Macchiatos, Macarons, and Malice Read online

  Macchiatos, Macarons, and Malice

  A Cape Bay Cafe Mystery Book 9

  Harper Lin

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  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Macchiatos, Macarons, and Malice

  Copyright © 2019 by Harper Lin.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  www.harperlin.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Recipe 1: Espresso Macchiato

  Recipe 2: Latte Macchiato

  Recipe 3: Lemon Macarons

  About the Author

  A Note From Harper

  Excerpt from “Macaron Murder”

  Chapter One

  I was in my makeshift office in the back of the café, surrounded by stacks of paper that I needed to organize.

  Sammy, my second-in-command, had been faux-casually mentioning to me for weeks now that maybe I wanted to clean them up or at least straighten them, but I was afraid that a piece of paper might get misplaced. At least right now I knew where everything was. Well, almost everything.

  “Where is that?” I muttered to myself, flipping through the pile of papers on one corner of the desk. Not finding it, I started searching one of the other stacks.

  “You need me to get that?” My beloved boyfriend, Matt, stuck his head through the doorway.

  “Get what?”

  “Your timer’s going off.”

  Sure enough, it was. I don’t know how I’d missed the high-pitched beeping. “Shoot! Yes, please. Thank you!”

  “Put the next tray in?”

  “Yes.” I moved to another pile, still looking for that one sheet I needed.

  “Do these need to go on the cooling rack or stay on the tray?”

  Poor Matt had learned more about baking in the past few weeks helping me out in the evenings at the café than I think he’d ever dreamed. A couple weeks ago, he probably didn’t even know that a cooling rack existed.

  “On the tray for two minutes, and then transfer them to the cooling rack.”

  “Got it!”

  There seemed to be an awful lot of banging coming from his direction, but I didn’t see how it could go too horribly wrong. They were just cookies. Cookies I needed for Mrs. D’Angelo’s Ladies’ Auxiliary meeting I was catering, but still just cookies. Of course, I would never hear the end of it if everything wasn’t perfect. Mrs. D’Angelo wasn’t the type of person to just let that kind of thing roll off her back. She wasn’t the type of person to let it stop her from ordering from me again either.

  Matt’s head popped in again. “How much time on the timer?”

  “Nine minutes,” I answered without looking up. I still hadn’t found the one sheet of paper I was looking for, and now I couldn’t even remember which piles I’d already looked through.

  Matt disappeared again for a few seconds to set the timer then came back. “What are you looking for?”

  “The quote for the gelato freezers.” I went back to another pile that I was pretty sure I’d already checked, but maybe I’d just missed it somehow.

  “You mean this?” Matt slid a piece of paper out from under my elbow and held it up.

  “Yes, that! Thanks.” I took it from him and set it down on the keyboard to look over it yet again.

  The freezer was pricey, but I was optimistic that it was worth it. Our traffic during the summer months was already high, but I felt like we were missing out on the opportunity to get more families in the door. Mom and Dad might like a good cup of coffee, but did they want to wait in line for it when the kids wanted ice cream? If I could have more offerings that appealed to the whole family, I could really increase my business. But I needed solid numbers to go over with my accountant before I could do anything.

  I ran my finger down the quote then plugged the numbers into the spreadsheet already on my screen and checked the adjusted calculations. I felt like the numbers were too conservative. What if I…

  Matt pulled a chair up next to me and swung it around to sit backward, his arms resting over the back. He looked like the cool teacher all the kids loved in a nineties sitcom or high school movie. A backward baseball cap would really sell it, but unfortunately, he hadn’t brought one.

  “Franny.”

  “Hmm?” I adjusted the numbers again. Maybe I needed separate columns for the different risk profiles. Or a whole separate worksheet.

  “Look at me.”

  I held up a finger. “Just one second.” Something wasn’t adding up right. There was no way the profit estimation should be this low.

  “Franny,” he said again. This time, he reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling my hand off the keyboard. I looked at him, if only because it didn’t actually do much good to stare at my spreadsheet if I couldn’t adjust it. “Other hand.” He wagged his free hand at me, his reach limited by the chair back. He would have been able to reach my other hand if he hadn’t been trying to show what a cool, approachable teacher he was. Still, I gave him my other hand. I did like him after all. He tugged at it. “Face me.”

  “I am.”

  “No, really, turn your whole body and face me.”

  I turned sideways in the chair. The sooner I humored him and did what he said, the sooner I could get back to work.

  He held both my hands in his and looked into my eyes. I’ll admit, it could have been romantic, the two of us alone in the café, holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes with the smell of fresh-baked cookies wafting through the air—

  “Did you move those cookies to the cooling rack?”

  “No, I’ll do it in a minute. I want to talk to you.”

  I pulled my hand away and started to push myself up. “They need to be moved to the cooling rack. The pans are still hot, and the cookies will be overcooked if they don’t get moved over. And you know how Mrs. D’Angelo is about everything being perfect.”

  Cool Mr. Cardosi stood up in the awkward way one had to when sitting backward on a chair. “I’ll do it. If you go, you’ll get distracted and never come back.”

  As soon as he was out of the room, I turned back to my spreadsheet even though I knew it only took a second to transfer the cookies. If I could just figure out what was wrong with the numbers…

  Matt came back and sat down again, instantly transforming back into Mr. Cardosi. I would have had a crush on him if I were one of his students.

  “Franny,” he said yet again, prompting me to turn around and let him take my hands. His warm brown eyes smiled into mine. Yes, I would have had a big crush on him. “What do you say we get out of town for a couple days? Get a room at a nice place up in the Berkshires with good room service and a fancy spa? Spend a couple of days alone together, just you
and me? What do you say?”

  At any other time, it would have sounded lovely, but I was so busy with the café this time of year, getting everything geared up for the summer tourist season.

  Antonia’s Italian Café had been a staple of family vacations in Cape Bay for almost seventy-five years. Multiple generations of families had come through our doors. Grandparents would come in carrying their little grandchildren and reminisce about the days when I was as small as their grandbaby, when they would come in with their children who were now grown and watch as my mother toted me around on her hip as she delivered the coffee and food my grandparents made behind the counter. Summer was our most important time, not just for our bottom line but for the people who considered a visit or five a family tradition.

  “Matty,” I started, slipping, as I often did, into using the nickname I’d called him when he was just my buddy from two doors down. “You know I would love to, but the café—”

  “The café will be here when you get back.”

  “I know, but it’s such a busy time of year—”

  “It’s only going to get busier.”

  “But there’s so much that needs to be done. There’s the gelato freezer and scheduling musicians so we can start having live music nights and hiring new staff and looking into expanding—”

  Matt let go of my hands and propped his elbows on the chair back so he could press the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. His sigh gave away his frustration. I felt bad, but what could I do?

  “Franny, all those things can wait.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe after the season is over, we can do something.”

  He dropped his hands in front of him. “You want me to wait six months to spend time with my girlfriend?”

  “We spend time together. We spend lots of time together! We’re spending time together now.”

  He looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “You call this spending time together? I rotate your pans in and out of the oven while you work in here, shuffling papers around and fiddling with a spreadsheet?”

  “At least we’re together.”

  “When was the last time we went out for a romantic dinner? A movie? A walk on the beach? When was the last time we sat on the couch together without you falling asleep? When was the last time you spent more than a few hours away from the café?” I started to answer the last one, but he held up his hand. “Without thinking about it or talking about it or practicing a recipe for it or working on a new plan for it? You’ve been working until ten or eleven o’clock every night for weeks now. If I want to see you, I have to come here and help you bake. If this is what it’s like now, what’s it going to be like this summer, when the café opens earlier and closes later? I hardly see you anymore. Latte probably thinks he lives with me now.”

  Latte, my sweet latte-colored Berger Picard dog. “That’s not fair. I spend a lot of time with him! We go for a long walk every morning.”

  “Do you?”

  I thought for a moment and realized he was right. Matt had started taking Latte running with him every morning, and since he was already getting that exercise, we hadn’t been going on our walks as much. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time we had. I hadn’t really thought about how that must seem to Latte. I’d just been grateful that he was getting his exercise and I could use the time we normally spent walking to come into the café a little earlier to get some of the business stuff done before I had to work the counter.

  I didn’t say anything, but Matt knew my answer. “No. You’re always here. You’re always baking or planning some new thing you want to start doing. Even when you’re not here, you’re thinking about it. You even talk about it in your sleep.”

  As far as I knew, I had never talked in my sleep, but so what if I did, and so what if it was about Antonia’s?

  “Matt, the café is my life. You know that. It’s my heritage, my legacy. It’s my future. This place is everything to me.”

  He looked at me for a long time. “And what am I, Franny?”

  Despite the heat from the oven that had been running all day, I felt cold. I didn’t know what to say. Of course he was important to me. I loved him. I adored him! I wasn’t intentionally neglecting him. Things at the café were just really busy right now. I was gearing up for the first summer season I would be running the café all on my own. I needed to make sure everything was perfect so that everyone would know that nothing had changed now that the café had passed on to the third generation of the Amaro family.

  Matt nodded and stood up. He swung his leg around the chair and stepped back toward the door in one smooth motion.

  “No, Matt, wait!” I jumped from my chair and climbed over his to get to him and take both his hands in mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m spending too much time here and not enough time with you. I—I let myself get overwhelmed with all the things I feel like I can and should do around here, and I just took for granted that you’d still be there when I got to the other side of it all. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect. No one will care if I don’t have a face painter.”

  “A face painter?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking about getting a face painter in once a week for the kids. They love that kind of thing, you know?”

  Matt shook his head slowly, but I caught the faintest twinkle in his eye. “You’re too much. You know that?”

  “Yeah, I know.” I smiled up at him, and he bent his head to brush his lips across mine.

  “So you want to go away with me? I found a gorgeous place up in the Berkshires. They have a huge spa and a world-class golf course.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Golf?”

  He smiled, his eyes in a full-on twinkle now. “Okay, maybe no golf this time. But they have a French bakery too. Some big-name chef I’ve never heard of.”

  “Not Jacques de Gaulle!”

  “That’s the one.”

  I swooned dramatically in his arms. “I’ve always wanted to try his food. His macarons are supposed to be divine. Like angels dancing on your tongue.”

  He chuckled. “Well, you can find out this weekend.”

  “This weekend?” The thought of leaving so soon had me panicking a little, but I tried to suppress it for him.

  “Yes, we leave tomorrow and come back Monday.”

  “But that’s—Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday—that’s four days!”

  He shrugged. “Two whole days and two halves.”

  I swallowed hard. That was a lot of time to be away from the café and not a lot of time to prepare for it.

  An eyebrow went up. “Is that a problem?”

  I took a deep breath. “Nope. It sounds perfect.”

  “Perfect.”

  His head bent down again, but this time wasn’t just a brush of his lips. It was a long, slow, deep kiss that was just like the long weekend would be—perfect.

  Chapter Two

  The hotel was stunning from the moment we turned into the long, curvy, tree-lined driveway. Rolling hills and lush forests were the furthest thing I could imagine from the beaches of Cape Bay.

  “Pretty, huh?” Matt asked as we rounded yet another curve and caught a glimpse of the stunning landscape of the valley below.

  “It’s amazing.”

  And I was amazed again when we turned one final corner and the hotel came into view. “That’s the hotel?”

  “That’s it.”

  He’d told me before we left that we were going to the Alford Inn, but I’d never heard of it and had been too busy getting everything sorted out at the café to look it up before we left. And then Matt and I were talking the whole four-hour car ride across Massachusetts, and I just hadn’t thought to do it. In my head, I’d pictured a cozy little place, maybe a bed and breakfast or a small boutique hotel. Maybe we’d be there with just a handful of other couples. After all, that was what an inn was, wasn’t it? The fact that it had a spa, a golf course, and a fancy French bakery didn’t mean it couldn’t be small, right?

  Not t
his place. No, this place wasn’t a little house tucked into the hills. This was a Gilded Age mansion, complete with towers and turrets and spires and balconies. It looked like something from The Great Gatsby. It was stunning.

  “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

  “I’m sure.” The corner of Matt’s mouth tweaked up as he pulled up into the circular driveway and stopped in front of the house. Two valets instantly appeared on either side of us to open our doors. The one on my side even offered his hand to help me out of the car.

  “Checking in, sir?” the valet on Matt’s side asked.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Excellent.” He pulled apart the two halves of a perforated card and handed one half to Matt. “If you’ll give this to the front desk when you check in, we’ll have your bags delivered to your room momentarily.”

  “Thank you,” Matt said and came around to my side to take my hand.

  “I feel underdressed,” I whispered, zipping up my windbreaker. My jeans and light sweater weren’t ratty by any means, but they didn’t feel as high society as this place looked.

  “You’re fine.” Matt kissed my cheek and led me up the stairs to the entrance, where a bellman opened the door for us.

  I gasped before my foot even hit the marble floor. The foyer or lobby or whatever you’d call it in a house-turned-hotel like that was massive. The ceilings were at least two stories high, and massive columns supported archways that separated different areas of the space. For a second, I felt like a turn-of-the-century socialite arriving for a party.

  “Welcome to the Alford Inn. Are you checking in?”