Shot in the Dark (A Coffeehouse Mystery) 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

  Haunted Bookshop Mysteries

  writing as Alice Kimberly

  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

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2018 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 is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks 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: Shot in the dark / Cleo Coyle.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2018. | Series: A coffeehouse mystery ; 17

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017052495| ISBN 9780451488848 (hardcover) |

  ISBN 9780451488855 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Cosi, Clare (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Women detectives—Fiction. | Coffeehouses—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.O94 S56 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017052495

  First Edition: April 2018

  Cover art by Cathy Gendron

  Cover design and logo by Rita Frangie

  Interior art: Moka Express Pot by Marc Cerasini

  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

  To our longtime literary agent,

  John Talbot,

  for his steadfast support.

  Cheers to you, John,

  for fighting the good fight—and winning.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Shot in the Dark marks the seventeenth entry in our Coffeehouse Mysteries. Once again I thank my partner in writing and life—the talented Marc Cerasini. Though we met before the rise of dating apps, I “swiped right” from the moment I saw him, and we haven’t gone wrong since.

  The pleasures and pitfalls of romance in the digital age are depicted in this mystery with a fair measure of cheek, but also truth. Marc and I thank the many “Cinder-ellas” and “-fellas” who provided background material by sharing their dating delights and mishaps with apps.

  New York City plays a pivotal role in this story, especially Hudson River Park (hudsonriverpark.org), the longest waterfront park in the United States. We thank the Hudson River Park Trust for answering our questions and, more importantly, for their work in transforming our city’s decaying waterfront into a priceless gift to the people of New York and the millions who visit each year.

  A delicious shout-out for location research goes to the kind staff at Pier 66 Maritime (pier66maritime.com) on the Hudson River, where you’ll find the Frying Pan lightship permanently moored, and a high-spirited outdoor bar and grill with a stunning view of the city’s waterfront.

  Our interaction with New York’s Finest has been nothing but the finest, and we thank them for providing background, including information on the NYPD Harbor Unit. Deviations from doctrine are our doing with an age-old defense—in the service of fiction, rules occasionally get bent.

  We thank our agent, John Talbot, to whom this book is dedicated, for his perseverance and professionalism. John in three words: a class act.

  Caffeinated cheers to everyone at Penguin Random House’s Berkley for their indispensable roles, especially Kate Seaver, whose keen suggestions strengthened this story. Cheers also to our new editor, Michelle Vega, for taking us on; and assistants Sarah Blumenstock and Jennifer Monroe for keeping us on track.

  We applaud our longtime cover artist Cathy Gendron for another dazzling cover and gratefully acknowledge designers Rita Frangie and Kristin del Rosario; production editor Stacy Edwards; copyeditor Marianne Aguiar; and Tara O’Connor in publicity for their essential contributions.

  To everyone we could not mention by name, including friends and family, we send our heartfelt appreciation for all the beautiful support you’ve shown us over the years.

  Last but far from least, we toast our readers. Please know that we absolutely treasure the encouraging notes you send us via e-mail, our website’s message board, and on social media. You inspire us to keep writing, and we cannot thank you enough for that.

  Whether you are new to our world or a longtime reader, Marc and I invite you to join our online 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

  Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind.

  —Henry James

  “Will you have some coffee?” I asked. “It might make you human.”

  —Raymond Chandler, Farewell, My Lovely

  Contents

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Cleo Coyle

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  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

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  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

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Chapter Seventy-three

  Chapter Seventy-four

  Chapter Seventy-five

  Chapter Seventy-six

  Chapter Seventy-seven

  Chapter Seventy-eight

  Chapter Seventy-nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-one

  Chapter Eighty-two

  Chapter Eighty-three

  Chapter Eighty-four

  Epilogue

  Shot in the Dark

  The Stovetop Espresso Shot

  How to Use a Moka Express Pot

  Recipes

  About the Author

  One

  “SHOT down again . . .”

  My ex-husband dropped his hard body onto the soft stool at our crowded coffee bar, the thorny end of a long-stemmed rose still pricking his hand.

  “Three strikes in one night,” I said. “Does that mean you’re out?”

  “No, Clare. That’s another kind of ball game.”

  “I hope you’re talking about the Yankees.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you should give up pitching woo and pitch in behind this counter . . .”

  We were short-staffed this evening with every café table occupied, the coffee bar packed, and a line of customers spilling into the chilly West Village night. Couples who couldn’t find seats were sipping their lattes on the cold sidewalk.

  According to my young baristas, the reason for this bounty of business was a hot new “dating game” application for smartphones. Hot was the operative word, since the app was called Cinder. This one included “user ratings” for the best public meeting places in the city, and we currently ranked in the top three.

  Now that our landmark coffeehouse was a hookup hot spot for digital dating, my quiet evenings at the Village Blend displayed all the tranquility of a Times Square crosswalk.

  “I’ll work a shift,” Matt told me. “But I’m not aproning-up until you caffeinate me.”

  “You want a single?” I asked.

  “Make it a Red Eye.”

  The Red Eye aka “Shot in the Dark” was the barista’s answer to the bartender’s boilermaker, a jolty combination of espresso poured into a cup of high-caffeine light roast. It wasn’t for the faint of heart. But then neither was my ex-husband.

  A legend in the trade, Matteo Allegro was among the most talented coffee hunters in the world, as comfortable on a yacht floating in Portofino as in a muddy Jeep flirting with the edge of the Andes on Bolivia’s infamous Death Road.

  Adrenaline wasn’t his only drug. During our marriage, he became addicted to cocaine while partying too hard below the equator. I helped him kick that deadly habit but failed to dent his other addiction—women.

  Matt generated enough heat around the world’s coffee belt to increase global warming, which is why I made the mature decision to put our marriage on ice. Even so, his behavior tonight seemed excessive. Who makes three dates in one night? And how could Matt have possibly struck out on all of them?

  The very idea was (I had to admit) amusing. Not that anyone’s rejection deserved to be mocked. On the contrary, I did my level best to suppress the surging wisecracks.

  My raven-haired barista Esther, on the other hand, did not share my overactive conscience. From her perch at the register, she propped a hand on her ample hip and targeted Matt through her black-framed glasses.

  “Did I hear right?” she asked. “The prince of passion was passed over? The sultan of seduction shunned? The archduke of desire dumped?”

  “Hard to believe, I know . . .” With a smirk, Matt pushed his sweater’s sleeves up tanned and sculpted forearms. “But even the best swingers foul out from time to time.”

  “I saw your first two dates vacate your table,” Esther said. “I lost track of the third. What was the reason for the last heave-ho? She’s a vegan and you eat veal?”

  “No. The vegan was Mindy, an hour ago.”

  “What about the redhead at eight thirty?”

  “She said I reminded her of her ex.”

  “And the little blonde who just left? Why didn’t she like you?”

  “Actually, she did. I reminded her of her father.”

  “Ouch.”

  I tried not to laugh—and failed.

  Matt noticed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Hoping to make it up to him, I slid over his Red Eye. “Here you go, made with love.”

  Matt took a long hit and sighed. Then he laid his rosebud on the counter like a carnation on a coffin—and picked his smartphone back up.

  “Hey! You agreed to help us back here, remember?”

  Matt’s focus didn’t falter. “Just one more check of my Pumpkin Pot.”

  “Your what?”

  Esther rolled her eyes. “He’s talking about that stupid Cinder app.”

  With a deep breath for patience, I went back to work behind the espresso machine. Three cappuccinos and two hazelnut mochas later, the man was still swiping.

  “Enough!” I grabbed the phone.

  That got his attention. “What’s with the hostility?”

  “I’m not hostile!” A few heads turned, and I lowered my voice. “Okay, maybe I’m a little hostile. This swipe-to-select coupling, and all these amped-up matches—it’s like romance on Red Eyes. In my view, love should not be a sport.”

  “Not a sport, Clare, a game . . .” Snatching back his phone, Matt waved me clo
ser. “Check this out—”

  Like a little boy with a new toy, he showed off the screen. The word Cinder crackled in red letters, tongues of flame licking the edges. Below the logo were colorful animations—a glass slipper, fluttering fairy, and pulsing pumpkin—floating as innocently as Disney props.

  Matt’s finger stroked the tiny pumpkin. It jiggled and bounced, then grew and grew. Fairy dust fell from the digital sky, and the pumpkin transformed into a royal carriage with a purple banner reading—

  TODAY’S CINDER-ELLAS!

  Thumbnail images of a dozen women flew out the carriage door and formed a grid pattern. Matt tapped one of them, and a profile opened, showing an attractive woman with a forced coquettish smile, bangs arranged over one eye with great determination.

  “I just swiped this Ella into my Pumpkin Pot. If she swipes my profile right by midnight tomorrow, I’ll get a Tinkerbell notification.”

  “A what?”

  “It means she sent him a Glass Slipper, dear.” The reply came not from Matt but from his mother—Madame Dreyfus Allegro Dubois.

  The beloved octogenarian owner of this century-old family business was in fine form this evening, sporting tailored wool slacks and a cashmere sweater the color of textured latte milk. Her silk scarf, printed with Edgar Degas’s Dancers in Violet, brought out that very hue in her eyes, which appeared livelier than usual in our shop’s soft evening light.

  As Matt greeted his mother with a kiss on both cheeks, I pulled her a fresh espresso. “What brings you here so late?”

  “I have a rendezvous!”

  “With Otto?” I assumed since she’d been seeing the gallery owner for some time. But she shook her head.

  “Otto’s consultation work in Europe is ongoing. He and I agreed to keep things loose. And you know I’ll need an escort for your wedding—once you and your blue knight finally decide on a venue.”

  “Believe me, we’re trying.”

  “So . . .” She waved her smartphone. “I’m swiping to meet!”

  “You’re using Cinder?”

  “Don’t be silly! I use the Silver Foxes dating app. That software allows either sex to make the first move.”

  Matt’s eyebrow arched. “Maybe I should try it.”