"I couldn't. I hate waiting on the pretenders, but at least they tip." She inclined her head toward a crystal bowl with a handmade "Gratuities Accepted" sign. "This morning, I told Cecelia we should put in one of those cowbells, like they've got in bars, the ones they ring every time a drunk gives a buck. I told her we'd get better tips, because the debs and socialites would try to out-patronize each other, but she didn't like the idea. She should live a month on my take-home pay. Maybe then she'd like it," she added with a snicker.

I shifted in my seat to look around. "Actually, that's who I came to meet, Cecelia. Is she the one who manages the juice bar?"

"Bigger than that, she's the head witch around here." She leaned over and spoke conspiratorially, "But she likes it better when I call her the general manager."

"I checked earlier, and she was at the bank. When she comes back, do you think you could introduce me."

"Let's see if she's back. I'll call her over. I love to use the loudspeaker."

Before I could protest, the rebellious one picked up a microphone and transmitted her lilting voice across the entire store. "Cecelia Villareal to the juice bar. Cecelia Villareal, please come to the nearest juice bar."

She must have witnessed my distressed look, because smirking, she said, "I was just ribbing you. She didn't hear that. She never comes back from the bank in less than an hour, even though it's a block away."

Right then, an attractive woman with a deep furrow poked her head in the side entrance to the bar. "Colleen, stick to calling me and skip the theatrics."

"Okay, boss," Colleen agreed easily, no hint of remorse.

"What do you need?"

"This lady wants to meet you." She pointed at me with the ice cream scoop. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't, but it's Kristin Ashe."

Using the utensil as a wand, Colleen waved it back and forth. "Kristin Ashe, Cecelia Villareal. Cecelia, Kristin."

Cecelia stepped forward, and I stood, reached across the bar, and shook her hand firmly. "Patrice Elliott asked me to find out why Lauren died. Could I talk to you for a few minutes?"

Her body language immediately shifted, from open and friendly to guarded and pained. "Not here, not now," she said, moving to leave.

"Where? When?" I tried to catch her with my words.

She gave me a shrewd look, and paused. "Meet me at the park across the street in an hour."

"Okay."

"And you," she addressed Colleen with more affection than ire, "you quit paging me."

Colleen saluted her, and she left.

Exhilarated, yet strangely drained, I forced my attention back to Colleen. "Is she always like that?"

"She's one intense being. Yesterday, I told her if she focused all her energy, she could burn a hole in a brick wall." Colleen sauntered to the register, punched a few keys, and produced a receipt. "I meant it in a nice way, but she didn't like it. Here," she handed me the strip of paper, "give this to the dudes up front when they ring up your groceries."

"Thanks," I mumbled, bending down to tuck it in with my purchases. "It looks like I've got an hour to kill. Can I ask you a few questions about Lauren?"

"I'm not going anywhere." She propped her elbows on the counter opposite me.

"What did you think of Lauren? Was she a good manager?"

"Bust out! She was one rockin' lady. She was fair, and she careda" about all the kids who work in the deli and the eartha"which most people here don't. She wouldn't kiss anyone's butt, especially not Cecelia's, and she always asked us what we thought. She didn't act like she was better than us even though she was the queen bee. Plus, she always knew things."

"What do you mean?"

"Like she could take one look at people and know exactly what they were about, no bullshit, but she never judged people."

"When did you last see her?"

"On the day she did it. I freaked out later when I remembered she told me it was going to be a day to end all days, like maybe I should have felt the vibes. I just thought she meant she had some bitchin' birthday plans. I didn't have a clue she would do the deed."

"Did she work that day?"

"Nope, but she stopped to pick up a picnic dinner, and we all ragged on her about turning the big three-five."

"What did she take?"

"Her favorite stuff. These new wine biscuits we got in last week, some Brie, a piece of raspberry cheesecake, a really hefty slice, roast chicken, and my specialty, au gratin potatoes."

"How do you remember all that?"

"Easy, she made me pack it for her. She said she shouldn't have to work on her birthday. Blew me away when I found out it was her last meal."

"What time of day did she come by?"

"Maybe two or three o'clock."

"Do you know where she went after that?"

"She told me she wanted to cruise over to the Tattered Cover to buy a copy of something called Our Town. Weird, huh? I never heard of it."

"It's a play," I offered. "By Thornton Wilder. Didn't you read it in high school?"

"I must have been trippin' that semester. What's it about?"

"A girl who dies but gets to come back and relive one day of her life."

Colleen shook her arms. "Spooky!"

"Did Lauren seem different in any way in the weeks before she died, depressed or sad?"

She slowly shook her head. "She was truckin' along, like usual. Everybody around here's so freaked out about her offing herself, but I figure if that's her thing, what's the big deal? Death's just a change, a trip to another plane. It's not the end. I'm sure Lauren's out there now hanging out and meeting torqued beings. I thought I saw her myself the other day, near the frozen foods, laughing and jiving with this kid in a cart, having a righteous time."

I raised one eyebrow.

Colleen straightened up, turned her palms toward the ceiling, and shrugged. With an easy laugh, she said, "I know it sounds kinky, but it looked like her. Then again, I'd cranked out two shifts back-to-back and was pretty wiped, so who knows what I saw!"

I returned her infectious smile. "You didn't notice anything out of the ordinary about Lauren's behavior? Nothing at all?"

"Nope, sorry," she said, but something flashed across her face.

"What? What are you remembering?"

"She did have this schizo party one morning, the one she threw for herself with the breakfast square. That was out there, man!"

"What happened?"

"I came in early one morning, about a week before her birthday, and she was blowing out two candles she'd plopped on this granola bar. She acted queer, like I'd caught her at something, and told me she was having a celebration."

"Of what?"

"She wouldn't say. She said it was private, which yanked me, because we talked about everything, but hey, it was her life. The only thing she'd spill was that she was congratulating herself for reaching two years."

"Of working at Choices?"

"Nah, I've racked up almost three years, and she was the big cheese in the deli when I started. Plus, no one here cares about seniority or counts the days until retirement." Colleen snapped the dish towel she had been twirling. "Haven't you seen our employee manual? We're warriors, not fat cats waiting for pensions."

"Could she have marked two years of sobriety?"

"Maybe alcohol. She'd never touch it, not even a gulp of brew after a softball game."

"Was someone in her family alcoholic?"

"Big time! Her father died of liver disease."

"When?"

"I don't know, before she started working here."

"Hmm, maybe there's some connection. I'll have to ask her sister, or maybe her brother. Do you know if he lives in Denver?"

Colleen stared at me as if I were an idiot. "She didn't have a brother."

I scrunched my forehead. "I thought her sister mentioned a brother."

"No way! No male specimens in that family!"

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me, you spend the best years of your life hacking up vegetables with someone and stirring soups, you get to know them."

"Huh." I rose to leave and tossed a ten-dollar bill into her empty tip bowl. "Maybe I'm wrong."

"Darn right! There is no brother!"

I ambled back to the deli and, from across the room, Colleen yelled lunch suggestions.

I paid close to seventy dollars for my impulse buys and had two not-quite-full bags to show for it. With the exception of the food intended for lunch, I dropped everything in the car, picked up a Westword magazine from a corner stand, and crossed the street to the park.

I read for the next twenty minutes, one eye cast toward Choices, half-wondering if Lauren's ex-lover would show.

On schedule, Cecelia Villareal exited the store, and I watched her approach.

She walked purposefully, hands thrust deep in the pockets of purple and orange billowing pants. Her white sleeveless blouse did a remarkable job showcasing tanned, muscular arms. Her light brown hair, accented with natural blonde highlights, was parted on the side, shaved short in the back, and trimmed to a blunt cut.

Frequently she reached to brush back wisps that fell across her broad forehead, and each time she did, the sun glimmered off an inch-wide silver bracelet and matching ring.

When she came within five feet of me, I pushed off the ground. "Thanks for coming."

She drew up next to me and I realized that, while she seemed taller, we were the same height. "I almost didn't. This is unreal, having someone ask about Lauren. You're doing it for Patrice?"

I nodded. "As you can imagine, she needs some answers."

"And you think you can give them to her?"

"I hope so," I said, unnerved by the intensity of her brown eyes. My voice wavered as I added, "I bought lunch for us."

"At Choices?"

"Of course!"

"What did you get?"

"Protein burritos, wild rice, and fresh-squeezed limeade."

Cecelia looked at me thoughtfully. "That's what I eat every day."

I smiled. "Colleen told me."

"I wish you hadn't. I don't eat much."

"She told me that, too."

"I could have brought something," she said, chagrined.

"She said you'd never remember, that your mind's on other things, and you often space out eating."

She flashed the faintest grin. "Is there anything she didn't tell you?"

"Probably," I said easily, "but she crammed a lot into an hour, most of it about Lauren."

"Did she inform you that usually I eat over there, which at least gives me the illusion of being far from work?" Cecelia pointed to an area a few hundred yards away.

"She neglected to mention that."

"Good. Maybe she doesn't know. Don't tell her, or she'll follow me out here and talk about pesticides or supplements or dolphin-free tuna."

I laughed. "You have my word. Do you want to eat there?"

"Why not!"