Read Online Latte Trouble by Cleo Coyle - Free Book Online Page A

to say. After all, the man was no longer my husband, and what he did in his spare time was so not my business. The fact that I found myself caring at all was what irritated me more than anything.
    Using a wooden spoon, I stirred the grounds with a little more force than necessary and replaced the lid of the French press. (I found that stirring the water and freshly ground coffee nicely kick-starts the brewing process.)
    “How are you fixed for staff?” Matt moved to the small kitchen table, removed his suit jacket, and draped it over a cane-back chair.
    “It’s Esther’s regular day and she agreed to come early to help me open.”
    Matt almost laughed as he sat down. “Good luck with that.”
    Esther had slept through her alarm so often, I’d finally restricted the girl to afternoon and evening shifts only. But she seemed willing, and I was definitely desperate. “It’ll take me a day or more to juggle the schedules. I was relying on Tucker for so much, but at least his friend Moira agreed to cover for him.” I sat down opposite my ex-husband and stared.
    He knew the look. “What?”
    “I could have used your help last night. The investigators from the Crime Scene Unit didn’t leave the shop until after eleven. The place was totally wrecked.”
    “Sorry, Clare, but I thought Tucker needed my help more.”
    “Tucker?” I sat back. “You…you were helping Tucker?”
    My shocked tone seemed to offend him. “Of course I was helping Tucker,” he said. “Where the hell did you think I was?”
    Sleeping with Breanne Summour, what else? I thought, but what I said was—
    “How did you even know where to find him? I called the precinct, but no one would answer my questions or return my calls. Around one, a desk sergeant finally informed me that Tucker was ‘being processed’—exactly the same vague crap I got from Detective Hutawa.”
    Matt sighed and rubbed his neck. “Tucker spent the night on suicide watch inside Rikers Island jail—”
    “Suicide watch!”
    I think the blood must have drained from my face because Matt’s expression went from simply tired to suddenly alarmed. “Clare, it’s okay. He’s okay. It’s just a ploy.”
    “A ploy? What do you mean ‘a ploy’? What are you talking about?”
    “Suicide watch means he’ll be isolated from the general hardened prison population and presumably safe from…interference.”
    It took a few seconds for this notion to sink in—that a “suicide watch” could, in any way, be a good thing. But it finally registered, and a perplexing question came with it: “Matt, how in the world did you even know about suicide watch? Or arrange to get Tucker that status?”
    “I didn’t,” he replied with a stifled yawn. “It was Doyle Egan.”
    The name was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “Who is—”
    “Detective Egan is a former New York undercover cop who cracked that big Mafia case years ago, the one that led to the mob graveyard in Queens. He retired from the force, got his law degree, and is now practicing with a big firm.”
    I nodded, recalling old headlines as mob victims from decades past were unearthed. “But how do you know this Egan person?”
    “I don’t. Breanne Summour does. Egan writes a monthly column for Trend .”
    “What would a man like that write about for a fashion magazine?” I asked. “The aesthetics of pinkie rings and prison tattoos? How to dress like a Wise Guy?”
    “Breanne’s magazine doesn’t just cover fashion. It publishes all kinds of articles,” he replied, a bit too defensively, I thought.
    “All right, okay. So…what about bail?”
    “If the judge sets bail, it will be sometime this morning. Tucker is most definitely going to be arraigned for the murder of Ricky Flatt—that’s the bad news. But the good news is a top-notch criminal defense lawyer will be there to represent him.”
    “Thank God. I tried Jacobson, but only got the service.”
    “Clare, come on. Larry Jacobson’s not a