Murder by Mocha by Cleo Coyle Page A

heels several times.
    “Wish me luck,” she said softly.
    “Break a leg,” I replied, then laid a firm hand on her arm. “One last question, if you don’t mind?”
    Patrice tensed. “What’s that, Clare?”
    I lowered my voice. “The Sister who had her launch canceled—she’s out, right? Essentially fired off the board?”
    Patrice tilted her head. “Why are you asking?’
    “I, uh . . . I’ll be making small talk with guests coming by the samples table, and I’d hate to put my foot in it with her. What’s her name?”
    “Maya Lansing. She’s our Health and Fitness Sister. But you don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing.”
    “She’s gone for good, then?’
    “Well, not exactly. Aphrodite makes all the final decisions about who stays and who goes on her board. Sorry—but now I’ve really got to go!”
    “Of course! Good luck!”
    Patrice pushed at the heavy glass doors. As she stepped out, a moist gust flowed in, smelling of sea salt and rain. I frowned. Tonight’s weather forecast had been iffy at best, but the threats in the air were impossible to dismiss.
    Some kind of storm was headed our way.

THIRTEEN
    “S O, what do you think?” Madame whispered.
    I folded my arms. “Aphrodite may be in love with this Greece motif, but I’d say her corporate culture looks more like ancient Rome.”
    Madame sighed. “ I, Claudius does come to mind.”
    “The motivation just got clearer.”
    “Do you think Patrice was involved with what happened to Alicia?”
    “I doubt it. Patrice’s cheerful ‘out with the old’ view is pretty typical for someone who’s young, ambitious, and thinks she’s immune to failure.”
    “Agreed. But what about the other Sisters?”
    “We’ll need to take a look at them, especially the woman who was all but fired today—the Health and Fitness Queen.”
    “Sister,” Madame corrected.
    Corporate jargon? I wondered. Or a twisted convent?
    “Well, I’m happy to help.” Madame tilted her head toward the Garden. “After Alicia’s presentation, I’ll find a moment to speak with her. I’d like to know whether she and Maya Lansing have any bad blood between them.”
    “Good idea. While you’re at it, keep an eye out for the Candy Man, okay? Whatever he was attempting to pull on Alicia this morning, he failed, and he may just try something else tonight.”
    “The game is afoot!”
    Ugh, I thought, that word again . . .
    As my former mother-in-law pushed through the Garden doors, I turned to find an unnerving sight—a mountain of male flesh barreling toward me.
    “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you Clare Cosi?”
    Dressed in khaki pants and a blue sport coat—with a neck so large his collar gave his throat a muffin top—the guy was big enough to sub for half the Jets’ defensive line. Whoever he was, I needed a moment to find my voice.
    “I’m Clare.”
    “We have a situation.”
    “A situation?”
    The mountain flashed an ID. He was some kind of director for building security.
    “A gentleman is trying to gain admittance to this event. First he claimed he was a guest, but he didn’t have an invitation. Then he said he was a member of your catering staff, but he didn’t have a pass and his name wasn’t on the approved list. We’re detaining him downstairs—”
    “What does this guy look like?”
    The guard repeated my question into a headset and touched the Blue Tooth listening device in his ear.
    “He’s well built,” the guard said, then paused to listen. “Muscular. Hair dark and longish . . . he has facial hair . . . a trimmed goatee . . .”
    I tensed. It had to be our Candy Man. Dennis St. Julian was a bodybuilder, and a fake beard and wig would help disguise him.
    “Let’s go!” I said.
    When the doors closed on our elevator, I cleared my throat. “Listen. If this is the person I think it is, he could be real trouble.”
    With newly alert eyes, the Blue-Toothed Matterhorn passed on my warning in a low rumble.
    “I don’t know if