Клео Коул - Murder by Mocha

“I know everything, Olympia. And Soles and Bass—the policewomen I’ve been helping—they know everything, too.”

“Everything?” she cried. “What do they know? What do you know?”

I know the SWAT team is on its way, I thought. Only a minute or so had gone by, and I had three or four to wait, maybe more. The police wouldn’t be using sirens, so I wouldn’t hear them coming, but I needed time for them to get to us, and that meant I’d have to keep this maniac talking.

“I know you used an ice sculpture to fake your suicide,” I told her. “The ice hit the water like a body, then melted away so authorities would find shreds of your clothes and no sign of an artificial dummy. You used the same trick on the yacht—with our missing Venus ice sculpture—to fake your own murder.”

“How can you know that?” Olympia said, her tone clearly shocked.

“I know that—and I know how you got off the boat without getting caught . . .” While I spoke I searched for a way out, or a way to strike back. “Like the nymph in Ovid’s Metamorphoses , Daphne transformed into a laurel—not a tree this time, but a man . You became John Laurel, the reporter whose press pass you got from Susan Chu.”

“Poor Susie, she never figured anything out, never saw it coming when I hit her. I would have killed her, too, but I needed a witness to tell everyone I was dead. So I hit her from behind, painted the name Rufina, then screamed to get everyone’s attention before throwing the ice sculpture overboard and slipping away to transform again.”

I nodded my head, feigning admiration. “A stroke of genius. You had us all fooled. You were too smart.”

“You figured out a lot—for a glorified deli-counter girl.”

“But not everything,” I said, reigning in my fury. “I never figured out where you hid that umbrella. The one you used to bludgeon Patrice to death. Or the raincoat that kept blood splatters from staining your party clothes.”

“You actually helped me that night,” she said. “You and Mrs. Dubois knocked over that fiberglass Greek column and broke the interior light. The hollow tube was dark, so I stuffed the umbrella inside, along with my raincoat.”

I nodded again, like an impressed protégé. “You played us all.”

Olympia flashed a twisted smirk. “People are fools. Tell them what they want to hear, show them what they want to see, and they’ll follow like lemmings.”

“Is that how you lured Aphrodite tonight? Did you tell her what she wanted to hear?”

“Close enough. I waited for Gudrun’s closing time and took her hostage. Then I used Gudrun’s e-mail account to send a message to Aphrodite. ‘I’m going to the press with the truth about the drug in Mocha Magic unless you meet me at my shop at once.’ Worked like a charm. Dressed as Gudrun, I waved her inside and slammed the gates. Aphrodite and her little golden-haired assistant, Minthe, walked right into my trap.”

I was walking, too. Every few seconds I’d take a small step forward. Without realizing it, Olympia was backing away from me.

“But your plan tonight,” I said, desperate to keep her talking. “I can’t make sense of this . . .”

“Because you’re too stupid,” she said. Olympia squared her shoulders, clearly proud and pleased to have an audience, someone who could appreciate her masterful plan. “These women, these Sisters, condemned my mother to a cage, like some kind of animal. A place so horrible there was only one escape possible—”

“Suicide.”

“Now Alicia and Sherri will spend the rest of their days caged like animals, too.”

“And Aphrodite? Will she spend the rest of her life in prison?”

“That whore? The one who ruined my life?” Olympia shook her head. “Oh no. She dies here. Tonight. Thanks to the e-mail I sent, the police will think Aphrodite came here to murder Gudrun.”

“Why?”

“Because she threatened to reveal the truth about that drugged-up mocha powder of yours. And after Aphrodite shoots Gudrun, she’ll burn this place to hide the evidence. Of course, some of you will be trapped here in her fire—and because Aphrodite didn’t count on your interference, she’ll be knocked unconscious before she can escape, too. The police will find the gun still in her hand.” Olympia smiled. “Death by fire—a fitting fate, don’t you think? A whore on her way to Hades.”

As I continued moving slowly forward, Olympia kept backing up. Now she stood beside a metal shelf holding cellophane-covered buckets of dark mocha syrup.

I heard a moan coming from the other side of that shelf. I risked a peek and saw Aphrodite sprawled on the floor but stirring. Gudrun lay nearby, stripped down to her black brassier and slacks. My breath caught when I spied Nancy, lying right next to them, eyes closed, arms curled.

Oh my God, Nancy! Is she still alive?

I choked down my fear, my rage. “I know something else, Olympia. I know that’s not my barista you’re threatening. Why don’t you let the poor girl go?”

Olympia faked surprise and pushed the girl to her knees. Then she ripped the sack away. Minthe’s puppy dog eyes blinked up at me.

“My mistake,” Olympia said. Before I could react, she pressed the gun against Minthe’s head and pulled the trigger.

The blast was deafening. One second Minthe’s thin, pale face was there—and then it wasn’t. The body flew sideways and struck the plank floor with a hollow thud.

“You crazy bitch!” I screamed.

Then we both heard a crash loud enough to cut through the gunshot still ringing in our eardrums. Shards of shattered skylight rained down. Along with the glass came a figure clinging to a thin black cord

“POLICE! SWAT TEAM! FREEZE! WE’RE ARMED! DROP YOUR WEAPON! GIVE IT UP!

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a real SWAT team—it was Matt, all alone. He’d heard the shot, freaked, and taken a reckless chance. For a moment he hung suspended above the factory floor, yelling that he was the police, the army, SEAL Team Six, and whatever else popped into his head. Then, suddenly, whatever he’d used for a rope snapped under his weight, and Matt plunged straight down.

“POLICE! PUT YOUR HANDS UP! YOU’RE UNDER AR— oooph! ”

Matt landed on a stack of Madagascar cacao. The hard landing shut his mouth and eyes. The fall knocked him out!

Olympia was rattled, then raging. She approached my unconscious ex, gun extended.

Oh no you don’t! I rushed her. Reaching up, I yanked a pail of mocha syrup off the shelf, dumping it over her head.

As Olympia knocked the pail away, I grabbed her wrist with both hands. She fought me, eyes closed, blinded by the brown goo. She was strong, but I was determined, and it came down to a battle of wills.

As we struggled over the gun, Aphrodite ran by us, on her way to one of the factory’s windows and a fire escape beyond.

“Help me!” I begged. “Grab the gun, Aphrodite! Do something!”

But she kept going, her only interest saving herself! With a single heave, she lifted the big window and crawled through onto the metal fire escape. Night air whipped her flowing dress as the river’s black water roiled below.

Olympia could see by now—enough to realize her prize prey was escaping. Enraged, she kicked me hard, sending me backward.

“Die! Die! Die!” she howled as she pumped three shots into Aphrodite’s back. The goddess swayed in the wind, then tumbled into the water below.

Olympia whirled to face me. But I was ready with another bucket of Mocha Magic—and this time I swung it like a club. Again and again, I bounced the metal pail off Olympia’s head. The chocolate-covered monster finally dropped without a sound, and I kicked the gun out of her limp hand.