by Pam Moll
“Would you like a coffee to go? I mean besides the one on your shirt?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“What do you drink?”
“Regular coffee, black.”
“Black, I think that fits you.”
“Why’s that?” He smiled.
“From what I know of you. I’d say you’re a minimal-fuss, no-nonsense kind-of-a guy. Right? During my 6 months running the Bean I’ve been observing the coffee habits of the citizens of Bay Isle. It’s a game I like to play when someone orders a beverage.”
“Hah, you mean like psychological profiling?”
“Well, more like java profiling.”
Felix looked at his shirt, “In that case, what do you drink and what does it tell about you?”
I laughed, pointing to his shirt “That’s a regular coffee with sweetener and low-fat cream and a smidgeon of cinnamon.”
I’m somewhat of a dual personality. Sometimes I have it all together while other times I enjoy cutting loose and being spontaneous. Cream and sugar, well based on what I see of my customers that’s usually a sign of being logical and creative.”
“Couldn’t it be a sign they want to mask the flavor of the coffee?”
I laughed. “Well, it’s far from an exact science.”
Snickers barked at the front door, causing both of us to look his way.
“I better let you get back to your job. I’ll take a raincheck on the coffee.”
“Okay then. Tell Jack thanks for the cupcakes. We’ll make good use of these.”
Felix lingered for a few more seconds fussing over his shirt. On his way out he said, “The cupcakes are gluten free!”
“No kidding,” I said over my shoulder as he left through the back door. It wasn’t the gluten that
would get to me, it was the peppermint sprinkles.
The start of this day had been full of odd surprises.
Within a half hour, the money was moved from the flower vase to the cash register, water gurgled and dripped, and kettles chirped. The creams chilled in their places. The aroma of freshly baked muffins, scones, and Granny Dee’s specialty—gooey butter cake—dwarfed the burnt coffee smell.
I had just completed my opening routine, when I heard Snickers barking at the back door.
“Felix, did you forget something?” I yelled as I swung open the kitchen door.
The kitchen was empty. Snickers was staring out back.
“What’s up boy?” I said to my dog, as I walked slowly over to the door that was slightly ajar and peered out.
A beautiful cat with deep ocean blue eyes stared up at me.
“Poor thing. This was the third time this week I’ve seen you hanging around the café,” I said softly not wanting to frighten the cat away.
The stray cat leaped to the pastry lockbox. He was sniffing intently, with his whiskers back and his nose twitching up and down like mine did when I smelled peppermint. He was sleek, much thinner than George, Granny’s cat, and his once dark-tipped creamy coat looked dull.
“Are you hungry?”
The cat dug his claws at the crumbs on the metal pastry box. Then it rolled over and licked the dark brown fur on his stomach.
“Stay and no bark,” I commanded Snickers. “You too,” I said to the cat not sure cats could understand commands I retreated to the kitchen to prepare something to feed the beautiful stray. “Hmmm, what have I got for it to eat?” I said rubbing my chin.
I put some pieces of cheese on a plate and opened a can of tuna I had been saving for a quick lunch snack. Then I filled a small bowl of water.
When I returned to the back porch, the cat was still perched on top the pastry box. I placed the plate of food and the water bowl outside the back door and moved back slowly.
The cat eyed me and Snickers, then jumped down to sniff the food. While the stray pawed at the food, I noticed coffee grounds clinging to his fur. Within seconds the cat with his back slightly arched was hungrily wolfing down the food while keeping a fearful eye glued on me and Snickers.
Snickers wagged his tail, as if to say, go for it.
Strays and lost cats always made me feel a little sad. This one looked like he could be a poster cat for a humane society ad. He was probably once a beautiful Siamese cat.
The two times before, when I had seen the cat, I tried to lure him with a plate of food, but I had finally left the plate on the back boardwalk near my porch for him to eat in his own good time. When I had returned later the food was gone. This was the first time the stray ate while Snickers and I watched on.
I would call the sheriff’s office later today about the stray. I hated to think someone had lost a pet.
“Let’s go Snickers. Let’s leave –,” I wondered what to call him or her, “− lets’ leave Kona alone.” The mocha colored stray cat with coffee grounds on his head looked up at me and meowed. I wondered if it was cat talk for ‘thank you.’
I returned to the front of the café and moved back the lacy beige curtains and propped the front door open. The red velvet bows I’d pinned to the wreath whirled and danced in the slight bay breezes. I placed the chalkboard easel outside with its display of three chalked handwritten lines:
Brew of the Day: Java Jampit good acidity, heavy body.
Fresh roasted beans by the bag.
Gluten-Free Peppermint Mocha Cupcakes.
Every morning I opened the door, and every morning a sense of pride bubbled up inside me.
The weather in Bay Isle this morning was absolutely perfect. It was past hurricane season and the holidays were in full swing. I still found it hard, after living here for less than a year, for it to be warm during the winter months. Even so, my café was slammed each morning no matter what the temperature was outside.
I refilled the water bowl outside perched under a small sign that proclaimed; Dog Parking. Snickers took interest in the post where the bowl sat. He sniffed and sniffed. Obviously, this location was his spot and a place to gather info on other dogs−the canine version of a newspaper. Snicks hesitated before reluctantly following me back in the café.
My first customer showed up in tandem with my first-shift employee, Bales.
Coffee in hand, grown-up pants on, shine in my eyes, smile on my face—yup, I was ready for the day to begin.
Behind every successful person is a
substantial amount of coffee.~ Anonymous
CHAPTER TWO
“The perfect cup of coffee is mystifying,” Bailey, or Bales as we called her, commented. She tugged on her apron and smoothed the front pocket. With precision she clipped her name tag on the strap, above the Save the Manatees pin.
“Someone left the carafe on the sideboard burner on all night,” I said. “There’s nothing mystifying about that.”
“I bet that was some wicked coffee,” Aurora said, “but I’m sorry to hear that.” She frowned and poked a wooden spoon into a bowl of yellow gooey butter batter.
I sighed. Typical that neither one of my baristas would disclose who did the crime. It was like watching two siblings protect one another.
“I guess it’s my fault since I closed.” Aurora finally admitted being the culprit. “I placed the peppermint coffee on the antique sideboard, but in a rush to leave the café, I must have forgotten whether I left it on or off.” Aurora’s lush red lips, and dark-eyed make-up almost gave her a cat-like appearance. Her apron read, KISS ME I’M ITALIAN.
“I should have reminded you about the coffee samples,” Bales said to Aurora and frowned slightly.
I shook my head.
“Sorry boss,” they chimed in unison. Both Aurora and Bales giggled at their responses.
I shook my head again and then faked a big sneeze.
Aurora burst into laughter and Bales succumbed with her.
When they settled down, Aurora said, “Sorry to put you in a rush this morning and sorry about the peppermint too.”
“I’ll get over it.”
I walked over to the cooling muffins sitting on the coun
ter and inhaled. “One of your blueberry muffins will help.”
Aurora laughed, as she handed me a freshly baked muffin.
I split the warm muffin open and the fragrant steam rose from the center. When I took my first bite, I closed my eyes and signed. “Oh my,” I mumbled as I crammed more of the muffin in my mouth. “Amazing Aurora, this is best moment of my week.”
Aurora shook her head. “You need to get out more.”
Like her fresh baked good, Aurora was amazing. She was a genuine person with a sense of humor, and I could tell during her interview that we’d be great friends. She was always chatting with the customers, wore a smile every day, and was a comic. She was punctual and never had a bad day, and sported short black cropped hair spiked with mousse. Her ears sparkled with four earrings in each ear. She was a music fanatic and a fervent force to be reckoned with if you got on her bad side. She knew what she wanted and how to get it. At the moment, she was saving every penny to open her own bakery. Aurora was one helluva baker.
Bales, on the other hand, was a passionate and self-assured woman who shared her opinions often. She had no time for foolishness and believed in many Save-the-Earth and environmental-worthy causes. Similar to Aurora, she wore her no-nonsense auburn hair slightly spiked and her hazel eyes sparkled under her purple plaid reading glasses. Bales once told me she had 20/20 vision and wore different designer glasses every day to make her appear smarter and more sophisticated. She was 35 years old, divorced and had a six-year-old son, but looked and acted 65, even without the glasses. She’d be just as content to sit in a rocker knitting a scarf and exchanging casserole recipes.
“Are we off the hook?” Aurora asked.
“Seriously, I appreciate the apologies. I really don’t care who did it, we just need to be more careful. I don’t want to wake up one morning to a four-alarm fire. Capiche?”
Both employees dutifully nodded.
This morning, 50 percent of my crew were in the coffee shop. The other three and a half employees would be in before noon for a meeting and to help decorate for the Holly Fest. Chris was our only male employee. Erica was a young, flirtatious part-timer. Bales’s mother Fiona was a full-timer. And Granny Dee was half of an employee because she didn’t get paid and liked to think she worked at the Bean.
Her extra pair of hands came in handy, especially when elbow deep in flour. She made the tenderest pie crusts. I called this zany collection of staff the alphabet crew. Ironically, everyone that worked at the Bean, except for me, had names that started with the first seven letters of the alphabet.
For this morning’s rush, Aurora and Bales seemed ready to go. Granny showed up a few hours every day to sweep, wipe, mop, wash, scrub, and bake—and, of course, turn out those delicious pie crust. She disliked coffee and only sipped our imported teas. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the taste of a fine roasted bean … it was her fear of getting herself addicted to drinking it. She said she didn’t want to make herself vulnerable.
The café door was still propped open and I saw a familiar face peep around it.
I hustled out of the kitchen and over to greet her.
“Welcome,” I said loud enough to be heard over my other customers. “Welcome, Mrs. Haskell, isn’t it?” A woman stood smiling while she looked at the pastry case.
Ms. Haskell drinks a mixture of lemonade and tea with fresh mint. A Diet Coke of the tea world. She’s mid-fifty-something, doesn’t look a day over forty, if that, thin as a rail.
“Molly dear,” Ms. Haskell said, “please call me Kate."
“What will it be today, Kate? A piece of gooey butter cake or a spinach ricotta croissant?”
Kate Haskell, was wearing skintight navy yoga pants that looked air-brushed on, a pale-pink tank top, and her highlighted blonde hair was tied back with a shocking pink hair tie to match her bazooka pink tennis shoes.
“No, let’s go with one of those peppermint cupcakes today. I’m feeling festive.”
“And you should. Only 10 days until the Holly Fest.” I handed her a plate with the pink iced cupcake and glass of our signature Arnold Palmer, an iced tea with freshly squeezed lemon juice and simple syrup. Kate Haskell didn’t drink coffee, but thankfully that never kept her from stopping at the Bean after her yoga class.
“Do you have fresh mint?” She handed me her debit card.
As I ran her card, Aurora came over and handed Kate a napkin which held a few sprigs of fresh mint.
“Did you know Molly grows the mint? And other spices like oregano, thyme, dill, rosemary, lemongrass and a dozen different mint flavors,” Aurora said with a faint, mischievous smile.
“Not now,” I murmured softly under my breath to Aurora, who ignored me.
Kate looked at Aurora, an amused and indulge-me smile on her coral painted lips. “No, I didn’t realize that.” She picked up one sprig, stared at it, and then plunked it in her glass.
“She has an amazing green thumb,” Aurora beamed. “She even sells her spices to other shops around the state, like the Thyme for Tea café, Lavender and Lace High Tea, Hidden Treasure Tearoom, and several spice stores. We ship her spices and mints all over.”
Kate stared at the second sprig on the napkin like it was a celebrity.
“Well, I hadn’t realized you were a baker, café owner, and a spice gardener too. Don’t you live in one of the apartments in this complex?” She asked, puzzled.
I nodded. “I do. I keep my gardens at my grandmother’s place. She has a lot of land for my gardening hobby.”
“And Molly’s allergic to mint, right boss?” Aurora shared.
Oh Geez, why did Aurora have to go tell her that?
Kate held the tea glass midair under her nose before pursing her lips and taking a dubious swallow. She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “Allergic?”
I wasn’t proud of this odd allergy. And I could have easily gone without sharing this. I glared at Aurora and turned and smiled at Kate.
“Well, it’s peppermint more than anything. It’s not like I’ll go into anaphylactic shock. It’s more a sneezing, coughing allergy thing.”
“Like hay fever,” Kate said. “Were you tested?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t realize it until I played a role as a reporter for our campus weekly Internet show at my university one semester. I kept wheezing when I interviewed people, only to find out they had eaten Tic Tac mints from the green room before the interviews. And their proximity, and sharing a microphone with me, made me sneeze.”
“No kidding.” Kate tilted her head to one side like an inquisitive puppy and then giggled like a little girl, and to my embarrassment, Bales and Aurora felt an irrepressible need to join in.
“You ladies are incorrigible,” I said feigning embarrassment and fighting the urge to giggle too.
“How do you brush your teeth?” Kate asked, now clearly intrigued.
“Ironically, I never cared for mint-flavored toothpaste. So that was never an issue. And when I garden I wear a pollen mask and rubber gloves. We also have a helper at Granny Dee’s place, Jet. He’s a gardener slash handyman.”
“Jetson Mitterhammer?” Kate’s smile faded, and she looked at me with surprise.
Aurora glanced from me to Kate and back again, suddenly interested in the connection between Granny’s gardener and this petite lady. I was too.
“I don’t know Jet’s last name, but how many Jets are there in Bay Isles? Do you know him?” I hardly knew Granny’s gardener. I was still getting to know my regular customers, and the other Bay Isle’ Village shopkeepers and didn’t spend a lot of time at Granny’s. When I did visit, it was to garden, rummage through her attic for vintage clothes, or enjoy Sunday dinners, and Jet wasn’t usually there.
Kate Haskell raised an eyebrow and took a few seconds to reply. “We hang out in the same circles occasionally. I met him at the newcomer’s lunch” She chuckled. “I just moved here last year.”
Aurora’s mirthful dark eyes and normally placid face had taken on a
curious look. Usually she was the picture of high enthusiasm enhanced by her good humor, but now she became a quiet observer, leaving me to pry by myself.
Fortunately, I already had my second cup of coffee. I’d be good at prying now. And I was curious, since I wondered where Kate and Granny’s gardener hung out.
“Did you know Jet before you moved here?” I asked, wondering if Kate was married. I stole a quick look at her left hand. No wedding ring. Maybe she and Granny’s gardener had dated. They appeared to be about the same age.
I ask a lot of questions. I possessed a nimble mind that burned with curiosity. The kind of curiosity that could kill the proverbial cat.
Our conversation was disrupted by loud children’s voices that suddenly filled the café. Two of the Carlin’s numerous granddaughters—there are more than I’ve been able to count—came to the counter to order hot chocolate and cookies. Their grandfather, Timothy, strolled in the front door behind them.
At the same time, the kitchen door swung open and Granny Dee teetered in with a tray containing colorfully decorated sugar cookies. Once again, she had snuck in through the back door. Didn’t the McFadden’s ever use the front door? Her timing was impeccable. Or was it? I wondered how she conjured up these deliciously decorated goodies in time to feed the Carlin grandkids.
Was it my imagination, or did Kate scamper for safety when she saw my grandmother? My baristas also seemed to take refuge behind the large cypress paneled shelves in the nook, both pretending to straighten rows of books.
“Timothy, so good to see you.” Granny Dee’s raspy voice carried a distinct aura and a genuine thrill to see him.
My granny thrilled to see anyone? I stared in surprise at her, wrapped in a gray skirt that swirled around her ankles. A skirt? I wanted to question her outfit choice, but my mother had raised me right, and I couldn’t utter a word except to say, “Hi Grandma.”
I have measured out my life
with coffee spoons.
~ T.S. Eliot
CHAPTER THREE
“Edith!” exclaimed Timothy Carlin, as he pushed his way past his granddaughters.
