Клео Коул - Decaffeinated Corpse

“What may I do for you today?” Mr. Kapoor asked, discreetly swiveling his whisper-thin computer monitor to the side.

“We have a few questions for you,” I began. “We’re looking to hire an investigator to help... with an investigation.”

One of Mr. Kapoor’s dark eyebrows rose very slightly. “What sort of investigation?”

“Well, the details are... they’re very private. First we have some questions about your agency... you understand?”

Mr. Kapoor shifted in his chair, gave me a polite smile. “I’ll answer any questions, if I can.”

“You see, this is the first time we’d be using you, although a friend of ours recommended you to us.”

“And who might that be?”

“He’s an executive,” I said, “with TerraGreen International.”

“Oh? What division?”

“Division? I... I’m not sure...”

“What country then?” Mr. Kapoor asked.

“The U.S. He’s based right here in Long Island.”

“I see.”

“Anyway,” I said, “Jerry mentioned to us that he’s very happy with the case you’re working on now for him...”

Mr. Kapoor’s forehead wrinkled. “Jerry?”

“Jerry Lassiter, of course. He did give me the right agency? You’re investigating his wife, Ellie, aren’t you?”

The man remained quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes studying me and then Madame. “I’d like to be helpful,” he said, “but I’m not familiar with every case this agency handles. And, of course, it’s not our policy to discuss any ongoing investigation. Now, tell me a bit about your needs. What sort of case do you have?” His eyes squinted a fraction. “If you really have one...”

“Of course we have one. It’s... it’s a case of...”

“It’s a missing person’s case,” Madame levelly replied.

“I see,” said Mr. Kapoor. “Man, woman, or child?”

“Man,” said Madame.

“Age?” Mr. Kapoor asked.

“About thirty,” Madame replied.

“And where was he last seen?”

Madame glanced out the window a moment. “The French Riviera.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“The beaches of Nice. It’s simply a question of finding the man again, you see?” Madame said. “After he shared himself for a few unforgettable months, he simply disappeared.”

“Oh, yes. I think I see now.” Mr. Kapoor nodded. “It’s a love affair?”

“But of course,” Madame replied.

Mr. Kapoor locked eyes with me. “And exactly how long did this missing man and your daughter have this love affair?”

“My daughter?” Madame repeated. “ Non, monsieur. The love affair was mine!”

Mr. Kapoor didn’t appear the sort of man to surprise easily, but his stoic expression cracked just then. His jaw slackened and his throat issued a grunt of incredulity.

“Yours, Madame?”

“ Oui! ”

He leaned forward. “Do you... have a photo?”

“I do...”

I tensed as Madame searched her bag. I had no idea what she was up to with this tale, but I was grateful she’d come up with something on a dime.

“Here you are,” she said, handing Kapoor a snapshot from her wallet.

He gazed at it, then handed it back. “A very handsome man.”

“ Oui ,” said Madame with a quick glance at me. “His name is Antonio.”

“And you’d like us to find him for you?” Kapoor asked.

Madame nodded.

Good luck with that , I thought. The late Antonio Allegro might very well have been on the beaches of Nice in his lifetime, but he’d been “missing” for a few decades.

“Well, Madame, I’m happy to inform you that we do have an office on the Riviera, and I’m sure we can accommodate this search. We can coordinate everything from here in the New York office. Would you like us to get started today? I’ll assign a case officer...”

As Mr. Kapoor picked up the phone, I spoke up again. “I think we’ll need to consider it for a few more days, won’t we, Mother?”

Madame nodded. “ Oui ... you know, it is possible Antonio might still get in touch.”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Kapoor setting the phone down again.

“But, you know...” I said. “If Mother does decide to use your agency, she needs to make sure we have the right one recommended to us. Jerry Lassiter is a client here, isn’t he? You can confirm that much at least, can’t you? You are investigating his wife?”

Mr. Kapoor pressed a button on his phone. “Ms. Cassel, if you please,” he said into the intercom. Then he stood and glanced at his slim platinum watch. “I’m afraid I must apologize. I’ve forgotten about an agency meeting.”

“But—”

He extended his hand. “Thank you for your interest in our agency. If you decide to pursue your case, please call Ms. Cassel for an appointment—” He gestured to his office door. The receptionist was standing there, waiting to escort us out.

Less than ten minutes later, we were back on the sidewalk.

On the cab ride back to the Blend, my cell phone rang. It was Matt. Apparently, his morning had gone much differently than mine.

“Clare, I had to call.”

“Matt? What’s wrong?!”

“This is the first time I’ve eaten at Joy’s restaurant and the place is exceptional!”

“That’s nice, but I have to tell you...”

“I’m just finishing my lunch of seared skate with baby root vegetables and sauce grenobloise. Our daughter prepared everything on my plate, and—”

“Matt, I need to...”

“—the skate just melted on my tongue! You know, I haven’t had skate like that since—”

“Listen to me!” I finally shouted. “I have a lot to discuss with you and none of it involves Jacques Pépin’s favorite fish!”

“Clare, why are you freaking?”

I quickly recounted my morning: interrogating Ric about the smuggled cutting; tracking down Ellie at the Botanic Garden; adding the word biopiracy to my vocab; seeing Ellie being spied on as she kissed Ric at the V Hotel; then tailing the man who’d tailed her to a private investigation office.

“Good god, Clare, have you lost your mind?”

“That’s your response? Don’t you understand that Ric is in danger? And Ellie may be, too, for all I know.”

“Or all you don’t know,” Matt said. “You’re not a professional investigator, and you’re not a cop.”

“I know, Matt, but I am—”

“I’ll tell you what you are. You’re a certifiable nose-hound with an addiction to conspiracy theories.”

“Well, if I am, then so’s your mother.”

“Back up. What are you saying about my mother?”

“She’s been with me all morning, and she’s right here in the cab with me now.”

A long pause followed. “Clare,” Matt said tightly, “I know Halloween’s around the corner, but please tell me that you didn’t drag my mother all over this town in some private eye masquerade.”

“I didn’t have to drag her.”

“For the love of...” He cursed. “Are you telling me that you’re taking my elderly mother on some ridiculous Nancy Drew joyride—”

“It’s not ridiculous—”

Madame tapped my shoulder. “What’s he saying, Clare?”

“He’s going on about how we’re ridiculous.”

“Give me that phone,” she snapped.

I handed over the cell. Matt was still ranting on the other end about how we were on a wild goose chase.

“Young man,” Madame barked into the cell, “this is your mother—”

I raised an eyebrow at “young man,” but then realized just how young a son in his forties was to a woman pushing eighty.

“Look here, Matteo, Clare and I were not just chasing feathered foie gras. We’ve uncovered some rather significant information. So stop spouting off, and for once in your life, listen to your wife!”