after.”
“Could you see into the store? Were all the lights on?”
He folded up his bills and put them in his pocket. “The lights were real dim, you know, like emergency lights? I could just see shapes, like the counter and the tables, but no people.” He dropped his loose change in the tip jar and went out.
As I made a mocha for the woman Pete had been talking to, I wondered whether his information meant anything. The lights he was talking about had to be the backlights. If they were on at five-fifteen, that meant Patricia was already here. The fact he hadn’t seen her meant that either she was in the back room, or that she was already on the floor. Dead.
I pumped chocolate into the mocha. Well, if nothing else, the information might help Pavlik pin down the time of death. I’d tell him the next time he materialized.
The queue in front of the cash register was long, out the door at times, but most people seemed to relish the chance to stand and talk. Some spoke openly about the murder, even asking questions. Others whispered, glancing at Caron and me furtively. I think I preferred the people who went ahead and stuck their foot in it.
By 9:00 a.m., the time the recount was scheduled to begin at Town Hall, the rush had ended. The cash register tape told us we had sold sixty-three cups of coffee, twenty-two specialty drinks and thirty pieces of pastry. Not bad in two and a half hours.
The “To-Go” crowd had pretty much gone, but the little tables were nearly filled. A couple of them contained moms, happy for adult conversation after the rigors of getting their kids off to school. At another, an older man and a woman in suits were discussing business. At the counter, a young guy in khakis and a golf shirt was doing some paperwork.
Henry still sat in the corner watching the world go by with an empty cappuccino cup. I went over to clear the table next to him and took along the coffee pot.
“It was good seeing you yesterday, Henry,” I said in an effort to make up for the fact that I’d been so focused on Langdon at Goddard’s, that I’d barely nodded to Henry. “Can I give you some coffee in there?”
I stood poised with the pot over his cup, and he nodded. “How did you like the cappuccino?” I asked, as I poured.
“Very good,” Henry mumbled. “Used to drink them when I was in Europe during the war.”
“Ah, that explains it. I don’t think a lot of the older people around here have ever had a cappuccino. Maybe you’ll convert them for us.” Was I a marketing whiz, or what?
Henry nodded and turned his attention to his coffee. I took the hint and retreated behind the counter.
Laurel had promised to call with the results of the recount. I figured it would take at least two hours, so I was surprised when the phone rang at 9:30. “Uncommon Grounds. Can I help you?”
“It’s gone,” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“Laurel? What’s gone?” My only contact with her this morning had been over a large Viennese Cinnamon and I doubted the loss of that could have caused the tremor in her voice.
“The ballot. It’s vanished.”
“But how could that be?”
“You’re asking me?” She seemed to be verging on hysteria. “How would I know? I’m only the town clerk. The ballot was only locked in my cabinet, by my volunteer. How should I know? All I know is that it’s gone. I’ve got to go, here comes that bitch Kate McNamara.” Slam.
The moms were leaving and shouting goodbye. I waved back distractedly. The disputed ballot was gone. Meaning what? I didn’t know and I didn’t have time to think about it at the moment. A group of seniors came in and I spent the next half hour explaining cappuccinos versus lattes versus mochas.
By the time 11:00 a.m. rolled around, things had quieted way down again. Henry had left around 9:30 and only one table was currently occupied, by a pair of women in tennis whites. I’d told Caron about the missing ballot and though she still
“Could you see into the store? Were all the lights on?”
He folded up his bills and put them in his pocket. “The lights were real dim, you know, like emergency lights? I could just see shapes, like the counter and the tables, but no people.” He dropped his loose change in the tip jar and went out.
As I made a mocha for the woman Pete had been talking to, I wondered whether his information meant anything. The lights he was talking about had to be the backlights. If they were on at five-fifteen, that meant Patricia was already here. The fact he hadn’t seen her meant that either she was in the back room, or that she was already on the floor. Dead.
I pumped chocolate into the mocha. Well, if nothing else, the information might help Pavlik pin down the time of death. I’d tell him the next time he materialized.
The queue in front of the cash register was long, out the door at times, but most people seemed to relish the chance to stand and talk. Some spoke openly about the murder, even asking questions. Others whispered, glancing at Caron and me furtively. I think I preferred the people who went ahead and stuck their foot in it.
By 9:00 a.m., the time the recount was scheduled to begin at Town Hall, the rush had ended. The cash register tape told us we had sold sixty-three cups of coffee, twenty-two specialty drinks and thirty pieces of pastry. Not bad in two and a half hours.
The “To-Go” crowd had pretty much gone, but the little tables were nearly filled. A couple of them contained moms, happy for adult conversation after the rigors of getting their kids off to school. At another, an older man and a woman in suits were discussing business. At the counter, a young guy in khakis and a golf shirt was doing some paperwork.
Henry still sat in the corner watching the world go by with an empty cappuccino cup. I went over to clear the table next to him and took along the coffee pot.
“It was good seeing you yesterday, Henry,” I said in an effort to make up for the fact that I’d been so focused on Langdon at Goddard’s, that I’d barely nodded to Henry. “Can I give you some coffee in there?”
I stood poised with the pot over his cup, and he nodded. “How did you like the cappuccino?” I asked, as I poured.
“Very good,” Henry mumbled. “Used to drink them when I was in Europe during the war.”
“Ah, that explains it. I don’t think a lot of the older people around here have ever had a cappuccino. Maybe you’ll convert them for us.” Was I a marketing whiz, or what?
Henry nodded and turned his attention to his coffee. I took the hint and retreated behind the counter.
Laurel had promised to call with the results of the recount. I figured it would take at least two hours, so I was surprised when the phone rang at 9:30. “Uncommon Grounds. Can I help you?”
“It’s gone,” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“Laurel? What’s gone?” My only contact with her this morning had been over a large Viennese Cinnamon and I doubted the loss of that could have caused the tremor in her voice.
“The ballot. It’s vanished.”
“But how could that be?”
“You’re asking me?” She seemed to be verging on hysteria. “How would I know? I’m only the town clerk. The ballot was only locked in my cabinet, by my volunteer. How should I know? All I know is that it’s gone. I’ve got to go, here comes that bitch Kate McNamara.” Slam.
The moms were leaving and shouting goodbye. I waved back distractedly. The disputed ballot was gone. Meaning what? I didn’t know and I didn’t have time to think about it at the moment. A group of seniors came in and I spent the next half hour explaining cappuccinos versus lattes versus mochas.
By the time 11:00 a.m. rolled around, things had quieted way down again. Henry had left around 9:30 and only one table was currently occupied, by a pair of women in tennis whites. I’d told Caron about the missing ballot and though she still
Similar Books
