Finder's Keepers/The Coffeehouse
From Torg Adventure
I always spent the morning at the Riverview. It was a cozy spot with good coffee and company. In the morning it was filled with moms and babies. But the real reason I went there was the cute barista, Molly. I usually watched her work as I perused the paper, delighting in the way she moved, how she talked and smiled at the customers, how her features tightened up when she worked the crossword puzzle when things lightened up. She had collar-length blond hair, a cute round face with full lips that always had red lipstick on them, and a curvy body that looked like it would be very comfortable next to you, naked.
I didn't see Jessica walk in, because I was halfway through the crossword puzzle when ten o'clock rolled around. I did notice her when she stood at the counter and ordered. She was wearing a stylish fall raincoat, maybe London Fog. Don't ask me why I knew it was Jessica, since she hadn't told me what she looked liked. It was the same sense that allowed me to Find things. I just knew. She'd dressed up for our meeting, because she didn't look like the type to always go out looking ready to have a business meeting on a moment's notice. Her hair was long and unrestrained with a streak of deep burgundy in contrast to her normal brunette. I could only see her from behind, and I always waited to make judgments on people at least until I see their faces, their eyes. I saw her tip a dollar on a three-dollar latte, and I raised an eyebrow. Maybe she'd been a barista or a bartender in her past. Molly smiled broadly at her when she saw the bill go into the jar. Jessica turned and walked directly toward me. She must have picked me out before going to the counter. Even from twenty feet I could tell she had deep blue eyes, they shone that much. Her face was round with good cheekbones, a trace of a smile lingering on her lips. She was pretty, except that her eyes gave her more than that. Her eyes made her striking.
Without thinking, I rose from my chair and reached out to shake her hand. "Hello, I'm Jack Finden. I'm glad you could find the place." She took it and returned the handshake, somewhat lighter than confident.
"This side of town is pretty easy as long as you have your streets and avenues straight." Her voice was more than pleasant, it was somewhat low and tickled in your belly. Well, a little lower than that, actually. She looked around briefly, taking in the tables and chairs, couches and easy chairs. Her eyes took their time with the art exhibit. The Riverview always had new art on the walls, and their taste ran eclectic. Today we had realistic India ink drawings of cityscapes populated by crude characters cut from brightly colored felt. Probably some comment on life reflecting art or something. "They have appealing artistic taste. I like the difference in texture between the ink and the felt." I liked her already, since she was willing to give an opinion on art. I learned at an early age that having an opinion on art was important, as my mother took me to the Institute of Art, made comments on each piece we looked at, and asked me what I thought. Initially, I reflected what she said, but as I got older, she pushed me to make my own judgments. She had me go first so I wouldn't know what she thought.
"Yes, I think it's amazing how much linear movement she got out of felt. Those figures really look like they're running or walking or whatever." It's not much of a line, but it'd suffice. "Now, enough about primitive Americana. What's the deal?" I sat back down again, waving at the other chair. She placed her coffee on the table and removed her trench coat, revealing a white fuzzy sweater and fashion jeans. She had a nice figure, big on top and at the hips with a narrow waist and a round belly. She walked over to the coat rack and hung the coat up. She returned and sat down, picking up her coffee and sipping.
"You don't waste time with many pleasantries, do you?"
"Well, I think that people value their time, and, now that we've met and discussed art, I'm comfortable talking business. I don't mean to be brusk."
"Well, a family heirloom necklace was stolen. I'm not sure when or by whom. It has a large opal in the middle surrounded by small diamonds, set in platinum."
