Brewed Awakening Read online

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Cleo Coyle

  Coffeehouse Mysteries

  ON WHAT GROUNDS

  THROUGH THE GRINDER

  LATTE TROUBLE

  MURDER MOST FROTHY

  DECAFFEINATED CORPSE

  FRENCH PRESSED

  ESPRESSO SHOT

  HOLIDAY GRIND

  ROAST MORTEM

  MURDER BY MOCHA

  A BREW TO A KILL

  HOLIDAY BUZZ

  BILLIONAIRE BLEND

  ONCE UPON A GRIND

  DEAD TO THE LAST DROP

  DEAD COLD BREW

  SHOT IN THE DARK

  BREWED AWAKENING

  Haunted Bookshop Mysteries

  THE GHOST AND MRS. McCLURE

  THE GHOST AND THE DEAD DEB

  THE GHOST AND THE DEAD MAN’S LIBRARY

  THE GHOST AND THE FEMME FATALE

  THE GHOST AND THE HAUNTED MANSION

  THE GHOST AND THE BOGUS BESTSELLER

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2019 by Alice Alfonsi and Marc Cerasini

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  A COFFEEHOUSE MYSTERY is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Coyle, Cleo, author.

  Title: Brewed awakening / Cleo Coyle.

  Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley Prime Crime, 2019. |

  Series: A coffeehouse mystery; book 18

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019034510 (print) | LCCN 2019034511 (ebook) | ISBN 9780451488879 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780451488886 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Cosi, Clare (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Women detectives—Fiction. |

  Coffeehouses—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.O94 B75 2019 (print) | LCC PS3603.O94 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019034510

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019034511

  First Edition: December 2019

  Cover art by Cathy Gendron

  Cover design and logo by Rita Frangie

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Version_1

  Until one has loved an animal,

  a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.

  —Anatole France

  This book is dedicated to two beloved cats, Cub and Mr. Fellowes, now gone to sleep, but forever alive in our memories.

  CONTENTS

  Also by Cleo Coyle

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five: Madame

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight: Clare

  Chapter Nine: Madame

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven: Clare

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one: Mike

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight: Clare

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty: Mike

  Chapter Forty-one: Clare

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven: Mike

  Chapter Forty-eight: Clare

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four: Mike

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight: Clare

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Chapter Seventy: Mike

  Chapter Seventy-one: Clare

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Chapter Seventy-three

  Chapter Seventy-four

  Chapter Seventy-five

  Chapter Seventy-six

  Chapter Seventy-seven: Mike

  Chapter Seventy-eight: Clare

  Chapter Seventy-nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-one: Mike

  Chapter Eighty-two: Clare

  Chapter Eighty-three

  Chapter Eighty-four

  Chapter Eighty-five

  Chapter Eighty-six

  Chapter Eighty-seven

  Chapter Eighty-eight

 
Chapter Eighty-nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-one

  Chapter Ninety-two

  Chapter Ninety-three

  Chapter Ninety-four

  Chapter Ninety-five

  Chapter Ninety-six

  Chapter Ninety-seven

  Chapter Ninety-eight

  Recipes & Tips from the Village BlendThe Village Blend’s Blueberry Shortbread

  The Village Blend’s Strawberry Cream Cheese Scones with Strawberry Glaze

  The Village Blend’s Pistachio Muffins

  Cacio e Matteo

  Matt’s Coffee Beef Stew

  Clare Cosi’s Crusty Italian-Style Rolls

  Parkview Palace Salad

  Candied Pecans

  Champagne Chicken Paprikash

  KFC-Style Fried Chicken

  Coffee and Cream Cake

  Mocha Buttercream

  How to Make a More Stable Whipped Cream Filling or Frosting

  How to Make Chocolate Curls

  The Daisy Fay

  The Nostalgia’s Gin Daisy Fay

  The Village Blend’s Latest Hit Goobers Cookies

  Clare’s Cozy Maple Sugar Cookies

  Clare’s Chocolate Chip Coffee Cake

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Brewed Awakening is our eighteenth Coffeehouse Mystery. As our longtime readers know, I write this series with my talented spouse, Marc Cerasini. Like every married couple, we have good days and bad days, but I’m thankful every day for the gift of Marc’s partnership—in writing and in life.

  The inspiration for this story began with a conversation. If our history as a couple were to be wiped clean, would we still be drawn to each other? How does “like” deepen into something more? When does love happen?

  With two of our main characters on a path to be married, we decided to explore these questions within the plotline of this mystery and agreed the fulcrum of the tale would be memory loss.

  Although Clare’s story is fictional, we were inspired, through our research, by many remarkable true cases of amnesia, including a married woman whose traumatic accident resulted in forgetting her own husband—and believing her teenage daughter was still a toddler. In another case, a young teacher disappeared after going for a jog, and then reappeared, floating in New York Harbor, with no memory of how she got there or the weeks she went missing. (We could go on, but you get the idea.)

  Other elements in Brewed Awakening were inspired by our decades of living and working in New York. While the Parkview Palace exists only in our imagination, you can visit many of the grand hotels that inspired its creation, including the Plaza (theplazany.com), the Pierre (thepierreny.com), and the Lotte New York Palace, formerly known as The Helmsley Palace (lottenypalace.com).

  Our fictional Gypsy boutique hotel was also inspired by a real one: Paper Factory Hotel (paperfactoryhotel.com) of Long Island City, Queens, a uniquely modern inn that was literally transformed from a 100-year-old paper factory.

  For coffee inspiration, we thank the folks at Hampton Coffee Company (hamptoncoffeecompany.com), an independent coffee roaster and retailer that pioneered micro-roasting on the East Coast, and whose dedication to freshly roasted joy is never short of admirable.

  Our interaction with New York’s Finest is always nothing but the finest, and we thank them for providing answers to our questions. For deviations from doctrine, we plead the author’s defense—in the service of fiction, rules occasionally get bent.

  Caffeinated cheers go to our publisher and the diligent crew who helped put this book into your hands. We are especially grateful to our editor, Michelle Vega, whose valuable input strengthened our story. Thanks also to editorial assistant Jennifer Snyder and production editor Stacy Edwards for keeping us on track; as well as to copyeditor Frank Walgren, our designers Rita Frangie and Kristin del Rosario, and our marketing and publicity team, Elisha Katz and Brittanie Black, for their essential contributions.

  To the brilliant artist Cathy Gendron, we send sincerest appreciation for another spectacular Coffeehouse Mystery cover.

  To John Talbot, our literary agent, we continue to treasure your patient support and consummate professionalism.

  Last but far from least, we send love and gratitude to everyone whom we could not mention by name, including friends, family, and so many of you who read our books and send us notes via e-mail, our website’s message board, and on social media. Your encouragement keeps us going, and we cannot thank you enough for that.

  Whether you are new to our world or a devoted reader, Marc and I invite you to join our Coffeehouse community at coffeehousemystery.com, where you will find recipes, coffee picks, and a link to keep in touch by signing up for our newsletter. May you eat, drink, and read with joy!

  —Cleo Coyle,

  New York City

  It’s no use going back to yesterday, because

  I was a different person then.

  —Lewis Carroll

  PROLOGUE

  Two months ago

  NYPD detectives Lori Soles and Sue Ellen Bass led a pack of uniformed officers through the door of my busy coffeehouse. Seeing their grave expressions, I feared something terrible had happened to Mike Quinn, and they’d come to deliver the grim news.

  Despite my worries, I faced the women squarely.

  “Detectives, how can I help you tonight?”

  “Clare Cosi, we’re here to place you under arrest.”

  With customers chattering around me, and the fire crackling loudly in the Village Blend’s hearth, I assumed I’d heard wrong.

  “Arrest me?”

  Sue Ellen Bass, the more volatile of the pair, glanced at the small army of uniforms behind her and reached for the handcuffs on her belt.

  “Did you think you could get away with grand theft?”

  I blinked. “Are you kidding?”

  “This is serious,” Lori Soles said. “In New York State, stealing a police lieutenant’s heart is a Class-A felony.”

  Suddenly the wall of uniforms parted, and there was Detective Mike Quinn down on one knee. Wearing a rare smile and his best blue suit, he lifted a white ring box.

  Time seemed to stop, the packed coffeehouse stilling with it.

  Among the captivated crowd, I noticed the shaved head and grinning face of Sergeant Franco, the young detective my daughter was seeing. He was holding up his mobile phone, recording the scene for posterity—and, I suspected, for Joy to watch from her job in DC.

  “Clare, I love you,” Mike began plainly, “and I know you love me.”

  Opening the white box, he revealed a perfect diamond, its ice-blue color shining as brilliantly as the good in his eyes. Around the center, a circle of smaller coffee diamonds winked warmly in the glow of the firelight.

  “I have something to ask you,” he said. “And you’d better think hard about your answer. With these law officers as witnesses, it’s going to be tough to change your story.”

  I nodded numbly, waiting for the words.

  “Clare Cosi, will you marry me?”

  My eyes blurred, emotions swirling, and my mind flashed back to the first time I saw this man, standing in my coffeehouse doorway, his expression haggard, jaw rough with stubble, trench coat stained and wrinkled. Never had I seen a soul more in need of caffeine.

  But Mike hadn’t come for coffee that day. He was there to inspect a crime scene; and, by the end of that case, he’d become a regular customer and eventually a good friend. Passion blossomed naturally between us. Trust wasn’t as simple—at lea
st for me.

  My first wedding had led me into such cavernous misery that I’d been reluctant to step one foot back into that chasm. Mike had been battered by a bad marriage, too, but he was willing to try again, and I knew the reason. While the cop in him appreciated a friend and cherished a lover, what he valued more than anything was a partner.

  As gun-shy as I was, I came to realize the painful cost of not moving forward, which is why, in a voice choked with happy tears, I said yes to Mike’s proposal.

  Yes to a new partnership.

  Yes to a new beginning.

  Yes to another chance with another man, in so many ways, a better man.

  I would take my time planning this wedding, a big one, with all our friends and family. This ceremony would be a true celebration, nothing like my first, when I was alone and pregnant, an anxious nineteen-year-old, half-desperate to be saved by a City Hall union to a peripatetic coffee hunter, little more than a boy himself.

  Before me now, on one knee, was no boy. Mike Quinn was my rock, and I was his. How right this actual rock looked in his hand. Polished with patience, shimmering with certainty, fixed on an unending circle, it was the perfect symbol of what we shared together, and the years it took to make this moment. As he slipped it on my finger, I knew with complete conviction that I would love this man forever.

  And this would be a day I’d never forget.

  ONE

  I like coffee because it gives me the illusion that I might be awake.

  —LEWIS BLACK

  Two months later

  I awoke in darkness, curled in a shivering ball. I’d been a restless sleeper since my divorce, and I assumed I’d kicked off the blankets. So why was something still covering my face? Heavy and stiff, it was definitely not my well-worn J.C. Penney comfort quilt.

  A blaring horn and a string of angry expletives sat me up fast. A coat fell away from my face, and I blinked against a misty-morning sun peeking through naked branches.

  Feeling dizzy, I rubbed my eyes before deciding—

  This is no dream. This is real.

  I tried to rise but my joints were stiff. My right arm was so numb that I had to shake it out. More troubling was the fact that somehow—and I could not for the life of me remember how—I wasn’t in my nice warm bed in my cozy little bedroom in New Jersey. I was sprawled across a hard, cold bench in a public park, close enough to the street for me to hear a cabby cursing out the driver in front of him, which sounded an awful lot like Manhattan.