Murder by Mocha

“I sent over the catering instructions, that’s all,” Alicia replied. “I had nothing to do with that fake letter.”

Suddenly Matt sprang up. “I need another double!”

I wasn’t surprised. The man had downed his first doppio faster than Quinn’s fire- haired cousin knocked back Irish whiskey. Either my ex-husband really needed more caffeine, which was easy to believe, or he wanted an excuse to regroup after Alicia’s tantrum (even easier to believe).

“Ladies? Anything else?”

We shook our heads, and Matt headed for our corkscrew staircase.

Of course, the police had interviewed us at the crime scene. They processed us further at a Queens precinct, taking our statements, our photos, and our letters. Yes, letters plural.

Alicia had received a typewritten note similar to mine, summoning her to the park tent. Her memo had been from Aphrodite (supposedly), and Susan Chu had been the one to deliver it. The police discovered a third summoning message in the stiffening fingers of Maya Lansing’s corpse, this one also purportedly from Aphrodite. God knows who delivered Maya’s letter. Daphne? Susan? Yet another of the Aphrodite’s Village gofers?

The whole thing made my head spin, and in just a few hours, my staff and I were expected at the Twelfth Street Pier. I’d signed a contract, agreeing to cater another PR event for Aphrodite’s Village—this one on a yacht for relationship expert Sherri Sellars.

I’d accepted their advance, purchased inventory, and scheduled my people. Aphrodite’s contract carried stiff financial penalties for dropping the ball at the last minute (and she was known to be litigious), so I was loath to back out now. But the police had yet to find today’s shooter, and I wasn’t too keen on becoming that killer’s target dummy for the second time today. Consequently, I ordered (yes ordered) Alicia, Madame, and Matt to come back to the Blend with me. It’s time we hashed everything out, I’d told them. Everything.

“Why, in heaven’s name, did you think I would want to shoot you?” Alicia demanded.

“Because I’m a key witness in the murder of Patrice Stone—”

“That doesn’t explain a thing!”

“It will if you allow me to finish. I’ve been helping the two lead detectives on Patrice’s case nail you as the primary person of interest in her murder.”

“You what?” Now Madame joined Alicia for a duet of outrage. (I didn’t blame them.)

“Just listen to the whole story,” I said, “because the circumstantial evidence against Alicia is overwhelming . . .” I laid out the tale, finishing up with the truth about Alicia’s Candy Man, Troy Talos. By the end, both women’s mouths were slack. “And here’s the biggest shock of all: the person who hired Talos to seduce Alicia away from her own launch party was Patrice.”

Alicia’s face blanched. “Patrice Stone?”

I nodded.

“My goodness,” Madame said. “In heaven’s name, why?”

“Ambition. Patrice wanted the top spot at Aphrodite’s Village after Aphrodite retired, and Alicia was stiff competition for it, so Patrice tried to take her down a notch.”

Madame sighed. “How puerile.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” I said.

“What is?” Alicia whispered.

I met her gaze. “Think it through: if you discovered or even suspected that Patrice was behind that criminal prank, then you would also have a highly plausible motive for murder.”

“But I didn’t kill Patrice!” Alicia wailed. “And I didn’t know she’d hired Dennis!”

“You mean Troy, dear,” Madame corrected.

Alicia covered her eyes. “Whatever that man’s name was, I can tell you he was a pro at turning on the charm . . .”

That was easy to believe. “Troy Talos is a wannabe-actor parolee who ran gigolo scams in the past. I’d say pro is the right word.”

Alicia held her head. “Oh God.”

“Listen up, okay?” I touched Alicia’s arm. “I have to ask you a question. It’s an important one so look at me.”

Frowning, Alicia glanced up.

“The night of Patrice’s murder, you put on your raincoat and went into the Garden. Everyone was inside by then. I understand you told the lead detectives that you were simply checking the weather, but I don’t believe it. Why did you go out there, Alicia?”

“I . . . I left something . . .” She looked away.

“If you don’t tell me the truth, I can’t help you.”

She smirked. “So now you’re going to help me?”

I folded my arms. “Believe me, lady, if you want to twist in the wind, I’ll be glad to let you.”

As I sat back, Madame leaned forward, closing still-strong fingers around Alicia’s wrist. “If I were you, dear, I would tell my daughter-in-law the truth.”

Stiffening like an ice sculpture, Alicia cast her eyes downward, fixing her gaze on the old scars in the wooden tabletop. “I went out to the Garden,” she said, voice barely there, “to rifle the files on Patrice’s smartphone.”

“You what?” Now Madame and I were the duet.

Releasing her wrist, Madame sat back, and I leaned forward. “Why did you do that?”

Alicia wrung her hands. “I know it sounds awful. But I noticed Patrice had left it out there after her speech, on the shelf under the podium. When the storm hit and everyone rushed inside, I saw it as luck—an opportunity to watch my back.”

“So you did suspect Patrice was trying to undermine you?”

“Not Patrice—but I heard gossip that other Sisters in our Village were angling for control of my Mocha Magic product. I needed to find out who my enemies really were. So I skimmed Patrice’s e-mails.”

“What did you find out?”

“Not much. There were messages from Maya, Aphrodite, and Sherri Sellars, as well as Patrice’s assistant Susan Chu. The e-mails from Maya were the most incriminating—but you already know what she was up to. You witnessed our argument at the party. What I didn’t know was that Patrice’s words of support for me that night were a total lie. She was two-faced, a good little actress.”

“And now she’s a dead little actress.” Matt walked toward us from the top of the stairs.

“Matteo, that’s awful,” Madame scolded.

“It’s the truth, Mother.” He moved to the table but refused to sit. “And speaking of truths, now is a good moment for another one. Don’t you think, Clare?”

I speared Matt. Don’t you put this all on me or you’ll be the next corpse!

Catching my drift, he folded his arms and shifted his gaze to the woman of the hour. “What’s in the Mocha Magic, Alicia?”

“Excuse me?” She frowned. “Didn’t you read the press packet?”

“Humor me. What’s in it?”

“Village Blend coffee—obviously. Voss chocolate and a proprietary combination of imported herbs and spices.”

“Come clean, honey. What drug did you add to that herbal mix? A narcotic? A controlled substance? What?”

“My boy—” Madame’s voice was stern. Clearly, she didn’t care for Matt’s tone, yet she paused, trusting her son enough to give him some latitude. “What are you suggesting here?”

“I’m suggesting that the ‘magic’ in that Mocha Magic is going to sink us all.” He