by Harper Lin
It had all gone well for them—they were moving loads of drugs and making money hand over fist—until Gina caught them sneaking out of a spa treatment room one day the week before we arrived. They probably could have played it off except for Sophie’s wig and spa uniform—and the fact that she’d dropped her French accent and Gina had heard her using her real Texan one.
Oh, and Tommy and Sophie weren’t Tommy and Sophie at all. Tommy was really named Adam and Sophie was really Sophia, which was at least closer. She’d changed it when she adopted the French accent, thinking it made her cover story more realistic. And they both had rap sheets as long as an arm, back in Texas.
When the local detective got ahold of those and showed them to us, Sandra and I realized just how lucky we’d been. Gina hadn’t been the first person Tommy/Adam and Sophie/Sophia had killed, and the two of us wouldn’t have been the last. I wasn’t sure whether I felt comforted that we’d gotten away or terrified by how close we’d come to dying.
“Can I get either of you another drink?” Carrick asked, appearing beside us. He’d been exceptionally nice to both of us since we’d set foot in the lounge. It was like he was another person.
Matt looked at me, and I tried to shake my head but stopped because it hurt. “No.”
“Are you sure? I can make you an espresso macchiato or a cappuccino or just a straight espresso shot?”
I flicked my eyes toward Carrick, momentarily wondering if he was a part of the drug operation, too, and was making a last-ditch effort to kill me, but I knew the police had interviewed him the night before and searched both bars thoroughly and found nothing to implicate anyone else.
“Okay, that’s fine.” He turned to go then stopped and came back. “Um, I wanted to say I’m sorry for being a jerk before. Tommy—Adam, whoever—made me nervous. He was charming to customers, but whenever we were alone, he acted like a bully. I started acting aggressive to protect myself. I probably should have cooled it around customers, but I was afraid he’d see through me if I did. You, uh, you really know your coffee.” He bounced his head a little and started back toward the coffee bar. He was halfway there before I managed to make my mouth work.
“Hey, Carrick?”
He turned around.
“Actually, I would like something.”
His face lit up. “Sure! Of course. What can I get you? I’ll make you anything—whatever you want. On the house too. Since I was such a jerk before.”
“Make me your favorite thing.” It wasn’t something I would normally say, not unless I knew the barista well and trusted their judgement. It was a compliment of the highest order—letting the person know you understood and respected their talent. Oddly, it wasn’t something I actually liked customers to say since tastes varied so widely, but when a real coffee connoisseur came through, someone who I knew knew their coffee, it was an honor.
Carrick understood the code and stood up a little straighter. “Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”
Matt raised an eyebrow at me. I never let people pick my drink for me.
I shrugged before I remembered how much my shoulders hurt. “Deep down, I think he’s a good kid.”
He looked skeptical.
Under other circumstances, I might have tried to turn it into an engineering analogy that might make more sense to him—like letting someone else draft the first plans for a new project—but I ached and didn’t feel much like talking any more than I had to.
I closed my eyes and tried to relax my sore muscles while I waited for my coffee. If nothing else, I could use the cup as a warm compress.
“Excuse me, Mr. Cardosi, Ms. Amaro.”
I opened my eyes to see who was disturbing me. Garrett. He may not have been a murderer after all, but I still wasn’t thrilled to see him.
He gave a wan smile. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve spoken with the owner of the hotel, and he is horrified about the experience you and your friends have had during your visit.”
I supposed I should have thought that was nice, but if he’d felt anything other than horrified about how our visit had gone, I wouldn’t think he should own a hotel.
“In an effort to make it up to you, he’s offering both you and the Stantons the opportunity to extend your stay by another four days—fully comped, of course, including all meals, spa services, and your original stay.”
Matt and I exchanged a glance.
“Furthermore, he’d like to invite you to return anytime, at your convenience, for a full week, with the same conditions. It will be entirely covered by the owner himself, including an upgraded room.”
Surely he was joking. Of course, I had been almost killed…
“And he asked me to give you this. Everything I just described will be noted in the computer, but it’s also documented here, along with a personal note from the owner.” He handed the envelope to Matt, who looked inside and gave a low whistle. “Unfortunately,” Garrett continued, “I won’t be here after today. I’m moving on to another property, and someone else will be taking my place. However, please accept my sincere apologies for your troubles and my best wishes for the future.” He gave a small bow and whisked himself away.
I glanced at Matt.
He shrugged. “Seems like a win to me.”
Normally, I would have laughed, but laughing hurt.
“You want to stay an extra few days?”
I knew I needed to get back to the café. I had a million things to do back there, and despite Sammy’s reassurances that everything was going well, I knew she was probably ready for a break from being in charge. But Matt had brought me out here so we could have some couple time without work and our usual home stresses getting in the way, and with Gina’s murder and everything that had happened, we really hadn’t had that yet. So I nodded. “Yeah, let’s stay a couple more days.”
I knew I’d made the right choice when he hopped up with a big grin on his face. “Great! I’ll go let the front desk know.”
Carrick returned with my coffee a moment after Matt walked away and handed it to me. I hesitated for a second, afraid it would be terrible and my face would show it. But then I took a deep breath and a big sip. It was delicious.
My face must have shown that because Carrick grinned. “It’s a macchiato latte—I know you said you like the regular macchiatos, but I thought you might want something a little less intense this morning. I used my favorite beans from Panama and used a little less milk than usual and added my secret ingredient—cinnamon. And a little bit of Irish cream. I figured you could use it.”
“It’s really good. Thank you.”
He grinned and headed back to the coffee bar.
“You want to head back upstairs so you can lie down?” Matt asked when he came back.
I didn’t want to get up, but stretching out in that comfortable bed did sound appealing. Slowly, I nodded.
He took the coffee from me and helped me up, then let me lean on him as I shuffled down the hall.
I glanced inside the patisserie as we passed. It looked sad and empty. When Jacques had arrived around four to begin baking for the day and found out what Sophie had done, he threw everything in the bakery in the trash, from the delicious-looking tartes in the front windows to all his ingredients in the back. He said he didn’t trust a thing she had touched. As soon as that was done, shortly before I got to bed, he had gone out to restock as best he could from the local grocery store.
“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle Francesca!” Jacques called, popping out of the door to the kitchen as we passed. He held a small box in his hand. “I make these macarons fresh this morning. They are not as good as if they were aged a day or two, but I want you to have them. You are staying a few days, non? I will bring you more when I have them.” He held the box out to me.
I took it and opened it. “Raspberry?”
“Oui. Raspberry et chocolat.”
I took one out and bit into it. Aged or not, it was heaven. Even Sophie couldn’t ruin macarons for me. “Thank y
ou. It’s delicious.”
Matt reached over and grabbed one, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth. He grunted and nodded.
I laughed but only for a second. The spot where Sophie had slammed my ribs into the edge of the sink objected.
I thanked Jacques again, and Matt and I resumed our slow trek upstairs. At least I could lean against the wall and rest for a minute in the elevator.
We reached our floor and started the walk down the long hall to our hotel room.
Halfway there, the door to Mike’s room opened, and he came out, holding an ice bucket. “How you holding up there, Franny?”
I grimaced. “Been better. How’s Sandra?”
“She’s okay.”
I wondered what “okay” meant. I wondered if they’d talked about their relationship and where it was going. I wondered if Mike’s flying leap had helped her make up her mind.
“Garrett tell you guys about our visits getting comped and the extra days?” Matt asked.
Mike nodded but didn’t say anything else. I would have walked away and let it be, but Matt didn’t.
“So are you guys going to stay? Have you talked to Sandra?”
Mike’s jaw tightened, and my stomach clenched. I was afraid it was bad news.
But then he looked at me, and one corner of his mouth turned up. I knew what he really meant when he finally answered.
“Sandra said she’ll stay.”
Catch up on all the books in The Cape Bay Cafe Mysteries series here.
As you wait for book 10 in the series, check out The Patisserie Mysteries. An heiress to a famous French patisserie chain takes over the family business, while using her status as a Parisian socialite to solve murders in high society. Each book includes French dessert and pastry recipes.
Macaron Murder is the first novella in this 9-book series. Get it here or read an excerpt at the end of this book.
Be the first to hear about 99¢ new book release sales by signing up for Harper's Newsletter.
Recipe 1: Espresso Macchiato
Ingredients:
• Coffee beans/grounds for espresso
• Milk
* * *
You do need an espresso maker for this. Make a shot of espresso and pour it into your cup. Steam milk. The ideal temperature is 140° F (60° C). Pour steamed milk over the espresso and add dollop of foam on top.
Remember the espresso goes in first, followed by the milk.
Option to top the drink with whipped cream, grated chocolate, and/or cinnamon.
Recipe 2: Latte Macchiato
This is similar to the espresso macchiato but with more steamed milk, so use a tall glass. Another difference is the milk goes in the cup first, followed by the espresso.
Fill most of glass with steamed milk. Pour a shot of espresso over it. That’s it!
The espresso settles between the layer of milk and the foam, resulting in three distinct layers.
Recipe 3: Lemon Macarons
Makes about 15 macarons
* * *
Macaron Shells:
• 1 cup ground almonds, sifted (or almond meal/almond flour)
• 1/2 cup powdered sugar, heaped and sifted
• 2 egg whites
• 5 tbsp granulated sugar
• 1 teaspoon lemon zest
• ½ teaspoon lemon juice
• Yellow gel food coloring
* * *
Lemon Buttercream:
• 3 tbsp unsalted butter, softened
• 1 cup powdered sugar
• 2 teaspoons heavy cream
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice
• 1 teaspoon lemon zest
• 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1/8 teaspoon salt
* * *
For Shells:
Preheat oven to 280° F. Line a baking tray. Beat egg whites in a large mixing bowl with an electric beater for one minute. Add in granulated sugar. After another minute, add food coloring, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Beat until you can hold the bowl upside down and the egg mixture does not move, about 5 to 7 minutes.
Fold in ground almonds and powdered sugar with a flexible spatula. Scrape the sides of the bowl and move the mixture to the middle. Do this until everything is mixed well.
Pour the batter into a piping bag. Pipe into one-inch circles, leaving one inch between each. Should be around thirty circles.
Leave shells to dry for 30 minutes. Bake for 15 minutes, rotating the tray halfway through baking time.
When finished baking, let shells cool completely before attempting to remove them from the tray. If the shells are cracked, they will still be delicious.
* * *
For Buttercream Cream:
While macaron shells are drying, make buttercream.
Beat butter in a mixing bowl until fluffy. Add powdered sugar, heavy cream, lemon juice, lemon zest, vanilla extract, and salt and beat until well combined.
* * *
Assembly:
Turn macaron shells on their backs. Fill a piping bag with the buttercream and pipe small mounds of cream onto every other shell. Top with second shell.
About the Author
Harper Lin is a USA TODAY bestselling cozy mystery author.
When she's not reading or writing, she loves hiking, doing yoga, and hanging out with her family and friends.
For a complete list of her books by series, visit her website. Follow Harper on social media using the icons below for the latest insider news.
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A Note From Harper
Thank you so much for reading Macchiatos, Macarons, and Malice. If you were entertained by this Cape Bay Cafe mystery, please recommend it to friends and family who would enjoy it too. I would also really appreciate it if you could write a book review to help spread the word.
If you like this series, you might also enjoy my other series:
• The Pink Cupcake Mysteries: A new divorcée sells delicious cupcakes from a pink food truck, to the chagrin of her ex-husband. Each book includes cupcake recipes.
• The Patisserie Mysteries: An heiress to a famous French patisserie chain takes over the family business, while using her status as a Parisian socialite to solve murders in high society. Each book includes French dessert recipes.
• Secret Agent Granny: 70-year-old Barbara, a sweet grandmother—and a badass ex-CIA agent, is bored in retirement, until someone in her small town is murdered.
• The Wonder Cats Mysteries: three witches and their magical cats solve paranormal murder cases in the mystical town of Wonder Falls
• The Emma Wild Mysteries: a 4-Book holiday cozy series about a famous singer returning to her small Canadian town. Each book includes holiday dessert recipes.
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Harper
Excerpt from “Macaron Murder”
Clémence Damour carried her travel backpack up the e
xit staircase of Métro Trocadéro. She faced the familiar bustle of the Parisian cafés brimming with locals and tourists alike while lanky waiters in white dress shirts and black vests served them with grim politeness. After spending more than twenty-one hours on a flight from Melbourne then riding the RER B train from Charles de Gaulle Airport, she felt exhausted and more than a little gross. She hadn’t showered in two days and had slept terribly on the plane.
Australia had been her last stop after traveling the world for two years, and now she was back in her hometown of Paris, France. The posh sixteenth arrondissement hadn’t always been her neighborhood. Her parents acquired their luxury three-bedroom apartment on the fifth floor of a Haussmannian building in one of Paris’s most exclusive neighborhoods after she had graduated lycée, the French equivalent of high school. She had actually grown up in a humble house in the suburbs and wasn’t used to the chic ladies in Chanel jackets with their Hermès bags and the dashing men in well-cut Armani suits.
Among the well coiffed and the well dressed now, she felt like a hobo with her unwashed hair, her grubby travel clothes, and her unfashionable backpack. People-watching was a popular Parisian pastime, and she could feel the eyes on her as she walked from the Métro exit to a nearby bench. They didn’t know that she was the heiress to one of the country’s most popular dessert and pastry chains.
It was strange to be back in Paris after all that she’d seen and experienced on her travels. She saw her surroundings with fresh eyes, as the snap-happy tourists would: the beautiful, uniform architecture; the cafés with the tiny tables barely big enough for one person, let alone two; the grand museums of the Palais de Chaillot etched with lines of poetry by Paul Valéry; the trees just beginning to bloom in the onset of spring. But her favorite view was the one directly across from Café du Trocadéro.
