Milky Way. Muriel Jensen

a lineup of books and cleared a place for it, opening it on the desktop. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said.

      She leaned an elbow on the armrest and grinned. “Just tell me the good news. Bad news always finds me anyway.”

      He folded his arms on the report. “First, I think you do have something with potential here. It’s delicious. We’re all agreed on that.” He consulted the report, running his index finger down a line of figures. “Using low-fat milk and cheese brings it in at a caloric and nutritional level that should thrill the gourmet dieter.”

      Britt felt her adrenaline begin to flow. She knew it! She resisted the impulse to leap across the desk and hug Judson, and instead asked with what she hoped was professional cool, “Then you don’t think I’d be crazy to develop more yogurt products and widen my market base?”

      He considered a moment, removed his glasses and nodded with obvious reluctance. “Yes, I think it would be crazy.”

      Britt’s adrenaline flow reversed, blocking a gasp in her throat. “I...don’t understand.”

      Judson leaned back in his chair. “Britt, the market’s already clogged with low-calorie, high-nutrition products. All the big dairies are jumping on the bandwagon. You might do all right, but not well enough to outsell, say, Land o’ Honey Foods. And there’s the extra time and effort this will cost you just to put yourself in a position to try to compete.”

      “Those products aren’t really all that healthy,” she argued. “The producers play games with numbers and trick the consumer with labeling. They call a product 95% fat free, but when you check the breakdown, with 150 calories the product has 9 grams of fat. At 9 calories a gram, that’s 81 calories of fat—more than half the 150. How can that be called 95% fat free?”

      He smiled at her vehemence. “You can make numbers mean anything you want. They’re talking about a percentage of the product’s weight, not of its calories. A product like milk, for instance, has a large amount of water and minerals that add to its weight, but not its calorie count.”

      “My product really is better for people. I’ve used low-fat everything and a sugar replacement.”

      Judson sighed. “You know how much it’d cost you in advertising to let the consumer know that?”

      Britt got to her feet and paced the office, trying to organize her thoughts. “Judson, I’ve researched the market. Fortune magazine says the consumer’s self-indulgent phase is winding down. The new shopper is eating his cancer-fighting cruciferous vegetables, having his cholesterol tested and striving to prolong his life. He isn’t buying gourmet ice cream anymore.”

      Judson shifted in his chair and consulted the report again. “I’m not denying there’s a market for it. I’m just trying to tell you that scores of food manufacturers have gotten there before you.”

      She folded her arms. “Is their cheesecake as good as mine?”

      He chuckled. “I seriously doubt it, but I can’t say with any authority. Shall I send someone to the grocery store so we can conduct a taste test?”

      She frowned good-naturedly. “Don’t laugh at me. I’ve had a rough day and I’ve got to do something to get out of this chasm of debt.”

      “Britt, you have an excellent product here,” he said. “But that freezer aisle in the store represents a cutthroat market. Your cheesecake is scrumptious, but I don’t think you have the capital or the...the distinction to be noticed.”

      She continued to pace. “Distinction?”

      “You know, something that makes you unique, that screams out at the buyer. A gimmick.”

      “Gimmick,” she repeated thoughtfully, falling back into her chair. “Why should something delicious have to have a gimmick?”

      He smiled sympathetically. “The world turns on gimmicks. For a little guy like yourself, the gimmick would have to be big to get you noticed. But I think if you could find it, you’d be successful, because your product is superior.”

      She looked at him suspiciously. “In your personal or professional opinion?”

      “Both. Because I don’t have to conduct a lab analysis to know what you’re made of, Britt. If anyone can do the impossible, it’s you.”

      Britt couldn’t help herself. She was encouraged. And it was so long since she’d felt a spark of enthusiasm for anything but her children that she let herself enjoy the sensation. She would remember all the negative aspects Judson had pointed out later. Right now she’d just hold on to the fact that he thought her cheesecake was delicious, and that he had faith in her.

      This time she didn’t stop herself from hugging him. “Thanks, Judson. That means a lot to me.” She stepped back to dig into her purse. “What do I owe you for the lab work?”

      “A dozen cheesecake Danishes,” he said, closing her purse and walking her to the door. “By the time I get to Marge’s they’re always gone.”

      She hugged him again. “I’ll bring them by tomorrow. Thanks again for your help and your honesty.”

      “Any time. Good luck, Britt.”

      * * *

      BRICK BAUER LOOKED into the back of the station wagon at the crumpled bike and halted Britt’s efforts to pull it out. “Don’t bother,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid it’s DOA.”

      She hated to believe that, but Brick never lied to her. He’d been looking out for her since they were children, and Jimmy’s death had made him even more caring and protective.

      “You’re sure?”

      “Trust me. Someone did a very thorough job. Matt park it behind the truck again?”

      Britt smiled at her cousin. “You have a detective’s instinct. Insightful and cleverly deductive.”

      He grinned. “Of course. It’s the Bauer way.”

      “Are you just coming home, or leaving for work?”

      “I’m just off duty.” He glanced at his watch. “Karen should be home in half an hour or so. I can’t believe our shifts coincide for once.”

      Britt squashed the surge of jealousy she felt that his marriage was fresh and new and hers was so prematurely over. “Who starts dinner in a two-cop family when the wife’s a captain, and the husband...isn’t?”

      He made a pretense of polishing his badge. “Why, the better cook, of course. Sauerbraten. Want to stay?”

      “Thanks. I’ve got to pick up the kids.”

      Brick frowned. “Is Matt walking his route?”

      “He’s using my bike,” Britt said, her expression wry. “A ‘nerdy’ comedown for him, I’m afraid. Marshack wanted to buy him a new one, but I wouldn’t let him. Matt’s got to take responsibility—”

      “Marshack?” Brick asked.

      “Winnebago Dairy’s district sales manager.” Her forced smile slipped a little. “He came to try to collect. When he left, Matt had propped his bike up against his Explorer and he backed right over it.”

      “Matt needs the route if he’s going to go to that Boy Scout thing.” He grinned apologetically. “And your bike is nerdy. Want to borrow my credit card?”

      She frowned her disapproval. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

      “I know.” He put an arm around her and held her close for a sober moment. “How’re you doing with him? Is he still moody and remote?”

      She nodded, happy to lean against her cousin’s strong shoulder. “Yeah. But then, so am I. He’s fairly cooperative. No worse than any other prepubescent boy dealing with the loss of his father.” She sighed, then