Dickie was the one who’d provided the guns for Chaz, as well. Recovery of the second weapon provided that link. It seemed Madame was right again: Dickie was a guy who “helped” celebs. The fact that the “help” involved drugs, cover-ups, blackmail, and murder didn’t appear to faze a man from the Bronx streets. But then, as Quinn had pointed out to me, this was the season of favors; and in Dickie’s world, the bigger the favor owed, the better.
Of course, Dickie’s lawyers were working overtime to broker a deal with the DA. But one thing was certain for the New Year: No matter how much or little time the man did behind bars, the amount of scandalous newsprint he was getting would render his days as the PR Party King over for good.
As for Shelly Glockner, she turned out to be innocent of all charges. The bank account numbers at the end of Linford’s blackmail letter belonged to Karl Kovic and Karl alone. He really was a Man of a Thousand Schemes.
After I’d visited Shelly that day on Staten Island, she’d told Karl everything I’d said—but she had no idea Karl was going to dump me off the ferry or even that he was blackmailing her neighbor in her husband’s name. I might have disbelieved her, but in the end Shelly handed the entire check for Alf’s life insurance money over to her daughter.
“Your father and I always thought you’d inherit the restaurant,” she confided to Vicki. “So we never saved for you. Never created a college fund. This is your fund now. Your father would have wanted it that way . . .”
Vicki was thrilled, of course. She was planning to enroll in Joy’s old culinary school this fall. And I was happy to hear she was going to stay on at the Blend, too. One day soon, I might even trust her with a key to this place again.
And speaking of keys—I’d already handed the key to my duplex back to Detective Mike Quinn. For one thing, I didn’t think my French doors could handle him coming in any other way. And for another, I firmly decided I wanted Mike in my life.
Like I’d told my daughter, who was talking a little too much to Emmanuel Franco this evening (the man actually exchanged his red, white, and blue do-rag for a red and green one), relationships were never easy. But I sincerely believed the best gift we could give or receive was the chance to love one another.
Which brings me to that passage in Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, the one that Brother Dom said had inspired Alf. I finally read it, and—thinking of my friend—my eyes failed to stay dry. Quinn even asked me about it late on Christmas Eve . . .
WHEN the Traveling Santa party finally wound down and the last guests sang out their good-nights, Joy headed upstairs, and Mike found me again.
After I flipped off the shop’s lights, he pulled me into a quiet corner by the fireplace. Our lovely white pine tree was twinkling softly. The smells of mulled cider and fresh evergreen were in the air. And Gardner’s music was still playing on the sound system—one of the many CDs he’d mixed especially for the party: jazz versions of holiday standards that even Dante and his roommates thought were cool.
“Hey, Cosi, didn’t you say something the other night about A Christmas Carol?”
I nodded. “You had to get off the phone before I could tell you. Some issue at the precinct.”
“There aren’t any issues now, sweetheart. There’s just you and me.”
I touched his clean-shaven cheek and pretended that was true. But Leila Quinn said she wasn’t through trying to get what she wanted. She wants my love back, Clare. That’s what Mike had told me. And after all they’d shared together—two kids, a home, a history—I knew it was still possible, no matter what Mike said.
“So what was that Dickens passage about exactly?” Quinn asked. “The one that helped change Alf’s life, give him a new perspective . . .”
“Well, the passage came at the end of the book’s first chapter. Scrooge is visited by the ghost of his old business partner, Marley, who tells Scrooge to look out his bedroom window. Scrooge does and suddenly realizes there are ghosts like Marley everywhere; and they’re all weighed down with long, heavy chains—chains made of links these souls forged in life from their days of continual greed and selfishness.”
“Cheery.”
“No, listen. The saddest spirit of all has a monstrous iron safe attached to his ankle. This ghost is bitterly crying. But he’s not crying because of the heavy burden he can never throw off; he’s crying because he’s unable to help a wretched woman with a baby, shivering below him on a doorstep. ‘The misery with them all,’ Dickens wrote of these doomed spirits, ‘was that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power forever . . .’ ”
Quinn was silent a long moment. “That is moving,” he finally said. “But . . .”
“But what?”
“Is that what Alf was trying to do on that balcony the night he was killed? Interfere for good?”
“None of us are perfect, are we? Not even Santa Claus. But Alf wasn’t a Bad Santa, Mike, he was a good man. He took some relatively innocent celebrity photos for YouTube and Ben Tower because he wanted to repay a debt to his neighbor—and protect his wife and daughter from becoming responsible for that debt.”
I shook my head. “I’m sure Chaz Chatsworth felt justified in shooting Alf in cold blood for the same reason. If Chaz had any doubts about killing Santa Claus, they probably evaporated when he saw Santa taking photos of his wife with James Young. I’m sure Chaz justified his killing as protecting his and his wife’s way of making a living, protecting their television show.”
Quinn’s jaw tightened. “Except there’s no justification for leaving two overdosed young women to die or threatening to kill you and Joy.”
I nodded, still shuddering at the image of Chatsworth with that gun to my daughter’s head.
“But I do agree with you about Alf,” Quinn added. “There was no evidence that he was part of the blackmailing scheme against Chatsworth, Dickie, or Linford.”
“I know Alf wasn’t perfect. But I never doubted he was a good man. Whatever his faults, Mike, I’ll always think the best of him. He did so much good before he died, so much to lift people up . . .”
“I can see why you admired him,” Quinn said, meeting my eyes. “Striving to interfere, for good, in human matters is a quality worth admiring.”
He gazed at me so long after that, I was beginning to think I had parsley stuck between my front teeth. “Mike?”
“I have the right stuff now, you know,” he finally said.
“Excuse me? What stuff?”
He reached inside the jacket of his sports coat and brought out a leafy green bundle tied up with a red velvet ribbon.
“Mistletoe. Authentic mistletoe. This time Joy assured me, and I was thinking . . . After my holiday overtime is through and Joy’s back at her job in France, I’ll be getting Molly and Jeremy for two weekends in January.”
“Right. I understand.” I nodded, ready to be patient. “You’d like to visit with them alone.”
“No, Clare. I was thinking this time you could join us. We could go ice skating or see a movie or drink frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity. What do you say? You think that’s a good plan?”
“No, Mike. I think that’s a great plan.”
“We’re on, then . . .”
“Oh yeah, we’re on.” I moved closer then. Much closer. Into the man’s lap, actually. “So when exactly were you planning on using that mistletoe?”
“I was waiting.”
“For what?”
He tapped his watch. “Midnight.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Both hands had just reached twelve. It was officially—
“Merry Christmas, Clare.”
“Merry Christmas, Mike.”
Then the mistletoe was above my head and the gift of love, at last, was right in front of me.
Dear Editor: I am 8 years old . . . tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?
—Virginia O’Hanlon,
115 West Ninety-fifth Street,
New York City
/> . . . Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. . . There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence . . . No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives, and he lives forever. . . .
—Francis P. Church,
New York Sun, Sept. 21, 1897
Excerpted from one of the
most reprinted newspaper editorials in history.
AFTERWORD
THE Traveling Santas may have been my own fictional invention for the plotline of this novel, but there are many worthy holiday charities that really do exist. Here are two I’d like to tell you about . . .
Operation Santa Claus
More than one hundred years ago, New York City postal clerks (in what was then known as the Money Order Division) dug into their own pockets to answer Santa’s mail and purchase food and toys for children who faced the unhappiness of an empty Christmas stocking. Over the years, as the letters increased, the post office opened the program to the public.
Now Operation Santa Claus is an annual program sponsored by the New York Post Office. Letters addressed merely to “Santa Claus” are delivered to the Operation Santa section, where they are opened by postal employees and made available between December 2 and 24 for the public to answer. In recent years, the program has expanded to U.S. post offices in California, Illinois, Pennsylvania, and Washington, D.C.
To find out more about the U.S. Post Office’s Operation Santa Claus program and whether it’s expanded to a city near you, contact your local post office with questions. To find the physical address and phone number of your local post office, visit www.usps.com.
The Salvation Army’s Red Kettles
Until I wrote this book, I had no idea how or when the Salvation Army’s street-corner collectors began ringing their Santa bells and collecting change in their ubiquitous red kettles—as sure a sign of the holiday season in New York as the lighting of Rockefeller Center’s Christmas tree.
According to the Salvation Army, the red kettle’s origin dates back to 1891 when one of their members named Joseph McFee was distraught because so many poor individuals in San Francisco were going hungry. He resolved to provide a free Christmas dinner for the poverty-stricken of the city, but where would he get the money to feed a thousand of the city’s poorest people on Christmas Day?
McFee found the solution in a past memory of his days in Liverpool, England. He recalled people throwing change into a large iron kettle to help the poor. Because the pot had been placed near a landing where boats came in, McFee put a pot just like it at the Oakland Ferry Landing at the foot of Market Street. He soon had the money he needed.
Six years later, the kettle idea spread to Boston and New York, then to other cities around the United States, Europe, and beyond. These days, according to the Salvation Army, they assist more than four and a half million people during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday season.
The millions of dollars’ worth of change they collect is used to aid needy families, seniors, and the homeless. Donations provide Christmas dinners, clothing, and toys for families in need. Volunteers distribute gifts to shut-ins in hospitals and nursing homes, and shelters are open for sit-down dinners.
Now that you know the red kettle’s history and its role in helping so many in need, I hope you’ll join me in being a “Secret Santa” every time you pass one.
RECIPES & TIPS FROM THE VILLAGE BLEND
Visit Cleo Coyle’s virtual Village Blend at
www.CoffeehouseMystery.com
for coffee tips, coffee talk, and bonus recipes for—
* Clare’s Panettone-Inspired Coffee Cake
* Nonna’s Traditional Italian Struffoli
(with step-by-step photos)
* Matteo’s Italian-Style Fried Shrimp with
Garlic-Mayo Dip, and more . . .
As a holiday gift to my readers, I’ve expanded this section to serve as a handy little primer—essentially a mini-book—on coffeehouse terms and drinks, including recipes for making your own coffee syrups and Fa-la-la-la Lattes! In the second part of this section, you’ll find additional holiday recipes courtesy of Holiday Grind’s cast.
(Photos for many of these recipes can be found at my Web site: www.CoffeehouseMystery.com.)
During my own Italian upbringing, food and drink were essential in celebrating the holidays. ’Tis the season for feasting. May you eat and drink with joy!
Happy Holidays!
Cleo Coyle
COFFEEHOUSE TERMS
barista—A trained espresso bartender.
espresso—A concentrated coffee drink made by forcing a small amount of hot water under high pressure through a puck of finely ground coffee beans. Experimentation with creating an espresso machine began in the nineteenth century, but it wasn’t until the early twentieth century that the Italian inventor Luigi Bezzera resolved early problems with the device and patented it. The Italian company La Pavoni began manufacturing a slightly upgraded version, and the drink began following Italian immigrants, who popularized it in each country they settled. Throughout the twentieth century, engineers continued to improve the device’s design. The most significant improvement came in the 1940s from Giovanni Achille Gaggia. His lever-operated piston machine was able to consistently produce pressure high enough to create the signature crema—the creamy foam that today’s espresso drinkers now expect to see. Gaggia essentially invented the modern-day espresso.
Meanwhile, in 1933, a home method for making espresso coffee was invented by Alfonso Bialetti, an Italian engineer who ran his own metal and machine workshop. Although the result is not considered a “true” espresso with crema, Bialetti’s Moka Express stovetop pot nevertheless produces a bold cup that Italians have enjoyed for generations.
espresso blend—A blend of coffees, often from different regions, especially for use in an espresso machine. There is no definitive espresso blend. Creating coffee blends is a culinary skill, and roastmasters create their own unique blends.
espresso roast—Coffee beans can be roasted from light to dark. Every level of roast is given a name—Vienna roast, for example, is a lighter roast than a French roast. Espresso roast is a distinctly dark style of roasting the coffee beans, typically applied to an espresso blend. (See my Guide to Roasting Terms later in this section.)
crema—The golden foam (also described as tan or reddish brown) that forms on top of a properly pulled espresso shot.
shot—A single serving of espresso, approximately 1 fluid ounce. Coffeehouse baristas often use shot glasses when mixing coffee drinks. They let the espresso extract down from the machine right into a shot glass, then pour the shots into larger cups or glasses into which other ingredients are mixed to create espresso drinks such as cappuccinos and lattes.
doppio—A double espresso or two straight shots of espresso. A triple is three shots; a quad is four.
pull—The reason you hear about a barista “pulling” an espresso shot is that on earlier espresso machines, the barista literally pulled a handle down to force the hot water through the coffee at a high pressure. Modern espresso machines are operated by pushing a button to start the extraction process, but the traditional term pull is still used.
ristretto—This is a more concentrated shot of espresso with a more intense flavor. The term comes from the pull of the shot being a “restricted” or shorter pull. Less water is used to make this espresso, and the coffee beans really should be ground finer. The amount of liquid in your cup will be slightly less than a regular espresso.
lungo—This is a weaker shot of espresso with less intense flavor. The term comes from the longer pull (lungo means “long” in Italian). More water is used to make this espresso, so there will be slightly more liquid in your cup than a regular espresso. In France, this drink is called café allongé. Be warned,
this style can be slightly bitter. If you’re really looking for a diluted espresso, I suggest you try an Americano!
demitasse—The small cup in which a straight espresso is served.
espresso Romano—An espresso served with a twist of lemon. This is the peel only and should not include the bitter white part of the skin. Do not put the twist in the espresso drink. Instead, rub the lemon around the rim of your cup to impart the bright lemon flavor. Ironically, although the espresso Romano is popular in North America, it is not popular in Italy; and, although the taste combination of coffee and lemon may seem incomprehensible to some, the best single-origin beans in the world (Ethiopian Yirgacheffe, for example) actually display notes of lemon flavor. (For instructions on how to make your own candied lemon and orange peel, an elegant holiday treat with after-dinner espresso or coffee, turn to page 364.)
espresso con panna—An espresso served with a dollop of whipped cream.
macchiato—An espresso macchiato is an espresso that is “marked” or stained (that’s what macchiato means in Italian) with a small amount of foamed milk. Americans, however, are probably more familiar with the latte macchiato, which is the opposite—a steamed milk that is marked or stained with a bit of espresso. The biggest difference between a caffe latte and a latte macchiato is the method of making the drink. In a caffe latte, the espresso goes into the glass or cup first and the steamed milk is added. In a latte macchiato, the steamed milk is placed in the cup first and then “stained” by the addition of the espresso. A caramel macchiato, for example, would be made by placing vanilla syrup at the bottom of a cup, mixing in steamed milk, then adding the espresso (thus “staining” the milk), and finally topping the drink with caramel syrup—the heat of the espresso right under the caramel syrup will also help it melt down into the drink.
Prime Crime Holiday Bundle Page 27
