A Cup of Murder (7 page)

"Do you need anything else, Laila?" he
said. "I still have some fruit turnovers ready."

One thing about my boss: he wasn’t afraid to
work like the rest of us. I had always felt it gave more character to
the atmosphere when he was easily recognized by everyone who came in.
He believed all of us should be visible which gave the correct
impressions of family and friendliness that he wanted. Jacob did not
excuse himself from this responsibility. In the case of recent
happenings, it also reassured customers of Jacob Weaver’s
innocence.

I had almost forgotten Daniel Jenkins until I
passed his table and realized he was still there. The rain was
letting up and some of the customers were leaving. He smiled at me
and obviously he was taking his time drinking his once-hot
cappuccino.

"I guess I’d better leave before I have to
spend more money," he said to me. "I’ll see you around."

He stood and reached for his wallet. He pulled a
few bills and left them on the table but not before he leaned over
and whispered, "Michael was poisoned with belladonna found in
his coffee cup. The cup left next to his had coffee in it but was
left untouched. No fingerprints, no DNA."

He silently placed his finger on his lips. I got
the meaning.

Chapter Eight

The truth of how Michael Simms died clinched it
was poison. Belladonna was not a familiar term to me and I wondered
where Jen Perry would have gotten any kind of chemical that
translated to poison. If she left Sunrise around ten that night then
Michael must have come back later. He was found in his own coffee
house the next morning, slumped in his chair where he customarily
took his breaks. He must have had a meeting with someone. And they
must have both used the back door, unnoticed. Of all the possible
suspects on the police list, none seemed likely to have met him late
at night unless it was his Barista. If someone else, then that person
must have known him or there wouldn’t have been two cups of coffee
served.

The mystery person was still out there. Jacob
Weaver would never had gone inside Sunrise and sat down for a meeting
with Michael Simms. Knowing his personality, he would have accosted
him in daylight and not cared who saw him. It wasn’t like Jacob to
sneak around and kill someone in the dead of night.

I still wanted to get to New York City and meet
face to face with James Simms. Maybe he would have a better idea who
had a grudge against Michael. The next day was Sunday. Roasted Love
stayed open early morning through five on Sundays and I would ask
Lily to have her son, Eddie come in to help out. He liked working
there and he didn’t mind the extra money either. Jacob rarely took
a day away from the coffee house and Janie worked all day on Sunday
with Monday off.

Next, I had to think about the right person to
leave Thor with while I went to New York City to meet the Senator. My
new responsibility was something I enjoyed so far. I recalled how
someone once told me that I should think twice about wanting a dog
because they were like a child who never grew up. I was beginning to
see it was true. And like most parents, I took Thor’s care
seriously.

Once home that evening, I debated whether or not
to call Jacob and ask him to take the dog. The fact I fed Thor a
muffin or two on occasion wasn’t lost on Jacob but I knew he had no
idea I adopted the dog as my own. I dialed my boss and he picked up
right away.

"Do you mind if I come over for a few
minutes?" I asked him.

"No, come on over. I’m not doing anything
in particular except putting my feet up."

With Thor by my side, the dog willingly jumped
into the back seat of my car. One thing about this Doberman, he loved
to ride in the car. He trotted beside me when I walked up the
sidewalk to Jacob’s house and rang the bell. I crossed my fingers.

"What are you doing with that monster of a
dog?" asked Jacob. "That is Michael’s dog, isn’t it?"

"He’s mine now."

A low growl came from Thor. It bordered on a
snarl. I commanded him to be quiet, and thanks to Michael’s
training, he did so immediately. Jacob swung the door open for both
of us.

"Laila, I’ve never known anyone to be the
bleeding heart you are."

I tried to look nonchalant and shrugged my
shoulders in answer. "He needed a home and I couldn’t just
leave him to make his way alone. Jen Perry sure didn’t want him and
I have never seen Michael’s wife anywhere around. He would have
just roamed the streets and eventually he would have been hit by a
car or something like that."

‘Something like that’ meant he would end up in
a shelter and may face the possibility of someone getting him who
wouldn’t hit it off with Thor, or worse yet, maybe put to death at
a pound. I couldn’t let any possibilities happen that would
endanger the animal I was now strongly attached to.

"I have to go into the city tomorrow and
wondered if you would look after Thor for me."

I wish I had a video camera to record Jacob's
reaction. He glanced at the large dog and back at me. Thor got the
point and growled low again.

"All you have to do is feed him and he will
be your friend for life," I said.

"What makes you think I want any living thing
that once belonged to Michael Simms to be my friend for life?"

"Just allow him to follow you to your kitchen
while I get a small sack of dog food from my car." I came
prepared. There was no alternative except for my boss to take charge
of Thor.

Apparently, Thor sniffed food odors and followed
the massive figure that went to the kitchen. I held in a chuckle when
I realized both large frames somehow matched one another. When I got
back inside and handed Jacob the dog food, Thor was happily on his
stomach, front legs sprawled out as he happily gnawed a piece of ham
that hung from a large bone. I told Jacob thanks and left. Thor
didn’t look up.

Temporarily free from my obligations, I left West
River around nine a.m. and set my GPS for the condo address. While
driving I formulated my approach to James Simms. I decided
politicians were ready to answer questions and get their faces out
there no matter if it was Sunday or any other day of the week. I
relied on him being home when I got there. Did politicians socialize
or go to church? They were silly questions that invaded my mind and I
quickly brushed them away. The belief I would find him home and ready
to talk with me was at the top of my mind. It helped me prepare my
opening words, not that I had any concrete idea of what those words
would be.

When I arrived, I got out, smoothed my outfit,
handed my keys to the valet and then walked with confidence to the
front door of 50 West. Impressed with the friendly doorman, I didn’t
think it appropriate to confirm the Simms’ condo number with him. I
couldn’t give the impression I didn’t know where I was going. As
it turned out, I didn't have to since a concierge sprang from nowhere
to greet me. My expression diverted from the fascinating mosaic floor
tile to his voice. He asked my destination and directed me to the
elevators. Satisfied I was safely inside he wished me a good day and
left to greet the next visitor. I commanded my heart to stop beating
so fast.

I couldn't believe that James Simms earned enough
money to afford this level of luxury from work in the political field
alone. He obviously lived off private money. Again, the contrast
between James and his brother hit me. Michael had never given the
impression he was wealthy but he must have enjoyed a huge part of the
family wealth like his brother did. I rang the chime at number nine
and waited until a uniformed maid answered the door. She ushered me
into an expansive alcove on the right to wait for Senator Simms. Book
shelves were lined with leather-bound books that had to do with
politics and law as far as I could tell. Black leather was the
predominant upholstery choice in furniture. I chose to stand.

"Welcome to my home," a voice said
behind me. "Emma tells me you are a reporter from the West River
Daily News." His tone was deep and rich and when I turned my
head at his voice, the resemblance to Michael proved startling. The
difference was his face was creased in friendliness rather than
arrogance. "Come into the living room and I will introduce you
to my wife, Sarah."

For the first time since planning this charade, it
dawned on me I had no credentials to show if asked. Apparently, none
were needed. I relaxed at the welcome and entered a large curved
room. Its walls were mainly glass and the wallpaper was a view of the
New York Harbor and Manhattan skyline. The condo was on the end
affording the curvature and spectacular view. I had a feeling I was
invited into this area for a reason. James Simms seemed to enjoy
flaunting his wealth and success. This interview should be easy
enough, not that I made interviewing a habit.

Sarah Simms reached to shake hands with me as she
stood up. She was striking. It is the only description that came to
my mind at first glance. Tall, slim and fit, my five foot six stature
seemed dwarfed compared to hers. She stood a couple of inches above
me. I want to say her hair was blond but that would not do it
justice. It was more like sand on a beach that never saw shade and
where sunlight highlighted in the right places. Her cut was short and
perfectly outlined a somewhat chiseled oval face. Both Sarah and
James were friendly, putting me at ease right away.

"Would you like refreshment?" asked
Sarah. "We were just getting ready to have a glass of raspberry
tea, or would you like a glass of wine?"

I told her tea was fine. There was no way a glass
of wine was in my cards. I had to stay focused and make this a
professional call, not a social one. I expected the maid who answered
the door to be summoned to bring the drinks. Instead, Sarah walked
toward the kitchen and suggested a tour if I wanted to follow her. I
definitely wanted to see more and was very curious about the kitchen.
She appeared to be at home in the domestic environment as she opened
the expansive stainless steel refrigerator door and then placed three
tall etched iced tea glasses on the counter. While the ice clinked, I
gaped at the pristine kitchen which opened into a casual dining area.

"It is all very beautiful," I said.
"Your view is stunning." I said.

She smiled and picked up the tray with three
glasses of raspberry tea and we returned to the living room. So far I
had not noted even a hint of a dust particle. If I knew anything at
all about reporters I knew they spent a short time on chit-chat
before getting into the meat of the subject.

"I hope I am not taking too much of your
Sunday," I said. "I have a few questions I want to ask
about your brother, Michael." I observed the Senator’s face.

"Of course. I expected that once I knew you
came from the West River Daily News. I will answer anything I can."

"What kind of person was he? I mean I want to
know more about his personality," I said.

The Senator leaned back. "Michael had a good
heart when we were growing up. He always went for the underdog and
wasn’t afraid to work for their causes. As a young teen he could
play poker as well as any expert that made a living that way."
James smiled. "He used to make sure he won and then took his
winnings and gave the money to someone he thought needed it most.
Usually, it went to someone who was trying to raise a family on
minimum wage, but on occasion he simply handed bills to the homeless.
He told us it was appalling that in America working families still
went hungry."

"I am very surprised at that," I said.
"The rumors I have heard from reliable people tell a very
different story."

"I am telling you what he was once like. In
later years, he became very cynical. Poor people were forgotten and
he seemed no longer to care about them."

"He told us he was tired of trying to get
people to move upward in their jobs and earn enough for their
families to live on without hand-outs," said Sarah. "We
were surprised but I agreed with him. If people want to have families
then they should first be sure they can afford them."

James gave her a quick look and then turned to me.
"Sarah and I don’t see eye to eye on that idea but I was very
surprised to see Michael change so much. He used to be right in there
with me on my campaigns until we started arguing more and more. Then
he pulled away and we had little in common after that."

"What caused him to change so drastically?"
I asked.

"It is a mystery to me," said the
Senator. "In fact, we barely spoke to each other and before his
untimely death we hadn’t spoken for the past few years."

"I regret that now," said James. "I
should have made more of an effort to see him."

"Did Michael have enemies?"

"Without a doubt he had enemies. He became
arrogant and ruthless when he dealt with other people. It was almost
as if he baited them so they wouldn’t like him. It is beyond me how
he managed success with that coffee house of his. He had a vendetta
when it came to any competition. He was bent on running others out of
business in hopes he came out on top, I suppose. When he hurt someone
or when anyone crossed him he lashed out and was unapologetic. He
just didn’t care."

I could relate to some of those statements. We
talked for a few minutes longer but no new information was learned on
my part. I thanked them for their time and stood to leave, expressing
my condolences.

"I hope I have helped with your article. I
don’t want you to put Michael in a totally bad light. He had his
good side and that’s what I try to recall most."

In the foyer I noticed a framed photo of Michael
and James. The silver frame with what I was sure was onyx stones on
all sides, showed them in their youth. James had his arm around his
brother’s shoulder.