Declan:

The next day, the three of us wake up late. By the time we’re out of bed, it’s well past ten, and Marla’s breakfast hours are long over. It doesn’t help that we get distracted in the shower. “Goat Morning for brunch?” I ask when we’re finally dressed.

“Sure thing,” Lana says readily.

We walk down to the diner and settle ourselves in a booth in the back. The restaurant is almost empty. Only two other tables are occupied, one by a family of four that I don’t know, and one by Lettie Herman and a man that I assume must be her husband, Michael.

Lettie notices us as well, but she pretends she’s never met us before. That’s fine by me. Blake told me about the real reason Lettie was at the Clinic of Love, and I’m sympathetic, but it’s going to take me a long time to forget the Incident of the Glitter Vagina. I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my years of practicing medicine, but that was by far the strangest.

“What can I get you three to drink?” Betty Beaumont smiles widely at the three of us. “I saw the new sign go up this morning,” she continues chattily, not waiting for us to place our order. “I can’t tell you how happy the entire town is about seeing the last of those two doctors. What’s Rhonda going to do, do you know?”

I smile politely. “She’s looking for other opportunities.” Rhonda had quit in a huff last night after telling us about her phone call to The Torch. Had she not quit, we’d have fired her. “Could I get a cup of coffee, and a tall stack of your pecan-banana pancakes, with a side of bacon? I’m starving this morning.”

“Sure.” Mrs. Beaumont makes no attempt to write down my order. “Has George Rhodes sold the place to you then?”

I sigh. So much for my pancakes. Blake, who knows the owner of the diner much better than I do, smiles at Betty Beaumont. “I’m sure Rhonda’s talking them into it even as we speak,” he says cheerfully. “I’m not worried. I don’t think very much of Dr. Rhodes and Dr. Swanson’s ethics, but they’re not stupid. They’ll sell.” He glances at the menu. “Don’t tell Marla,” he lowers his voice, his expression turning hopeful, “but I’ve been fantasizing all morning about your blueberry pancakes.”

His flattery works better than mine. Betty Beaumont beams at him. “Of course, Blake,” she says with a wide smile. She looks expectantly at Lana. “What about you, dear?”

“Pecan-banana for me,” Lana says promptly. “Thank you.”

She writes down our order and starts to walk away. “New sign?” Lana asks us. “What new sign?”

“We could hardly keep calling it the Clinic of Love,” Blake replies. “We renamed it this morning.”

“What did you call it?” she asks with a grin. “Wait, let me guess. The Healthy Goat? Goat Well?”

I laugh. “Nothing that exciting,” I tell her. “We were boring. It’s now called Goat Clinic. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Her lips twitch. “It’s not me you need to worry about, it’s the rest of the town. They’re going to be quite disappointed with your lack of imagination.”

The bells on the front door chime and two men walk in. Betty Beaumont freezes in her spot as George Rhodes and Ted Swanson enter the Goat Morning. Her eyes dart from us to Michael and Lettie Herman, and then back to the two sleazy doctors, and her mouth forms in an O. She scurries away behind her counter but makes no effort to ring up our breakfast order. Instead, she appears ready to watch the drama.

“Is that the sleazy doctors?” Lana murmurs. “Tell me you’re going to hit them,” she continues, her voice low. “Please? One good punch in the jaw for the aggravation they’ve caused you?”

I chuckle. “What a bloodthirsty little thing you are,” I say, giving Lana a fond look. “Sorry, honey. As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we’re rid of these two, the better.”

“But they got you in one hell of a mess,” she says under her breath, watching the two doctors walk toward us. “It sucks that they get to walk away without any consequences.”

Blake’s lips twitch. “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” he says. “Watch.”

As the doctors walk past Michael and Lettie, Michael rises to his feet, his hands clenched into fists. “I’ve been waiting to run into the two of you,” he snarls. He punches Ted Swanson in the face, and the man goes down in a heap. “You touched my wife, asshole?” he says to George Rhodes. “Come on. Take a swing at me.”

George Rhodes’ eyes dart around the room. “I don’t want any trouble,” he says nervously.

I watch the scene unfold. Lettie’s clutching at her husband’s shirt, trying to get him to calm down. Ted Swanson’s rubbing his jaw, his face contorted with pain. Rhonda’s just walked into the diner, a man behind her, and she’s frozen in the doorway.

Lana looks up and pales when she sees the man. “That’s my editor, John Beene,” she whispers. “If he finds out about the Clinic of Love…” Her voice trails off.

Blake and I exchange glances. As satisfying as it would be to watch Michael Herman beat the crap out of Rhodes and Swanson, we’ve got to end this now. Otherwise, everything will go up in flames.

Blake grabs Swanson by the collar and hustles him out of the diner, pushing past Rhonda and Lana’s boss. Rhodes scurries out behind them. The family of four eating their breakfast watches us, their expressions avid. John Beene steps into the diner, and the moment he sees Lana, he marches straight for her. “What do you mean, you quit?” he yells. “You can’t do that.”

“You quit?”

“We were too busy last night for me to tell you,” she whispers back. “I hoped that it would be enough to make John forget all about the Clinic of Love.” She lifts her head up, her jaw clenched, and stares defiantly at her former boss. “Yes, I quit,” she replies.

“What about your story?” he demands. “Do you think I’ve been paying for you to stay in a bed-and-breakfast the last two weeks for nothing? You owe me this article, Lana.”

“There’s no story. The Clinic of Love has closed down.”

His shoulders slump, but he doesn’t relent. “That doesn’t change anything,” he says. “I can still write about them.”

Poor John Beene. He doesn’t know Goat. The town will close ranks against him. No one will admit the presence of the Clinic of Love.

“With what source material?” I ask the man, getting to my feet. “I warn you, Beene. You better make sure you cross your T’s and dot your I’s, because the moment you publish this story, the town of Goat will sue your sorry ass for slander. By the time we’re done, you’ll be declaring bankruptcy.”

He glares at me, and then at Lana. “This isn’t over,” he warns.

She returns his glare without flinching. “Actually, I think it is, John. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

An hour later, everything’s back to normal. Lettie Herman drags Michael away before he punches either of the doctors again. Rhodes agrees to sell the clinic to us. Betty Beaumont’s pancakes are delicious, and the three of us devour our food in silence.

“So you’re out of a job,” Blake says to her. “Any regrets?”

Lana shakes her head. “Not really. I’ve wanted to quit for a long time, but fear held me back. There aren’t a lot of jobs for journalists anymore.”

“You could write a book about a cat solving crimes,” I suggest.

She looks thoughtful. “You know what, I think I could,” she says. “I did enough research on cozy mysteries for my cover story, and the one thing I do know is how to write on a deadline.”

Blake chuckles. “If you don’t want to write about cats,” he says, “there’s always Connor Perkins’ paper. Mr. Perkins has been sweet on Aunt Elvira for years. He’ll hire you in a heartbeat once he finds out you’re involved with me. I’ll set up a meeting on Monday.”

Her eyes sparkle. “It’s Friday now,” she purrs. “What are we going to do for the next three days.”

I toss some money on the table to cover our breakfast and get to my feet. “Grab a pen and paper, honey,” I instruct the woman I’m crazy about. “We’ll make a list.”