Клео Коул - Murder by Mocha

“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.

“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.”

“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.”