Uncommon Grounds (8 page)

“She’s been a tireless worker for God. We’ve been so lucky to have her—organizing fund-raisers, teaching Sunday School, chairing the Education Committee. Though in the last few months, she had resigned a number of her posts with the church, she remained faithful in her attendance.”

“I suppose with the store and the town election, something had to give.”

I had said it a little off-handedly for Langdon’s taste. Behind his thick glasses, he winced. “Perhaps. Blessedly, though, David has always been a tower of strength. He’s financial secretary for the congregation, as well as head of our Men’s Bible Study. I only wish he would let us provide comfort to him now in his time of grief.” He shook his head dejectedly. “He seems to be avoiding me.”

I pictured Langdon, Bible in hand, chasing down poor David in order to comfort him.

“We all find solace in our own way, Pastor.” 1 Maggy, Verse Trite.

Langdon raised a bony finger as a thought struck. “I must remember to call Sarah Kingston. Sarah doesn’t speak about her emotions, but she must be suffering greatly.”

Sarah, Patricia’s campaign manager.

Sarah was a no-nonsense type. So much so, that I’d wondered at the friendship between the two women: Patricia, the consummate suburban matron. Sarah—blunt, outspoken and, if you could believe it in Brookhills, absolutely no fashion sense.

A thought struck me now. Maybe Sarah would give me the lowdown on Patricia. Why hadn’t I thought of her myself?

But first I had to deflect Langdon, so I could get to her first. “I’m not sure if it’s my place to tell you, Langdon,” I started, “but Kate McNamara was very agitated the last time I saw her.” It was true. She’d nearly tackled me in the Town Hall parking lot.

“Really?” Langdon said thoughtfully. “Kate isn’t a member of our congregation, but perhaps I should stop by The Observer when we’re done here.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” I said. “Good to see you, Langdon. Henry.” I smiled at both of them and then smiled my way right through the cash register line and all the way out the door.

I love helping people.

Chapter Seven

Sarah Kingston’s office was across the street from Town Hall. She was on the phone and waved me to the visitor’s chair. “No, I won’t present an offer like that, Evan. My client won’t entertain it, that house is worth three-fifty if it’s worth a dime. Don’t waste my time with this lowball shit.” Slam.

She turned to me. “Can you believe that? Beautiful house on Cardinal Lane, priced right, and they offer twenty-five percent below asking. It’s a goddamn insult.”

Sarah was a real estate agent. With her baggy jackets, pleated trousers, sensible shoes and blunt manner, she neither looked nor acted like a member of the Whatever Million-Dollar Sales Club, at least in a town like Brookhills. But she had been, for more years than I could remember.

“By law, don’t you have to present any offer you receive?” I asked.

She snickered. “Yes, and when I do receive that offer from Evan, it will be twenty thousand dollars higher than if we hadn’t talked. Now what do you want?”

Like I said, blunt. I decided to be equally blunt and to appeal to the business instincts of a woman who had made it on her own.

“Listen, I know Patricia was your friend and I’m sure you want to find out how she died as much as we do.”

“The morning paper suggests that you had something to do with it,” she said, pursing her lips.

“I didn’t,” I said flatly. “And neither did Caron.”

“Then what happened?”

“I don’t know, and neither does the sheriff, obviously. Gary, who might have a chance at figuring it out since he at least knows the people around here, has been taken off the case.”

“So that leaves you? The defender of truth and justice?” She was laughing at me.

I squirmed. “I need to defend myself,” I admitted. “And I need to defend Caron. I don’t want to sound mercenary, but if this whole thing isn’t settled soon, we could lose the busi-ness—or worse.”

Sarah pushed back her chair and peered at me through glasses that rode low on her nose. “Mercenary, shmercenary. If you were a man, no one would be giving you shit about wanting to re-open your business.”

She had a point.

“Does Pavlik think you and Caron zapped Patricia to get the business?” she asked.

I got a sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach when she mentioned Pavlik’s name. “I think he realizes neither of us has much to gain, but he may be looking for the easiest solution. At this point that’s us, either separately or together.”

“What about Roger Karsten?”

I nearly choked. How did Sarah know about Caron and Roger? “What about Roger Karsten?” I echoed.

Sarah looked speculative. “Ah, so they don’t know about the affair. That’s interesting. I assumed it was common knowledge—to everyone but her husband, of course.”

And her best friend. “I don’t know how common it is, I just heard this morning. How did you find out?”

“I guess she had to tell someone.”

I felt a twinge of jealousy, like in the fourth grade, when Debbie Spence told everyone Cindy Kuchenbacher was her best friend. But what about me?? Did all those years of sitting in alphabetical order mean nothing? “I didn’t realize you two were that close,” I sniffed.

Sarah shrugged. “We got fairly close during the campaign. She really didn’t have a lot of female friends.”

Waaait a second. “Campaign? Are you talking about Patricia or Caron?”

“Patricia.”

We looked at each other aghast.

“Now let me get this straight,” I said. “Patricia and Roger Karsten were having an affair?”

“Had. Patricia ended it about two weeks ago.” Sarah was too quick, though, to let my reference to Caron pass. “And I take it, Roger was also screwing Caron. Now that’s a fine kettle of fish, isn’t it?”

I was practically speechless. Practically. “First Ted, then Caron, and now Patricia. What is this? ‘One Flew Over the Cuckold’s Nest?’ ”

Sarah laughed uproariously and lighted a cigarette. Virginia Slims Menthol. I didn’t even know they still made them. But Sarah was a seventies kind of woman. “Grow up, Maggy. It happens all the time.”

Like I didn’t know it.

“Anyway, it seems to me you’re missing the point,” she continued. “If Roger was fooling around with Patricia and Caron, maybe Caron found out and—”

I interrupted. “No,” I said decisively. “Caron told me she ended the affair.”

“And you believe her.”

“Yes, I believe her. And Roger would make a much better suspect anyway.”

“How so?” Sarah asked, blowing a smoke ring.

I watched, fascinated, as it billowed up toward the ceiling. Cool. But I could be cool, too. I quirked one eyebrow. “You said that Patricia ended things. Maybe Roger didn’t like it. Maybe Roger killed her. He not only had access to the espresso machine, but with his background he had the capability to rewire it.” I was perfectly willing to throw Roger to the dogs, the slimeball.

Sarah wagged her cigarette at me. “Hmm. Roger isn’t such a bad idea.” She smiled widely, exposing huge front teeth. Combined with her abnormally long face, the teeth gave her an equine look. “Maybe we can pin it on him.”

Sounded good to me. Sarah pulled a pad of paper toward her. “Let’s list the suspects and possible motives. First we have Roger.” She tapped her pen on the desk. “I suppose Patricia could have given him trouble, without exposing herself, so to speak.” Her laugh sounded suspiciously like a neigh to me. “Maybe he was taking kick-backs and Patricia found out.”

I was surprised that a woman as practical as Sarah was prone to flights of fantasy, but I was happy to fuel them, if it would take her mind off Caron. “And what about Rudy? Maybe he was so worried about the possibility of losing the election he killed her. And,” I pointed out with a flourish, “his barbershop backs onto the same hallway as Uncommon Grounds. It wouldn’t have been a problem for him to get in and out without being seen.”

Sarah looked skeptical, but wrote it down anyway. “I can’t see Rudy with an espresso machine. A straight razor maybe, but—”

“Who knows what people are capable of,” I said eagerly. “And what about David, don’t they always suspect the...” I stopped, ashamed of myself for treating this like a game when the sight of David’s face when he saw Patricia was still so fresh in my memory.

Sarah shook her head, voicing what I was thinking. “I know David Harper. He did not kill his wife.”

“Then there’s Way,” I suggested, trying to get us past the awkwardness. “He was awfully eager to tell Gary he’d seen Caron at the shop on Saturday.”

Sarah hadn’t heard about that, so I filled her in. She listened and then sighed, her long face regretful. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Maggy, but Caron had both motive and opportunity.”

“Motive, what motive? Roger dumped Patricia for Caron, so why would Caron kill her? Besides, I don’t think Caron knows about Patricia and Roger even now.” I checked my watch. It was nearly 2:00.

Sarah pushed a strand of hair off her face and grinned. “Are you sure there was nothing going on between you and Roger? You’re the only one left.”

“For God’s sake, I’m ten years older than he is,” I said as I got up to leave. “And I’m—”

“More like fifteen years, by my calculations,” she corrected, following me to the door. “But unlike Caron and Patricia, you have every right to play around. Heck, you don’t even have to worry about getting pregnant anymore.”

I stopped. Geez, could nothing involving age, marital status, or reproductive organs remain private in Brookhills these days? Leave it to Sarah to call a spayed, a spayed.

I turned on her. “Here’s a pregnant thought for you, Sarah. Starbucks has like six thousand stores right this second. I say ‘right this second’ because they’ve probably added a couple since we started talking.”

I held up a finger. “I have one store. And that one hasn’t opened yet. You want to give me advice?” Sarah just stared at me and I moved closer, happy to have her or anyone else on the defensive for once. “Tell me how I’m going to get the store open and profitable before I lose everything I’ve worked for over the last twenty years.”

“I’m sorry, Maggy, but...”She stopped and backed off. I waited for the apology.

But Sarah just sniffed and backed off some more. “Whoa. Better Butter Burger? Extra onions?”

Arggh. I left. And I didn’t regret the onions—not one iota.

As I pulled away from the curb in front of Kingston Realty, I saw Kate McNamara come tearing out of Town Hall. I thought perhaps Langdon was giving chase, but no such luck. Kate merely crossed the parking lot and slammed her way into the police station. What had set her off?

Then again, Kate was the type of person who always acted like she had something important to do. Even if that something was covering a Tiny Tots’ dance recital in the high school gym. Of course, TT dance recitals were big events in Brookhills, where doting parents presented their four-year-olds with roses after the performances.

Maybe I was just jealous. It had been a long time since anybody had given me roses.

I drove the short distance down Civic Drive to the side parking lot of Uncommon Grounds. The store was situated in Benson Plaza on the corner of Civic and Brookhill Road, the main east/west drag in Brookhills.

We had chosen that location because there was easy access from both Civic and Brookhill. In the coffee business, those morning commuters picking up their road cups were your bread and butter. You had to get them in and out fast.

I turned into the Civic Drive entrance and pulled up next to the building, intending to use the service entrance by the trash dumpsters. It was the door Way had seen Caron using on Saturday.

As I got out of my van, I saw Tony Bruno, the dentist who leased the space next to us. He was talking to someone standing just inside the door. Much as I liked Tony, I veered to the front, not wanting to talk to anyone just now. I had enough to think about.

Both Caron and Patricia had been fooling around with Roger Karsten. I knew my reaction to the news probably had more to do with Ted and me, than with Caron and Roger or Patricia and Roger, but geez...

As I rounded the corner to the front entrance of the store, I was relieved to see the police cars gone. The only remnant of Monday’s awful events was the torn end of the yellow police tape still tied to the light pole. I pulled at it, but the plastic only stretched, fixing the knot even tighter. I’d have to come out with a scissors later.

Inside the scene wasn’t quite as normal. There was black powder everywhere. Fingerprint powder, I assumed, and the mess had been made worse by someone wiping at it with a wet paper towel. The towel, now black, still lay on the counter.

I picked it up by one corner and gingerly dropped it into the basket under the counter. I wondered whether the fingerprint stuff was toxic. Not wanting to take any chances, I donned rubber gloves and got out the hand vacuum to get up the loose stuff.

The floor had been cleaned up fairly well, despite Pavlik’s talk of body fluids. I looked at the now-vacant spot where the espresso machine had stood, and then at the counter still scorched black. The picture Pavlik had painted for me popped into my head, and the room threatened to start spinning. I grabbed at the counter to let things settle down a bit, to try to think of anything besides the way Patricia had died.

Like Sarah and her crack about not having to worry about getting pregnant. And Little Ms. Tooth DeLay, who Ted said wanted to have “lots” of kids. He seemed delighted. Ted, the guy who didn’t want more kids. Who had talked me into getting my tubes tied last year, instead of getting a vasectomy himself.

Yup, that did it. I was back to my usual self: angry and bitter. Which for me also meant efficient.

I vacuumed first, then got out the buckets and disinfectant and cleaned the counter and floor. When I was done, I threw the rags into the wastebasket and followed them with the filter bag from the vacuum and, finally, my rubber gloves. Wanting it all hermetically sealed, I pulled the plastic liner out of the basket and tied it up tight.

I checked the clock. It was just past 2:30. I still had a little time before the L’Cafe man arrived. Grabbing the trash bag, I headed to the back door.