Loose Lips (18 page)

I dropped the bag and scurried forward.

He didn’t see me coming. He was too busy
carrying trash bags of his own to his car.

“Joe!” I called, waving.

He jumped, paled, and then let out a breath
when he saw me. “Lucy, you almost stopped my ticker.” He placed his
hand over his heart and smiled.

The smile told me that if he had seen or
heard about Rachel stopping by Dusty Deals, he didn’t hold it
against me. I relaxed and went to help him with his bags.

“What are you—”

Seeing me with a bag in my hand, he leapt
forward and grabbed it. Paper spilled out.

“Sorry, I...” The words I was going to speak
got lost in the shock of what I saw spread out on the ground around
us. Receipts, notes, even baked goods still in baggies, and full
boxes of coffee. Not that unusual, except the logo imprinted
everywhere... Caffeine Cartel.

I dropped the now–empty bag. “Oh, Joe.”

His face fell, and then he dropped his chin
to his chest.

“You did go through their trash, didn’t
you?” And maybe more. I didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want
to know, but a lot of the things spread out around me did not look
like anything the Cuties would have thrown out on purpose.

“I bought some of it,” he said. “Or got
someone to buy it. I didn’t want them to know that I was snooping.
It’s just been so hard, Lucy. Not knowing why they’re doing so
well. Why my longtime customers left me.”

I sighed. I understood. I really did.

I leaned forward to give him a hug, whether
he wanted it or not.

I was interrupted mid–lean by a car pulling
into the alley beside us.

Bev waved at us from behind the wheel.

Joe squinted and then paled. “Is that—?”

I shoved him out of my way and rushed toward
her car.

By the time I got there, her heels were
already firmly planted on the pavement.

I stood in front of her, hoping to block her
view of whatever Joe was doing behind me. Which I hoped was
casually gathering up the spilled papers and tucking them away out
of sight.

Bev leaned to the side to see past me. “What
is he doing—”

A paper, blown by a wind that hadn’t existed
30 seconds earlier, skittered across the hood of her car. We both
dived for it. Her longer arms won out.

She blinked down at the receipt with the
Caffeine Cartel logo emblazoned across its top.

I jerked it from her hand. “Oops, must have
dropped that.” I gave a sideways glance to Joe who was busy shoving
papers back into the black plastic trash bag from whence they’d
come. “Wouldn’t want Joe to know I go there.”

Another paper escaped Joe’s realm and landed
with a splat on Bev’s face. She ripped it off and hopped backward
before I could complete the grab myself.

“And this....” She squinted and widened her
eyes in quick succession. Then her gaze shot to Joe. “Oh, my—” She
whipped her phone out of her pocket and held it up. “I can call the
police now, or I can listen to Joe’s story first. His choice.”

My stomach dropped, and without another
thought, I lunged to grab the paper from her hand. She stepped
back, holding it over my head like a twisted repeat of every
keep–away game that I’d lost in my childhood.

The scene sent me reeling backward in time
to when I was a frustrated 6 year old tired of being the target of
every “normal” height kid.

“Run, Joe!” I yelled. Then I spun, faced Bev
and charged forward.

We both fell, hard. Me on top. Her on the
bottom. The shock showed on her face and I knew immediately I had
her. Victory surging through me, I scrambled up her prone form and
tore the paper from her hand. Then I leapt to my feet, held it
overhead, jumped up and down and chortled with glee.

I had her. I’d won. I’d...

My breath slowed and the world slowed with
it.

Bev lay on the ground staring at me as if I
were some demented miscreant who needed to be locked up and
soon.

Her phone had fallen out of her hand. It lay
a foot away, half hidden by the shadow of her car.

She reached for it.

For a minute, I almost acted again. Almost
raced to kick the phone further afield. But then, like a clock
winding backward, things click, click, clicked back in place.

And they weren’t pretty.

Realizing I had probably just taken things
from bad to apocalyptic, I glanced at Joe. His hands were full of
loose papers. He blinked. I could almost see his mind stutter as he
tried to sort out what was happening.

God bless him. He didn’t yet realize just
how thoroughly I had messed up.

Bev made it to her feet. She turned her back
on me and yelled into her phone.

I looked back at Joe. He didn’t know what I
had done, but he would. Soon.

o0o

I helped Joe gather up the evidence against
him, unsure what else to do. Bev had seen too much. If we tried to
destroy things in front of her, it would just make matters
worse.

If they could get worse.

Joe leaned against the trunk of his car with
the overflowing trash bag positioned between his feet, looking for
all the world like a beaten puppy who had just had yet another
accident on his owner’s prized rug.

With no other ideas of how to help the
situation, I called Gregor and officially fired him as my
representation, freeing him to help Joe instead. Then I pressed my
back against the back wall of Cuppa Joe’s and slid downward until I
was sitting on my butt in the dirty alley. I also kept my eye on
Bev, channeling my inner Australian shepherd and flashing teeth
when she got too close to my sheep.

I didn’t have to hold her off for long.
Within ten minutes, Klein and Peter were both on the scene.

Peter got out of his truck shaking his head.
I’m not even sure if he was aware he was doing it.

Klein gave me a glance and then headed to
Joe who he spoke to for only a moment before ushering him back
inside Cuppa Joe’s. Bev tried to follow, but Peter took care of
her, sending her back to her car in a polite and efficient manner
that had me gloating.

For all of thirty seconds.

Then he walked toward me.

I squished up my face and tried to look
innocent.

He held up a hand. “A uniform is on his way
to take statements. You can wait with her.” He swung his head
toward Bev. “Or you can go back to your shop. Just don’t leave
until we get your statement.”

Hard choice. Not.

Without waiting for my answer, he strode
into the coffee shop and shut the door with a definitive snap
behind him.

Bev was back on her phone and looking
canary–eating pleased with herself.

I waited another five minutes, just until
Gregor arrived and long enough to fill him in on the happenings,
before power–walking as fast as I could back to the Bev–free zone
of my store.

o0o

Betty was in my office when I got back. I
could hear the TV and figured she was taking a break. It was just
as well. I didn’t feel like reliving the last half an hour just
yet.

I got back to work on Darrell’s boxes,
trying my hardest not to think of what was happening at Cuppa Joe’s
or what I was going to say when the uniformed officer showed up. An
hour later, I’d almost convinced myself that I had overestimated
the situation completely. So Joe had gone through the competition’s
trash. It wasn’t like that wasn’t something any business owner
might do. I mean,
I
would do it.

Betty whirled out of my office looking more
than a little crazed. “What are you doing? You’re missing
everything!” She grabbed my arm and tugged me into the office.

The TV was on, and Bev’s face filled the
screen. Above her a red banner flashed “Breaking News,” and below
her scrolled a line of type: “Our Own Bev Painter Breaks Coffee
Kiosk Murder Wide Open.”

Something in my stomach made a squishy
noise.

“That’s right, Carol. I’m standing outside
longtime Helena business, Cuppa Joe’s, where owner Joe Spencer is
being taken into custody.”

I glanced at Betty. She didn’t notice. She
was too busy mumbling under her breath.

The screen switched back to the studio where
the news anchors sat behind their desk. “Is it true you tipped the
police off to Joe Spencer’s involvement?” Carol managed to sound
both perky and impressed.

Bev, looking grim, responded. “It is. I know
our job isn’t to make the news, but when you learn something that
could help the police bring in a cold–blooded murderer.... Well, I
think we owe it to the people of Helena to step away from the
camera and do our part.”

Carol and her co–anchor, Brian, joined
together in solemn nods.

I glanced at Betty again. She met my gaze
and we both stormed out the front door.

o0o

A lot had happened fast on Last Chance
Gulch. It was as busy as I’d ever seen it. Founder’s Day Parade
busy.

But there were no colorful floats, or
cowboys with horses dressed to the nines, or happy children waiting
for candy to be thrown their direction.

Just media, police, and stunned looking
residents who, based on the chatter, had as hard of a time slotting
Joe into the role of murderer as I did.

“I’ve known Joe for years.”

“He’s an Elk.”

“He donated all the coffee for the
fundraiser when my aunt had cancer.”

I found myself nodding and standing a little
taller. Joe was good people. There was no way he killed Missy, and
the truth would prevail. And what did the police have on him? A bag
of trash? Weak.

But there were those ready to jump on the
send–Joe–to–the–paddy–wagon too.

“He was losing a lot of business to
them.”

“I heard he missed the last payment on his
house. Another month or so and he might have lost everything.”

“Did you see—”

Before the pair could continue, I spun in a
half–circle and pinned them with a glare.

George, who had been standing in front of
Cuppa Joe’s, warding off the onlookers, spotted me and barreled
forward.

The two women I’d been about to accost took
the hint and scuttled out of sight.

Muttering to myself, I gave them a last
warning look before spinning to meet George head on.

“This is ridiculous. Joe didn’t kill
anyone.” I started to explain how any concerned business owner
might do a little “research” in their competitor’s trash, but then
realized I hadn’t been “cleared” by the powers that be yet. Plus, I
hadn’t told Betty my part in what had happened so far. With things
blowing up as they had, she wasn’t going to be too thrilled with me
for holding out.

George stared down at me. It was, in all
honesty, a pretty good representation of how Peter would have
looked at me if he’d been present. “Peter said you were waiting in
your shop.”

“I was, but...” I motioned to the craziness
surrounding us. No one could expect me to stay inside during
this.

George looked like he did.

I sighed. “Where is Peter?” I was ready to
make my statement, and if no uniform was going to show up, Peter
could darn well do it himself.

“He’s inside,” George offered. “And I don’t
think you should talk to him just now.”

“Why not?”

He sighed.

Okay, I knew why. I knew I was not
completely in control of my emotions at the moment, but what better
time to demand justice than when I was righteously fired up?

George looked at Betty.

She was looking at me, the beginnings of
suspicion flickering in her eyes. But with George’s attention on
her, she shifted back to steadfast friend. “I’m with her.”

He grunted.

I started walking. George and Betty
followed.

I didn’t get far. A few paces from the door,
Bev jumped in front of me. A microphone bobbed before my face. “And
this, Carol, is Lucy Mathews. Lucy provided me with key information
that led to my conclusions and the subsequent discovery by the
police of the murder weapon. Lucy, did you have anything you wanted
to say?”

Angry and appalled, I stared at her mouth
agape. Then her words hit.
Murder weapon
.

To my right, Betty and George came to a
sudden and disbelieving stop.

Bev waved the microphone and then let out
something akin to a giggle. “I guess Lucy is as overwhelmed by the
news as everyone else who has gathered.”

The microphone disappeared and the cameraman
shifted his focus from me to the crowd. Bev whispered in my ear, “I
didn’t want to steal all of the credit.” Then with a noble smile,
she dove into the street, waylaying other innocent victims for
their “take” on how fabulous she was.

I leaned forward, grabbing for her, but my
hand swooshed through empty air.

I turned to Betty and George, my mouth still
hanging open. “Murder weapon?” My eyes locked on George. “They
found the murder weapon? Where? In the trash? It couldn’t be. There
has to be a mistake. I need to talk to Peter.”

I shoved a man in plaid wool out of my way
and strode toward Cuppa Joe’s.

A ripple ran through the crowd, and it
wasn’t from my shove.

The door to Cuppa Joe’s opened. Two
uniformed officers stepped out, followed by Klein and then Peter
with a handcuffed Joe.

Peter’s gaze washed over me, stopping only
for the briefest of seconds, but Joe’s... Joe’s stopped and held.
His face was white and drawn and his eyes were hollow.
Betrayed
. I could feel the word emanating from him as
surely as if he’d yelled it through a bullhorn.

He thought I had gotten him arrested.

And maybe I had.

Back at the shop, Betty assured me that I’d
read Joe’s expression wrong. That there was no way he would blame
me.

“You hadn’t told him yet, right? So there’s
no way he could know you invited her over. And even if he did, how
were you supposed to know he’d be hauling evidence out at that
exact minute?” She pulled a top hat out of a box and dusted it off.
“He blew his own horn on this one.”