A Latte Difficulty
Angela Ruth Strong
A LATTE DIFFICULTY
Book Three in the CafFUNated Mysteries
By
Angela Ruth Strong
A Latte Difficulty
Published by Mountain Brook Ink
White Salmon, WA U.S.A.
All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the publisher.
The website addresses shown in this book are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of Mountain Brook Ink, nor do we vouch for their content.
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
The author is represented by and this book is published in association with the literary agency of WordServe Literary Group, Ltd., www.wordserveliterary.com
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Public domain.
ISBN 978-1-943959-75-4
© 2020 Angela Ruth Strong
The Team: Miralee Ferrell, Nikki Wright, Cindy Jackson
Cover Design: Indie Cover Design, Lynnette Bonner Designer
Mountain Brook Ink is an inspirational publisher offering fiction you can believe in.
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Author’s Note
Dedication
To my mom whose laughter is like sugar.
It makes life sweeter.
Acknowledgments
I got to go to a Christian writer’s conference last month with no agenda but to hang out with the people I love in the writing world. We ate Tex-Mex and sandwiches on donuts and overpriced steak at an awards banquet. We dressed up like we were going to prom and walked down the River Walk and tried to break into the rooftop pool after hours. We prayed in the prayer room and encouraged beginning writers and plotted new novels. We lined up for Starbucks coffee A LOT and chatted until two in the morning.
So here’s to my editor, my agent, my critique partners, my author and publicist friends, my readers, and my family who have laughed and cried with me along this journey. I thank God for you, and I can’t wait to see what else the Author of Life has in store, because this life I’m living now was once nothing more than a dream. Know that if you are reading this, you are a beautiful part of my dream, and I hope I can be a part of yours.
Chapter One
“Black is a good color for coffee, not bridesmaid dresses.”
Tandy Brandt turned away from the bride-to-be in order to hide her smile while grinding more nutty-scented coffee beans. She knew Marissa Alexander, a reformed Midwest beauty queen, would never use black as a wedding color, which made it all the more fun to suggest. “Black will be my wedding color,” she declared.
“Ugh.” Marissa pulled yet another wedding magazine out from under the counter at their shop, Caffeine Conundrum. For the last five months, she’d spent every free moment obsessing about her upcoming wedding.
Their shop was finally starting to clear out after a morning of pouring iced coffee and sweet tea. Customers trickled through the exit to the street for a parade that would kick off the weeklong Americana Festival leading to Independence Day.
Besides Greg St. James and Connor Thomas, who were at the shop to assist their girlfriends, only Randon, the local hipster millionaire, remained at a table, waiting for his order.
“Greg,” Marissa addressed Tandy’s childhood sweetheart with a huge sigh. “Please tell me you won’t let Tandy make me wear a black dress when you two get married.”
“Can we talk about this after there’s an actual engagement?” Greg suggested, though it was hard to take him seriously when he was dressed like Abraham Lincoln. He tugged his fake beard low enough to sip from a straw then grimaced. “Though I can tell you that if I let Tandy dress me like this to hand out coupons during the parade for your Red, White, and Brew booth at the fair, then I’m not going to have much say in wedding planning.”
Things were getting more serious between them, but there was no rush. Especially since Tandy would never want to overshadow Marissa’s time as the bride-to-be.
Tandy grinned over her shoulder from where she filled the espresso machine with fresh grounds. “I didn’t really think you’d wear that costume, Greg. I suggested it as a joke.”
Greg stood taller and straightened the lapel on his long black suit jacket. “Oh, I don’t joke about our 16th president. He’s the reason I decided to become a lawyer in the first place.”
Connor hid a smile by sipping from his mug. “You wish you were wearing a shirt like mine, don’t you?” He puffed up his chest to better display the image of Captain America’s shield screen-printed on the front of his t-shirt.
“So badly.” Greg replaced his beard with a snap of elastic.
Marissa waved away her fiancé’s interference. “Don’t listen to him, Greg. You look fabulous and should really get some pictures of yourself in costume.”
Tandy combined two shots of espresso with steamed coconut milk. “He’s already been in your photobooth, Marissa.”
Connor crossed his arms and leaned against the counter to face Greg. “I’d think after what happened to President Lincoln at Ford’s Theatre, you’d want to avoid Booths.”
“Not cool, Captain. Not cool.”
While Connor was taking the Lincoln jokes too far, Marissa was taking the photobooth thing too far. Just because she’d gotten a good deal on renting the booth for her wedding reception in the fall by advertising it in their shop during Americana Week, that didn’t mean she had to force everyone to use it.
Tandy grinned at her friends and left them to their banter so she could deliver Randon’s latte. He’d ordered a hot beverage despite the fact the temperature was already into the 80s. The guy had also grown a full beard. Not the best way to keep cool during the summer.
She set his mug on the stainless-steel table with a clink. “Aren’t you going outside for the parade?”
He didn’t glance up from his laptop. “Negative.”
For a know-it-all, he’d been unusually quiet today. Probably designing another phone app. One of these days she’d get him to make her one for their business where customers could pre-order drinks.
“Working on something important?” she asked.
“Always.” This time he did glance up but only to make sure she wasn’t looking at his computer screen when he angled it away from her.
Fine. If he didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t waste her time. She rolled her eyes and turned back toward her friends, but they’d all disappeared.
A light flashed from inside the photobooth set up next to the stairs leading to the tea loft. Had all three of them crammed inside? Marissa’s laughter spilled out. Yep.
Tandy changed directions and pulled back the photobooth curtain to get a peek. Marissa sat in the middle of the bench, wearing the Statue
of Liberty crown and holding Lady Liberty’s torch. She’d somehow gotten Connor to put on sunglasses and hold a sign on a stick that read “All American Dude.” Greg, of course, was already in costume.
Grinning, Tandy tugged a little flag from a jar on the prop table and squeezed in to sit on Greg’s lap.
The group grunted and shifted to make room for her while the camera snapped shots at the most awkward moments then flashed their images on the screen. The whole booth shook with Marissa’s laughter.
Greg wrapped an arm around Tandy’s waist to keep her from sliding to the floor. “This really isn’t very presidential behavior.”
Marissa wiped at her eyes. “But it’s so fun. Aren’t you glad we’re renting this photobooth for our wedding, Connor?”
Connor shook his head but couldn’t keep from smiling. “As fun as this is, we should probably head out to the parade or we’ll miss the float I built for The Farmstead.”
Tandy clicked her tongue. “I hate to tell you this, Marissa, but Randon isn’t planning to leave the shop. We’re not going to be able to close down.”
Marissa frowned and pulled back the curtain to see for herself. “I’d kick him out, but I’m hoping we can get him to build us an app one of these days.”
“Me too.” Tandy arched an eyebrow. “Plus, I’m a little scared of him. Do you remember when he mentioned the Ohio Power outage like he had something to do with it?”
“I remember.” Connor slid his glasses to the top of his head, messing up his messy do. “I’ve also been wondering if he’s had anything to do with the new computer virus that everyone’s talking about.”
Marissa looked around the tiny space in confusion. “What virus?”
Greg stroked his beard. “That could be how he’s making his millions.”
Marissa turned to Tandy, eyebrows pinched. “He’s making money off a virus?”
Connor wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “No. Though if you don’t know about the virus, you might be spending a little too much time planning our wedding.”
Marissa held her hands wide, knocking Tandy in the face with her torch. “I only have three more months before the big day. I have to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
“I know, I know.” Connor humored her with a grin. “If you want to know about the virus, it’s a form of ransomware. You’ve heard of ransomware, haven’t you?”
“I’ve heard of a ransom.”
“It’s like that.” Connor snapped and pointed. “Hackers hold all the information on your computer for ransom unless you pay them a fee to return it. It can really affect big businesses. Like Ohio Power for example.”
Her eyes widened. “You think Randon is a hacker?”
Tandy lifted a shoulder. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d suspected him of a crime. “When I took him coffee, he did turn his computer away from me so I couldn’t see what was on his screen.”
“Then we certainly shouldn’t leave him alone.” Greg cleared his throat. “We could watch the parade from the windows.”
Tandy twisted to grin at him. “You just don’t want to go outside in your costume.”
“I don’t blame you.” Connor shifted his weight to stand without knocking anyone else off the bench. “But if I stay inside, the crowd on the sidewalk will block my view of my parents’ float.” He ducked out of the booth to give the rest of them room to move.
Tandy smoothed Greg’s fuzzy beard. “And you’re supposed to hand out our coupons.”
Greg sighed and scooted her off his lap onto the bench next to Marissa so he could stand as well. “You’re right. Both Abe and I are men of our word.”
Tandy grinned up at him. “Thank you.” He was normally as polished as Cary Grant, which made his ridiculous costume that much more endearing. “I’d come with you if I could, but one of us has to stay here to ensure Randon doesn’t hack our laptop and hold Marissa’s precious wedding plans for ransom.”
Marissa shooed her away. “They’re my wedding plans. I’ll keep them safe. Plus, Greg needs you.”
Greg nodded solemnly. “I do.”
Tandy let herself be pulled away. She’d leave Marissa to her obsessive wedding planning.
Marissa waved goodbye then smiled at her image in the photobooth’s computer screen. She’d earned herself more free time to plan her wedding, though, honestly, she’d been planning since she was a seven-year-old flower girl.
The bell over the door rang repeatedly, joining in with the music from the marching band outside and announcing her friends’ exit. She didn’t envy them at all. While they were going out into the crowds and heat, she got to stay in the cool and the quiet. Not to mention, having the whole photobooth to herself.
She removed Lady Liberty’s crown from her head and set down the torch, as well. The next time she was in this booth, she’d be wearing a wedding dress, and all the photobooth strips would be taken home by guests as mementos of her big day. She twisted her long, blonde hair up to imagine how she might want to style it. Though Connor liked her hair down. She released it to cascade over her shoulders.
Should she make a strip of photos for Connor? She could hold out the engagement ring for a closeup on one then blow him a kiss in another. Or she could spell out the word LOVE with her hands by forming one letter in each of the four photos taken. That would be cute.
She practiced her poses then reached for the button to start the countdown.
“Give me the file.” A deep voice boomed through the room.
She froze in place. A shiver slid down her spine. Who was talking?
She leaned forward and pulled the curtain back a few inches. Across the shop, a man stood with his back to her in jeans and a white t-shirt, holding a gun pointed at Randon.
Marissa covered her mouth to keep from gasping aloud, but that didn’t stop her heart from quivering.
Randon glared up at him. “How’d you find me?”
He knew the man? He knew what file the man wanted? Then why didn’t he hand it over so he wouldn’t get killed?
“I traced your computer location. What? You thought you’d be safe in this crowd?”
Randon snapped his laptop shut.
Marissa wanted to scream, No, Randon! Your stupid apps are not worth dying for! But then she might also get killed. Was there any way she could save them both?
She fumbled through her jean pockets then apron in search of her phone. All empty except for one of her “Save the Date” cards she’d been planning to give to Tandy. She must have left her cell with her magazines. If she didn’t do something fast, she might not even make it to her own wedding.
“You won’t get away with this,” Randon growled.
The man laughed. It was a low and menacing sound that would haunt Marissa’s nightmares.
What else could she remember about this guy? Jeans and a white t-shirt weren’t that memorable. If he killed Randon, how would she ever be able to describe him to Sheriff Griffin?
From the back, she could see the perpetrator had dark skin, but that wasn’t unusual in the summer. What else?
There wasn’t much hair on his head. He was either bald or had a buzz cut. And he seemed to be in pretty good shape. She’d guess six foot and 180 pounds—a little leaner than Connor. She needed more.
He lifted the gun. Hopefully it was only to make a threat that Randon would take very, very seriously. “Ironically, this crowd is what will allow me to get away with whatever I want. I could shoot you, and nobody would hear it over the bang of those drums.”
As if on cue, a heavy drumbeat broke through the white noise of festivity.
Marissa tugged the curtain open a little farther to see the people on the street. Every back was turned her way. If she ran and screamed for help, she’d never make it. She could be shot and killed within feet of her friends as they obliviously sang Yankee Doodle, laughed at Shriners in little cars, and caught candy.
Randon lifted his hands as if being arrested by the cops. “How do I know that if I give y
ou what you want, you’ll let me go?”
That was such a good question. But not worth the risk of refusing to obey.
The gunman shook his head. Ooh, he had a mark on his neck. Like a tattoo.
Marissa narrowed her eyes to decipher its shape. She leaned sideways to get a more direct view. Her elbow bumped the front of the booth.
Had the gunman heard the thud over the sounds from outside? Her heart jumped to her throat as she waited. The man didn’t even move. Whew, that was a close…
A flash lit up the photobooth.
Oh no. She’d bumped the button.
The gunman turned. His jaw hardened.
“Run, Marissa,” Randon yelled as he splashed the contents of his coffee mug over the man’s white shirt.
The gunman turned to retaliate.
Marissa charged up the staircase. It was closer than the front door, and that way she wouldn’t have to pass the guy with the gun.
Her feet scrambled. Her arms pumped. Her pulse pounded louder and faster than the drums outside. She dared to look over her shoulder to see if she needed to duck bullets.
The man brought the butt of his gun down against Randon’s head. Randon crumpled. The gunman jumped over his body and bolted toward the stairs.
Tingles shot down Marissa’s arms and legs. She couldn’t run fast enough. Feeling the pressure as if swimming upstream, she dodged ornate tables and chairs to reach the metal exit door.
She burst into the warmth of sunshine on the roof and the jovial tunes of a marching band below. It felt like breaking the surface when drowning—igniting a surge of hope mixed with the fear of being sucked back under.
She spun and faced off with the man who’d cleared the stairs and was close enough that she could make out not only his light green eyes but the symbol on his neck. Then with every millisecond stretched into a lifetime, she scooped the doorstop off the ground, slammed the door in his face, and jabbed the tiny triangle underneath the door.
