"Well…one of them was Maisie."
My stomach dropped. "SoMaisiewas brawling?"
"Almostbrawling," she corrected. "Youdidhear me, right?"
By now, I hardly knew what I was hearing. "So…only theguyswere brawling?"
"See, that's the thing." Franny gave a little wince. "They weren'treallypunching each other, but I could tell they wanted to."
What the heck?"So…technically,nobodywas brawling?"
"Well, not when you put itthatway. But therewasan incident."
The downgrade frombrawltoincidentshould've made me feel better.And it did. Sort of.But I was still desperate to learn more. "So, this incident – you saw it yourself? Were you actually there?"
"Not there-there," she admitted. "I was sitting in the café across the street. You know the one, right?"
When I nodded, Franny leaned closer to say, "I had a prime window seat.Anda turkey melt, in case you're curious."
I was curious, but not about the sandwich. I'd been inside Maisie's shop exactly once – when she'd graciously given me a bike to use. Since then, I'd stuck to the outside – biking and walking past several times a week on my way to wherever.
But I could picture it just fine. Itdidhave that big front window, one that would give anybody on the sidewalk a decent view of whatever was going on inside.
Would this also apply to somebody watching from inside the café across the street?
I was still trying to decide when Franny said, "What, you don't believe me?"
I believed she'd seensomething, but it could've been a basic meet-and-greet for allIknew. "I'm just trying to understand, that's all. Maybe you could start from the beginning?"
"Well…I'm sitting at the café like I said, and I'm watching the people on the street, you know? And I see this fancy-pantscouple walk into the bike shop like they own the place. But whenMaisiesees them, she freezes like a deer in headlights."
I could practically see it. "So she was nervous?"
"No.Nauseated. Like she was gonna lose her lunch all over that blonde bimbo's shoes."
Okay, now that was an image I hadn't needed. And this was the first time Franny had mentioned a bimbo. Being of the blonde persuasion myself, I wasn't quite sure how I felt about it. All my life, I'd never heard the termbrunette bimboapplied to anyone, not even once.
It seemed pretty unfair, actually.But that was something to dwell on later. "So…whowerethese people?"
"I don't know for sure," Franny said. "But it looked to me like the guy was Maisie's ex."
"Why do you say that?"
"Honey, I know an ex when I see 'em. And even if I didn't, the look on Maisie's face was a dead giveaway."
"And the girl?"
"Oh,shewas nothing but trouble. I could smell the drama all the way across the street – and through a pile of horse poop, too."
If it had been me,Iprobably would've said I could smell it through the scent of fudge, but I wasn't about to quibble. "But you think Maisie knew her?"
Franny gave a solemn nod. "Knew her andhatedher."
"So…they were yelling or something?"
"No. It was worse. They were smiling, but in that murder-you-later kind of way."
Yikes."I know that look," I said, thinking of my mom, who'd perfected it years ago, mostly on my dad, whenever he hinted that she had plenty of clothes in her closet already. "So then what happened?"
