On What Grounds

“And if it’s caffeine, this amount is legal?” Quinn asked.

“Well,” said Matt, “you’re holding about ten grams. A cup of joe has anywhere from one hundred to two hundred milligrams of caffeine. So I guess if you want to book me for possessing the equivalent of one hundred cups of coffee, you can try.”

“I don’t know,” said Quinn without a moment’s hesitation. “I guess I can believe you. Or maybe I can have it tested. That might take a while. Maybe even a day or two. Now where do you think I’d have you waiting during that time?”

“Fine,” said Matteo at last. “Ask your damned questions. What do you want to know?”

I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t seen anyone trump Matteo Allegro in years. Quinn had managed it inside of five minutes.

Quinn glanced at Langley. “Take the cuffs off.”

“Thank you,” said Matt, standing up so Langley could release him.

“What are you doing here? Your ex-wife says you don’t live here.”

“I travel most of the year,” said Matt, rubbing his wrists and sitting back down on the cane-backed Thonet. “But my mother owns this building, and around a month ago, when I was in Rio, she sent me a contract giving me the right to use this duplex when I’m in New York—”

“She what?!” It wasn’t that I couldn’t believe my own ears. I just didn’t want to.

“Ms. Cosi,” said Quinn. “I have to ask you to—”

“She made no mention of that to me!” I blurted.

“Why should she?” asked Matt. “You live in New Jersey, don’t you?”

“Not anymore. Last month I signed a contract with her, too,” I said. “I’m managing the Blend for a salary, a share of equity, and the right to live in this duplex!”

“Oh, Jesus.” Matt sighed. “Not again.”

Madame had perpetrated numerous schemes to get Matt and me back together. This was obviously her latest.

“Matt, don’t tell me you’re earning equity, too?”

“Yes,” said Matt. “Apparently she eventually wants us to co-own this place.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Cosi,” said Quinn, “but if you don’t allow me to continue with my questions, I’ll have to ask Officer Langley to escort you out of the room.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll sit. I’ll listen.”

But for a minute or two after taking a seat on one of the carved rosewood chairs, I did little more than silently stew. How could Madame have tricked me like this? How?!

In the meantime, Quinn was asking Matt a series of specific questions about his whereabouts the night before. I watched him take careful notes about the name of the airline he’d been traveling on and his flight number, and it occurred to me, with slow alarm, that Quinn was trying to determine whether Matt had anything to do with Anabelle’s fall.

“Did anyone witness your arrival here?” asked Quinn.

“Sure. The taxi driver.”

“Did you get his name or license?”

Matt smirked at Quinn for five long seconds. “What do you think?”

“And no one else saw you arrive?”

“It was five-fifteen in the morning. I was exhausted from a six-hour Jeep ride out of the Peruvian Andes, a fourteen-hour connecting flight from Lima to Dallas to JFK, and a two-and-a half-hour tango with U.S. customs. I collected my luggage, fell in a cab, and collapsed into bed the first chance I got. That’s it.”

“Did you notice anyone entering or leaving the premises when you arrived?” asked Quinn.

“No.”

“Notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything at all?”

“No.”

“Think about it, Mr. Allegro. What did you see when you exited the cab?”

Matt began to shift in his chair. He crossed a leg over his knee, rubbed his forehead, turned toward me. “Clare, did something happen last night at the coffeehouse?”

“Don’t talk to her right now,” said Quinn. “Just answer my question.”

Matt inhaled and closed his eyes. “The lights to the coffeehouse were on. I remember thinking it was early for that, but then I checked my watch and realized the bakery delivery was due between five-thirty and six.”

“And did you see anyone inside, through the windows?”

“No.”

“You didn’t enter the coffeehouse at all?”

“No. I was exhausted. I came in through the alley, went up the back garden stairs to the duplex, and that’s it.”

“Do you know Anabelle Hart?”

Matt looked taken aback. I leaned forward.

“Anabelle Hart?” asked Matt. “What’s she got to do with—”

“Just tell me,” said Quinn.

“Of course I know her. She’s one of our baristas downstairs.”

“And?”

“And what? That’s it.”

Quinn seemed unsatisfied with Matt’s answer. Or the way he answered. He stared for a few silent moments. “You don’t have any sort of special relationship with her?”

“Christ. She’s my daughter’s age.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she’s a child. She works downstairs. She works well. She has a boyfriend. That’s all I know. Why? What’s she been telling you?”

“No reason to have been angry with her?”

“What’s this about? Clare?”

I was about to answer when Quinn spoke up—

“Miss Hart’s had an accident. A fall down the service staircase.”

Matt’s eyes met mine. “Clare? Is she all right?”

I shook my head. “It’s not good. She’s in intensive care.”

“Aw, no—”

“Mr. Allegro, you have a key to the duplex, correct?” asked Quinn, continuing to scribble in his rectangular notebook.

“That’s obvious.”

“And a key to the coffeehouse downstairs?”

“Yes, of course. I’m the Blend’s coffee buyer and the owner’s son.”

“We may have more questions for you, Mr. Allegro,” said Quinn. “Do you have any plans to leave the city in the next week?”

“No. I’ll be here for at least two.”

“And you’ll be living here—”

“No!” I blurted. “He’s not living here.”

Matt’s eyebrow rose. “We’ll see,” he mouthed. Then he rose and dug into his back pocket. “Here’s my card. Cell phone number’s on there.”

“Fine,” said Quinn. He held up the vial of white powder. “I’m going to have this tested.”

“Christ,” said Matt. “Why? I don’t plan on participating in any Olympic events in the next forty-eight hours, and that’s about the only institution I can think of that considers caffeine a prohibited substance.”

Matt was right. One of our customers, a former Olympic fencer and coffee lover, had nearly tested positive for more than 12 micrograms of caffeine per milliliter of urine. He’d drunk something like three cups of coffee before his event. Consuming just two more would have gotten him banned from the Games.