said. âBefore someone comes. I had a party of six waiting for my assistant to make their Monster Mocha Macchiatos. Theyâre on their way here next.â
âWell,â Dolly continued. âSome people, not me mind you . . .â
âGo on . . .â
âSome people say that Lucille caused Janineâs divorce.â
âLucille Foster?â Liv asked. The woman hadnât struck Liv as the town vixen.
âNo one would ever say anything. Carson is well respected in this town.â Dolly pursed her lips.
BeBe snorted. âPlus he owns mortgages on everything that isnât held by First Celebration Bank. Not to mention a bunch of money that heâs invested for anyone with two pennies to rub together.â
âWait,â Liv said. âHow did his wife cause Janineâs divorce?â
The front door opened; the little bell that welcomed newcomers made the three women jump apart. Like three co-conspirators. Or witches in a Shakespeare play.
Dolly grimaced before moving behind the counter and smiling at the newcomers. âMay I help you?â
BeBe and Liv waved good-bye and walked next door to the Buttercup Coffee Exchange, passing six coffee-cup-wielding tourists on their way. The coffee bar was empty except for Quincy Hinks, owner of the Bookworm, taking his morning break. He was bent over a hardcover book, oblivious to the world and the grinning skeleton that was sharing his table.
He didnât even look up when Whiskey, recognizing his favorite catâs roommate, trotted over and sniffed Quincyâs shoes.
BeBe held up a finger to Penny Newland, who was working part time at the coffee bar, and pulled Liv around into the back room.
âI heard that Janineâs husband and Lucille were having an affair, and Janine found out about it. Janine and Lucille evidently had been best friends before that. I donât have any details. Thatâs just what I heard. I didnât know them, but from what Iâve heard . . .â BeBe lowered her voice. âWell, Carson may be well respected as a man and an investor, but I heard he was a pretty boring husband. So Lucille looked elsewhere.â BeBe smothered a laugh.
âThatâs interesting, but I donât see how it could have anything to do with the vandalism.â
âMe, neither. Not exactly a killing offense.â BeBe frowned. âPlus it was years ago. Well, letâs get your order. I have to get back to work.â
So did Liv. It had taken her a good twenty minutes to make the three-block walk from her house to the Buttercup, and she still had a whole block of shops to go.
âI know Mocha Macchiato isnât your thing,â BeBe said. âWant to give Witches Brew a try? Just a dash of licorice.â
âBeBe,â Liv said.
BeBe huffed. âI know, double-shot latte, no whip cream, no cinnamon. Donât you ever want to expand you horizons?â
âYes, just not with coffee.â
BeBe had just finished steaming the milk for Livâs latte, when Dolly ran into the coffee bar. âFred just called. The police picked up Ernie Bolton for questioning.â
âIt was inevitable,â Liv said, though she was surprised theyâd moved this fast. âHe seems the most probable culprit for the vandalism.â
âBut murder, Liv?â
A cold shiver ran up Livâs spine and she gripped Whiskeyâs leash a little tighter. âDid Fred say they thought it was murder?â
âNo, but what else could it be?â
âI think we should just wait and see. Now I have to run, Ted will be screaming for sustenance.â And she still had to make it down the rest of the block.
She took the cardboard tray with Tedâs tea and her no-frills latte in the other hand.
BeBe ran to open the door. âLet us know the minute you learn anything.â
âYou, too.â Liv looked out the door. Coast clear. What were the
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