“Keep you voice down! What’s your problem?”
“That damn Mocha Magic Coffee is my problem and yours, too. When I brought it home last night, Bree said it might make an interesting lifestyle piece in her magazine. So we talked about trying it together and . . .” He combed long fingers through his disheveled hair.
“And? What?”
“And, after two cups, we stopped talking.”
“You made love?”
“That’s a polite euphemism for what we did. We couldn’t stop. Remember, I was already juiced from the party . . .” Matt sighed. “I guess it was my fault. I kind of swept Breanne off her feet.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You had great sex—with your wife—and that raises red flags in your head?”
“Listen to me. Your launch party pushed this as a drink mix of coffee, cocoa, and a few herbs. Well, I don’t buy it. What exactly is in the stuff? Those individual packets don’t list the ingredients.”
“The ingredients are on the boxes—twelve packets to a box. They’re also listed in the press kit. Wait! I have one behind the counter.”
I ducked around the espresso bar for the envelope, spilled the contents on the marble top: a slick brochure, a contact sheet, and six single-serving packets. I scanned the brochure’s ingredient list.
“Okay, here we go. There’s Panax ginseng—”
“That’s just ginseng grown in Asia,” Matt said. “Why bother to stick the word Panax in there except as a cheap marketing ploy?”
“And Pausinystalia yohimbe extract—”
“Yohimbe!” Matt cried. “I smoked that crap back in high school. Everybody said it was a legal high. They were only half right.”
“I’m waiting . . .”
“It was legal.”
Punch snickered, and I realized he’d been eavesdropping.
“Okay,” I said, still reading. “What about this: yin yang huo, otherwise known as horny goat weed.”
“Excuse me?” Punch interrupted. “You’re kidding with that one, aren’t you?”
“No,” I said. “In fact, there’s a legend attached to it.”
“Really?”
I handed over the brochure, and Punch began to read aloud: “Horny goat weed’s aphrodisiac properties were first discovered when shepherds noticed their goats became amorous after they ate this herb . . .”
Tuck arrived with our double espressos. “Sounds like that legend about the origin of coffee.”
“Which is?” Punch asked.
“Goats started frolicking around in an unusually spirited manner after chewing cherries on a coffee shrub. So the goat herder sampled them.”
“Sampling coffee cherries would just wake you up,” Punch pointed out. “What’s a herder to do, all alone on a mountaintop, after trying horny goat weed?”
“Let’s not go there,” I said.
“Yes,” Tuck said. “After all, in any given countryside, there’s always a goat herder on the next hill!”
“¡Ay ay! ¡Arriba!”
While Punch and Tuck high-fived each other, Matt folded his arms. “Sorry to kill the fun, but no amount of yin yang hooey or ginseng can account for the effects Breanne and I felt last night.”
“Wait,” I said, trying not to panic. I grabbed the Mocha Magic brochure back from Punch. “There’s Passiflora extract—that’s passionflower—and damiana.”
“Clare, you’ve had damiana before.”
“I have?”
“Los Cabos, Mexico?” Matt said. “That week on the Baja Peninsula.”
“Oh, right . . .” (Joy was three. She had stayed with Matt’s mother while we took a little vacation—only there wasn’t a lot of sightseeing beyond our waterfront bedroom, not after one trip to the bar.)
“They used damiana instead of triple sec in their margaritas,” Matt reminded me. “You loved the taste. We must have sucked down a gallon.”
“There you go! The bartender told us it was an aphrodisiac!”
Matt rubbed his jaw, but then shook his head. “Sorry, Clare, nice try, but damiana isn’t that powerful, either. As I recall, before that trip, you and I hadn’t seen each other for almost a month—we had a lot of catching up to do.”
“True.”
“Trust me, I’ve sampled every illicit narcotic known to man at least once, and this Mocha Magic contains a drug, not a collection of herbs.”
“Maybe its Alicia’s proprietary formula. She might have found a way to heighten the effects of those herbal ingredients. And you had a lot last night. Maybe you simply overdosed, and it came off more powerfully than it usually does. Maybe if she puts a warning on the label—”
“Why not just send a text message to the Food and Drug Administration?” He raised his voice an octave higher. “Oh, look at me, I appear harmless, but I’m really dangerous if you ingest too much of me, and I’m made with Village Blend coffee beans.” His voice went down again. “Just imagine the lawsuits, ’cause I can.”
“So what are you going to do? Send this Mocha Magic to a lab for testing?”
“Not me. You’re the one who needs to have it tested. This stuff isn’t a soil sample or a new hybrid—and you know my history with Bogotá Marching Powder. Why don’t you get your boyfriend to do it? He sniffs out illegal narcotics for a living.”
I chewed my lip. “I’ll ask him.”
“I can’t believe this is such a surprise to you. I saw Dudley Do-Right at the party, sucking down cup after cup of this stuff. Didn’t he say something when you two took this Mocha Magic for a test drive?”
“We didn’t. Not exactly.”
“Oh, really? Trouble in paradise?”
“No.” I lowered my voice. “We were pretty turned on, both of us, but we were interrupted by ...” What could I say? A cop going rogue with your daughter? A woman bludgeoned to death and dumped in a Garden pool? An erotic dream turned nightmare?
“By?”
“It’s complicated.”
“He’s a narc, Clare. He should have noticed something.”
“Mike Quinn always takes me at my word. I told him this stuff is purely herbal, and he believed me.”
“Love is blind? You expect me to buy that?”
“Love is trusting. And Mike trusts me ...” (I never realized just how much until this moment.)
“Well, here’s the problem, Clare: you trusted my mother, and she trusted Alicia—but her product can sink us. You know we could lose the Blend over this?”
“Calm down, okay? Let’s start with having the powder tested.”
Matt gulped his doppio. “Damn. I must have OD’d last night. That stuff was crazy powerful—and, let me tell you, that half-nude woman at your party didn’t help!”
“Her name is Maya Lansing ...” I tapped my chin. “Matt, when exactly did you leave last night?”
“Early. Right after I grabbed the samples. Why?”
“Because something happened after you bolted.”
I finally dropped the news bomb about Patrice Stone’s death and the police investigation. I also told him about the rivalry among the Sisters of Aphrodite and the possibility that Alicia may have done the deed.
“So now our new business partner might be a murderess?” Matt cried.
“Keep your voice down. Maya Lansing is just as likely to be guilty here. She had the most to gain from Patrice’s death.”
Matt shook his hairy head. “That theory won’t hold water. Maya never left that party, not once, not even to go to powder her... uh, nose. Believe me, I would have known, and so would every other man in that room.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I cradled my face in my hands. “Alicia can’t be a murderer. This Mocha Magic can’t be illegal. It will kill your mother.”
“Want me to rub your shoulders?”
“No... Yes... No—wait! What about Maya’s husband, Herbie Lansing? The guy with the yachtsman’s cap?”
Matt nodded. “The captain? I nearly asked him why he left Tennille at home.”