee would be great,” I said.
    Mirabelle had never gotten into cooking or baking or anything overly domestic. Her house was neat, but always a little dusty. She was fond of frozen pizzas and ice cream sandwiches. She was still thin and in good shape, so no doctors had thought it necessary to chastise her for her eating habits.
    She was also very fond of coffee; hot, hot coffee that burned weaker humans’ mouths. Whenever she offered a cup, I took it but didn’t drink from it right away. I didn’t know how she got her coffee hotter than anyone elsecould get theirs, but it was a talent I respected with my few-minutes-to-cool rule.
    â€œJust as well. These are so old they might break teeth.” Mirabelle folded the bag and threw it in the garbage can under the sink. “Sit. The coffee will be ready in only a few minutes.” She eyed me sideways as I sat. “You didn’t bring the No. 5. Is there a problem?”
    â€œThe police took it. Well, Creighton took it on behalf of the police. Have you heard the news about what Chester and I found behind our building?” Getting the story out quickly was the best way, like ripping a Band-Aid off instead of pulling it slowly.
    â€œNo.”
    I told her about leather man’s tragic demise.
    â€œHe deserved it,” she said without any remorse whatsoever. “How dare he come in and threaten you and Marion, or anyone else for that matter? How dare he!”
    â€œAnyway, Creighton thought that your No. 5 should be looked over thoroughly by the crime scene techs. Just in case there’s any sort of evidence or a clue that will lead to the killer.”
    â€œI guess I understand that reasoning, but I hope they don’t hurt it. I’ll call Creighton and let him know I’d like to get it back in one piece. Did you have a chance to fix it?”
    â€œI did,” I said as Mirabelle set a steaming cup on the table in front of me. She sat in another chair.
    Mirabelle lived in a small square house with a spindled front porch and white shutters. The siding was pale pink,pale enough that it was difficult to identify the color unless you looked very closely. The inside was made up of simple old and comfy furniture. Her living room fireplace was framed in decorative tile that had been painted with all different sorts of kittens. The house was very different than my small chalet-type house that sat at the top of Main Street, but I thought Mirabelle’s home fit her perfectly. Even though Mirabelle had never had a cat—she was a dog person—the cute kittens worked.
    Her side of the street held six houses that had been built during a Star City silver-mining boom. They’d originally been houses for miners and their families. They were all small and square-ish like Mirabelle’s, but I’d heard that some had held large families, kids packed side to side like sausages on cots or mattresses. All six houses had been refurbished over time, and though they were still small, they were pretty adorable and were featured in a Star City postcard collection that many of the gift shops sold.
    â€œI saw something,” I continued after Mirabelle had taken her first hot sip.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI saw something interesting on the typewriter,” I said. “Well, on the key bars.”
    â€œWhat did you see?” She