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“Some of these answers are really bad, Vesta,” said Scarlett as she threw down a copy of theGazette.“For instance this one. ‘Dear Gabi. My boyfriend doesn’t like cats. What does that say about him? Furry Heart.’ And your response? ‘Any boyfriend who doesn’t like cats isn’t worth looking at twice. In fact I’d say he’s probably a serial killer. Only serial killers don’t like cats. So better break it off now, before you find yourself lying six feet under, with multiple parts of your mutilated body missing.’” She looked up.

“So? A perfectly reasonable answer to the girl’s question,” said Vesta.

They were seated in the window of a nice little coffee shop right across the street from the Hampton Cove Star hotel, keeping a look out for Kirk Weaver’s ex-wife.

“Reasonable! Not all people love cats, Vesta. And not all people who don’t love cats are serial killers.”

“In all likelihood they are, so I think I did Furry Heart a favor. Probably saved her life.”

“Look, you can’t give bullshit answers like that. It reflects badly on me, too, you know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Vesta as she took a sip from her cup of hot cocoa and nibbled from her cream puff. Delicious. She could get used to this detective stuff, if all it took was sitting in coffee shops all day watching people. The only drawback was that she had to do it with Scarlett, who simply would not shut up.

“Or this one,” said Scarlett, tapping the paper. “I met a guy last week who’s just perfect. Good-looking, courteous, funny. I met him through Tinder and one of his requirements was ‘Must love dogs.’ So I said I love dogs, though really I don’t. Should I come clean? I don’t want to lose him. He’s just so great. Confused Heart.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that one,” said Vesta.

“Your response: ‘Dump his ass. Anyone who demands that you must love dogs is probably a serial killer. Get out now before it’s too late, Confused Heart, and get a cat.’”

Vesta smiled.“Yeah. That was a good one.”

“You’re crazy! I’m your fellow Gabi and you’re sullying my good name!”

“You don’t have a good name to sully, Scarlett, so get off my back.”

“I think you’re so obsessed with cats that you can’t think straight. What’s wrong with dogs, anyway? I have a perfectly wonderful little doggie, and I love him to death.”

“Of course you do,” said Vesta acerbically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“One of these days you’re going to find yourself missing a throat, drowning in your own blood. Dogs are vicious creatures with a brain the size of a pea. Everybody knows that.”

“Oh, do they now?”

“Yes, they do. At least if they have any sense.”

“Well, I happen to be a dog person.”

Vesta scoffed,“Figures.”

“I’m going to ignore that crack. Look, I’m Gabi just as much as you are, and if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were looking for a way to get us both fired from this job.”

“I am not. I like this job.”

“Well, so do I, so please next time when people ask you for advice, give it to them.”

“You should talk,” said Vesta, and took out her phone. “Concerned Heart asked this question last week. ‘Dear Gabi, my mother is seventy years old and still insists on walking around looking like a teenager, in short shorts short enough to show her underwear and in T-shirts that show all of her boobs. What should I do?’ And your answer? ‘Stop trying to ruin your mother’s life, Concerned Heart. If she wants to dress like a real woman and has the body to pull it off, let her. And maybe instead of criticizing your mom you should focus on that no-good husband of yours. He looks like a slob.’”

Scarlett shrugged.“Okay, so maybe I went a little overboard with that one. It’s just that Vicky Kemper is always going on about her mom, and she really shouldn’t.”

“You know what I think?”

“Not really.”

“I think Vicky’s question hit a little too close to home. You’re seventy years old, Scarlett, and you walk around dressed like a fifteen-year-old. It’s not age-appropriate.”

“And who decides what’s age-appropriate and what’s not? Whose business is it anyway? Tell me that! Like I told Vicky Kemper, if you have the body to pull it off, why the hell shouldn’t you?” And to underscore her argument, she pushed out her sizable chest.

Vesta rolled her eyes and took another sip from her cocoa.“Oh, wait. I think that’s her!” She’d looked Kirk’s wife up on the internet and now glanced from the picture on her phone to the woman who’d just walked out of the Star, looking left and right before crossing the street.

“Let’s go get her!” said Scarlett.

They threw down the money for their drinks and hurried out, Scarlett having a little trouble on her stiletto heels, which Vesta had explicitly told her the day before not to wear, and they got out just as Kirk’s ex-wife passed them by.

“Let’s see what she’s up to,” said Vesta as she switched into high pursuit mode.

“This is so exciting!” Scarlett tittered. “I’ve never done surveillance before!”

“Neither have I,” Vesta confessed.

“But you’ve helped out your granddaughter so many times, right?”