Americano (A Zion Sawyer Cozy Mystery Book 5)

  AMERICANO

  A Zion Sawyer Cozy Mystery

  Volume 5

  ML Hamilton

  www.authormlhamilton.net

  Americano

  © 2019 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.

  This book is dedicated to all those people rediscovering their lives and their sense of adventure after their careers and child rearing are done. There’s so much more to accomplish in the second half of life.

  “Coffee is a way of stealing time which should by rights belong to your older self.”

  ~ Terry Pratchett

  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

  Z ion smiled for the camera, trying to ignore the way the mayor tugged her down to her height. The reporter for the Sequette motioned for them to get closer, so the mayor tugged her closer still, laying her head against Zion’s.

  Mayor Yolanda Pratt was five feet, if that, full-bodied with large pink rimmed sunglasses, a pink skirt and blazer, and a pink blouse with a pink scarf wound around her neck three times. She’d worn a different wig every time Zion had seen her and she had two bright circles of pink on the apples of her cheeks.

  “Just one more,” said the young woman, snapping away with an old-fashioned Nikon camera. “Got it. Now one with the giant scissors.”

  Zion motioned to Tate and he brought the giant scissors over to the red ribbon tied across the new drive-through lane for her coffee kiosk, the Half Caf. He gave her a look that clearly urged patience. She gave him a smile in return. She was being patient, she thought. Very patient.

  Yolanda reached for the microphone that Logan had set up for them. It was attached to a portable amplifier and plugged into the Half Caf through the kiosk’s open door. Logan passed it over, bending down to turn up the volume. The mayor placed the microphone against her mouth and the amplifier erupted in feedback.

  The small crowd flinched at the painful noise.

  “Dude Mayor, out here!” shouted Deimos, one of Zion’s baristas. “Hold it out here!” he pantomimed.

  “Of course,” said Yolanda with a giggle. “I haven’t had much occasion to use one. Not like some people we know,” she finished, pointing at Jaguar, who stood next to Tate, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest. She giggled again and winked at the past rock star.

  Jaguar winked back, giving her a sexy smile. Zion shook her head. He just couldn’t turn it off, no matter what.

  “On this special occasion, I think it’s only right that I say a few words,” said the mayor.

  Dottie, Zion’s other barista, rolled her eyes and whispered something to Tallah, their afternoon part-time help. Zion glared at the two of them, but Dottie ignored her, her bright green hair shimmering in the sunlight. Tallah had a strip of bright green running through her thick mane and Zion wondered if they’d coordinated it. She felt a little left out. Not that she thought green would go well with her own red-orange mass of curls.

  “Opening a new business in our fair city is such a wonderful opportunity to reflect on how far we’ve come. When I first came to Sequoia twenty years ago…”

  Zion was distracted as her best friend, Rebekah, walked past them in her high heeled Louboutin pumps and Hugo Boss designer suit for the door of the kiosk.

  “When I…um…” Yolanda’s gaze followed Rebekah as well. “…first arrived…I…found that most…”

  Rebekah disappeared inside the kiosk.

  “…businesses were on Main Street, but a few were opening up…”

  Rebekah appeared again, dragging a chair behind her.

  “…out this way…and I…um…”

  Rebekah set the chair up in the drive-through lane and sat down. The mayor stopped, staring at her.

  “Go on,” said Rebekah, crossing her legs and waving a hand at her.

  Zion realized her eyes were bulging. She glanced over at Tate and found him trying to hide a smile. He gave her an encouraging nod.

  “I am so pleased to see that people are choosing to make Sequoia their home and building businesses that will stand the test…”

  A loud roaring could be heard, coming from the direction of the highway, drowning out the mayor.

  “…that will stand the test of time!” shouted the mayor, but everyone turned and looked toward the highway.

  What now? thought Zion. This opening ceremony had already gone on longer than she’d expected and they needed to get back to the Caffeinator and sell some coffee or opening the kiosk would be a moot point.

  “When Zion first approached the Chamber of Commerce about opening up a drive-through coffee shop by the freeway!” shouted the mayor. “I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but here we are and it definitely…”

  The roar grew louder, engines revving.

  “It definitely!” shouted Yolanda, placing the microphone near her mouth.

  Feedback squealed out of the amplifier and everyone flinched away, torn between the spectacle outside the kiosk and whatever was coming toward them from the highway.

  Suddenly a number of motorcycles pulled off the interstate and into the parking lot where the Half Caf was located, not a one of them sporting a muffler, Zion felt sure. She did a quick count and there had to be at least six riders, all wearing sunglasses, helmets and black leather jackets with leather chaps.

  One of the men in front took off his helmet, revealing a completely bald crown and a silver-grey handlebar mustache. “So when’s this joint gonna open? We didn’t come all this way for nothin’.”

  “Can you…” shouted the mayor. “Can you turn them off!”

  Like a wave of sound, the engines cut off. The mayor blew out air.

  “Thank you,” she said, fluffing her hair. “As I was saying, it definitely seems as if…”

  The riders began to remove their helmets and sunglasses, stepping off their bikes and gathering in a loose group on the edge of the townspeople.

  “…we are ready for a drive through coffee shop that will meet the needs of both residents and tourists alike. I’m reminded of my first day in Sequoia more than twenty years ago. I was a young…”

  Zion’s attention was captured by the couple climbing off a motorcycle in the middle of the pack, removing their helmets. She squinted at the familiar figures standing next to a Harley Davidson with flames along the fuel tank.

  “Mom? Dad?” she whispered.

  “Oh snap!” Deimos exclaimed. “Gabs, is that you?”

  The shorter rider removed her sunglasses, beaming a smile at Zion and waving. Zion opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her father also removed his sunglasses, looking a little more sheepish, giving her two thumbs up.

  “I met Sheriff Wayne Wilson,” continued the mayor as if she didn’t see what was happening. “He wasn’t the sheriff then, but a young patrolman…”

  As the mayor droned on and on about meeting Sheriff Wilson, Zion stared at her parents. Motorcycles? Leather? What the hell was going on? Her parents had done some pretty crazy things lately…well, to be fair, her mother had, but this had to be at the top of the list.

  She gradually became aware that people were staring at her. She lifted her head and looked around. Gabi and Joe were making cutting motions with their fingers and the mayor eyed her encouragingly.

  “Cut the ribbon, Miss Sawyer,” said Jim Dawson of the Cut & Print with barely contained contempt.

  “Oh,” she said in surprise and then hurried around the mayor, opening the scissors and placing them over the red ribbon. She sliced down or she thought she did, but the scissors just made a crease in the ribbon. She tried again and again to no avail.

  Yep, this felt about right.

  “Do something, Hardware Man,” said Rebecca.

  Tate walked over and yanked the ribbon off the wall of the Half Caf, then Dottie, her sister Lottie, Deimos and Tallah went inside, bringing out trays with sample coffee and pastries on them. Zion lowered the scissors, looking over at the huddle of bikers, then she leaned close to Tate.

  “A motorcycle, Tate,” she said.

  Tate gave a good-natured shrug, placing his arm around her shoulders. “At least they have clothes on, honey.”

  Zion drew a deep breath, releasing it. Yep, at least they had clothes on, all right.

  * * *

  “A motorcycle!” she heard herself yelling.

  Tate grimaced and looked down, while her parents shifted uncomfortably on the couch in their leather chaps and leather jackets. Zion’s cat, Cleo, sniffed at Gabi’s chaps
, shaking her head violently and sneezing.

  “You bought a motorcycle?”

  “Well, what were we supposed to do? I mean, they wouldn’t let us join if we didn’t have a motorcycle,” said Gabi in her most reasonable tone.

  “Join! What does join mean?” shouted Zion.

  “Generally speaking, join means to declare yourself a part of something, either formally or informally. Since we pay dues, I’m guessing we’re a bit more formally involved,” said her father.

  Tate snorted, then covered his mouth with his fist. Zion shot him a death glare, then shot a death glare at her parents. “You own a Harley Davidson!”

  “Yes, a Harley Davidson Street 500.”

  “You’re not helping, Joe,” said Gabi softly, her hand stroking down Cleo’s sleek black fur.

  “He’s not helping? How about you start coming clean with me?” Zion said, clasping her hands together and pointing at her mother.

  “Well, I have to tell you, I find your approach a little off-putting…” began Gabi.

  Zion gave a muted scream and walked a crazed circle. No one could put her in fits the way these two could. Tate rose and guided Zion to a chair. “Let me try,” he said. “I’m a little less emotionally involved right now.”

  Zion slumped into the chair, slapping her hand against her thigh. “Go for it. Not that you’ll get any farther than I have.”

  Tate pulled a kitchen chair up in front of the coffee table, taking a seat. “Okay, let’s just all take a deep breath.”

  Gabi and Joe continued to stare at him. Zion braced her elbow on the chair arm and leaned her chin upon it, giving him an I told you so look.

  “It’s good to see both of you,” he began.

  “It’s good to see you, Tate,” said Gabi. “You’re looking well. Have you put on some muscle?”

  “I’ve been going for a run with Zion in the evenings now that the weather’s getting better,” he said.

  “That must be it,” said Joe. “You’re looking fit as a fiddle.”

  Zion made a growling sound.

  Four pairs of eyes shifted to her and Cleo blinked lazily.

  Zion motioned for Tate to get on with the interrogation.

  “So, I think Zion’s concern is that you bought a motorcycle.”

  Gabi and Joe frowned at him. Zion arched her brows.

  “I mean, a motorcycle’s a dangerous vehicle and it concerns her that you’re riding it.”

  The frowns deepened.

  “All the way from the Bay Area to here.” Tate made an arc with his index finger in the air. “A long way. On freeways. At freeway speeds.”

  They still didn’t answer.

  “And there appears to be, uh, a group of you. And well, I think Zion would like to know who these people are you’re hanging out with because they seem a little…”

  “A little?” repeated Gabi.

  “Rough,” finished Tate.

  “When we joined the group, we thought it would be a good way to meet new people and get out on the weekends,” said Joe.

  “When you say joined, I think maybe we’re a little unclear about what it is you’ve joined,” suggested Tate in his most reasonable tone.

  “Oh, it’s a motorcycle gang,” said Joe.

  Zion sat up straight in the chair. “A what now?”

  “A motorcycle gang,” said Gabi, lifting Cleo onto her lap. “You know I could really use a cup of tea.”

  “No!” said Zion, surprising all of them with how sharp her tone was. “I heard you say you joined a motorcycle gang.”

  “We did. That’s why we bought the Harley. I’m not understanding what’s so hard to understand,” said Gabi.

  “The fact that you joined a motorcycle gang!” said Zion, gripping the arms of her chair.

  “Well, sweetie, what else would you call it? We ride motorcycles, we joined a group, they ride motorcycles too, and we all get together regularly, so therefore, it’s a gang.”

  Zion gave Tate a horrified look.

  “Does the gang have a name?” he asked.

  “What? What does that matter?” Zion said, her voice rising.

  Tate held out his empty hands.

  “The Rusty Buckets,” said Joe without a trace of irony in his voice.

  Zion’s gaze snapped back to him. “The Rusty Buckets?”

  They both nodded.

  “It’s on our jackets if you didn’t notice.” Joe turned on the couch and showed her his back. Sure enough, a rusty bucket was embroidered on the back with the name scrawled across his shoulders in block letters. Across his lower back were the words, Joey the Knuckles.

  “Joey the Knuckles?” Zion asked.

  “I’ve got a little arthritis in my knuckles,” he said, shrugging.

  She glanced at her mother. “And you?”

  “Gift of the Gabs,” she said, showing her back. “But they call me GiGi mostly.”

  Tate made a strange coughing sound into his fist again. Zion ignored him, bracing her forehead with her hand. “Okay, I’m trying to understand…” she began.

  “Oh, sweetie, you don’t have to understand anything. We’re just having a good time,” said Gabi. “It’s all good, clean fun.”

  “On a motorcycle,” Zion reminded them.

  “Well, you gotta go some way. I figure this way we’ll at least go fast and furious,” said Joe with a laugh. It trailed off when he realized no one else was laughing. “I thought it was funny.”

  Gabi patted his thigh. “It was, dear.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Zion. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Well, saying you support our decisions would be nice.”

  “Would it, Mom? Would it now?”

  “Again, I’m not loving this tone you’re taking.”

  “Fine. Then I’m going to buy a motorcycle. No!” She rose to her feet and held up a hand. “A skateboard. That’s it. I’m buying a skateboard and selling the Optima. I’ll just skateboard down the highway to work. And a neck tattoo. I think I should have a neck tattoo of a naked woman’s silhouette! You know, like on the mud flaps of a monster truck!”

  Gabi and Joe just stared at her in bewilderment. If she was being fair, Tate looked a little bewildered himself. She closed her eyes and drew a calming breath, then she turned and walked into the kitchen. Going to the cabinet, she took down the bottle of tequila Rebekah had left and grabbed a glass out of the cabinet, pouring a few fingers into the bottom, then she tossed it back, shivering as the liquor blazed down her throat.

  Tate entered behind her. “Hey,” he said, taking in the bottle and her empty glass.

  She braced a hand on the counter and poured another finger into the bottom of the glass. “Where are the Sons of Anarchy?” she said archly, lifting the glass to her lips.

  “They’re removing the leather chaps. Joe says they chafe.”

  Zion sputtered on her tequila, setting down the glass and coughing. Tate took it away from her and poured the rest into the sink.

  “Maybe this isn’t the best idea,” he said, setting down the glass and pulling her into his arms.

  “Seemed like a good idea to me.”

  “And the neck tattoo of the naked woman’s silhouette? I get a vote on that, right?”

  She laughed, despite herself, laying her head on his shoulder. “I understood the piano lessons, Tate. It was painful for Rascal and the neighbors, but it made sense. The yoga? I mean, I let her teach Deimos in my front yard. Even the naked painting was acceptable and I supported her when she started dancing the tango.”

  “You should have known it would come to this, Zion. I mean, tango is a gateway dance to motorcycle gangs.”

  Zion laughed again, hugging him tighter and burying her face against his throat. “Oh God, Tate, they’re in a gang called the Rusty Buckets.”

  “It could have been worse. They could be the Codger Choppers.”

  She kept laughing.

  Someone made a coughing sound in the doorway of the kitchen. “Your father and I are hungry.”

  “Yeah, kiddo, let’s take a break and get something to eat. What do you say? I hear there’s a great barbecue place in this town and I’m dying to try it.”

  “Dying’s right,” said Gabi. “Come on, Zion, we’ll take the Optima, not the Harley.”

  Zion pulled away from Tate and glanced back at her parents. “Fine. We’ll go to dinner, but we’re not done discussing this.”