The second group in the half-empty room was mostly female. Among them were Madame and Alicia Bower, along with those two twenty-something acolytes I’d met—Susan Chu and Daphne Krupa. I also recognized Sherri Sellars, the Love and Relationship Sister. They’d gathered so thickly around a central figure I suspected it must be the one and only Aphrodite.
Putting off my desire to meet the World Wide Web’s goddess of love, I focused instead on the pursuit of motherly truth. I found Esther Best at the samples table, merging what was left of the pastries into tidy new displays.
“Where’s Matt?” I demanded.
“Gone,” she said. “He left shortly after you disappeared.”
“I see.” Folding my arms, I considered the bait. “So tell me, Esther, are we completely out of Voss chocolates?”
“Nearly,” she replied, clearing away an empty tray. “We still have some Hearts of Darkness and Petit Nibs, but everything else is nom-ed.”
I pretended to weigh her assessment. “You know what? Let’s put out that box of Raspberry-Espresso Flowers, after all. They may have sugar bloom, but I’m sure they’re delicious and the remaining guests might enjoy them.”
“Uhm . . .” Esther froze. “Sorry, boss, I think most of those are gone.”
“Gone? How can that possibly be?” I stared. Hard.
She threw up her hands. “I put half the box aside to share with Boris, okay? Joy saw me and asked for the rest. She wanted some cupid helper, too. Where’s the harm? They were just sitting there, going to waste!”
Cupid helper? I closed my eyes. “Esther, who is Joy meeting tonight?”
“I’m not supposed to say.”
Hands on hips, I tapped one foot in a managerial countdown. “Unless you want nothing but opening shifts for the next five months, you better—”
“Okay, okay! If you’re going to use Gestapo tactics!”
“Who?”
“I’ll tell you. Just don’t let Mr. Boss find out. Joy already knows how her dad feels about this dude, and if he—”
Oh no. “Not Franco!”
“Oh yes. The General, aka Sergeant Rambo, aka Mr. Magic Hands, aka—”
“Stop. Please!” Could this day get any worse? “She told me their little fling was over!”
“Naw,” Esther replied. “The whole ‘moving on’ thing was just something she said to humor you and Matt.”
“There’ll be no ‘humoring’ Matt if he gets wind of this.”
“Well, I’m not about to tell him.”
“Good,” I said, and quickly collared Tucker.
“What now?” he asked.
“Don’t try to play me,” I said. “You heard every word.”
“I hate to be the bearer of obvious news,” Tuck said, “but Joy’s really into Franco. The guy’s funny, streetwise, has washboard abs, and kept in touch with her all these months. Plus he carries a badge and a gun—useful little perks in all five of our boroughs. Face it, Matt’s going to find out.”
“But he doesn’t have to find out this trip.” Or this year, I silently added. “Matt’s already in a state over the Mocha Magic powder. If he hears his own daughter took a box of cupid helper to Emmanuel Franco, he’ll blow an artery. And the last thing I need this week is a trip to the ER!”
“Don’t sweat it,” Tuck replied. “I wouldn’t want to drop the news about Franco on any daughter’s daddy—especially not Matteo Allegro.”
“Thank you,” I said, glancing around. “Now let’s get Nancy on board. Where is she?”
“Gone,” Tuck said.
“Gone where?”
Tuck arched an eyebrow. “Before you disappeared with Mr. Blue Suit, Nancy declared she was feeling faint.”
“Woozy was the word she used,” Esther said.
“Is she okay now?” I asked, worried.
“She spent a little time in the bathroom,” Esther said. “When she came out, I sent her home in a cab. We don’t need a barista keeling over in the middle of service. Not good for public relations.”
I frowned. “Did she have a fever? Chills?”
“Nope.” Esther smirked. “In fact, now that I think about it, the whole thing might have been a ‘dizzy act.’ ”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, she sampled quite a few of our aphrodisiac-laced goodies. Maybe she faked being ill so she could go back to the Blend to try hooking up with Dante. She’s pretty excited about some special tattoo he’s supposedly creating for her.”
The fact that Dante was designing a “special tattoo” for Nancy was news to me. Either Dante was humoring her, or Nancy had finally figured out a way to get the artistic attention of her boy-crush.
Before I could speculate which it was, Alicia tapped my shoulder.
“Excuse me, Clare, I have a question . . .”
“Alicia? What is it?”
“Have you seen Patrice Stone? I ran out of business cards. I have more in my coat pocket, but I can’t find my Burberry—the trench I lent her? Patrice needs to tell me where she tossed it . . .”
“It’s not in the cloakroom?”
“No.”
Susan Chu drifted over. “Daphne and I were looking for Patrice a little while ago, but we couldn’t find her. I mean, this isn’t that big a place so where did she go, right?”
My daughter, my ex-husband, and my newbie barista were gone, and now Patrice was missing . . . Great.
“Let’s pan out,” I said. “Susan and Daphne, check the ladies’ room—all the stalls . . .”
With a nod, they dashed off.
“I’ll go speak with Aphrodite,” Alicia said. “Perhaps she sent Patrice on some errand and didn’t tell anyone . . .”
After they were gone I thought back to the last time I saw Patrice Stone, it was right before she slipped into Alicia’s hooded raincoat and dashed outside to retrieve her missing smartphone.
“Keep an eye on things,” I told Esther.
“Sure, boss. Where are—”
I hurried across the half-empty party room, down the corridor, past the elevator bank, and pushed through the doors that led to the rooftop Garden. The air felt chillier, but the storm was letting up fast, the steady rain dissolving into drizzle. Rippling puddles still covered the Garden’s stone floor, acting as mirrors for the illuminated columns above them. The most brilliant light, however, radiated from St. Patrick’s white spires, gleaming across Fifth Avenue. The bells inside those twin steeples began to chime the hour. The sad, haunting sound rang across the concrete chasm and echoed through my bones.
Ignoring the few droplets of rain that pelted my skin, I dodged the puddles at my feet and headed for the podium. The little canopy over the raised stage had failed to protect a thing. Every surface was completely rain swept. I carefully climbed the few slippery steps and looked around the podium, searching for any sign of Patrice or her missing smart-phone. Finally, I turned to face the rear of the stage and the reflecting pool behind it.
That’s when I saw her. Sprawled facedown in the blue water was a human figure. The brightly lit pool framed the woman’s silhouette. Around her battered head, a blood-flecked cloud mingled with locks of golden hair to form a scarlet halo.
I stumbled back down the stairs, nearly slipping off. When I reached the pavement, I hurried to the pool’s edge, dropped to my knees, and seized Patrice with both hands.
As I heaved her toward me, Alicia’s pearl-gray trench billowed on the surface like angels’ wings. The pool sloshed over, soaking my skirt and legs. The body was heavy and limp. It took all of my strength just to drag her out of the water and roll her onto her back.
Her flesh appeared gray-white. The terrible wound on her forehead had drained to a pinkish hue. Her prairie-sky eyes were half-open and unfocused, her limbs already stiffening in the icy air.
I didn’t check for respiration or a pulse. With the dying chimes of the cathedral’s bells, the horrific truth was plainly evident. Poor Patrice Stone was stone-cold dead.