“In that case, it’s a good thing that we made an appointment with Nora. She’s our best hope at finding information on Ricardo Serra.”
She and Zander had talked at length about the potential avenues they could explore next with their investigation. They’d decided to research Ricardo, the friend of Frank’s who’d helped him rob a Chicago gas station when they were both in their twenties.
“It’s certainly possible that Ricardo and Frank committed other crimes together before and after robbing the gas station,” Britt said. “Imagine that I’m Frank—”
“You look nothing like Frank—”
“—and that I’m released from prison around the same time asmy buddy Ricardo. It’s not like employers will be lining up to hire either of us. We’re only experienced at stealing stuff, and we’re in need of money.”
“It’s also possible that Frank left prison, decided to clean up his act, and never stole so much as a pack of gum again. The way he lived the past thirty years supports that theory.”
“Point taken. But maybe Frank and Ricardo cooked up one final scheme before they retired? One so big that they’d be able to live on the income for a very long time.”
“Three robbers carried out the Triple Play.”
“So somewhere between Chicago and Seattle, Frank and Ricardo recruited one more. Maybe another friend from high school?”
He tapped his fingers lightly against her work station. “Maybe.”
Britt slipped out of her chef’s coat and lobbed it into the shop’s laundry hamper, then straightened the royal blue exercise top she’d been wearing underneath.
He held the back door open for her. She preferred to arrive and exit through Sweet Art’s back door since she was likely to either a) see someone she knew inside Sweet Art’s shop or b) see something that needed her urgent attention inside Sweet Art’s shop. When she left at the end of her workday, it was usually best to dart out the back like a thirteen-year-old avoiding a middle school dance.
Her Nikes crunched gravel as they crossed the short distance to Nora’s Library on the Green Museum. One of Britt’s favorite job perks? The freedom to dress for work either in work-out gear or jeans paired with casual tops.
Once again, Zander held the door for her. Britt crossed the threshold into Nora’s library. The two-story structure had begun life in 1892 as an apothecary and was the only one of Merryweather Historical Village’s buildings that occupied its original site. The others, including Sweet Art, had all been carefully relocated to the village.
Britt was more of a let’s-go-paragliding and less of a let’s-go-to-a-museum person. Even so, she loved Nora’s library, with its books and artifacts and towering old windows.
Nikki hurried over to ogle Zander. “Hello, handsome.”
“Hi, Nikki.”
“You look like you’re on your way to play lead guitar for a band or pose for a romance novel cover,” Nikki said.
“Nope. Just hanging out with Britt.”
Nikki leaned in and sniffed near his shoulder. “Is that Polo cologne you’re wearing?”
“No.”
“Because even though I’m old enough to be your mother—what’s age, after all? So arbitrary!—if it’s Polo, then you’re going to have to take me out dancing right here and now.”
Zander laughed. “It’s not Polo.”
“How are things going with Clint?” Britt asked.
“I’ve been to two Pilates classes with him. You should see his single leg circles. Poetry, I tell you! Have you ever done Pilates?”
“Yes,” Britt said. “It’s great—”
“It’s miserable,” Nikki stated. “Pilates makes my inner thighs tremble. I haven’t exerted myself that much since I competed in a three-legged race to win tickets to a Duran Duran concert, and so far, the Pilates isn’t even paying off. Clint hasn’t asked me out, and you know how I am about that. I talk big, but I’m old-fashioned in the sense that I expect the man to askmeout. I want to be pursued! If a man can’t summon the courage to ask me out for chicken strips, mashed potatoes, and green beans, then what chance do we have as a couple?”
“He won’t be asking you out for chicken strips,” Britt said. “Clint eats Paleo.”
Nikki’s heavily eye-linered eyes rounded. “Land! What does that mean?”
“No grains, no sugar,” Britt said.
