Murder by Mocha

being in Kansas anymore.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Except she never mentioned living in Kansas.”

“Hey, given all the places that girl is supposedly from, I’m sure it was a stopover.”

Tucker Burton’s boyfriend, Punch, was back at our coffee bar, too. Like Nancy, the lean Latino didn’t bat an eyelash at the new rush of customers. He stopped sneering at the concept for this new musical, too. Now he was complaining there were no parts for him.

“I’ve already missed the witch call,” Punch said with a sigh. “And I do great green-skinned drag. I would jump in today, but I’m too tall to play a member of the Lollipop Guild.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a big show,” Tuck said in his usual upbeat tone. “Check the audition schedule at HB Studio. I’m sure you’ll find a chorus part.”

“This is my first audition,” one of the little people announced. In his late twenties with a square-jawed handsome face, the wannabe Munchkin waited patiently for me to pull him a double. “That’s what I’m hoping for —a part in the chorus. You got to start somewhere.”

Tuck nodded. “Good attitude! Remember, there are no small parts, only small—”

Esther and I froze, Punch’s eyes bugged in horror, and Tuck’s mouth suddenly snapped shut.

“I’m... I’m so sorry,” he stammered.

All of the little people burst out laughing.

“I’ve heard that line ever since I got my Equity card,” an older actor shouted out. “The only funny thing about it is seeing big people like you swallow their tongues.”

The little people laughed even harder.

“Yo! Boss!” Esther called an hour later.

By now, the Munchkin rush had slowed considerably. Some had left with cups in hand, but most were still relaxing at our café tables.

“What it is?” I called.

“Your apron has been beeping for the last fifteen minutes. Do you have a clue when it’s going to explode?”

“Sorry, that’s my cell.” I looked up from the inventory spreadsheet on the countertop. I’d hung up the apron before taking a break. “Would you mind handing it to me?”

I set down my pen and gently touched my tender nose. Fortunately, the bruise from my scuffle with the Apollo of Abs was healing fast. By the time I’d opened the Blend this morning, only a little tenderness remained, but something pained me even more—the cloud Alicia Bower had placed over this shop.

“Here you go, boss.”

“Thanks.” I punched up the voice mail message and scowled. Don’t speak of the devil, my nonna used to warn, or he may appear.

In this case, the devil was a she.

“Clare, it’s me. Listen up,” Alicia began in her imperious tone. “I’ve dispatched Daphne with a set of instructions. It is crucial that you follow them to the letter. I’ll be unavailable for a call back from you, but we will speak soon . . .”

God, it was difficult to swallow that tone from the woman who could put this landmark shop out of business. And “out of business” for the Blend meant more than breaking my heart by breaking up my cozy little family of baristas. It meant Madame would lose her life’s work, Matt his century-old family trade, and my daughter her legacy.

Gritting my teeth, I tried to focus on the spreadsheets again when Esther interrupted. “Look who’s here, boss.” She jerked her thumb toward the door. “The Mod Couple.”

I swiveled my stool to find Daphne Krupa and Susan Chu walking toward me. Given their colleague’s untimely death less than forty-eight hours ago, I would have expected the two young women to be wearing black, but apparently, mourning did not become them.

Garbed again in sixties retro chic, both girls wore shift dresses in dynamic colors. Susan’s was a hot-pink design. She also wore sunglasses with pink frames. Daphne’s print was teal—and she’d swapped her chili-pepper red cat glasses for little round ones with blue frames.

Both dresses displayed plenty of leg, each encased in opaque tights that matched the dress. Their little backpacks matched, too; Daphne’s was over her shoulder, Susan’s strapped to her back.

“Hey, guys,” Daphne said with a chipper wave.

“Remember us from the other night?” Susan called, equally perky.

Tucker and Nancy smiled big. “Hey, there!”

“What’s up?” Esther called flatly.

“Welcome to my Village Blend,” I said. “How are things going? I mean, given Ms. Stone’s death.”

“It’s not so bad today,” Susan said, “although yesterday morning was seriously unpleasant.”

Daphne nodded. “Patrice handled our event planning, so there was a lot of confusion. Aphrodite had to cancel two back-to-back promo events that we had scheduled for last night.”

“But I’m sure Aphrodite was upset, right?” I asked. “I mean, Patrice had been her assistant for a long time. She must have been emotional.”

“Oh right,” Susan said. “We were all very sad.”

Were, I thought. A past tense on grieving already? It sounds like Aphrodite is more broken up about canceling two PR events than the news of her former assistant being bludgeoned and drowned.

“Things are back on track now,” Susan added. “Alicia Bower stepped right in and took control of the schedule for Aphrodite. That woman is a machine!”

“A machine? Really?”

“For sure! She booked out a whole floor at the Topaz and called in staff from our Long Island offices. Aphrodite is really grateful—”

“So, anyway,” Daphne interrupted, “we’re here to tell you that everything’s still on schedule for Sherri Sellars’s big ‘Love Doctor’ yacht party tonight.”

“Yes,” Susan said, switching to a practiced tone of corporate speak. “We’re all very excited about her Smooth Sailings for Couples project! We’re sure your team will do a great job with the beverage service tonight.”

“And at the Garden of Aphrodite grand finale gathering on Saturday,” Daphne added. “Alicia says not to worry about the Mocha Magic samples. She’ll make sure there are plenty at both parties for us to push.”

Yeah, I thought, and given the product’s likely inclusion of a narcotic, “push” is the appropriate term.

“Will there be a public funeral for Patrice?” I asked.

Susan’s corporate grin fell. “Ms. Stone’s body will be laid to rest in Iowa, where her parents live.”

“But Aphrodite is planning a little moment-of-silence thing before the Garden of Aphrodite product pitches kick in,” Daphne said.

“It will be brief. We don’t want to depress anyone.”

Daphne nodded. “‘Getting over’ is good. That’s what Sherri says. And the fastest way to do that is a return to normal.”

“ ‘Normal’ as in we’re back to gofering our buns off,” Susan said. “We’ve had messenger duty all morning. I was uptown then down then east then west!”

“And I just got back from Brooklyn,” Daphne added.

“Where did you go in Brooklyn?” Esther asked. “My boyfriend lives in south Brooklyn.”

“I went to Voss Chocolate.”

“Lucky girl,” Esther replied. “I love that place.”

“It was my first time there. Williamsburg is so cool and artsy. And the shop is awesome. Gudrun Voss makes the chocolate right there on the premises, so it smells amazing. Gudrun even had one of her assistants give me a tour.”

“Your place smells great, too,” Susan told Esther. “Like freshly roasted coffee.”