Клео Коул - Decaffeinated Corpse

“Did you know that Ric was mugged behind the Village Blend?” I found myself asking, suddenly needing to see her reaction.

“What?” Ellie’s weak smile disappeared.

“Last night. Someone pistol-whipped him from behind.”

“Oh my goodness, Clare, why didn’t you say something earlier? Does he know who did it?”

I shook my head. “He says it’s no big deal. And he didn’t see the man’s face... of course it could have been a woman.”

“What do you mean it could have been a woman? Women don’t mug people on the street.”

“Whoever this was used a prerecorded message of commands. The detective I consulted thinks it means Ric would have recognized the mugger’s voice.”

“You consulted a detective already?” Ellie asked. She seemed upset by this.

I nodded. “What do you think?”

“What do I think of what?”

“Do you know anyone who might want to harm Ric or steal his cutting?”

“What cutting? What are you talking about, Clare?”

“He smuggled a cutting into the country to show to the press and the trade this Friday at the Beekman. He mailed it to Matt initially for safekeeping, but he said he had to borrow it to show to you.”

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He never showed me any cutting. He wouldn’t have to. I’m well acquainted with his hybrid. I’ve been flying down to Brazil off and on for over a year now.”

“You’re sure you didn’t need to see a cutting in the last few weeks?”

“I’m certain, Clare. I don’t know why Ric would tell you—”

A series of electronic tones interrupted her. Taken together, I realized they were cell phone ringtones playing a familiar melody—the Sting song “Roxanne.”

Ellie reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her cell. “Excuse me,” she said and opened her phone. “Hello?”

She listened for a moment. “Yes,” she told the caller. “Yes... oh, okay. Right now then. Hold a minute.”

“I’m sorry, Clare, but I have to take this call, and then I have to get right back to work. It was good seeing you.” She held out her hand, and we shook. “I’m sure we’ll talk again at the end of the week.”

Before I could even bid her goodbye, she was turning to leave. I watched as she swiftly strode away toward the greenhouse that held her exhibit.

With a sigh, I rose from the patio table. Ellie had left her tray behind, a Cornish hen carcass on a half-eaten pile of brown rice. I bussed it to the garbage receptacle; then I bussed my own. I’d had more questions for her, but I let them go, mainly because my most pressing questions were for Ric.

“If Ellie didn’t need to see the cutting, then why did he ‘borrow’ it from Matt?” I mumbled to myself as I left the Terrace Café. “And why in heaven’s name did he lie about it to me?”

I didn’t have to search long to regroup with Matt’s mother. She was standing near the administration building between the two lotus-filled reflecting pools, gazing up at the Palm House where Ellie had held the reception for her perfect wedding.

“Ready to go, Madame?”

“You know, this little Crystal Palace would be an exquisite setting for the Theater League’s next fundraiser.”

“Think so?”

“It’s wheelchair accessible, the restrooms are clean and convenient, and the people at the Visitor’s Center told me the local caterers are quite good.”

“Really...”

“You know, thanks to our donors, five thousand inner-city schoolchildren were able to experience live theater for the first time last year. And this year, we hope to double that amount.”

“That’s nice...”

She took a closer look at me. “Are you all right, Clare? Did you have a pleasant visit with your old friend?”

“No.”

Madame’s eyebrows arched. “Why not?”

“Because, from what I just learned, I think Matt may have put us in a precarious position.”

“My goodness!” Madame’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “Does your friend know that Breanne Summour person?”

Oh, for pity’s sake. “No, Madame. Matt’s love life is not what’s putting us in a precarious position. His business deal is.”

“Which business deal? You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The Gostwick Estate Decaf deal. There are a lot of issues that Matt’s been keeping from me, and I think from you, too.”

“Is that so? Then you’d better enlighten me. That boy’s kept me in the dark so much, I swear chanterelles are growing out of my ears.”

“Now that’s a surreal image.”

“Tell me the truth, Clare. Are you investigating something again? Because if you are—”

“I know. I know.”

“I want in.”

“That’s what I figured.”

I was about to spill everything, starting with the bizarre mugging with the prerecorded message, when I noticed an elderly couple strolling in our direction. “Come on,” I grabbed Madame’s elbow. “Let’s go to the car. I don’t think we should have this discussion in public...”

Fifteen minutes later, I was wrapping up the delightful tale of Ric’s mugging, the smuggled hybrid cutting, the plant certification issues, and possible biopiracy charges. I was just getting to Ellie’s secret pregnancy when I noticed the woman herself striding purposefully onto the parking lot’s asphalt.

“Look,” I said, pointing. “There’s Ellie now.”

Madame and I were sitting in my Honda. The doors were closed, the windows half open to keep the interior from getting too warm in the sun.

“What is she doing out here?” Madame asked. “Didn’t you just say she had to go back to work?”

“Yes...”

We both fell silent as we watched her unlock a green paneled van and disappear inside.

“Perhaps she’s retrieving something from that van,” Madame speculated. “Or maybe she’s going to drive somewhere for a meeting?”

“Maybe...” I expected the van to start up, but it never did. After about ten minutes, the van’s door opened again, and Ellie emerged.

“She’s changed!” Madame noted.

“Yes, I see...”

She’d dumped her forest ranger style uniform, replacing it with an outfit decidedly more feminine. Her loose slacks had been exchanged for a very short skirt; her boxy zipper jacket for a tight-fitting, cleavage-baring sweater. A dusty rose wrap was draped over her arm, and her manicured feet clicked across the parking lot on high-heeled sandals.

No longer the dignified Garden curator, Ellie was now Pretty in Pink.

Madame shook her head and murmured a series of regretful sounding tisk, tisk, tisks.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Strawberry blondes should never wear that color. What was she thinking?”

“I don’t know, maybe that it worked for Molly Ringwald twenty years ago.”

“Who?”

“Women pushing forty often have these jejune moments of fashion misjudgment, Madame. Take it from me, I know.”

“But why?” Madame asked.

“Crow’s feet, thickening thighs, those first threads of gray—”

“No, dear! Why did your friend change her clothes?”

“Oh, that? I have no idea.”

I’d already assumed, since Ellie hadn’t started up the van and driven away, that she was going to walk right back into the Garden. But she didn’t.

Madame pointed. “It appears she’s heading toward that Town Car.”

A dark four-door sedan sat idling near the parking lot gate, a type of vehicle that car services used.

Although yellow cabs constantly prowled the Manhattan streets, they were practically nonexistent in New York’s other four boroughs, so I wouldn’t have thought Ellie’s hiring a car service was particularly suspicious—except for the fact that Ellie already had her own set of wheels and wasn’t using them.