Through the Grinder Read Online Free PDF

your culinary classes?” I blurted out. “I mean, computer dating doesn’t sound like something you’d have a lot of time for.”
    Joy gave me a look I can only assume was also used on heretics during the Spanish Inquisition.
    “I’d really like to know,” my daughter told Winnie, ignoring me completely.
    “Um…I don’t know,” said Winnie, glancing uneasily from Joy to me and back again.
    “SinglesNYC.com,” said Inga without hesitation. “I’m on it, like, 24/7, you know, to check out the new guys.”
    “Thanks,” said Joy. “I’ll register this afternoon.”
    God, Joy, sometimes you’re as stubborn as your damned father!
    “You know what,” I said. “I’m going to register this afternoon, too.”
    “You!” cried Tucker.
    “You?” cried Esther.
    Then everyone stared.
    “Why not?” I said.
    “Because…” said Tucker, “for one thing, you’ve never even attended the Cappuccino Connection.”
    “And that goes on right upstairs!” added Esther.
    “True. But I feel differently all of a sudden.” I threw a pointed glance at Joy. “Like computer dating might be worth a try.”
    Joy rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mom, first of all, it’s called on-line dating. Not computer dating. ‘Computer dating’ was like something somebody did with punch cards in the stone age. But, you know what, go ahead. You register, too. In fact, I’ll help you with the profile. Maybe you’ll finally see there’s nobody better than Daddy out there.”
    “I sincerely doubt that,” I told her.
    I also sincerely doubted I’d actually meet anyone of romantic consequence. But, for my daughter’s sake—or maybe my own peace of mind where my daughter was concerned—I was going to make sure any service she used was legit.
    A few minutes later, a crew from St. Vincent’s Hospital came in looking for their caffeine hits, and Tucker and I were swamped.
    “Got that lat?”
    “Got it!”
    “Skinny cap with wings!”
    Cappuccino with skim milk, extra foam.
    “Dopey X!”
    Doppio—aka “double”—espresso.
    “Caffé Carm!”
    Caffé Caramella—a latte with caramel syrup, sweetened whipped cream, and a drizzle of warm caramel topping.
    “Americano!”
    Espresso diluted with hot water.
    “Grande skinny!”
    Latte with skim milk.
    “XXX!”
    Triple espresso.
    “Cap, get the lead out!”
    Cappuccino with decaf. I shuddered—decaf drinkers truly gave me the creeps.
    “Clare,” called Detective Quinn, approaching me behind the counter. “I have a question for you before I go.”
    With his grim expression back, I expected a query concerning Valerie Lathem…or at the very least one about the list of coffee drinks that seemed to constantly perplex him. But to my stunned surprise, he didn’t mention either one.
    “Are you free for dinner Thursday?”

T HREE
    S HE lived in one of those high-priced new buildings they’d put up near the river with rooftop parking and a view of the Jersey swamps.
    HUDSON VIEW read the white metal sign bolted to the red brick building. “ CONDOS AVAILABLE, INQUIRE IN-SIDE .”
    The bricks were new, the cheap chrome light fixtures shiny as a drawer full of QVC cubic zirconias, but the building had no style, no character, and no history. A nearly featureless rectangle, which, in the Genius’s view, would succinctly describe the woman inside—if you added a pair of pathetically second-rate breasts.
    Her SinglesNYC.com profile had lied, of course.
    “All of them lie,” whispered the Genius. “All of them…”
    From the building across the street, the Genius watched the woman prepare for her Thursday night date. With her drapes left wide open, the blonde probably assumed no one was peeping. An easy mistake, since she was fifteen floors up, the office building directly across from her condo was only half leased, and the space where the Genius now stood appeared unlit and uninhabited.
    Through the dark window, the Genius watched the woman drop her white towel and step into a lacey