Espresso Shot (42 page)
Authors: Cleo Coyle
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Detective, #Mystery, #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction - Mystery, #Coffeehouses, #Suspense, #Women Sleuths, #Cosi; Clare (Fictitious character), #Mystery fiction, #Divorced people, #Brides, #Weddings, #New York (N.Y.), #Brides - Crimes against, #Cookery (Coffee), #Attempted murder
“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Esther said. “Adam and Eve at the top, and I can see the snake, too, with real ruby eyes. Nice. And what’s on the middle tier?”
“That’s Antony and Cleopatra,” I said. “You can follow the story in pictures around the bowl. See the poison asp biting the queen of the Nile? The snake has real emeralds for eyes.”
“The base is Romeo and Juliet,” Janelle noted.
Esther studied the entire piece for a moment then scratched her head. “Ah, kids? Weren’t these lovers sort of screwed by the end of their stories? I mean, I don’t see any happily-ever-after here.”
I froze for a second then glanced at Janelle. We’d been working with photos and dimensions and metric volumes. We’d never considered the sculpture’s overall meaning.
“I think she’s right,” Janelle said, stifling a laugh.
I folded my arms and sighed, recalling my evening with Nunzio. The man was sexy as hell, but he’d displayed all the sentiment of a soccer ball. “You know what? I think the artist knew exactly what he was doing, and the joke’s on us.”
I checked my watch. At this very moment, beneath a rose bower on the Met’s Roof Garden, Matt and Breanne were exchanging vows, surrounded by a half-dozen NYPD detectives, including Mike Quinn, Sully, Soles and Bass, and Rocky Friar. I felt confident they would snatch Javier Lozado the moment he showed his mustachioed face.
Everything was good to go on our end of the European Sculpture Court. The espresso machines at the Blend’s station were up and running, the Clovers were in place, the cups and glass mugs ready, and my baristas were eager to begin serving the moment the guests arrived.
“Tell me again about the first toast?” Janelle asked.
“As soon as the bride and groom come down from the roof, we’re going to become the center of attention. The newlyweds will walk right over to us and toast each other with shots of espresso.”
I showed Janelle the heavy, sterling silver tray Madame was going to use to serve the couple the first cups of their married life.
Janelle shook her head. “I still don’t get it. Why toast with coffee when there’s all this great champagne around?”
“The guests will be drinking champagne, but not the wedding party. Toasting with coffee is a family tradition started by Matt’s great-grandfather. It’s based on an old Turkish custom. The bridegroom made a promise to always provide coffee for his wife. If he failed to deliver, it was grounds for divorce.”
“Coffee is
grounds
for divorce?” Janelle groaned. “There’s a joke in there somewhere.”
grounds
for divorce?” Janelle groaned. “There’s a joke in there somewhere.”
Another man with a camera approached our coffee and dessert display, which the
Trend
photographer had already snapped dozens of times.
Trend
photographer had already snapped dozens of times.
“Clare, look at the man’s ID. That photographer’s from the
New York Times
!” Janelle whispered. “Come on, let’s talk our way into his pictures.”
New York Times
!” Janelle whispered. “Come on, let’s talk our way into his pictures.”
“You go, girl.” I smiled. “It’s your night.”
I checked my watch again. Once the tidal wave hit, I wouldn’t have a moment’s peace for at least four solid hours. With my servers chatting around the coffee station, and Janelle speaking with the
Times
photographer, I decided to circle the vast sculpture court before the crowd came at us.
Times
photographer, I decided to circle the vast sculpture court before the crowd came at us.
Across the expanse of white marble, a string quartet had begun tuning up. Their perfect prolonged notes rose hauntingly in the airy space, but the blush of the setting sun, suffusing everything with burnished light, was what made the vast room absolutely magical. The glowing rays streamed through the glass panels of the pitched roof, giving the fifteen-foot stone sculptures the patina of antique brass. More light streamed from the west through the transparent wall that faced Central Park. Below the endless blue of a cloudless sky, newly budding trees swayed in the mild spring breeze.
I paused inside the Sculpture Court to watch a photographer rearrange his subject under the marble likeness of Perseus. More pixielike models in designer gowns posed amid the statuary, the artfully arranged raw bar and hors d’oeuvres, and the mountain of tastefully wrapped wedding gifts piled like pirate booty.
The photographers were hustling now, trying to finish before the 350 guests descended from witnessing the wedding ceremony. As I moved to the far end of the quiet atrium to study a fifteenth-century Venetian sculpture of Adam, a tall man in a tuxedo approached me. He was clean-shaven with spiky hair and a rugged, handsome face. I didn’t realize who the man was until he stopped right in front of me.
“Good evening, Ms. Cosi. Are you prepared for the big event?”
In shock, I stared at Javier Lozado. I took a breath, glanced around. There was no one close to help. The museum guards were all clustered out of sight, at the entrance to the event. The waitstaff was busy at their stations at the other end of the vast room, and Mike and his detectives were on the roof with the bride and groom.
Fat lot of good that does me now!
“You seem surprised,” Javier said, stroking his smooth chin. “Is it my new look?”
I wanted to run, scream, call for help. But I couldn’t take the chance that Javier was armed. The police upstairs had guns, but I knew the Met security staff did not. I could stall until the police arrived, but the crowds would come with them, and all I could think about were the innocent people who might get hurt if gunfire erupted in a crowded room.
I have to talk to him, make him see that his plan won’t work . . .
I cleared my throat, tried to keep the nervousness out of my voice. “Pretty clever, Javier, shaving off that big mustache.”
“Clever?” Javier laughed. “I suppose so. But it wasn’t my idea.”
“I’m sure you didn’t want to. But I have to hand it to you, shaving really changed your appearance—especially since your passport was so old and you had a full beard in the photo. You got a drastically new haircut, too, I see.”
“Yes, it’s a whole new look.”
“And you checked out of your hotel room. Very smart.”
“How do you know that I—”
“But it didn’t work, Javier. The police are on to you, anyway—”
“What police? What are you talking about, Ms. Cosi?”
“The authorities know about your plan. There are police all over the museum, and a personal bodyguard with Breanne. You’ll never get close enough to the bride to kill her. You’ll only die yourself—”
“Clare! What kind of talk is this? Have you been drinking? Is Matt’s remarrying too much of a strain—”
“It was the woman, wasn’t it? Matt’s affair with Louisa hurt you terribly. I can imagine. But you’re a handsome, successful man, Javier. Surely, there were other women since her?”
“Louisa! This is about
Louisa
?”
Louisa
?”
“She’s the woman you planned to marry, right? Until she strayed with Matt—”
“Let me show you something.” Javier reached into his evening jacket.
I couldn’t imagine how he got a weapon past the Met’s metal detectors, but he was a former commando. Maybe he knew a few tricks. It didn’t matter, anyway. It was impossible to do anything now but fight or run.
Here it comes!
The man’s hand came out clutching—
a wallet?
He flipped the leather folder open, displayed a photograph tucked behind plastic.
The man’s hand came out clutching—
a wallet?
He flipped the leather folder open, displayed a photograph tucked behind plastic.
“This is Louisa.”
The woman had long black hair and laughing eyes. She was surrounded by children, and she appeared to weigh at least three hundred pounds.
“She’s married now to the manager of a neighboring plantation. We speak often. But I am most definitely over this woman.”
Javier slipped the wallet back into his tailored jacket. “And my change in appearance is easily explained. I met an American woman, Ms. Cosi.” He smiled. “I have been spending my nights with her, which is why I checked out of my hotel. Yesterday, she confessed to me that she did not like my mustache. She said it made me look like Pancho Villa.” He rolled his eyes, shrugged. “So I shaved. It was a fair exchange. She has been even more affectionate with me since.”
“You have an American girlfriend?”
“Her name is Cody. She’s gone off to find the ladies’ room. We were running late and could not make the wedding ceremony. But we are happy to be here for the reception. I’ll introduce you when she—”
“Javier, listen to me. A rare Colombian poison was used in an attempt to murder Breanne. Some kind of batrachotoxin, according to the medical examiner.”
“Batrachotoxin?” Javier’s face fell. “Made from the skin of a yellow frog, yes?”
“You know about it?”
“I use it,” he said.
“What?”
“Not me,” he quickly amended. “Hector Pena. He is my estate manager. He extracts frog poison then puts it on barbed wire surrounding our buildings. It discourages bandits and FARC. Hector learned the trick from his father.”
I thought about the quiet, sad-faced man. “Hector was with you in the Colombian army, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but—”
“It
must
be him. But why would Hector want to kill Matt’s bride?!”
must
be him. But why would Hector want to kill Matt’s bride?!”
“Kill Breanne?” Javier shook his head. “I can’t imagine that Hector—”
“How does Hector know Matt exactly?”
“From his trips to our farm. Matteo also knew Hector’s daughter. A few years ago, she moved to Bogotá to live and work. Matt spent time with her there, whenever he passed through our country—”
“But Hector’s daughter died, didn’t she? You told us she was murdered?”
“I did not say she was murdered. Andelina died by gunshot.” He lowered his voice. “To be honest, the young woman shot herself. But we do not speak of it. Colombia is a Catholic country. Suicide is a mortal sin, so—”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“About four weeks.”
I suddenly felt sick. “Around the time Breanne raided Matt’s PDA and sent wedding announcements to his old flames.”
Javier registered surprise. “I never made the connection, but you are right. Matt would have had Adelina’s address and phone number in his files.” He lowered his voice. “Matteo was intimate with Hector’s daughter, Ms. Cosi. You understand my meaning?”
Oh God.
“Javier, listen to me. I think Hector’s daughter killed herself over losing Matt. She must have been unbalanced already, and that stupid wedding announcement sent her over the edge.”
“Javier, listen to me. I think Hector’s daughter killed herself over losing Matt. She must have been unbalanced already, and that stupid wedding announcement sent her over the edge.”
“You believe Hector is trying to kill Breanne for this?”
“Not for sending the announcement. He couldn’t have known she was behind that. No, I think Hector is trying to exact some kind of twisted justice. He wants to show Matt the pain of losing a woman he loves.” I clutched Javier’s arm. “Have you seen Hector today?”
“Yes.” Now Javier looked sick, too. “I just saw him. He brought a gift with him, so he was delayed by security. But Hector should be inside the museum by now. I will look for him—”
“No!” I pushed Javier back against the wall. “You’re my only witness to the batrachotoxin connection, and I want you to stay right here. I’ll go up to the roof and talk to the police. Right now the authorities are looking for
you
, not Hector. Until I straighten that out, you could be arrested.”
you
, not Hector. Until I straighten that out, you could be arrested.”
He frowned but nodded. “I will do as you ask.”
Dozens of guests were now wandering into the Sculpture Court. Like Javier, they’d opted out of the wedding ceremony and come only for the reception. I dodged the small crowd and moved toward the exit. On my way, I scanned the area near the table of wedding gifts, but there was no sign of Hector there.
When I reached the elevators, I discovered they were out of service. Security was holding the cars on the roof until the end of the ceremony! I cursed and searched for another way up. I followed a long, empty corridor before I finally found the steel doors to the stairwell, right beside a glass emergency exit that opened onto Central Park.
I entered the gloomy stairwell and nearly fell on my face. My feet had become entangled in torn wrapping paper and a length of scattered ribbon. As I freed myself, I spied a gift box on the ground, packing tissue scattered around it. Leaning against the wall, I saw the metallic gleam of a silver bowl and large brass candleholders.
I heard footsteps above me and looked up.
Hector Pena stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at me. He wore a black tuxedo and gripped a small gun.
In a flash I knew how he’d managed it: the wrapped gift. The metal bowl and candleholders might have shielded the entire shape of the gun in the X-ray machine. Or he could have simply broken the gun down into pieces and reassembled the weapon here in the stairwell.
I gasped as our gazes met. Hector’s flesh was more sallow than I remembered, and the circles under his eyes seemed more prominent, too. In the shadows his face seemed skeletal, like a death’s head. In a blink, he saw recognition in my expression, understanding, too.
He knows that I know.
Hector lifted his weapon as he raced down the stairs, two at a time. I whirled and threw open the door. The corridor was still deserted. If I tried running back to the Sculpture Court, Hector could shoot me in the back. Someone
might
hear the shot. Or they might not. Either way, I wouldn’t be around to worry about it. I’d be
dead
.
might
hear the shot. Or they might not. Either way, I wouldn’t be around to worry about it. I’d be
dead
.
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