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Davy as the baby settled himself next to his father’s battle-shelves. ‘Can I help you with something?’
    While the words said one thing, the tone said something altogether different. Something not very nice.
    But Janalee just smiled. ‘Sarah told me that Maggy has volunteered to oversee the barista competition, and I wanted to thank her and turn over the files.’
    I guessed that explained what Sarah needed to see Janalee about.
    ‘Really?’ LaRoche turned to me. ‘That’s a marvelous idea, Maggy. It’s a very visible position, and Uncommon Grounds could certainly use the exposure.’
    I hate this man, I hate this man, I hate this man.
    I gritted my teeth and smiled – it’s harder than it sounds. ‘I would love to take over the competition.’ Especially if that competition was HotWired.
    I was looking at Marvin when I said it, but Janalee answered. ‘Thank you so much, Maggy. You’re a lifesaver.’
    She pulled a big stack of files out of the bottom of the baby sling. I wondered if she had a Volkswagen and clowns in there, too.
    ‘It was no problem doing the upfront arrangements,’ Janalee was saying, ‘but with Davy . . .’ She gestured to where the baby was now standing, having pulled himself up on the bookshelves to grab the dangling soldier. He’d left a puddle on the floor – apparently the ‘organic wool diaper cover’ had reached its thirty-percent organic wool saturation point. ‘. . .starting to get around, it would be impossible for me to get anything done.’ She handed me the files.
    They felt a little damp, so I took them gingerly. ‘Thanks, Janalee. I’ll call you if I have any questions after looking them over.’
    Which would be subsequent to drying and disinfecting them.
    LaRoche nodded in approval. ‘I’m sure you’ll do a bang-up job, Maggy. I’m head judge, so don’t hesitate to turn to me for advice.’
    Right. That had worked out so well once before. ‘Thank you, Marvin, but I was an event manager in my PR life, remember? I think I’ll be able to handle it.’
    In truth, I hadn’t the faintest idea what to do. I’d only seen one barista competition in my life. Not that I was going to tell LaRoche that. As his hero, Sun Tzu, had said, ‘The opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.’ I didn’t intend to provide LaRoche with anything, especially information on my possible shortcomings.
    But LaRoche wasn’t paying any attention to me. He was staring at the coffeehouse floor below us, where ground zero of the Battle for the Barista had just walked in.
    Amy.
    She was with a gray-haired man, who towered over the five-feet two-inch, rainbow-haired, multiply-pierced barista by a full foot. I recognized the man as Levitt Fredericks, president of EarthBean, a consortium of storeowners and roasters who worked for environmentally friendly trade practices.
    ‘Now what’s he doing here?’ It was like LaRoche had given voice to my thoughts. Except in my head, the question was followed by, Has LaRoche grown a conscience?
    Not that I had any right to talk, really. While Caron and I stocked Fair Trade and shade-grown coffees, we didn’t carry them exclusively, much to Levitt Fredericks’ dismay.
    ‘Amy and Levitt are friends, Marvin,’ Janalee said. ‘You know that.’
    Amy had worked for Janalee long before LaRoche had appeared on the scene, making her the obvious choice to take over the store when Janalee had gone from making coffee to making . . . Davy. Word had it that despite her heavy-on-the-metal appearance, Amy was a genuine environmentalist. The rainbow hair and tattoos? Henna, I suspected, though I didn’t share that with anyone. Every town needs a legend.
    Janalee had turned her attention to preventing the soldier-on-a-rope from dying a watery death in the pool of baby pee. ‘Davy,’ she said gently, ‘let’s put Daddy’s toy down.’
    But patience apparently wasn’t one of Daddy’s virtues. ‘Friends,’ he said, mimicking