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Authors: Matthew Costello
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actually get some cake on this wintry afternoon. “And maybe a real coffee. Think we could both use some. Though I know I’m probably breaking some hard and fast Huffington’s rule. The tyranny of teatime,” he said, laughing.
She smiled at that.
And in fact their waitress — the always perfectly coiffed and made up Mandy, a grandma three times over! — did find their order of lattes a bit odd.
Jack laughed when she left.
“See … I did cause a stir.”
Sarah laughed too. “It is teatime.”
“I know, I know …”
And finally the clouds from her visit seemed to fade. Huffington’s was done up for Christmas, fairy lights all over the place, a big tree — a real one — filled with lights and ornaments made out of biscuits.
Genuine gingerbread men dangled from the tinsel-covered branches.
And she also realised that Jack must have — in the line of duty –encountered so many scenes like the one she just witnessed.
Maybe he had developed a thick skin about all that.
But then — if she knew Jack — she could easily see him feeling those things deeply.
And when the cakes — flaky milles-feuilles! — and the lattes arrived (with Mandy doing little to hide her eye roll) they tried to assess where they were with the tale of Dylan McCabe and his fatal fall.
12. A Small Break-in
Sarah took the last bite of her mille-feuille, a few stray flakes escaping which — being so incredibly tasty — she rescued from the plate.
“These are … so good,” Jack said.
“That’s my calorie count for the week . But yes. The pastries here are amazing.”
“Not a bad cup of joe, either.”
“ Cup of joe ,” she said, smiling.
Sometimes talking with Jack was like travelling to New York. It was as if he carried the city and its phrases around like an ambassador.
“Latte,” I mean, he said grinning.
“You do have Starbucks over there, yes? That word is known to you?”
“Sure but I always liked getting a hot cup from a street corner vendor, maybe with a bagel and — sorry, another expression — a schmear . Butter, that is. Many a cop’s breakfast …”
“Sounds nutritious.”
The more they talked, the more Sarah relaxed after the disturbing interview with Winters.
Jack had that effect on her. He could be a source of calm, no matter what dark stuff they might be looking into.“So Jack — where do you think we are?”
His eyes squinted. “Well, unfortunately outside of Ray’s eyewitness account, we don’t have much. And we do have to factor in … that it is Ray’s account we are taking about.”
“I know. Seems like such — I don’t know — an unlikely accident. But what do we really have?”
Jack shook his head.
At that point Mandy came over. “Anything else you two? More cake?”
At that, Sarah laughed.
“Mandy — this place is positively dangerous.”
“Maybe another … latte ,” Jack said. Then to Sarah: “You?”
She shook her head. “If I do, I’ll be up for hours tonight …”
And as soon as she said that, she suddenly realised that, secretly, Jack had plans for them for that evening …
But first he pulled something out of his coat pocket.
A photograph.
*
Sarah took the photo.
“Kind of thing you get from one of those machines in the post office,” she said.
Dylan McCabe planting a kiss on a dark-haired young woman, big smile.
Hard to make out details — but one thing was clear — she was beautiful.
“Found this in McCabe’s trailer. Recognise her? Someone local?”
She shook her head.
“No. Could be a local. But,” she shrugged. “Hard to tell, but don’t think I’ve seen her in Cherringham.”
Jack took the picture back.
He held the picture up, examining it again as he spoke. “Maybe nothing, an old flame back in Dublin …”
She could tell from Jack’s voice that he wasn’t at all sure about that.
Mandy brought another coffee over.
“Why, thank you, Mandy,” he said.
Sarah guessed that he had charmed just about all the
She smiled at that.
And in fact their waitress — the always perfectly coiffed and made up Mandy, a grandma three times over! — did find their order of lattes a bit odd.
Jack laughed when she left.
“See … I did cause a stir.”
Sarah laughed too. “It is teatime.”
“I know, I know …”
And finally the clouds from her visit seemed to fade. Huffington’s was done up for Christmas, fairy lights all over the place, a big tree — a real one — filled with lights and ornaments made out of biscuits.
Genuine gingerbread men dangled from the tinsel-covered branches.
And she also realised that Jack must have — in the line of duty –encountered so many scenes like the one she just witnessed.
Maybe he had developed a thick skin about all that.
But then — if she knew Jack — she could easily see him feeling those things deeply.
And when the cakes — flaky milles-feuilles! — and the lattes arrived (with Mandy doing little to hide her eye roll) they tried to assess where they were with the tale of Dylan McCabe and his fatal fall.
12. A Small Break-in
Sarah took the last bite of her mille-feuille, a few stray flakes escaping which — being so incredibly tasty — she rescued from the plate.
“These are … so good,” Jack said.
“That’s my calorie count for the week . But yes. The pastries here are amazing.”
“Not a bad cup of joe, either.”
“ Cup of joe ,” she said, smiling.
Sometimes talking with Jack was like travelling to New York. It was as if he carried the city and its phrases around like an ambassador.
“Latte,” I mean, he said grinning.
“You do have Starbucks over there, yes? That word is known to you?”
“Sure but I always liked getting a hot cup from a street corner vendor, maybe with a bagel and — sorry, another expression — a schmear . Butter, that is. Many a cop’s breakfast …”
“Sounds nutritious.”
The more they talked, the more Sarah relaxed after the disturbing interview with Winters.
Jack had that effect on her. He could be a source of calm, no matter what dark stuff they might be looking into.“So Jack — where do you think we are?”
His eyes squinted. “Well, unfortunately outside of Ray’s eyewitness account, we don’t have much. And we do have to factor in … that it is Ray’s account we are taking about.”
“I know. Seems like such — I don’t know — an unlikely accident. But what do we really have?”
Jack shook his head.
At that point Mandy came over. “Anything else you two? More cake?”
At that, Sarah laughed.
“Mandy — this place is positively dangerous.”
“Maybe another … latte ,” Jack said. Then to Sarah: “You?”
She shook her head. “If I do, I’ll be up for hours tonight …”
And as soon as she said that, she suddenly realised that, secretly, Jack had plans for them for that evening …
But first he pulled something out of his coat pocket.
A photograph.
*
Sarah took the photo.
“Kind of thing you get from one of those machines in the post office,” she said.
Dylan McCabe planting a kiss on a dark-haired young woman, big smile.
Hard to make out details — but one thing was clear — she was beautiful.
“Found this in McCabe’s trailer. Recognise her? Someone local?”
She shook her head.
“No. Could be a local. But,” she shrugged. “Hard to tell, but don’t think I’ve seen her in Cherringham.”
Jack took the picture back.
He held the picture up, examining it again as he spoke. “Maybe nothing, an old flame back in Dublin …”
She could tell from Jack’s voice that he wasn’t at all sure about that.
Mandy brought another coffee over.
“Why, thank you, Mandy,” he said.
Sarah guessed that he had charmed just about all the
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