sniffled. As she wiped her eyes, her makeup smudged. She looked like a sad raccoon, and I felt like a heel. Still, I had to ask . . .
“How am I supposed to believe anything you say? You lied about Glenn, didn’t you? You claimed you were engaged to him.”
“Glenn and I are engaged.”
“Then why are you sleeping with Oat?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Glenn hasn’t given me a ring yet. He keeps saying he wants to find the right one, but I think he’s stalling . . . not so sure about me yet.”
Lucia shook her head, glanced in the direction of the firehouse. “Oat and I were hot and heavy once. When he started hanging around Dad’s caffè again, I decided to have a little fun with him, a last little fling. I needed a break from the hospital today, and Oat’s the kind of guy who can make a girl forget her troubles . . .”
“So you have no interest in Oat? You’re just leading him on?”
“Oat doesn’t want to get married.” She waved her French tips. “He’s a confirmed bachelor, just like his captain. He knows I’m just playing around, waiting for my stupid boyfriend to get off his ass and marry me. I’m actually hoping Glenn will get wind of what’s going on. Nothing like a little jealousy to get a man off his behind and make him commit.”
A match made in heaven. “Here.” I handed the bag back to her. “If you didn’t set the fire, then who do you think did?”
“Some nut obviously. Haven’t you read the papers?”
Matt tugged my arm. “Let’s go, Clare.”
“Wait,” I said. “One more thing, Lucia.”
“What?”
“The arsonist threatened to burn down my coffeehouse. An unmarked package was left for me with a box of wooden matches inside.”
I closely watched Lucia’s reaction. Her raccoon eyes widened; her glossed lips parted. She looked genuinely surprised.
“I don’t know whether you’re telling me the truth or not,” I said. “But I want you to know: I’m going to get this arsonist. I’m going to nail him—or her—right to the wall.”
“I hope you do, Ms. Cosi,” she said. “As long as you leave me alone and stay out of my business. Or I’ll nail you to the wall with real nails.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah!”
Matt tugged my arm again, harder this time. “Let’s go, Clare.”
As he pulled me away, Lucia returned to her Corvette and slammed the door. I watched her drive away, then I faced my ex.
“I’m not giving up.”
I half expected a lecture or at the very least a smirk. Instead, Matt put his hands on my shoulders and said—
“I know you won’t.”
The guy always did come through when I least expected it.
TWENTY-NINE
HOURS later, the bake sale over, the Village Blend kiosk packed up and put away, I found myself back in Queens, sitting across from Val Noonan in the shamrock green booth of Saints and Sinners.
The Irish pub had all the traditional trappings: darkly paneled walls, a long bar, authentic Gallic hops on tap, and shiny brass fittings everywhere you looked. (I would have given half my New York lottery winnings for a doppio espresso—if I had lottery winnings—but the only coffee this pub served was Irish, so I’d ordered up a Harp.)
Val, who preferred a darker brew, was now nursing a pint of Guinness, eyes riveted on the front door, while I finished up my cell phone conversation.
“Say that again? You’re going to be late because of . . . ?”
“A pizza delivery,” Mike replied. “We got a last-minute tip. A delivery is scheduled for tonight. The stuff’s coming in a pizza-delivery car, but it’s not pizza. You follow me, sweetheart?”
“I do.”
I was happy for Mike. I was. Sergeant Franco had ferreted out a solid lead in their current case. A pizza car was the method of delivering the buffet of club drugs to key players on the construction site—at least Mike thought so. His squad still had to prove it.
“I’m sorry, Clare. I wanted to be there with you tonight, but this is the break we’ve been waiting for . . .”
I heard the regret in Mike’s tone, followed by the barely suppressed excitement. I didn’t mind. I knew how he felt—and in more ways than one.
My confrontation with Lucia left me feeling like Don Quixote again, although I wasn’t kicking myself for charging a pair of stiletto heels instead of a fire-breathing beast because I’d seen Mike make the same kind of run. He and his squad would