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

lot of energy barking furiously at every single police officer who had come through the door. Except for Mike. Latte liked Mike.

I was manning the espresso machine in the kitchen, using my plentiful mug collection to make cups of coffee for all the officers who’d been roused out of sleep to come search my house for signs of the intruder.

Mike paced around, barking orders at the officers, not all of whom were even Cape Bay police. I’d spotted at least one state police uniform and a couple of uniforms from the sheriff’s office. It seemed like a little bit of overkill, even to me, but at least Mike had stopped short of calling in the National Guard.

“Fran, we’re ready for you!” Mike shouted from the living room.

“Just a second! I have two more drinks to make.”

“Fran!” He had a warning tone in his voice, but I didn’t care.

“Mike!” I replied in the same tone.

I didn’t know what had gotten into me. While the earlier threats had scared me into stillness, leaving me curled up on the couch in terror for parts of two days, someone actually breaking in had lit a fire under me, and I was dealing with it in the best way I knew how—by making coffee. And I wasn’t going to stop until every last officer had gotten a cup.

I finished the cup I was making and decorated it with a rosetta. I would have liked to do something more elaborate, but I felt like it wasn’t the time. I put the mug on the table and called over to the officer brushing the back door for fingerprints to let him know his coffee was ready. He waved a hand in thanks and went back to his careful work.

“One more!” I called to Mike before he could call me again.

I smiled at the officer who was waiting. “Latte okay?”

“I drink gas station coffee ninety percent of the time,” she said with a smile. “I can stomach whatever you give me.”

“Well, hopefully, this is a little better than gas station quality.” I pulled her shot of espresso and then carefully poured the milk in. As I handed her cup over, I leaned in. “By the way, your bun is falling out.”

Her hand flew to where a chunk of her hair had slipped out of its elastic and was hanging down past her uniform collar. “Oh, gosh, thank you!”

“Bathroom’s over there.” I pointed through the kitchen to the powder room. She put her coffee down on the counter and took off that way.

I wiped my hands on a towel and went out into the living room, plopping myself down on the couch next to Matt. “Okay, I’m ready,” I said, smiling at Mike. He’d sat down in his usual chair with his notebook resting on the makeshift table created by his ankle crossed over his opposite knee.

He and Matt exchanged a look.

“Okay, Fran, can you tell me what happened?” he asked. His eyes were puffy with sleep. I had a feeling that he could fall back asleep in a heartbeat, despite the Americano I’d greeted him at the door with.

I quickly told him about the noise on the stairs, me trying to wake Matt and Latte up, and how I’d finally gotten Latte to chase the intruder out of the house.

“Matt, does that line up with what you observed?”

“Uhh—” Matt looked around uncomfortably. “I slept through the whole thing.”

Mike’s smirk told me he already knew that and was enjoying the opportunity to mess with Matt. Professional officer of the law he might have been, but he still wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to give his buddy grief.

“I want you to think back. Did you hear anything before the creak on the stairs? The door maybe? Any movement downstairs?”

I thought back. “No. I was trying to go to sleep, so I may have already drifted off.”

Mike nodded and jotted down some notes. “And you, Matt?”

“Not a thing. I was asleep.”

“Did either of you lock the door before you went upstairs?”

“Of course!” I said. Then I stopped. It had been locked all day—I knew because I’d checked both the front and back doors several times. But had I checked it before bed? I wasn’t sure. “Actually, I don’t think I did.”

“Matt?”

“Well, I was awake for that!” he said proudly. “But I have no idea. I probably locked it, but I’m not really sure.”

Cape Bay was a small enough town that a lot of people still had the habit of leaving their doors unlocked and their car keys in the ignition. My years living in New York City had thoroughly broken me of that habit, but I still caught Matt forgetting from time to time.

“Keep a key under the doormat?”

“No,” I said firmly.

Mike looked mildly surprised. Like I said, most Cape Bayers didn’t place a high priority on securing their property.

“I keep an extra at the café.”

“But how will you get into the café if your keys are locked inside the house?” Matt asked.

“Sammy.” We really needed to have another talk about how to properly secure our homes.

Mike turned around in his chair. “Hey, Molloy!”

A crime scene tech crouching at the foot of the stairs looked up with a pair of tweezers in his hand. I caught a glint of what looked like dog hair in it.

“Make sure your people check all the points of entry for signs of force. And check the locks for fingerprints.”

“Of course, Detective.” Molloy dropped the hair into a bag and plucked another one from the carpet. I really needed to vacuum more.

“I’ll send someone to check the café, just in case. You have an alarm, right?”

I confirmed that I did.

He spoke into his police radio. “Hey, Leary, if you’re not busy, could you roll by Antonia’s and check the front and back doors?”

The voice of Sammy’s boyfriend crackled through. “Sure thing, Detective.”

Mike looked back at me. “I doubt they gained access using the key at the café. That would take a lot of planning, which