Murder by Mocha

“Congratulations,” I said, even more curious now. “Are there always a set number of Sisters, then? Or does it fluctuate?”

“Seven Sisters. That’s what Aphrodite’s worked out for her financials.”

“Then the competition must be pretty fierce? I mean—to become a Sister?”

“Oh yes. To become one and stay one.” She lowered her voice. “I was forced to cancel one of the Sisters’ launches this afternoon.” She paused. “It wasn’t pleasant.”

“I can imagine,” I said.

“You know how it is. These ladies are super competitive.”

Madame raised an eyebrow. I gave her a nod, thinking—

Just how competitive is “super competitive”? Enough to sabotage your competition with some kind of fake murder scheme?

With a jerk of her head, Madame directed me to continue grilling Patrice. She didn’t have to.

“Now you’ve got me curious,” I said, forcing a laugh to keep things light. “What exactly happens if a Sister has her launch canceled?”

Patrice hesitated.

Darn. I spooked her. I shot Madame a look. Okay, Mrs. Watson, you’re on . . .

“You’ll have to forgive Clare for all her questions,” Madame said, waving her hand. “Alicia’s been so busy, she hasn’t explained much about your business. I have to admit, I’m still learning how it all functions.”

“Oh, well . . . it’s pretty simple, really: Each of the Seven Sisters has her own area on the Aphrodite Web site. And each is responsible for the traffic—”

“Traffic?” I asked, looking appropriately clueless.

Patrice nodded. “We track the number of visitors to our site in all sorts of ways.”

“And you want as many visits as you can get, right?”

“Right. The more visits, the more we can charge for our advertising. Unfortunately, ad dollars fluctuate with seasonal traffic, so Aphrodite now expects each of the Sisters to submit a lucrative product idea designed to bring steady revenue to her Temple.”

“I see. So each Sister’s job depends on the success of her product?”

“In a word, yes. Aphrodite invests in each product. She becomes a full partner with every Sister, and she expects them to deliver a profitable payback.” After a pause, Patrice shrugged. “I know it sounds harsh, but Aphrodite has worked very hard to build our site globally. There are plenty of talented editors, writers, and Web developers applying every day to work for us. Competition keeps all of us at the top of our game.”

Game . . .

I gritted my teeth. I actually liked Patrice, but to me a business was not a game. In the best possible world, a business was a close-knit unit, working toward a common goal with colleagues. In games, there were always winners and losers—and, more often than not, cheaters.

“So,” I said, “are you having a launch party this week?”

“Mine’s done, thank goodness! We held it two weeks ago in California.”

“What’s your product, dear?” Madame inquired.

Patrice beamed. “Next season our brand-new Love in the Afternoon feature will debut. It’s the very first, original Web-isode series that’s produced especially for the Aphrodite Village community. It’s even based on an original e-book novel from my Arts and Entertainment Temple! It’s daunting, but I’ll soon be in charge of it all.”

“That’s fantastic, congratulations!” I said, and exchanged another quick glance with Madame. She appeared to be wondering the same thing I was. “What happened to the Sister whose job you took?”

Patrice shrugged. “She got married.”

“Why would that matter?” I answered. “Aren’t Sisters allowed to get married?”

“Of course, Sisters can get married!” Patrice laughed. “Selma’s new husband is an independent software developer. He persuaded her to work with him. That’s why she left.”

Laughter from outside interrupted her, followed by applause.

“Looks like things are going well,” Patrice said, pointing to the crowd.

The guests stood among a dozen ionic columns. The columns were faux marble, of course, like the two in the corridor. Composed mainly of fiberglass, they were lit from within and scattered around the Garden’s hedges and potted plants. (As Tuck would say, it was great stagecraft.)

“Is that Aphrodite at the podium?” I asked.

A thirtyish woman in a maroon-red wrap dress was now speaking in front of the Garden’s shallow reflecting pool. Rimless glasses gave her a serious look, though her light brown hair, worn loosely to her shoulders, implied a more casual, approachable style. Beautifully silhouetted by the illuminated spires, she easily held the attention of her listeners.

“That’s Sherri Sellars,” Patrice replied. “She’s a media personality on the West Coast. She also does a weekly satellite radio show called the Luv Doctor.”

“So Sherri Sellars is a Sister, too?”

Patrice nodded. “She governs our Love and Relationship Temple. Right now, Sherri is explaining the psychological benefits of a healthy sex life. Then she’ll introduce Alicia, who will give the big pitch. I’m closing by going over the contents of their press packets and telling them how to order and who to contact.”

She studied both of us. “You two should stop worrying! Alicia’s got one of the most promising products, given the majority of our site’s user profiles.”

“Will Aphrodite speak tonight?” I asked. “I’d love to see her in action.”

(I didn’t think the woman would try to sabotage her own employee, but I did want a better handle on this bizarre shop with its Temples, Sisters, and cutthroat business philosophy.)

“I’m sorry, Clare. Aphrodite won’t be speaking at any of the events. She doesn’t even like to appear in public.” Patrice lowered her voice again. “But she will make a showing at all the parties, including the one tonight. I’ll try to introduce you when she arrives. But if things get crazy, you’ll have another chance to see her. You’re scheduled to cater the yacht party on Friday, right? And one other launch event. Sorry, I can’t remember the dates now. Too many details to keep them all straight! That’s why this baby’s my lifeline—”

As she waved her smartphone, we heard a new burst of applause.

Just then, the Garden doors opened, and a young brunette poked her head through. Her chili-pepper red cat glasses, large for her delicate features, made her auburn-streaked pixie seem all the more adorable. Smiling, she tapped her wristwatch.

“Sherri’s wrapping it up in five. Alicia’s up, then you. Are you ready?”

“No problem, Daphne,” Patrice replied. “I’ll be right there.”

When Daphne departed, Patrice took another deep breath and held it. “Almost time for my big moment. I still get butterflies when I speak in public. But when I’m about ready to faint, I remind myself that I’m not doing too badly for someone who was a pimply faced teenaged blogger ten years ago.”

She activated the digital pad, and Patrice’s nervousness seemed to evaporate with a glowing smile. “My fiancé sent me a message,” she explained. “He said I should break a leg.”

“Is he in the audience?”

“Actually, he’s in Afghanistan. He’ll be back in six months, three days, and nineteen hours.”

“You have that memorized?”

“I have a countdown clock on my digital pad.”

Eyes on the podium, Patrice rocked on her heels several times.

“Wish me luck,” she said softly.

“Break a leg,” I replied, then laid a firm hand on her arm. “One last question, if you don’t mind?”

Patrice tensed. “What’s that, Clare?”

I lowered my voice. “The Sister who had her launch canceled—she’s out, right? Essentially fired off the board?”

Patrice tilted her head. “Why are you asking?’