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

criminal lawyer. We have him on retainer for civil matters.”
    “I know that! I just didn’t know who else to call for a criminal lawyer recommendation!”
    “Well, I worked it out.”
    “I’m glad you did. Believe me, I’m grateful.”
    “His name is Walter Tanner. He won a few high profile criminal cases. He agreed to represent Tucker as a favor.”
    “A favor?” Matt had made a lot of connections over the years with his world travels, but I couldn’t recall him ever mentioning knowing a high-powered criminal lawyer. “A favor to you?” I prompted.
    Matteo shrugged, looked away at the French press. The hot, filtered water was now clear as mud.
    “Oh, I see…another favor for Breanne Summour.”
    My ex didn’t answer. He simply checked his watch, then reached across the table and pressed the French press’s plunger. The flavors had been extracted from the grounds and now they were forced downward, all the way to the bottom. The beans had been chopped, drowned, and now they were being shoved out of the way. The entire process seemed very violent to me, all of a sudden, and through my exhausted gaze, the plunging action seemed to go on forever in surreal slow motion.
    “That Mattari smells heavenly,” said Matt.
    I grunted in reply.
    It remained quiet after that, though silence between Matteo and I was not unusual, having been together—and apart—so much in our lives. Matt stood and retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and a pint of cream from the fridge. The cream was a gesture. He always drank his coffee black. After pouring both cups, he splashed cream into mine and set it down in front of me.
    “Nice crop this year,” he said. “Sweet, fruity, nice depth.”
    The Mocha Yemen Mattari was a single-origin coffee; that is, it was unblended with any other bean and simply came straight from its country of origin, in this case the country of Yemen and the region of Mattari. The “mocha” aspect of the name referred not to “chocolate” as in your average mochaccino, but the port from which the coffee was originally exported. If you mixed these beans with Java arabicas , then you’d have Mocha Java, the oldest known of the coffee blends.
    I took in the piquant aroma, the warmth, the earthy richness, but none of it was reviving me.
    “So,” sighed Matteo, breaking another long silence. “Why do you think he did it?”
    “Who…did what?”
    “Come on, Clare. Why do you think Tucker poisoned that guy? A lover’s quarrel? I never thought of Tucker as all that tempestuous. But you never know, I guess.”
    “You can’t be serious.”
    “What?”
    “Do you really believe Tucker Burton is a murderer?”
    Matteo sat back in his chair. “If not Tucker, then who?”
    I set my mug down hard enough to rattle the small table. “That’s what I intend to find out.”
    Matteo closed his eyes. “Oh, please, Clare. Not again.”
    “Not what again?”
    “You know. That Nancy Drew thing of yours. This time would you please call that Irish flatfoot,…what’s his name? Flanagan?”
    “Quinn!”
    “Fine. Call Quinn.”
    “I did already, but he didn’t answer his cell and he’s not even in the city. He’s on leave. Family trouble.”
    “Oh.”
    “Matt, I can’t believe you could think Tucker would do anything like this. Why did you help him if you think he’s a killer?”
    “I…I don’t know. Tucker’s a nice guy, and he works for the business my great grandfather started—my family’s business—and for that I feel like he’s part of the family. And everyone has a right to a fair trial.”
    “But you do think he’s guilty.”
    For a full minute, Matteo just sipped his coffee and mulled over his response. Finally, he sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to believe it yourself, but yes, Clare, I think Tucker is guilty.”

E IGHT
    T WO hours later, I was stunned when I came downstairs. Esther was there. She’d used her key to get in, and had already opened the pastry case in