Клео Коул - Latte Trouble

Matt threw up his hands. “Okay. You win. Let’s drop the subject.”

We sat in fuming silence for a moment. “You’re right. Let’s drop the subject,” I said at last. “I have something else I want to talk to you about anyway.”

I told him my theory that Tad or Rena, or maybe Tad and Rena, might be responsible for the poisoning, and the real target may have been Lottie herself. To my annoyance, my ex-husband didn’t even pretend to entertain the possibility that my theory might be correct.

“Oh,” I cried. “So you’re so certain two complete strangers are innocent and Tucker is guilty?”

“I’m not saying that,” he replied.

“But that’s what you think.”

“Never mind what I think.”

“Listen, Matt—and try to keep an open mind—I sense Lottie herself has doubts. I could hear it in her tone. Even Lottie is a little suspicious of those two for some reason.”

Matteo scratched his chin. “If she’s suspicious, what exactly does Lottie think is going on with her partners?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, if Tad’s gone missing today, I can explain that myself,” said Matt. “Tad’s working on his second business—”

“Second business?”

“Tad’s still an investment counselor. He’s sponsoring an investment seminar tonight and tomorrow. When I told Tad about my kiosk idea, he suggested that something called quick-turnover investing might be a way to raise capital fast—”

“Wait just a minute. Back up. What kiosk idea?” Then I remembered. Tad had mentioned something about kiosks during Lottie’s party—he’d even claimed it was the reason Matt had been chatting up Trend magazine editor Breanne Summour.

“I didn’t want to get into this with you until it was off the ground,” Matt warned.

“Into what with me?”

“Any potential arguments.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Spill.”

“Okay, but don’t discuss it with my mother. When you two start talking, I’m always the odd man out.”

I crossed my arms and sighed with theatrical patience. “Fine.”

“Good.” Matt leaned forward and lowered his already low voice. “My goal is very simple. I want to duplicate the success that Starbucks has had in placing cafes in Barnes & Noble by opening Village Blend coffee bars—or kiosks, if the venue is large enough—in exclusive clothing boutiques and department stores. New York, L.A., London, Paris, Rome, Rio, and Tokyo are my ‘wave one’ rollout cities. Tad suggested to me that some of his potential clients might want to invest in my kiosk start-up. I’m going to his seminar tonight to pitch my plans to a small select group.”

Matt fished around in his wallet and pulled out a card printed on silver-gray parchment paper. He handed it to me and I read:

Investment Opportunities

A three-hour seminar sponsored by renowned

Wall Street investor Thaddeus P. Benedict,

formerly of Pope, Richards, and Snyder.

Learn about young, fast-growing companies

and exciting start-ups. A rare opportunity to meet visionary

entrepreneurs. Potentially double, even triple your assets.

Join us aboard the Fortune ,

Pier 16 at Forty-ninth Street, 8:00 P.M.

The dates on the card—tonight and tomorrow night, as Matt had said—placed Tad’s seminars right in the middle of Fashion Week, one of the busiest and most stressful weeks of the year for Lottie.

“Don’t you find the timing odd?” I asked.

Matt gave me one of those looks that I translated to mean, “Uh, no .”

“Look,” I pleaded. “I’m a bit suspicious of Tad. And Rena, too. Even if you don’t believe me, we owe it to Tucker to try to find the real culprit—you know we can’t rely on those Starkey and Hut characters to do that. And besides, you said it yourself, this morning. Tucker Burton works for this business. He’s like family, Matt.”

Despite my ex’s flaws—which had more permutations than the coffee drinks on our menu—Matt did have a conscience, and he hated when I appealed to his better angels, mostly because he usually relented. His expression appeared pained. He sighed and looked down.

“Clare, you’ve got to understand how important it is to me to get this kiosk idea off the ground. I…I’m…getting older…”

My god , I thought, he’s actually admitting it.

“I can’t be trekking around the world looking for coffee forever…I’ve been planning this for a year now…and no matter what you suspect him of, Tad is helping me approach investors this week. I did what I could to help Tucker. Now it’s up to his lawyer, Clare. Not me…and not you.”

I let Matt see the hurt and disappointment on my face.

“Oh, all right,” he said at last. “You can come with me if you want to. Snoop around, find out all you can. Just don’t mess up my presentation, okay? Or my relationship with Tad.”

“But if I start snooping around Tad’s investment seminar, asking all kinds of questions, then Tad’s bound to get suspicious—especially if he really is guilty of something.” I shook my head. “No, I can’t do this myself. What I need is a potential investor. A complete stranger who won’t arouse any suspicion….”

Matteo snorted. “Maybe you should wear a disguise then. Sounds like the perfect Nancy Drew move.”

“Maybe I will. But even then, I won’t go alone. I’m going to bring the perfect candidate along with me. Someone who obviously looks like she’s made of money—old money—and is itching to throw it into risky ventures, win or lose. The last sort of individual Tad Benedict would suspect…”

Matteo sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Now it was his turn to sigh with theatrical patience. “And who might this perfect candidate be?”

“Why, Matt. I’m surprised. Have you forgotten your own mother?”

I phoned Madame from the coffeehouse and told her I was on my way over to see her.

“I hope this is a social call,” she replied. “My maid told me you rang me up last night.”

“It’s business, I’m afraid.”

I could almost feel Madame tensing on the other end of the line. “Well, let me warn you, dear,” she said after a pause. “If it concerns those monthly financial reports you insist on sending me, I haven’t read a one of them.”

“We’ll talk when I get there.”

A brief, brisk walk brought me to Washington Square Park. The large square appeared luminous in the long, golden rays of the waning September day. Students from the surrounding New York University occupied the benches or sat in clusters in the grassy areas, with dogs, squirrels, and children romping around them. I circled the fountain and followed the paved paths.

Finally I passed under the seventy-seven-foot marble arch that dominated the northern end. Built in 1895 to replace a wooden structure that had been erected by architect Stanford White for the Centennial celebration of George Washington’s inauguration, the white marble arch has served as a rallying point for labor unrest, civil rights marches, antiwar protests, feminist bra-burnings, socialist gatherings, and anarchists riots for generations. The irony is that Fifth Avenue, a central Manhattan artery running north from the arch, where the most affluent of the New York City old guard resides, geographically begins at this site of repeated antiestablishment rebellion.

Madame occupied an opulent penthouse capping one of Fifth Avenue’s exclusive residential buildings near the arch. The imposing structure boasts a concrete moat, a spectacular view of the city, and a doorman dressed like an eighteenth-century European naval officer. My mother-in-law had moved into that building when her late second husband, Pierre Dubois, insisted she give up what he felt was Madame’s “rather small” West Village duplex above the coffeehouse—the elegantly furnished space where I now live.