Murder by Mocha

When I’d first glimpsed these sheets, it was at a distance, in a dimly lit room. Now the curtains were open, shedding light in more ways than one.

“You’re right . . .” I told Grimes.

The stains felt sticky and smelled sweet. I pulled a swatch of the material up to my nose. The cloying candylike scent was the same aroma I’d noticed when I first walked into the room.

Finally, I recognized the stuff. I’d just used it in my own kitchen!

“This is corn syrup.”

“Corn syrup?” Lori and Sue Ellen were now flanking me, handling the sheets for themselves.

“Are you sure?” Lori asked.

“I just used it last night on my chocolate-glazed hazelnut bars. Corn syrup is what gives the chocolate glaze the right consistency for drizzling.”

“But corn syrup is clear, isn’t it?” Sue Ellen countered. “This stuff is red.”

“Because this is flour, corn syrup, and food coloring,” I said, touching and smelling it more aggressively, “the recipe for fake blood!”

“And you know that how?”

“You’ve never heard of the Village Halloween parade? I run a coffeehouse on Hudson Street! My assistant manager is an actor and I’m a mother. . . .” Joy’s vampire phase was only eclipsed (pun intended) by a brief obsession with zombies.

“Okay,” Sue Ellen said, turning to Alicia. “So that’s it? The whole murder scene Ms. Cosi saw here was faked?”

“A prank?” Lori pressed, her big blue eyes carefully watching Alicia. Sue Ellen was watching, too.

I joined them.

With all of our gazes trained on Alicia, she appeared to be fighting for composure. I reconsidered the tale of Dennis St. Julian, the inconsistencies, not to mention the coltish blonde who came pounding on the door, acted authentically stunned at not finding him in bed, then bolted at the mention of the police.

“Alicia,” I finally said, “please tell these detectives the truth. You thought the man in your room was murdered. You were frantic, and someone wanted to put you in that state. This was much more than a prank.”

I caught her wince, but she quickly recovered, shaking her head. “This was all just a misunderstanding.”

That word again! I faced Lori and Sue. “The timing alone is alarming. Tonight is an important launch party for Ms. Bower. A new product of hers is about to be presented to the press and an international group of wholesale buyers. I think someone was setting her up. I think someone—”

“Clare, please.” Madame stepped forward, put a hand on my shoulder.

I knew she was unhappy with the direction of this conversation. The Village Blend was deeply aligned with Alicia’s deal, and Madame, for whatever reasons, never appeared to trust the police.

But I did. Something criminal had gone down here—or was just about to—and I thought these detectives should be informed of it. When I turned to tell Madame this, however, she put her finger to her lips.

“À cheval donné on ne regarde pas les dents!”

I sighed, stopped talking.

Lori frowned at me, drawing her own conclusion from my limited facts, and moved closer to Alicia. “Have you received any mysterious phone calls or messages, Ms. Bower? Any threats? Has anyone made demands?”

“Of course not,” Alicia replied, folding her arms.

“And you’d report them if someone did?” Sue Ellen asked, her tone dubious.

“Most certainly!” Alicia said, smoothing her robe before recrossing her arms, even more tightly this time.

“Do you want to file a report?” Lori asked.

Alicia waved the woman off. “Please . . . I don’t have time for that. As Clare explained—against my wishes, I might add—I have a product launch to attend to. A year of work is at stake. Whatever . . . silliness happened here, we should all simply forget it ever happened.”

Lori Soles shrugged. “All right, Ms. Bower. If you don’t want to file a report, then our hands are tied.”

Alicia forced a smile. “I thank you both for coming, and I’m so sorry that Clare put you to any trouble.” She sent a pointed look my way.

Before I could retort (or lunge), Lori jumped between us: “It’s our job to investigate. Here’s my phone number . . .” She handed Alicia a business card. “Call me anytime, day or night, if anyone does attempt to threaten you or shake you down, okay?”

Madame touched Alicia’s arm. “Let’s go back to my suite, dear. We can order room service. You have a long day ahead, and you’ll need fortification.”

Alicia approached me before following Madame and the gentleman lawyer out the door. “No hard feelings, Clare. I realize you were just trying to help.”

“I would still like to know—”

“I’ll see you tonight at the launch party!” She waved as she whirled. “We’ll talk more there!”

Sue Ellen waited for the women to leave before turning to me. “Well, Clare, all I can say is, we’re very glad you called us.”

“The Key Card Burglar. I know.”

“No,” Sue Ellen said, surprising me. “I agree with your concerns. Your client is definitely a target.”

“My client?”

“Ms. Bower.”

“Actually, I work for the other woman.”

“Well, keep an eye on both of them,” Sue Ellen warned.

“What do you think happened here?” I asked.

Lori and Sue Ellen exchanged looks. “We shouldn’t speculate without more facts,” Lori said. “But we can submit the contents of that vase for a toxicology test—just in case Ms. Bower does end up being shaken down.”

“Thank you, Detectives. Thank you both for everything.”

“No,” Lori said, “you’re the one we’ll be thanking—and publicly. Are you ready to go down to the One Seven now? Do that lineup?”

“Sure.”

As Lori instructed Suarez to treat the vase and its contents as evidence, Sue tapped me on the shoulder.

“One more question, Cosi.”

“What’s that?”

“I barely passed high school French. I can ask your name and order snails, but that’s about it. What did Mrs. Dubois say to you?”

“À cheval donné on ne regarde pas les dents,” I repeated with a sigh. “I’m far from fluent, either, Detective. But she’s said it often enough. And her son practically lives by it.”

“And it means?”

“Loose translation: ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’”

I didn’t tell Detective Bass, but the grandmother who raised me also had a favorite saying—only she said it in Italian: Vedo le tazze e senza café. Loose translation: “I see the cups, but there’s no coffee.”

Well, I saw the cups, and I smelled something brewing. This morning’s charge of murder may have vanished, but trouble was almost certainly heading Alicia Bower’s way, and that meant my way, too.

Seven