Fifty-nine

I was relieved to see the fitness guru had put more clothes on.

“Did we interrupt something?” Nancy asked.

“Not at all,” I replied, extending my hand. “I’m Clare Cosi, and I know who you are.”

Ferrell took my hand, then gripped my wrist, bro style.

“Great to meet you, Clare. Nancy has told me so much about you. She says your ohm is pure.”

“Wow, that’s, uh . . . comforting.”

Up close, Tristan Ferrell’s strong and sinewy physique was even more impressive. Not one molecule of extra fat on this guy. He wasn’t very tall, standing only a few inches above me, but he seemed to radiate power, a Napoleonic sort of energy.

“Would you join us for juice?” I asked. “This Pear Pick-Me-Up is delicious.”

Tristan made a face. “No sugar for me—of any kind. Even honey can disrupt the purity of my detoxed and defragged system.”

He glanced at my bottom. “You might consider cutting out a few forms of sugar yourself.”

“Uh-huh.” I held up the phone. “So you recognize this image?”

“Of course. That’s a picture of Haley Hartford. The police detectives showed me a different one. They were two powerful women with aquatic totems. Do you know them?”

“Soles and Bass? Yes, I do.”

“It’s terrible what happened to Haley. Bad karma for the dude who did it.”

“How do you know it was a man?”

Ferrell shrugged. “The police said it was a mugging in the park.”

“Tell me . . .” I called up Dante’s sketches. “Do you recognize this man? He’s not a mugger. He goes by the name Richard Crest.”

Ferrell hardly glanced at the picture. “I don’t know any Richard Crest—”

“Look closely. You might know him by another name. He’s wanted for questioning.”

Ferrell took another look and exhaled. “Clare, there are so many people in my classes. It’s possible he’s attended—that’s all I can tell you. What are you? Some kind of freelance private investigator?”

“More like a freelance concerned citizen.”

“I see. And if you have to make a citizen’s arrest, you’re in shape for that?” He lifted a skeptical eyebrow as he looked me over again.

“Sometimes brains are a better weapon than brawn.” With a smile, I lifted my smartphone. “Why wrestle a suspect when you can call 911 and have trained officers do it?”

“Why don’t we discuss something more pleasant—and lucrative. Nancy tells me you own the Village Blend, the coffeehouse and the brand.”

“Not quite. I have some equity. Eventually, I’ll inherit partial ownership. Until then, my employer, Madame Dubois, owns and controls the brand and the shops—”

“Amazing real estate,” Ferrell interrupted. “But I understand Mrs. Dubois is getting rather long in the tooth.” He leaned close as if confiding a secret between us. “I know it’s a bitch waiting for her to, you know, check out. Believe me, I sympathize. I’m in a similar position. But I’ll bet it’s nice to know that when the old lady kicks, you’ll be sitting on a gold mine.”

I was too appalled to reply. Ferrell took my silence for agreement.

“So would you like to come to my Angel Party? I’m looking for investors in my new Critter-a-Day Motivation and Exercise Calendar app. It’s going to be major, Clare. Big payoff for anyone who gets in early . . .”

He insisted we exchange contact information, which we did.

“I’ll invite your employer, too. She’ll enjoy the party—it’s a venue Uptown, near the Boat Basin, where I keep my Riva.”

He waited for me to be impressed. I forced a frozen smile. Then I tried to turn the subject back to Haley. I asked how he came to hire her.

“Sorry, Clare. I have an advanced class in Soho, and—” He pointed to Equator’s wall of global clocks. “I’m running late in every time zone. Ha-ha! Nice meeting you. See you at my party!”

As the fitness guru vaulted away, my smartphone vibrated. It was Esther. Anticipating the reason for her call, I turned up the volume so Tucker could hear.

“We need more hands on the caffeinated deck,” Esther said. “I texted Mr. Boss with a reminder on the supplies we need from his warehouse. And Dante and I could use help with the outdoor tables and heaters.”

“We’re on our way,” I replied.

Ending the call, I faced Tucker.

“That hardly sounds like a failing business, does it?” I quickly told him about our big event. “So come back, Tuck, please? And start tonight? You’ll break everyone’s heart if you leave us, including, and especially, mine.”

Tuck finally agreed, and we hugged tight. Then he and Punch left to get their coats, and I looked around for Nancy.

I spotted someone else instead, a woman on the other side of the bar, her eyes like a predator’s, bright and sharp and intensely focused on me.

It was Cody, Sydney’s head of security—with a banana smoothie mustache.

How long has she been watching me?

“Here’s your jacket,” Nancy said. “I’m coming with you since I’m all done here at Equator. And I just got an ‘all-hands’ text from Esther!”

As we headed out, one more call came in, the one I’d been waiting for . . .

“Joy?”

“Mom? Where are you?”

“What do you mean, where am I? I’m in New York.”

“So am I. But you’re not at the apartment or the shop. They said you went to some gym?”

“Forget the gym. What are you doing in the city?”

“I told you. I need to talk.”

Uh-oh, I thought for the second time in two hours. This can’t be good.

“Stay put, honey, I’ll be right there . . .”