Latte Trouble - By Cleo Coyle Page 0,27

known Mr. Kazumi for decades.”

“Oh yes. Otomo is a good friend, and so is Olaf Caesara at the Caen department stores. And of course Fen. I don’t know what I would have done without Fen. He never forgot Lottie, even after two decades.”

Odd to hear Lottie call herself by her own name, I thought. But I guess that’s what happens when you and your business have the same name.

“Has this ever happened to you before?” I asked. “Getting sick like this…so suddenly?”

To my surprise, Lottie nodded. “Oh, when I was young, I used to get panic attacks. I was so afraid of everything. My knees would get weak, I would feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. And I did have these same symptoms a few weeks ago, the night we all sat down in your coffeehouse and planned the party.”

“Have you sought help?”

“I saw the doctor the next day and he couldn’t find anything wrong—said it was probably nerves. Asked me if I wanted to try Prozac.” She shook her head.

I recalled the evening, about a month ago, to which Lottie was referring—in fact, it had been the arrival of Lottie, Tad, and Rena that had sparked Tucker’s and Moria’s cyclical fashion discussion.

I’d taken Lottie and her partners to the coffeehouse’s second floor and we sat in overstuffed chairs around the fireplace, drinking lattes and eating pastries while we talked. Could Tad or Rena have tampered with Lottie’s food or drink that night? It was possible—there were trips to the rest rooms and I’d taken Lottie downstairs and back up again at one point to have her decide whether the ground floor’s tables should be taken out for the party.

“And you haven’t felt sick like this since then?”

Lottie shrugged. “No. Not until today.”

I wanted to ask Lottie many more questions. How often did she eat or drink with Rena and Tad? Had she narrowly avoided an accident of late, or had a close brush with death? But for the life of me, I just couldn’t think of a tactful way to do it.

“You do know all the details about what happened in my coffeehouse last night?” I asked. “Someone was poisoned. Died. My barista was arrested for the crime. I believe he’ll be charged today with murder.”

Lottie frowned. “It’s so terrible. You must feel awful.”

I met Lottie’s gaze. “Tucker, my barista, said something before the police arrested him. He told me that the latte he had on that tray was supposed to be for you.”

Lottie seemed genuinely surprised. “Are…are you sure?”

“Tucker told me Tad asked him to make one for you, specifically. The victim snatched the cup off the tray while Tucker was carrying it to you.”

Lottie’s expression darkened. She brushed an errant strand of scarlet hair away from her face and stared at me. “Are you saying someone tried to kill me?”

“I can’t say that,” I replied. “Not honestly. The poisoning could have been random. Or—”

“Or your barista could be lying. Trying to hide the fact that he’s guilty.”

I shook my head. “That’s not possible.”

Lottie reddened. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that, Clare, and I’m sorry. But really, think about it. Who would want to get rid of me?”

I shrugged, not wanting to reveal my suspicions just yet because they could possibly hurt Lottie in the same way her remark about Tucker wounded me. In any case, accusing Lottie’s business partners of trying to murder her without a shred of evidence to prove it would not convince her—I wasn’t even sure I was convinced myself.

“Maybe a business rival?” I suggested after a pause.

Lottie tossed her head back and laughed that strained laugh of hers. “I’ve been out of the fashion scene for twenty years, Clare, and only back into the muck for a year. Believe me, it takes a little longer for your rivals to want to kill you in this business—though not much longer, I grant you that.”

“Maybe a crazy stalker? Or someone from your past?”

Lottie smiled sympathetically. “Look, Clare. I understand why you’re searching for answers, for someone to blame. Something terrible happened in your coffeehouse, and one of your employees was arrested. I can see why you’d want to get to the truth, and you probably will, eventually. But I can’t think of anyone who would want me out of the picture for any reason.”

Then Lottie grinned, rose, and pulled herself together.

“I feel much better now,” she said. “The cramps have subsided and my ears aren’t ringing anymore. I’m sure this episode was