Cappuccinos, Cupcakes, and a Corpse (A Cape Bay Cafe Mystery Book 1) by Harper Lin Page A

older men were at the chess tables, paired up in competition. A few of them seemed especially serious about it, hitting their chess timers between each move, but most of them were playing more leisurely, seemingly more interested in debating world events than in defeating their opponents.
    Hardly a minute later, my phone buzzed. I was pleasantly surprised that Matty had gotten back to me so quickly. He agreed to have a late dinner with me that night after I closed the café. That reminded me I needed to get to work soon. I glanced at the time. I still had a little while. I considered lingering in the park for a while, but then it occurred to me that I also wanted to talk to Mrs. Collins and see if she had any other clues. If I left right away, I could make it back to my neighborhood to talk to her for a little while and still make it to work on time. I might be just a little late, but Sammy would forgive me.
    I stood and headed to my street. It wasn’t a long walk if you knew the back way. It was counterintuitive, but if I walked through the back of the park, went down the set of stairs in the side of the hill, and took the path around the little pond, I’d pop out just two streets down from my house. I moved quickly, waving at a few of the chess players I recognized as I passed. In no time at all, I was at Mrs. Collins’s door.
    She didn’t have a bell, so I used the heavy, ornate door knocker. There was no answer for quite a while, and I couldn’t hear any movement inside the house despite practically putting my ear right up against the door. I was just about to knock again when the door swung open.
    Mrs. Collins stood there, her hair done up just so, her lips painted red, her blouse and slacks immaculately pressed. She would have fit in with the finest New York socialites, but that seemed typical of the older generation—they always wanted to look nice, even if they would just be sitting around the house all day. Sometimes I wished my generation had the same attitude, even if I did enjoy being comfortable. She made me feel woefully underdressed, despite the designer labels inside my jeans and black T-shirt. I might have fit in in a New York City office, but I would have looked positively slovenly next to the residents in the Cape Bay retirement home.
    “Well, hello, Francesca dear!” Mrs. Collins said warmly, taking my hand in both of hers. “I’ve just put the kettle on if you’d like to come in for a cup of tea. I’m sorry, I don’t keep coffee in the house—I know that’s what you’d prefer.”
    I wondered if putting the kettle on for whoever was at the door was what had taken her so long to answer. I smiled at her warmly. “I’d love that, Mrs. Collins!”
    “Well, come on in, dearie!” She stepped aside for me.
    Like her, her house was impressively tidy and pulled together. “Neat as a pin,” my grandmother would have said.
    Mrs. Collins shut the door and shuffled past me down the hall. “If you don’t mind, we’ll sit in the kitchen. It’s difficult for me to carry the tea set into the sitting room anymore.”
    “Of course!” I said politely.
    We walked down the hall and into the brightly lit kitchen.
    “Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked.
    “No, no, dear, it’ll just be a minute,” she replied.
    She certainly was fond of calling me “dear.” As I sat at the table, it occurred to me that she hadn’t yet inquired as to the reason for my visit. She must have just been so happy to have a visitor that she didn’t care about the reason for their arrival. I watched her move around the kitchen, gathering tea cups and sugar and tea bags. She arranged it all neatly on a silver tea tray even though we would just be sitting at the table. When the kettle whistled, she added it to the tray and shuffled over to the table, dismissing my continued offers of assistance. She carefully poured tea for each of us and took a sip before speaking.
    “So, Francesca, to what do I owe the