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Janalee’s saccharine tone. ‘Exactly what does that mean?’
    Tossing the Sun Tzu book on the desk, LaRoche snatched the soldier from Davy. The look the one-year-old gave him in response was pure Damien – the original Omen Damien. Even I hadn’t wasted any time with the sequels.
    I cleared my throat uncomfortably, wanting out.
    Janalee gestured toward the brown paper bag on the desk. ‘That’s the first-place trophy. It’s a barista, as interpreted by a local artist. I’m having the rest of the trophies shipped directly to your attention at the convention center.’
    I shifted the stack of folders to my left arm in order to pick up the trophy. Most of the files were face down, but I caught a glimpse of a tab marked ‘Competitive Strategies.’.
    Whose strategies, I wondered. Janalee’s? Or, more interestingly, Marvin’s?
    In an old cartoon, a light bulb would have appeared above my head. I had an idea. A strategy, even.
    I’d been maneuvered into taking over the barista competition, right? Now it was up to me to make sure that Uncommon Grounds got as much visibility as possible out of it, especially since we didn’t have a barista participating.
    Well, what was more visible than television?
    I still had connections, after all. I’d talk one of the local stations into covering the event. I could see it now: Iron Barista, like Iron Chef America on Food Network. Maybe I could even trademark and syndicate it.
    A menacing sound from Davy interrupted my thoughts. Father and son were still glaring at each other. Any second now, LaRoche would call the kid out and give him his choice of weapons. If it was wet diapers at twenty paces, my money was on Davy.
    I was out of there. As I turned to leave, I saw Sun Tzu’s book on the desk. Why just win the Battle for the Barista, when I could win the whole war? Or at least go down fighting.
    I grabbed the book and stuck it in with the trophy. ‘Thanks for offering to lend me The Art of War, Marvin,’ I said. ‘I would love to reread it.’
    LaRoche, still holding the toy soldier, turned. He looked like he’d forgotten I was there, and he certainly had forgotten offering to lend me the book. Since he hadn’t.
    I tapped my forehead. ‘Remind me. Wasn’t it Sun Tzu who said something like, “Know thy enemy”?’
    LaRoche gave me that ‘she’s-smarter-than-she-looks’ expression again. ‘“If you know the enemy and know yourself”,’ he quoted, ‘“you needn’t fear the result of a hundred battles.”’
    ‘Sort of keep your friends close and your enemies even closer, huh?’
    He set down the soldier. ‘Sort of,’ he said, mimicking me like he had Janalee.
    I just smiled. ‘Then I’ll look forward to seeing you Thursday.’
    With that, I retreated down the steps, armed with six damp file folders, a bubble-wrapped barista, and the words of a 2500-year-old Chinese general.

Chapter Five
    Sarah met me at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Well?’
    Before answering, I glanced over to where Henry’s hat had been. The fedora was gone. As was the top of Sophie’s head. I could just imagine Henry reaching up from behind the counter to retrieve the hat, and then the two seniors scurrying out the back hand-in-hand, like rats deserting a sinking ship. Not that rats have hands to hold. Or that Sophie and Henry had ever held them, to my knowledge. Besides, it wasn’t HotWired that was in danger of sinking. It was Uncommon Grounds.
    So much for similes. Or metaphors. Or whatever the hell they were. I turned back to Sarah. ‘Well, what?’ I demanded.
    ‘So are you going to do it? Are you going to manage the barista competition?’
    Sarah sounded enthusiastic. Sarah never sounded enthusiastic. Cynical, sure. And she had a corner on the market of snide, but enthusiastic? Nah. Maybe she was putting on a show for the man up above.
    I glanced at LaRoche in his loft and, sure enough, he was watching us.
    ‘Not only am I going to manage the barista competition, Sarah,’ I