Клео Коул - Decaffeinated Corpse

“Matt,” I said quietly. “You should probably just drive him over—unless you don’t want to lose your parking space, then you should just hail a cab.”

Matt’s brow wrinkled. “Why would I want to hail a cab?”

“Don’t be dense. To take Ric to the Sixth Precinct so he can report the theft of his hotel key—”

“Excuse me,” Matt shifted his gaze from me to Tucker and back to me. “Clare, Tucker, I’d like a word with Ric alone .”

“Oh,” said Tucker. “Oh, sure! No problem. I’ll just go help Joy with the decaf.”

Tucker left. I didn’t. “What’s going on?”

With an audible sigh, Matt took out his cell and handed it to Ric.

“Thanks,” Ric said, opening the phone.

As he began to dial, Matt took a firm hold of my elbow, and pulled me away. We stopped far from the warmth of the fireplace, against the exposed brick wall, beneath a collection of antique hand-cranked coffee grinders.

“Matt, tell me. What is going on? Who’s Ric calling—”

“Clare, please,” Matt whispered, his eyes glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to hear. “This was just a random robbery. Okay? Let it go.”

“A random robbery?”

“Yes.”

“By a mugger who uses a prerecorded message?”

“Yes.”

“And doesn’t take the muggee’s wallet?”

“Yes.”

“What’s in Ric’s hotel room, Matt?” I tilted my head sharply to see around my ex-husband. Ric was quietly talking into the cell phone. “Is he calling the police?”

“No. And I don’t want you involved. I know you too well.” Matt gestured to Joy, behind the coffee bar. “Just like your daughter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“No, I don’t—”

“Do you know why Joy hasn’t been by the Blend in weeks? She’s dating someone new, and she doesn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you think? She knows her mom’s a bigger nose hound than Scooby Doo and she wants her privacy.”

“Scooby Doo?” I shook my head. “Matt, I realize you missed most of Joy’s upbringing, but in case you haven’t noticed, she no longer watches Saturday morning cartoons—”

“Come on, Clare. We’ve been over this. I was young and stupid, okay? I was a lousy father and a terrible husband, and, believe me, I know what I’ve lost because of it...” Matt paused, his tone softening, his eyes holding mine. “You know, no matter what, I’d do anything for her... and you.”

I looked away. “You’re trying to change the subject. You’re using Joy to make me back off of Ric—”

“I’m trying to make a point that Joy’s an adult now. It’s natural for her to want some privacy. So don’t push too hard or you’ll end up pushing her away.”

Matt turned, ready to walk. I grabbed a handful of cashmere sweater. “Wait,” I said. “I can help you. Why don’t you think of it that way?”

Matt smoothed the wrinkles I’d made. “For one thing because Ric hasn’t seen you in ten years. He’s not going to trust you.”

“He will if you tell him to.”

The bell over the front door jingled. After years in the beverage service industry, Matt and I had the same Pavlovian response. We stopped our private conversation and glanced at the new customer. Once we saw who it was, however, our responses weren’t even close to identical.

“It’s Mike,” I said, my mood immediately lightening.

Across the room, Detective Mike Quinn nodded in greeting. His usual glacial gaze warmed as it took me in. Then his attention shifted to Matt and the chill returned.

Matt tensed, a scowl cutting lines in his face that I hadn’t seen before. “Since when did you start calling him Mike ?”

“We’re friends,” I whispered. “You know that.”

The lanky cop strode to the coffee bar, where he took a load off. Tucker began to make conversation with the detective, but he didn’t bother filling his order. By now, all of my baristas knew the drill. When Mike Quinn came here for his usual, he had no interest in anyone making it but me.

“Do me a favor, Clare,” Matt said. “Get your ‘friend’ his order and get him the hell out of here tout de suite. ”

Given my ex-husband’s years of dealing with corrupt officials in banana republics, I understood why he distrusted the police. It occurred to me that Ric might feel the same. But Greenwich Village wasn’t exactly a Third World hellhole, and in my experience the NYPD had always lived up to its “New York’s finest” motto, especially Detective Quinn, who’d gone out on a limb for me more than once.

“But, Matt,” I argued, “this is the perfect opportunity to ask Mike for help. If Ric is in some kind of trouble—”

“Don’t tell him a thing.”

Matt’s words sounded resolved, but his brown eyes were filled with uncertainty. He was feeling guilty about something, I realized. He was feeling nervous, too, and that told me I had some bargaining power.

“Don’t tell Mike a thing?” I put my hands on my hips and arched an eyebrow. “I can’t promise you that.”

Matt read me just as fast as I’d read him. “What do you want?”

“I want you and Ric to tell me everything you’re holding back.”

“Now? We can’t. Quinn will—”

“Later. Tell me later.”

Matt glanced back over his shoulder. Mike Quinn was still chatting with Tucker. “Okay...” he agreed, “but not a word to Quinn tonight or the deal’s off.”

“And you have to take Ric to the ER,” I added. “If he was pistol whipped, he could be hemorrhaging. He needs a CT scan or an MRI, but somebody’s got to take a peek inside that thick skull of his.”

Matt turned to look at his friend. “You’re right. I’ll take him... and what about you?”

“What about me?”

Matt surprised me by reaching out and brushing back my bangs. His thumb feathered across the darkening bruise.

“Does it hurt?” he whispered. “Don’t you need to be checked out, too?”

Matt’s touch was tender, warm, and sweet. I pushed it away.

“It’s okay,” I said.

The man’s hands were dangerous. A year ago, they’d gotten me into bed, right upstairs, and I swore it would never happen again. Not ever.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes!” I said, then lowered my voice. “I don’t have a headache. No dizziness or sleepiness—if anything I’m more alert. Besides, I’m scheduled for my annual physical Thursday. I’ll get checked out then.”

Matt raised his chin in Quinn’s general direction. “And you’ll keep your boyfriend in the dark tonight?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Matt. He’s a married man—”

“Didn’t you mention that he and his wife just separated?”

“Yes, but they’re not divorced yet. And he’s still pretty raw.”

Matt smirked, glanced at the detective again. This time Quinn glanced back at the same time. The men locked eyes for a moment.

“He’ll put the moves on you inside of a week,” Matt said, facing me again.

“Stop it, Matt. I told you, we’re just friends.”

“A week.”

I pointed to Ric and glared, making it clear I meant business. “The ER. Or I spill.”

“All right, we’re going.”

Then Matt headed one way, and I went the other.

“The usual?” I asked from behind the coffee bar.

The detective nodded.

Mike Quinn was an average-looking Joe with sandy-brown hair, a slightly ruddy complexion, and a square, dependable chin. He had crow’s feet and frown lines, favored beige suits, rust-colored ties, and gave sanctuary to a trench coat that had seen better years. He was also tall and lean with rock-solid shoulders and a working moral compass.