Cappuccinos, Cupcakes, and a Corpse (A Cape Bay Cafe Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

Matty looked at the wrought-iron clock on the wall. “I better get going if I’m going to be on time to meet Mike.” He drained his coffee cup and set it back on the saucer. “Thanks for the coffee. Are you sure I can’t pay you for it?”

“Absolutely not.” I closed the folder and slid it back across the table to Matty. “Thank you for letting me know about the autopsy.”

“I needed to talk to someone about it, and I knew you wouldn’t say anything incredibly insensitive.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I’ve heard.”

“Oh, I think I would. People have said some pretty awful stuff to me too. It’s like they don’t even think about what it sounds like to the person they’re talking to.”

Matty picked up the folder and tapped it on the table. “Well, I’m sure once word about this gets out, there’ll be a whole new round of gossip.”

“I’m sure there will.” Cape Bay was a small town and news, especially sordid news, traveled fast in any small town.

Matty stood to leave. “Thanks again for the coffee.”

“No problem,” I replied, standing also. I picked up our empty cups to take into the back to be washed. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”

“Will do. See you later.”

I gestured good-bye with one of the cups as he left, then I went back to work behind the counter.

I
worked
until close that night. I’d found that I preferred to come in around lunchtime and work through the afternoon. I’d always been a bit of a night owl, so even if I got off work in the early afternoon, I’d end up staying up way too late. Then I’d be dragging when I opened the café at six. Sammy was a morning person, though, so it worked out for her to handle the morning shift.

Right after Matty left, we got busy again as all the tourists came in off the beach and wanted to get something to eat or drink. One of the restaurants down the street had live music every night, so the evening crowd always had an atmosphere of gearing up for a party.

The customers kept my mind off Matty and the medical examiner’s findings while I was at work, but once I got home and curled up on the couch with a book and a glass of red wine, my mind wandered back to our conversation. I was still in shock over what the autopsy report had said. The idea that someone had come into Mr. Cardosi’s house and put cyanide in his coffee was just unfathomable. Who was it? Why would they do such a thing? It must have been someone Mr. Cardosi knew if he let them get that close to him. But Matty had said that his dad didn’t have any real friends. On the other hand, Mrs. Collins had been pretty eager to get into the house. Maybe she wanted to see if she’d left any evidence behind? Maybe to dump and wash the contaminated coffee pot? It was a viable theory.

I stopped myself. It was not a viable theory. It was ridiculous. And besides, what business was it of mine? I was a former public relations manager turned café owner and artisan barista, not a detective. Sure, I’d read a mystery novel or two (or twenty), but it wasn’t as though I was a professional or someone with any kind of background that would allow me to speculate on someone’s motives. Besides, the police were investigating. I went back to reading my book.

On my second glass of wine, I started thinking that since I’d been the first one at the scene—I was thinking of it as “the scene” now—maybe I did have some qualification to do a little investigating. After all, I’d been the only one to see it as it originally was. I may have noticed something that no one else did. And the police didn’t know about Mrs. Collins. They hadn’t been there when the crowd spoke to Matty and me. Maybe I should just tell the police about it. But what if Mrs. Collins really was just a friend of Mr. Cardosi and had been making a genuine offer to help us? Or even just a meddling old woman? She didn’t deserve to be investigated by the police for that. Maybe tomorrow before work I could just go over and have a neighborly little chat with her. I wondered if she was still awake.

I got up off the couch and crept across the living room to peep out the blinds. Mrs. Collins’s house was dark. Of course it was. It was after ten, and all the old folks on our street went to bed by nine. I went back to the couch and curled back up with my book and my wine. I tried to think over what else I had seen that day that Mike might not have noticed. I remembered that the front door had been unlocked when Matty and I went in. I was supposed to tell Mike about it, but it had completely slipped my mind, and Matty’s too, I guessed. That was another clue.

A clue
. I scoffed at myself. Now I really was being ridiculous, thinking about clues and suspects. Even so, I got up and found a notepad by the phone to make some notes on. Notes of things I had to remember to mention to the police, I told myself,
not
notes about what investigating I was going to do. Although it wouldn’t hurt to at least check a few things before I went to the police with them. I didn’t want to bother Mike with a bunch of details that seemed relevant to me when he probably had much more important leads to chase.

I wrote down odd things I remembered—Mrs. Collins, the door—then I thought that it might be good for me to write down everything exactly as I remembered it before my memory faded. It had already been weeks since the murder, and even though I thought I remembered everything clearly, I’d probably forgotten more details than I realized. I thought I remembered something about that from my college psychology class—something about how memories fade and get altered. That was why I needed to write everything down
now
.

I flipped to a fresh page and wrote down absolutely everything I could remember about that day, starting from my walk home. I read something once about how you can remember more if you tie it to sense memories, so I wrote down the color of the sky, the temperature, how windy it was, what the grass had smelled like—every sight, sound, or smell I could remember. Then I thought about how Mike had asked about the last time I saw Mr. Cardosi, so I flipped to another page and wrote down everything I remembered about every encounter I’d had with him since I got back to town.

By the time I was finished, it was well after midnight and I was itching to talk to Matty to see if he remembered something that I’d forgotten. I could ask him more about some of what he’d said to Mike, specifically what he’d said about Mr. Cardosi’s enemies being more in his head than in real life. Apparently at least one of those enemies was in real life. It was way too late to call, so I pulled out my cell phone and sent Matty a text asking if he wanted to meet for breakfast. Getting up that early would be rough, but I wanted to talk to Matty as soon as possible.

I went upstairs to my old childhood bedroom and got ready to go to sleep. I plugged my phone into the wall next to the bed and made sure the volume was turned all the way up. I wanted to make sure I heard it if Matty texted me back, so I put the phone right next to my head. I thought it would be impossible to fall asleep with all of the thoughts whirling through my head, but it seemed like only a few seconds later, Matty was texting me at six in the morning.

I jumped out of bed with more energy than I remembered having in the morning since high school and got dressed as quickly as I could. I took the long way to the café, out along the street instead of cutting through the neighbors’ backyards. I hadn’t taken the shortcut since the day Mr. Cardosi died, and I wasn’t sure I’d be up to it again for a long time. Part of me thought I should always take it in case someone else was dead in their backyard, waiting to be discovered by a passerby, but the more logical part of me prevailed. Either that or I gave in to the fear that I actually would find another body. I guess it just depended on how I looked at it.

I got to the café before Matty, so I hurried in behind the counter to fix our drinks. Matty always—
always
, like, since high school—got a caffè mocha, so I didn’t have to wait for him to arrive to find out what he wanted.

“Uh, Francesca?” Sammy asked as I grabbed cups and saucers.

“Yeah?”

“You know it’s six thirty in the morning, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I know,” I said.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

Sammy just looked at me for a second. “Because it’s six thirty in the morning and you’re
here
and you’re
perky
.”

“Oh, I’m just meeting Matty for breakfast.”

“Matt Cardosi?” Sammy asked.

“Yep.” I had my milk steaming and was ready to pull the espresso.

“Didn’t you have coffee with him yesterday afternoon? Francesca Amaro, do you have something to tell me?”

I wrinkled my forehead. What? How did she know about Matty’s dad? Was it all over town already? Had we been talking that loudly yesterday? Then I noticed the look on her face and realized that wasn’t what she’d meant at all. “Oh no, nothing like that. It’s—it’s actually something about his dad.”

Before I could say anything else, Sammy leaned toward me. “Oh my gosh, have you heard? Karen Maynard, who works over at the police department, was in here when I opened up because she likes to get a cup of coffee before she goes and works out. She told me they think Mr. Cardosi was
murdered
!”

I was surprised. I had never known Sammy to be much of a gossip, but then again, we didn’t really get much murder-level gossip in Cape Bay. The grapevine usually only discussed who took whose seat at a luncheon or who skipped the knitting club the night they were making sweaters for teddy bears to give to Sherpa children in Nepal.

“Oh, of course you know. You’re good friends with Matt.” Sammy stopped for a second. “He
did
tell you, right? I’m not breaking this news to you now, am I?”

“No, you’re not,” I said, perhaps a little curtly.

The bell on the door jingled before Sammy could say anything else. It was Matty.

“Good morning!” I called. “What do you want for breakfast? We have fruit bowls, parfaits, muffins, cupcakes… come look in the case and see what looks good.” I poured the milk in Matty’s coffee as I talked. I had decided on a butterfly to continue the theme of rebirth and renewal.

“You’re going to let me pay today, right?” Matty said as he walked over. He looked handsome, dressed for work in gray pants and a crisp white dress shirt.

“Nope,” I answered. “I asked you to meet me, so it’s on me.”

“You don’t have to do that, Franny.”

“Of course I do.” I put his finished coffee aside and started working on mine.

“How are the snickerdoodle cupcakes?” Matty asked, inspecting the contents of the display case.

“You want a cupcake for breakfast?” I asked.

“Hey, you offered!”

“They’re amazing!” Sammy interjected. “The cinnamon buttercream icing is to die for. Francesca made the cupcakes last night before she left, and you know how good her baking is.”

“That I do,” Matty replied as Sammy handed a wax paper-wrapped cupcake across the counter.

“Drinks are almost ready,” I told him. “Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be right over.”

Today, Matty chose a comfortable armchair in what my mother had called the “Chatty Cathy Corner.” It was the corner with the most comfortable chairs where, during the school year, the stay-at-home moms would settle in for the better part of the school day. When I was growing up, Cathy Sampson had been one of the most dedicated sit-and-talkers, and so that section of the café was named. It didn’t help that Cathy had been known to make snide comments about my mother being a single parent when she wasn’t quite out of earshot. My mother would just smile sweetly through clenched teeth then go in the backroom and mutter to my grandmother about it.

I finished off my coffee, pouring a leaf into the foam. Another simple design but still beautiful. I carried our two cups of coffee over to the table between the chairs Matty had selected. His cupcake was sitting on the table, still wrapped up. I guessed he was waiting for me to get there with the coffee.

“What are you going to eat?” Matty asked.

“Oh, I completely forgot!” That happened sometimes when I was focused on coffee. I went back and grabbed a parfait out of the case and a spoon from the container on the counter. I made my way back over to the Chatty Cathy Corner and sat in one of the armchairs.

Matty unwrapped his cupcake and took a bite. “Oh, it’s delicious, Franny!”

“Thank you.” I smiled, taking a spoonful of my parfait. “How’s the coffee?”

Matty looked at it. “I like the butterfly.” He took a sip. “Excellent.”

“Good. Sometimes I’m not so sure this early in the morning.”

“I don’t think you’ve made a bad cup of coffee in your life.”

I thought for a moment. “No, I did once when I was nine.”

Matty laughed and almost spit his coffee at me. “I’m not even sure that’s true,” he said when he’d recovered. We each ate a little bit more of our breakfast, then Matty leaned back in his chair. “So what’s up? What did you want to talk about so badly that you texted me at one in the morning?”

I took a deep breath. “I was doing some thinking last night. About your dad. And how he died.”

Matty nodded, looking as though he wasn’t quite sure what to expect me to say next.

“And I want to ask you a few questions.”

“
Y
ou want
to ask me a few questions,” Matty repeated. “About my dad?”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah, I mean, I was thinking last night—”

The look on Matty’s face stopped me mid-sentence. His eyebrows were raised, and he was looking at me as if antlers were growing out of my head.

After several seconds of silence, Matty spoke. “You were thinking?”

“Um, yeah. It’s just…” I took a deep breath. “Last night, I remembered that we never told Mike that the door was unlocked. And then there was the thing with Mrs. Collins…” I hesitated again.

Matty wasn’t quite looking at me as though I was crazy anymore. That was a good thing.

“And I realized there might be more that we forgot to tell him. Or that we didn’t realize at the time might be important, and now that we know he was—how he died—they might be important. And I just thought it might be good for us to go over things.”

Matty just looked at me.

“You know, if you want to.” I tried to read his expression, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know if he would be mad at me for wanting to investigate his dad’s murder or interested in working with me. I suddenly felt that this may have been a very bad idea.

After what seemed like an eternity, Matty shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”

Relief flooded me, and I smiled. “Great!”

“So what did you want to know?”

“Well, I’ve already written down everything I remember from that day. I know Mike asked you this that day, but what I really want to know is, now that we know your dad was—I mean, how he died—I was wondering if you can think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your dad.”

Matty sighed and adjusted his position in his chair. “You’re looking for suspects, huh?”

“Uh, I, uh, um—”

A half smile crept across Matty’s face. “You can say yes. I’m not the police. I don’t care who finds out who murdered my dad, as long as someone does and the guy—or girl, I guess—goes to jail. If you asking some questions gets things done faster, ask away.”

I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and smiled. “So can you think of anyone?”

Matty tipped his head toward the ceiling in thought. He let out a long breath. “Well, you know how Dad was.”

I noticed that he’d gotten used to using the past tense in reference to his dad. It was an inevitable part of the grieving process, an important part actually, but in a way, it was still sad, as if he was finally giving up his dad.

“He thought everybody was out to get him.” Matty laughed softly. “I guess there actually was at least one person who was.” He shook his head. “Anyway, the conspiracies against him were
mostly
all in his head, but that didn’t mean he didn’t make enemies. It was almost a talent of his. I’ve never met anybody who could hold a grudge like him—and against so many people too. You know how there’s that new haircut place down the street?” He pointed down Main Street toward the beach.

I nodded. It wasn’t really new, but it was new to us. It had probably been there about ten years or so.

“Half the men in town go there now. Not because they prefer it to my dad’s place but because he banned them. If somebody said they didn’t like their haircut, banned. If they complained about having to wait, banned. If they didn’t tip enough, banned. Half the time, they didn’t even know until they showed up for their next haircut and he started waving his comb at them, telling them to get out and they weren’t welcome. I think some of the guys don’t even know
why
they were banned.” He chuckled. “You know, I think one time he actually kicked out the wrong guy. It was the guy’s brother or something. He kicked him out then realized later it was the wrong guy, but he’d never admit he was wrong about something like that, so both brothers were banned.”

“That’s pretty hardcore,” I said.

“Yeah, Dad didn’t back down.” His face lit up, and he leaned across the table toward me. His eyes were sparkling. “One time, and I shouldn’t laugh about this, but”—he laughed—“right in the middle of his haircut, some guy said something bad about the Sox—this was back before they’d won the World Series—he said something about they sucked and they’d never win and the Yankees were so much better. Dad just took his clippers and shaved right down the middle of the guy’s head. I guess he wasn’t looking in the mirror, so Dad kept going and shaved the guy’s whole damn head before he realized what was going on. Oh my God, the guy stormed out, swearing at my dad. When Dad came home and told me about it, he didn’t even care that the guy didn’t pay—he was just so happy about shaving his head.”

I giggled as I pictured the scene. My grandparents had emphasized customer service, so I couldn’t imagine treating a customer like that, but it was funny to think about. I was enjoying the story so much I almost forgot that I was supposed to be looking for suspects. “Was there anybody your dad had been feuding with recently?”

Matty leaned back again and crossed his arms thoughtfully. I took a drink of my coffee while I waited.

Finally he sighed. “He’d been complaining a lot about the cell phone store across the street from the shop. He thought the signs in the windows were tacky and the guy who runs it was a jerk. He really hated when they had somebody out front dancing around in one of those giant squishy cell phone costumes.” Matty chuckled. “That drove him nuts. I remember him yelling that you didn’t see him having someone dress up as a giant pair of scissors and dance around outside the barbershop. ‘If you need someone to dance around dressed up like what you sell, you must not be a very good salesman!’”

“Do you know if they ever spoke? Or did your dad just complain about him?” I asked.

“Oh, they had words,” Matty replied. “You think my dad would pass up that opportunity? I know Dad went in there at least once because he was telling me about the cheesy cell phone cases the guy was selling. It annoyed the hell out of Dad for some reason. I mean, he didn’t need to go in there and look at them. He didn’t even have a cell phone that one of those cases would fit. I guess the guy just got under his skin for some reason. Dad yelled at him plenty from across the street, and the guy yelled back. I’ve seen him out there a couple times. He doesn’t seem like the nicest guy anyway. Kind of a jerk. Really arrogant. I’m not surprised Dad couldn’t stand him.”

“Was it personal?”

Matty scoffed. “Everything was personal with Dad.”

“Do you think it was personal for the other guy?”

He shrugged. “Hard to know. I mean, like I said, he seems like a jerk, but I kind of think he was just playing with Dad, antagonizing him because it was fun for him to see Dad get so angry. I don’t know if he actually disliked Dad though. Especially enough to kill him.” He stopped and drummed his fingers on the table. “Of course, until we got that autopsy report, I didn’t think anyone disliked Dad enough to kill him.” He took a deep breath. “But can you imagine being mad enough about getting blacklisted from a barbershop to kill somebody? What else could it have been? It’s not like it was random.”

“Well, I guess Cell Phone Guy is a place to start,” I said. “Your dad didn’t keep a list of who he banned, did he?”

Matty laughed. “With my dad’s memory for imaginary offenses, he didn’t need to keep a list. I swear he could remember—in detail!—people who pissed him off before I was born. He once told me a story about a guy who cut him off in traffic in
1976
!”

“So I’ll start with Cell Phone Guy and work my way back. Did he happen to give you the name and contact information of the guy from 1976?”

Matty grinned. “No, but if that guy came back to kill him after all these years, he even beats my dad at holding a grudge!”

I laughed with Matty. I certainly hoped for the sake of everyone involved that neither the police nor I had to go that far back through Mr. Cardosi’s history to find out who killed him.

“So you have any more questions?” Matty asked after we stopped laughing.

I thought back over my notes from the night before. For some reason, I hadn’t thought to bring my notepad with me. I’d either have to go home to get it before I went to talk to Cell Phone Guy or run by the drugstore and pick up a new one. A new one would probably be good. The one at home was a giant yellow legal pad—not very subtle for toting around town.

“I don’t think so,” I said, unable to think of anything else I needed to ask him.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned. “Looks like I have to get going anyway. Thank you for breakfast.”

“No problem at all,” I replied. “Someone’s got to eat all this stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that,” Matty said, patting his stomach. “You know your baking is out of this world.”

I waved dismissively even though I knew my baking really was good. A little humility never hurt anyone. Matty stood to leave, and I was surprisingly sad that he had to go. I knew we couldn’t linger here all day, but I enjoyed talking to him and wasn’t quite ready for it to end. I stood and gave him a hug. A piece of his hair fell down over his forehead, and I reflexively pushed it back before realizing that that was something of an intimate gesture. Matty didn’t seem to notice or mind though.

“Guess I need to see about getting that cut, huh?” he said, sounding a little sad. “I’ll probably be joining everyone from my dad’s blacklist down the street.”

“The barbershop’s still open though, isn’t it?” I asked. Mr. Cardosi had two part-time barbers who worked with him, old-timers like him, and they’d been working since his death. As far as I knew, Matty didn’t have any plans to close the shop, at least not until his dad’s estate was fully settled and he knew what he was dealing with.

“Yeah, but Dad’s the only one who ever cut my hair, and I don’t think I could stand going in there and having someone else do it. It’ll be weird enough going to a stranger, but I think it’ll be easier.”

I nodded sympathetically. I knew from experience that every day brought new reminders of a parent’s passing, and in the most unexpected of places.

“Anyway,” Matty said, shaking his head and shaking that piece of hair back onto his forehead. This time he shoved it back. “Anyway, I’ve got to get going if I’m going to make it to work on time.”

We said good-bye, and he left, waving at me before he let the door close behind him. I gathered up our dishes and took them to the backroom to be washed.

“You guys have a nice chat?” Sammy asked.

“Yup,” I said, not really feeling the need to elaborate.

“He doing okay?”

I looked at her. She looked as though she was back to regular good-hearted, compassionate Sammy instead of the gossipy Sammy from earlier.

“Yeah, he’s doing okay,” I said.

“Are
you
okay?” she asked.

I was a little surprised, and it must have shown on my face.

“It’s just—with you losing your mom so recently and all, and then finding Mr. Cardosi’s body, and you being so close to Matt—” She shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay. I don’t ask enough. Some days coffee is all we talk about.”

I stared at her for a minute then pulled her into a hug. I was actually moved by her concern for me. “Thank you.”

Sammy rubbed my back vigorously. “That’s what friends are for.”

Friends
. Somehow I hadn’t actually thought of Sammy as my friend until that moment. She was my mom’s friend if anything, but mostly just a coworker. But Sammy really had been there for me as a friend since I’d been back in town. Everything she’d done to help me get back into the swing of things at the café and to get everything for my mother in order had been the actions of a friend, not just a coworker or an employee. I hugged her a little tighter before we let go.

“Well, thank you for being my friend,” I said.

Her big blue eyes smiled back at me. “I’m happy to do it. So are you going back home or are you sticking around for a while? I’m sure you can find something to do around here, but Becky and I have everything nailed down on our own if you want to go home and get a nap or something. I know this is still early for you.” She grinned. My night-owl habits were no secret to her.

I looked around the café, which was still mostly empty. I knew the drug store wouldn’t open for at least a half hour yet and the cell phone shop would be closed for an hour or two after that, so I had some time to kill. It didn’t look as though my coffee-making skills would be in much demand for the next little while. I had plenty to think about after my late night and my talk with Matty, though, so it might be good for me to get out of my home-and-café rut and go do something else for a little while.

“You know what?” I said to Sammy with a gleam in my eye. “I think I might go for a little walk on the beach.”

Sammy smiled. I knew she was happy to hear that I was doing something for myself for a change. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”