Murder by Mocha by Cleo Coyle

appeared to be wondering the same thing I was. “What happened to the Sister whose job you took?”
    Patrice shrugged. “She got married.”
    “Why would that matter?” I answered. “Aren’t Sisters allowed to get married?”
    “Of course, Sisters can get married!” Patrice laughed. “Selma’s new husband is an independent software developer. He persuaded her to work with him. That’s why she left.”
    Laughter from outside interrupted her, followed by applause.
    “Looks like things are going well,” Patrice said, pointing to the crowd.
    The guests stood among a dozen ionic columns. The columns were faux marble, of course, like the two in the corridor. Composed mainly of fiberglass, they were lit from within and scattered around the Garden’s hedges and potted plants. (As Tuck would say, it was great stagecraft.)
    “Is that Aphrodite at the podium?” I asked.
    A thirtyish woman in a maroon-red wrap dress was now speaking in front of the Garden’s shallow reflecting pool. Rimless glasses gave her a serious look, though her light brown hair, worn loosely to her shoulders, implied a more casual, approachable style. Beautifully silhouetted by the illuminated spires, she easily held the attention of her listeners.
    “That’s Sherri Sellars,” Patrice replied. “She’s a media personality on the West Coast. She also does a weekly satellite radio show called the Luv Doctor .”
    “So Sherri Sellars is a Sister, too?”
    Patrice nodded. “She governs our Love and Relationship Temple. Right now, Sherri is explaining the psychological benefits of a healthy sex life. Then she’ll introduce Alicia, who will give the big pitch. I’m closing by going over the contents of their press packets and telling them how to order and who to contact.”
    She studied both of us. “You two should stop worrying! Alicia’s got one of the most promising products, given the majority of our site’s user profiles.”
    “Will Aphrodite speak tonight?” I asked. “I’d love to see her in action.”
    (I didn’t think the woman would try to sabotage her own employee, but I did want a better handle on this bizarre shop with its Temples, Sisters, and cutthroat business philosophy.)
    “I’m sorry, Clare. Aphrodite won’t be speaking at any of the events. She doesn’t even like to appear in public.” Patrice lowered her voice again. “But she will make a showing at all the parties, including the one tonight. I’ll try to introduce you when she arrives. But if things get crazy, you’ll have another chance to see her. You’re scheduled to cater the yacht party on Friday, right? And one other launch event. Sorry, I can’t remember the dates now. Too many details to keep them all straight! That’s why this baby’s my lifeline—”
    As she waved her smartphone, we heard a new burst of applause.
    Just then, the Garden doors opened, and a young brunette poked her head through. Her chili-pepper red cat glasses, large for her delicate features, made her auburn-streaked pixie seem all the more adorable. Smiling, she tapped her wristwatch.
    “Sherri’s wrapping it up in five. Alicia’s up, then you. Are you ready?”
    “No problem, Daphne,” Patrice replied. “I’ll be right there.”
    When Daphne departed, Patrice took another deep breath and held it. “Almost time for my big moment. I still get butterflies when I speak in public. But when I’m about ready to faint, I remind myself that I’m not doing too badly for someone who was a pimply faced teenaged blogger ten years ago.”
    She activated the digital pad, and Patrice’s nervousness seemed to evaporate with a glowing smile. “My fiancé sent me a message,” she explained. “He said I should break a leg.”
    “Is he in the audience?”
    “Actually, he’s in Afghanistan. He’ll be back in six months, three days, and nineteen hours.”
    “You have that memorized?”
    “I have a countdown clock on my digital pad.”
    Eyes on the podium, Patrice rocked on her