“I’m sorry he’s that kind of a person,” Autumn said to Willow, resolving never to set foot in The Local Brew again. Of course she was going to go with her sister, and support her in this showdown, no matter how nasty it got.
Autumn hadn’t had many dealings with Trevor Brewster. He was a relatively new arrival on the island, who’d set up a coffee shop at the harbor in competition to an established one. In summer, both had been busy, and had done well.
Maybe it was an ingrained sense of loyalty that had made her go to the other coffee shop more often. Or maybe it was just that the service at The Local Brew had always felt a bit impersonal and perfunctory.
Willow shrugged. “He’s a difficult customer. I’m not dealing with him again, or drinking his coffee. I feel it’s been less tasty than usual in any case.”
“Why not wait until he comes here and then shove those tablecloths in his face?” Autumn didn’t usually suggest such violent measures, but she was as protective as a lioness when it came to her sister.
“I’d rather make sure I’ve kept my side of the bargain and delivered them. Besides, I want to enjoy the coffee festival, and not feel nervous, hanging around and waiting for him to get here,” Willow said. “I have a university student looking after my store until one p.m. That’s all the time I’ll have to shop around and see the festival.”
“Well, I suggest we do the coffee tasting first,” Autumn said. “Then, we’ll have had some fun before we do the nasty business of getting money out of Trevor.”
They walked to the far end of the hall, where the coffee-tasting competition was advertised, and the prize itself was on display.
Autumn nearly swooned when she saw it. It was magnificent. What a machine. She could visualize it in her dining room. Well, with a slight stretch of the imagination. No wonder people were flooding into the festival. It was very clever of the town’s organizers to have come up with such a sought after prize, because the festival entry fees would hopefully reach record levels.
Aromas swirled out to meet her, as a white overalled barista ushered them inside.
"Are you ready to take the test?" he asked, with a smile that flashed white teeth in an olive-skinned face. "Are you ready to win the prize?"
“Ready and motivated.” Autumn glanced excitedly at Willow as they headed in.
“There are eight coffees that are randomly numbered. You need to correctly identify them with eight descriptions on the description chart, according to taste.”
Immediately, Autumn saw this would be a challenge. Every blend and bean was different, and no two descriptions were the same. There was a dark roast, a medium roast, a light roast. There were a couple of blends and a couple of single-origin coffees. The notes and flavors were briefly added to the description, for anyone who had the palate to identify them. That would be Jasmine, of course, but Jasmine wasn’t allowed to take part this year. That meant the field was open, and it would be anyone’s prize.
Probably not Autumn’s prize, but she was hopeful nonetheless.
She headed into her kiosk and filled out her name, phone number and email address on the iPad. Then, it was time to taste the eight coffees in the random cups in front of her, and see if she could work out which was which.
Tension filled her. This really mattered. Already, she was starting to make internal bargains with herself.
“If I get all these right, then it will all be okay between me and Ben.”
Don’t put pressure on yourself that way, she urged her own mind. Just enjoy the coffee. And if you can, channel Jasmine.
She sipped the first and the second. They tasted exactly the same. What on earth? Had they made a mistake? What if she had eight identical cups?
Autumn Ray, she chided herself, stop being an idiot. Good grief, if there was a prize for overthinking, you’d win it. There isn’t, it’s just coffee, so calm down and taste properly.
She went back to the first one and tasted it again. This time, she could taste the difference. The organizers had provided a glass of water so that the competitors could cleanse their palates between the different sips. There was even a small plate of butter cookies, doubtless there for the same reason. Absently, Autumn ate one to see if it helped her palate recalibrate.
Then, she studied all the descriptions very carefully before taking a sip from each of the cups, leaving a gap in between each one so that she could savor and understand the coffee notes.
The image of that machine in her guesthouse was so magnetic, she could almost see it there. How her guests would love it.
Now, she was getting an idea. Cup one had seemed like the darkest roast to her, even though she wasn’t sure if it was just her first impressions. And cup three had a definite fruity flavor. Cup four was lighter. Cup five, to her, had an aftertaste of chocolate.
Slowly but surely, she started matching up the cups with the descriptions. There were a few that she ended up guessing, she admitted it. Her palate wasn’t that good.
But overall, she thought she’d gotten at least a few of them right. She was happy with her selection by the time she finally pressed Enter, and committed her results to the record.
Then, she let out a deep breath. That had been surprisingly stressful. She’d felt as if she’d been engaged in a mental battle with the coffees themselves, extracting their true nature and their essential flavors, using the admittedly limited power of her taste buds.
She stood up and headed out. As she did, Willow emerged from the other kiosk.
Willow looked pale and haunted. “Goodness me,” she said, “that was far harder than I expected. I think I finished every single one of those tasters, trying to decide which one was which. I may go into caffeine overload just now, and need some medical intervention.”
“I feel the same,” Autumn said. “It felt like a battle of wills in there. I hope one of us did well.”
“Is there a second prize?” Willow asked hopefully, but Autumn shook her head.
“It doesn’t say anything about a second prize. I think it’s the machine or bust.”
“Well, at least with all the caffeine inside us, we should fly down to the harbor,” Willow said, glancing at Trevor’s kiosk. It was still unoccupied, one of the last remaining ones that were standing empty.
“Yes. It was energizing and warming. Just what we need for this cold walk.”
They headed to the cloakroom where Willow had left the bag with the tablecloths inside and claimed it. It was quite heavy. As they walked, Autumn took one of the bag's handles so that it swung between them.
“Are these those yellow and white ones?” Autumn asked. She’d bought a few for her own breakfast room recently.
“Nope. These are different ones. They are red and white checked, very cheerful and bright. I think they’ll be fabulous for a coffee shop,” Willow said. “But Trevor came up with problems every step of the way. After I’d had them all made, he wanted to change the color to a darker red. Can you believe it?”
The cold air was dropping in temperature with every step they took as they headed to the harbor. It was busier than usual for the time of year. A ferry was arriving as they walked down, and it looked to be packed with passengers arriving. Better still, there were very few people standing in line to leave.
They veered to the left, heading down the smaller, paved paths that led in between the network of buildings. The Local Brew was on the right.
Its shop front looked dark.
“Are you sure he’s here? What if – what if he’s at home with the flu?” Autumn asked.
“He didn’t call or message me to tell me so. He didn’t answer my earlier call, either, but at least if I keep our arrangement, I can say I’ve done my part,” Willow replied.
The steel door of the coffee shop was closed, but looking closely, Autumn saw it was not locked. It was simply pushed closed so that nobody would think the shop was open and accidentally walk in.
She pushed it open, and it let out a loud squeak, hinges protesting. The sound made Willow jump.
“Jeez,” she said. “That was creepy. This whole situation feels a bit strange.”
“It feels unusual,” Autumn agreed. “Mr. Brewster?” she called.
No answer.
“Mr. Brewster?” Willow shouted even louder. “Are you here? We’ve got your tablecloths.”
Still nothing. The silence felt threatening. Why was the shop’s door open?
Autumn’s hand dropped down, and clutched Willow's. Willow's fingers felt cold, and her grasp was tight.
“Shall we see if he’s – if he’s maybe in the back room?”
“Let’s take a look.”
Autumn was having uneasy flashbacks. She was remembering a time in the summer when she’d gone into a shopkeeper’s back room and found that person dead. That had turned out to be murder.
This wouldn’t be the same situation, of course. Maybe Trevor had just popped out somewhere. That must be why the door had been unlocked, but the interior of the little shop was dark, with chairs on tables.
“You go first,” Willow invited, as they walked through the shop to the back office door.
“No, you go first,” Autumn insisted politely. “You have his tablecloths after all.”
“Mr. Brewster?” Willow called his name once more, a distinct quiver in her voice. “Are you in there?”
There was silence, broken only by Autumn hiccupping. The sound was explosively loud, and filled the silent space.
“Was that you?” Willow turned to her, her eyes wide.
“It’s the coffee,” Autumn confessed. “I had quite a lot of it. It does this to me. I’d actually – HIC – forgotten. It’s been a while since I overloaded on caffeine.”
“Did you hear something from in there?” Willow turned to the door, and Autumn’s heart sped up as she listened hard.
But the only sound was another ear-splitting hiccup from her own lips.
“Could you stop doing that?” Willow hissed.
“I can’t control it,” Autumn said apologetically, her diaphragm convulsing again. That coffee had definitely been too much, too fast.
“I’m trying to listen. I don’t want to walk in and – and something is there,” Willow said.
“If anything is there, they know we’re – HIC – coming,” Autumn said. These hiccups were so intense, they were painful.
“Okay. I’m just worried he got – attacked or something, you know.”
Autumn hiccupped again in agreement.
Willow sighed. “Okay. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
“On the count of three, then. One, two, three.”
Autumn took a deep breath, desperately trying to suppress the hiccup that was threatening. Then, they both shoved the door wide.
It banged back with a slamming sound that caused both of them to jump. Inside here, it was almost completely dark. Autumn blinked in the gloom as Willow groped for the light switch, her hand brushing over the plastered wall. Then she hiccupped once more in the darkness. And then, with a click, light illuminated the back room.
Willow’s grasp tightened as they stared down.
There was a smell hanging in the air that Autumn recognized. A rich, fruity smell of oil. Olive oil, perhaps? As she breathed it in, her eyes were drawn to the slumped body near the counter.
It was Trevor. Gasping in shock, Autumn saw that he was lying on the floor, with his feet in a pool of oil, and his head near the counter.
His face was pale, framed by spiky dark hair, his motionless lips open. His dark eyes were wide, his body still and unmoving.
Fear tightened Autumn's stomach so effectively that it stopped her hiccups in their tracks.
Trevor Brewster was dead.