Dead to the Last Drop by Cleo Coyle Read Free Book Online

and badge. When he told me his name was Patrolman Tom Landry, I thought my hearing was off.
    “Yes, ma’am, that’s my name.”
    “Did your parents name you after the coach?”
    “What coach?”
    “Head coach of the Dallas Cowboys. He led them to Super Bowl victories in 1971 and ’77.”
    He shrugged. “Far as I know, I was named after my granddaddy. He mostly played golf.”
    “Sorry. My mind makes odd connections when I’m nervous . . .”
    I was careful to leave out the fact that I grew up in Western Pennsylvania with a pop who ran a sports booking operation out of the back of my nonna’s little Italian grocery. Sure, it was Pop who made a living on the wrong side of the law, not me. But why give him a reason to question my veracity?
    The truth was—I hated the idea of giving false statements to thepolice, especially one as sweet and polite as Patrolman Landry. But that’s exactly what I had to do for Abby’s sake.
    I said that I was alone in the coffeehouse. False. But nearly everything else I told Landry and his sergeant was the truth, including the man’s drunken rantings about the President and the fact that I went through his pockets, although I fibbed about the reason. (I said I was looking for an asthma inhaler or any type of medication.)
    “You know, ma’am, you were lucky you weren’t hurt,” Patrolman Landry said, “I mean, being alone and all.”
    Instead of replying, I poured the young officer a cup of coffee—because making coffee is another thing I do when I’m nervous.
    After a loud slurp he sighed contentedly. “This sure beats the stuff I get at my regular joint.”
    “Is that right . . . ?” (I couldn’t help myself.) “Where do you usually go for coffee?”
    Landry named America’s most famous burger-and-fries franchise. Then he blissfully drained his cup.
    “Awesome,” he declared.
    “That’s our Wake Up Washington blend. And I’m glad you liked it.”
    “Liked it? I’m in love.” Landry smiled. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
    “I’ll be glad to see you. We could use the business.”
    He smiled wider. “Then I’ll spread the word.”
    “Thanks.”
    He nodded. “So . . . you didn’t know Mr. Varma?”
    “Afraid not. Until I looked in his pockets, I didn’t even know his name. What is it again?”
    “Varma . . . Jeevan Varma,” Landry replied. “Forty-seven years old. Mr. Varma works for the government, according to the IDs in his wallet.”
    Not just the government , I thought. He works for the State Department. But what I said was—
    “Oh, really?” Then I gave Landry my best “puzzled citizen” look. “Don’t you think it’s odd that a man who works for the government would go crazy like that?”
    Landry appeared to stifle a laugh. “You haven’t been in this town long, have you?”
    “A few months.”
    “Well, ma’am, the District of Columbia is a government town, so people here tend to work for the government—sane and insane alike.”
    “I see.”
    “Ma’am . . . don’t you have any idea why Mr. Varma pounded on your door and raced up here?”
    “He said he knew something was here . . .” The President’s daughter, maybe? But I couldn’t say that. Instead, I muttered: “I assumed he was looking for alcohol.”
    “Because . . . ?”
    “He smelled of alcohol. He was slurring his words. And when he burst through the door, he ran up the stairs toward our beer and wine bar—”
    “Except he didn’t stop at the bar, did he, Ms. Cosi?”
    The gravelly voice belonged to Sergeant Price, who seemed to materialize out of the shadows.
    “What do you mean, Sergeant?”
    “The paramedics found Mr. Varma on the floor in the middle of the club, correct?”
    I nodded. “He’d collapsed. That’s where I found him. Then I checked his throat for blockage and monitored his breathing until the paramedics came.”
    “Very commendable . . .”
    As Sergeant Price’s voice trailed off, he closed his deceptively