Decaffeinated Corpse

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Authors: Cleo Coyle

Tags: #Mystery And Suspense Fiction, #General, #Fiction, #Detective, #Mystery, #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, #Fashion, #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction - Mystery, #Mystery & Detective - General, #Coffeehouses, #Suspense, #Women Sleuths, #Cosi; Clare (Fictitious character), #Mystery fiction, #Restaurants - Employees

BOOK: Decaffeinated Corpse
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Table of Contents
Praise for the first Coffeehouse Mystery
ON WHAT GROUNDS
#1 Paperback Bestseller Independent Mystery Booksellers Association
 
“The first book in Coyle’s new series is a definite winner! The mystery is first rate, and the characters that leap from the page are compelling, vivid, and endearing. The aroma of this story made this non-coffee drinker want to visit the nearest coffee bar.”
—Romantic Times
 
“[A] clever, witty, and light-hearted cozy. Cleo Coyle is a bright new light on the mystery horizon.”
—The Best Reviews
 
“
On What Grounds
introduces Clare and the Village Blend. The setting is wonderful and New York is portrayed with absolute accuracy. Clare is a character I would love to see more of. She is honest but never brutal and her intelligence is what shines through. I will be looking forward to the next book in the Coffeehouse Mystery series!”
—Cozies, Capers & Crimes
 
“A great beginning to a new series . . . Clare and Matteo make a great team . . . Plenty of coffee lore, trivia, and brewing tips scattered throughout the text (and recipes at the end) add an additional, enjoyable element.
On What Grounds
will convert even the most fervent tea drinker into a coffee lover in the time it takes to draw an espresso.”
—The Mystery Reader
 
“A hilarious blend of amateur detecting with some romance thrown in the mix . . . I personally adored this book and can’t wait to read the rest of the series!”
—Cozy Library
 
“A fun, light mystery. Recommended.”
—KLIATT
 
“For those who enjoy not only a mystery but a chance to learn about a favorite beverage and a chance to try out new recipes at home—this book is for you.”
—Gumshoe Review
Coffeehouse Mysteries by Cleo Coyle
ON WHAT GROUNDS
THROUGH THE GRINDER
LATTE TROUBLE
MURDER MOST FROTHY
DECAFFEINATED CORPSE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0745, Auckland, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South
Africa
 
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for authors or third-party websites or their content.
 
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.
 
DECAFFEINATED CORPSE
 
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the authors
 
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / July 2007
 
Copyright © 2007 by The Berkley Publishing Group.
 
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form with-
out permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of
the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
 
ISBN: 978-1-436-25369-7
 
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks be-
longing to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
 
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the authors nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

http://us.penguingroup.com

This book is dedicated with affection and admiration
to a brilliant sister and a fellow java lover—
Grace Alfonsi, M.D.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to the woman and man
behind the curtain—Editor Katie Day
and Literary Agent John Talbot
 
 
 
 
 
 
Visit Cleo Coyle’s virtual Village Blend
at
www.CoffeehouseMystery.com
“Even a bad cup of coffee is better than no coffee at all.”
 
—David Lynch
PROLOGUE
IN 1862 New York instituted its first gun control law, banning rifles to discourage hunting within the city limits. Over one hundred and fifty years later, at least one hunter failed to be discouraged.
Strolling along the wet, wide sidewalk of Sixth Avenue, this particular hunter found stalking prey a simplistic pursuit. Actually overtaking it, however, was a trickier matter. Unlike mouse or bird or lesser mammal, this prey wasn’t small, and it wasn’t weak. This prey was at least six feet in height and possessed muscles enough to fight back should it feel threatened.
Street after street, the two walked, pursuer and pursued, the little covert parade taking them from quiet Perry to bustling Bleecker then picturesque Grove, by pizzerias, novelty shops, bistros, bookstores, and boutiques.
The setting sun had swept in a passing storm, killing the reassuring warmth of the clear October day. Having failed to dress for the weather, the hunter shivered. The newly
purchased windbreaker and Yankee cap were thin protection against the rapidly plunging temperature. But conditions weren’t all bad. The location, at least, was an advantageous place to tail a pedestrian.
The narrow, winding lanes of this small historic district weren’t nearly as congested as other parts of Manhattan— downtown’s glass-and-steel Financial District, for instance, or the sardine-packed sidewalks of Midtown with its hordes of tourists stopping dead to take cell phone photos of twenty-story digital billboards and send them god knew where.
Here in this quaint little town within a town, genteel residents roved at their leisure, walking groomed dogs, carting home groceries, clustering on corners to chat with neighbors. All obstacles were easy enough to dart around in pursuit of the moving target, and the elegant brick row houses provided ample doorways to hide should the prey decide to double back.
But the prey never did. Not once did he glance over the shoulder of his fine suede jacket. With the compact umbrella now collapsed at his side, the dashing, accomplished, ebony-haired entrepreneur strode forward with confidence, even arrogance, like a bullet seeking a bull’s-eye. He walked the way he lived his life, unmindful of the people around him, his primary concern penetrating the path ahead.
Before one last corner was turned, toward the Village Blend, the hunter pulled on the ski mask, then shoved down all remaining reservations, along with the bill of the brand new Yankee cap. Reaching into a jacket pocket, chilled fingers found cold courage—the hard handle of an unlicensed .38.
My little leveler, the hunter thought, less than a pound of metal, but with it the balance of power is about to tip in my favor . . .
ONE
FOR some of my customers, Greenwich Village is more a time than a place. They remember my neighborhood when Bob Dylan was young, when Allen Ginsberg howled poetry, Andy Warhol shot avant-garde films, and Sam Shepard waited tables while scribbling award-winning plays.
A few really old school hipsters like to go back even further (with or without the help of modern chemistry), to the days when rents for a one-bedroom flat were one hundred dollars a month, instead of the current two thousand, and Edward Albee was making a living delivering telegrams while he wrote
Zoo Story.
They see a young Marlon Brando, in black leather cruising the cobblestone streets on his motorcycle, and James Dean whiling away his hours at the Rienze coffeehouse that was once on MacDougal.
I certainly understand the appeal of mental time travel. Back then, the Village was the “Paris of New York,” a passionate little bohemia, where hundreds of artists toiled in garret studios beside working-class immigrants. Poets scribbled all day and recited their masterpieces in cafes the same night, and young men and women, wearing black turtlenecks, argued intensely for hours about Nietzsche and Sartre over espressos and cigarettes.

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