Death of a Bean Counter

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  A Selection of Titles by Sandra Balzo

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A selection of titles by Sandra Balzo

  The Maggy Thorsen mysteries

  UNCOMMON GROUNDS

  GROUNDS FOR MURDER *

  BEAN THERE, DONE THAT *

  BREWED, CRUDE AND TATTOOED *

  FROM THE GROUNDS UP *

  A CUP OF JO *

  TRIPLE SHOT *

  MURDER ON THE ORIENT ESPRESSO *

  TO THE LAST DROP *

  THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING URNEST *

  MURDER A LA MOCHA *

  DEATH OF A BEAN COUNTER *

  The Main Street mystery series

  RUNNING ON EMPTY *

  DEAD ENDS *

  HIT AND RUN *

  * available from Severn House

  DEATH OF A BEAN COUNTER

  Sandra Balzo

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2019

  in Great Britain and 2020 in the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2020 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  eBook edition first published in 2019 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2019 by Sandra Balzo.

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  The right of Sandra Balzo to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8946-1 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-670-8 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0369-4 (e-book)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

  are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described

  for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are

  fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

  Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  ONE

  ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘Deadly,’ my partner Sarah Kingston said. ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting? The thing can’t bite you.’

  ‘But it’s just not our kind.’ I eyed the two-foot-high, shiny, black espresso machine on the counter of our coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds. ‘It’s … automatic.’

  ‘You’re such a snob.’ Sarah doesn’t hold much back. In fact, I can’t think of anything she’s ever held back.

  Ignoring her, I glanced lovingly toward our shop-worn, not-so-shiny espresso machine. The twin, black-handled porta-filters, the knobs you twist to control the amount of steam coming from the jutting wands, the grinder to pulverize the beans to just the right consistency, the tamping tool to – you guessed it – tamp the ground espresso in the porta-filter. Not to mention our beloved and battered stainless-steel milk pitchers.

  I turned to our barista Amy Caprese for support. ‘You can’t possibly want your job to be reduced to pushing a button. A kindergartner could do it.’

  Amy, she of the striped hair, multiple piercings and henna tattoos, was our cross between a punk rocker and an earth mother. She was not only a champion barista, but a wizard of latte art, personalizing the espresso drinks with hearts or unicorns or whatever a customer requested. The thought of her being satisfied sitting behind a counter and pushing buttons was unfathomable to me.

  But now our wildchild barista said, ‘I think Sarah might be onto something.’

  Sarah gave me a superior look, which scarcely registered since it was pretty much the natural order of things around here.

  But this … this machine was not natural. And I couldn’t believe neither my partner nor our star barista agreed with me. ‘The reason people come to Uncommon Grounds is the care that we take with their drinks. The ritual. We grind each shot of espresso and tamp it just before we twist the porta-filter onto the machine and push the button to pull the shot. We froth ice-cold milk to just the right consistency and texture for their particular espresso drink. We layer the components in a cup or mug and top the drink with an exquisite bit of art before presenting it to the customer.

  ‘And now you want to just … just … push a button?’

  ‘You make it sound dirty, Maggy,’ Sarah said. ‘Personally, I—’

  ‘Wait, Sarah,’ Amy said, holding up her hand. ‘I think we have a misunderstanding here. Maggy thinks we want to replace our espresso machine with the JavaDo.’

  Too cutesy for words. JavaDo. ‘And you don’t?’

  ‘I do,’ Sarah said. ‘Personally, I’ve ground and pulled and tamped and frothed enough in the last year for two full lifetimes. Time to punch buttons, like everybody else does.’

  ‘In gas stations and fast food joints,’ I protested.

  ‘You’re a snob, Maggy Thorsen,’ Sarah said. ‘I didn’t know that about you.’

  ‘Maybe I am about coffee,’ I admitted. ‘But so are the people who come here.’

  ‘The JavaDo espresso machine wouldn’t be for us to use here in the shop, Maggy,’ Amy said. ‘We would sell them.’

  Oh. Although that didn’t make a whole lot more sense to me. ‘Why would we sell espresso machines?’

  ‘Profits,’ Sarah said, eyebrows elevated. ‘I hear they’re all the rage.’

  ‘Profit, singular,’ I told her. ‘If we sell a customer his or her very own JavaDon’t, we’ll never see that customer again. They’ll make their espresso drinks at home.’

  ‘Of course they’ll come back,’ Amy said. ‘For exactly the reason you’ve been talking about. The ritual of the individual hand-pulled shot, the latte art, the human interaction.’

  I hate having my own argument used against me. Especially when it’s a damn good one. ‘But JavaDon’t—’

  ‘Stop being juvenile,’ Sarah snapped. ‘It’s JavaDo.’

  I might not always be the adult in the room, but I usually had a few grade levels on Sarah, at least. ‘Don’t you think the compa
ny is asking for it?’ I pointed to the logotype on the box. ‘When you call something JavaDo and suddenly it d—’

  ‘Don’t!’

  ‘Exactly.’ I folded my arms. ‘When JavaDo suddenly Don’t you have to answer for it.’

  ‘I meant don’t be so small-minded. You haven’t even tried the machine out.’

  ‘Fine.’ My arms were still folded. ‘Show me.’

  ‘You wanted fresh, Maggy?’ Amy had gone into Vanna White spokesmodel mode. She waved her hand in front of the touch screen and it lighted. Then she tapped a picture of a latte and grinding commenced. ‘Each shot is ground fresh to order just before brewing.’

  I had to admit that was kind of cool. I stepped back and watched as the soulless thing kicked out a shot of espresso with a gorgeous crema. ‘Nice. But what about the frothing? It—’

  The gurgle of the machine as it sucked milk from the carton next to it interrupted me.

  ‘Commences automatically.’ Amy smiled at me. ‘Don’t worry, Maggy. This isn’t like the machines you find in lunchrooms.’

  ‘Untrue.’ Sarah reached past Amy to reposition the cup as the steamed milk poured out. ‘This espresso machine is perfect for offices, big or small. You can change the number or strength of shots, how much steamed milk and froth you’d like. JavaDo gives the discriminating coffee consumer exactly what he or she wants, when he or she wants it. And it’s a boon for productivity because nobody has to run out for their espresso drinks.’

  ‘Espresso drinks they’d presumably buy from us,’ I pointed out, even though I could see where this was going. My partner was in sales mode, gearing up to sell coffeemakers rather than lattes or real estate. ‘Your idea is that we’d stock these machines in the store?’

  ‘Not only that,’ Amy said, ‘but we’d be an exclusive JavaDo dealer. The only one in Brookhills.’

  Not exactly the feat she made it out to be. ‘Brookhills is a tiny market area.’

  ‘Small, but affluent,’ Sarah said. ‘There are more espresso drinkers per capita in Brookhills than Milwaukee or Chicago.’

  Somehow, I doubted the espresso question had been asked on the last census. And if it was, our large neighbor fifteen minutes to the east and even larger neighbor ninety minutes to the south would probably beg to differ.

  But then Sarah had years of experience presenting Brookhills – and the Brookhills homes she had sold – in the best light possible in comparison to the surrounding areas. Brookhills had better schools or lower taxes or higher average incomes, swifter trash collection, whatever.

  But now my formerly part-time partner was full-time, having just sold her company, Kingston Realty, in order to devote her full attention to Uncommon Grounds.

  And here we were a month later, the targets of Sarah’s full attention, which was kind of like getting a foghorn in the ear. Hard to ignore, as much as you pray you could. JavaDo was the fourth new idea my partner had hatched in the month, the last being turning Uncommon Grounds into an after-hours wine bar.

  Not that there was anything wrong with new ideas. If they were mine. Or even Amy’s, since our young barista had a better – or at least more current – marketing mind than I did these days.

  Amy blessedly had pointed out to Sarah that the depot neighborhood was relatively deserted at night after the last commuter train from Milwaukee came through. And that even if the place started hopping, getting a liquor license would mean a long, drawn-out battle with the city.

  But now even Amy seemed to be buying into this new brainstorm of Sarah’s.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ I said. ‘We would be competing with ourselves. We need to draw people into Uncommon Grounds, not encourage them to stay at home.’

  ‘And that’s exactly what we’d be doing,’ Sarah said. ‘Amy and I have been researching this, and we already have the top two things that bring people into a coffeehouse.’ Sarah held up two fingers and ticked them off. ‘Loyalty cards and free Wi-Fi.’

  ‘Magazines and newspapers are third on the list,’ Amy said. ‘We should beef up our selection.’

  ‘And where is selling do-it-yourself espresso makers on this list?’ I asked.

  ‘It isn’t,’ Amy said. ‘But studies show that people want to own home machines, regardless. It doesn’t mean they’ll stop coming here. They do that for the experience, the socialization—’

  ‘And the pecan rolls.’ Our baker Tien Romano had emerged from the kitchen, a resealable plastic tray of said rolls in her hand. ‘I’m taking these last ones to Dad, unless anybody else wants to take them home.’

  Tien and her father Luc had owned the food market in the same strip mall that housed Uncommon Grounds for the first two years. When the mall had collapsed, literally, Luc retired, and Tien had come onboard with us to do our baking. In exchange, we gave her the use of our kitchen at night to prepare food for her catering business.

  ‘Get thee behind me, Satan.’ Amy was holding her index fingers in the sign of the cross to ward off the calories of Tien’s buns. ‘I’ve just lost the five pounds I put on because of those buggers.’

  Personally, I was fine with maintaining and even nurturing my five-pound pecan roll around the middle. But: ‘We still have some from yesterday, Tien. Though I’d love to have you stay for a minute.’

  ‘Oh,’ Tien said, setting down the tray. ‘Do you need help?’

  ‘Only talking some sense into these two. They want to stock home espresso machines.’

  She reclaimed the rolls and flashed me a pained smile. ‘I’m afraid I would only tip the scales further against you. I don’t think it’s such a bad idea. Try to keep an open mind.’

  ‘Expand Maggy’s mind?’ Sarah groused. ‘Got a pry bar on you?’

  ‘Afraid I don’t have one of those,’ Tien said. ‘But if there’s anything else you need, let me know.’ Flashing Amy the peace sign, she ducked out the side door to the parking lot.

  ‘She is so damned nice.’ Only Sarah could make ‘nice’ a fault.

  For my part, I was feeling ganged up on, and for good reason. I’d been ganged up on. ‘I can’t believe you are all so enthusiastic. This is full-on retail sales we’re talking about.’

  ‘What do you call this crap?’ Sarah swept her arm toward the shelves of gifts and cups of various sizes, shapes and slogans.

  ‘Coffee paraphernalia,’ I said. ‘To go along with what we do, not take its place.’

  ‘Speaking of that, Maggy,’ Amy said. ‘Now that we’re up and running in our new location, I think it’s time to do some more branded items using the line-drawing of the depot. Maybe an Uncommon Grounds coffee mug and T-shirt – long-sleeved, of course, since this is Wisconsin.’

  ‘Wearables?’ Sarah said. ‘Sizes mean inventory.’

  ‘You’re worried about a few T-shirts and you want to stock those?’ I pointed at the giant espresso maker. ‘Think of the space and cost of inventory. I’d bet just one of these JavaDos costs more than the total of all this “crap”, as you put it.’

  ‘But that’s the beauty of JavaDo,’ Amy said. ‘We’d have the demonstrator here, but when we sell a machine it’s shipped directly to the customer’s home. No inventory. No investment.’

  ‘And no risk,’ Sarah said.

  ‘There’s always risk,’ I grumbled. ‘What happens if something goes wrong with a machine we sell? We hire a computer programmer and go into the JavaDo repair business? Bet there’s money in that, too.’

  ‘JavaDo picks them up from the customer and leaves them a loaner.’ Amy had her arms folded across her chest like a mom tired of dealing with a whiny child.

  ‘Seems a little too good to be true,’ I muttered.

  Amy glared at me.

  Change was not my thing, necessarily. And right now, I had enough change going on in my home life, thank you very much, what with Sheriff Jake Pavlik moving in and our getting engaged. Not to mention adding a new dog to the family and—

  ‘Twenty percent on each machine we sell,’ Sarah was saying. ‘But the r
eal benefit to us is increased bean sales.’

  I came out of my reverie. ‘You mean the little pods? The ones that cost so much?’ And maybe had a huge mark-up/profit margin?

  ‘Uh-uh,’ Sarah said, taking the stainless-steel cover off one of two bowl-shaped bins on top of the machine to reveal whole beans. ‘Not that we couldn’t get into the pod machines if we wanted to. But this particular model of espresso machine holds two different kinds of whole beans. So, say regular for mornings, decaf for late afternoon and evening, when you don’t want caffeine.’

  ‘Or flavored beans.’ Amy lifted the other bin lid, and I got a whiff of hazelnut cinnamon. ‘And we all know that the most profitable thing we sell in this store are whole beans.’

  It was true there was a good profit margin on beans and almost no labor involved in dumping the whole beans into a bag and handing it to a customer.

  I still felt like I was being maneuvered. And, therefore, whiny. ‘So, what did you do? Meet with the rep behind my back?’

  ‘Yup.’ Sarah put the bin lid back on and picked up the clear latte cup. ‘Have you ever seen such great crema?’

  ‘And the layering,’ Amy took it from her and held it up to the sunlight coming in through the front window. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

  Yes, again. And also again: ‘But you met with a rep without telling me?’

  ‘It’s my fault.’ Amy’s pink cheeks matched the second stripe from the left in her multi-hued do. ‘Kip made the suggestion and Catherine was available that very night. You’ve been so busy, I—’

  ‘We,’ Sarah interrupted, ‘we went ahead because we knew you’d lift your leg on the idea and ruin a perfectly good dinner.’

  Now I really was ticked. ‘JavaDo sprang for dinner and you two didn’t invite me? Nice.’ By which I mean it wasn’t. ‘Where is this all coming from? Are you planning to set me adrift and take over the ship?’