TWENTY-SIX

“HEY, Coffee Lady, check this out.” Franco displayed his phone. “I got your entire engagement on digital. I’m sending it to Joy tonight.”

We watched the recording together.

“Do you think my daughter will be surprised?” I asked.

“More like surprised it took so long. She’s been waiting for this. And I think we can guess why.” He grinned. “Should I be getting the name of Lieutenant Quinn’s jeweler?”

Oh, no, I thought. Slow down!

In less than an hour, I’d gone from single woman to pledged in marriage. My daughter was still happily adjusting to her new responsibilities managing our Washington, DC, coffeehouse. And I was far from ready to fight a war with Matt on accepting Franco as his new, shaved-headed, handcuff-wielding son-in-law.

So instead of encouraging Franco, I patted the young detective’s giant shoulder and assured him—“There’s plenty of time . . .”

Then I dropped my hand and felt his back.

“My, that’s an awful lot of armor you’re wearing.”

“I . . . ah . . .” The boy choked on his own gravelly voice. “I just came off duty.”

“And all these other policemen?” I eyed him sharply. “It’s pretty obvious that everyone wearing a badge in this place is also wearing body armor, so you must have expected something to go down. Come on, Franco, spill it.”

Blinking blankly, Franco groped for an answer—until he was saved by the belle.

“Hey, hey, it’s the hero of the day!” Sue Ellen Bass slapped Franco’s broad back. “Good to know there’s a cop we can count on under that Vin Diesel–Telly Savalas thing you’ve got goin’ on.”

“Ah, it was nothing,” Franco replied through gritted teeth, eyes pleading for her to shut up already.

“Did you say Franco is a hero?” I pressed, sensing a crack in the blue wall of silence. “He was far too modest to mention it to me.”

“Last week, Kojak Junior here pulled a policewoman out of harm’s way after she took a bullet.”

My mind raced back to the discussion Quinn and I had about those initial newspaper headlines: 4 Cops Shot in 3 Days.

“Are you talking about the shooting in Queens?” I asked. “The female traffic cop? The one the papers and NYPD ‘believed’ was due to random gang activity?”

“That’s the one,” Sue Ellen confirmed. “Franco was talking with this policewoman in the street. After she was hit, two more shots were fired, but despite the danger to that shiny head of his, Franco pulled the woman to safety and rendered aid and comfort until backup arrived.”

Franco was frantically signaling Sue Ellen to stop talking when a uniformed officer called his name.

“Yo, Manny. They need us outside.”

Before he left, Franco leaned close. “Sorry for keeping it from you, Coffee Lady. Lieutenant Quinn asked me not to tell you and Joy. He didn’t want either of you worrying.”

“I see.”

As Franco left, I faced down Sue Ellen.

“And I suppose half the cast in this production is outside, in cars or on roofs. I hope they get a chance to sample the pastries and coffee, too.”

Sue Ellen didn’t even try to play dumb. “I wasn’t aware you knew.”

“I didn’t. But all this Kevlar makes it pretty obvious.”

“You’ve got a cop’s eye, Clare, and you’re a good sport,” she said with a measure of respect. “I don’t know how I’d feel if my big day was doubling for a perp trap.”

I blew out air, but steam was slowly building. “Dangling a party of blue uniforms and hoping the shooter will take the bait? Seems like an awfully risky way to catch a potential cop killer.”

Sue Ellen’s lips tightened. “Guess you’re not so happy, after all.”

As I confirmed that observation, her smartphone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. Like I said, this may look like a party, but it’s also a police operation, and I’m on duty.”

“Of course.” I turned and headed for the coffee bar.

“Oh, Clare,” Sue Ellen called. “Congratulations, you know, on the whole official engagement thing.”

It was soon apparent that the same call Sue Ellen answered was simultaneously received by every law enforcement officer in the coffeehouse.

Almost immediately, the police began to leave, singly or in pairs. When Lori Soles and Sue Ellen Bass hurried out the front door and ran to a sector car, the exodus became a stampede.

As the coffeehouse emptied, a frowning Quinn touched my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I have to go. Something’s come up. A police emergency. We’ll have a long talk when I get back.”

You bet we will, I thought.

But what I said was—“Be safe!”—and meant it.