Shot in the Dark

From Cleo Coyle, the New York Times bestselling author of Dead Cold Brew , comes a delicious new entry in the "fun and gripping" (The Huffington Post) Coffeehouse Mystery series. A smartphone dating game turns the Village Blend into a hookup hotspot--until a gunshot turns the landmark coffeehouse into a crime scene. As Village Blend manager Clare Cosi fixes a date for her wedding, her ex-husband is making dates through smartphone swipes. Clare has mixed feelings about these match-ups happening in her coffeehouse. Even her octogenarian employer is selecting suitors by screenshot! But business is booming, and Clare works hard to keep the espresso shots flowing. Then one night, another kind of shot leaves a dead body for her to find. The corpse is an entrepreneur who used dating apps with reckless abandon--breaking hearts along the way. The NYPD quickly arrests one of the heartbreaker's recent conquests. But the suspect's sister tearfully swears her sibling was framed. Clare not only finds reason to believe it, she fears the real killer will strike again. Now Clare is "swiping" through suspects in her own shop--with the help of her globetrotting ex-husband, a man who's spent his life hunting for coffee and women. Together they're determined to find justice before another shot rings out.

*Praise for *Shot in the Dark

"A gripping and entertaining mystery"--Library Journal (Starred Review)

Library Journal's "Mystery Pick of the Month"

"Sure to delight old fans and garner new ones"--Publishers Weekly   

Praise for the Coffeehouse Mysteries 

“A delicious mystery!”—Woman’s World 

“Fun and gripping.”—The Huffington Post 

“Mix[es] clever and intricate plots with a regular cast of characters who become more enjoyable with every episode.”—Booklist 

“Among the best of the foodie/cozy mystery genre.”—Fresh Fiction 

“Clare and company are some of the most vibrant characters I’ve ever read.”—Mystery Scene

Auteur

Cleo Coyle is a pseudonym for Alice Alfonsi, writing in collaboration with her husband, Marc Cerasini. Both are New York Times bestselling authors of the Coffeehouse mysteries. Alice and Marc are also bestselling media tie-in writers who have penned properties for Lucasfilm, NBC, Fox, Disney, Imagine, and MGM.

Texte du rabat

From Cleo Coyle, the New York Times bestselling author of Dead Cold Brew, comes a delicious new entry in the "fun and gripping" (The Huffington Post) Coffeehouse Mystery series.

A smartphone dating game turns the Village Blend into a hookup hotspot--until a gunshot turns the landmark coffeehouse into a crime scene.

As Village Blend manager Clare Cosi fixes a date for her wedding, her ex-husband is making dates through smartphone swipes. Clare has mixed feelings about these match-ups happening in her coffeehouse. Even her octogenarian employer is selecting suitors by screenshot! But business is booming, and Clare works hard to keep the espresso shots flowing. Then one night, another kind of shot leaves a dead body for her to find.

The corpse is an entrepreneur who used dating apps with reckless abandon--breaking hearts along the way. The NYPD quickly arrests one of the heartbreaker's recent conquests. But the suspect's sister tearfully swears her sibling was framed. Clare not only finds reason to believe it, she fears the real killer will strike again.

Now Clare is "swiping" through suspects in her own shop--with the help of her globetrotting ex-husband, a man who's spent his life hunting for coffee and women. Together they're determined to find justice before another shot rings out.

Échantillon de lecture
One

"Shot down again . . ."

My ex-husband dropped his hard body onto the soft stool at our crowded coffee bar, the thorny end of a long-stemmed rose still pricking his hand.

"Three strikes in one night," I said. "Does that mean you're out?"

"No, Clare. That's another kind of ball game."

"I hope you're talking about the Yankees."

"What do you think?"

"I think you should give up pitching woo and pitch in behind this counter . . ."

We were short-staffed this evening with every cafŽ table occupied, the coffee bar packed, and a line of customers spilling into the chilly West Village night. Couples who couldn't find seats were sipping their lattes on the cold sidewalk.

According to my young baristas, the reason for this bounty of business was a hot new "dating game" application for smartphones. Hot was the operative word, since the app was called Cinder. This one included "user ratings" for the best public meeting places in the city, and we currently ranked in the top three.

Now that our landmark coffeehouse was a hookup hot spot for digital dating, my quiet evenings at the Village Blend displayed all the tranquility of a Times Square crosswalk.

"I'll work a shift," Matt told me. "But I'm not aproning-up until you caffeinate me."

"You want a single?" I asked.

"Make it a Red Eye."

The Red Eye aka "Shot in the Dark" was the barista's answer to the bartender's boilermaker, a jolty combination of espresso poured into a cup of high-caffeine light roast. It wasn't for the faint of heart. But then neither was my ex-husband.

A legend in the trade, Matteo Allegro was among the most talented coffee hunters in the world, as comfortable on a yacht floating in Portofino as in a muddy Jeep flirting with the edge of the Andes on Bolivia's infamous Death Road.

Adrenaline wasn't his only drug. During our marriage, he became addicted to cocaine while partying too hard below the equator. I helped him kick that deadly habit but failed to dent his other addiction-women.

Matt generated enough heat around the world's coffee belt to increase global warming, which is why I made the mature decision to put our marriage on ice. Even so, his behavior tonight seemed excessive. Who makes three dates in one night? And how could Matt have possibly struck out on all of them?

The very idea was (I had to admit) amusing. Not that anyone's rejection deserved to be mocked. On the contrary, I did my level best to suppress the surging wisecracks.

My raven-haired barista Esther, on the other hand, did not share my overactive conscience. From her perch at the register, she propped a hand on her ample hip and targeted Matt through her black-framed glasses.

"Did I hear right?" she asked. "The prince of passion was passed over? The sultan of seduction shunned? The archduke of desire dumped?"

"Hard to believe, I know . . ." With a smirk, Matt pushed his sweater's sleeves up tanned and sculpted forearms. "But even the best swingers foul out from time to time."

"I saw your first two dates vacate your table," Esther said. "I lost track of the third. What was the reason for the last heave-ho? She's a vegan and you eat veal?"

"No. The vegan was Mindy, an hour ago."

"What about the redhead at eight thirty?"

"She said I reminded her of her ex."

"And the little blonde who just left? Why didn't she like you?"

"Actually, she did. I reminded her of her father."

"Ouch."

I tried not to laugh-and failed.

Matt noticed. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry," I said. Hoping to make it up to him, I slid over his Red Eye. "Here you go, made with love."

Matt took a long hit and sighed. Then he laid his rosebud on the counter like a carnation on a coffin-and picked his smartphone back up.

"Hey! You agreed to help us back here, remember?"

Matt's focus didn't falter. "Just one more check of my Pumpkin Pot."

"Your what?"

Esther rolled her eyes. "He's talking about that stupid Cinder app."

With a deep breath for patience, I we…