by Sandra Balzo
‘It was an honest mistake on Rebecca’s part,’ Sarah said. ‘She knew JoLynne had been having a fling with somebody. She was just wrong about who that person was.’
The ‘who’ being Michael, not Pavlik. But Rebecca had forgiven him. And then, not. ‘I’m just surprised she’d move back after all the drama. And that I haven’t seen her here at the shop.’
‘Rebecca’s sister died in a giant coffee cup on our porch,’ Sarah reminded me.
Drama, like I said. But Rebecca did not strike me as a very sentimental person. Especially if she were looking for a good cup of joe.
‘Now that I’m working here, I’m sure she’ll come by regularly,’ Christy assured us, straightening. ‘We’re like this.’ She crossed two of her rubber-gloved fingers.
That surprised me, too, considering how different the women were, but not as much as the ‘now that I’m working here’ part of Christy’s statement.
Surprised Sarah, too, apparently. ‘You know you’re just filling in while Amy is gone, right?’
Christy looked hurt. ‘Well, yes. But who knows what could happen down the road?’
Hell freezing over came to mind. ‘Anyway,’ I said, changing the subject, ‘you met this new guy online?’
‘Yes.’ Christy’s feelings already hurt, she jutted out her chin defiantly. ‘You have a problem with that?’
‘Not at all.’ I had been lucky enough to find love without an app, but not everybody can count on their potential soulmate suspecting them of murder.
The redhead squinted suspiciously at Sarah. ‘How about you?’
‘Me? How else can you meet people these days? In fact, I applaud you for getting out there again, especially at the expense of my cousin.’
Christy and I exchanged looks, not sure what to say to that.
‘Thank you,’ Christy settled on.
‘Tell us about this guy,’ I said, then hesitated as she glanced down at the phone in her hand. ‘Or do you need to call him back first?’
Christy was reading a text message. ‘He’s about to board a plane, so he says he’ll call me when he lands.’
‘Then he’s free to travel.’ The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
‘You just assume Barry is in jail, too?’ She had this way of extending her neck when she was irritated, like a cartoon chicken.
‘It did cross my mind,’ I admitted.
‘You can’t blame Maggy,’ Sarah said to her. ‘You have a type.’
‘Had.’ Christy was stuffing the last of the junk back into her purse. ‘I’ll have you know I specifically steered clear of dating sites for inmates.’
‘There are dating apps for inmates?’ Swipe left for homicide, right for minor crimes.
‘Maybe not apps so much,’ Christy said. ‘Prisoners wouldn’t necessarily have cell phones, of course.’
Of course.
‘There are websites though.’ Christy’s face had reddened. ‘Not that I’d know anything about them. I’m done with prisoners.’
‘You sure?’ Sarah asked. ‘There are advantages. You always know where they are, for one.’
Christy nodded in agreement. ‘That’s true. But fidelity isn’t everything.’
Sheesh. I cleared my throat. ‘But tell us about Barry. Is he from around here?’
‘No, Denver.’
I guessed a long-distance relationship was a step up from a life-sentence one.
‘He’s moving to Brookhills,’ Christy assured me. ‘Or at least to the greater Milwaukee area.’
Brookhills was a far west suburb of the City of Milwaukee, which was situated on Lake Michigan about 100 miles north of Chicago. ‘That will be nice for you.’
But apparently, I hadn’t been quick or enthusiastic enough in my reaction for Christy’s liking. ‘What?’ she demanded with a sniff. ‘You think this is just another arm’s length relationship?’
Well, yes.
‘Well, it’s not,’ she said like she had read my thoughts. ‘Barry is moving here. Why else search southeastern Wisconsin for matches in the first place?’
It made sense. If you were relocating, it would be nice to know somebody in town before you got there, even if it was virtually.
Sarah was wagging her head at me. ‘I don’t know why you’re being so negative, Maggy.’
That made us even. I didn’t know why Sarah was being so positive. Positivity and supportiveness were not her thing.
‘I’ve just never had any experience with dating apps,’ I said, rubbing the small of my back. Long days standing on hard tile floors were taking a toll. ‘Why? Have you?’
‘Maybe.’ Was that a touch of crimson on the tip of Sarah’s nose?
Christy had noticed it. ‘You have! Tell us.’
I wanted to hear, too. Sarah had pulled a gun on the last guy she had dated, but that was a few years back. And she had saved my life in the process, so I couldn’t be judgmental.
Now my friend held up her hands, uncomfortable but maybe a little pleased, too, that we were interested. ‘I just put up my profile to get the kids off my back. I have to admit, though, that it’s kind of fun.’
Sarah had adopted Sam and Courtney Harper after their mother Patricia – one of our original threesome who started Uncommon Grounds – was killed. In fact, it was Patricia’s death that had brought Sarah and me together in the first place.
The third of our trio, Caron Egan, had stepped away after one year in the coffee business – albeit a year filled with three or four murders, a couple of betrayals and one coffeehouse destroyed by a freak May snowstorm.
Wuss. But then she and her lawyer husband Bernie had just purchased Brookhills’ historic Hotel Morrison to renovate it, so perhaps she was a glutton who decided she missed the punishment of the hospitality industry.
Meanwhile, Caron’s defection left only me to resurrect the coffeehouse until Sarah raised the possibility of a partnership and offered the historic train depot at Brookhills Junction as our site. The rest is recent history.
‘Why Courtney and Sam’s sudden interest in your dating?’ I asked Sarah now. ‘Are you getting on their nerves?’
‘More Courtney’s,’ Sarah said, crossing the store to straighten the espresso cups and latte mugs on our retail sale shelves. ‘Sam just blocks my messages when I get annoying.’
Sam was away at his first year in college, but Courtney was still in high school. Having to hit the ground running with two teenagers when Patricia died four years ago had not been easy for Sarah and she’d done a damned good job from what I had seen.
Still, I empathized with Courtney. Being Sarah’s sole focus could be exhausting, as I’d found out since she sold Kingston Realty. Every day, it seemed, my partner came in with a new idea for growing Uncommon Grounds and I had been relegated to stick-in-the-mud status in her mind, because I hadn’t jumped on each and every one of them.
Even Amy was getting worn out. Or maybe she was just tired of being stuck in the middle of the push and pull between Sarah and me. Her vacation had come at an opportune time for Amy to get a respite from us. And, for whatever reason, Sarah’s stream of schemes had slowed to a trickle since Amy had been gone.
Or maybe she had been focusing all her energy on the dating site.
‘By the way,’ Sarah said, turning with one of our colonial blue teapots in her hand. ‘I was thinking we should expand our line of teas. Maybe host a high tea once a week or something to promote them.’
‘Not a bad idea,’ I said, automatically. ‘But back to your dating profile. Are you getting likes or swipes or whatever they are?’
‘Of course I am,’ Sarah said, setting the teapot back on the shelf. ‘I have a kick-ass profile and—’
An unseen hand pulled open the door and a cold blast of January air whooshed through, threatening the stack of napkins on the condiment cart. I made a grab for them and missed.
‘What the hell is that?’ Sarah snapped. The door had gotten away from whoever it was, slamming open again
st the outside of the building.
‘A customer,’ I said as I chased down the last of the napkins. ‘You don’t recognize one because the shop has been empty all day. Be nice.’
‘Come on in and get out of the cold,’ I said, raising my voice so I could be heard over the gust.
‘I’m so sorry,’ a petite woman in a puffer jacket said, managing to pull the door closed behind her. ‘The wind just took it out of my hands.’
‘There’s an Alberta Clipper moving through,’ I said with a smile. ‘We’re supposed to get snow overnight.’
Again. But, as I said, it was January. And this was Wisconsin.
‘An Alberta Clipper?’
Tourist. ‘Yes, it’s a fast-moving low-pressure system from Canada. We get them a lot here. Like nor’easters out east.’
‘Oh, yes,’ the woman said, slipping off her gloves. ‘Of course.’
‘But hopefully with less snow.’ Having recovered from the shock of seeing a customer between commuter trains, Sarah had manned the service window. ‘What can I get you?
‘Oh, um …’ The woman was looking around, seeming surprised to find herself in a coffeehouse. ‘Yes, yes. I should have something.’
‘A latte, maybe? Or a cappuccino? Flat white?’ I suggested.
‘Please.’ She was still glancing around at our empty tables, taking in me, then Christy on the other side of the condiment cart and then Sarah behind the counter.
‘Which?’
‘Sorry.’ The woman pushed her hood off dark hair, revealing bangs. ‘You must think me a flake – no lame snow joke intended. I’ll have a latte.’
‘I’m Maggy Thorsen,’ I said, as Sarah got the drink started. I was warming to the woman, since I do love me a pun. Lame or otherwise. ‘Is this your first time in Uncommon Grounds?’
‘Yes, yes, it is. I’ve never been … I mean, I’m new to the area. I’m looking for a piano teacher and stopped across the street. The sign tacked to the door said she was here? A Christy Wrigley?’
‘That’s me.’ Christy, who did not like to shake hands au naturel, realized she still had on her gloves and circumvented the cart to stick one out.
‘You?’ The woman looked hesitant.
Christy cleared her throat. ‘Yes.’
‘Oh, well, yes. I’m pleased to meet you.’ The woman gingerly shook the rubber-gloved hand.
‘Christy is helping us out while our barista is on vacation.’ I was trying to make our neighborhood clean-freak/piano teacher seem normal.
‘She was about to scrub our condiment cart’s wheels with a shiv,’ Sarah explained helpfully. ‘Skim, whole or two percent?’
‘What?’ The woman could not seem to take her eyes off Christy as she stripped her rubber gloves off.
‘Milk,’ Sarah explained. ‘Or we have soy, almond or oatmeal. Which are also milks. Kind of.’
‘Skim, please. That’s a beautiful bracelet.’ This last was directed to Christy.
‘Oh, this?’ Christy held up a skinny wrist.
‘This’ was a diamond tennis bracelet.
‘Shit.’ Sarah had stopped midway to frothing to look. ‘My cousin didn’t give you that. Unless it’s fake.’
‘Or stolen,’ I suggested.
Christy was frowning. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s Tiffany’s.’
‘A gift from Barry?’ I guessed.
Christy’s head ducked and she just smiled.
‘Geez.’ Sarah placed the pitcher under the wand and turned up the steam. ‘Maybe I’d better take this online dating stuff more seriously.’
Our customer was standing uncomfortably, seeming to have stumbled into an episode of The Bachelor, minus the bachelor.
‘Don’t mind us,’ I said over the noise of Sarah’s frothing. ‘Christy has a new beau. Can I get you something besides the latte?’
‘The sticky buns are wonderful.’ Christy was gesturing toward the pastry case a la Vanna White, probably to show off the bracelet.
‘Yes, they are.’ And sold out. I moved to peer into the pastry case and offer an alternative. ‘But even better for a cold day, we have some nice crusty rolls to go with a bowl of chili or—’
A frigid wind cut through the shop, and I whirled round to see the door slam shut. The woman – our only customer of the afternoon – was gone.
TWO
‘You chased the woman out, annoyed her with your chattering,’ I said crossly, sitting down at a table with the unclaimed – and unpaid for – latte. ‘The two of you.’
‘No such thing,’ Sarah said. ‘She obviously didn’t want coffee in the first place. She came here looking for Christy and felt obliged to order once I’d greeted her with my signature smile.’ She bared her teeth in what was more snarl than grin.
‘So she took the opportunity to bail out when I turned my back? Maybe.’
She’d probably been plotting her escape ever since she had shaken Christy’s rubber-gloved hand. Nobody needs piano lessons that badly.
‘I don’t teach piano with my gloves on,’ Christy said, as if I’d said it out loud. Then she added in a mumble, ‘Usually.’
I didn’t want to know. But we had twenty minutes to kill before the first afternoon commuter train returned from Milwaukee, hopefully filled with customers. ‘You’ve honestly taught piano in those gloves?’
‘Of course not,’ she said indignantly, folding her arms against her chest. ‘I have a pair of white cotton ones I can use for playing, if need be. ‘You have to be able to feel the keys, after all.’
Silly me.
Best to wade back to the shore of sanity. ‘So, Christy – Barry. Was he your first? Online date, I mean.’
‘It probably depends on what you mean by date,’ Christy said, taking the seat across from me. ‘I’ve communicated with a few other guys through the site, but Barry was the first one I felt comfortable giving my phone number to. He said it was the same for him.’
‘And you have arranged to meet?’
‘As I told you, Maggy, Barry doesn’t live here,’ Christy said primly. ‘How could we meet?’
Get on an airplane perhaps? The guy was sitting on one – probably in first class – as we spoke, after all. ‘I thought since he’d given you the bracelet and all, that—’
Her lips were pursed. ‘We talk on the phone every day.’
‘That’s it?’ Sarah leaned back against the counter. ‘Talk?’
‘A telephone call can be very intimate,’ Christy said. ‘In fact—’
I held up a hand to stop her before I heard something I couldn’t unhear. Or unsee, every time I closed my eyes. ‘I think we can stipulate that point, right, Sarah?’
‘Phone sex? God, yes.’ Sarah seemed to be trying to figure out where she was going wrong Internet dating-wise. ‘I haven’t gotten up the nerve to talk on the phone, much less meet one of these guys in person. I could text, I think, or s—’
‘We’re not having phone sex,’ Christy said. ‘Or sexting, before you ask.’
‘Hmm.’ Sarah was still thinking. ‘Are you withholding sext? Maybe that’s why he sent you that bracelet. Why buy the cow diamonds when you can get the milk at current data rates?’
‘We have talked – sometimes for hours – nearly every day for more than three months.’ Christy said, exasperated. ‘That’s a kind of intimacy some people can’t understand.’
Some people came over to examine the bracelet. ‘Can’t argue with the results,’ Sarah admitted.
Christy pushed up her sleeve and, resting her elbow on the table, flexed her wrist so Sarah could get a better look. The bracelet slid down the skinny forearm to be stopped only by her elbow on the table.
‘Should you have it sized?’ I asked, as she slipped the bracelet back up to her wrist. ‘You could lose it.’
‘What?’ Sarah asked, ‘and remove a diamond or four?’
‘I wouldn’t want to change a thing,’ Christy said. ‘Besides, I have big hands, luckily, so it’s unlikely to fall off.’
She wa
ggled the fingers of her right hand and I felt myself involuntarily pull back. Christy did have unusually large hands for such a small woman. With the gloves and all, I guess I had never really noticed. Now I was hard put to see anything but.
Must be good for playing the piano though.
‘… barely stand the excitement when he said he had a surprise for me for our three-month anniversary,’ Christy was saying. ‘It arrived just last week because it was caught up in customs. Barry had to pay extra tax or something to get it released.’
‘Customs?’ I asked. ‘Where did he buy it?’
‘Paris. That was on his last trip.’ She did a little wiggle in her chair. ‘Champs-Elysées.’ She pronounced it ‘champs-elsies’.
‘Very nice,’ Sarah said, stepping back. ‘Looks real.’
‘Of course, it’s real,’ Christy said, indignantly.
‘Hey,’ Sarah said, holding up a hand. ‘Just looking out for you.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Christy said, rotating the bracelet so it shimmered in the overhead compact fluorescents. ‘Especially given that you’re jealous, and I dumped your cousin for Barry.’
‘I’m not jealous, I’m just trying to up my online dating game,’ Sarah protested. ‘As for dumping Ronny, no big deal. He did try to kill Maggy, after all.’
‘While wearing an Elvis costume.’ Ronny, not me.
‘Very true.’ Christy suddenly looked earnest. ‘But I don’t want you two to worry about me. I was not born yesterday. I’ve researched Barry. Even Google-Earthed his house in Denver.’
‘I’d expect nothing less,’ Sarah said. ‘How else can you know a guy is legit?’
‘Right?’ Christy’s head was bobbing up and down. ‘And it’s wonderful. So much easier than sitting outside his house in your car for days on end. That can land you a restraining order.’
Something about the way she said it made me think she’d had experience. ‘What was it like?’
They both looked at me, identically cocked heads.
‘The house in Denver?’ I elucidated.
‘Oooh, it’s just beautiful,’ Christy said. ‘Lots of land, in-ground swimming pool, Mercedes in the driveway.’
‘The Mercedes may have been visiting,’ I pointed out. ‘The Google shot of the house where Ted and I lived still shows my mini-van in the driveway and it’s going on four years now since our divorce.’
