In Dog We Trust (Golden Retriever Mysteries) Read Online Free Page A

tables and matching chairs seemed like they’d come direct from Paris, though they’d been padded with cushions more comfortable to American bottoms.
    The café always smelled of something delicious—lemon tarts, strawberry shortcake, or hot chocolate topped with cinnamon. The glass-fronted case was filled with exquisitely decorated pastries—petit fours covered in white fondant with tiny sugar flowers, individual key lime tarts scalloped with whipped cream, fudge brownies studded with walnuts and chocolate chips. The signature cookie was a chocolate version of the elephant ear, a curly pastry with a rich cocoa flavor. An industrial-quality Italian coffee machine churned out mochas, lattes and cappuccinos, filling the room with the sound of drips and foams.
    Usually I stayed at the café to savor my drink, but one Friday in late January there was a water leak in the kitchen, and the sound of the plumber banging away wasn’t conducive to grading. So I took my coffee back home, and as I stepped out of the Beemer, clutching the paper cup and a pile of student essays, Rochester came out of nowhere once again, this time trailing his leash behind him.
    I saw him coming too late, and the coffee and the papers went flying in opposite directions. Caroline was very apologetic, helping me collect all the paper, and then she offered to make me a coffee to replace the one I’d lost. “I have a great espresso machine and I never get to use it,” she said. “Please?”
    I didn’t want to face grading without my treat, so I agreed. “I’m so sorry he attacked you again,” she said, pushing the golden retriever in the door ahead of us. “I took today off to practice handling him. I’ve wanted a dog for ages, but it wasn’t until I moved out here that I had a place for one. He came from a rescue group—can you imagine someone wanting to give up a sweetheart like Rochester?”
    I understood why someone might want to get rid of a gargantuan beast like him—what I couldn’t see was getting him in the first place. “Is that where you went to college?” I asked, as we walked into the kitchen. “Rochester?”
    “No, he’s named after Rochester in Jane Eyre .”
    In that moment, I knew a lot about Caroline Kelly. Though full-figured, she had a pretty face, and she dressed well and knew how to use makeup and hairstyle to her advantage. The low-necked sweater she was wearing accentuated her cleavage, and I liked the way her jeans hung low on her hips. I figured she was educated, because she knew Jane Eyre , and successful, because townhouses in River Bend start around $300,000.
    True to her word, she had a very fancy espresso machine. “I’ve got Kona beans in the freezer,” she said, opening the door and pulling them out. “I’ll just slip some in the grinder.”
    I started to like Caroline even more. A woman who appreciated good coffee was a real find. My ex-wife, also known as “The Jewish American Princess of Darkness, Satan’s Favorite Squeeze,” only drank iced tea, heavily dosed with artificial sweeteners. She used to bitch about the smell of coffee in the house, saying it made her nauseous. I’d have to give up brewing my own each time she was pregnant.
    Caroline’s kitchen was full of the latest and most high-end appliances, everything shiny stainless or bright primary colors. I noted her top-of-the-line Kitchen Aid stand mixer, a hanging tray of copper-bottomed pans, and a wooden block of German knives.
    Caroline’s coffee offerings included a half dozen unopened bottles of syrup, from vanilla to orange to raspberry, and a couple of twist-top canisters of toppings. While she bustled around making the coffee, I looked around her house from the vantage point of her kitchen table. The kitchen was at the front of the house, with a big picture window that looked out on the street. The butcher block table matched the blond wood of the cabinets.
    Her decorating was minimalist with a touch of Southeast Asia—a