Free Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster by A. Gardner Page B

easy for you to say." I raise my voice. "You're not the one being framed for murder. And the murder of a member of the mafia at that."
    "Don't argue with me, Poppy. I've been through this process thousands of times. I know what I'm doing." He raises his voice to match mine.
    Bree crosses her arms, looking concerned.
    "You wouldn't have figured out last year's scandal if it weren't for me," I blurt out. My experiences with detectives and inspectors, law enforcement in general, are always skewed by something. The first time I was pulled over for speeding, the cop gave me a free pass in exchange for my cell phone number.
    It's time I did this my way.
    "Don't do this, Poppy." He exhales loudly. "I was inches from cracking it. You just happened to get there first."
    "Let me in on the case," I state. "Give me all the deats, and I can be your spy on the inside."
    "No." Detective Reid doesn't even pause to think through his answer. His mind is made up. "I don't want a repeat of last time. Do you remember the danger you were in?"
    "I wouldn't have been in that position in the first place if you would've listened to me. Why doesn't anyone listen to me?"
    "Is this why you called me?" he shouts. "To criticize my work ethic?"
    "I called to tell you that something's up with Otto Chimenti."
    "I'll look into it." He grunts. "Stay on campus." He hangs up before I can explain any more. I toss my phone aside and tug at a strand of my dark chocolatey locks. Years ago it used to be raven black—the shade of black that shines blue in the sun. That Poppy wouldn't let a stubborn man like Detective Reid get in her way. That Poppy was also a bit reckless.
    "Why do all men always think they're right?" I mumble.
    "Because they never listen when you tell them they're wrong." Bree sighs, watching her cookies rise in the oven.
    "When I was in Paris, I did a lot of waiting around." I stare at my phone. "A lot of good that did, and it turns out one of the Detectives on the case was in on it the whole time." I bang my fist on the table and quickly regret it. The side of my hand throbs, but I try not to focus on it.
    "Don't do anything rash," Bree warns me. "You have that look on your face. You're scheming."
    "Bree," I announce. "How would you like to help me catch a killer before Detective Reid does?"
    "That'll definitely shut him up if that's what you're going for," she answers, directing her attention to the oven again.
    "Do you still have that business card from the farmers' market?"
    "Sweet T Soaps?" Bree guesses. "In my room."
    "Grab it." I ready my fingers. "We're going to race Derek to the finish line."
     
    *   *   *
     
    I pray for Bonnie to answer rather than her difficult sister, Mary Frances.
    "Hello," a woman picks up, "Sweet T Soaps, this is Mary Frances."
    Darn.
    "Mary Frances," I reply, trying to sound as upbeat as possible. "I'm actually looking for Bonnie. Is she around?" I see Bonnie's sun-worn face in my head along with the handmade yarn vest thing she wore on Saturday.
    "Who may I ask is calling?" Mary Frances inquires.
    "It's her friend from Georgia."
    Bree stares at me.
    "Poppy?" I say.
    Bree shakes her head.
    "Yes, I remember." Mary Frances pauses. "Bonnie is not here."
    "Oh…" I look to Bree as she slowly nods. "When will she be in?"
    "It's hard to say. Is there something I can help you with?"
    "I was just wondering if you two will be coming back to Georgia this weekend." I improvise. "I was hoping to buy a couple of those peach tea bars that smelled so good."
    "I'm afraid we're not stopping in Georgia any time soon," Mary Frances answers. "And you can buy our soaps online."
    "Okay—"
    "Thank you for calling." Mary Frances hangs up.
    "I told you not to use your real name," Bree mutters.
    "And what if Bonnie had been there? Was I supposed to just change my name back to Poppy?"
    "Maybe?" Bree shrugs. She's as clueless as I am as to why Mary Frances is refusing to discuss what happened not so far from her soap booth.
    Solving this