Perhaps not screaming screaming, she considered, but they were certainly talking at the sort of volume Emily would never dare speak at. A woman’s shrill voice bled anger and . . . and Emily suspected that she was on the verge of tears.

She shared a look with Teddy. “M-maybe we can go around?” she asked.

“And check them out from over there,” Teddy suggested as she pointed to a spot farther down. It was the kind of position where they’d be able to see into the gazebo without looking too suspicious about it.

Emily agreed wholeheartedly if it meant she could be spared having to talk to someone.

They moved around, occasionally peeking back to see what was going on in the gazebo. It was only when they were nearing the spot Teddy had indicated, lined up with the open front of the pavilion, that Emily could see what was happening within properly.

Her heart sank.

Handshake was there. He was dressed in far more casual clothes than he’d worn in the hidden area of the coffee shop, with one arm in a sling and both eyes obviously browned even though he wore a pair of shades to hide them. He even had a split lip.

Before him, bent over almost double with a hand on her hip, was a short woman with frizzy black hair. She had a finger hovering just before Handshake’s face in a way that looked rather threatening.

Emily chewed on her lip as she wondered what she should do.

Unfortunately, Teddy came to the rescue. “Hey, lady. You gonna beat him up?”

The woman and Handshake both spun to look their way.

“It’s okay,” Teddy said. “He’s a capitalist. They all want to steal your food and break your backs and stuff.”

Emily pinched her eyes shut, wishing that she was back home being nagged by her mom about doing her chores or something equally mundane. Then she opened her eyes and faced the music. “I think that’s enough, Teddy,” she said softly. “Let’s go see Mister Handshake, I guess.”

The frizzy-haired woman stepped back from Handshake and looked between the girls and the man. “You know this moron?” she asked.

Emily swallowed, wilting and slowing down under the woman’s steady gaze. “I . . . do,” she said.

“What’s the story?” the woman asked. Not to her, but to him.

He winced. “She . . . uh, is a new client. Very new.”

“Like last week’s Power Day new?” the woman asked.

“You know I don’t divulge information about my clients so easily,” he said.

The woman scoffed. “You keep clinging to those last tatters of professionalism, Dave, and we’ll keep pretending that you’re as competent as you’d like us to believe.”

Emily squeezed Teddy’s hand for reassurance and looked back toward the trees of the park. “I can . . . go, if you want?” she asked.