Loose Screw (Dusty Deals Mystery) by Lori Devoti, Rae Davies

do it.” With that, she shoved Kiska and me out the door.
    Betty Broward, my part-time employee, had already unlocked the shop. She used to be an artist at the Daily News , but after some disagreements with the management—which I totally sympathized with—she struck out on her own. Now she worked for me and did freelance graphic and web design on the side.
    I entered to see what appeared to be Big Bird gone bad. Betty was sitting behind the counter wrapped in a brilliant yellow feather boa. She was an avid jazz fan and frequently dressed the part. Her husband, Everett, played the clarinet in a local band, and Betty never missed a “gig.”
    This coming weekend was the annual jazz festival in Helena. Hundreds of couples, men in two-toned spectator shoes and panama hats and women in colorful, fringed flapper dresses and feather boas, would boogie their way through area hotels before the weekend was over. Betty was apparently doing an early dress rehearsal.
    Under the boa, she wore a short beaded number. I could hear the beads snap against each other as she shifted on the stool to grab a giant cappuccino from the counter. I didn’t even comment on her outfit. For Betty, it was only a little over the top.
    “‘Bout time you showed up,” she greeted me. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook.” Before I could reply, she noticed my bundle. “What do you have there? Sage? Good idea.”
    Sometimes Betty’s worldliness amazed me.
    She didn’t wait for my reply. “Every Tom, Dick, and Grizzly in town’s been calling here, Ted Brown included. He wants you to call as soon as you get in.”
    Interesting, but since I didn’t work for Ted anymore I decided to take care of my own needs first. Betty’s coffee had inspired me, and since Rhonda had nothing but herbal tea to offer, I was suffering from major caffeine withdrawal. I dumped my bag and sage in my office and left Kiska with Betty while I went next door.
    Cuppa Joe’s was kind of Seattle meets Texas. Cowboys in Ropers and Wranglers and mountain bikers in Tevas sandals and thick-seated shorts filled the mismatched tables. The chairs all looked like something John Wayne might have broken over another actor’s head in an old Western. The music varied from country western to rock depending on who was working and Joe’s mood. Today Zydeco was playing. I tapped my foot as I waited my turn.
     “Lucy, what can I do you for?” Joe boomed out.
    “Double, non-fat cappuccino, please.”
    “So what do you think of all the goings on around here?” He measured the milk and began frothing.
    “Not much so far. I wouldn’t have minded if whoever did this had picked somewhere else though.”
    “Oh, I don’t know. We’ve been hopping all morning. Not that I’m happy the guy got killed, you know—” He looked at me from under bushy brows. “—but if it had to happen... .” He let the rest go unspoken.
    I smiled weakly and paid for my coffee. After sprinkling a liberal amount of cinnamon on the top, I turned to leave.
    “Ted wants to talk to you.” Gary grinned at me from beneath a Colorado Rockies cap.
    Gary was looking very good this morning. A few blond curls poked out from under his hat, and a speck of shaving cream clung to the cleft in his chin. Resisting the urge to rub it off, I took a sip of my cappuccino. “You know what he wants?”
    “I think he wants you to come back to work at the News —at least for this story.”
    Ted wanted me. I fought off a wave of nervous nausea.
    I stirred my coffee, making shaky circles in the foam. “I already have a job. Besides, what about Marcy?”
    “Marcy is only working on the story because Ted doesn’t have anyone else. He hasn’t filled your position yet, we’re down a copy editor, and the stringer he usually uses announced today that he was moving to Washington State. “In other words, he needs you. You should take advantage of him.”
    I had less than zero desire to take advantage of Ted in any way