A Brew to a Kill Read Online Free PDF Page B

sorry for the Kupcake Kween.)
     
    A small gang of spectators closed in. A lean kid in aquamarine spandex stepped out of the pack. I’d seen this young cycling enthusiast in the Blend a few times. He said he practically lived on the Hudson River Greenway, the most heavily used bikeway in the country, with entry points only a few blocks from our Blend.
     
    In a whip-fast move, Cycle Boy pulled out his smart phone camera and hit record. When my “chubby” barista motioned him closer, I knew a worldwide Internet audience was about to be treated to slam poetry, Esther style.
     
    Adjusting her black-framed glasses, she cleared her throat and let it rip—
     
    “Listen up, bouffant brain! Are you listening?
Good!
’Cause you’re not in Kansas. You’re in
my
’hood…”
     
    “Woooo!” The crowd cheered.
     
    “Your cupcakes are mealy, your élan is fake, and your infantile jingle gives the world an earache!”
     
    “Uh-ooooh!”
     
    “I may be ‘chubby,’ yeah, I’m busty, too, and my boyfriend
loves
the way my booty moves…”
     
    “Tell her, Esther!”
     
    “You sell the world
pink
with a cheap, plastic smile, but there’s no heart in your mart. You got no class, no style. Your frosting, I hear, comes out of a can. And your beans? Sorry, honey, you can’t brew worth a dang! So get your buttercream butt
off
my grass, or I’ll plant my big black boot in your prissy little—”
     
    Beep! Beeeeeep!
     
    Behind the wheel, Dante had grown impatient and inched our Muffin Muse forward, lightly tapping the Kupcake Kart’s rear bumper.
     
    Kaylie instantly shrieked. “He hit us! Did you see that? Did you see! I’m going to call the police, Cosi. The police!”
     
    “Please do,” I said. “Advise them to bring a tow truck.”
     
    “And don’t forget the ER bus,” Esther added, tapping her watch, “because in thirty seconds’ time, I won’t have to rhyme—and you’re going to need a boot-ectomy!”
     
    The crowd screamed with laughter.
     
    Inside Kaylie’s truck, the young guy with the dragon on his arm glared with pure fury at Esther, then at me. Finally, he tugged Kaylie aside and spoke quietly. Her line of patrons was gone now, most of them gawking and laughing or inside our coffeehouse.
     
    “We’ll move,” Kaylie declared. Then she bent over the customer counter and lowered her voice. “I’ve got friends in this town, Cosi—and they know how to back me up. You’ll be sorry for messing with me.”
     
    “I’ll file that information under ‘who cares.’ Now get lost, Kaylie.” Stepping back, I pointed to the empty street aheadof her and channeled my inner NYPD traffic cop. “Okay! Move it! Clear outta here! Now!”
     
    With a clang, Kaylie’s window slammed closed, her engine started, and the lumbering truck rolled down the block.
     
    “Chocolate! Oo-la-la…
Fla-
vours
for
vous…”
     
    As the murmuring crowd melted away, I heard a single pair of hands clapping. Turning, I found Matt standing tall, white teeth grinning through his pirate beard.
     
    “Very impressive. And entertaining, too.”
     
    “Yes, admirable job.” Madame nodded. She shook her head at the truck’s disappearing backside and sniffed, “Gotham Beanery indeed!”
     
    Lilly Beth laughed. “The next time I need that woman exorcised, I’m calling
vous
.”
     
    With a low rumble, our Muffin Muse eased into its berth. Dante cut the engine, which coughed once before blessing us with a wash of exhaust. Esther held her nose. Matt stepped backward. His mother coughed, and Lilly Beth headed back inside the Blend.
     
    “Sorry, guys,” Dante said, climbing out of the cab. “I’m still tinkering with the mechanics. I’m sure we’ll pass the emissions inspection, though.”
     
    “Maybe—if you
bribe
the inspector,” Esther cracked.
     
    Dante shook his shaved head and strode into the Blend. “I have some phone calls to make.”
     
    Matt frowned at our truck. “It’s kind of minimalist,