By Cleo Coyle
Enterprise is booming at Clare Cosi's Village mix, until eventually her woman shoppers begin to die. Lieutenant Quinn is confident that somebody has an awl to grind, and, regrettably, his top suspect is the recent guy in Clare's existence. Now Clare will possibility her heart--and her life--to stick with the killer's path to the sour finish.
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Extra info for Through the Grinder (Coffeehouse Mysteries, No. 2)
A second bottle of wine. Finally, dessert. The woman had placed her manicured hand on her date’s, lifted it off the table, and brought it down underneath. Surprise had registered on the man’s features as she’d made him feel what was there beneath her little black dress—and what wasn’t. To the other diners, nothing had looked amiss. But the Genius had known what was happening beneath that table- cloth, and what would come next. A hastily requested check, the flagging of a cab. Fumbling in the back seat on the ride back to her building—and then the quick and feral mating.
Timed just right. ” Until then, there would be no cozy fireplace, no foamed milk, no buttery croissant. Across the street, the Genius T h ro u g h t h e G ri n d e r 3 shifted from foot to foot on the cold sidewalk, eyes peering through the Blend’s twelve-foot-tall front windows. Like trendy cattle, a dozen customers milled around the coffee bar counter. The woman placed her order with a lanky young man, waited a few minutes, then collected a paper cup from a petite brunette. At last, the door swung wide again.
Triumph Travel,” said Tucker, examining the page. “Triumph has a lot of contracts around the city,” noted Kira. ” said Tucker, skimming the page, then looking at another paper. “How do you know that, Kira? ” Kira shrugged. “Easy, Tucker. ” asked Joy. “Why does anybody kill themselves,” said Esther with a shrug. ” said Tucker. ” “It’s only, like, monumentally embedded in our literary history,” Esther said. ” Tucker rolled his eyes, then loudly cleared his throat and clapped his hands. “People! People!