High Crimes and Cappuccino (A comic romance novel)

By Evie Lester

The Coffee Attic is one of the nicest places you could ever hope to find to sit back and enjoy a relaxing cup of coffee and observe life. But don't be surprised if find some very interesting things brewing beneath the surface.

Romance, intrigue, jealousy, betrayal, a couple of really cute pets. And don’t forget the coffee.

Beth Ross, the owner of the coffee shop called The Coffee Attic, fell madly in love on Christmas Eve, only to awaken on Christmas morning to find another woman on her new love’s doorstep--wearing a huge, very flashy engagement ring.

Can Chad Parker, the new man in town, explain himself? Or is he truly the cad Beth’s family believe him to be?

The New Year will hold the answers. And surprises. But will true love survive the stroke of midnight?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evie Lester
• Release date: Jul 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301933662

Book preview

High Crimes and Cappuccino

By

Evie Lester

Copyright 2013 by Evie Lester

All rights reserved

Published by Evie Lester at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

The snow was so cold as it slithered down inside his boots that a shiver washed over him. Then came the sickening feeling as the snow melted and seeped deep into the boot, absorbing into his previously dry, comfortable stocking feet.

I gotta get a new line of work he thought. Something that gets me off the street.

He meant it quite literally as it occurred to him that he spent far more of his time as he was spending this morning, outside exposed to the elements. Freezing cold, muscles stiff. Suffering.

And it wasn’t as though he was doing anything strenuous to help him pass the time.

He was simply waiting. And watching.

He had been given a tip off. And this particular source was a good one. One he had counted on in the past. One that had been right more often than not. That wasn’t exactly take-it-to-the-bank street cred, but it was often about as good as you got in his line of work.

So here he was spending his Christmas morning on the street. Again.

But not a creature was stirring. And that was bad. That meant wasted time and not getting the bills paid. Time was money, after all.

He shifted on his perch.

His left butt cheek had fallen asleep and now the pinpricking sensation was slowly overtaking the numbness. Sitting down on the icy tree stump had been a bad idea.

He realized now that he should have stayed in his car.

And his stomach was growling for breakfast.

But his source had been so certain about the timing. And he had rushed off without any thought for his creature comforts. No breakfast. A hat, but no earmuffs. He had his subzero parka, but he realized he needed the matching pants--or something else that would do the job of keeping his legs warm. And worst of all he had forgotten his sunglasses. The early morning glare of the sun would soon be reflecting off the blanket of new fallen snow.

His eye twitched at the thought of still being out here by the time that happened.

It just went to show, he was getting anxious. And that was when he always made a miss-step. When he lost patience and failed to bide his time well, he always messed up.

Too bad impatience was in his nature. After all, if it were not, he would have settled for some saner line of work. Something with benefits and a semblance of job security. But he knew he couldn’t hack a nine-to-five. He’d be climbing the walls inside of a week.

And in a week, doing what he was doing now, he could make a small fortune.

Or come a cropper.

The thrill of the hunt was the thing. It was his addiction. Stalking his prey, toying with it, watching it squirm with that sensation of being watched. Then, at that moment when least expected, pouncing.

An icy blob dropped from an overhead tree branch and plopped onto the middle of his forehead bringing his back to focus.

Think about the money, not about the cold, damp puddle in your shoe.

But the streets of this one-horse town were deserted. And it was too early and too darn cold for any sensible living thing to be out.

Good thing he wasn’t hunting the sensible.

Chapter 2

When Beth Ross opened her eyes, she could hear the raging blizzard had finally died down although the room was still pitch dark.

The hazy twilight between sleeping and waking had her confused. Like something you are supposed to remember is tickling at your brain stem, crawling tentatively into your consciousness, but stalled at the threshold.

What was she not remembering?

The bed was warm and cozy and her body seemed to float between the downy softness of the bed covers and the luscious mattress that cradled her in not-too-soft, not-too-hard support.

Why was this so nice? And where was her alarm clock to shock her back to reality?

Beth yawned and stretched wide and cat-like before sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She was in the middle of a deep inhale when the pain in her head caught up with her.

Ohhhh, she groaned, surveying the unfamiliar surroundings and remembering how she had come to have the killer headache pounding a drum symphony behind her temples. She had never been much of a drinker, so the two glasses of wine must have been enough to leave her head in a vice.

She remembered the wine and the Christmas tree--and the present. The amazing present. Probably the most amazing present she had ever been given. And definitely the most thoughtful. Although a lot of women wouldn’t have thought so.

Dreamily, she folded her legs up into her chest and hugged them into her.

The full, rich luxury of the fabric of the duvet felt soft and sensuous beneath her hands. Too soft. Too luxurious. Too rich.

Beth caught her breath in mid-thought, startled with the realization.

This was not her bed!

This was not her downy-soft duvet.

Not her extremely high thread count cotton sheets.

Not her deep, soft down pillows.

She massaged her temples.

What did she remember about last night exactly? She should remember. After all, she had only had the two glasses of wine. And then there had been a bottle of Champaign. Oh, and some eggnog. And Truby Bentley, Margret Bentley’s husband, had passed around some Irish coffee at the coffee shop open house. She’d forgotten to figure in that those were packing an alcoholic punch too. That was always the problem with holiday entertaining. Festive drinks carrying an invisible punch. And last night, Christmas Eve, had been quite festive. In fact, it was the best Christmas Eve she had had in a very long time. These last few years had been bleak and...but she didn’t want to think about that now.

The last thing she remembered was sipping wine in front of a blazing fire and an enormous Christmas tree surrounded by fairy lights and wrapping paper as she gazed deep into Chad Parker’s deep brown eyes. He had offered her a ride home on Christmas Eve night after they wrapped things up at the Christmas Eve open house held in Beth’s coffee shop, The Coffee Attic. There had been Christmas carols and holiday beverages and family and friends and lots of laughter and good times. And then, there had been a Christmas kiss.

Slowly, gingerly, she slid her hand over the smooth, fluffy duvet to the opposite side of the bed.

Whew.

She breathed a sigh of relief. It was empty. And more importantly, not slept in. Through the foggy haze of her alcohol induced headache she replayed the events of the night before in her head.

After the open house she and Chad had driven through the beginnings of a whopping big Minnesota white-out. The kind that work themselves into vertical winds and ballistic snowflakes that sting the cheeks. The kind of blizzard-like conditions you don’t want to be on the road in. Chad had suggested they go to his home to talk and to ride out the worst of the storm.

And, to Beth’s surprise, he had a present waiting for her.

Chad Parker was Beth’s neighbor--sort of. He was the new owner of The Hub, the new sandwich shop which he opened up next-door to Beth’s coffee shop only weeks ago.

At first Beth had felt threatened by the new business. The town of Red Bridge, Minnesota was a small town. There wasn’t a whole lot of room for a new business, what with many of the old and long-time mom and pop businesses closing down over the years it wasn’t clear there was enough business to go around in the small downtown business district. That’s what set off the competition between the two shops for the holiday business.

But it turned out that neither Beth nor Chad had anything to worry about. In the end they found a way to work together--starting with the open house held at Beth’s coffee shop but with Chad supplying the sandwiches and the very special decorations.

But the most exciting thing of all was the discovery that they both had feelings for one another. The flush of excitement and the intensity of a late night heart-to-heart talking and sharing session by the light of Chad’s sparkling Christmas tree on Christmas Eve night had been magical. They had bonded over sharing the disappointments and regrets of their failed marriages and their determination to be uncompromising in their efforts to rebuild their new lives on their own terms with their own dreams as the foundation for their new lives.

It had all been so deep, so moving and at times the emotions had been so raw. Beth thought, sadly, that in comparison, she had hardly even known her first husband, Alan.

Oh, Alan had talked about his hopes and dreams. Mostly they had been his ambitions for unbridled financial success, which he had achieved--if only temporarily, until his house of cards had come tumbling down around him, taking Beth down with it.

But they had never shared the way that she and Chad had shared their inner most hopes and fears last night. And in her young life she had not known that this was what she and Alan had been missing. Perhaps, she thought, if they had had this, the closeness, the bonding. Perhaps, they would have been able to weather the storm. Perhaps Alan would have been faithful. Perhaps he would have wanted children. Perhaps the money would not have come between them. And perhaps the financial scandal in the end would not have left Alan alone to deal with the repercussions. Because, Beth knew, she would never have left him to deal with his problems alone if their marriage had not been over before the scandal broke.

But that was all in the past.

And she had shared the whole story with Chad and he had shared his own story of disillusionment and loss with her. He had shared how he had lost his wealth and because of it, lost his wife, who suddenly turned cold and hired a set of prominent divorce lawyers to help her attach whatever assets were left.

Now, it seemed, they both had happy endings. Beth had opened the coffee shop with the small settlement she got in the divorce. And the shop was surviving, if not exactly thriving yet. And Chad had been able to start over in style, after shrewdly recovering his wealth and relocating from New York to the small town of Red Bridge to have the kind of small town life he had always dreamed of.

Of, yes, and he had managed to make all his money back before he left. Who does that? Beth thought. Guy’s on Wall Street, apparently. But Beth couldn’t fathom it.

She couldn’t quite remember ending the night. But she remembered being sleepy. Perhaps she dosed in front of the toasty warm fire and Chad had carried her upstairs to one of the bedrooms in his amazing home.

A true gentleman. Exactly what she had come to expect from him as she had gotten to know him. The kind of guy who would understand why she had to take things slow. Determined not to make the same mistakes she had made with Alan--when she had married the first guy she had dated after college--she was determined that she and Chad would get to know one another and forge a lasting bond.

If that was what was in the cards for them. And she thought, just maybe, it was.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

Coffee, she thought. That’s what I need. Coffee.

And a ride home, because she left her little Honda in the alley behind the shop last night. It was probably buried up to the door handles in snow drifts. Nothing like a Minnesota winter to leave a car stranded if you don’t plan ahead to get it off the street. And once it was buried, you had a back breaking task ahead of you shoveling it out. It was Christmas morning, so there was no time for that now.

She pulled herself out of bed and searched a light switch or a lamp. Then she would search for her shoes. She was still wearing the black trousers and white shirt she wore last night at the coffee house opening. And there should be a festive red sweater somewhere.

Her black lace-up shoes were lined up neatly against the door waiting for her, easy to find. And her sweater was in a chair nearby. Best guess was her coat was downstairs. She seemed to remember a coat closet. And a kitchen.

That would be a good bet for finding the coffee she so desperately needed. Then she thought again. Hadn’t she heard somewhere that coffee was bad for a hangover? It dehydrates you. And that’s bad. That was a bit of trivia she was going to forget for the moment because she really wanted her coffee.

She laced up her shoes, then grabbed her sweater and purse and began to creep down the stairs. Rummaging in her purse, she pulled out her cell phone and noted the time. 7 a.m.

She hit the speed dial on her phone.

On any other day it would have been too early to dial up her sister, Karen. She had young daughters to dress and feed and do for.

But this was Christmas morning and she knew from experience that her sister’s girls would have the family up by now, rummaging underneath the tree, opening presents and then sitting down to pancakes and bacon. She felt comfortable calling her for a ride home. The roads would have been cleared by now and the family would be on their way to their parent’s house to spend the day soon anyway.

Beth, Karen asked, surprised to hear her sister’s voice this early. Is something wrong?

Karen was always the concerned older sister. When they were children playing house, Karen always played the mother. Beth was always the oldest child or the grandmother or the houseguest, unless she wanted to play alone. Karen was bossy that way. It was her way or no way.

I just need a ride, that’s all.

Sure thing. We are planning on leaving here around eleven. Do you want us to swing by and pick you up then?

Well, actually, Beth said cautiously. She hadn’t thought how she would explain the situation to her sister without evoking her sister’s judgmental attitude. She had mentioned Chad to Karen