One Spoonful of Trouble (Felicity Bell Book 1) by Nic Saint

the side.
    God, he thought dispiritedly, why did he ever let his wife talk him into this fast? He knew he’d have a hard time seeing it through. In a manful effort to regain his composure, he poured himself a cup of tea from the thermos Marlene had prepared him. The brew tasted like sewage.
    “Tea,” scoffed Johnny. “How you can stomach the stuff is beyond me.”
    “It’s beyond me too,” he said morosely, then gulped the remainder of the bilge down and screwed up his face.
    “How much longer, Jer? How much longer?!”
    “Seventeen days, three hours and—” He checked his watch. “—five minutes.”
    “Better you than me, buddy,” Johnny said magnanimously, then shoved the lollipop back into his mouth and gave it a good suck, closing his eyes in horror at the thought of his friend’s ordeal.
    Both men were seated outside Rafi’s Deli. They’d picked up some chatter the day before that Rick Dawson, the man they were here to find, had been spotted hanging out there. Apparently the rube had allowed himself to be arrested. Pity they hadn’t heard about it until now, or else they could have picked up his trail at the police station.
    Jerry stared moodily at the deli. He hated surveillance jobs, and never more than when he wasn’t allowed to eat what he wanted. Usually when he was asked to take part in a stakeout like this, he kept a sizable section of the local pizza delivery guys in business. Now? He felt hamstrung. What worried him most was that when push came to shove, and he was forced to use violence, he would be unequal to the task. Already he felt himself weakening, his body growing thinner every day. He could almost see himself shrink before his very eyes.
    “I think I’m dying buddy,” he lamented as he watched some young punk saunter by, sinking his teeth into a blueberry muffin.
    “You’re not dying. You’re just hungry is all. My advice? Get some food into you. Marlene will never know.”
    “She will. She knows everything. First thing she does when I come home is smell my breath and look at my tongue. I swear, she can read my tongue like a map. Last night she said my liver is practically dead. Said I had white spots on my tongue where they should be pink.” He shook his head. “If I eat something, she’ll smell it on my breath.”
    “Then brush your teeth before you go home. Suck a mint.”
    “I’m telling you she knows. She knows, Jer!” He threw up his hands in a frantic gesture of despair.
    “Oh look, there’s that girl. The one who took down that Ramsey fellow.”
    He looked out the side window and saw a stout young woman in a floral print dress stride past. Her hair was an abundance of curls, and the sheer curviness of her figure gave him another pang of regret that he’d ever agreed to go on this fast. “She’s pretty.”
    “Yeah, she is. Real pretty. And she’s very handy with a gun too. Almost shot Ramsey in the gizzard.”
    “She connected?”
    “Must be. Girl like that? Probably works for some local outfit.”
    The woman had apparently taken down Anton Ramsey, some lowlife crook, and managed to get Rick Dawson arrested in the process. Though why exactly Dawson had gotten mixed up in this mess was unclear.
    “Who is she?”
    Johnny frowned. “Name of Felicity Bell. Daughter of Peter Bell.” He checked the little notebook he always carried. “Owner and proprietor of Bell’s Bakery & Tea Room. Famous for its…” He squinted at his notes. “… gaufres .”
    “Gophers? Who the hell eats gophers?”
    “Not gophers, gaufres .”
    “Same difference.” He closed his eyes. He could eat a gopher now, deep-fried and marinated.
    “No, they’re some type of waffle, apparently. They’re from a place called Belgium.”
    “Never heard of it.”
    “Me neither. Must be down south someplace.”
    Jerry heaved a deep sigh. This was just his luck, he thought. Now he was knee-deep in a business that required him to hobnob with Belgian waffle bakers. Just the thought made