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While everything cooled completely, I brewed a second cup of coffee, and though I craved a cookie, I opted for a protein bar from the walk-in refrigerator. To make it through the day, I’d need sustenance, not a sugar rush.

An hour later I loaded the items into the Ford Transit.

First on the delivery schedule was Jukebox Joint, Zach’s mother’s place.

The diner’s entrance was adorned with a flashy turquoise-and-red neon sign with the wordsJukeboxsquarely upright andJointon a slant. Inside, large turquoise vinyl booths lined the walls, while tables with red vinyl chairs filled the open floor space. Yellow stools brought a pop of color to the curved counter. Red, yellow, and turquoise accents abounded, from the sugar containers to the coffee mugs. At the far end of the diner stood a walnut-paneled jukebox sporting neon bands. Though retro in style, it had been updated with LED-powered Bluetooth, so a diner could connect to it with any Bluetooth device. The popular Elvis song “Blue Suede Shoes” was blasting through overhead speakers.

There were no customers. It was way too early. The diner’s hours were noon until nine.

“Morning!” Jenny Armstrong waved to me from behind the counter as I entered. She rounded it quickly, wiping her hands on her red-checked apron. “Lovely to see you.”

“You, as well.”

A petite woman in her mid-fifties, Jenny, like her son, Zach, was the kind of person who instantly made people feel comfortable. She had an easy gait, a warm smile, and bright eyes twinkling with humor. Her soft brown hair was secured in a snood.

I crossed to her with two pastry boxes. “I have your order.”

Though Jukebox Joint was known for its barbecue and its burgers, Jenny had decided to add sweets to the menu for those who ventured in for a late afternoon coffee and treat.

“Bless you.” Her voice was raspy, as though she shouted orders all day every day … or sang along with whatever song was playing. I’d caught her on a recent delivery crooning into a spatula. “I can’t tell you how much my customers are loving these goodies.” She took the boxes, set them on the counter, and tucked a stray lock of hair into the snood before pulling a wallet from the pocket of her apron. “Here you go.” She paid me the full amount, as I requested of all my customers.

The door opened, which made the overhead chimes jangle.

Jenny beamed. “Hello, handsome.”

I pivoted and saw Zach entering. He frowned, which made me feelsooowelcome.Not.I mustered a smile, said I was leaving, and started past him.

“I got your message about the cuff link,” he said. “You could be right.”

“Even if I am, I learned Iggie has an alibi.”

“Playing poker.”

“No. He was dallying with his wife’s best friend.”

Jenny coughed out a laugh. “He’s stepping out with Ulla? My, my.”

“Mom, you did not hear any of this,” Zach warned.

“But I can’t unhear it, sweetheart.”

“Go sing, Mom,” he chided. “Shoo!”

She cackled and returned to her spot behind the counter.

Zach addressed me. “Who’d you hear this from?”

I told him. “Who else is on your radar?”

He didn’t respond.

“You wouldn’t say the other day, but Patrick Hardwick’s alibi is iffy, and he and Jason had a run-in at the bookshop.”

“I heard.”

“Who told you?”

“Chloe let it slip to a friend, who mentioned it to Detective Bates. Word gets around. Care to give me the specifics?”