by Harper Lin
I pulled an apron over my head, tied it behind my back, and went out front to the café.
“Where do you need me?” It was my café, but the girls had a good rhythm going, and I wasn’t going to mess it up just because I was the boss.
Sammy looked around as she prepared a cappuccino. “Um, dishes? Or you can take over here after I finish this one, and I can wash dishes.”
“Up to you.” I much preferred to be behind the espresso machine, but I wasn’t going to kick Sammy off if that’s where she wanted to be.
She looked at me. “Nobody comes in here to see my latte art.”
“Doesn’t matter what the picture is if the coffee’s bad. And you make good coffee.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one who earned a write-up in a food blog. Here.” She stepped back from the machine, the cappuccino she’d been working on in a saucer in her hand. “I’ll take this to the customer. You make the next one. Latte, double shot espresso. Gentleman in the corner, blue shirt.”
I stepped up to the espresso machine, and Sammy walked around the counter to deliver the drink she’d just made. I checked the machine over quickly to make sure everything was ship-shape then started pulling the espresso shots. While the machine worked, I began steaming the milk to pour into the cup. As I worked, I thought about the design I wanted to put into the latte’s foam. I liked to start slow and not make anything too complicated until a few drinks in. I thought about a butterfly but decided on a star. Women tended to get more excited about butterflies and hearts, so I usually saved those designs for them.
The espresso and milk were ready. I leaned over the cup and began my pour. Once the dot of milk was in, I picked up the small metal etching tool and began drawing in the star. It only took a few seconds, and the star was beautiful when it was done. My grandfather would have been proud. It had always been his motto to “Make your food delicious, and make it beautiful.” The delicious came first then the beautiful, but both were important.
I carried the cup and saucer to the blue-shirted man in the corner then returned to the espresso machine. There was no one else in line. The rush was over. I wiped down the machine and the counter. Amanda was bussing the tables and taking the dirty dishes to Sammy in the back. Becky had started refilling the food in the display case without anyone requesting her to. I made a mental note to put a little something extra in her paycheck. Another thing I’d learned from my grandparents when they’d run the café was to reward people when you caught them going above and beyond.
I finished wiping everything down and went to help Sammy with the dishes. She had a stack of clean dishes that needed to be put away, so I worked on those.
“Sorry about your night out getting ruined last night,” I said.
Sammy shrugged. “When you go out with Dawn, you have to expect things to go a way you didn’t expect. It would have been more fun if it had turned into a spontaneous road trip to New York, though.”
I didn’t really think a trip to New York was as exciting as she did, only because I’d lived there for so long, but I had to agree it would have been preferable to checking out a crime scene. “Maybe we can try again next week. We’ll be on fall hours then, so we’ll have more time.”
Like most businesses in Cape Bay, we basically ran three schedules—summer hours, spring/fall hours, and winter hours—depending on the expected amount of tourist traffic. With school starting the next week, we’d be closing earlier on the weekdays, finally giving us a chance to catch up on our personal lives.
“That sounds good. That mango margarita Dawn got right before we left sounded pretty good. I’d be up for going to get one.”
“Tuesday night?”
“That’ll be perfect!” She flashed me a sunny smile and seemed like her old self.
“What can I work on?” Becky stuck her head through the door. Her red curls were typically frizzy, the result of spending a morning over steaming cups of coffee. Amanda was hovering behind her also awaiting orders.
“How are we on sandwiches?” I asked.
“Good. Display case is fully stocked, and there are a few more in the refrigerator.”
“What about tiramisu?”
“All filled up. Cupcakes and muffins are, too.”
“There’s some marzipan on the table over there,” I offered.
“Where do you want me to put it?”
“No, for you. You and Amanda take some.”
Becky approached the table cautiously and looked into the box. “What is it?”
“Marzipan.” Then, I realized she had no idea what that was. “It’s like candy.”
“Oh, okay.” She and Amanda peered at the figures in the box. “The animals are all too cute too eat.” Becky picked up a heart instead.
Amanda and I both watched her face as she bit into it slowly. She looked very serious as she tasted it. Then she smiled. “It’s good!” She pushed the box toward Amanda, who picked out a pine tree. Amanda smiled when the marzipan hit her tongue.
“Why don’t you two each take a couple of pieces and go home for the day? Enjoy your last weekend before school starts. It’s going to be dead in here the rest of the day anyway.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sammy make a face at my choice of words. The girls didn’t seem to notice it, though.
“Awesome! Thanks!” They each picked out a few pieces and wrapped them in napkins. After they hung their aprons and fished their purses out of drawers, they waved goodbye and headed for home, or wherever else they spent their time when their parents thought they were at work.
Sammy and I went back to washing dishes. My mind returned to the man in the alley.
Chapter 9
I spent the afternoon itching to get online to see if I could find information on an Abraham Casey, preferably one with short dark hair, dark eyes, a trim beard, and glasses. I was lucky the café was slow and I didn’t have to concern myself too much with customers, although thinking about something else for a few minutes probably would have done me some good.
Half an hour or so before Sammy was due to leave, I ran home to let Latte out and play with him for a minute. When I got back, the café was just as empty as when I’d left, with just a couple of local moms lingering in some comfy armchairs, chatting quietly and enjoying the break from their kids. Having witnessed them come in before with their kids, I didn’t blame them for wanting some time to themselves.
I greeted them with a wave and went in the back to put my apron on. I found Sammy slipping the last bite of a marzipan bunny into her mouth.
“Sorry,” she mumbled around it. “I got hungry.”
“With all the food in this café, you had to take my marzipan? I’m kidding—I left it there so you guys could eat it.”
“That’s what you said, but I know how you feel about marzipan.”
I laughed. “And I thought I kept that so well hidden.”
She smiled and slid her apron over her head. “Guess I better get going.”
“Big plans tonight?” I hoped for her sake that she wasn’t planning on spending the night at home on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a cry-your-eyes-out movie.
“I’m going over to help my mom with some canning while my dad watches college football and yells at the TV.”
I thought that sounded less depressing than the movie and ice cream on the couch. “Well, have fun.”
Sammy laughed. “I’ll try. After a day spent over hot drinks and a hot dishwater and an evening spent over boiling water, sterilizing jars for preserves doesn’t exactly sound like a great time, but I’ll survive.”
She slipped out the back door, and I looked around for something to occupy me until the café’s traffic picked up again around dinnertime. That was when all the vacationers ventured out to see the town and when the locals who had been out running errands all day stopped in to pick up a quick sandwich or coffee to get them through the evening.
As usual, Sammy had left everything in immaculate condition. All the dishes—except the on
es being used by the two women out front—were cleaned and put away, the display cases were fully stocked, and every last table and counter had been wiped down. I was grateful, of course, for her attention to detail, but it didn’t leave me much to do to keep busy.
I let my hair down from its perpetual summertime chignon and ran my fingers through it. I noticed again how long it was and wished I had remembered to ask Sammy for a recommendation on a good place to get it cut. I’d have to remember to ask when I saw her tomorrow. I twisted my hair back up off my neck and secured it.
I was tempted to sit down at the computer and start researching the late Mr. Casey, but I restrained myself. My research could wait until I didn’t have a business to run. Instead, I decided to roast a batch of coffee beans. It never hurt to have extra beans roasted. Unfortunately, roasting coffee beans didn’t take much time or effort since the machine did most of the work, but it made me feel productive.
I stood and looked around the café. Mismatched chairs and tables lined the exposed brick walls. A few comfortable armchairs sat in the corner for people who liked to spend a little more time lingering over their drinks. A chalkboard menu, covered in Sammy’s flawless handwriting and artful drawings, hung above the counter. It looked almost the same as it had when my grandparents were alive. It was warm and cozy and felt like home. I suspected it did for a lot of our customers, too, based on how often they came and how long they stayed.
The two women left, and I went into the back storeroom to organize. The bell over the door would let me know if someone came in. I managed to kill the rest of the afternoon until the evening rush started. I had a busy hour or so, but nothing I couldn’t handle on my own. Of course, Chase Williams was in and out as I worked busily on making drinks. I waved hello, took his order, made his drink, and waved goodbye. I’d try to talk to him again next time.
I was grateful for the brief rush not only for the revenue and the fact that the increase in customers kept me busy for a while, but also because it stopped my attempts at organizing the storeroom. I’d managed to make the back room look messier than it had when I’d started. Sammy would have a fit when she saw it. Matt came in just as the rush subsided and saved me from doing any more damage.
“How’s it going?” He walked up to the counter.
“Doing okay.” I smiled. “Been pretty slow until the last hour or so.” I shrugged. “But that’s normal for a Saturday.”
“You mind if I hang out for a while?” he asked.
“No. Why would I?”
“I was being polite.”
“You’re such a gentleman.”
“A hungry gentleman, at the moment.”
“And what can I get you, sir?” I asked in my politest café-owner voice.
“A latte, please.” He leaned back to look into the display case. “And is that my favorite dark chocolate cupcake I see in there?”
“You know I make a point to always have it for you.”
“The day I don’t ask is the day you don’t have it.”
I slid open the door of the display case and pulled out one of the dark chocolate, peanut-butter-filled cupcakes he adored. I put it on a plate and handed it across the counter to him. “Go sit down. I’ll bring your latte over in a minute.”
Matt took the plate and settled at a table in the back corner. I turned to the espresso machine and started working on his coffee. The motions of preparing the drink were so familiar that I was reasonably sure I could do it in my sleep. I was glad because I needed to focus most of my mental faculties on deciding what design to put into the foam. I made Matt coffee so often that I always had trouble coming up with what to create.
I varied between the extremes of a simple rosette and the most complicated, creative, or quirky design I could think of. The time frame to decide was so short—only seconds from the time the espresso was ready until I had to start pouring—there wasn’t really time to dwell on what I wanted to do. I smiled as the idea came to me and started pouring the milk.
There was no one else in line, so I quickly prepared a drink for myself and decorated it with a simple swan then carried both over to Matt’s table.
“Mind if I join you?” I set the cups down. I made sure Matt’s was angled just right so he could fully appreciate my hard work the instant he looked at it.
“Not at all,” he said around a bite of cupcake. He gestured toward the chair on the opposite side of the table.
I sat down and waited while he chewed. He took so long that I started getting antsy. I was probably a little too excited about my design, but I thought it was really clever.
He finally looked down. He squinted his eyes a little, cocked his head, and smiled. “Latte?”
“Of course! That’s what you ordered!” My lips twitched as I tried to keep a straight face.
“I didn’t specify I wanted Latte in my latte.”
“I figured I’d go literal.” I smiled. I’d named my dog after the drink because they were the exact same color. It seemed only natural to recreate the dog in the drink.
“I gotta hand it to you, it looks exactly like him. I have no idea how you make something like this out of milk and coffee.”
I resisted the urge to correct him and point out that a latte is made with espresso, not coffee. I had learned a long time ago the average person didn’t care about the intricacies of the coffee world. I still had to bite my tongue to keep from correcting people, though.
Matt hesitated as he looked at the cup. “I hate to ruin it.” He shook his head.
“There’s no point if you don’t drink it.” I’d told him a hundred times before, and I’d probably have to say it a hundred times more. I loved how much he appreciated my creations, and I’d be a little disappointed the first time he didn’t hesitate to ruin it.
Matt tipped the latte back and took a drink. “Delicious as usual.”
I smiled with pride and took a drink from my own cup.
We sat peacefully for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company in silence. My mind cleared as I sat with Matt, and I didn’t think about Abraham Carey for a change.
Finally, Matt spoke up. “Get the chance to talk to Mary Ellen today?”
“I did.” I sipped my coffee. I felt a surge of excitement when I remembered what I had to tell him, but I held it in, or tried to.
“And?”
“He was in her shop right before he died.”
“Buying souvenirs?”
“Buying souvenirs,” I confirmed.
“So you were right.”
“Yup, I was.”
Matt looked at me, his eyes narrowed, and I fought back a smile.
“What else?”
“He paid with a credit card.”
Matt thought for a minute. “So…” He paused. “He doesn’t carry cash? He has a tough time at vending machines?”
“What’s on a credit card?”
“A number. An expiration date. A verification number. Uh…”
I looked at him, wondering if he’d gone dumb or was just playing with me. “Really? Matty, come on. Under the number. Think about it, Matteo Cardosi.” I emphasized the syllables of his name. “Are you really telling me, Francesca Amaro, that you can’t think of anything else that might be on a credit card?”
I could practically see a light bulb turn on over his head. “A name!” And then he realized the significance of that. “You found out his name?”
“I did. Abraham Casey.”
“Abraham Casey,” Matt repeated. “Do you know anything else about him yet?”
“Yet? You just assume I’m going to keep investigating?”
Matt chuckled. “Well, I have met you.”
Clearly, I was too predictable. “No, I haven’t looked him up yet. I thought I should focus on running the café. Not that I’m doing a very good job of it right now.” I motioned to a few tables scattered with dirty dishes. “I’ll look him up later tonight.”
“I’m impressed with your restraint.” The corner
of Matt’s mouth twitched as he sipped his coffee.
I rolled my eyes, stood up, and downed the last of my latte. “But that reminds me—it’s getting close to closing time. I should get to cleaning up.”
“I guess I could help,” Matt said, mock-reluctantly.
“You better get to it if you want to help me research one Abraham Casey later tonight.”
“Oh, well, when you put it that way!”
Matt got up and helped me clear the tables, wipe everything down, and clean the dishes. By closing time, we had everything neat, clean, and ready to go for when Sammy opened up the next morning. The back room I’d turned into a chaotic mess would have to wait.
I locked up, and Matt and I started the walk home. We had gotten about halfway there when my stomach rumbled, and I realized I’d barely eaten all day.
“I need a lobster roll,” I announced.
“Right now?”
“I’ve had a bowl of soup, some marzipan, and coffee today. I’m starving.”
“Sandy’s?”
“Yes.” I turned on my heel and headed toward Sandy’s Seafood Shack before Matt had a chance to react. After realizing I hadn’t eaten, I seemed to get hungrier with every step.
“You really must be hungry.” Matt hurried along beside me.
“I am.” I paused. “Are you?”
“I could eat.”
“That’s not exactly convincing.”
“I’m always up for lobster.”
Sandy’s was at the opposite end of the boardwalk, so it took us a little while to get there, but I wasn’t complaining because I knew the warm, buttery lobster would be totally worth it.
When we got to Sandy’s, we sat at one of the picnic tables on the back deck. Through the window screens, we could hear the ocean waves crashing. I took a deep breath of the tangy salt air. Since Cape Bay was a seaside town, the salt air was evident almost everywhere in town, but Sandy’s deck literally hung out over the ocean, so the aroma was all encompassing. I loved it. It smelled like home.
