Punch, Pastries, and Poison by Harper Lin (ebook reader for pc and android .txt) 📕

intention of getting involved with Mike’s investigation. I was more than happy to leave that up to him. But since it was my food and my café, I was the best person to spot anything out of the ordinary. I wouldn’t do any investigating, just some observing. And I’d report anything out of the ordinary to Mike immediately. What could possibly be the harm? I’d go to the café, take a look around, and see if anything stood out. He told me I couldn’t clean up or open up, but he didn’t say I had to stay out.

But first, I needed to call Matt. And then I needed to take a shower. For one thing, I knew I could really use one—and a good teeth-brushing. On top of that, I felt like it would be a good test of how much better I was actually feeling. After all, my mother had always said that if you could make it through a shower, you could make it through the day and, for the most part, I’d found that she was right. If I could get through my shower, I could get through my day.

I grabbed my phone and called Matt. He grunted hello just before it went to voicemail. “You okay?” I asked.

He groaned.

“Did I wake you up?”

“Uh-huh,” he said with a moan.

“Do you want me to let you go back to sleep?”

“Uh-huh.”

I said goodbye and let him go back to sleep then headed up the stairs to get cleaned up. I checked my closet and drawers to see what kind of damage the crime scene techs had done. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, all things considered. I could tell someone had rustled through the clothes, but everything was still sort of folded and roughly where it had been. I opened my underwear drawer and reached for a clean pair then pulled my hand back. Someone—I didn’t know who—had been digging through it only a couple of hours earlier. Who knew what they’d touched just before or if they’d washed their hands? What if they’d just opened up the toilet tank or checked the cleaning chemicals under the vanity? I scooped up every last scrap of fabric in the drawer and dumped it all in the hamper. I’d figure something out, but I wasn’t going to put on anything that some stranger had just had their filthy hands on.

I survived my shower and scrounged up some clothes that hadn’t obviously been pawed over. Latte was over at Matt’s, probably curled up next to him on the bed, keeping Matt’s legs warm whether he wanted him to or not. I would have enjoyed those snuggles during my own nap, but Matt had sounded like he was worse off than I was, so I didn’t mind. I locked up the house and headed for the café.

This time, I went in the back door instead of the front. It was a slightly shorter walk to go that way, and I wanted to conserve my energy just in case the positive effects of my nap wore off. Plus, it wasn’t as easily noticeable from the street if I used that entrance. Mike might not have told me to stay away from the café, but I didn’t want to tempt his wrath by strolling down Main Street and through the front door. He’d probably claim I should have known to stay away, but I didn’t see how he could really blame me if he hadn’t told me to keep out. I was allowed to be in my house, wasn’t I? Why not also the café? Even so, it seemed safer to sneak—I mean to go in through the back.

It was eerily quiet inside and not just because I was alone. I spent a lot of time alone in the café. There were many times that I stayed late after closing to bake or get some paperwork done. It was plenty quiet then, but somehow this was different. I found myself peeking under every table and behind every closed door in the place—even the bathrooms’ closed doors, which I immediately wished I hadn’t looked behind. My stomach turned, and I had to stand stock-still for a minute until the wave of nausea the smell brought on had passed. I’d have to see if I could hire someone with a stronger stomach to clean it up for me—when Mike granted permission, of course.

I walked over to the tables that were still half full of food from the party—food that had now been picked over by party guests and crime scene techs. For the most part, it looked... fine. I’d been around food enough in my life to recognize that the puff pastry dishes had gotten a little soggy, the cookies weren’t quite as soft or crisp as they should be, and the punch had been untouched and uncovered for too long, but nothing gave me any visual indication that anything had been poisoned. I don’t know what I expected poisoned food to look like, of course—maybe a skull and crossbones or Poison Control Mr. Yuk imprinted on them—but whatever it was, I didn’t see it.

I leaned down to get a closer look at everything, on my guard like the food was a spider that could see me coming and jump at my face. Fortunately, nothing moved.

I reached out and picked up one of the Italian sausage canapés to examine it more closely. I even sniffed it, but it just smelled like cold, day-old sausage and butter. I put it down and moved on down the table, picking up one or two pieces from each tray, looking them over, and smelling them. Aside from being stale, nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the slightest. Even the plates, cups, and napkins—one of which someone had taken the time to fold into an intricate design—that had been left behind all looked like perfectly normal trash.

I sat down in a chair at the front of the café