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don’t see any customers over there. That’s not a good sign, especially on a Friday night.”
    “I’m sure they do a lot of home deliveries because I see them loading flowers into their van all the time. There’s not much foot traffic into the store. Petals has been here forever, and I don’t think they even have to advertise. Everyone in the district just knows about them.”
    “It doesn’t sound like a good match for your business, after all,” I admitted. A failed movie theater and a flower shop run by geriatric owners. This was going to be a tougher job than I’d thought.
    “Anyway, their customers aren’t the right people to target for vintage candy,” Ali said. “I can’t imagine anyone stopping to buy Mallo Cups on their way to a funeral.”
    “No, I suppose not.” I smiled, pleased to see that Ali was at least thinking about coming up with a marketing strategy. “What about the dance studio over there? Look, there’s some people going in there right now.” Offhand, I couldn’t think of how a dance studio could help promote the sale of vintage candy, but I liked to look at all the possibilities.
    Ali followed my gaze and her expression hardened. “That’s Chico’s place. Chico Hernandez. He’s offering a special on tango lessons this month, and he’s drawing quite a crowd. Mostly women, as you can see.”
    I took a good look. The doors to the studio were open, and salsa music was pouring into the soft night air. “Tango lessons? That could be interesting. Have you met him? What’s he like?”
    “Oh, I’ve met him all right. He’s quite the Latin lover,” Ali said shortly. “Thinks he’s God’s gift to women, an Antonio Banderas wanna-be. You know the type.”
    “Sadly, I do.” I took another peek as a darkly handsome man with longish hair and flashing black eyes stepped outside, talking on his cell phone. He was wearing black pants so tight they could have been spray painted on him, along with a white shirt, a black vest, and Cuban heels.
    A middle-aged woman brushed by him to enter the studio. We watched as he shoved his cell phone in his pocket, pulled her close to him, and planted a kiss on her cheek. He then executed a few tango steps before bending her backward in a spine-crunchingly low dip. You’d think he was auditioning for
Dancing with the Stars
.
    He finished his little performance by pulling her upright and kissing her hand. Ali rolled her eyes, but the bystanders standing on the sidewalk seemed impressed by his impromptu performance and broke into delighted applause.
    “That’s Chico in action,” Ali said with a rueful laugh. “Always on the move, always on the make. And the crowds eat it up.”
    “Quite the ladies’ man.”
    She nodded, her lips thinning in disapproval. “He tried to hit on me the day I opened the shop. He has a sort of superficial charm, you know.”
    “Yes, I can see that,” I said wryly. His dance partner was giggling like a schoolgirl and blushing furiously as he bowed to her.
    “I was crazy enough to go out with him a couple of times until someone told me he has a wife and four kids back in South America, so I ended it. I’m not even sure it was true, but things were headed downhill anyway. That was the last straw.” Ali’s tone was thoughtful. I wondered if she had actually cared about Chico but was putting on a brave front for me. It’s very possible he’d played her, and she’d been hurt by him. My sister’s track record with men was as dismal as her success as an entrepreneur.
    I chuckled sympathetically. “A wise move.” I was helping myself to a slice of mushroom pizza when I heard Ali suck in a quick gulp of air.
    “Oh no,” she muttered. “Chico’s spotted us. And he’s crossing the street, heading right this way.”
    “Maybe he wants one last tango with you,” I quipped.

5
    But Chico seemed to have more in mind than dance steps. He darted nimbly through traffic, leapt over a low concrete planter filled with