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Brewed Awakening by Cleo Coyle (English) Paperback Book

Description: Brewed Awakening by Cleo Coyle 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 Mysteries.From Cleo Coyle, the New York Times bestselling author of Dead Cold Brew, comes a delicious new entry in the "fun and gripping" (Huffington Post) Coffeehouse Mysteries.When coffeehouse manager Clare Cosi awakens on a bench in Washington Square Park, she has no idea shes been missing for the past week, or that her friends and family have been frantic with worry. Now that shes back, everyone is overjoyed, including a handsome NYPD detective who claims to be her fiance. But to Mike Quinns crushing distress, Clare doesnt remember him, or much of anything about the last decade of her life.Clares missing memory is tied to a crime she witnessed. An acquaintance of Clares elegant employer-and fellow member of an exclusive Gotham circle known as "The Ladies Who Brunch"-invited Clare to her posh hotel to sample gourmet wedding cakes. The pair took a stroll after their indulgent tasting and, according to security camera footage, a masked figure snatched the hotel heiress at gunpoint with Clare looking on. Did the kidnapper take Clare, too? The camera went dark, just like Clares memory. Soon authorities grow suspicious. Is Clare really a victim? Or merely acting like one? Evidence is mounting that she set the woman up.To clear her name, Clare must find a way to reclaim her memories and rescue the heiress before this high-stakes crime ends in tragedy. Otherwise, instead of walking down the aisle, Clare may find herself perp-walking to prison as an accomplice to kidnapping and murder. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography 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. Review Praise for Brewed Awakening by Cleo Coyle "Told from multiple points of view, this sometimes poignant page-turner satisfies with plot twists, humor, and nicely rounded characters."—Booklist "Engrossing…Amid the delightfully twisty mystery, Coyle (the husband-and-wife team of Alice Alfonsi and Marc Cerasini) poses an intriguing question: if you lost all memory of your beloved, would you fall for him all over again?" —Publishers Weekly Praise for the Coffeehouse Mysteries "A gripping and entertaining mystery"—Library Journal (Starred Review) "Sure to delight"—Publishers Weekly "Clare and company are some of the most vibrant characters Ive ever read."—Mystery Scene "Fun and gripping."—The Huffington Post "A delicious mystery!"—Womans World "Cleo Coyle is by far one of the best…" –Fresh Fiction "Mix[es] clever and intricate plots with a regular cast of characters who become more enjoyable with every episode."—Booklist Review Quote Praise for Brewed Awakening by Cleo Coyle "Told from multiple points of view, this sometimes poignant page-turner satisfies with plot twists, humor, and nicely rounded characters."-- Booklist "Engrossing...Amid the delightfully twisty mystery, Coyle (the husband-and-wife team of Alice Alfonsi and Marc Cerasini) poses an intriguing question: if you lost all memory of your beloved, would you fall for him all over again?" -- Publishers Weekly Praise for the Coffeehouse Mysteries "A gripping and entertaining mystery"-- Library Journal (Starred Review) "Sure to delight"-- Publishers Weekly "Clare and company are some of the most vibrant characters Ive ever read."-- Mystery Scene "Fun and gripping."-- The Huffington Post "A delicious mystery!"-- Womans World "Cleo Coyle is by far one of the best..." - Fresh Fiction "Mix[es] clever and intricate plots with a regular cast of characters who become more enjoyable with every episode."-- Booklist Excerpt from Book One I like coffee because it gives me the illusion that I might be awake. -Lewis Black Two months later I awoke in darkness, curled in a shivering ball. Id been a restless sleeper since my divorce, and I assumed Id kicked off the blankets. So why was something still covering my face? Heavy and stiff, it was definitely not my well-worn J.C. Penney comfort quilt. A blaring horn and a string of angry expletives sat me up fast. A coat fell away from my face, and I blinked against a misty-morning sun peeking through naked branches. Feeling dizzy, I rubbed my eyes before deciding- This is no dream. This is real. I tried to rise but my joints were stiff. My right arm was so numb that I had to shake it out. More troubling was the fact that somehow-and I could not for the life of me remember how-I wasnt in my nice warm bed in my cozy little bedroom in New Jersey. I was sprawled across a hard, cold bench in a public park, close enough to the street for me to hear a cabby cursing out the driver in front of him, which sounded an awful lot like Manhattan. My suspicion was confirmed when I spied the towering arch of white marble that marked the start of Fifth Avenue. Im in Washington Square Park. The triumphal arch gave me a triumphant rush of relief. I knew where I was-Greenwich Village, but . . . "How in heavens name did I get here?" My baffled whisper emerged as a cloud of vapor. Still shivering, I donned the coat that covered me. It fit perfectly, though it wasnt mine. I went through its pockets for a clue to its owner but found no ID or personal items, beyond a single right-hand glove. Its mate was missing. The tan leather had a red-brown stain on the palm, about the size of a shot glass rim. Blood. I knew because Id seen enough of it dried on clothing from scuffed knees and elbows after Joys soccer matches. I was tempted to start spit-scrubbing the stain but instead tucked the glove back in the pocket. Rising to my feet, I felt wobbly and blamed the unsteadiness on my footwear. There was a theme here, because the high-end, high-heeled boots werent mine, either-ditto for the cashmere sweater set and tailored slacks. If I hadnt been in public, I would have checked to see if I recognized my underwear! Did I go on some wild shopping spree with my Jersey friends? If I did, where are they now? And why is it I dont remember? Cupping my hands, I blew warm breath into them and took a sniff. I detected no scent of alcohol. Okay, so I didnt get tipsy and have a blackout. I sat back down on the cold bench to orient myself. While I retied my deconstructing ponytail, I realized my purse was nowhere in sight. I dug through every pocket, pants first and coat again. No wallet. No house keys. No car keys. All were gone. I felt panic rising. Okay, Clare, pull it together. Youll figure out what happened, but right now youve got to get home to your little girl. With no watch on my wrist, I called out to a young man who was cutting through the park. "Could you tell me the time, please?" "Sure." He pulled an odd device from the pocket of his NYU hoodie. "Its six fifty-five, maam." "Wow, thats really something youve got there." He grinned, proudly displaying the black rectangle. Its glowing screen was crowded with colorful icons. "I got it yesterday, first day of release," he said. "Everybody in my lab is jealous . . ." He rattled off a series of its "features," which sounded more like a shopping list in a foreign language. Then he cackled when all I did was ask if this amazing device would be made available to people like me. "Youre funny, lady. Give it a year. You can buy one used." As he moved on, I took a breath and reassessed. Okay, its the crack of dawn. I have no money, no ID, no keys to anything. Panic began to rise again, until I remembered. This was the Village, my old neighborhood, and there was one place Id always be welcome- The Village Blend coffeehouse. Even better, I could get some decent coffee there. In my experience, there werent many problems a good cup of coffee couldnt help solve. Two As I started my stroll, a strange feeling came over me. The citys sights and sounds always energized and grounded me, but today I couldnt shake a creeping sense of displacement. Id moved out of Manhattan mere months ago, yet the city appeared to have changed impossibly since Id packed up my young daughter and left. For years, Washington Square had suffered from neglect, its monuments scrawled with graffiti, its central fountain inactive. Now the white marble arch gleamed, the greenery was tidy, the paths newly paved, the fountain spraying rainbows in the morning light. The sight should have cheered me. Instead the surreal sense of uneasiness only worsened as I walked. At the corner of West Fourth and Sixth Avenue, I saw the basketball court was still there, but the skeevy head shops, bodegas, and pizzerias around it had been replaced by slick storefronts and upscale eateries. I tried to shrug it off. After all, New York never did stand still. The only constant in this town was change. Crossing Sixth, I passed people with devices similar to the one that NYU student had shown me. They were staring, almost hypnotically, at their screens as they walked. Some were even talking into them! Who were these people talking to at seven am? And what could they be talking about? Was there an advanced-technology convention at the university? Or was this some kind of rehearsal for performance art-it certainly looked bizarre enough to be an avant-garde spectacle. I passed a convenience store with no magazine rack, just a colorful display for something called vaping. The only two newspapers on sale carried similar headlines: HOTEL HEIRESS MISSING MYSTERY AT PARKVIEW PALACE: ABDUCTION OR MURDER? The stories appeared to be about some wealthy woman named Annette Brewster, who owned the famous Parkview Palace hotel. She had disappeared days ago. Evidence pointed to foul play. Staring at the headlines, I felt dizzy again, as if something was clawing at the edges of my mind, trying to get in. Then, whatever it was slipped away, like a dream disappearing as you wake. Left only with a lingering frustration, I tried to shake my thoughts clear and suddenly remembered my young daughter, home alone. What was I doing wasting time on headlines that had nothing to do with me?! Stepping up my pace, I made it to Hudson Street and felt an instant sense of calm at the sight of the Village Blend. Thank goodness nothing had changed there. The French windows were closed, but the blinds were open and front entrance unlocked. I followed a pair of customers inside. Hearing the familiar bell above the door was reassuring; and the roasted coffee, freshly brewing, smelled like ambrosia. That surprised me-and, I admit, made me a little jealous. Id taken pride in my former work here as a master roaster. My mother-in-law said shed never met anyone who had my touch with the Probat or talent for creating exceptional blends. Except her, of course, but right now Madame was in Europe with her second husband, Pierre. Id have to sample a few sips to be sure, but from the aroma (and the raves from the customers in line), I knew Id been replaced. Madame had obviously found someone else who knew how to handle her sons specially sourced beans. A line was forming at the coffee bar, but I didnt want to wait. I was anxious to call my daughter, so I approached a zaftig young woman wearing a blue Village Blend apron and black-framed glasses, which dominated her pleasant round face. She looked distracted, hurriedly setting up cafZ tables for the day. (Tables that should have been set up by now-not a good reflection on the new management.) "Excuse me," I said, tapping her shoulder. "I used to work here and Im in a fix. May I use your phone?" The young woman froze a moment, staring into space as if shed heard a voice from the great beyond. Then she dropped the wrought iron chair, whirled around, and screamed. Every person in the coffeehouse stared. Embarrassed, I stepped back, assuming Id startled her. What she did next more than startled me. "Clare Cosi!" she shouted, giving me a smothering hug. "YOURE BACK AND YOURE ALIVE!" I rolled my eyes. Would city people never change? Move out of Manhattan and you no longer exist? Sheesh! "Omigod, omigod!" the girl kept chanting. When she finally broke her mother-bear clutch, I actually saw tears in her eyes. What is wrong with this person? I noticed her necklace displayed the name Esther in silver letters. "Im sorry-Esther, is it? I assume Madame told you about me, maybe showed you my photo, but the jokes over, okay." "Joke?" The baffled barista took a step back. "Boss, what are you talking about? This is no joke. Youve been missing for days!" Three I stared in confusion at the young woman named Esther. "Ive been missing?" She nodded emphatically. "We were sick with worry about you. We looked everywhere but there was no trace. We feared the worst. Now here you are, perfectly okay, talking about a joke. Are you saying your disappearance was some kind of prank?" Before I co Details ISBN045148889X Author Cleo Coyle Pages 400 Series A Coffeehouse Mystery Language English Year 2021 ISBN-10 045148889X ISBN-13 9780451488893 Format Paperback DEWEY 813.6 Series Number 18 Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States US Release Date 2021-07-06 UK Release Date 2021-07-06 Publisher Penguin Putnam Inc Publication Date 2021-07-06 Imprint Berkley Publishing Corporation,U.S. Audience General NZ Release Date 2021-09-13 AU Release Date 2021-09-13 We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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Brewed Awakening by Cleo Coyle (English) Paperback Book

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ISBN: 9780451488893

Book Title: Brewed Awakening

Format: Paperback

Language: English

Item Height: 171mm

Topic: Books

Item Width: 106mm

Publisher: Penguin Putnam Inc

Publication Year: 2021

Author: Cleo Coyle

Number of Pages: 400 Pages

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