Free Loose Lips by Rae Davies Page B

kiosk.
Rachel had insisted, and I’d marked it up to research. (Good, but
not “wait in line half an hour” good.) But there was no way I was
telling Joe that. I just hoped I didn’t hop out of his shop like a
possessed pogo stick.
    “So, that detective came by,” he said,
sliding the cup toward me.
    My hand froze. “Oh.” I’d forgotten that I’d
told Detective Klein about Joe’s lost business and my desire to
help him discover what the Cuties were offering to lure it
away.
    “Nice guy.”
    I must have looked shocked or something.
    “Not as nice as Peter, of course.”
    I nodded as if the worry that he preferred
the Chicago detective to my boyfriend had been the cause of my
expression.
    I wanted to ask what Klein had spoken to him
about, but I couldn’t think of a subtle way to work around to it.
Instead, I took a sip of the latte and asked, “Is business any
better?”
    The light in his eyes faded. “The day
after...” He stopped.
    “After the Cartel owner was found dead?” I
prompted.
    He nodded. “You found her, didn’t you? You
seem to have a record going. Maybe I should quit letting you in
here.”
    He looked solemn enough that my mind
stuttered.
    Then he laughed. “Just kidding you. I know
it isn’t your fault. You just have a knack. Besides, I can’t afford
to turn down any business. Typhoid Mary could walk in and I’d offer
free refills for a month, just to get her to sit down and fill a
spot for a while.” He motioned to the empty tables that were
usually full of a mix of cowboys, hikers, and other locals.
    I glanced around, doing some quick
calculations in my head. “How many people do you serve in a day,
when things are good?”
    “Depends on the season. A big event like a
parade and I do better. Middle of winter with nothing to bring
tourists downtown, things can be slow.” He frowned. “But not this
slow.”
    “So...” He had twenty tables that seated
from two to four people. During an event like he’d mentioned, all
of them might be full with other people standing in line for coffee
to go. A normal winter day, I might come in to find half the tables
occupied and see a dozen or so people come in and out while I
chatted with whomever I’d bumped into while picking up my own
morning jolt.
    “Maybe 100 a day?” I guessed.
    He shrugged. I wasn’t sure if he didn’t know
the answer himself, or if he just didn’t see any reason to share
the information with me.
    His next question made me guess the
latter.
    “Why do you want to know?”
    He didn’t sound angry or resentful, just
curious. Still, guilt instantly washed over me.
    I flushed. “Just figuring how many people we
needed to get back in here to get things back to normal.”
    His expression relaxed. “No need to stop at
normal. I’ll take all the business I can get. Except...” He twisted
his mouth to one side. “You aren’t the only one to ask me about
that this week. That detective did too. He seemed to know the kiosk
had put a dent in my bottom–line. He didn’t accuse me of
anything...” The line between his eyes deepened. “You don’t think
he could think I’d kill that girl over lost business do you?”
    I assured him Klein wouldn’t, but as I
walked back to my shop, I couldn’t help but do the math in my head.
One hundred customers at five dollars a head. Over a year, that was
over $180,000, and that wasn’t taking into account the tourist
season that was just around the corner. If the kiosk was still
around then, how much more would Joe lose?
    $180,000 plus was a pretty big amount and a
pretty big motive.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    As I walked back to the shop, I mulled over
my math. Did the kiosk have 100 customers a day? Maybe. Maybe more.
Did that mean the thousand plus that Rachel had had in the till was
reasonable? It didn’t seem like it, but there was no way, aside
from parking outside the kiosk and counting every customer and
their purchases, that I could think to confirm my suspicions. I was
still