Murder by Mocha

“Why? Because I screwed up their case against Alicia?”

“Not even close. They’re angry about the wedding gifts.”

“Excuse me?”

“Apparently, the night of the Rock Center party, your baristas served aphrodisiacs to half the detectives in Midtown.”

“That’s right. They did.”

“Within two days, three of those guys proposed to their girlfriends and two reconciled with their ex-wives. Lori and Sue Ellen will be going to weddings for the next six months.”

“Sounds to me like cupid helper isn’t always a bad thing.”

“As me sainted grandmother used to say, ‘A little bit o’ crazy flavors the stew.’ ”

“That reminds me, Detective . . .”

“What?”

“You and I never did take that loco mocha out for a test drive.”

“Oh, sweetheart . . .” Mike’s lips moved to my ear, his breath hot as he promised, “Cupid won’t need any controlled-substance help in our bedroom tonight.”

I turned in his arms, expecting a kiss—and found instead a small white box, the kind that held a ring.

“Don’t panic,” he said. “It’s not a diamond.”

I snapped opened the lid.

“It’s an Irish friendship ring. We call it a Claddagh.”

The circle was polished silver, beautifully wrought. Two small hands held a crowned heart between them. The shape of the design came to a gentle point.

“When a woman wears it on her right hand, pointed away from her body, it means she’s not romantically involved. If she wears it pointed toward her, it’s a sign that her heart is taken—in someone else’s hands.”

I waited for Mike to say more, but he didn’t. He waited, like he always did, because waiting was a state he knew so well; waiting was an act he trusted. And now he trusted me to make the choice.

Andy Warhol once said that “fantasy” love was much better than “reality” love. “The most exciting attractions,” he wrote, “are between two opposites that never meet.”

Warhol was right about a lot of things: the modern phenomenon of instant fame; the commerce of art and the art in commerce. But he was wrong about love.

At Joy’s age, Matteo Allegro had been my fantasy love, not to mention my very attractive opposite. I’d tried to make it real, tried to make us fit. But we didn’t fit. Now I was twice Joy’s age, and I knew the difference between fantasy and reality, between magical thinking and practical acceptance.

Quinn was an Irish firefighter’s son turned cop; I was an art-school dropout turned coffee pro. He was nearly six five. I was barely five two. But we were alike where it counted, in the silences, in the heart.

I took a breath, deep and long, and gazed at the crowned heart in the ring he’d given me, held aloft by clasping hands. There were no guarantees when you loved someone—especially when that someone carried a shield, a gun, and a whole lot of baggage. Maybe I should have felt anxious or afraid at seeing the ring’s hands connecting, but all I felt was love, all I wanted was here.

With deliberate care, I slipped on Mike’s circle of silver. I thought of my nightmare and those handcuffs, but there was no lock here, no force now. The fit felt good. The ring was heavy with quality, yet the burden was light.

Lifting it higher, I smiled, wanting Mike to see the direction I’d given it. Like a sterling compass, it pointed with hope toward my own heart.

Recipes & Tips From The Village Blend

Visit Cleo Coyle’s virtual Village Blend at www.CoffeehouseMystery.com

for even more recipes including:

* Clare’s Brooklyn Blackout Cake (for Mike)

* Chocolate-Glazed Hazelnut Bars

* Chocolate-Dipped Cinnamon Sticks

* Cappuccino Kisses

* Chocolate-Chip Cobbler

* Mocha-Glazed Rum Macaroons

* Gianduia Brownies and Chocolate-Hazelnut Fudge

* Tiramisu Bars (based on Canada’s Nanaimo Bars)

* Triple-Chocolate Budini

* Quick Chocolate Crostada

* and many others . . .

Recipes

Believe me, there’s no metaphysics on earth like chocolates.

—FERNANDO PESSOA, POET, WRITER, PHILOSOPHER

Aphrodisiac Brownies

With Alicia’s Mocha Magic off the market, Clare Cosi developed this recipe for her coffeehouse customers. As usual, NYPD Detective Mike Quinn was her first taste tester. “These should hit the spot,” she told him. “Possibly more than one.” The reason? Three of Clare’s ingredients have long been considered aphrodisiacs . . .

Chocolate, of course, is the classic Cupid consumable. The Aztecs were probably the first to make the connection between amorous feelings and the cocoa bean. The emperor Montezuma was said to have fueled his romantic trysts by ingesting large amounts of the bean.

Coffee contains caffeine, a stimulant that is also considered a perk in the department of amorous desires. Historically, when coffee was first introduced to the Turkish culture, husbands were expected to keep their wives well supplied. If the husband could not provide daily coffee for his wife, it was a legitimate cause for her to divorce him. Even if you don’t care for coffee, don’t skip this ingredient. It enhances and deepens the chocolate flavor in the brownies.

Cinnamon is a fragrant and stimulating spice. The Romans believed cinnamon was an aphrodisiac. Cleopatra famously used it to arouse her many lovers. In these brownies, the cinnamon works hand in hand with the brown sugar to layer in depth of flavor that’s subtle yet spicy—sure, it may drive your lover crazy, but as Mike said, “A little bit o’ crazy flavors the stew.”

Makes one 8- or 9-inch square pan of brownies (about 16–20 squares)

12 tablespoons (1½ sticks) unsalted butter

4 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon espresso powder

2 large eggs