Mug Shot (16 page)

“Yes.”

He smirked at me. “And you can tell Savannah I'm not going to take her in, either.”

My mouth dropped open. “How did you know she was here, too?”

“There's this cool database of license-plate numbers that cops have access to.” He pointed to her car, which was parked directly in front of his. “I ran the plate.”

I put my head in my hands, defeated.

Ryder pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. “I know I say this a lot, but I wouldn't like you nearly as much if you were a normal girl.”

After confiscating Pete's key from me, Ryder gave me a police escort back to Java Jive, as well as a strong suggestion to stay there until closing time. I didn't argue with him.

Exhausted and grouchy, I slouched into the coffeehouse, planning to help the baristas with the open mic night crowd, but it was eerily empty in there. Upon scanning the room, I noticed there were only a handful of people hanging around, as opposed to the packed house we usually had on open mic nights. Last week it was standing room only. I knew people got busy around the holidays and there was the stigma surrounding Pete, but struggling musicians were never known to give up a chance to perform.

I walked up to the counter and asked my baristas, “What's up with the crowd tonight?”

Cole shrugged. “It's been freaking empty since I got here. We're all back here with our thumbs up our butts, bored out of our minds.”

“Again, oversharing. We weren't busy this morning, either.”

Tiffany was the one who wasn't too shy to say it outright. “If you ask me, it's because of Pete getting arrested for murder. Everyone's talking about it on campus.” Tiffany attended Belmont, which was just a stone's throw from Java Jive. The fact that it was the gossip of the day could definitely account for the lack of customers.

“It's certainly big news around here, but the hysteria should die down soon. Pete didn't kill Cecilia, and once the police have the evidence sorted out, the charges against him will be dropped.”

Cole shrugged noncommittally, which was a normal reaction for him.

Tiffany said, “I don't think he did it.” She lowered her voice. “But that's why Haley's not here today. She called in ‘sick,' but she was already crazy paranoid about personal safety before she heard about Pete. Now, she's a nutcase.”

In all the insanity that had gone on today, plus the fact that I had barely been at work most of the day, I hadn't even noticed Haley wasn't here. “So you think I'm going to have to start looking for another barista?”

Cole said, “Yep. No big. She sucked anyway.”

This conversation was making my head hurt. “Okay. I'll be in the office if you need me.”

I shuffled back to the office and flung myself into the nearest chair. It was a pain in the ass to hire a new staff member, and now we had the dubious distinction of “coffeehouse owned by a murderer.” Damn it. No one would want to apply here, and I'd be lucky to keep the employees I still had. The majority of them had worked here for a while, so they knew Pete well enough to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. I hoped.

Not long after I started putting together a “help wanted” ad, there was a knock at the door. Cole stuck his head in and said, “Clooney just came in, and his face is all jacked up! Come see!”

I didn't understand what the hell Cole was talking about, not that I ever really did. I followed him to the front of the house. Stan was standing there, disheveled, with blood oozing from a cut above his eye and out of the corner of his mouth. The cut eye was bruised and starting to swell shut. He had been beaten up. I rushed over to him.

“Stan! What happened?” I asked, horrified.

He wiped his mouth dazedly. “Kent happened.”

I sucked in a breath. “You need help. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

He shook his head. “No. I…can't.”

“Why?”

“It's complicated. Can you fix me up?”

I grimaced. “Not if you need stitches, which it looks like you might.” I had a thought. “But, I know someone who can.”

Taking his hand, I led him back to the office and sat him down. I immediately called my neighbor Trevor. He had a friend in med school who had stitched up Ryder once. I was hoping he could help again.

“Hey, Trevor, it's Juliet.”

“How goes it?”

“Well…it could be better.”

“I heard about Pete. Sorry.”

I sighed. “Yeah, it's been rough, but he's hanging in there. Studying for finals?”

“You know it. But I doubt if you called to ask me about school.” Trevor was a smart guy. He was a computer science major and hacker extraordinaire.

“Right. I was hoping Ryan could again lend a hand to a friend of mine.”

“He's here—let me ask him. Don't tell me that tough dude got shanked again.”

“Nope, just a normal, everyday ass-kicking this time. Different guy.”

Stan gave me a look, and I smiled apologetically. I heard a muffled conversation on the other end of the line.

Trevor came back and said, “Ryan's down with it. Where are you?”

“Fantastic. We're at Java Jive. Dinner's on me.”

“Sweet.”

I hung up and turned to Stan. “Help is on the way.”

Rushing to the counter, I got a bag of ice, a bottle of water, a couple of clean towels, and the first-aid kit.

Cole asked, “Who laid the smack-down on Clooney?”

“Clooney?” I asked, confused.

“You don't think your fancy dude looks like George Clooney?”

“No, I don't. And it's none of your business, Cole,” I warned as I hurried back to Stan.

Stan was wincing as he removed his jacket, so I helped him out of it.

“What happened?” I asked worriedly, starting to wipe the blood off his face.

“I couldn't help thinking about what you said earlier about Kent. So I went and had a chat with him. He didn't seem to like what I had to say.”

My heart sank. This was my fault. I was the one who had made a big deal out of Kent being a good suspect in Cecilia's murder. I never expected Stan, of all people, to confront the guy. Stan was supposed to go talk to the police, like an adult.

As I cleaned the cut over his eye, I said sincerely, “I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said all of that stuff and got you upset.”

“No,” he protested. “I wouldn't have wanted you to keep something like that from me. This is my sister we're talking about…both of them actually, and—OW! That burns.”

“Sorry. I'm out of peroxide, so I have to clean your cuts with alcohol.” I looked down at his hands and was pleasantly surprised to note that a few of his knuckles were red and busted up. I wiped them with alcohol and put some antibiotic ointment on them. “Looks like you got in a couple of shots at Kent. Good for you.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Only two.”

“Did you get him to admit to anything?”

“No. Once I made my accusations, his fists started flying.” He shifted in his chair and groaned.

“You're obviously in pain. Explain to me why I can't take you to the hospital,” I said.

Stan sighed. “If you take me to the hospital, they'll file a report. This is a family thing. It needs to stay quiet. We don't need any more press right now.”

“Seriously? You're protecting that jackass?”

He closed his eyes. “He said if I went to the police, he'd have Abigail recant her statement about her fall down the stairs. He said they'd press charges.”

“But you didn't push her…right?” I asked warily.

“I didn't. I swear.”

I taped a bandage over the cut on his eye and handed him the ice pack. “Okay. I can get us some off-the-record police advice, but they need to know that Kent beat the hell out of you—”

He interrupted, “But—”

I cut him off. “Because it shows a tendency toward physical violence. If they can establish that, along with the fact that he and Abigail inherit a crap ton of money with Cecilia gone, all they need is one little shred of evidence placing him at the scene, and he fries.”

“He was there that night. I talked to him.”

“Well, they have to prove he was inside the Java Jive tent specifically, and to do that, they probably need his fingerprints and DNA. But, they also need a reason to collect that stuff. I hate to say this, but you pressing charges against him may be the only way to make that happen. I know it would probably mean an assault charge against you as well, but wouldn't that be a small price to pay to catch your sister's killer…and to prevent Kent from potentially hurting Abigail? What's to stop him from killing her to get all of the money to himself?”

Stan went pale. “I never thought of that.”

There was a knock at the door. Cole stuck his head in and announced, “There are two dudes here to see you.” He nodded his head at Stan. “How you doin', Clooney?”

Before I had to explain Cole's comment to Stan, I shoved Cole back out the door and went to meet Trevor and Ryan.

“Hi, guys. Thanks for coming to my rescue again.”

Ryan smiled. “No problem. Actually, it should help on one of my finals. I have to suture a pig's foot tomorrow for a grade. Do I get to stitch someone up again?”

I nodded, and Ryan's face lit up even more.

“Bro, you are way too excited about this. You're sick,” Trevor said.

“It's my calling. And I'm craving cookies.” Ryan looked at me pleadingly. “There will be cookies, won't there?”

I glanced over at the pastry case. It was full, even though we were fast approaching closing time. “Yeah, there are dozens of cookies in your future.”

He smiled. “Let's do this.”

I showed them back to the office. Stan was holding the ice pack against his eye and pouting. “Stan, this is my neighbor Trevor Wells and his friend Ryan Hart. Ryan is a med student, and he's going to take a look at your face. Guys, this is Stan Hollingsworth.”

They all said their hellos, and Ryan got out his gloves. He took my bandage off Stan's cut and examined the wound.

He said to Stan, “It's up to you, man. Facial stitches are very painful. I don't have to stitch it up, but the wound will heal better and the scar will be less noticeable if I do.”

Stan gritted his teeth. He was such a baby, but he was trying so hard not to be. “Do it.”

Ryan got to work, and I noticed he was much more adept at suturing than he had been a couple of months ago.

“Hey, you're really getting good at this,” I said, watching him work.

“Yeah, after I stitched up your guy, it really built my confidence, you know? And, of course, I've been practicing for my final.”

“It shows. Um…again, I'm going to ask for your discretion about keeping this quiet.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Trevor joked, “If pediatrics doesn't work out for you, maybe you can get a job being the doctor on call for the mob. You could use Juliet as a reference.”

I chuckled. “Please don't.”

Ryan got done stitching and began examining the rest of Stan's wounds. He said, “Keep some ice on your eye. You're going to have a shiner, but there's really nothing you can do about that. Any loose teeth from the punch to the mouth?”

Stan replied, “No.”

“Did you get hit anywhere else—gut, ribs, kidneys?”

“The stomach a couple of times.”

“Can I take a look?” Ryan asked.

Stan dutifully unbuttoned his shirt and let Ryan take a look. He definitely had nice abs, but he was no Ryder. The skin on his stomach was a little red.

Ryan asked, “Do you have any pain when you take a deep breath?”

After taking a breath, Stan replied, “No.”

Ryan placed his hand on Stan's chest and asked, “Does it hurt when I press here, on your sternum?”

“No.”

“Twist your upper body for me and tell me if you have any pain.”

Stan did as he was told, and again said, “No.”

Ryan took his gloves off and started packing up. “Doesn't seem like you have any broken ribs, but it definitely wouldn't hurt to get an X-ray. Those sutures need to come out in about a week, but I'm leaving Friday for Christmas break, so you'll need to have someone else remove them for you. Juliet, you could probably do it, but I don't recommend it.”

“We'll work it out,” I said. “Going home for Christmas?” Ryan and I were from the same hometown, Liberty, Indiana, although we hadn't known each other before meeting here in Nashville.

“Yeah, my parents are coming in, too, and we're all staying at my sister's house.” He grinned. “She's gonna hate it. You heading back?”

“Probably around New Year's. It kind of depends on what goes on here.” Even though I was angry with him at the moment, I didn't think I could leave Pete in the state he was in on Christmas.

“Cool. Maybe I'll see you there.”

The guys got up to leave, and Stan buttoned his shirt and stood up. He stuck out his hand to Ryan and said, “Thank you for helping me.”

Ryan shook his hand. “No problem, man. It was great practice.”

“Let's get you boys some dinner,” I said, ushering them to the front of the house. I said to Cole, “Get these guys anything they want. On me. And box up the rest of the cookies for them.” I turned to Ryan and Trevor. “Thanks again, you two. Good luck on your finals.”

They waved goodbye, and I went back to the office. I plopped down next to Stan and said, “Now what?”

He looked over at me. “I need a drink.”

“Me, too.”

“Let's go out.”

I gave him a doubtful look. “Do you feel like going out? You look like hell.”

Smiling, he said, “Thanks. Actually I have an ulterior motive. Kent said he'd press charges if I talked to the police. He didn't say anything about feeding the gossip mill.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, let's go to the club. It'll be pretty obvious who did this, because I've heard he's been going around shooting his mouth off about me since last week.”

I frowned. “Do you think it's wise to provoke him? He's kind of crazy, if you hadn't noticed.”

“I can't just hide out like a coward,” he said earnestly.

Good for Stan, finally showing some balls. “Okay, if that's what you want to do.”

“Will it be awkward for us to go out together since we're not dating anymore? And will other people think it's strange for us to be seen together?”