Murder by Mocha

“I’m far from a professional private investigator!”

“Please.” Madame waved her hand. “What did Roman Brio call you? Shirley Holmes? He was right. As a mama snoop, you’ve done pretty well. And, as always, I am happy to be your Watson.”

Oh brother. Here we go . . . “Alicia should hire someone. I’ll ask Mike for a name—”

“Waste of time. Alicia was adamant. She doesn’t wish to bring anyone else into this, especially a professional.”

“Why not?”

“She fears her position with her company could be jeopardized if someone suspects a scandal brewing. And a hired investigator poking about asking questions is bound to raise some flag somewhere. Alicia would prefer to keep all of this as quiet as possible, within our little circle.”

“But—”

“Legally, we’re tied into this venture,” Madame pointed out, “which means you’re already publicly associated with Alicia. You can be a nosy Nellie without raising alarms. Simply make your queries sound innocent.”

Like I have time for this!

“Clare . . .” She touched my shoulder. “I know you’re not fond of Alicia. But won’t you do it for me . . . for the Blend? Please?”

I massaged my forehead. “Did this Candy Man character give you a business card?”

“Yes!” Clearly excited to reprise her Watson role, Madame gleefully fished around her small evening bag. “Here you are.”

“Kogo Sweets Inc.,” I read. The logo wasn’t embossed, and the white cardstock felt textureless and flimsy.

“The company is real,” Madame said, watching me bend the card back and forth. “I looked it up after Mr. St. Julian introduced himself a few weeks ago.”

“But if I place a call to Kogo Sweets’ main office,” I said, waving the cheap rectangle, “I doubt very much Dennis St. Julian will be a name they recognize.”

“You think the card is fake?”

“I think the man is fake.”

“Why?”

“Because he was ready to place a ‘large order’ for Alicia’s product without even sampling it. Because his clothes were made of gorgeous, expensive material, but his loafers were old, worn, and scuffed up. Because he was built like a readymade model for Michelangelo, that’s why!”

“What does the man’s build have to do with anything?”

“He claimed his job was tasting candy for a living, yet he had six-pack abs, muscle cuts, and a shaved chest?”

“You don’t think he lifted weights to counteract all the candy sampling?”

“Serious bodybuilders are rigorous about their diets. They don’t make their living as wholesale junk-food buyers. The candy buying was a spiel to get close to Alicia, I’m sure of it. Someone hired that guy.”

“Who? And for what? This is the first product Alicia’s ever pitched to the confectionary trade. Do you suppose this St. Julian character was after the Mocha Magic Coffee’s secret ingredients?”

“I don’t suppose Mr. St. Julian was Mr. St. Julian, and I say we keep our eyes and ears open tonight. If you see a dead guy rise again, let me know ASAP, okay?”

“You expect that man will have the nerve to show up here?”

“Yes. Possibly in disguise. For all I know, he may be in the Garden already.” I glanced again at those glass double doors. “Just remember, whatever he wanted from Alicia, he failed to get this morning.”

“And you think he’s going to try again?”

“Or his partner will,” I said.

“His what?”

“Don’t you remember the reason I was buried in dirty laundry this morning? The blond woman in black I was chasing?”

“Oh yes! You know I never did see her. I took your word for it and sent those young police officers after you.”

“Maybe I should sketch a picture of her for Alicia.”

“Oh, good idea!”

“On the other hand, she might be . . .”

“What?”

I was too busy staring to finish my sentence. A slender woman in a sleek black pantsuit had exited the elevator and moved swiftly toward the glass doors, but she didn’t push through them. She just stood there staring at something in her hand—a smartphone. She was text messaging.

Look! I mouthed, pointing to the blonde. The contrast of her long, glossy ponytail against the black backdrop of her silky suit material appeared just as striking as I remembered.

Madame’s eyes widened. Is that her?

“Wait here,” I whispered. If I had to fight the woman to hold her, I didn’t want Madame catching any flying elbows. Quickly and quietly I moved across the faux-stone floor. Thank goodness, the woman appeared too distracted to notice me.

I gripped her upper arm, held tight.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

Slowly, the woman turned.

Twelve

“Clare!” Madame’s heels clicked hastily across the floor. She touched my shoulder. “This is Patrice Stone.”

The young woman regarded me. “Clare? Oh, you must be Clare Cosi!”

Madame eyeballed me with a silent question: Is this the blonde you chased?

I sent her a very subtle shake of my head. No. Sorry, it’s not.

Oblivious to our exchange, Patrice beamed at us with a smile as bright as a Great Plains sunrise. Holding tight to the smartphone in her left hand, she extended her right.

“So nice to meet you! Alicia has been bragging about your mocha recipes all week. I can’t wait to taste everything!”

Surprising me, she moved from a quick handshake to a big, warm hug. “Thank you for all you’ve been doing! And thank your staff for me, too.”

Stepping back, Patrice swiped a long lock of corn-yellow hair away from her oval face. She wore almost no makeup—with her youthful skin and those prairie-sky eyes, she really didn’t need to.

Madame cleared her throat. “Patrice works with Aphrodite.”

“An understatement,” Patrice said with a laugh. “When I was Aphrodite’s personal assistant, I pretty much worked for all the Sisters—”

“Sisters?” I interrupted. “Oh, sorry, I forgot. That’s what Aphrodite calls the heads of her sections—I mean Temples.”

“That’s right. You’ve got it! When you reach Sister level, you’re also a kind of board member of the community.”

“Board member?” I glanced at Madame. “You mean the Sisters actually share in the profits?”

“Oh yes. That’s why everyone strives to become one. After four long years, I finally made it. I’m still training a new assistant to take over my old duties. Her name is Minthe. You’ll meet her soon, I’m sure.”