by Kelty Kells
COFFEE HOUSE CLAIRVOYANT: BOOK 4
Kelty Kells
Copyright
www.keltykells.com
CUFFLINKS IN THE CAPPUCCINO
Coffee House Clairvoyant: Book 4
ASIN: B08T7RVSC7
Copyright © 2021 Kelty Kells
Cover Art Copyright © 2021 Kelty Kells
Map Art by Astor Bonder
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws and the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. All rights are reserved.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or the author has used them fictitiously. Any resemblance to places or persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
About This Book
Solve a murder that took place before I was even born? Easy-peasy for the town psychic! Or it should be. These cufflinks have a story to tell, and it’s one filled with grisly crime, bloodshed, envy, and . . . my great uncle?
Oh boy.
The last three crimes I was involved in were open-and-shut cases (for the most part, anyway), but this one involves my Great Uncle Angus, one of my best friends and the only man in town who knows what it’s like being burdened with a psychic secret. He couldn’t possibly be involved.
Yet these cufflinks say otherwise. No matter how many times I sift through their memories, the evidence points to him—and only him.
I may have no choice but to confront Uncle Angus and get him to confess, even if I believe with my whole heart that he’s innocent.
Well, no one said this would be easy.
I just didn’t realize how impossibly hard it would be.
Author's Note
Hello and welcome! I'm so excited that you decided to grab a copy of this cozy mystery.
If you love coffee or tea (or warm, yummy drinks in general), then this is the book for you. This is the fourth in a series I've been working on for more than a year now, and I suspect that you're going to enjoy the ride. The town of Mooring Cove has more than murders in store for you, dear reader.
I encourage you to look through my website and read all the way to the end of the book for additional puzzles and games.
KeltyKells.com
If you find that you enjoy Karen Peters and her adventures in Mooring Cove and would like updates about new releases and sneak peeks into the town's mysterious past, please sign up for my monthly newsletter!
Join the Newsletter!
Have you devoured this book in record time? Well, never fear! More books are on their way! Oder the next several books in Coffee House Clairvoyant and find out more about Mooring Cove and the strange people who live there!
Emeralds in the Espresso
Faberge in the Frappuccino
Opals in the Oolong
Cufflinks in the Cappuccino
Gold in the Galao
Ready to dive in and find out why Karen's coffee is being spiked with priceless items? So am I!
Get your psychic on!
Kelty Kells
For Barbara Keltner
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Author's Note
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Keep Reading!
What's Next?
Sneak Peek of Gold in the Galao
About Kelty Kells
Secrets from Mooring Cove
Chapter 1
Let me tell you, when your name’s Karen, things can get a little weird these days. Especially when you’re the only Karen in town and famous. Not for the right reasons, though. Well, not really.
I’d rather not be famous, if I’m entirely honest with you.
Unfortunately, over the last few months, I’ve made a name for myself. The local paper can’t get enough of me, and Channel Four—the local news station—keeps tailing me around town. At first, it was a mild inconvenience. Now it’s beyond irritating. They just won’t leave me alone. I swear, they know every order I make at Dino’s and every time I go to Mocha Amore. They probably know my cats’ names by now, too.
See, back in October, I solved a murder and a missing person case. Thanks to some mysterious emerald jewelry and my psychic abilities, I figured out that Jacob Last murdered a young woman named Brit Fuller. Her best friend, Kady Graham, went missing shortly after. Thankfully, I figured out the mystery before she got hurt. She got home safely, and now, Jacob’s in jail awaiting trial.
Two weeks after that, I found a corpse on my favorite hiking trail outside Mooring Cove. Let me tell you, that was probably the worst experience of my life. Short of getting shot at, finding a dead body is something I never want to go through again. And I mean never. Please, never again. I still get the heebie jeebies just thinking about it. Yeesh.
The Faberge egg that I found in my coffee after discovering the man’s body helped me solve his murder, just like the emeralds did Brit’s. I made headlines worldwide after that. For a reclusive apprentice book restoration specialist, that isn’t exactly what I’d call making it. I really hate being in the spotlight, but that case pretty much made me one of Oregon’s biggest celebrities. Luckily, no one in town seems to realize that I rely on psychometry to solve these mysteries. Being followed around is bad enough; I don’t need people finding out that I’m psychic, too.
Don’t even get me started on how that would change things for me.
For the briefest time, I thought maybe things had settled down. I figured life would eventually go back to normal . . . and then an old friend from college named Alex was found murdered behind the local general store. His partner, Shannon, made their way out to Mooring Cove and tracked me down. Only with their help—and their ability to contact the dead—were we able to solve Alex’s murder and lock the perp up for good.
For the last few weeks, things have been almost normal. Almost being the key word there. Millie L. Fraude from both the Seaport Gazette and reporters who write for papers from Portland and Salem have been following me around. They’ve been tailing me literally everywhere I go for nearly a month now. Nothing interesting has happened since Shannon left town, thankfully, so for the most part, they’ve finally started to lose interest. Kind of. After all, my daily routine is pretty boring. Wake up, freeze my toes off cleaning my truck of snow, head into town to get my morning cup of Joe at Mocha Amore, and then go to work. After work, I head home. Usually my night ends with me curled up on the sofa with a good book and my cats. See? I told you. Boring.
Except this morning, things aren’t so boring anymore.
Cole Vankroft, the owner of Mocha Amore and the man
I’m pretty sure has been spiking my drinks, is behind the counter. Sure, he usually is. This is his café, after all. But see, I’ve sort of got a gut feeling about this morning.
It’s not a good gut feeling, either.
Nope, it’s one of those gut feelings that makes me want to turn and walk right out the door. Maybe just run for the hills. I’d make a good mountain lady, probably.
Can’t you just see me hunkered down in my cabin, noshing on twigs and pinecones? Because I can. And it’s actually sort of tempting, too.
Okay, not really. But you get the idea.
It’s been almost a month since I last found something in my drink. A sixth sense of sorts tells me that I’m gonna find something in my coffee this morning. How lovely. It’s hard to explain, though. To my knowledge, no one has died recently, and things have been fairly quiet in Mooring Cove since Alex’s murder. Still, the hairs along the back of my neck prickle up as I approach the counter to place my order.
“Morning, Karen!” Cole’s warm greeting almost puts my nervousness to bay.
This morning, he’s dressed in a black, long-sleeved shirt. The usual red Mocha Amore apron covers his chest, and his gray, stormy eyes sparkle with mischief.
Yup. Something’s up, all right.
“Morning, Cole. How have you been?”
“Oh, not so bad. The usual for Dr. Elea today?”
Dr. Elea’s my boss. He almost never starts his morning without a caramel latte, and I’m usually more than glad to pick it up for him.
“Yeah, but make mine a cappuccino this morning, please.”
“You’ve got it. That’ll be four fifty.”
For whatever reason, Cole has decided that I get discounts whenever he’s at the register. My mom thinks he’s flirting with me, and I used to figure he’s just being nice. Now, though, I suspect it’s so he can spike my drinks with knickknacks.
I pass my card over, and he runs it.
“Big plans for today?” he asks, handing my card back.
“Nope. Just the usual.” Realizing how that may sound, considering the mysteries I’ve been solving, I add, “You know, work stuff.”
He beams, the dimple in his right cheek dipping down. Gosh, how could I ever forget how cute he is?
“Sounds like a full day. I’ll get those drinks right out to you.”
“Thanks.”
Maybe my gut’s wrong. Maybe I won’t find anything in my cappuccino this morning. Still, as I shuffle over to wait, I keep a close eye on the to-go cups, trying to figure out when Cole drops things in. Despite being shown video footage in the past and watching the process of my drinks being made closely every day since, I have yet to figure out when and how he spikes my coffee.
A cappuccino sounds amazing. I secretly hope he won’t actually put anything in it this morning. It’s freezing outside, the temperatures dipping into the single digits, and I could really use a hot coffee to get me through the morning. The sky is clear, though clouds loom over the ocean to the west. With the wind blasting down Main Street, it won’t be long before another storm blows in.
Ash, one of the baristas working this morning, speeds along quickly. She pours my boss’s usual drink and mixes it with practiced ease. Steam blasts from the machine she’s using. Her hands move expertly as she fills the drink, adds the caramel sauce, stirs it all up, and then caps it and sets it out.
The next drink, my cappuccino, is just as quick to be made. So far, so good. No gems being added, no sign of a diamond necklace or some wild, beautiful brooch. I can’t see any fancy treasures being sneakily dropped in. Looks like I’ll get out of here with a real cappuccino this morning.
Slowly, I exhale my nervous, held breath.
Maybe my gut’s wrong today. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it definitely won’t be the last.
“Karen, order up!” Ash sets the cappuccino down beside the caramel latte, and I swoop in to pick them up.
“Thanks, Ash.”
“Sure.” She bustles off to start filling the next order. The two of us have never been all that close. Unlike Cole, Ash keeps her distance from me. Can’t say I blame her, considering one of her best friends was murdered and the other left town shortly after being rescued.
I glance inside both drinks, checking them before heading out of the café. They seem fine, empty of any additional ingredients. It’s hard to tell, considering they’re both opaque and creamy. Still, I have my doubts. That nagging gut feeling lingers.
Maybe it’s not about Cole this morning. I could be reading the off-putting nagging wrong. What about Ash? Could something be up with her?
See, I don’t exactly trust Ash. In the past, I’ve seen her speaking with Alice, the niece of the editor in chief of the Seaport Gazette. While Alice has never shown any major indications of being out to get me, I can’t ignore how close the two of them have grown since October. It’s not a big leap to assume that it’s because Ash is sharing insider information about me so that Alice’s aunt can write articles featuring your favorite psychic.
Or maybe I’m just paranoid.
Honestly, considering everything that’s happened, it could be a combination of both.
I clip the lids closed before heading out into the freezing morning. The air turns my snot to ice, and I bury my nose into my scarf to try and thaw it out.
Cold, cold, cold! I rush to my truck, glad that the inside is still somewhat warm. The floor heaters of my old 4Runner don’t work anymore, but the dash still blasts heat into the cab on a regular basis.
As I shift into reverse to back out and head to work, I happen to glance up.
Cole’s watching me, his gray eyes cool and calm, almost calculating.
My shoulders go rigid. Something akin to fear tingles along the back of my neck.
I’ve never been afraid of Cole before. He’s always so warm and welcoming, smiling with that sweet dimple in his cheek, that I can’t imagine him hurting anyone. But as he watches me, I can’t help feeling that maybe something’s going on, something . . . weird.
Panic tightens my throat, and my hands squeeze the steering wheel.
He breaks eye contact and dives back into work as the next customer comes to the counter.
I exhale a slow, shaking breath.
Things around Mooring Cove have been getting stranger and stranger lately. This is an excellent example of things being strange.
It’s nothing. It’s definitely nothing. You’re just imagining things, Karen.
Still, it takes me a few seconds before I back out. I want to see if he’s going to look again.
He doesn’t, and I’m getting dangerously close to being late for work. Time to get going. As I head down the road, I can’t help feeling like his eyes are on me again, though.
“Good morning, Dr. Elea!” I chirp as I carry the drinks inside.
While I’m still uneasy about this morning’s encounter with Cole, I do my best to put on a happy face and stay cheerful.
I work in a small shop called Elea’s Restoration & Readery. I’m a part-time apprentice and full-time shop keeper. During the mornings, from seven o’clock until the shop opens at ten, I train in the restoration lab under Dr. Elea, learning how to restore and repair old manuscripts and documents.
Thus far, I’ve worked on everything from an old eighteenth-century print of a long-lost document to an old saddle stitch-bound book. I’ve watched my boss restore a wax tablet and paint the interior of a faded Renaissance tome, as well as piece together an ancient cuneiform tablet. For someone like me, someone with psychometry, this job is an endless source of wonder and entertainment.
Touching old manuscripts is frowned upon, of course. The oils in my fingers are dangerous for the old, fragile paper and vellum we work with, so I try my best not to touch anything in the lab with my bare hands. Sometimes, though, I can’t resist the urge. This morning is one of those times.
A sip of my cappuccino has me giddy and ready to start my day. I leave my coffee on the counter at my boss�
�s behest. Considering I showed up to my interview covered in spilled coffee, I definitely don’t mind the reminder to leave my drink outside the lab. Don’t wanna get those priceless manuscripts covered in coffee, after all!
I slip into the lab behind him, practically vibrating with excitement. Today, I want to get some extra memories. I crave excitement and new experiences, and old books are the best things to give me exactly that.
Dr. Elea sets an acid-free box out on the stainless steel work table. The bland box is custom built to hold whatever’s inside. “I would like you to work on this.”
After pulling on acid-free cotton gloves, I lift the lid of the box.
My breath catches in my chest. No way. Inside is an absolutely stunning set of old, hand-painted cards. Each one is stored with a piece of acid-free paper wrapped around it. I gingerly use my pinkie to push aside the top fold of paper so I can get a better look. “Wow.”
He hums, acknowledging my awe. “Yes. Quite a set, if I say so myself.”
“Where are these from?”
“Salem University,” he replies. “The special collections department was gifted this almost four decades ago. They came from Mooring Cove, and when the department head heard I was working in the very town from which they came, she asked if I could restore them to their original luster.”
“They’re . . . from here? Really?”
Dr. Elea pulls on his own pair of gloves. “Yes. Quite unusual, us getting something from Mooring Cove. I rather suspect you’ll enjoy the project.”
The cards are enormous, each about three inches wide and five inches tall. The first one I unwrap shows Death on his skeletal horse with calligraphy beneath him. They’re tarot cards. Gold leaf stars glitter around a silver leaf moon on an inky sky. The edges of the card are embroidered with a stunning mixture of calligraphy and painted details.
“Wow. I . . . I can’t believe you want me to restore these. Are you sure?”
