Holiday Grind

“The police arrested Dwayne late last night at a Manhattan club,” I explained. “He’s got a high-powered lawyer—no surprise. But detectives are reviewing digital images from every Staten Island Ferry security camera they can get their hands on. They have warrants to search his home and SUV, and they already have him booked on a drug charge.”

“What’s the drug?”

“Marijuana. Mike said they found a ‘nickel bag’ on him when they picked him up. What’s that mean, exactly?”

Among other things, my ex was a veteran lounge lizard. Name a remote outpost on the world’s vast coffee belt and he’d give you detailed directions to the nearest place to party. If anyone knew what drug slang meant, it was Matt.

“A nickel bag is fifty dollars’ worth of pot. It’s like four or five joints max. They won’t be able to hold him long for that, Clare. It’s just possession, not sale.”

I frowned. “I’m sure they’ll find more evidence.”

“Are you sure you didn’t see him throw you over that rail. Just a glimpse?” Matt’s brown gaze speared me. “Wouldn’t that solve your flatfoot boyfriend’s problem with the charge?”

“I’m not going to lie. Not to Mike. Not to his fellow cops on the force, and certainly not under oath in court.”

“Dumb.” Matt muttered again. “You said you know he did it, Clare. Isn’t that enough to warrant a little lie?”

“No! Not when that lie is tantamount to perjury. And Mike would agree with me.”

“Dudley Do-Right.” Matt bolted the remains of his espresso, then shook his head. “If you only knew...”

I frowned, not liking the sound of that. “Knew what? Something about Mike?”

“Forget it.” Matt looked away. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I stared at my ex. “Okay, spill. What do you know about—”

“Wait,” Matt cut me off. “Didn’t you ask me here to talk about Dexter?”

“You’re changing the subject, but, yes, I did.”

“Please, Clare, let’s talk about that. What did you want to know?”

I stewed for a second, unhappy that Matt was keeping something from me about Quinn, but I didn’t have time to argue. I was only on a short break, and when my relief came, I had to change fast and get up to Union Square for Alf’s memorial service. I’d already sent up the boxes of goodies. The thermoses of coffee would come with me via taxi.

“Okay, Matt.” I met his eyes. “I want to know why Dex was so cagey about his ‘confidential’ relationship with Omar Linford. Because if Dex is selling drugs, you better warn him he’s about to get caught.”

“He’s not selling drugs, Clare. I spoke with him already, and he admitted what I suspected. Linford is Dex’s silent partner in all of his Taste of the Caribbean shops.”

“What’s so secret about that?”

Matt leaned closer. He lowered his voice. “Dex took capital-improvement money from the city. If the bureaucrats knew Linford was Dex’s partner, they never would have granted him the money to remodel his stores and purchase new freezers.”

“Why didn’t Dex just get the remodeling money from Linford straight up?”

“Because that’s how Omar Linford ended up owning the Blue Sunshine company, that’s why. Dex doesn’t want Linford putting any more money into the business than he has already.”

“But if Dexter and Omar took that money from the city, they’re committing a crime.”

“Which is why he was paranoid about admitting his business relationship, get it?”

“Hey there, Cosi Lady!”

I glanced up at a familiar voice and did a double take. A five-foot-eleven Santa’s elf, complete with green leggings, velvet tunic, and a felt hat with a feather was grinning down at me.

“Shane? Shane Holliway?”

“In the flesh,” he said. “Or in the tights, whichever you prefer, Clare.”

The ex-soap actor took the bar stool beside me. Matt shot him a wary glance. Shane had shaved off his trendy stubble. He looked better with the clean chin, and his golden shag, lean cheek dimples, and twinkling blue eyes made him perfect elf material, too.

“I take it you’re in a dress rehearsal with Tucker down the street,” I said.

“Perceptive.” Shane winked. “But then Tucker did tell me you’re an amazing sleuth.”

I laughed. “Well, your tights are a dead giveaway.”

“The benefit party’s tonight at the Public Library’s Main Branch on Forty-second. Are you coming?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “That thing’s exclusive. Invitation only.”

“Tuck can get you in! Come on, Clare. You don’t want to miss my tight green buns leaping over sugarplum props, do you?”

I laughed again. “You make it sound tempting. I’ll think about it, okay? Can I get you something in the meantime?” I asked, standing up.

“Are you kidding? Method’s my middle name: Candy Cane Latte—easy on the whipped cream. This outfit’s pretty unforgiving.”

“You don’t have to worry,” I said, heading behind the coffee bar again. “You look great.”

“Thanks.”

As I whipped up the latte, Shane called over to Dante. “Hey, Silva, I saw you on YouTube! You’re an official World Wide Web star!”

“I know!” he replied from behind the espresso machine. “My roommates told me I have almost as many hits as Keith Judd holiday shopping on the Upper West Side!”

“My girlfriend saw that one, too,” Gardner mentioned as he worked the register. “She’s been into Judd since that fighter pilot movie he did ten years ago. Now she wants to check out every boutique he went into.”

“You’re kidding?” I said. “People care about that stuff?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Dante.

“You bet.” Gardner nodded.

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s no joke, boss,” Dante said, quickly tamping fine grinds into the espresso machine’s portafilter. “Do you know every single store Judd was shown going into has a line out the door today?”

I blinked at that. New York 1 news had just done a story on how slow the shopping season was this year. Many shops were in real danger of going under.

Gardner handed change to a customer. “If you ask me, whoever took that Keith Judd footage should have gone to those stores and asked for a cut.”

“I guess I can’t object,” I murmured. “I mean, the Web is why we’re doing so well this year.”

I finished mixing Mr. Elf’s Candy Cane Latte: fresh espresso, crème de menthe syrup—with a pump each of cherry and vanilla—perfectly microfoamed milk, a kiss of whipped cream, and sprinkles of crushed candy cane and shaved chocolate. I slid it across the bar.

“On the house, Shane,” I said. “It’s the least I can do for a Santa’s helper.”

“Oh, you’re a babe.” He took a few sips and made orgas mic noises. “Sweet...”

I smiled. “Good?”

“Good? Listen, Cosi Lady. After the benefit, I’m coming back here for another. Then how about you and me do a little work in my tool shop tonight?”

Matt rolled his eyes.

“I think you mean toy shop, don’t you, Shane?” I replied.

“No. I meant what I said.”

Oh, brother. “That’s very flattering, I’m sure. But I’m in a relationship with someone special.”

Matt grunted at that. I shot him a look.

“Come on,” Shane pressed. “You don’t have to get serious with me. We can just, you know...” He winked at me again. “Play.”

“Really, I mean it,” I said firmly. “No thanks.”