When we arrive, the line at Stone Park Cafe has already curved around the patio seating, the potential diners shifting to accommodate the constant flow of scooters and strollers en route to the playground across the street. I spot Andrea waving at us from a four-top, her large sun hat drawing us in like a black hole. Jane and I “Pardon me” and “Excuse us” our way through the front door, and the beleaguered hostess shows us to our seats.

“Quickly!” Andrea snaps her fingers to get a waiter’s attention. “Do either of you want biscuits and gravy? We have to get the order in immediately, they’re almost out.”

“Oh, very yes,” I say, and Jane makes a request as well.

Andrea snags a server, places the order, then busies herself with pouring us mimosas from the pitcher she’s already largely consumed.

“Jane,” she says, her tone too light to be genuine. “However was your evening?”

“I had an excellent night, thank you very much.” He takes a dainty sip of his mimosa. I respond with a Ming-inspired cackle, and he smacks at me with his free hand.

Andrea chuckles along, and her smoker’s rattle borders on sinister. Jane glances my way, and I find my unease reflected in his expression.

She puts down her drink, her laughter ebbing. “Jane, my dear, your evening may prove to have been excellent for all of us.” She taps the stem of her glass tunelessly, her painted face growing solemn. “You should know we are in a bit of a situation at Meryton. The landlord’s considering selling the building—”

“What?” Jane gasps. I do my best to feign wide-eyed shock.

Andrea scowls. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Kitten, I know you know. Michael can’t keep his mouth shut. Anyway,” she continues, “as Kitten is well aware, I plan to buy in.”

Jane crosses his arms, facing me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We had other priorities.”

He tips his head, eyes going dreamy. “Yeah . . .”

Andrea clears her throat, and Jane and I straighten, properly chastened. “The owner had the building appraised and got some numbers on renovations. The back of the house is in desperate need of upgrades, and there’s no question the dining room could use some love. He’s reluctant to put in the money and is considering offloading the property.”

I scowl, suspicion eroding the novelty of a free meal. Why is she telling us all of this?

“Our current options are to find an investor to back me, relocate the show, or simply be at the mercy of whoever ends up taking on the space.”

“But you have a backer, right?” I say, hoping further evidence of Michael’s loose lips doesn’t get him in trouble.

“Oh, I have a moneyman.” Andrea grins. “You chatted him up quite thoroughly, Kitten, but Jane won the day—or night, I suppose.”