Клео Коул - Decaffeinated Corpse

“Ex-wife,” I corrected as Madame handed the phone back to me.

“Okay, what ?” Matt said. I could practically hear him pouting through the audio signal.

“Here’s what. You need to warn your friend Ric what’s happening with this private investigation business. I’ve already called Ellie—twice. But I’m only getting voicemail, and she hasn’t returned my calls. I don’t have Ric’s cell phone number, so I tried calling his room at the V Hotel, but they said Federico Gostwick isn’t registered there, and—”

“He’s not registered there because I booked the room for him under my name, just to be on the safe side.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I’m talking about, Matt! You see the need to protect your friend, right? That’s all I’m doing, and I’m telling you he’s not safe. A private eye was on Ellie’s tail, so now he knows where your friend is staying, which means whoever hired the P.I. also knows where he’s staying. I think that mugging last night was someone— possibly Ellie’s husband—attempting to steal the cutting or harm Ric.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. I understand what you’re worried about, and I’ll talk to Ric about everything.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise. But you have to promise something, too.”

“What?”

“I need you to chill. Stop interrogating Ric and following people he knows. This is important, Clare. I don’t want Ric spooked.”

“I’m only doing it to help him—”

“He’s a private man, and he’s not going to appreciate your butting into his business. And we need his business, Clare. We can’t afford for this deal to fail.”

“What do you mean by that? The Blend is doing fine.”

“We’re in trouble, Clare...” He paused. “Okay, I’m in trouble.”

“The cutting? Someone figured out it was smuggled into the country?”

“Forget the cutting. It’s far worse than that.”

I heard him take a breath. “The kiosks are in trouble. Financial trouble. For the last few months, I’ve been transferring funds from the profitable kiosks to the unprofitable ones, to shore them up. Keep them going until I can remedy the situation—and the kiosk expansions are partially leveraged against the Village Blend and its townhouse.”

It took me a minute to catch up with Matt, but I still couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I don’t understand. I saw the kiosks’ early numbers. They looked great.”

“The first wave of startups did well. Interest was initially high. But the new kiosks, mostly the ones in California, are in trouble.”

“Why?”

“A lot of the patrons of the high-end shops in those areas have a problem with caffeine. We tested processed decafs as a possible alternative, but a lot of them weren’t happy with the quality. Ric’s hybrid would be a high-profile splash, the kind of new product that’s sure to reel in those premium customers.”

“No wonder you’ve been so eager to make this thing with Ric work.”

“That’s why Friday night is so important. These decaffeinated beans, my exclusive deal with Ric... they’re the life preserver for almost half of the Blend kiosks. It’s a new revenue stream, as well as a way to promote the kiosks that are about to go under.”

“Oh, god...”

“Clare, I need you onboard now more than ever. I need your support in making this launch a success. Do I have it?”

I touched my fingers to my forehead, where a migraine was about to set up shop. I knew how hard it was for Matt to confess this. He’d been trying to strike out on his own, to make his mark and probably prove to me, to Joy, to his mother that he could make up for lost time.

“Okay,” I said. “You have my support.”

“Then you’ll suspend this... this investigation of yours, at least until after the launch of the Gostwick Decaf on Friday?”

I sighed. “All right. On one condition.”

“What?”

“That nothing bad happens—to Ric or anyone else we know.”

“We’re not in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, Clare. I’m sure everyone is safe and sound.”

“Well, I’m not so sure. And, just so you know, I plan to keep calling Ellie until I reach her. I want her to know what I uncovered today—that she’s being followed by a private investigator or a team of them. And I still want you to talk to Ric. Tell him Ellie’s husband probably knows about their affair. Ric needs to keep his eyes open and watch his back—and so do you for that matter.”

“I will, Clare. I’ll tell him, and I’ll be careful.”

“And one more thing... since you happen to be at Solange, would you mind checking out this hot young chef Joy is working for?”

“Tommy Keitel? What do you mean check him out?” Matt asked. “I’m already eating here, and the food’s outstanding.”

“I’m not interested in his cooking. I want to know what sort of person he’s like. He’s Joy’s new boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then just make up some stupid excuse to barge into the kitchen. I told you, Joy has yet to bring the young man around the Blend.”

“But that’s Joy’s business. We’ll meet Keitel when she wants us to. She won’t like my invading her—”

“Just do it, Matt. Please.”

“Sorry. That I can’t promise.”

“But—”

“Tell you what,” Matt said. “Before I leave, I’ll suggest to Joy that she bring Keitel with her to our launch tasting on Friday. Then you can ‘check him out’ yourself. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now will you please just go back to the Blend. Make yourself a nice doppio espresso. I’m sure once you have a little caffeine in your veins, you’ll see the world in a whole new light.”

I did as Matt suggested. After dropping Madame off at her apartment building and leaving a third voicemail message for Ellie, I went back to my coffeehouse, downed a double espresso, and tried to focus on Friday. There was certainly plenty to do for the Beekman Hotel party, and I began to do it.

Two nights later, the last thing I expected to see was a body plunging from the twenty-sixth floor balcony of a New York City landmark. But that’s exactly how the “fun” ended for me that evening—not to mention the person who’d splashed onto the concrete right in front of my eyes.

Yes, I said “splash.”

Drop a water balloon on the sidewalk from twenty-plus floors, and you’ll get a pretty good approximation of what I’d heard, since I actually didn’t see the impact.

Mike Quinn told me that because people have bones and aren’t just a bag of fluid, they don’t explode so much as compress into something still recognizably human... but I’m getting ahead of myself...

Things started out well enough the night of the Gostwick Estate Reserve Decaf launch party at the Beekman. My baristas for the evening, Tucker, Esther, Gardner, and Dante, had all arrived at the hotel on time. They’d even dressed appropriately.

Matt had suggested long sleeve white shirts, black slacks, black shoes, and our blue Village Blend aprons. Only Dante had violated the dress code by wearing bright red Keds. I let his artistic statement pass without comment. He was a great barista, I was short staffed, and I never believed in stifling creative expression—even if it was just a pair of shoes.

The Beekman Tower Hotel was located on Forty-ninth Street and First Avenue, which was the extreme East Side of Manhattan, close to the river, and next door to the United Nations plaza. Built in 1928, the Beekman was one of the city’s true art deco masterpieces, the fawn brown stone giving it a distinctive facade amid the gray steel of the city’s more modern skyscrapers.