'Let me get that for you.' The man coming out the entrance of Maggie's Beignet Café switched the bag of freshly fried beignets from his right hand to his left and held the door to the café open for me to pass.

'Thanks,' I replied, sliding awkwardly past him. 'Have a good day.' I had just come back from the thrift store and my arms were full.

I wobbled across the floor, steering awkwardly between dining tables. I was anxious to relieve myself of my bulky load. A shopkeeper's assistant had given me a ride back to my place. Not owning a car, my transportation options were limited and that limited my ability to travel, let alone transport, big, bulky items like this one.

Schwinns are nice but, even with a basket between the handlebars, they are no match for a minivan or station wagon at such times.

There were days I regretted selling my car but I'd needed the cash to open my café.

'What's that?' asked Kelly.

With a grunt, I hefted the unwieldy machine up onto the front counter and slid it back from the edge. I winced as I watched deep new gouges form in the green Formica countertop.

'An espresso machine,' I huffed, picking up a shiny loose bit that had fallen to the floor and slapping it down next to the polished copper and brass beast. 'It's vintage.'

'An espresso machine?' gaped Kelly. 'Looks more like a steampunk spaceship.' She took a step back. 'What did you bring it here for, Maggie?'

I frowned as I looked out the window and across the street toward my competitors, Karma Koffee. 'I thought it might help us drum up some more business.'

There was a line out the door at the Gregorys' shop. I had one paying customer at the moment, Belinda, from Salon de Belezza, the beauty shop next door. She ordered coffee and a plate of beignets, her usual mid-morning snack. It was going to take more than an espresso machine to compete with the Gregorys.

'Maybe.' Kelly fiddled with the loose bit then popped it over one of the spaceship's nozzles. Kelly Herman had been my second employee here at Maggie's Beignet Café. She's a quiet, twenty-three-year-old half Havasupai, half Jewish beauty with long black hair and soupy brown eyes.

She works part-time for me in the café and part-time for my sister, Donna, and her husband, Andy, at their business. They owned Mother Earth/Father Sun Grocers a couple blocks' away.

I had moved from Phoenix to Table Rock a few months back to open my fledgling business after divorcing my dead ex-husband, Brian. He wasn't really dead but a woman could dream, couldn't she?

My sister and her family, a husband and two boys, and my mother were already here, so I figured it was the place for me too.

Table Rock is a lovely little town located in the scenic northern Verde Valley of Arizona, halfway between Sedona and nowhere. People around Table Rock like to say it's where people move to who think Sedona is too mainstream. Anybody who's ever been to Sedona knows that the town, with its New Age and metaphysical culture, is about as far from mainstream as one can get, so that was really saying something.

It didn't hurt that prices in Table Rock were cheaper than in Sedona. New Age dreamers were more interested in all things spiritual and in developing their consciousness than they were in inflating their bank accounts.

Folks around town also like to say that aliens outnumber Table Rockers four to one. I wasn't sure yet about the aliens but I was certain that pickup trucks outnumbered people by at least that ratio.

'Thanks. I was wondering where that goes.' The machine had set me back three hundred bucks – a steal, according to the woman who had sold it to me, Laura Duval. It looked terribly complicated, although Laura had assured me I could manage it.

'No problem. Where did you get it?'

I blew out a puff of air and felt the tiny hairs on my forehead dance. 'Laura's Lightly Used.' Laura's Lightly Used was the thrift shop a couple blocks east of Maggie's Beignet Café. The sprawling store sold vintage clothes, items for the home, outdoor goods, sporting equipment and more, such as secondhand restaurant equipment.

I had purchased much of the equipment from Laura's store when I was setting up my café. She had also sold me my Schwinn. At this point, I figured Laura had more of my money than I did.

Maggie's Beignet Café sold beignets, coffee and soft drinks. I was slowly adding additional sweet-flavored beignets and savory beignets to the menu in an effort to increase foot traffic. Well, mouth traffic, really.

As for my hair, it was finally starting to grow back. I studied my reflection in the shiny espresso maker's thirty-eight-ounce boiler. Definitely a sign of hair growth. My green eyes looked a little sallow and my face a little sickly. I blamed that on the brass. All in all, I didn't look bad for a fifty-year-old. Too bad I was only thirty-nine.

I guess I should have been grateful my hair was now long enough to reach my forehead. I shot a furtive glance at Belinda as she scarfed down her third powdered sugar-covered beignet. The woman's boss, Caitie Conklin, had recently shaved me bald and I wasn't in a forgiving mood yet. It had been done in the name of charity – with all of the hair being donated to cancer patients along with the money charged for the cuts – but still ... A woman can only tolerate so much.

And though my red hair was beginning to grow out, the nickname Cueball had obstinately stuck around.

I hoisted the piano-hinged section of the countertop and scooted around behind the counter. The eight-table café sits on Laredo Street, at the edge of the Historic Old Town and just a few blocks from Table Rock Town Square. The café still contained remnants of the deli it had once been, like some signage and even some deli-branded paper napkins I'd found in storage and was determined to use up before having to order new ones.

I'd been told by a man named Cosmic Ray over at the Table Rock Visitor Center that my café had been a head shop in one of its previous incarnations. So far, I'd found no evidence of that. Not a bong in sight.

The front counter also contained the deep fryer and prep station. Customers could watch the beignets being fashioned and fried behind the protection of a glass divider.

The big mixer sat on the floor to the right of the accordion-style swinging doors that led to the storeroom. The back wall contained the coffee and drinks machines, a couple of small coolers and a sink.

Beignets, the state donut of Louisiana – though they look more like puffy golden pillows than donuts – are sweet, fried pieces of dough smothered in powdered sugar. I didn't expect to get rich selling them but I was hoping they would pay the rent.

'Give me a hand, Kelly.'

'Sure thing.'

With Kelly's help, I moved the espresso machine next to the French-press coffee makers. Kelly moved some napkins and cups out of the way to make room.

I tilted my head at the new machine. 'I don't suppose you know how to operate this baby?' I twisted the burnished wood grip of the lever.

'I'm afraid not.'

'Too bad.'

'Didn't it come with a manual or some instructions?'

'No. Laura told me how it worked.' I scratched my head. 'I can't exactly remember what she said.' I forced a smile. 'I'm sure it will come back to me.'

'Maybe we can look it up online.'

'That's a good idea,' I said...