Caffe Macchiato (A Zion Sawyer Cozy Mystery Book 4) Read online

  Caffe Macchiato

  A Zion Sawyer Cozy Mystery

  Volume 4

  ML Hamilton

  www.authormlhamilton.net

  Caffe Macchiato

  © 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.

  Happy Holidays, 2017 to my family and my readers. May the new year be filled with wonder and happiness and health.

  I appreciate you all more than words can express!

  “Chocolate, men, coffee —

  some things are better rich.”

  ~Author Unknown

  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

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  Zion opened the front door, tugging her coat in place and catching her purse as the strap slipped off her shoulder. She was already late and Dottie would be trying to get the first batch of gingerbread in the oven on her own. She hated making gingerbread, but Zion thought it was a nice addition to their usual offerings just in time for the holidays.

  She stumbled to a stop in the predawn darkness, staring around her. The first snow of the season had fallen. The ski resorts had been in a panic for weeks, waiting for the first snow to fall. It usually came in late October, early November, but not this year. It was already early December and they hadn’t had a flake yet.

  Until today.

  Zion turned slowly around, holding her arms out to catch the softly falling snowflakes. Since she’d been raised in San Francisco, snow was something she’d seen only a few times. She’d never lived in it before and she’d been excited at the prospect of seeing it fall for the first time.

  She raced back to the cottage and threw open the door. “Becks! Becks!” she shouted for her best friend and roommate. “Hurry and come here!”

  Rebekah came bolting out of the back hallway, a sleep mask pushed up on her forehead, her black hair sticking up in back. She had a few white spots of pimple cream on her face where she feared a pimple might make its appearance, but that was silly. Pimples did not dare to darken Rebekah Miles’ flawless skin.

  “What’s wrong?” she said, stopping in the middle of the living room, her hand pressed to her heart.

  “It’s snowing!” Zion said in excitement, running back into the house and catching Rebekah’s hand. “Come on, grab your coat and some shoes.” She dragged her to the coat closet and threw it open, taking out a pair of rain boots she’d stashed in there for all the rain they’d had earlier this year.

  “I don’t want to go out there,” whined Rebekah.

  “Come on.” Zion reached around her and grabbed her coat, tossing it over her head. “It’s the first snow!”

  Rebekah grumbled as she tugged on the boots and shoved her arms in the sleeves of the coat. Zion grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the door. Zion’s black kitten, Cleo, followed them, yawning. Last Zion had seen, Cleo was asleep, curled up in Zion’s covers.

  Zion dragged Rebekah into the yard and held out her arms again, turning a circle. The snow dusted her coat sleeves and a flake landed on her nose. She laughed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Rebekah wrapped the ends of her coat around herself and gave Zion a jaundiced look. “Wonderful is not the word I would use.”

  Cleo took a tentative step out, her feet touching the white flakes gathering on the lawn. She jumped back and shook her paw.

  “Cleo and I agree,” said Rebekah, turning to go.

  Zion had gathered a small amount of snow off the bushes and she’d been packing it in her hands as she watched Rebekah walk toward the door. She launched the snowball at her and it struck her in the middle of the back. Poor Cleo scrambled into the house, peering out the front door, but Rebekah went still.

  She slowly turned around. “You did not just do that!” she said ominously.

  Zion giggled and launched a second at her, striking her in the chest above her designer flannel pajamas. Rebekah gasped, then she pounced, scooping snow from under one of the plants near the porch.

  For the next few moments, they pelted each other with snowballs until Rebekah dashed inside and slammed the door shut. When Zion went to retrieve her purse, she found the living room empty with Cleo peering at her from behind the couch. She scratched the kitten’s head and picked her up, setting her on the couch, then she left the house again and walked to her Optima parked in the driveway.

  Sitting in the car, waiting for the engine to warm enough to defrost the windshield, she smiled. She felt invigorated after the snowball fight and she couldn’t deny the crisp winter air had her vibrantly awake. She figured the snow might get old after a few months, but this was her first winter in Sequoia and she intended to enjoy it.

  When the windshield had defrosted, she backed up and drove down the street. She could feel the tires on the Optima slipping as she made her turn for the highway and she figured she ought to ask Tate if she needed to get snow tires. Tate was officially her boyfriend now, she thought with a smile, and snow tires seemed like something in his wheelhouse.

  Parking in the municipal lot, she climbed out at the same time as Trixie Taylor, who owned Trinkets by Trixie, a novelty shop on Main Street near Zion’s own Caffeinator. She and Trixie often arrived at the same time and walked into their respective stores together.

  “Hi, Trixie,” Zion called, grabbing her purse off the passenger’s seat. “Can you believe it’s snowing?”

  Trixie beamed at her, her platinum blond hair in a perfect pixie cut. Today, a cute green and white knit hat covered her head. Trixie always dressed in designer jeans and form fitting t-shirts, and she never left the house without her makeup perfectly applied, her fingernails manicured. Trixie was nearly twice Zion’s age, but she kept herself in shape.

  “Hey, sweetie, how are you today?”

  “I’m just so excited by the snow.” Zion fell into step beside her friend. “I haven’t lived where it snows before.”

  “Well, I can tell you I’m relieved. We get a lot of business from the ski resorts. If the ski resorts don’t open, we might have a very long winter.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Trixie tilted her head. “Of course not, your business gets a steady stream no matter what, but the rest of us rely on tourists.”

  “Then I’m glad it’s snowing.”

  Trixie paused outside her shop and laid a hand on Zion’s arm. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  “Okay?” said Zion skeptically.

  “I was thinking that after our huge success with the Harvest Festival that we might consider doing a winter festival as well.”

  “I don’t know…” began Zion. The Fangtastic Howl-o-ween Monster Bash had been a lot of work a
nd she wasn’t sure she was up for another one so soon.

  “I was hoping to bring it up at the next Chamber meeting.”

  “You’re going to bring it up?” Zion asked.

  “Yes, what do you think?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Trixie thought for a moment and Zion felt a sinking in her gut. Trixie hadn’t really thought about it at all. “Something involving lights,” she said, giving Zion a look that said she expected Zion to step in with something more concrete.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Zion began and Trixie clasped her hands together. “I’ll give it some thought and run it by Rebekah. This is sort of Rebekah’s job now. Maybe the Chamber could hire her to put together something a little more formal.”

  “Perfect.” Trixie patted Zion’s arm. “I knew you’d think of something.”

  Zion nodded. “Where’d you get your hat? The Knitatorium?”

  “Exactly,” said Trixie, taking her keys out of her oversized purse and putting them in the lock on her door. “You’re gonna want gloves too. Carmen makes the warmest gloves I’ve ever had.”

  “Sounds good,” she said and continued on to the Caffeinator.

  The smell of fresh brewing coffee and warm pastries struck Zion the minute she stepped into the coffee shop. Dottie was making a customer a specialty drink and had her back to the room. Zion hurried around the counter.

  “Good morning, Dottie!” she called as she went through the bar doors and into her office.

  “Morning, sugar!” Dottie called after her.

  Zion took off her coat, placing it on the coatrack and stuffed her purse in her desk, then she grabbed a stack of clean aprons from the shelf and carried them out, placing them under the counter. She took one for herself and tied it around her waist. Now that it was too cold to wear their custom-made t-shirts, Rebekah had suggested they use name tags instead. Zion affixed the name tag to her sweater and went to the sink to wash her hands.

  She glanced over her shoulder, seeing a few of their regulars sitting at the bistro tables or reading in the nook. Three people were waiting in line for coffee. Drying her hands, Zion took their orders, got them pastries, and poured the plain coffee. Dottie handled any drinks that required use of the espresso machine. The noisy machine hated Zion and made terrible sounds whenever she was forced to use it.

  After the customers were served, Dottie prepared Zion her usual Chai tea and went back to kneading the dough for her famous cinnamon breadsticks. Zion sipped her tea and watched her. She was pretty good at baking herself now, but no one did it quite like Dottie.

  Dottie was in her late sixties, wore cat’s eye glasses that she kept on a chain, and dyed her hair to suit the seasons. Today it was the green of holly leaves with red tips. Zion wished she had the courage to take risks like Dottie, but after leaving San Francisco, Zion had allowed her own curly red hair to go natural. She no longer straightened it or put a darker auburn wash on it, and she didn’t bother hiding her freckles anymore. Dottie and her other barista, Dee, had taught her that. If there were two people completely at ease with their identities, it was those two.

  “Trixie Taylor wants to do a winter festival like the Fangtastic Howl-o-ween Monster Bash,” Zion said.

  Dottie glanced over at her. “Let me guess. She wants you to plan it.”

  “She basically said that.”

  “You’re not going to do it, are you? I mean, the Halloween festival was fun, but it was a lot of work.”

  “I know. I’m not really excited about it. I suggested that maybe the Chamber could hire Rebekah.”

  Dottie pointed a floured finger at her. “Now there’s an idea, all right?”

  Zion sipped her tea. “So, I thought maybe we could go over to the kiosk today and take a look around.”

  Dottie stopped kneading and glanced up.

  “After Dee comes in?” Zion continued.

  Back in October, they’d been talking about renting a small A-frame cottage by the freeway and setting up a satellite Caffeinator with a drive-through window to catch the morning commute traffic that couldn’t come into town. Dottie had wanted to go in on the deal with her, but Zion had been worried about it. She was afraid she was overextending herself. However, after David, Zion’s ex-boyfriend and lawyer, helped her write out a business plan, she was feeling better.

  “I thought we could just take a look and see how much work it would take to reconfigure it and get it ready to sell coffee. You wanna go with me?”

  Dottie started kneading again. She had arthritis in her hands and she knew there was an end to how long she could keep making pastries. She wanted something to occupy her and also to provide just a bit more income as she aged. Zion wasn’t opposed to going into business with Dottie. She just wanted to make sure their odds for success were high.

  “I think that is a great idea.” She paused, then she heaved a sigh. “I hate to say this, but I think you’d better call that friend of yours and ask her to go with us. She has a better eye for this stuff than either of us.”

  Zion nodded. Dottie had a point. “Okay, I’ll call her. I think she was just going to be painting the apartment part of her building today.”

  “Does she ever plan on moving in?”

  “I don’t know. There’s always something that keeps her from pulling the cord.”

  Dottie gave Zion a mischievous grin. “Bet you wouldn’t mind her moving out so you could have some one on one time with your man.”

  Zion felt her face heat and she looked away, washing the counter that she’d already washed three times. Dottie wasn’t wrong. Since she and Tate had started dating, they’d had no time alone with each other. He’d taken in Logan Baxter, his teenage assistant, and she’d taken in Rebekah. Then they’d solved a murder and Tate had been suspended from the sheriff’s department, pending therapy sessions with a psychologist. Every time they made plans to go away together for even a night, something came up to derail it. Zion knew they were both frustrated with the situation. This relationship felt very different than any Zion had had before. She and Tate just seemed to work well together and she was ready for more.

  But she wasn’t ready to discuss it with her barista.

  “I’ll just go check on the gingerbread,” she said, moving toward the kitchen. Dottie’s laugh followed her.

  “We’re grown women, sugar,” she called. “Just saying.”

  * * *

  Tate walked into the Caffeinator around 9:30. Zion smiled at him from behind the register. He wore a long-sleeved Henley in navy blue, jeans, and his boots. He shook snow off his jacket outside the door and hung it on the coat rack.

  As he approached the counter, Zion admired him. He was about six feet, brown hair parted on the side and combed back from a strong face, brown eyes that seemed to light up when they looked at her. He wasn’t handsome in the classical sense, but she couldn’t deny he had a charisma that drew her to him – had from the moment they’d met more than eight months before. He was seven years older than she was, but that didn’t seem to matter. They’d always had a connection.

  “Hey,” she said, feeling that flutter in her belly. In the two months they’d officially been seeing each other, that flutter had never gone away.

  “Hey, yourself,” he said, leaning over the counter to kiss her.

  She curled her hand in his shirt and pulled him closer, but a cough from Dottie brought them apart. He closed his eyes in frustration and straightened.

  “Good morning, Dottie.”

  “What’ll it be this morning, sugar?” said Dottie, moving toward the espresso machine.

  “Surprise me. And can you make me a second cup of whatever I’m having for Bill Stanley?”

  “You got it,” said Dottie.

  Bill Stanley was Tate’s morning help. He was a retiree who’d gone back to work part time to save his marriage, or so Tate suspected.

  “Did you see that it’s snowing?” asked Zion excitedly.

  “I did.” He sighed.
“Now it’s gonna be misery until April.”

  “Don’t say that. It’s wonderful,” she said. “I love it.”

  “You gonna love it when you try to hold that winter festival and we get a blizzard?” asked Dottie, then she turned on the espresso machine, drowning out all sound.

  “What winter festival?” shouted Tate above the machine.

  Zion waited until the machine stopped. “Trixie thinks we should have a winter festival since the autumn one was such a success.”

  Dottie placed one of the drinks on the counter in front of him. “Try that and tell me if Bill will like it.”

  Tate kept his eyes on Zion as he picked up the drink and took a sip. He licked his lips. “It’s good. What’s in it?”

  “I’m calling it gingerbread spice. So does Bill want one?”

  “I’ll bet he does,” said Tate, smiling.

  Dottie waggled a finger at him. “You better talk some sense into your girl,” she scolded, shooting a baleful look at Zion.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “She’s gonna get hooked into planning this festival and we’re just about to open up the coffee kiosk.”

  Tate’s attention went back to Zion. “Is that true?”

  “No,” said Zion quickly. “I just told Trixie that I wondered if the chamber might hire Rebekah to put it on.”

  “No, don’t suggest that.”

  Zion gave him a confused look. “Why not? It’s her new line of work.”

  “Then she’ll never get that apartment finished and she’ll never move out.”

  The espresso machine suddenly roared and hissed again.

  “She’ll move out!” shouted Zion.

  “She’s not going to move out as long as that place still needs work! I’ve been thinking maybe I could get the Ford brothers and Jaguar to help me whip it into shape!”

  “Jaguar can’t handle power tools!” said Zion.

  “He can paint!” said Tate. “Look, Zion, we need Rebekah to get her own place. I need her to. I really…” The machine cut off. “...need you alone!”