“Fully loaded,” Sully assured him with a grin.
Mike motioned him closer and turned to me. “Hungry?” he asked, lifting one of the box lids.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled the scent of pepperoni and sausage, roasted peppers and mushrooms. “Oh, Mike... ,” I gushed as my empty stomach gurgled.
As usual, the man knew just how to make me swoon.
Twenty-Two
“And then you what?!”
“I went into the water.”
My ex-husband gritted his teeth. “Clare, why the hell didn’t you leave with Esther?!”
“Because if I’d left with Esther, I never would have gotten the information to nail Alf’s killer! And I’m perfectly fine, as you can see.”
“Dumb luck, Clare. Emphasis on the dumb.”
The next day was Tuesday and the Blend was as busy as ever. Matt stopped by during a late-morning lull, and I took a short break, grabbing a stool next to him at our espresso bar’s marble counter. Sipping reviving jolts, I brought him up to speed on my adventures on Staten Island and literally in New York Harbor.
“So Dwayne Linford is in custody now?”
Matt pulled off his fisherman’s sweater, too thick for the warmth of the cozy coffeehouse, draped it over his broad shoulders, and began rolling up the shirtsleeves on his well-developed forearms, the ones that came in so handy for me when I was locked in that Dumpster last week.
Unlike Matt, the heat of the roaring fire and steaming hot java didn’t bother me. Not in the least. Frankly, after my freezing dip, I couldn’t get warm enough.
“The police arrested Dwayne late last night at a Manhattan club,” I explained. “He’s got a high-powered lawyer—no surprise. But detectives are reviewing digital images from every Staten Island Ferry security camera they can get their hands on. They have warrants to search his home and SUV, and they already have him booked on a drug charge.”
“What’s the drug?”
“Marijuana. Mike said they found a ‘nickel bag’ on him when they picked him up. What’s that mean, exactly?”
Among other things, my ex was a veteran lounge lizard. Name a remote outpost on the world’s vast coffee belt and he’d give you detailed directions to the nearest place to party. If anyone knew what drug slang meant, it was Matt.
“A nickel bag is fifty dollars’ worth of pot. It’s like four or five joints max. They won’t be able to hold him long for that, Clare. It’s just possession, not sale.”
I frowned. “I’m sure they’ll find more evidence.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see him throw you over that rail. Just a glimpse?” Matt’s brown gaze speared me. “Wouldn’t that solve your flatfoot boyfriend’s problem with the charge?”
“I’m not going to lie. Not to Mike. Not to his fellow cops on the force, and certainly not under oath in court.”
“Dumb.” Matt muttered again. “You said you know he did it, Clare. Isn’t that enough to warrant a little lie?”
“No! Not when that lie is tantamount to perjury. And Mike would agree with me.”
“Dudley Do-Right.” Matt bolted the remains of his espresso, then shook his head. “If you only knew...”
I frowned, not liking the sound of that. “Knew what? Something about Mike?”
“Forget it.” Matt looked away. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
I stared at my ex. “Okay, spill. What do you know about—”
“Wait,” Matt cut me off. “Didn’t you ask me here to talk about Dexter?”
“You’re changing the subject, but, yes, I did.”
“Please, Clare, let’s talk about that. What did you want to know?”
I stewed for a second, unhappy that Matt was keeping something from me about Quinn, but I didn’t have time to argue. I was only on a short break, and when my relief came, I had to change fast and get up to Union Square for Alf’s memorial service. I’d already sent up the boxes of goodies. The thermoses of coffee would come with me via taxi.
“Okay, Matt.” I met his eyes. “I want to know why Dex was so cagey about his ‘confidential’ relationship with Omar Linford. Because if Dex is selling drugs, you better warn him he’s about to get caught.”
“He’s not selling drugs, Clare. I spoke with him already, and he admitted what I suspected. Linford is Dex’s silent partner in all of his Taste of the Caribbean shops.”
“What’s so secret about that?”
Matt leaned closer. He lowered his voice. “Dex took capital-improvement money from the city. If the bureaucrats knew Linford was Dex’s partner, they never would have granted him the money to remodel his stores and purchase new freezers.”
“Why didn’t Dex just get the remodeling money from Linford straight up?”
“Because that’s how Omar Linford ended up owning the Blue Sunshine company, that’s why. Dex doesn’t want Linford putting any more money into the business than he has already.”
“But if Dexter and Omar took that money from the city, they’re committing a crime.”
“Which is why he was paranoid about admitting his business relationship, get it?”
“Hey there, Cosi Lady!”
I glanced up at a familiar voice and did a double take. A five-foot-eleven Santa’s elf, complete with green leggings, velvet tunic, and a felt hat with a feather was grinning down at me.
“Shane? Shane Holliway?”
“In the flesh,” he said. “Or in the tights, whichever you prefer, Clare.”
The ex-soap actor took the bar stool beside me. Matt shot him a wary glance. Shane had shaved off his trendy stubble. He looked better with the clean chin, and his golden shag, lean cheek dimples, and twinkling blue eyes made him perfect elf material, too.
“I take it you’re in a dress rehearsal with Tucker down the street,” I said.
“Perceptive.” Shane winked. “But then Tucker did tell me you’re an amazing sleuth.”
I laughed. “Well, your tights are a dead giveaway.”
“The benefit party’s tonight at the Public Library’s Main Branch on Forty-second. Are you coming?”
“Oh, no,” I said. “That thing’s exclusive. Invitation only.”
“Tuck can get you in! Come on, Clare. You don’t want to miss my tight green buns leaping over sugarplum props, do you?”
I laughed again. “You make it sound tempting. I’ll think about it, okay? Can I get you something in the meantime?” I asked, standing up.
“Are you kidding? Method’s my middle name: Candy Cane Latte—easy on the whipped cream. This outfit’s pretty unforgiving.”
“You don’t have to worry,” I said, heading behind the coffee bar again. “You look great.”
“Thanks.”
As I whipped up the latte, Shane called over to Dante. “Hey, Silva, I saw you on YouTube! You’re an official World Wide Web star!”
“I know!” he replied from behind the espresso machine. “My roommates told me I have almost as many hits as Keith Judd holiday shopping on the Upper West Side!”
“My girlfriend saw that one, too,” Gardner mentioned as he worked the register. “She’s been into Judd since that fighter pilot movie he did ten years ago. Now she wants to check out every boutique he went into.”
“You’re kidding?” I said. “People care about that stuff?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Dante.
“You bet.” Gardner nodded.
“I don’t believe it.”
“It’s no joke, boss,” Dante said, quickly tamping fine grinds into the espresso machine’s portafilter. “Do you know every single store Judd was shown going into has a line out the door today?”
I blinked at that. New York 1 news had just done a story on how slow the shopping season was this year. Many shops were in real danger of going under.
Gardner handed change to a customer. “If you ask me, whoever took that Keith Judd footage should have gone to those stores and asked for a cut.”
“I guess I can’t object,” I murmured. “I mean, the Web is why we’re doing so well this year.”
I finished mixing Mr. Elf’s Candy Cane Latte: fresh espresso, crème de menthe syrup—with a pump each of cherry and vanilla—perfectly microfoamed milk, a kiss of whipped cream, and sprinkles of crushed candy cane and shaved chocolate. I slid it across the bar.