At 8:17 on a rainy Tuesday morning, a dead man ordered coffee.

This would have been strange enough.

The fact that he ordered it by telephone was stranger.

The fact that the café owner knew he had been dead for six hours was considerably worse.

Nora Blake stood behind the counter of The Last Cup, holding a telephone receiver in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.

She stared at the empty tables.

Then at the clock.

Then at the receiver.

Then back at the empty tables.

“I’m sorry,” she said slowly, “did you just say Mr. Victor Hale?”

The voice on the other end was low and crackling.

“Yes.”

Nora frowned.

“Victor Hale from Willow Street?”

“Yes.”

“The old man who lives in the blue house?”

“Yes.”

“The man who died last night?”

There was silence.

Then the voice said:

“One black coffee.”

The line went dead.

Nora remained completely still.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat.

“Was that a customer?”

Nora turned.

Evan Cole stood near the pastry cabinet wearing a raincoat three sizes too large.

He was twenty-six, unemployed, permanently curious, and absolutely convinced that he was destined to become a famous detective.

Unfortunately, he had never solved a crime.

He had once found a missing cat.

The cat had been sitting on its owner’s roof.

He still considered it his greatest achievement.

Evan pointed toward the telephone.

“Who was it?”

Nora placed the receiver down.

“Victor Hale.”

Evan blinked.

“The Victor Hale?”

“How many dead Victor Hales do you know?”

Evan’s face changed.

“Dead?”

Nora nodded.

“He died last night.”

Evan slowly looked toward the café door.

Rain hammered against the glass.

“Then who ordered the coffee?”

“That,” Nora said, “is exactly what I would like to know.”

Evan smiled.

This was the first time that morning he looked happy.

“Oh, finally.”

Nora narrowed her eyes.

“Finally what?”

“A murder mystery.”

“Someone ordering coffee isn’t a murder mystery.”

“He’s dead.”

“He could have ordered it before dying.”

“He ordered it ten minutes ago.”

Nora stared at him.

“You’re right.”

Evan’s smile became wider.

Nora immediately regretted agreeing.

“Don’t look excited.”

“I am excited.”

“This is someone’s death.”

“Exactly. Very serious.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I smile when I’m nervous.”

“You smile when you’re excited.”

“I am also nervous.”

Nora crossed her arms.

“Stay out of it.”

Evan nodded.

“Of course.”

He waited two seconds.

“Where does Victor Hale live?”

Nora sighed.

“Willow Street.”

“Which house?”

“The blue one.”

“I’m going there.”

“I just told you to stay out of it.”

“And I agreed.”

“You agreed for two seconds.”

“Personal growth takes time.”

Nora threw a napkin at him.

Evan caught it.

Then the café door opened.

A tall man in a dark police coat walked inside.

Detective Arthur Bell.

Everyone in town knew him.

He had a square face, gray eyes, and the permanent expression of a man who had just discovered somebody had parked illegally in front of his house.

He looked at Evan.

Evan smiled.

Detective Bell immediately frowned.

“No.”

Evan’s smile disappeared.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You don’t have to.”

Bell walked to the counter.

“Nora.”

“Detective.”

“I need two coffees.”

Nora reached for two cups.

Bell looked at Evan.

“Not for him.”

Evan raised his eyebrows.

“I wasn’t asking.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I always think about coffee.”

Bell turned toward Nora.

“Victor Hale’s death has been confirmed.”

Nora froze.

Evan leaned forward.

“How did he die?”

Bell looked at him.

“You are not part of this investigation.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“You were about to.”

Evan closed his mouth.

Bell continued.

“Mr. Hale was found in his study at approximately two in the morning.”

Nora placed the coffees on the counter.

“Cause of death?”

“Heart failure.”

Evan immediately looked at Nora.

She looked back.

Neither spoke.

Bell picked up the coffees.

Then Evan asked:

“What time did he stop breathing?”

Bell paused.

“Why?”

“Because someone called this café at 8:17 and ordered coffee in his name.”

Bell’s expression changed.

“What?”

Nora nodded.

“Black coffee.”

Bell put the cups down.

“Who called?”

“I don’t know.”

“Male or female?”

“Male.”

“Did he identify himself?”

“No. I asked for Mr. Hale.”

“And?”

“The voice said yes.”

Bell looked toward the telephone.

“Could it have been someone playing a prank?”

“Maybe,” Nora said.

Evan shook his head.

“Too early for a prank.”

Bell looked annoyed.

“Why?”

“Because whoever called knew Mr. Hale was dead.”

“We don’t know that.”

“The caller ordered in his name.”

“That proves nothing.”

Evan leaned closer.

“Did you tell anyone that Victor Hale died?”

Bell went silent.

Nora noticed it.

So did Evan.

Bell slowly looked at them.

“No.”

Evan’s smile returned.

Bell pointed at him.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking again.”

“I have a very active brain.”

“You have a dangerous brain.”

Bell picked up his coffee.

“I’ll handle this.”

He walked toward the door.

Then stopped.

Without turning around, he said:

“Don’t go to Willow Street.”

The door closed.

Evan looked at Nora.

Nora looked at Evan.

They spoke at the same time.

“We’re going to Willow Street.”

---

Twenty minutes later, they were standing outside the blue house.

Evan stared at the police tape.

“This is officially a terrible idea.”

Nora looked at him.

“You suggested coming.”

“I know.”

“You said it was important.”

“I know.”

“You said we could help.”

“I lied.”

Nora sighed.

The blue house stood at the end of Willow Street.

It was small, old, and strangely neat.

A police car was parked outside.

Two officers stood near the entrance.

Evan and Nora stayed behind a large tree.

“This is embarrassing,” Nora whispered.

“Why?”

“We’re hiding behind a tree.”

“We’re investigating.”

“We’re trespassing.”

“Investigators don’t trespass.”

“What do they do?”

“Investigate first. Apologize later.”

Nora stared at him.

“You’ve watched too many detective movies.”

“Education is education.”

They waited.

One of the officers walked around the side of the house.

Evan immediately moved.

Nora grabbed his arm.

“Where are you going?”

“Inside.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Evan pointed toward the house.

“Look.”

Nora followed his finger.

A second-floor curtain moved.

Someone was standing behind it.

Both froze.

“Is that Detective Bell?” Nora whispered.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Bell is shorter.”

The figure moved away from the window.

Evan’s face became serious.

“Someone’s inside.”

Nora swallowed.

“The police are downstairs.”

“Exactly.”

“Then why is someone upstairs?”

“I don’t know.”

The figure appeared again.

This time at another window.

Then another.

It moved quickly.

Room to room.

Evan whispered, “That’s impossible.”

Nora looked at him.

“Why?”

“Because the upstairs hallway has only one window.”

“What?”

Evan pointed.

The figure appeared at the far side of the house.

But there was no room there.

No window.

Nothing.

Nora’s face went pale.

“Maybe we’re seeing reflections.”

“Maybe.”

“Or shadows.”

“Maybe.”

“Or…”

Evan stared at the house.

“Let’s not finish that sentence.”

Suddenly the front door opened.

Detective Bell stepped outside.

He looked directly toward the tree.

Evan pulled Nora down.

They crouched in the mud.

“Did he see us?” Nora whispered.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s walking away.”

They waited.

After a minute, Evan raised his head.

“Clear.”

Nora stood.

“You are an idiot.”

“Thank you.”

They moved toward the house.

But before they reached the door, Nora stopped.

Something was lying beneath the window.

A small white envelope.

Her name was written on it.

NORA BLAKE

She stared at it.

Evan’s expression changed.

“Don’t touch it.”

Nora looked at him.

“Why?”

“Because someone wrote your name on it.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is an excellent reason.”

Nora picked it up.

Evan groaned.

Inside was a single piece of paper.

Three words were written in black ink.

THE COFFEE KNOWS.

Nora stared.

“What does that mean?”

Evan looked toward the house.

“I don’t know.”

Then he noticed something else.

There was a second line beneath the message.

ASK ABOUT 11:43.

Nora looked at the clock on the wall inside the house.

11:43.

Evan whispered:

“What happened at 11:43?”

Before Nora could answer, the front door slammed shut.

Both jumped.

A sound came from inside.

A cup breaking.

Then silence.

Evan grabbed the door handle.

Locked.

Nora stepped back.

“Maybe we should leave.”

Evan nodded.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Definitely.”

Another pause.

“But first—”

“No.”

“Just one look.”

“No.”

“Two looks?”

“No.”

“Three?”

“Evan!”

Suddenly the door unlocked.

Click.

Both stared at it.

Neither touched it.

Then the door slowly opened by itself.

Inside was a dark hallway.

At the end stood a table.

On the table was a coffee cup.

Steam rose from it.

Nora whispered:

“That wasn’t there before.”

Evan stared at the cup.

“No.”

The smell of fresh coffee drifted toward them.

Strong.

Bitter.

Warm.

Impossible.

Because the house had been sealed since Victor Hale’s death.

Nora stepped inside.

Evan followed.

“I thought we were leaving,” he whispered.

“We are.”

“When?”

“After we find out who made the coffee.”

They walked down the hallway.

Every wall was covered with photographs.

Victor Hale appeared in nearly all of them.

Young Victor.

Old Victor.

Victor with his wife.

Victor with friends.

Victor standing outside the café.

Nora stopped.

“Wait.”

She pointed.

There was a photograph of Victor Hale sitting at a table inside The Last Cup.

The date beneath it was twenty years old.

But Nora had owned the café for only six years.

She looked closer.

The photograph showed Victor sitting across from someone.

The other person’s face had been scratched away.

Evan leaned closer.

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know.”

Then Nora noticed the table.

A coffee cup sat between them.

On the cup was the same symbol printed on the envelope.

A black circle with a tiny white line through the center.

Evan whispered:

“The coffee knows.”

Suddenly footsteps came from upstairs.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Nora looked at Evan.

“We should go.”

“Yes.”

Another step.

Closer.

Evan grabbed her hand.

They ran toward the entrance.

But before they reached it, a man’s voice called from upstairs.

“Nora.”

She stopped.

Evan nearly crashed into her.

The voice came again.

“Nora Blake.”

She slowly looked up.

“Who are you?”

Silence.

Then the voice answered:

“I ordered coffee.”

Evan’s face went white.

Nora’s heart pounded.

“Victor?”

The voice laughed.

Not loudly.

Not like a monster.

It was a quiet, human laugh.

Then came three words:

“Bring it tomorrow.”

The lights suddenly turned on.

The entire hallway was empty.

Evan stared at the staircase.

“Nora…”

“What?”

“Look at the floor.”

A trail of wet footprints crossed the hallway.

They started at the staircase.

They ended directly in front of them.

But there were no footprints leading away.

Only toward them.

Nora stepped backward.

Evan whispered:

“Someone came downstairs.”

Nora shook her head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

She pointed at the footprints.

“They’re backwards.”

Evan stared.

The footprints pointed toward the staircase.

But the person who made them had apparently walked backward from the staircase to the hallway.

Then Nora noticed something inside the coffee cup.

A folded piece of paper.

She picked it up.

Three lines were written on it.

FIRST: FIND THE MAN WITHOUT A FACE.

SECOND: NEVER DRINK THE COFFEE.

THIRD: WHEN THE CLOCK SHOWS 11:43, RUN.

Evan looked at the clock.

It showed 11:42.

He swallowed.

“Nora.”

She looked at him.

“We have one minute.”

The clock ticked.

11:42.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Nora grabbed his hand.

They ran.

Behind them, something began walking down the stairs.

Slowly.

One step at a time.

The clock changed.

11:43.

Every light in the house went out.

A man’s laughter filled the darkness.

Then the front door slammed shut.

And from somewhere directly behind Nora came a whisper:

“Too late.”

She turned.

Nothing was there.

Except the coffee cup.

Sitting on the floor.

Still warm.

And beside it was a fresh newspaper.

The headline read:

VICTOR HALE FOUND DEAD AT 2:00 A.M.

Nora picked it up.

Her hands trembled.

Because beneath the headline, someone had written a sentence in red ink.

HE WASN’T THE FIRST ONE.

Then, from upstairs, came the sound of a coffee machine starting.

Evan stared into the darkness.

“We have a problem.”

Nora swallowed.

“What?”

He pointed toward the staircase.

“We came here looking for a dead man.”

The coffee machine hissed.

A cup began filling.

And a voice whispered from the darkness:

“You should have been looking for the murderer.”

End of Chapter One