by Cleo Coyle
 
   Berkley Prime Crime titles by Cleo Coyle
   Coffeehouse Mysteries
   ON WHAT GROUNDS
   THROUGH THE GRINDER
   LATTE TROUBLE
   MURDER MOST FROTHY
   DECAFFEINATED CORPSE
   FRENCH PRESSED
   ESPRESSO SHOT
   HOLIDAY GRIND
   ROAST MORTEM
   MURDER BY MOCHA
   A BREW TO A KILL
   HOLIDAY BUZZ
   BILLIONAIRE BLEND
   ONCE UPON A GRIND
   DEAD TO THE LAST DROP
   DEAD COLD BREW
   SHOT IN THE DARK
   BREWED AWAKENING
   Haunted Bookshop Mysteries
   THE GHOST AND MRS. McCLURE
   THE GHOST AND THE DEAD DEB
   THE GHOST AND THE DEAD MAN’S LIBRARY
   THE GHOST AND THE FEMME FATALE
   THE GHOST AND THE HAUNTED MANSION
   THE GHOST AND THE BOGUS BESTSELLER
   BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
   Published by Berkley
   An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
   penguinrandomhouse.com
   Copyright © 2019 by Alice Alfonsi and Marc Cerasini
   Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
   BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
   A COFFEEHOUSE MYSTERY is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
   Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
   Names: Coyle, Cleo, author.
   Title: Brewed awakening / Cleo Coyle.
   Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley Prime Crime, 2019. |
   Series: A coffeehouse mystery; book 18
   Identifiers: LCCN 2019034510 (print) | LCCN 2019034511 (ebook) | ISBN 9780451488879 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780451488886 (ebook)
   Subjects: LCSH: Cosi, Clare (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Women detectives—Fiction. |
   Coffeehouses—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
   Classification: LCC PS3603.O94 B75 2019 (print) | LCC PS3603.O94 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
   LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019034510
   LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019034511
   First Edition: December 2019
   Cover art by Cathy Gendron
   Cover design and logo by Rita Frangie
   This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
   PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
   Version_1
   Until one has loved an animal,
   a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.
   —Anatole France
   This book is dedicated to two beloved cats, Cub and Mr. Fellowes, now gone to sleep, but forever alive in our memories.
   CONTENTS
   Also by Cleo Coyle
   Title Page
   Copyright
   Dedication
   Acknowledgments
   Epigraph
   Prologue
   Chapter One
   Chapter Two
   Chapter Three
   Chapter Four
   Chapter Five: Madame
   Chapter Six
   Chapter Seven
   Chapter Eight: Clare
   Chapter Nine: Madame
   Chapter Ten
   Chapter Eleven: Clare
   Chapter Twelve
   Chapter Thirteen
   Chapter Fourteen
   Chapter Fifteen
   Chapter Sixteen
   Chapter Seventeen
   Chapter Eighteen
   Chapter Nineteen
   Chapter Twenty
   Chapter Twenty-one
   Chapter Twenty-two
   Chapter Twenty-three
   Chapter Twenty-four
   Chapter Twenty-five
   Chapter Twenty-six
   Chapter Twenty-seven
   Chapter Twenty-eight
   Chapter Twenty-nine
   Chapter Thirty
   Chapter Thirty-one: Mike
   Chapter Thirty-two
   Chapter Thirty-three
   Chapter Thirty-four
   Chapter Thirty-five
   Chapter Thirty-six
   Chapter Thirty-seven
   Chapter Thirty-eight: Clare
   Chapter Thirty-nine
   Chapter Forty: Mike
   Chapter Forty-one: Clare
   Chapter Forty-two
   Chapter Forty-three
   Chapter Forty-four
   Chapter Forty-five
   Chapter Forty-six
   Chapter Forty-seven: Mike
   Chapter Forty-eight: Clare
   Chapter Forty-nine
   Chapter Fifty
   Chapter Fifty-one
   Chapter Fifty-two
   Chapter Fifty-three
   Chapter Fifty-four: Mike
   Chapter Fifty-five
   Chapter Fifty-six
   Chapter Fifty-seven
   Chapter Fifty-eight: Clare
   Chapter Fifty-nine
   Chapter Sixty
   Chapter Sixty-one
   Chapter Sixty-two
   Chapter Sixty-three
   Chapter Sixty-four
   Chapter Sixty-five
   Chapter Sixty-six
   Chapter Sixty-seven
   Chapter Sixty-eight
   Chapter Sixty-nine
   Chapter Seventy: Mike
   Chapter Seventy-one: Clare
   Chapter Seventy-two
   Chapter Seventy-three
   Chapter Seventy-four
   Chapter Seventy-five
   Chapter Seventy-six
   Chapter Seventy-seven: Mike
   Chapter Seventy-eight: Clare
   Chapter Seventy-nine
   Chapter Eighty
   Chapter Eighty-one: Mike
   Chapter Eighty-two: Clare
   Chapter Eighty-three
   Chapter Eighty-four
   Chapter Eighty-five
   Chapter Eighty-six
   Chapter Eighty-seven
   Chapter Eighty-eight
   
Chapter Eighty-nine
   Chapter Ninety
   Chapter Ninety-one
   Chapter Ninety-two
   Chapter Ninety-three
   Chapter Ninety-four
   Chapter Ninety-five
   Chapter Ninety-six
   Chapter Ninety-seven
   Chapter Ninety-eight
   Recipes & Tips from the Village BlendThe Village Blend’s Blueberry Shortbread
   The Village Blend’s Strawberry Cream Cheese Scones with Strawberry Glaze
   The Village Blend’s Pistachio Muffins
   Cacio e Matteo
   Matt’s Coffee Beef Stew
   Clare Cosi’s Crusty Italian-Style Rolls
   Parkview Palace Salad
   Candied Pecans
   Champagne Chicken Paprikash
   KFC-Style Fried Chicken
   Coffee and Cream Cake
   Mocha Buttercream
   How to Make a More Stable Whipped Cream Filling or Frosting
   How to Make Chocolate Curls
   The Daisy Fay
   The Nostalgia’s Gin Daisy Fay
   The Village Blend’s Latest Hit Goobers Cookies
   Clare’s Cozy Maple Sugar Cookies
   Clare’s Chocolate Chip Coffee Cake
   About the Author
   ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
   Brewed Awakening is our eighteenth Coffeehouse Mystery. As our longtime readers know, I write this series with my talented spouse, Marc Cerasini. Like every married couple, we have good days and bad days, but I’m thankful every day for the gift of Marc’s partnership—in writing and in life.
   The inspiration for this story began with a conversation. If our history as a couple were to be wiped clean, would we still be drawn to each other? How does “like” deepen into something more? When does love happen?
   With two of our main characters on a path to be married, we decided to explore these questions within the plotline of this mystery and agreed the fulcrum of the tale would be memory loss.
   Although Clare’s story is fictional, we were inspired, through our research, by many remarkable true cases of amnesia, including a married woman whose traumatic accident resulted in forgetting her own husband—and believing her teenage daughter was still a toddler. In another case, a young teacher disappeared after going for a jog, and then reappeared, floating in New York Harbor, with no memory of how she got there or the weeks she went missing. (We could go on, but you get the idea.)
   Other elements in Brewed Awakening were inspired by our decades of living and working in New York. While the Parkview Palace exists only in our imagination, you can visit many of the grand hotels that inspired its creation, including the Plaza (theplazany.com), the Pierre (thepierreny.com), and the Lotte New York Palace, formerly known as The Helmsley Palace (lottenypalace.com).
   Our fictional Gypsy boutique hotel was also inspired by a real one: Paper Factory Hotel (paperfactoryhotel.com) of Long Island City, Queens, a uniquely modern inn that was literally transformed from a 100-year-old paper factory.
   For coffee inspiration, we thank the folks at Hampton Coffee Company (hamptoncoffeecompany.com), an independent coffee roaster and retailer that pioneered micro-roasting on the East Coast, and whose dedication to freshly roasted joy is never short of admirable.
   Our interaction with New York’s Finest is always nothing but the finest, and we thank them for providing answers to our questions. For deviations from doctrine, we plead the author’s defense—in the service of fiction, rules occasionally get bent.
   Caffeinated cheers go to our publisher and the diligent crew who helped put this book into your hands. We are especially grateful to our editor, Michelle Vega, whose valuable input strengthened our story. Thanks also to editorial assistant Jennifer Snyder and production editor Stacy Edwards for keeping us on track; as well as to copyeditor Frank Walgren, our designers Rita Frangie and Kristin del Rosario, and our marketing and publicity team, Elisha Katz and Brittanie Black, for their essential contributions.
   To the brilliant artist Cathy Gendron, we send sincerest appreciation for another spectacular Coffeehouse Mystery cover.
   To John Talbot, our literary agent, we continue to treasure your patient support and consummate professionalism.
   Last but far from least, we send love and gratitude to everyone whom we could not mention by name, including friends, family, and so many of you who read our books and send us notes via e-mail, our website’s message board, and on social media. Your encouragement keeps us going, and we cannot thank you enough for that.
   Whether you are new to our world or a devoted reader, Marc and I invite you to join our Coffeehouse community at coffeehousemystery.com, where you will find recipes, coffee picks, and a link to keep in touch by signing up for our newsletter. May you eat, drink, and read with joy!
   —Cleo Coyle,
   New York City
   It’s no use going back to yesterday, because
   I was a different person then.
   —Lewis Carroll
   PROLOGUE
   Two months ago
   NYPD detectives Lori Soles and Sue Ellen Bass led a pack of uniformed officers through the door of my busy coffeehouse. Seeing their grave expressions, I feared something terrible had happened to Mike Quinn, and they’d come to deliver the grim news.
   Despite my worries, I faced the women squarely.
   “Detectives, how can I help you tonight?”
   “Clare Cosi, we’re here to place you under arrest.”
   With customers chattering around me, and the fire crackling loudly in the Village Blend’s hearth, I assumed I’d heard wrong.
   “Arrest me?”
   Sue Ellen Bass, the more volatile of the pair, glanced at the small army of uniforms behind her and reached for the handcuffs on her belt.
   “Did you think you could get away with grand theft?”
   I blinked. “Are you kidding?”
   “This is serious,” Lori Soles said. “In New York State, stealing a police lieutenant’s heart is a Class-A felony.”
   Suddenly the wall of uniforms parted, and there was Detective Mike Quinn down on one knee. Wearing a rare smile and his best blue suit, he lifted a white ring box.
   Time seemed to stop, the packed coffeehouse stilling with it.
   Among the captivated crowd, I noticed the shaved head and grinning face of Sergeant Franco, the young detective my daughter was seeing. He was holding up his mobile phone, recording the scene for posterity—and, I suspected, for Joy to watch from her job in DC.
   “Clare, I love you,” Mike began plainly, “and I know you love me.”
   Opening the white box, he revealed a perfect diamond, its ice-blue color shining as brilliantly as the good in his eyes. Around the center, a circle of smaller coffee diamonds winked warmly in the glow of the firelight.
   “I have something to ask you,” he said. “And you’d better think hard about your answer. With these law officers as witnesses, it’s going to be tough to change your story.”
   I nodded numbly, waiting for the words.
   “Clare Cosi, will you marry me?”
   My eyes blurred, emotions swirling, and my mind flashed back to the first time I saw this man, standing in my coffeehouse doorway, his expression haggard, jaw rough with stubble, trench coat stained and wrinkled. Never had I seen a soul more in need of caffeine.
   But Mike hadn’t come for coffee that day. He was there to inspect a crime scene; and, by the end of that case, he’d become a regular customer and eventually a good friend. Passion blossomed naturally between us. Trust wasn’t as simple—at lea
st for me.
   My first wedding had led me into such cavernous misery that I’d been reluctant to step one foot back into that chasm. Mike had been battered by a bad marriage, too, but he was willing to try again, and I knew the reason. While the cop in him appreciated a friend and cherished a lover, what he valued more than anything was a partner.
   As gun-shy as I was, I came to realize the painful cost of not moving forward, which is why, in a voice choked with happy tears, I said yes to Mike’s proposal.
   Yes to a new partnership.
   Yes to a new beginning.
   Yes to another chance with another man, in so many ways, a better man.
   I would take my time planning this wedding, a big one, with all our friends and family. This ceremony would be a true celebration, nothing like my first, when I was alone and pregnant, an anxious nineteen-year-old, half-desperate to be saved by a City Hall union to a peripatetic coffee hunter, little more than a boy himself.
   Before me now, on one knee, was no boy. Mike Quinn was my rock, and I was his. How right this actual rock looked in his hand. Polished with patience, shimmering with certainty, fixed on an unending circle, it was the perfect symbol of what we shared together, and the years it took to make this moment. As he slipped it on my finger, I knew with complete conviction that I would love this man forever.
   And this would be a day I’d never forget.
   ONE
   I like coffee because it gives me the illusion that I might be awake.
   —LEWIS BLACK
   Two months later
   I awoke in darkness, curled in a shivering ball. I’d been a restless sleeper since my divorce, and I assumed I’d kicked off the blankets. So why was something still covering my face? Heavy and stiff, it was definitely not my well-worn J.C. Penney comfort quilt.
   A blaring horn and a string of angry expletives sat me up fast. A coat fell away from my face, and I blinked against a misty-morning sun peeking through naked branches.
   Feeling dizzy, I rubbed my eyes before deciding—
   This is no dream. This is real.
   I tried to rise but my joints were stiff. My right arm was so numb that I had to shake it out. More troubling was the fact that somehow—and I could not for the life of me remember how—I wasn’t in my nice warm bed in my cozy little bedroom in New Jersey. I was sprawled across a hard, cold bench in a public park, close enough to the street for me to hear a cabby cursing out the driver in front of him, which sounded an awful lot like Manhattan.