2
The smell of fresh -brewed coffee drew Fisher downstairs like an invitation. Breakfast in the shop would give him a good chance to observe Annie. He could watch who came and went and get a feel for her regulars.
He found her standing in the center of the shop with one hand on her hip and the other clutching a coffeepot like a weapon.
“Why don’t you just sell?” a short man wearing khaki’s and a blue denim shirt asked.
“I told you before you bought Mucho Latte, Martin, that I wasn’t going to sell,” she said.
“But you’ll never be able to compete with me,” he argued. “Annie, I’m just thinking of you.”
A long curly strand of red hair fell over Annie’s face and she blew it aside before answering, “I really appreciate that, Martin, but as you can see I’m fine.”
The man glanced around the room. It was just after seven and the shop was packed with morning customers. His head snapped from side to side, giving Fisher a good look at his face. He had small pinched features and a thin black mustache that hung over his upper lip like a chocolate milk stain.
“Oh sure, you’re fine now,” he sneered. “But you can’t compete with a chain like the Mucho Latte. One by one, your customers will leave, coming to my shop instead. Do you really want to watch the slow demise and eventual death of everything you’ve worked for?”
Annie took a deep breath, and Fisher marveled at her patience. He’d have punched the little jerk in the nose by now.
“Martin, the fact that you’re here, trying to buy out my shop tells me one thing. You’re the one who’s worried about losing your business. Not me. Now, for the last time, I am not selling The Coffee Break. Not to you. Not to anyone. Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal,” he snapped. “You’ll regret this.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Have a good day, Martin.”
Martin stalked toward the front door. Fisher reached out and pulled it open, not allowing the little man to slam it in a fit of temper.
“Thank you for visiting The Coffee Break,” he said. “Be sure to come again and have a nice day.”
Martin growled at him before stomping through the door and across the patio toward the street.
Fisher shut the door and turned to Annie. “Who was that?”
“My rival,” she said, putting the coffeepot on a warming plate on the counter. “Martin Delgado.”
“Rival?”
“He just opened a coffee house, Mucho Latte, up the street. He’s been trying to buy me out ever since he bought his franchise, but I won’t sell.”
“How very uncooperative of you,” he said.
“Martin seems to think so,” she said with a shrug. “I hope you know that just because you live upstairs doesn’t mean you have to eat here.”
Fisher took a seat at the counter. “Are you kidding?” he asked. “The smell of cinnamon dragged me out from under the covers this morning. Henry was lucky I didn’t steal one of his muffins.”
“Then you’ll have to have one of my apple spice muffins on the house,” she said. “That’ll start your day right.”
“Annie-girl, you have found my weakness.” He winked at her.
“Sweet tooth?” she guessed, glancing away from him, but not before he saw the color creep into her cheeks. She was a blusher.
“I think sweet teeth would be more accurate,” he said.
“I kind of figured,” she said. “Judging from the way you devoured your dessert last night.”
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned. “If you keep feeding me like that, I’ll have to up my workouts.”
“Aw, poor baby,” she said. “Maybe you should only have half of a bran muffin instead.”
“Don’t be a tease,” he said with a mock frown.
“Annie!” A cry sounded from the back of the shop.
“I’m being paged.” She put a muffin on a plate before him and stepped away from the counter. “I’ll see you later?”
“Count on it,” he promised.
“Oh.” She blinked in surprise. “All right.”
“We have the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, right?” he asked.
“Oh, oh yeah.” She shook her head. “How could I forget?”
“You’re busy,” he suggested.
“That must be it.” She latched on to the excuse like a life preserver. Fisher frowned. Something was up with Annie-girl and he was going to figure out what.
“Annie!” Another cry sounded.
“Bye,” she said and hurried off.
“Bye,” he returned, but she was long gone. The woman moved faster than a jaywalker in oncoming traffic.
Fisher spent an hour watching her work the room. Scrolling through his phone, he studied her as she chatted with two businessmen at a nearby table. The October morning was cool, and she wore a snug pair of jeans and a dark green thermal top. Fisher frowned when he noticed one of the men checking her out. Why wasn’t she wearing that big flouncy apron she’d had on the day he’d met her? It kept her covered from neck to knee and besides he liked it.
One of the men said something, and Annie tipped her head back and laughed. Fisher felt his mouth start to curve up. He couldn’t help it. Her laughter struck him like a mallet on a chime. He bit the inside of his cheek and winced. He would not be charmed by a suspect.
“Can I get you anything else?” a surly voice asked. Fisher glanced at the woman standing across from him. She was tapping her pencil on her pad and looking as if she’d just bitten a lemon.
“A refill on the coffee, please,” he said.
“Is that all?” she asked, looking put out.
“For now,” he answered, wondering at her hostility.
“Fine,” she snapped and stomped away.
She marched away like a soldier charging the enemy. Her vibe was decidedly unfriendly, the complete opposite of Annie. She wasn’t the sort he would have thought Annie would hire, but then again, he supposed good help was hard to find.
Try as he might, Fisher couldn’t see Annie as part of a money laundering scheme. He’d met hundreds of felons during his time with the Bureau and while some had been the least likely suspects, none had ever seemed as genuine as Annie Talbot. She couldn’t be involved he told himself, hoping he was right.
“Here.” His waitress plunked down his mug with a splash.
“Thanks,” he said, wondering if he should check the coffee for rat poison.
Settling back in his chair, he resumed watching Annie flit around the shop, refilling mugs with a smile and a laugh. She was as light and airy as the breeze, hardly the hardened criminal he was used to observing. She’d wound her thick hair into a braid that hung down her back and was tied with a bright blue scarf. When she passed by, he had to curb the urge to tug the scarf free and watch her hair unravel in a sensuous spin. His fingers tightened around his mug and he forced his eyes away from his very tempting suspect.
Instead Fisher took a moment to study the clientele. Two students with backpacks were seated outside, chomping on muffins while they quizzed each other from their textbooks. A woman in a suit shared a Wall Street Journal with a man in similar attire. Two house painters in coveralls stood by the chalkboard trying to choose their morning coffee. Fisher couldn’t see the rest of the room, but he knew it was a varied mix of people. Situated on a busy corner in the historic district of downtown Phoenix, The Coffee Break was in a great location.
Annie had done a terrific job of making the shop feel like home. A rack by the door offered customers their choice of several local newspapers as well as the New York Times and Los Angeles Times. Board games filled a shelf along one wall; two older gentlemen had already started a game of chess. Handcrafted coffee and tea mugs were for sale in one bookcase and beside that was a wall full of coffee beans and teas to be sold by the pound. A photo album sat on the dessert counter and when Fisher thumbed through it, he discovered pictures of wedding cakes that Annie baked by special order.
Lifting his mug, he took a long sip of the hot brew. He could feel a pair of shrewd brown eyes examining him from behind the counter. His waitress. He’d heard one of the other waitresses call her Denise. Observing her from the corner of his eye, he feigned interest in his phone. He was going to have to find out more about her. She could very well have access to the books and he wouldn’t mind pinching her for laundering money.
He heard Annie’s laugh from across the room and he couldn’t help but glance up. She was lovely when her full lips parted in a smile. He forced his attention back to his coffee. Oh, yeah, given a choice between the two women, he would much rather arrest the surly Denise. But as for pinching, Annie was a definite temptation.
“So, who’s tall, dark and sullen?”
“What?” Annie asked, glancing up from her mixing bowl.
“Who’s tall, dark and sullen?” Denise repeated her question.
“Oh, he’s my new tenant,” Annie answered, not bothering to pretend she didn’t know who Denise was talking about.
“He looks dangerous,” she said, leaning on the counter beside Annie.
“He’s harmless,” she assured her.
“I don’t know.” Denise pilfered a raisin from Annie’s supply of ingredients and popped it into her mouth before continuing. “He was watching you all morning. I didn’t like the look in his eye.”
“What look in his eye?” Annie scoffed, feeling her body go still as she waited for the answer.
“He looked at you like you were a chicken and he was a chicken hawk,” Denise said.
Annie laughed. Denise hadn’t teased her in a long time. Even though it made her blush, it was good to see a glimmer of the old Denise.
“You can’t come up with a better analogy than that? I’m a chicken?”
“He was staring at you.”
“He’s probably just curious about his landlord,” Annie said, trying to sound reasonable.
“Yeah. Curious about seeing you in an apron and nothing else, I’ll bet.”
“Denise!”
“It’s true,” she said with a sigh. “Men are pigs.”
“Except for Edmund,” Annie said, watching her friend’s expression.
“Yeah, Edmund,” she agreed without smiling.
Annie felt her heart ache for her friend. That Denise was unhappy in her marriage to Edmund was obvious, but no matter what opening Annie gave her, Denise said nothing and Annie felt helpless.
“Well, at least tall, dark and sullen is a good tipper,” Denise said, returning to the front of the shop. “Not to mention cute.”
“Cute?” Annie asked.
“I’m married not dead,” Denise said with a faint smile.
“Same thing,” Annie muttered as she watched the door swing closed behind her friend.
Marriage. What a ridiculous institution. Everyone she knew who was married wanted out and everyone she knew who wasn’t married wanted in. Except herself of course. She knew better. Her sister’s marriage aside, she didn’t know one happily married couple.
Why put yourself through all of the heartache and angst? If she wanted that much permanent pain and anguish in her life, she’d get a tattoo. A big one. Better yet, if she wanted a long-term relationship, she’d get a desert tortoise. They lived for sixty years and they hibernated for six months of the year. A perfect relationship.
Her thoughts strayed to Stewart. Maybe if he’d hibernated for six months of the year, she’d have been able to marry him. But his constant presence had soon become an irritant. His incessant nagging about the shop had made her crazy. He’d wanted to turn her quiet little haven into a booming franchise like Mucho Latte with chains all over the city. Ugh! He didn’t understand at all.
She’d done her time as a pastry chef at the posh Lemon Grove Resort in Scottsdale. She’d won numerous awards and been written up in Bon Appetit and Gourmet. It had been a glamorous and arduous existence and she had hated it. She wanted a slower pace of life. She wanted to cook for people who didn’t need a gold card to eat.
But Stewart couldn’t understand that. He was an entrepreneur always looking for a quick buck. When they’d first met, he’d been fun and supportive. But as their relationship had grown closer, he’d begun to press her about her business interests. Annie didn’t think of The Coffee Break as a business. It was more than that. It was her baby.
A picture of Fisher sitting at the counter flashed through her mind. He had looked right sitting there as if he belonged. His hair had been wet from his recent shower and when she’d refilled his coffee cup, she could smell the damp scent of his shampoo mingling with his aftershave. It was spicy and very masculine.
She’d felt him watching her but had convinced herself that it was all in her mind. But Denise’s observation made her pause. Did Fisher find her attractive? It was laughable. That man could have any woman in Maricopa County. Why would he be interested in a red-haired, freckled baker? Still, she couldn’t forget the way he’d winked at her and said her name in that deep growl of his. Feeling a grin part her lips, she resumed beating her muffin dough into submission.
“Look at this,” Brian greeted Fisher as soon as he walked into the office. “Solid evidence, my friend. Your little coffee perker is definitely guilty of laundering.”
“What?” Fisher frowned, throwing his jacket over the back of his chair and reaching for the papers Brian was examining.
“The question is who is she laundering for? And why would they use her shop as a front? She can’t have that much money going in and out the door. Not to cover the kind of laundering we’re looking at.”
Fisher scanned the paperwork in his hand. Had someone spiked his coffee? Because suddenly the room was spinning. The bank statements in front of him didn’t lie. The discrepancy between her income and her net worth was too large to ignore. The difference in what she reported to the IRS and what she was actually earning was equivalent to a mansion on Camelback Mountain. There was no doubt about it. It was so blatant, it was almost defiant.
Fisher sank into his seat with a shake of his head. Despite the stereotypical red hair, Annie hadn’t seemed like that much of a wild card to him and certainly not a felon.
Could she have gotten in over her head when trying to open her business? It had happened to more than one restauranteur. He’d seen it a dozen times. Restaurants came and went unless they had a loyal following or a lot of backing. That’s why they were so perfect for money laundering. They were a cash-based operation and it was difficult to match the costs of providing food with the revenues they pulled in.
But these records screamed fraud. With a sick feeling, Fisher dropped the papers onto his desk. “Where did you get these?”
“I searched FinCEN. You know, the Financial Crime Enforcement Network, to track any reports filed under the Bank Secrecy Act. The BSA requires disclosure of any large currency transactions. She has several in and out of a secondary account for The Coffee Break. We can nail her with this.”
“I want to wait,” Fisher said.
“What? Why?” Brian pushed his glasses back up his nose and ran a hand over his thinning hairline. “We have all the evidence we need.”
“No, there’s something more going on here,” Fisher said. “I want to watch for a while and see what I can uncover.”
“Oh, no.” Brian dropped his head into his hands.
“Oh, no, what?”
“You’ve got a thing for the cappuccino pusher, don’t you?”
Fisher leveled his partner with a glare. “I do not have a ‘thing’ for her. And even if I did, have I ever let my libido do my thinking for me?”
“No,” Brian agreed. “But there’s always a first time.”