Lattes, Ladyfingers, and Lies

by Harper Lin

  “And you think he killed her.”

  “I do.” Dean’s eyes fixed on mine, almost like he was daring me to argue with him. I wasn’t going to.

  “Did you tell the police that?”

  “Of course. They didn’t believe me, though. Blinded by the price tag on that ring. They’re going to be out looking for it in pawnshops and not even look into Georgina’s life. I told you it was more trouble than it was worth.”

  I wondered about that. I knew Mike was thorough, and I was sure he would investigate every lead, but if they were already so sure it was a robbery, might they overlook Georgina’s ex?

  “Fran.” Dean stepped closer to me. “You nosed around on the murders earlier this year. Do you think you could help me out on this? Help Georgina out?”

  “I—” I was cut off by my phone ringing in my pocket. I pulled it out. Matty. “One second.” I held a finger up to Dean. “Hi,” I chirped into the phone.

  “Hey, where are you?”

  “Oh, I just stopped off to talk to someone on my way home. I’ll be there in a few.”

  “Okay, I’m going to get dinner started then. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Okay. See you soon.”

  The awkward pause.

  “Bye,” Matt said finally.

  “Bye.”

  “So will you help me, Fran? Help Georgina?” Dean made that intense eye contact again.

  I knew what I had to do. “Yes, I will. I will do it for Georgina.” It was the truth. And I already had my first suspect.

  Chapter 5

  “Hey, gorgeous.” Matt greeted me at the door with a glass of wine. I took it with gratitude. He had no idea how badly I needed it.

  “Hi.” I leaned into him for a kiss.

  “What’s wrong?” He cupped my head in his hand. He had an uncanny ability to sense when something was off with me.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Georgina Rockwell was murdered last night.”

  “What?”

  I felt tears spring to my eyes. I didn’t know where they were coming from. Since hearing the news, I’d been shocked, horrified, and unsettled, but until that moment, I hadn’t felt like crying. Matt pulled me into a hug and held me while I sniffled and cried on his shoulder. After a few minutes, I managed to regain my composure. I took a deep breath and a long gulp from my wine glass.

  “Feel better?” Matt’s warm brown eyes had a gentle smile in them as he looked down into my blue ones.

  “As much as can be expected. I still feel sick about Georgina, but I think I’m all cried out for the moment.”

  “Good. Because I’ve tasted the sauce and it doesn’t need any more salt.”

  I laughed involuntarily.

  “Come on. Dinner’s on the table.”

  “Let me guess—spaghetti Bolognese?”

  “How did you know?” Matt asked in mock surprise.

  “Lucky guess.” Not really. It was the only thing he knew how to make.

  He took my hand and led me through the living room and into the kitchen. His house was a small Cape Cod style, the mirror image of mine two houses down. When you walked in the front door, you faced the stairs to the second floor. To one side was the master bedroom, and to the other was the living room. In the back were the eat-in kitchen, the utility room, and the bathroom that also connected back to the master bedroom.

  In the center was a fireplace that, back in the colonial period, would have opened into all three main rooms, but in our houses only faced the living room. All the houses on our street were actually Cape Cods. When they were built just after the Second World War, sameness was in style. All that distinguished one house from the next was the color, the plants in the garden plots, and the fact that some of them didn’t have a second floor.

  True to his word, Matt had dinner on the table in the kitchen—still in the pots he’d cooked it in, but I didn’t care. Nothing wrong with saving a few dishes. To make up for the rough presentation, he’d lit candles and placed them in the center of the table, nestled among the pot with the spaghetti, the bowl with the bagged salad, and the plate with the garlic bread. He’d made such an effort to set up a romantic meal that I felt a little bad for bringing the news about Georgina.

  “Where’s Latte?” I looked around. Latte was my dog, and we were at Matt’s house, but Matt usually used his key to my house to let Latte out when he got home so the poor little guy didn’t have to wait for me to get done at the café. I was pretty sure Latte loved Matt almost as much as he loved me.

  “Oh!” Matt made a beeline for the back door and pulled it open. “Latte!” he called into the dark.

  “You left him outside?”

  “It hasn’t been long.” He stepped out onto the patio.

  “It doesn’t matter how long! You can’t just leave him out there!”

  “I didn’t just leave him.” He came back inside with Latte’s leash in his hand and Latte trailing behind him. “I tied his leash to the grill.”

  “You tied his leash to the grill? Matt!” I knelt down to pet Latte, who was so excited to see me he was prancing around the kitchen. “Oh, my poor baby! Did Matty leave you all by yourself outside? My poor baby!” I gave him a hug and let him lick my face.

  “He didn’t want to come inside when we got over here from your place. I think he likes the feel of the wind in his fur. He tried to lie down out on the front steps, but I figured the patio would be a better option since…” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “Uh, since there was stuff I could tie him to.”

  “Matty!” I rolled my eyes. At least he’d been trying to do something nice for Latte. I couldn’t be mad at him for that. “I guess we’ll just have to get you a little fence or something. Won’t we boy? Yes, we will! Yes, we will!” I ruffled Latte’s ears as I talked to him. It was kind of embarrassing to baby talk the dog like that, but at least I knew Matt didn’t care. I’d caught him talking to Latte a time or two.

  “Are you ready to eat?” Matt asked after giving me a few more seconds to play with Latte. “It’s getting cold.”

  “Oh, is somebody jealous?” I asked him in the same tone I’d just used with Latte. I stood up and ruffled the hair behind his ears to drive home the effect.

  “Aarrgghh!” Matt shook his head back and forth to try to get my hands off him. “Don’t use that tone. It’s weird!” He pulled away but laughed as he did it.

  “Oh, you like it,” I said playfully and pulled him close to kiss him. He smiled and kissed me back. After a minute, I pulled away. “Dinner’s getting cold,” I reminded him.

  “I don’t care.” He kissed me again.

  I pushed him away with a laugh. “I’m hungry!”

  “Well, all right.” He walked around the table to the chair I usually sat in and pulled it out for me. I sat, and he scooted in the chair. He served both of us and sat down across from me. “So tell me what happened to Georgina.”

  I felt suddenly and powerfully nauseous. I put down my fork even though I’d just picked it up. “Can we talk about literally anything else? I’ll tell you everything I know later, but can we just talk about something else while we eat? I want to not think about it for a while.”

  “Because it’s all you’re going to think about until her murder is solved?” His fork hovered over his plate. “Don’t forget we leave for Italy in a week.”

  “I know! Aren’t you excited?” I seized my opportunity to change the subject. I picked my fork back up and took my first bite of the spaghetti Matt had made. It was delicious as usual. It might have been the only thing he could cook, but he did it very well.

  Matt looked at me for a second then smiled and shook his head. “Yes, I’m excited.”

  “I talked to Monica today. She said Stefano will be happy to show us around Venice. I think she’s actually as excited about our trip as we are. Maybe more, actually. She’s very excited.”

  Matt chuckled. “I’m surprised she hasn’t given us a shopping list yet.” He paused and looked at me a
s I smiled. “Has she?”

  I laughed. “No, she hasn’t. But I won’t be surprised at all if she does.”

  “Remind me to bring an empty suitcase.”

  “Oh, you already need one for all the shopping I’m planning on doing.” Where better to buy some nice new Italian leather shoes or handbags than in the country where they were made? Maybe I could even find a little boutique where I could get something completely unique.

  Matt groaned. “Do you think I can find a football game to watch on TV over there while you’re doing all that shopping?”

  “I think you can watch football, but not the kind the Patriots play.”

  “Ugh, soccer.”

  I laughed and bit into a piece of garlic bread. I could tell from the taste that he’d made it the way my grandmother used to—thick, crusty slices of bread toasted and drizzled with olive oil then rubbed with a freshly sliced clove of garlic. It was basically bruschetta without the toppings. Toppings were beyond Matt’s skill level.

  We talked about our plans for the trip through the rest of dinner, going over the hotels and tickets we’d already booked, the tickets we still had to buy before we left, the ones we’d get after we got there, the restaurants we wanted to go to, the sights we wanted to see. It was basically the same conversation we’d had every day for the past month, but neither of us had gotten tired of it. There was always some new activity one of us had only thought of or heard about, some detail we wanted to go over again, or something we just wanted to talk about again. It was the trip of a lifetime, and there was nothing else either of us could think about—at least not until this afternoon when I’d heard about Georgina’s murder. Now the two things competed for space in my brain.

  “You all finished?” Matt asked. Our conversation had drifted into a lull, and I was poking at my spaghetti with my fork as I let my mind wander.

  “Hmm?” I murmured, raising my eyes up to his. I hadn’t realized how distracted I’d been by my thoughts. “Oh. Yeah.” I piled my silverware on my plate and pushed my chair back.

  “I’ll clean up.” Matt stood up.

  “But you cooked.”

  He shrugged. “You’ve had a rough day. I’ll take care of it. Go play with Latte or something.”

  At the sound of his name, Latte lifted his head from where it rested on his paws. He lay in his normal kitchen spot, in the corner between the back door and the bathroom. From there, he could supervise all of our comings and goings while he waited for us to finish whatever we were doing that didn’t involve playing with him.

  “Well, I can’t say no now, can I?” I grabbed a worn tennis ball from Latte’s basket. Knowing what was coming, he popped up on his feet and danced around my legs. “We’ll be out back.” I flipped on the back light and let Latte out into the yard. I didn’t bother putting his leash on. As long as there was a ball involved, I knew he wasn’t going to wander off. I felt a moment’s trepidation as I stepped outside. The light on the back of the house lit a fairly large area, but beyond that was darkness—and somewhere out there, a murderer.

  I did my best to shake off the feeling. By all accounts, Georgina’s murder hadn’t been random. Either the store had been the target, or she had. I had no jewelry for anyone to steal, and I couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would want to kill me, so I had no reason to be afraid. Besides, I knew Latte needed the exercise.

  Latte pranced at my feet and nudged the ball in my hand. I smiled at him, pumped my arm a couple of times to get him excited, and threw the ball as far as I could. Latte took off after it. A few seconds later, he was back. I held out my hand, and he dropped the drool-soaked ball into it. I cringed a little then flung the ball again. I held my wet hand in front of me for a few seconds then wiped it on my pants. I’d spilled cold coffee on them earlier in the day. They had to be dry-cleaned anyway. What was a little dog drool on top of that?

  We played fetch for ten or fifteen minutes until I heard the door open behind me. Matt slid his arms around me and kissed the side of my head. “Having fun playing drool ball?”

  “A soggy time as always.”

  Latte ran back again, and this time, Matt held his hand out for the ball. Latte happily dropped it in, and Matt threw it for him, a lot farther than I could have. And then they did it again and again and again. And again. They probably could have gone on half the night, but it wasn’t long before the October chill got to me, and I shivered.

  “You cold?”

  “A little.” I folded my arms over my chest and tucked my fingers under them to keep them warm.

  “Last one, okay, Latte?”

  “You don’t have to go in just because I’m a little chilly,” I said through teeth clenched to keep them from chattering.

  Matt chuckled and shook his head but didn’t say anything. He just threw the ball again, even harder this time than before. Latte brought it back and dropped it in Matt’s hand. Matt bent down to scratch behind Latte’s ears and was rewarded with a big, sloppy dog kiss to the face. “All right, buddy, let’s go inside.” He smiled at me. “You too, gorgeous.”

  Any other time, I would have at least tried to come up with a smart remark to crack back at him for ordering me around like the dog, but it seemed like I was getting colder by the second, so I was all too happy to comply.

  “Coffee?” Matt asked. “Warm you up?”

  I shook my head. “I need to sleep tonight.”

  “I have decaf,” he offered with a grin that gave away that he already knew how I’d respond.

  “No.”

  “Cocoa?”

  “Yeah, that’ll be good.”

  “Go sit down, and I’ll get it ready.”

  “You’re going to spoil me taking care of me like this.”

  “You deserve a little spoiling.”

  I went to the living room and sat down on the couch. Latte immediately jumped up next to me, laying his front paws across my lap and nuzzling his head into me. I took the hint and petted him. Not happy with only one hand stroking his fur, he wiggled farther onto my lap and shoved his head under my other hand. I scratched his head with one hand and stroked the fur along his back with the other.

  Finally happy, he relaxed into me. From the kitchen, I heard beeping as Matt punched the buttons on the microwave to heat the water for our hot chocolate. I chuckled to myself. I was such a coffee snob that the idea of heating water in the microwave for just about anything was borderline horrifying to me. It wasn’t the first time Matt had made me cocoa in the microwave though, and I knew it tasted good. I still found myself objecting to it on principle.

  After just over three minutes—one and a half for each cup—Matt came into the living room with a mug in each hand. He handed me one and sat down next to me on the couch. I held my cup gingerly, hoping to keep Latte from jostling me and spilling it all over the both of us.

  “So,” Matt said, “are you ready to tell me about Georgina?”

  Chapter 6

  I stared into my cocoa. All I could think about was how weird her death was, but I didn’t really want to talk about it—not the details of it anyway. If I could just skip to the whodunit part, it would be a lot less depressing. So I went over it all as quickly as I could and tried not to think about the scene inside the jewelry store. Matt rested his hand on my leg in a show of support as I talked.

  “And even though I know I should leave it alone, I said I would help because I couldn’t bear thinking about the possibility of Georgina’s death going unsolved even a second longer than necessary, especially not when I already have a suspect.”

  “You think it’s that Alex guy? The ex-boyfriend?”

  “No. I think it was Dean.”

  “Dean? Really?”

  “Mm-hmm. I think he staged the robbery, Georgina caught him in the act, and he killed her to cover it up.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “He was so focused on that ring and how much trouble it had caused him. He had more to say about that than he did about G
eorgina. And the way he talked about how guilty he felt and how it was his fault. He really seemed as though he meant it, like his guilty conscience was overriding his judgment and making him say things he really shouldn’t.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t just that he felt responsible? If something happened to one of your girls in the café, you’d never forgive yourself. They could get struck by lightning standing outside, and you’d probably go apologize to their parents and try to turn yourself in to the police just on the basis of feeling as though you should have anticipated a thunderstorm when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.”

  He wasn’t wrong, but Dean wasn’t me. “You didn’t hear him though, Matty. He sounded like he really felt guilty.”

  Matt looked at me skeptically. “Is that it? He felt bad about his employee being murdered in his store, and he was annoyed about an expensive ring that he could have sold at any time.”

  “But he couldn’t sell it. It’s been sitting in his store for years!”

  “He couldn’t sell it because he didn’t want to. He could have taken it to an auction somewhere or probably even to a store in Boston or New York. He didn’t have to keep that ring.”

  “He said it would be embarrassing to sell it at auction because his store was known for having it.”

  “Exactly. He wanted to keep it. It fed his ego.”

  “But that doesn’t eliminate him as a suspect. It just explains why he felt like he had to stage a robbery to get rid of it.”

  Matt raised an eyebrow at me. I hoisted my still nearly full cup of cocoa in the air as Latte scooted across my lap so he could sprawl across both Matt and me.

  “For the insurance money.”

  “Yeah, I understood that.” He raised his mug to his lips.

  “Plus, he actually gets even more money out of it because he gets the fifty thousand from the insurance company—”

  Matt choked and almost spit out his hot chocolate. “The how much?”

  “Fifty thousand. Did I forget to mention that’s how much the ring was worth?”