by Cleo Coyle
Otto smiled and squeezed my shoulder. Then Madame’s gaze shifted—and she gasped. “Look, Clare,” she whispered. “Look at them now!”
I turned to see Matt still sitting on the stained marble floor, holding Breanne close, kissing her, petting her, telling her he was there for her.
“Madame? I don’t understand. What is it?”
Her blue eyes had dampened. “It’s love, my dear.”
Otto laughed. Then he put his arm around his girl and kissed her, too.
“I’m so happy, Otto!” Madame declared as they headed for the bar. “My son does love his bride . . .”
Still uneasy, I remained behind, surveying the crowded room. When I saw Hector being led out in handcuffs, I finally sagged against my perfect coffee and dessert table.
Matt was still holding his new bride in his arms, kissing her with a passion I hadn’t seen him display since our own Hawaiian honeymoon.
It was then I finally noticed our daughter in the crowd, watching her father, her pretty young face full of mixed emotions. I knew how Joy felt. It was surreal, given all that had happened, all that we’d been through.
Oh, sure, on the scale of human history, you could hardly deem the wedding of my ex-husband a significant event. Not like, say, Christopher Columbus discovering the New World. In my own little life, however, it was a moment that changed everything. This really was good-bye to the handsome groom of my youth; the swaggering father of my child; the globe-trotting spouse who liked to pretend that, no matter how many women he slept with, I was his only love.
For a fraction of time, I felt a sadness grip me, the quaking that comes from unforeseen loss. But the seismic shift was a small event, and when it was over, I heard another man call my name.
“Clare! Over here! I’m over here, sweetheart!”
I saw Mike then, breaking through the crowd. With a sure and steady voice, I answered him, because now I was ready, more than ready, to explore his new world.
EPILOGUE
DESPITE starting off with a bang (literally), Matt and Breanne’s wedding reception came off quite well. The champagne started flowing, and the well-heeled crowd was soon buzzing with the realization that they now had a fabulous new saga of urban survival—a wedding favor that would keep on giving with retellings at cocktail hours and dinner parties for months to come.
Nunzio’s fountain turned out to be the biggest draw of the night, making our coffee and dessert bar a huge hit. (Janelle received no less than thirty requests for her business card.) And Matt’s passion fueled Breanne’s emotional recovery. Giddily soaking up her groom’s repeated, ardent kisses, the usually restrained, ultra-cool sophisticate was feeling no pain, laughing and animated and uncaring that her exquisite Italian silk creation had been stained like a macchiato. I had to give the woman credit, she wore the espresso like a badge of honor—even insisted more photos be taken with the damaged tray and the spattered gown.
“Hector’s shot missed Breanne,” I told Madame as the evening wound down, “but it killed bridezilla for sure.”
As for the sad-eyed Colombian murderer, I had to wait two more days to hear what the police finally got out of him . . .
“SUICIDE by cop?” Mike told me.
“Suicide by what?”
“You’ve never heard of it?”
I shook my head.
Mike paused to sip the latte I’d made him. “It’s when a perp commits a crime, expecting the police will gun him down.”
“And that’s what Hector told the Fish Squad? That’s what he thought was going to happen at the wedding reception after he shot Breanne?”
Mike nodded.
It was late Monday evening. I’d taken so much time off work before the wedding that I was giving my baristas a break and closing myself for a few nights in a row. Mike and I were the last ones in the Blend. While I finished wiping down the café tables, Mike watched me from the coffee bar, where he’d been filling me in on the details of Hector’s interrogation.
Distraught and unbalanced, Hector had broken down fairly quickly, spilling everything when Lori Soles and Sue Ellen Bass played the “sympathetic ear” gambit.
Just as I’d guessed, Hector confessed to wanting to kill Matt’s bride in order to cause him pain—as much pain as he’d felt when his own daughter had been (in his words) “driven to suicide by the wedding announcement she’d received.”
Apparently, Andelina Pena had left a long, rambling note professing her love for Matteo. Hector saw the note, saw Matt’s name, and focused on the idea of vengeance. To him, the wedding announcement was salt in a wound—a cruel trick. The fact that it was clutched in his daughter’s hand when she took her own life hadn’t helped, either.
“Hector Pena believed he had nothing to lose,” Mike said. “He’d already been diagnosed with cancer. Knowing he didn’t have long to live, he became obsessed with the idea of avenging his daughter’s death.”
“Then Hazel Boggs really was a case of mistaken identity, just like Matt thought?”
Mike nodded. “Soles and Bass linked the crime through ballistics on Hector’s small-caliber weapon. He hadn’t meant to kill the innocent young Hazel. After that, he was even more distraught. He was also reluctant to use the gun again. The poisoning would have worked if Breanne had gone into the office that morning. Instead, Monica Purcell was the one who died.”
“What about Machu Piccchu?”
“Hector attended the luncheon at Javier’s urging,” Mike said. “He hadn’t planned on an attack there, so he didn’t have his weapon on him. But when he heard that Breanne had been behind sending that wedding announcement to his daughter, he became enraged. After Matt ran off and he was asked to help find him, Hector broke away from the other men, doubled back, bought a coat and ski mask from a clothing store near the restaurant, and slipped inside to wait in the ladies’ room—”
“Where I found him, still enraged, trying to strangle Breanne.”
“By the wedding day he was nearly crazy with rage and frustration. He felt sicker than ever, too, and just wanted to die himself.”
“So that’s why he was so brazen. He expected to be shot after killing the bride.”
Mike nodded, took another sip of his latte. “Suicide by cop.”
It was a tragic case on both sides, and I wasn’t exactly cheered by the body count. “It’s hard to believe one simple act could end up causing so many deaths.”
“One simple act?”
I nodded. “Breanne sending out those wedding announcements to Matt’s old flames.”
Mike shook his head. “Matt had a lot of old flames, Clare. Only one of them chose to make that a reason to kill herself.”
“What are you saying?”
Mike shrugged. “Life’s messy.”
“That’s it?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Can you foresee the harm of every choice you make?”
“No, but while I grant you Matt’s a cad where women are concerned, he isn’t a cruel man. After the reception, he told me that he’d broken up with Andelina months before he’d proposed to Breanne. He said he’d done it as gently as he could, but the young woman had been unstable for a long time, was seeing a therapist, and taking medication.” I shook my head. “Still, Breanne had to know she would cause a lot of women a lot of indigestion.”
Mike shrugged. “I can’t argue that some people are better at making messes than others.”
“So why is it people like us always have to clean them up?”
Mike caught my arm, and suggested I stop cleaning up for a while. “Take a break, Cosi.”
I did, plopping myself next to him at the espresso bar. I noticed the New York Journal at the end of the bar and slid it over to him. “Speaking of dirt, guess what’s in here.”
“Oh, right, that big exposé of Randall Knox’s. Now there’s a man who not only likes dirt, but feeds off it.”
“Can’t argue there, but get a load of this. The coverage of the wedding in the paper is all sweetnes
s and light. Not a word in here about Breanne’s sordid past or her connection to the dead stripper Hazel Boggs. Guess why?”
“Knox turned over a new leaf? From now on, he’s only going to report good news?”
“I wish. No, it seems Knox wasn’t the only one with a file in his desk. Breanne finally admitted to me that she’d compiled a thick file on Knox—and not alone. Remember that suspicious-looking guy I saw outside of Fen’s and later at Breanne’s office, asking for her?”
“The big guy with the too-tight suit? Yeah. He factors into this?”
“He’s a private investigator. Breanne hired him to dig up unsavory history on Knox, some of which could land gossip boy in prison if she ever decided to release it to the press. It was enough to bring Knox to heel. He agreed to bury Breanne’s own file as long as his remained under wraps.”
“My ears are still ringing from unsavory allegations that can land him in prison. Anything you want me to look into?”
“Breanne won’t say.”
“Well, I think you and I might want to watch the guy anyway. Or we can sic the Fish Squad on him, or maybe even the pit bull for all those unpaid parking tickets I saw in the system.”
I smiled at the mention of the Sixth’s tough lady beat cop they called the pit bull, which got me to wondering. “Mike, I’ve been wanting to ask you—if I were a dog, what breed would I be? I’ve always thought of myself as a Jack Russell terrier.”
He laughed. “A Jack Russell’s not bad for you, but I think you’re more you of a border collie.”
“A border collie! Aren’t border collies, you know . . .”
“What?”
“Stupid!”
“No! They’re extremely smart. They just get a little neurotic if they don’t have enough to do, but farmers have used them for generations to protect their dim-witted sheep. They’re also pretty adorable.”
“I’m a border collie?”
“You’re adorable . . . and smart and gutsy and loving and ... C’mere . . .”
Mike’s mouth was still warm and slightly sweet from the latte, and his lingering kiss made the collie thing suddenly seem a whole lot easier to take. When we parted, he gazed down at me, brushed back my chestnut hair.
“I just want you to know, Cosi . . . I’m well aware you had a choice, and I’m glad that I’m the man who’s here with you now.”
“I am, too, Mike. Very glad.”
He smiled. “So what dog am I then? Golden retriever? Irish wolfhound?”
“Rottweiler.”
Mike laughed. “A police dog, huh?”
“Guard dog. A tough and hardy breed. Dependable, lovable”—I raised an eyebrow—“usually trustworthy . . .”
“Okay. I get it.” He raised a hand. “And I’d rather you quit while I’m ahead. Besides, didn’t you say something on the phone earlier about an empty apartment upstairs that you’ve finally got all to yourself?”
I nodded. The bride and groom were off on their honeymoon, Joy was spending the night at her grandmother’s, and when my hand reached into my jeans pocket, it came out holding a small piece of shiny metal.
“See,” I said. “Before he left for Barcelona, Matt handed over his key.”
“And you’ve got the whole place to yourself tonight, right?”
“That’s right, Lieutenant, including the bedroom.”
“Come on then, sweetheart.” Rising from the chair, Mike tugged my hand. “Let’s see if it works.”
It did.
I’m happy to report the bedroom worked like a dream—all night long.
RECIPES &TIPS FROM THE VILLAGE BLEND
Visit Cleo Coyle’s virtual Village Blend at
www.CoffeehouseMystery.com
for coffee tips, coffee talk, and more recipes!
Generous trays of cookies, baked by the women of my family, were a delicious and important addition to our Italian wedding feasts. But cookies aren’t just eaten at special occasions in Italian culture. Biscotti, pizzelles (sweet waffle cookies), and many other kinds are enjoyed at all hours of the day: at breakfast with cappuccinos, in the afternoon with an espresso pick-me-up, or after dinner on a dessert dish.
Anginetti
(Glazed Lemon Cookies)
The anginetti are a satisfying treat to have with coffee. Light and buttery with a sweet lemon glaze, they often make their appearance during the holidays, and the (optional) sprinkle of nonpareils (confetti in Italian) over the glaze makes them an excellent wedding cookie, too, since the colorful sugar balls call to mind the long-standing wedding tradition of giving guests almonds coated with hard-sugar shells as favors. (The bitterness of the almonds and the sweetness of the sugar represent the bittersweet truths of married life.) While recipes for anginetti vary—some bakers shape figure eights from a rope of dough, others simply create lemon drops—my version uses the ring shape in honor of Nunzio’s wedding rings. My version is also a bit sweeter than more traditional recipes.
Makes between 3 and 4 dozen cookies (depending on size and shape of cookie)
6 tablespoons butter
¾ cup granulated white sugar
1½ teaspoons pure vanilla extract
½ teaspoon lemon extract
1 teaspoon fresh lemon zest (grated from rind)
⅛ teaspoon salt (pinch or two)
3 large eggs
¼ cup whole milk
2½ cups all-purpose flour (sifted)
4 teaspoons baking powder
With an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar together with vanilla and lemon extracts, lemon zest, and salt. Add eggs and milk and beat for a minute or two until light and fluffy. Add flour and baking powder, blending well with mixer until you have a dough (be careful not to overmix the dough or cookies will be tough). Dough should be soft and sticky. Chill for at least one hour; cold dough is easier to work with.
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line baking sheet with parchment paper or silicon sheets, or spray surface with cooking spray. With well-greased hands (I rub butter over my fingers and palms), shape bits of dough into small ropes (about the thickness of a woman’s wedding ring finger), make a ring with the rope of dough about 2 inches in diameter, and press the ends together on the baking sheet. Or for lemon drops simply roll pieces of dough into balls about 1 inch in size and place on baking sheets. (If you want to go really rustic, then don’t even bother chilling the dough. Simply drop teaspoonfuls of the sticky dough onto the baking sheet.) Bake about 10 to 15 minutes. Don’t overcook. Baking time may vary, depending on your oven! Let cookies cool before glazing and decorating.
LEMON GLAZE
2 tablespoons butter
4 tablespoons water
2 teaspoons lemon extract
2 cups confectioners’ sugar (sifted)
In a nonstick saucepan, place the butter, water, and lemon extract over low heat, stir slowly until butter melts (do not let butter brown or burn). Add confectioners’ sugar, a little at a time, stirring constantly. Wait until sugar dissolves before adding more. Continue until all sugar has been added. Stir or whisk if needed until your glaze is smooth. Use a pastry brush to glaze your cooled cookies. (Optional: If you wish to add decorations to your cookies, such as nonpareils or colored sugar, be sure to sprinkle while glaze is still warm. I actually prefer the cookies without any decorations, just the lemon glaze.)
TIPS: Lemon glaze must be kept warm to stay a liquid. If it hardens up on you, simply warm up the glaze again, stirring or whisking to regain the smooth, liquid consistency. If you like a thicker glaze on your cookie (like I do), try “painting” a second or even a third layer of glaze on the cookie after the first layer hardens. Enjoy!
Baci di Romeo
(Romeo’s Kisses)
Rich chocolate ganache seals the kiss of two delicious, almond-flavor cookies.
Makes about 21⁄2 dozen sandwiches
1 cup (2 sticks) butter
1 cup confectioners’ sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 teaspoons
almond extract
1 egg
2 tablespoons milk
⅛ teaspoon salt
2 cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ cup ground, toasted almonds1
Cream butter and sugar. Add vanilla, almond extract, egg, milk, and salt; mix until light and fluffy. Add flour, baking powder, and ground almonds. Mix just until blended (don’t overmix at this stage). Chill dough for 30 minutes (makes it easier to handle). Preheat oven to 350°F. Roll out dough into 1-inch balls. Roll them in sugar, place on lined or greased baking sheet, and flatten balls with bottom of a glass. Bake 10-12 minutes (watch your oven!). If cookies overbake, they will be dry.
CHOCOLATE GANACHE “KISS”
½ cup heavy cream
5 tablespoons sugar
4 tablespoons butter
12 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
or chopped bittersweet chocolate
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Heat the cream, sugar, and butter in saucepan. Stir until butter melts and liquid simmers, but do not let mixture boil! Pour hot cream mixture over chocolate (in a glass or metal bowl). Waiting two minutes, whisk well until smooth, and whisk in vanilla. Let ganache cool for a half hour in fridge, no more! Next drop (or pipe with pastry bag) about a teaspoonful on the flat side of one cookie and gently sandwich together with a second cookie’s flat side. Press lightly to seal the kiss! Repeat until all cookies are kissing. (Optional use: while still warm, ganache can be used as a glaze for a cake.) If ganache harden too much, reheat. Makes about 2 cups.
Bellini
Like Nunzio’s Lover’s Spring, this classic cocktail was created in Italy. It was invented in 1943, at Harry’s Bar in Venice, during an exhibition of art by the fifteenth-century Venetian painter, Giovanni Bellini.
According to the man who created the drink, Giuseppe Cipriani, the cocktail’s color matched the hue of a toga in one of Bellini’s masterpieces, so he named the drink after the artist.