Free A Frothy Fiasco: A Cozy Mystery (Sweet Home Mystery Series Book 3) by Constance Barker

front page news next week!” Jules was just coming in through the back to get a morning cup of tea. “Toilet Paper Turbans for the Coffee Queens!”
    Essie managed a smile. Only Jules could get away with a remark like that. “Mmhmm. And the next week the big story would be your obituary.”
    “Essie!” It’s not often that Essie can actually shock me.
    “Oh, settle down,” Jules said to me with a smile and a bounce in her step as she walked over and hugged my aunts. “We’re just teasing each other. Your hair does look beautiful, Essie. Yours too, Hildie. Your pictures would make a good ad for Connie’s Salon.”
    “Tea today?” I asked her, since I was behind the counter anyway.
    “Yep. I’ll get it.”
    “Sit. So, is the press ready to roll?”
    “It’s oiled and inked and ready to go. The paper will be in Monday, and I’ve got a great press operator lined up. Now all I have to do is write a newspaper!”
    “Well, the Sleepy Palms charity event this weekend should give you a few stories and some great pictures,” Essie said. “There’s a lot of activity over there today and tomorrow. Golf, a big picnic for the families…”
    “And the big golf cart steeplechase tomorrow,” I added. “Are you and Toe going to enter it, Essie?”
    She gave me a look that would make small children cry, but I could see through it. “Toe doesn’t have a golf cart. He has a pickup truck for his handyman business.”
    “No, but you do. Each cart needs a knight and a damsel.”
    “Well, he hasn’t asked, and I don’t want to take my new golf cart through mud puddles and bumpy trails. Besides…” She inhaled deeply and looked straight ahead at the wall. “…what if he’s a criminal?”
    Hildie broke the awkward silence. “Well, it’s the 21 st Century. Why can’t two damsels enter the race? Essie, we can drive around those puddles and hazards and still beat the others with their old clunker carts. What do you say?”
    She nodded. “But what about Harvey? I know he’s been looking forward to the steeplechase. Won’t you be riding with him?”
    “I’d rather beat him. He thinks just because his shark-mobile can run over Mr. Jeffries a few times that he can glide right through this track. Besides, maybe he’d rather take the future mother of his grandchildren.”
    It took a three-count for me to realize that she was talking about me. “Whoa, there, Hildie. You’re putting that golf cart way before the horse. Anyway, Moira and Carmen and I are going to set up a stand to sell smoothies and frappes there tomorrow. We’re going to fill up all 12 air pots and sell them for $5 apiece.”
    Hildie looked at Jules.
    “Don’t look at me! I’ll be taking pictures and interviewing people for the paper.”
    “Well, he can bring Miss Pickles or maybe the Jenkins girl. They’re still in town with Tommy and Tabitha while their parents are taking a Mediterranean cruise to see if they can iron out their intense hatred of each other.”
    “Yeah.” Essie crossed her ankles and clasped her hands on her lap. “That little Josie would be a lighter load for his golf cart to carry anyway.”
    Hildie’s face grew red with ire, but, as always, she chose to bite her tongue. Jules and I rolled our eyes and shook our heads just enough for each other to see.
    “Well, at least with all of these burglaries I’ll have some real news for the front page.” Jules looked around the table and then over to the bulletin board. “It’s been a week, you guys. Help me figure this out. It would help get the paper off to a good start if we could figure this thing out. I want each of you to tell me who you think is guilty and why.” She got the small order pad and a pen from the counter. “Hildie, who do you think is doing this?”
    The old girl didn’t hesitate. “Trevor Barton, Clarence Jackson—and Moira Baumgardner.”
    Jules and I looked at each other, a little shocked and confused. “Why, Hildie?”
    “Well, Trevor was