Loose Lips Read Free

added.
    “Less?”
    Phyllis raised a judging brow. “Two words...
Mardi Gras.”
    “Mardi Gras?”
    Seeing how slow I was on the uptake, Betty
jumped in to translate.
    “She’s saying they flash their
headlights.”
    “Their...?”
    Betty pointed at her chest.
    I dropped my donut. “No!” As soon as I did
it, I was embarrassed. I was a progressive woman, and I wasn’t a
prude.
    “Guess they really are BAREistas,” Rhonda
offered with a grin.
    While she and Betty laughed, Phyllis stewed.
“Someone needs to shut them down.”
    It did seem to be at the very least a
completely unfair competitive advantage. How was Joe supposed to
compete with that?
    His brass was even more tarnished than
Betty’s.

CHAPTER TWO
    Sympathetic as I was to Joe’s situation, I
had competitive issues of my own to deal with. After leaving
Rhonda’s, I picked up Kiska from my shop, and we wandered down the
Gulch. As he sniffed and peed, I made small talk with passersby and
other business owners about the sesquicentennial, coyly ferreting
out information on my competition for the big window display
contest.
    The children’s bookstore down the block, I
discovered, was appropriately doing something on frontier toys and
games. The owner, who met us at her door with a smile and body
language that said she’d prefer we kept our shopping to the window
variety, had already gathered a dozen images of children dressed in
their best, posing with dolls, spinning tops, and horses carved out
of wood.
    Obviously proud of herself, she laughed and
bragged about her big plans for adding more toys and even live
children dressed in period costumes for when the judges walked
by.
    Antique toys and images of children from the
time period were, if not easy to come by, easier than something
that could be definitively tied to brothels and madams.
    A quick inventory of my merchandise had come
up with only a couple of books on prostitutes in the old West.
Nothing truly old and original.
    Afraid my jealousy was showing, I cooed at
her idea and offered the loan of a china–head doll and an image of
a boy with a goat. Then, cursing my own stupidity, I turned to
leave.
    I was so going to lose, and I was adding to
my defeat by loaning the competition things for their own
displays.
    The bookstore owner raised her hand to stop
us. “You know... I bet the Deeres might have something you could
use. You know their great–grandmother was a prostitute.”
    I stopped, frozen by my own stupidity. I
should have thought of the Deeres myself. I’d even, for a very
short period of time, had possession of a ruby that had belonged to
Ruby Deere. Of course, I hadn’t known I had the ruby, but still...
and the family did kind of owe me for uncovering what one heir had
planned for the gem. Namely, selling it off without anyone else in
the family learning of its existence.
    I thanked the woman, and after a brief,
losing tussle for whatever Kiska had just snarfed up from the
sidewalk, set off to call in old chips.
    o0o
    It didn’t take much research to track down
my prey. Frosted, Cindy Deere’s bakery, was located in a kind of
unattractive part of Helena, not that far from the railroad
tracks.
    As Kiska and I pulled in, I heard the train
sounding its whistle and saw cars lining up to wait for the
crossing gate to lift so they could pass.
    I got out of my Jeep and glanced around.
There was one other car in the parking lot, if you could call the
four spaces in front of the bakery a lot.
    It was a Tuesday. Not exactly a booming day
for retail. But still, located where Frosted was, I had to wonder
how Cindy stayed in business.
    I, however, knew nothing about the bakery
business. Maybe most of her income came from weddings and other
such events that didn’t require a walk–in clientele. Or maybe she
hired a high school student to stand by the railroad crossing and
sell cupcakes to those stuck there.
    I knew I’d longed for cake more than once
when stuck at a light or railroad crossing.