Death by Coffee (18 page)

He straightened and I closed the car door. A moment later he backed down the drive and drove off, leaving me standing there, alone. I waited in the driveway in the hopes he’d change his mind and turn around, but the only person who seemed interested in what I was doing now was Eleanor Winthrow. Did that woman ever leave her place by the window?

I turned away, hugged my arms to my chest, and then went inside for a long night alone with my cat.

21

Puzzles and ice cream weren’t helping. It was still too early even to attempt to sleep, yet I wasn’t sure what else to do. A bath would be nice and might help me work through a few things; but then again, did I really want to think anymore tonight? All it had done so far was to get me into trouble.

I kept hoping Paul would call and set my mind at ease. I ate my plain vanilla ice cream—I was still out of Rocky Road—chugged coffee, and then ate the cookie afterward, all while working through puzzle after puzzle, hoping for something that never came.

I knew I should simply drop my little investigation, but I was afraid the murderer might get away with it if I did. I seemed to be the only person making any headway in the case. Most of the police force seemed content to plod along and let whatever happened, happen.

A cynical part of me wondered if perhaps someone in the department was intentionally stalling the case. Could Officer Buchannan be the killer? Maybe he’d gotten a bad insurance deal from Brendon Lawyer and decided to kill him? He obviously could get into the place on his own. I almost hoped that was the case. I’d love to see the smug look fade from his face when I confronted him with the facts.

Sadly, though, it didn’t quite ring true. As much as I would like to see Buchannan in trouble, I seriously doubted he would have killed Brendon Lawyer. He might be a jerk, but he was still an officer of the law.

I was back to my list of suspects—those that Beth had given me. Any of those people could have gone into Brendon’s office and put the dust into the air vent while he wasn’t looking. Sure, someone could have come in the night before and planted it, but if so, why hadn’t Brendon suffered his attack earlier? And what had happened to his EpiPen?

With a sigh I pushed my empty bowl away. I needed to get away from the case. It was going to drive me insane if I let it.

Misfit immediately hopped up onto the counter and began to lick the bowl clean. He purred contentedly and even gave me a friendly glance as he ate. For the moment he accepted me. He’d go back to puking into my shoes as soon as the contentment wore off. I gave it about fifteen minutes.

“Hope you’ve enjoyed your time here,” I told the purring cat. “I’m not sure how much longer it will last.”

Death by Coffee was suffering. If I didn’t find a way to bring in more customers, both Vicki and I would be going back home to California with our tails tucked between our legs. I don’t think I could handle going back to retail, and I knew for a fact Vicki would rather jump off a bridge than go back to acting. Our families would take us in, sure, but at what cost?

Of course, thinking of home made me think of Dad.

Before I could change my mind, I picked up the phone and dialed. If nothing else, he would know what to do. He always did.

It rang only twice before he answered with a hearty “Kristina? Hello!”

“Hi, Dad.”

“Why sound so glum? Aren’t things working out in Pine Hills?”

He knew me so well. “Not so much,” I said.

“Don’t people drink coffee there?”

“They do.” I sighed heavily into the phone. “But it looks like they prefer to drink it at a diner in town. No one seems to be interested in my place at all.”

“Ah. It’ll turn around.”

“That’s what Vicki keeps telling me.”

He chuckled his dry, raspy chuckle. He’d never smoked, but he’d had problems with his throat a few years back, which now gave his voice a gravely sound. I think it only added to his mystique in most people’s eyes.

“I’d listen to her, buttercup,” he said, using the pet name he’d used for me since I was little. “Change happens, whether we want it to or not. Just because they don’t come now, it doesn’t mean they won’t start popping in to investigate your wonderful coffee. They just need to get used to the idea of changing their routine. It’s never easy.”

“If we’re not broke by then.” I slumped in my seat. Misfit finished off the ice cream, licked his lips, and then whapped me in the face with his tail before leaping off the counter. Maybe fifteen minutes had been a little too generous for him.

“I’m sure everything will be okay.”

And I knew he was right. Dad always was. He took the “let things develop and see what happens” approach to life. I think that was why he was such a good mystery writer. He didn’t rush things, didn’t force them to happen just because he wanted them to. He sat back patiently, smiled, and let it wash over him. He claimed the characters wrote the story for him; he was just there to transcribe them.

“Is there something else bothering you?” he asked. I hadn’t realized it, but I’d fallen silent in my ruminations.

“Well . . .”
I drew out the word. Should I bother him with what I was starting to think of as a murder in a small town? He’d written countless books about this very thing. Maybe he’d have some insight that would lead me to the killer.

Then again, this was real life. Things didn’t always fall neatly into place like they often did in books and movies.

“There’s been a murder,” I said, figuring I might as well tell him now. He’d more than likely hear about it eventually.

“I see.” He paused. “Are you okay? Is Vicki?”

“We’re fine,” I said. “We didn’t know the guy. He stopped over for coffee once.”
And then went back to his office to die.
I didn’t add the last.

Dad was silent for a long time. I could tell he was torn between asking for more information and driving down to Pine Hills to make sure I truly was okay. He’d always been protective of me, especially after Mom died five years ago from some genetic heart condition I couldn’t pronounce the name of if I tried. It was hard on the both of us, considering how close we all were. Even though there was nothing Dad could have done to save her, he often blamed himself. Because of Mom, he would never let anything happen to me as long as he was able to prevent it.

“Tell me,” he said eventually. “Tell me everything.”

And so I did.

I started with how Brendon came in, rudely asked for coffee, and then started to drink it in the store before getting a call that sent him back to the office. I told him about how the police had first ruled it as an accident, but there was growing belief—mostly my own—that he’d actually been murdered. I told him about Regina Harper, about Heidi and Mason Lawyer, and all about the mistresses and the mystery man with whom Heidi had cheated on Brendon. What do they call that, anyway? A mister?

Dad listened in silence. He never interrupted, never asked for clarifications. He let me babble on and on. I could almost see him nodding thoughtfully as I spoke.

I felt oddly better when I finished. Having it laid out like that didn’t make anything clearer, but it allowed me to just get it out and tell someone. I’d told him things I hadn’t even told the police. He would know what to do.

“I don’t know what to tell you, buttercup,” he said after a slight pause.

“What?”
I was shocked. Dad always knew what to do. “There’s got to be an answer.”

“There is, I’m sure,” he said. “But you don’t have all of the pieces yet, do you?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

I could hear him groan through the phone as he settled himself in. He was getting comfortable. It was the same sound he always made right before he’d open a book and begin reading, or when he was about to tell me a nighttime story. For the first time since I’d arrived in Pine Hills, I felt a little homesick.

“Well, for one, you don’t know who this Heidi person was seeing. You also don’t know who to trust, because you know so little about the people of the town. Just because someone is friendly doesn’t mean he or she is a good person. The same could be said about some of the nastier people. Perhaps the reason Mrs. Harper was so angry with you was because she was upset that you kept bringing up the death of her daughter’s husband. She might be happy he is gone, but she doesn’t want to see her daughter upset. Make sense?”

“It does,” I said. “I never really thought about it like that.”

“And what else don’t you know? What was Mr. Lawyer’s last claim? Could he have shorted someone? Dropped them from their insurance? Could he have run a red light, dinged a car, and then driven off? Could he have discovered his wife’s infidelity, confronted the other man, and then threatened his wife to stay with him or else he’d take her for all she had, while also revealing her indiscretions to the world?”

The questions swirled around me. Dad was right; I didn’t know everything. There was no possible way I could find all of this out without going through Brendon’s entire life. I didn’t have the skill or energy to do it. I’d been running on the assumption his murder had something to do with his cheating ways this entire time without fully considering the fact the guy had his whole life to mess with people. It might even have been an old collage rival who’d finally decided to pay up on an old debt who’d done him in.

“You’re right,” I said, feeling strangely lighter. With it all put in front of me, I realized I never should have gotten involved. This simply should have been handled by the police and the families from the start.

“Now,” Dad said, “I don’t mean you should give up. I’m extremely proud of you for what you’ve done thus far. Not every person would have put herself in harm’s way to put a killer behind bars.”

“But I don’t know what else I can do,” I said. “I’ve tried to talk to the people involved, but they never tell me the whole story. I feel like everyone is hiding something—and no matter how many times I ask questions, I’ll never get the truth.”

“There is someone always willing to talk,” he said sagely. “If you look hard enough and in the right places, someone will say something that will break the whole thing wide open. In fact, they might already have.”

I frowned at that. I couldn’t think of anything that anyone had said that would help me get to the bottom of Brendon Lawyer’s murder.

“Just don’t force it, okay?” Dad said. He sounded concerned. “I don’t want you to stress yourself out over this. If you start to feel overwhelmed, then there is nothing wrong with stepping back and letting the legal system work. If you feel in danger, do the same. I’ll never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“It won’t,” I said. “I promise.”

“Good.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’d better go,” I said, feeling much better. Dad had a way of making everything make sense, even if I still had no idea who’d killed Brendon. I was also pretty sure nothing could save Death by Coffee now. Still, the thought didn’t bother me nearly as much as it had a moment ago.

“Okay. Get some rest. Think things over.”

“Will do.”

“Love you, buttercup.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

We hung up at the same time.

I drifted away from the phone in something of a daze. He’d told me to step back when I felt overwhelmed. Well, I’d been feeling that way since the start. Maybe it was time I let things go and get back to work. I
did
have a life to manage.

I headed to the bathroom and ran myself a nice hot bath. It would wash away the rest of the stress, I hoped. I sank down into the bubble-free water and closed my eyes. Misfit jumped up and began drinking the bathwater like he always did. He would, of course, drink too much and gack all over the floor afterward. Right then, however, the sound of his lapping soothed me.

Brendon Lawyer might be dead, but I was still alive. It was time I put this whole thing behind me, like everyone kept telling me to do. I needed to get back to living my own life.

I just hoped that that life didn’t end up getting me killed.

22

I felt energized and ready to face the world the next morning. I sprang right out of bed, got showered, dressed, and ate breakfast, all while humming to myself. I even shared a few bits of my bacon with Misfit, who gobbled up the pieces without leaving a mess.

Vicki appeared surprised to see me when I arrived at work an hour later. She was busy getting the cookies baked for the morning, something that was supposed to be my job, but I had slacked off doing it lately.

“Are you sure?” she asked when I took the mix from her.

“Positive,” I said. And I meant it.

I was done with the murder investigation. At some point during the night, I realized I was just making my life harder than it needed to be. I couldn’t keep running around, chasing after every little lead in the hopes it would bring me closer to the killer. I mean, I was just a little store owner. I wasn’t a private investigator. I should leave that sort of thing to the professionals.

Vicki and I finished with the morning prep in record time and had ten minutes to lean against the counter and chat before we opened. Trouble was sitting on the counter—something I’d have to remedy before we opened the doors—and was purring contentedly as Vicki stroked his long black fur. Tufts floated to the floor to be swept up later.

“I think we should paint the place,” I said, looking at the walls. They were the same off-white they’d been when we’d bought the building. “I’m thinking a cream color, something that might remind people of the foam on a really good cappuccino. It could make them thirsty enough to buy something.”

“Maybe.” Vicki sounded skeptical as she eyed me. “So you’re really done?” she asked. “With all of this crime stuff, I mean?”

“I am. I feel like an idiot for how I’ve been acting. I should have been here helping you this entire time.”

She shook her head sadly. “I don’t think it would have mattered.”

The tone of her voice caused me some alarm. Vicki looked defeated in a way I wasn’t used to seeing from her. She was normally unshakably positive about everything, and yet here she was, looking as glum as could be.

“It’ll work out,” I said. “We just have to give it some more time.”

“I suppose.” She sighed. “But how much time do we have before we’re forced to close?”

I looked toward the locked glass door. No one was lining up to be the first to sample the day’s coffee. People walked past on the way to work—yet no one seemed interested in a morning shot of caffeine.

Then again, they’d probably already been to J&E’s Banyon Tree. By now, half the town already knew more about me than I did myself, thanks to Judith and her spy next door. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if she gave out a little piece of juicy “Krissy gossip” with every coffee purchase.

“It’ll work out,” I said again, not really feeling it. I joined her in sighing. “I thought I was supposed to be the pessimistic one here?”

Vicki laughed. “You are. I’m just trying to be a realist this time. We have a buffer, so it isn’t like we’re going to close down next week, but I’ve seen no signs of things ever picking up. It’s been a lot slower than I anticipated, and I don’t know what we could possibly do to make things better.”

I could have kept trying to reassure her, but what was the point? I should have been here, trying my best to get people to come in, not chasing after would-be killers. This was my job, my life. I needed to focus on that.

I straightened. “We’ll just have to come up with something that will bring more people in.”

“And what would that be?” Vicki asked as she scooped Trouble off the counter and carried him up toward the bookstore, where he’d hopefully spend the rest of the day. “It’s not like we can go door-to-door.”

For an instant I was tempted. I could carry a stack of cups with me, take a pot of coffee, and hit up every business on the block. I was sure I could lure a few customers that way; and if they came in, maybe their friends and families would too.

But if I did that, I’d be coming face-to-face with people I was trying to avoid. There was no way I was going to let that happen—not today at least.

“I’ll think of something,” I said, moving toward the door. It was time to open.

The only thing that rushed through the door when I opened it was a warm breeze. I soaked it in for a few moments before returning to my place behind the counter. My morning coffee was down to the cookie and I munched on it contentedly as I waited. I tried hard not to let the imminent doom of Death by Coffee affect me.

The morning went as expected. A few customers came in, drank some coffee, and then left. Vicki managed to sell two books to an older woman who seemed to be becoming a regular, though I still didn’t know her name. Where was Rita when you needed her?

Then, as if by magic, she appeared.

And she wasn’t alone.

“Oh, hello, hello, hello!” Rita said, waving her arm at me. The flap of skin seemed especially jubilant this morning. “I missed you yesterday. We all did!”

Nearly the entire writers’ group poured through the doors; only Patricia Dalton was missing. It was the most people I’d seen in the place since Brendon Lawyer had died. Had that really only happened a few days ago?

Rita came up to the counter, the rest of the group behind her like some sort of preschool class. They chittered and whispered among themselves, looking around like kids at a zoo. Only Lena met my eye. She gave me a wink, rolled her eyes, and then went to stand beside the silent Adam, who appeared asleep on his feet.

“I thought we could have something of an impromptu meeting here,” Rita said, pressing against the counter. “It’ll be fun, don’t you think?”

“I wish I could join you, but I’m working,” I said, indicating the apron around my neck. I glanced at Vicki for help. She smiled at me from her spot at the bookstore, Trouble in her arms. I think the cat was grinning at me.

“Oh, pah!” Rita waved her arm at me. “I know that! I wasn’t implying you should abandon your job just so you could join us.” She giggled in a way that made my eyes water. “We’ll just get some coffee, find a seat, and have our meeting without you.”

I plastered on a smile. While Rita was annoying me to no end, she
was
going to buy something. I couldn’t turn away a customer, especially one who was quickly becoming a regular.

“What can I get you?” I asked in my best working-girl voice.

Rita, of course, got her usual plain black coffee and Lena her red eye. Adam asked for water, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. He might actually open his eyes and wake up if he were to jolt his system with caffeine.

“Do you have a French roast?” Andi asked. Georgina nodded behind her as if it was the most important question in the world.

“Of course,” I said with a smile. “Would you each like one?”

“Oh no,” Andi said. “I’d like an iced latte. I was just asking for a friend.”

“Me too,” Georgina said, which oddly caused Andi to giggle.

I wandered away to get their drinks. Those two were a pair of very strange women. I couldn’t imagine one without the other.

Once they were all served, the group took seats in the back of the store. Thankfully, they kept their voices down, though I could hear the occasional gasp from Andi. It seemed like every little thing shocked that woman.

Strangely, the longer I stood there, helping the rare guest, the more I wanted to go over and sit with them. I felt left out, as if the very act of them having a meeting without me shunned me from the group forever. I had to admit, I felt jealous they all were able to sit there during the middle of the day while I had to work.

Vicki kept mostly to the books. She had more customers than I did, which suited me fine. As long as people were buying something, I was happy, although I would have liked the company.

Eventually I couldn’t take standing around anymore. I started a fresh pot of coffee and headed out onto the floor with a rag in hand. I could eavesdrop on their meeting while I cleaned off the tables. I was curious to hear what they were talking about, even if it was only bad poetry.

“Could be,” Rita said. “It just seems so fantastic, doesn’t it?”

Andi and Georgina readily agreed.

I glanced over at the table to find Adam apparently asleep and Lena looking as if she was considering joining him. She gave me a bored smile and then stood as Rita went on, though this time in a lower voice, as if she didn’t want me to hear. She kept glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, telling me she very well might be talking about me.

“How’s it going?” Lena asked. She leaned against the wall beside the table I was wiping down.

I shrugged. “It’s going.” I glanced at the others. “Interesting meeting?”

“Not at all.” She sighed dramatically. “I was told we were going to discuss our writing, but all those women want to do is gossip about the dead guy.”

My interest pinged.

My brain battled with my interest. It wasn’t a surprise as to which one won.

“What are they saying?” I led Lena away from the others so they wouldn’t hear us talking about them. If they could do it . . . well, then, so could I.

Lena shrugged and picked at a scab on her elbow. “I don’t know. I checked out pretty early, you know?”

A part of me felt overjoyed, while another was disappointed. I really shouldn’t be getting involved. I swore to myself I’d keep out of this stuff. Yet, here I was, trying to pry information out of a teenage girl. What was wrong with me? I should just walk away and go about my day like it had never happened.

“I think one of the mistresses did it,” Lena went on, dragging me right back into it.

“Really?”

She started picking at another scab. “I mean, isn’t it always one of the mistresses? I don’t think his wife could have done it. I’ve seen her around. She couldn’t hurt much of anything, let alone that prick of a husband.”

I nodded, mind turning it over. Hadn’t Tessa seemed like she knew more than she’d let on? Could she have killed Brendon, or at least set it up?

“I think it’s all a load of bullsh . . . ,” Lena trailed off, and she lowered her eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s a load of crap,” she amended. “The guy died. You shouldn’t go around gossiping about it like it happened on some stupid TV show.”

“I agree,” I said, doing my best to keep my mind reined in. I really, really didn’t want to get involved.

“But I do bet someone knows who did it,” Lena said.

“I mean, wouldn’t they have to? I bet the police will talk to those girls he was sleeping with and they’ll talk. Maybe it was one of their boyfriends and they’ve been trying to protect him or something.”

Damn it! There was no way I was going to be able to walk away from this now. My mind was racing as I tried to come up with likely candidates for the man Heidi slept with. No one seemed to fit, but how well did I know anyone in town? Every single man in town could be a likely suspect.

“Lena?” Rita called. “Are you coming back to the group?” She blinked her eyes rapidly at the girl.

“I suppose.” Lena gave me an eye roll and then went back to slump in her seat.

I carried my rag back behind the counter and dropped it onto a shelf without really paying attention to what I was doing. Could Tessa know whom Heidi was sleeping with? She’d made a comment about cheating running in the family. I’d assumed she’d been referring to Mason, or perhaps to Raymond. Could she have meant Heidi? Or perhaps there was some other member of the family I didn’t know about, someone Lawyer Senior had wiped completely from the books, a sort of black sheep.

There was only one way to find out.

I didn’t quite slink up the stairs to where Vicki was waiting on a young man buying a graphic novel that looked a little too explicit for his age. Then again, who was I to judge? That was something his parents could deal with.

As soon as she finished ringing him up, Vicki turned to me. The smile she’d been wearing faltered the moment she saw the apologetic look on my face.

“You’re going to go, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I have to.”

“That murder thing?”

I nodded.

Vicki sighed in mock exasperation and then gave me a huge smile. “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do,” she said, and then added, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to put it behind you. It’s just not your style.”

“Thanks, Vicki.” I gave her a quick hug. “I’ll make this up to you.”

She pointed a finger at me. “You’d better.”

I turned and hurried back down the stairs before she could change her mind. I started for the door, and then veered off behind the counter. I filled a to-go cup with the freshly brewed coffee, grabbed a few packs of cream and sugar, and then carried them to the door. A bribe might get Tessa to open up.

I glanced back at the writers’ group as I opened the door. Rita and her gossip girls barely looked up. Adam, as usual, looked asleep, but Lena was watching me. She gave me a sideways smile and then winked. She mouthed, “Good luck,” before turning back to the group.

I had a strange feeling she’d known about my fascination with the case and my subsequent refusal to get involved. Had our entire conversation been a way to get me back on track? That girl was a lot smarter than I gave her credit for, if so.

I turned away and left the shop, mentally noting that from this point on, every red eye that girl wanted would be free.