Free Latte Trouble by Cleo Coyle Page A

leather jacket and pants, bike chains, a wristband with studs—”
    “Excuse me? Did you say studs?”
    Esther opened her eyes and nodded. “He had this whole Billy Idol thing going.”
    “Billy Idol, that’s right!” I cried. “I remember seeing him in the crowd. How old would you say he looked?”
    “Oh, young,” said Esther. “Maybe twenty. Eighties retro is the new trend.”
    “Oh, geez,” I said, scribbling away. “The twenty-year cycle continues.”
    “What’s that?” asked Esther.
    “When I was in high school, the fifties had made a come-back…you know, with Laverne and Shirley and Happy Days .”
    “Happy what?” asked Moira.
    “It was a TV show,” Esther informed her. “Ron Howard was in it.”
    Moira’s brow wrinkled. “The movie director?”
    I sighed. “Okay, do either of you remember anyone else?”
    “Well, there was that man and woman,” Moira said. “The ones who work for Lottie Harmon.”
    “You mean her partners, Tad Benedict and Rena Garcia?” I clarified, but I’d already remembered them and didn’t consider them suspects. After all, they had no motive. What was there to gain from killing off your golden goose partner?
    “You know what?” said Moira, eyes widening. “ Tad was the one who asked Tucker to make that latte in the first place.”
    “Tad was?” I asked, intrigued. “You’re sure?”
    “I’m sure,” said Moira nodding emphatically.
    “Yeah, that’s right.” Esther agreed.
    I whirled. “You heard it, too?”
    Esther shrugged. “I thought you were there for that.”
    I shook my head. “No, I must have still been downstairs. Tell me exactly what you remember.”
    “Well,” Esther began, “it was so crazy that people were taking the lattes before the trays could get more than a few feet beyond the coffee bar and Tad said that Lottie looked like she could use some caffeine. And then Tucker sort of announced he was going to make a latte for Lottie.”
    “That’s right,” said Moria. “That’s what I remember, too. Tad touched Tucker’s arm and said something like, ‘Sorry to pressure you, but could you see that Lottie gets one? She could probably use another shot of caffeine to get her through the final hour.’ Then Tucker said something like, ‘One very special caramel-chocolate latte for the guest of honor coming up.’ He announced it very theatrically, you know?”
    “Well, that’s nothing new for Tucker,” I pointed out. “But it does mean anyone nearby would have been aware the drink was going to Lottie…I just wonder why Tad didn’t take the latte to Lottie himself?”
    Moira shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    “Neither do I,” said Esther. “By that time, I was back doing my clean-up rounds.”
    “So Tad asked for it to be made, but didn’t take it to Lottie…” I murmured.
    “You think Tad poisoned the latte with arsenic?” asked Moira.
    “Cyanide,” I corrected. “And I’m not saying that at all…it’s just…interesting.”
    “You mean suspicious,” said Esther. “Sounds that way to me.”
    Only if Tad had a motive, I thought. What could he gain by killing Lottie? Her designs made him a wealthy man—well, a wealthier man, anyway. Why would he murder his meal ticket? Could it be a war over control of the designer label? That didn’t seem to make sense because the label wouldn’t be worth half as much without Lottie’s designs behind it.
    “Ms. Cosi?…Clare?”
    I blinked, finally hearing Moira’s voice break into my thoughts. “Yes…what is it?”
    Moira and Esther exchanged a look. “The bakery van is here,” said Moira. “Didn’t you hear the knocking?”
    “Oh,” I said and rose to unlock the back door. I was surprised to find Theresa Rosario standing there, in jeans and a sweater, her long brown curls tied back. Next to her stood the regular delivery person, Joey, a good-looking Italian kid attired in his usual baggy jeans, backwards baseball cap, and Yankee jacket.
    Theresa was the youngest