WALKING INTO ESPRESSO Yourself felt like being engulfed in a warm blanket. A blanket that smelled deliciously of coffee, cinnamon, and chocolate. Smiling, I made my way to the counter, where my friend was busy whipping up one of her marvelous creations, her melodic voice carrying over the piped-in acoustic guitar music as she visited with the young woman at the counter.
While waiting, I looked over the artwork displayed on the walls. Makayla was a huge supporter of the local art scene. Every month she’d change the display to showcase a different group of artists. This month, in support of Booked for a Wedding, she’d featured area wedding photographers and their best work. My eye scanned the gorgeous prints, stopping on a black-and-white close-up of a couple’s intertwined hands. The engagement ring on the bride-to-be’s hand dazzled, almost jumping out of the photo. I ran my own bare-fingered hand along the edge of the frame, dreaming a bit about the ring I’d be wearing soon. That was, if Sean ever got around to giving me one.
“Latte?” I turned to see Makayla leaning over the counter, a to-go cup in hand. “Your usual.”
“Oh heavens, yes!” I grasped the warm cup and inhaled the slightly burnt coffee smell laced with rich caramel sweetness before taking my first gratifying sip.
“How ya doing, sweetie?” she asked, her emerald eyes shining with concern. “I didn’t hear from you last night and was going to call, but I thought you might have been tied up with the murder and everything.” She reached under the counter and brought up a handful of coffee stirrers, restocking a basket on the counter.
“I’m sorry. I should have called. By the time I got home I was exhausted.”
“I’m sure. Were you able to sleep at all?”
I shrugged and took another sip of my latte, taking comfort in its warm sweetness.
“Did you know the man?” she asked, moving on to restocking napkins.
“No, not really. But he used to be married to one of my authors. Lynn Werner.”
She gasped. “The poor thing!”
“She’s not all that upset about it. It wasn’t an amicable divorce,” I said, thinking back to the way Lynn reacted when she found out the news. Surprised, yes. But not sad. More like relieved. Thrilled, if I had to be honest. “She’s a suspect. And so is one of our other authors.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because of the way he was murdered. They’d both sort of written about it in their books.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, they’d already written about it?”
I went on to explain how Chuck’s murder mimicked the scenes in Lynn’s and Jodi’s books. When I told her the exact way he was killed, she gasped and raised her hand to her chest. “That’s horrible!”
I shook my head slowly, letting silence settle between us as I raised my cup to my lips and squeezed my eyes shut against the horrible image that kept resurfacing in my mind. When I reopened them again, I found Makayla working over an invisible spot on the counter with a rag and cleaner. “So much wickedness in the world,” she said.
“There’s a lot of goodness, too,” I maintained, feeling sorry that I’d burdened my friend at a time when there should be nothing but wedding plans and happiness in her life. “So, are we still on for this afternoon?” I asked.
She stopped scrubbing and her shoulders seemed to relax. “That would be great.” She indicated toward the photo I’d admired earlier. “The photographer who took that shot has a booth. Thought I’d stop by to see if I could schedule an appointment for Jay and me. Maybe get some prewedding shots.” She looked at her ring and then back to the wall, her eyes taking on a slight dreamy look. “You know, when Jay and I hold hands, they fit perfectly together. Like puzzle pieces. I’d like for the photographer to capture that feeling. Maybe in a picture like that one.”
My gaze drifted to her hand, coveting how the elegantly set diamonds seemed to sparkle against her dark skin. Then I checked my emotions, trying to conjure the happiness I should be feeling for my best friend. “So we stood hand in hand like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us,” I quoted.
Her emerald eyes lit up. “That’s perfect! And so beautiful.”
“Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes,” I told her with a smile.
“Sherlock. Really?” she said, a grin spreading across her face. “Guess there was something more than reasoning and logical deduction going on under that deerstalker cap of his. But that quote sums up just how I feel when I’m with Jay. Like we can take on the world as long as we’re together.”
I nodded in reply, happy that I’d vanquished the thought of the murder scene with something that made her happy.
“And what about you and Sean?” she continued. “Been shopping for rings yet?”
I shrugged, trying to keep my voice light. “He says he wants it to be a surprise.”
She raised a brow. “That’s . . . romantic.”