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

sleepy-looking eyes and added—
    “But I wonder if you realize, Ms. Cosi, that to reach the middle of the club, Mr. Varma had to pass the bar entirely? He never even touched all those bottles lined up behind the counter.”
    Now the sergeant’s eyes were wide open and fixed on me.
    “Looks like your intruder was running toward the stage , not the bar. But since nobody was here but you, that doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

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    I T was hard not to flinch as Sergeant Price’s ebony eyes bored into mine, but somehow I managed to keep my cool.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I couldn’t tell you what Mr. Varma was after.” (And that was absolutely true.)
    “By the way, I found this on the kitchen floor.” The sergeant dangled a gallon-sized Ziploc bag he’d purloined from our supplies. Inside, a blue and white tie was curled like an exotic snake.
    “You didn’t write anything about the intruder losing a tie, so I wasn’t sure if this belonged to Mr. Jeevan Varma. That is, until I saw the monogram— JV .”
    “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about the tie. Sorry about that.”
    Price tossed the bag onto the polished coffee bar. “Now, Ms. Cosi, tell me again why you opened the door for this man, whom you didn’t know, in the middle of the night.”
    “It’s all right there, in my statement . . .” I pointed to the pages tucked into his dark blue police jacket.
    “Tell me again anyway.”
    I took a breath. “My executive chef has been known to frequent the kitchen at odd hours, and I understand he entertains acquaintances after closing. I thought the man pounding on the door was there to see Chef Hopkins. I didn’t anticipate trouble.”
    Sergeant Price’s eyebrow lifted. “Then why were you holding a meat cleaver?”
    I cleared my throat. “Meat cleaver?”
    “Your kitchen is spotless, everything in its place. Yet I found this on the floor near the door—” The sergeant produced a second Ziploc bag. Inside was the meat cleaver I’d been clutching. “Now, whose fingerprints are we going to find on the handle, do you think?”
    Gritting my teeth, I blinked hard. “You’ll find mine. I admit it. When I heard the pounding on the door, it alarmed me. I grabbed the meat cleaver in case I needed to defend myself.”
    “Why open the door at all?”
    “I’ll level with you, okay? I don’t trust my chef. I’m not sure what exactly he’s up to at odd hours, and I was hoping to find some answers on the other side of the door . . .”
    My explanation seemed to soften Sergeant Price’s stony expression.
    “I think I’m beginning to get the picture. And if what you say is true, then what you did was foolhardy, Ms. Cosi, considering you were alone in the building.”
    “You’re right,” I said because I couldn’t admit that I wasn’t alone. Not without landing Abby and Stan, and (at this point) myself, in hot water.
    Price offered me his hardest stare. “You seem nervous. Do you find my questions disturbing?”
    “Yes, I do, because . . . well, I have questions of my own.”
    “Ask away.”
    “Not questions for you. For my night manager and my bartender. Until I question them, I won’t know if the poor man who barged in here tonight was a regular customer. I won’t know if he was here earlier this evening, if he’d been drinking, or how much alcohol he was served.” Now it was my turn to stare. “You and I both know this business could be held culpable if one of my employees poured Mr. Varma a few too many.”
    “Where is your night manager, Ms. Cosi? You say he lives upstairs, but he’s not there now.”
    “I’m sure Gardner and his bandmates are hitting some after-hours spots so they can keep playing. The members of Four on the Floor are passionate about their music, and they don’t usually hit the sack until seven in the morning. That’s why Gard is the night manager.”
    Sergeant Price gazed at a poster of our house band, propped on a tripod near the staircase.