A Cup of Jo by Sandra Balzo Read Free Book Online

pastries, sandwiches and soups would await us when we arrived to open at six a.m.
    And, smart woman that she was, Tien wouldn't be interrupted by frantic calls for help out front. While I filed this under 'good problems', in that it meant business was booming, counter service certainly wasn't Tien's responsibility. If needed, we'd add more staff.
    Or, bright idea, train Sarah to open.
    'Uh-hum.' A clearing of the throat from Kate.
    Tien gave me a pat on the shoulder and got going while the going was good.
    I turned back to Ms McNamara.
    She raised her eyebrows at me.
    'Yes?'
    'My order?'
    Apparently Kate had mistaken me for someone with a steel-trap memory that extended beyond the prior five seconds. I poised my pen over the pad. 'That was . . .'
    A put-upon sigh. 'Medium . . . iced . . . latte . . . fat-free . . . bran . . . muffin.'
    I scribbled the latte details and looked up. 'We don't have bran muffins. How about chocolate chip?'
    'Fat-free?'
    'If you don't count the chocolate.' Or the vegetable oil.
    I wrote it down. 'Did you want that for here or to go, Kate?' Guess which I was hoping for.
    'Here.'
    Damn.
    Amy, our young, but uber-experienced barista, was spinning her magic on the espresso machine. I handed her a mug and relayed the drink order.
    'Milk?' she asked.
    'Of course.' A latte is one-third espresso and two thirds milk. Amy knew that.
    My barista gave me a patient smile. 'I meant what kind of milk? Whole? Skim? Two-per cent? Soy?'
    Oh. It had been a while – four months, to be exact – since I'd been behind the counter, resulting, apparently, in losing a yard off my fast-ball.
    I turned to Kate.
    'Skim,' she said. 'And no ice.'
    'No ice in the iced latte?' I asked.
    'It costs the same as a hot latte and ice takes up room.' Kate had been trying to peer out the side window and now turned back. 'Why would I pay for ice?'
    'To make the drink cold?' I hazarded. Espresso was brewed and, therefore, hot. Add cold milk and you have something just this side of tepid.
    'Just swirl a few ice cubes around and then fish them out,' Kate said. 'Amy knows.'
    She does, huh?
    'Got it,' my barista said brightly and started the drink. I was seriously considering a no-ice surcharge.
    'With a Splenda,' Kate added.
    As Amy pulled the shots for the drink, I tonged the biggest muffin in the bakery case and centered the calorie-bomb on a plate.
    'I need a bag, too,' Kate said. 'In case I'm called away on assignment.'
    'Shouldn't you be somewhere working the story right now?' I asked, hope trumping experience.
    'The station wants me to monitor things back here.'
    Kate has the light-skinned complexion of her Irish mother and father. Her emotions showed plainly on her face, like a freckled mood ring.
    And right now the tip of Kate's nose was red. Equals: not happy.
    Wonder why.
    'Really,' I said, probing delicately. 'I have to say I was surprised to see you weren't at the morgue or wherever they took JoLynne.'
    Cheeks went bright pink, in patches, like an invisible Lilliputian was serially slapping her. 'We have a police reporter on that,' she said stiffly. 'Someone needs to be here to follow the "body-found" continuing story, and I'm the one who's most familiar with it.'
    A twist of the metaphorical knife now, even as I laid a real knife and three pats of butter on her plate . 'Local stuff, huh? I understand completely. Station management probably doesn't think you're quite ready yet.'
    Houston, we have lift-off. Kate's entire face erupted into flames. 'I – I . . .'
    'Excuse me.' Amy elbowed her way in and passed Kate the quasi-iced iced latte. I slid the well-equipped muffin plate toward her as well, plus the bag she'd asked for.
    Kate started away and then stopped. 'Oh, and a to-go cup with some ice in it?'
    I opened my mouth, but Amy reached across me and handed her the cup.
    As Kate took her leave, our barista confronted me. 'Maggy, we've talked about this. You know you're not supposed to torture the customers.'
    I shrugged. 'She's