French roast, p.1
French Roast, page 1
Contents
Cover
Also by Sandra Balzo
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Also by Sandra Balzo
The Maggy Thorsen mysteries
UNCOMMON GROUNDS
GROUNDS FOR MURDER *
BEAN THERE, DONE THAT *
BREWED, CRUDE AND TATTOOED *
FROM THE GROUNDS UP *
A CUP OF JO *
TRIPLE SHOT *
MURDER ON THE ORIENT ESPRESSO *
TO THE LAST DROP *
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING URNEST *
MURDER A LA MOCHA *
DEATH OF A BEAN COUNTER *
FLAT WHITE *
THE BIG STEEP *
The Main Street mystery series
RUNNING ON EMPTY *
DEAD ENDS *
HIT AND RUN *
* available from Severn House
FRENCH ROAST
Sandra Balzo
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First world edition published in Great Britain and the USA in 2022
by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE.
Trade paperback edition first published in Great Britain and the USA in 2023
by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.
This eBook edition first published in 2022 by Severn House,
an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.
severnhouse.com
Copyright © Sandra Balzo, 2022
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Sandra Balzo to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0673-2 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0678-7 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0677-0 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
This eBook produced by
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ONE
‘You have an appointment with Helen Durand?’ Surprised, I glanced up from the table I had been clearing in my Brookhills, Wisconsin coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds.
Face half obscured by the espresso machine, Amy Caprese pushed a strand of short fuchsia hair behind one multiply pierced ear. ‘I shouldn’t be long. It’s really not—’
‘The barista needs a shrink?’ Sarah Kingston rounded the corner from the storeroom. My business partner had the ears of a bat. ‘And here I thought we were shrinks.’
‘Just because people dump their problems on us all day, every day, doesn’t mean we don’t have some of our own.’ I glanced at Amy, who admittedly had her head screwed on tighter than either Sarah or I did. ‘Nothing personal.’
‘No offense taken,’ she said, leaning through the service window to continue the conversation. ‘I was just reading that some therapists set up sessions in coffeehouses rather than offices because patients feel more at ease chatting.’
‘I can see that,’ I said.
‘We could use that in our marketing,’ Amy said. ‘Maybe Helen—’
‘Wait.’ Sarah was holding up her hands in a double stop sign. ‘The shrink charges their usual fee but has no overhead. The patient is happy because they have this comfy-cozy session in a familiar setting. What about us?’
‘Exposure and repeat business,’ Amy said. ‘I assume they order a couple of drinks at a minimum.’
‘And what? Sit here for an hour taking up space?’
‘That’s no different from anybody else,’ I pointed out.
The truth was that customers wanted to feel welcome to stay as long as they wished. For our part, we wanted to pay our rent. And that’s where Amy excelled – maintaining that beautiful balance between hospitality and marketing.
And, therefore, we needed her to be well balanced. ‘Take all the time you need,’ I told her now. ‘The morning trains have come and gone.’
Uncommon Grounds was situated in Brookhills’ historic train station, which serviced commuter train traffic into Milwaukee fifteen miles to our east.
‘If you’re not back,’ I continued, ‘Sarah will stay to cover for lunch. Right, Sarah?’
‘Right, Maggy,’ my partner semi-parroted, as Amy circled from behind the counter to front-of-house. When our barista collapsed into a chair at the table I’d been clearing, though, Sarah exchanged a concerned glance with me.
‘You know there’s no shame in seeing somebody, Amy,’ I told her, taking the chair across from her. ‘Sarah and I certainly have.’
‘Please?’ Sarah snorted. ‘Maggy likes to talk a big game, but she was strictly minor league therapy-wise. “My dentist husband cheated on me with his hygienist, wah, wah, wah.” That’s all she had.’
‘Well, it was hurtful,’ I said defensively. ‘Besides, this isn’t a competition.’
Sarah took the chair next to me. ‘I’m just saying that you divorced him and got over it, right? I bet you didn’t even take anti-depressants.’
‘I tried one,’ I said. ‘But they made me gain weight.’ Which was depressing.
‘Wow, big whoop-dee-doo. Gained a few pounds. You should live in my shoes.’
Sarah’s size nines could do without me, thank you very much. ‘You’re saying because you’re bipolar and I’m not, I don’t have a right to be unhappy?’
‘No … well, yes. I’m saying that I have a legitimate disorder. You were just sad for a while.’
‘They call it situational depression,’ Amy said. ‘Rather than clinical.’
‘And I’m clinical.’ Sarah sat back in her chair, hitching a thumb toward her chest. ‘I’m about as clinical as you can get.’
‘Amen,’ I said under my breath.
Amy suppressed a grin. ‘Well, personally, I think you’re amazing, Sarah. I have no reason to complain in comparison.’
We really didn’t talk much about Sarah’s condition in the shop, at least not in a caring, sensitive way. It was more me asking her if she was off her meds when she was being particularly annoying. And, honestly, Sarah seemed to prefer it that way.
Now, her face reddened. ‘I … well, thanks.’
Amy shifted in her seat. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be too—’
‘Nice?’ I asked pleasantly, to move things along.
‘I was going to say personal.’ Amy smiled. ‘But yes. I’m sorry I committed “niceness.”’
‘Forgiven,’ Sarah said gruffly. ‘Just don’t do it again.’
I was studying Amy. ‘This thing, this problem … you would tell us if it had to do with work, right?’
‘Pfft,’ Sarah sputtered, before Amy could open her mouth. ‘What is there to complain about at work? You and I are absolute joys to work for, Maggy. And, besides, Amy pretty much runs the place and us, anyway.’
‘It’s true,’ Amy said, moving her chair back a smidge, as if distancing herself from the conversation. ‘And no, my’ – she was searching for a word – ‘my concern is not work. It’s personal.’
That narrowed things down. ‘What did Jacque do?’
Jacque Oui was Amy’s beau and owned Brookhills’ upscale market, un-eponymously named Schultz’s. Jacque was considerably older than Amy, pompous and nearly comically French, his accent only thickening in his decade and a half in the US.
Jacque was also my third cousin, as I’d recently found out thanks to my son’s dabbling on a DNA website. The news hadn’t exactly thrilled me since I’d always thought the man arrogant. Jacque, in turn, thought that I … well, I’m not sure he actually gave me much thought.
‘Nothing, really.’ Amy’s nose had turned red. ‘We’r e just going through a rough patch.’
I fished a napkin from my apron pocket and handed it to her across the table. ‘So, you’re doing couples counseling with Helen. That’s very sensible.’
‘Actually, no. Not couples.’ She blew her nose. ‘Jacque can’t make it.’
Or didn’t want to, more likely.
‘Jerk,’ Sarah said.
My partner having said what I was thinking, I was free to take the high road. ‘Ted wouldn’t go with me either. It’s not necessarily the worst thing.’
‘You ended up divorced,’ Sarah reminded me.
Oh, yeah.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Amy said. ‘Jacque is the one who suggested I see Helen in the first place.’
‘He is?’ Sarah glanced sideways at me. ‘As in “you’re crazy so go talk to someone and I’ll stay here cuz I’m just fine?”’
‘No, not at all,’ Amy said. ‘Jacque knows he’s been difficult, and Helen is a friend. Her husband Denis and Jacque have known each other since university in Paris.’
‘And they both ended up here?’ Women might go to the bathroom together, but they usually didn’t emigrate. ‘That’s quite a coincidence.’
‘Not really. Denis and his daughter Molly had been living here for like three years when Jacque decided to move after his divorce. Denis suggested Brookhills and let Jacque stay with them until he got his own place. This was before Denis married Helen, of course.’
‘You won’t find it awkward confiding in a friend of Jacque’s?’ I asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ Amy said. ‘Denis aside, Helen’s credentials are pretty spectacular. She has a PhD and her internship was spent in Chicago working with at-risk kids.’
‘You’re a fine person to ask that question anyway, Maggy,’ Sarah said. ‘Didn’t you want to do your couples counseling with Father Jim at Angel of Mercy?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Amy asked. ‘Or isn’t Ted Catholic?’
‘No, he’s not,’ Sarah informed her. ‘But neither is Maggy.’
‘But Jim is an excellent counselor,’ I told Amy.
‘And a former lover,’ Sarah prodded.
‘Oh.’ Amy sat back. ‘That is kind of a conflict of interest. Certainly worse than Jacque knowing Denis.’
‘Unless Jacque was doing Denis.’ This was from Sarah, no surprise.
I groaned. ‘I didn’t “do him,” as you so charmingly put it. We dated in high school, but nothing happened.’
‘Sure it didn’t,’ Sarah said.
‘It didn’t. Not sexually, I mean. We didn’t go—’
‘If you say “all the way,” I’ll scream,’ Amy said, covering her ears.
‘It does make you sound like a dinosaur,’ Sarah told me. ‘An adolescent dinosaur.’
Says the adolescent dinosaur herself. I sniffed. ‘I didn’t bring the subject of Jim up, if you’ll remember. All I was trying to say is that I think it’s a shame Jacque won’t go to counseling with Amy.’
‘He just has so much on his plate right now,’ Amy said, tracing her thumbnail on the table. ‘And it’s me, really, not—’
Sarah groaned.
‘What?’ Amy asked.
‘“It’s me, not him,”’ Sarah parroted. ‘“We’re going through a rough patch. Jacque has so much on his plate.” Maggy isn’t the only dinosaur here.’
Amy squinted at her. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just—’
‘You’re explaining away Jacque’s behavior,’ I finished for her. ‘With timeworn excuses, no less.’
Amy sent me a dark look even as Sarah nodded approvingly. ‘All my years of shrinkage have rubbed off on you, Maggy. Congratulations.’
I cleared my throat. ‘Thank you. I think.’
‘It’s just that we expect more from your generation,’ Sarah continued to our barista. ‘You know, “I am woman, hear me roar” and all that?’
Amy’s face screwed up. We’d lost her again.
‘Helen Reddy?’ I tried.
‘Ready for what?’
I didn’t mean Helen Durand, of course, but Helen Reddy. Trail-blazing Australian songwriter, singer—
‘Never mind,’ Amy said, interrupting my thoughts. ‘But Jacque can’t take the time to see Helen because he is legitimately busy. In fact, he’s trying to keep his business afloat, if you really care.’
Schultz’s Market had been around for more than fifty years. It started as a small mom-and-pop grocery store and then, under Jacque’s ownership these last fifteen years, had morphed into a high-end market, specializing in seafood.
And I did care about Jacque, but only as far as it affected Amy. ‘The business is putting pressure on your relationship?’
‘Along with other things,’ Amy said. ‘But, yes, money is tight to the point that Jacque sold his house and is using the flat above the store when he’s not staying at my place.’
‘Don’t lend him money,’ Sarah warned.
‘You don’t pay me enough to lend money.’
True. ‘I think what Sarah is saying is that Jacque is a big boy—’
‘And certainly old enough,’ Sarah took over. ‘If he hasn’t figured out how to keep his business solvent by now, he’s not going to. You can’t let his cash-flow problems become yours.’
‘But these cash-flow problems, as you call them, were caused by Kip Fargo,’ Amy said. ‘Which does make them mine, like it or not.’
Amy had dated Kip, the wealthy head of Fargo Investments, during an earlier ‘rough patch’ with Jacque. Kip being dead now, I probably shouldn’t speak ill of him.
But I had Sarah for that.
‘Kip Fargo,’ she repeated. ‘If that wart on the behind of Brookhills’ financial community was still alive, I’d pop him.’
I frowned. ‘Disgusting, but I do understand the sentiment.’
A realtor by trade, Sarah had sold Kingston Realty when she partnered with me in Uncommon Grounds. The proceeds of the sale had been invested with Fargo Investments, and when both it and Kip himself went belly up, she’d lost most of it.
Profit margins on coffee not being what they were on real estate, I often wondered if she regretted her decision to give up the business to throw in with me.
‘I curse the day I sold the realty.’
No need to wonder any longer. ‘I noticed Schultz’s is shortening its hours,’ I said to Amy. ‘Is that for cost-cutting?’
‘If so, it’s stupid,’ Sarah muttered, still smarting.
‘Why is it stupid?’ Amy was frowning now. ‘Uncommon Grounds has limited hours on weekends.’
‘That’s because the trains don’t run as often.’ Office workers and shoppers heading downtown made for busy weekdays in the depot, but fewer trains on weekends naturally meant fewer customers.
‘Which is why we shouldn’t open on Sunday at all,’ Sarah said. ‘But Maggy doesn’t have the heart to disappoint the old farts from Brookhills Manor.’
Brookhills Manor was the retirement home down the street. ‘Those old farts are steady customers.’
‘Until they die.’ Sarah was rubbing her chin. ‘But I do think it’s a bad idea for Schultz’s to reduce hours with Bright and Natural Foods entering the market.’
Amy sniffed. ‘Bright and Natural is not competition.’
‘I wouldn’t discount Jamie Bright,’ Sarah said. ‘He’s a savvy guy. Not to mention a little cutthroat.’ Jamie was the founder of Bright and Natural Foods, a growing national chain of organic grocery stores.
‘You know him?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Of course,’ Sarah said. ‘He grew up here.’
‘Then why is Brookhills going to be his fiftieth store rather than his first?’ I asked. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t try to sell him a property when he started out.’
‘Oh, she did,’ Amy said. ‘Schultz’s.’
Oh, my. This could get interesting. ‘When was this?’
‘Maybe fifteen years ago,’ Sarah said.
‘Jacque outbid him,’ Amy said, although she would have been thirteen at the time.
I glanced at her and she shrugged. ‘Jacque told me.’
‘It’s true,’ Sarah said. ‘Jamie was just starting out, so Jacque had the deeper pockets then. Now, Jamie could probably buy and sell the Frenchie ten times over.’
Amy’s bottom lip jutted out. ‘But I bet he doesn’t inspire the kind of loyalty that Jacque does from his employees.’
