Espresso

  Espresso

  A Zion Sawyer Cozy Mystery

  Volume 3

  ML Hamilton

  www.authormlhamilton.net

  Espresso

  © 2017 ML Hamilton, Sacramento, CA

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  First print

  All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Writing started as a hobby when I was very young. I never would have dreamed it would become something that gives me such joy.

  I hope it gives my readers even a fraction of the joy it gives me.

  Thank you, as always, for your undying support and may there be a truly excellent cup of coffee in your day.

  “Coffee is the best thing to douse the sunrise with.”

  ~Terri Guillemets

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  “Zion!”

  Tate.

  She quickened her pace and moved through the kitchen to the counter. What was wrong now?

  “I’m here,” she said, crossing around the counter to meet him in the middle of the floor.

  His eyes darted around the room and Zion became aware of everyone staring at them – Tallah behind the register, Dottie at her kneading board, her mother at the table before the window. A young couple sat on the couches to their right.

  Focusing back on her, he drew a deep breath.

  “What’s up?” she asked him.

  He opened his mouth to speak, then before she could react, he stepped forward, catching her face in his hands. Zion didn’t move as he lowered his mouth and kissed her. And what a kiss! Her hands fluttered as he deepened the kiss, then finally they came to rest on his shoulders, pulling him toward her, rather than away.

  After a moment, he broke off and braced his forehead against hers. “Don’t go away with David,” he said in a husky voice.

  * * *

  Zion looked out the window of her little cottage and noticed the leaves had started to fall. It was early October and she’d been in Sequoia the last six months. In that time, she’d inherited a cottage and a coffee shop, got and lost a boyfriend, and recently become a social hermit. She eased back behind the curtains as Tate Mercer pushed a lawnmower out of his garage and onto the lawn.

  Last July, she’d been seeing her lawyer, David Bennett, but Tate had ruined that for her.

  She sighed. She wasn’t being fair. She’d been thinking that things weren’t right with David before Tate had forced her into a decision.

  She replayed the scene over in her mind as she watched him pull the cord to get the lawnmower going, the muscles in his forearms flexing.

  She hadn’t gone away with David, but then she hadn’t exactly started anything with Tate either. His kiss had taken her off-guard. She’d liked it. She liked him, but she felt like she was betraying David when she found herself returning the kiss.

  A difficult talk with David had ensued. He’d been so hurt, so upset, he’d even agreed to forgive her for kissing another man. That made her feel horrible about herself. What sort of person went around kissing other men when she was supposed to be going away on a romantic weekend with her boyfriend?

  Her best friend, Rebekah, hadn’t understood her dilemma. To Rebekah, kissing Tate was just Zion’s inner soul telling her the relationship with David was over. But Zion wasn’t Rebekah and kissing meant something. Going away for a weekend meant something, so naturally, she’d broken things off with David as a result. She hated it when Rebekah was right, even when she was wrong.

  Her mother hadn’t scolded her, and both Tallah and Dottie thought Tate’s gesture was romantic, but he hadn’t let her come to her own decision about David and that made her mad. She braced her forehead against the window molding and closed her eyes.

  She wasn’t being fair again. She’d known the relationship with David had a shelf-life. Going away for that weekend had been a really bad idea. It was a desperate attempt to hang on to something that was already dead. David was the man she would have gone for when she lived in San Francisco. Educated, polished, fashionable, gainfully employed. He was perfect in every way, but when he kissed her…when he kissed her there weren’t any sparks.

  There were with Tate and that made Zion angry and confused. Tate had a past that scared her. Tate was an ex-cop and something had happened to him that put shadows in his eyes and ruined his marriage. Zion didn’t need that. She didn’t need someone with darkness lurking in their soul. But God, when he’d kissed her, she’d responded like she’d never responded before. He ignited something in her and she couldn’t get him off her mind.

  For three months, she hadn’t been able to get him off her mind, which is why she avoided him. Thankfully, he also avoided her. He hadn’t come into the Caffeinator and she hadn’t gone to the hardware store. It was better this way. Any man who elicited a riot of emotions in her had to be all bad. When they were forced into contact with each other, they spoke politely and distantly. No one would guess what lay between them, except most people knew. Gossip in a town like Sequoia was rampant.

  The last social function they’d both had to attend had been the funeral of their mutual friend Jaguar’s mother. Jerome Jarvis, aka Jaguar, had returned home after a successful career as a rock god. His mother had suffered from Alzheimer’s and she’d died tragically just a few months ago. Nothing was going to keep Zion from going to her funeral and being there for her friend, not even Tate.

  Although she had to admit, seeing him in a collared shirt and slacks had made her heart flutter a little in excitement. He’d treated her politely, as if he hadn’t had his mouth on hers in her own store. She’d acted the same way. She didn’t need a man. The fiasco with David proved that. She needed to keep working on herself.

  Cleo, her kitten, rubbed against Zion’s legs. She was getting so big, all long legs and whip thin body. Zion picked her up and nuzzled her dark head, sighing in pleasure when Cleo started to purr. She was going through her awkward teenage stage, but she was Zion’s little princess and Zion told her so every chance she got.

  She let the curtain fall closed and blocked the sight of Tate pushing the lawnmower over his lawn, his brown hair covered by a baseball cap, the sexy panther tattoo visible on his forearm, his muscular calves on display in his board shorts. She missed him. She missed their friendship and she missed…

  No, she wasn’t going to let herself think it. She didn’t miss anything else. She was working on herself and that was enough for now. The problem wasn’t Tate; the problem was having days off. They gave her too much time to think and to want things she had no business wanting. Dottie was making her take at least one day off a week. That day off had never coincided with Tate’s day off before. That was why she couldn’t get him off her mind today.

  Her cell phone rang distracting her and she set Cleo down, hurrying over to the coffee table and snatching it up. Her mother’s name flashed across the display, asking to video chat. She climbed onto the couch, foldi
ng her legs under her, and thumbed it on. Cleo jumped up in her lap, turned a few circles and settled.

  A moment later, Gabrielle Sawyer’s face appeared on the screen. She had dark blue eyes, framed by glasses, and a shag haircut that had gone mostly grey. She wasn’t as tall as Zion and had a pear-shaped figure, but Zion smiled seeing her. She missed her parents so very much now that she’d broken things off with David and had put her friendship with Tate on hold. It was lonely working on yourself, she thought.

  “Hey, Mom,” she said brightly, hoping she didn’t sound manic.

  “Hey, sweet girl, how are you doing?”

  “Great. How are you and Daddy?”

  “We’re great. Your father took the day off to go golfing. He’s starting to do that more and more. I think he’s planning to retire.”

  Zion squinted at the screen. She could just see something in the background, behind Gabi’s head, but she couldn’t make it out. “How do you feel about him retiring?”

  “If that’s what he wants to do, I’m all for it. We each have to make our own journey, darlin,” she said.

  A few months ago, Gabi had discovered yoga. That had caused a transformation in all their lives from kale smoothies to talk of Zen mastery to yoga in Zion’s front yard in yoga pants. Before that it had been piano playing, but the neighbors had complained so much, Gabi had given it up just to keep the peace.

  “How’s Rascal?”

  Gabi bent over, giving Zion a view of the image behind her. Zion leaned closer again, blinking. She still wasn’t sure what she was seeing behind her mother, but she forgot it a moment later as Rascal’s scruffy face filled the screen.

  “Here’s our widdle, precious man,” Gabi said, kissing the terrier’s head.

  Rascal licked her in return.

  “Hey, buddy,” Zion called, waving at him.

  Gabi set him down again and Zion squinted a third time. Suddenly, it coalesced in her mind and her eyes widened. When Gabi again filled the screen, Zion realized her mouth was hanging open. “Um, Mom, what’s that behind you?”

  Gabi looked over her shoulder, then turned back to Zion, beaming. “The studio.”

  “The studio? What studio?”

  “My art studio. Your father designed it in the atrium.”

  Zion pressed a hand to her forehead. This conversation was about to take a weird turn and she felt it as sure as she sat here. “What atrium?”

  “Oh, we had an atrium added to the back of the house. The natural light coming in there is divine.”

  “Hold on. You built an atrium why?”

  “For my painting. I need natural light for painting.”

  “Painting?” Zion blew out air and winced as Cleo began to knead her legs through her sweats. “Since when do you paint?”

  Gabi thought for a moment. “Um, September 4th. Yeah, it was September 4th. I woke up in the morning and I thought, you know what I’ve always wanted to do, I’ve always wanted to paint.”

  “What about yoga? And kale smoothies?”

  “Well, I think yoga is for people who can reach an inner calm. I tried to reach my inner calm, but for the most part, I think I reached inner country road, which was better than my usual inner interstate highway, but not nirvana.” Gabi’s eyes widened. “Oh, did I tell you? I’m into Nirvana now. Their music inspires my painting, but I have to make sure I use my headphones. The neighbors are some old fuddy duddies.”

  Zion blinked a few times. There was a lot in that conversation that needed unpacking. “Okay, can we just back this train up a few feet?”

  “Sure.”

  “You built an atrium?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve started painting?”

  “Right.”

  “And you’ve given up yoga and kale smoothies, but you’re into Nirvana?”

  “On the nose.”

  Zion had reached the part of the conversation that she hadn’t really wanted to have. “Is that one of your paintings behind you?”

  “It is.”

  “Mom,” said Zion in her calmest voice. “It looks like a nude.”

  “Oh, it is. I’m taking a nude painting class at the community college.”

  “You’re what now?” Zion could feel a headache hammering in her temples. “Is that a nude man from the class?”

  “No,” said Gabi, glancing over her shoulder. “That’s your father.”

  Oh, hell no! Zion slapped the phone down on her thigh. You couldn’t unsee that. There wasn’t enough bleach in the world to wipe this image out of her mind.

  “Zion? What happened? Where did you go?”

  “Mom,” she moaned, “why?”

  “Why did I paint your father? Well, we’ve been married for a long time, Zion, and sometimes you need to reignite…”

  “Nope, no, don’t say it!”

  “Oh, stop it. I didn’t raise you to be a prude. There’s nothing wrong with the human body.”

  “There is when it’s your father.” Although, to be fair, Zion would never have guessed that swirl of peach colored paint was her father. Gabi was more of an abstract artist, if Zion were being charitable.

  “Oh, you’re being so silly. Turn the phone back over.”

  “Move away from the painting first,” Zion said, covering her eyes as if she could still see it.

  “Oh for goodness sakes!” huffed Gabi. “Fine. I’ve turned around.”

  Zion cautiously lifted the phone, peeking at the screen. She saw Gabi and the green wall behind her…wait, green? The walls in the house had always been a pleasant taupe. What the hell was wrong with her mother?

  “The walls are green?”

  Gabi looked over her shoulder. “Are you going to tell me you have a problem with this too?”

  “No, but what’s going on, Mom?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is this a midlife crisis?” she asked worriedly.

  “I’m a little beyond midlife, Zion. No, this isn’t a midlife crisis, this is a woman who is finally free to be her best self. I’m exploring new and exciting things. Your father’s onboard.”

  He hadn’t been onboard with kale smoothies, but apparently, he’d agreed to pose in the nude for her mother. Maybe he was onboard. She shuddered at the visual image that popped into her head.

  “You get to this point in your life, sweetheart, where you say what the hell, why not? What have I got to lose? And you just go for it.”

  Zion sighed, a frown knitting her brow. What the hell? Why not? She eased Cleo onto the couch and climbed to her feet, going to the window and pulling back the curtains to look out. Tate was using a hedge clipper to trim the hedge before his windows, the muscles in his back flexing. She’d replayed their kiss in her mind so many times. It had been hot and wild and full of potential. But he scared her. She knew there was something in his past, something dark and tragic, something that she didn’t need to get entangled in. However, if her mother could take risks at her age, so could she, right?

  “Zion?” called Gabi.

  Zion lifted the phone and smiled at her. “You’re right, Mom. Why the hell not?” she said.

  * * *

  After wandering around the cottage for most of the day, Zion decided to drive into Sequoia and get dinner at the Bourbon Brothers’ BBQ. Her closest friend in Sequoia, Cheryl Ford, owned it with her husband and his brother. Of all the places in Sequoia, the barbecue was hopping all hours of the day.

  She parked in the municipal parking lot and walked down to the restaurant, passing Jaguar’s music store. It hadn’t opened yet, but he was planning a Grand Opening in a few weeks. She was looking forward to it. His past bandmates were coming and there was going to be food and music and dancing.

  The windows of the store were covered with butcher paper, so she couldn’t see inside. She tried the door, but it was locked. She hadn’t seen him in a few days and she was wondering how everything was coming along. Jaguar had rubbed her the wrong way when he first came back into town, but she’d so
on realized that the arrogance was all part of his act.

  She crossed the street and hurried to the barbecue. When she opened the door, the sound of classic rock and the smell of roasting meats struck her. The younger brother, Daryl Ford, manned the register. Daryl was clean shaven, handsome with warm brown skin and deep chocolate colored eyes. Daryl always had an interesting pattern shaved into his hair.

  He waved at Zion when he spotted her and called into the kitchen. Zion walked up to the counter next to him, noting that most of the booths were filled with customers. No matter what time of the year, the barbecue was always busy.

  “Hey, girl,” he said, flashing his white-toothed smile at her.

  “Hey, Daryl, break any hearts since breakfast?”

  “All of them,” he said, laughing.

  She could see his brother Dwayne through the order window. Dwayne had a full black beard, speckled with silver, and short cropped black hair that was also threaded with silver. His arms were the size of small trees and he was a few inches taller than Daryl. He spotted her through the window.

  “You know you can just come on back,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door.

  Zion went around the end of the counter, but stepped back as Pedro, the busboy, came through the swinging door, carrying a bucket for dishes. “Sorry, Pedro,” she said, easing around him.

  “No worries,” he said, smiling at her as he went out to clear off a table in the restaurant.

  She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Alfred, Dwayne’s short-order cook, came out of the walk-in refrigerator. Alfred always buzzed around like a busy bee, and he and Dwayne had worked out a sort of ballet between them, moving from the grill to the prep counter without running into each other.

  “Out of the way,” Alfred said.

  Zion moved back against the wall to avoid him. She didn’t think she’d ever heard Alfred say anything else to her. He was always scolding her that she was in his way. She didn’t even know if he had a family or where he’d come from. Alfred was not a man concerned about making new friends.