Dark Roasted to Death

by Nikolett Strachan

  “Good enough for now,” I said. I waved goodbye to Dylan and Jake before I left the cafe and headed for the office.

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  “Come on, Bob. I was there. I saw it happen.” I’d been in Bob’s office for nearly an hour now trying to convince him to let me cover Mayor Lockwood’s death. “I’m an eyewitness.”

  “Exactly why you can’t cover this. You’re too close to the story. I’m giving this story to Larry,” he grunted. He went back to typing away at his computer.

  “You said that my time will come. What if this is my time? Come on, I’m sick of doing stories about pie baking contests,” I pleaded.

  Bob stopped whatever it was that he was typing. He leaned back, and the chair creaked loudly under his weight. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed as he looked at me standing above him, leaning on his desk. “The death of a mayor is a big deal, Lainey. It requires tact to handle a story like this. Larry’s just more experienced than you are.”

  I glanced through the glass door of Bob’s office at Larry, who sat at his computer with his head hanging low. Asleep. As usual. Larry was a small, round man who had been bald for as long as I’d known him. Sure, he must have had a keen journalistic instinct at one point. But years of working at the Aurora Height Chronicle had made him comfortable. So comfortable that he regularly took naps in the office and no one blinked an eye. He could literally get away with murder.

  “I have tact,” I said, turning back to Bob. He raised his bushy eyebrows at me, and I could see the makings of a snide smile creep under that bushy mustache of his. “What? I will get tact then. Please, Bob. At least let me call Nick to give us the cause of death.”

  A heavy sigh escaped him. “Fine. Call Nick. Get me cause of death.”

  “Thank you. You won’t regret this,” I said as I rushed to the door of his office.

  “Lainey,” he called after me with a warning in his tone. “I will give the story to Larry at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Come on, Bob. What kind of trouble could I possibly get into?” I said with a wink. I left the office without turning back to see his reaction.

  Back at my desk, I shoved loose papers aside as I searched for Nick DeLuca’s number at the police station. I dialed his number on the phone on my desk and sat in my chair with paper and pen at the ready.

  “Hello?” he said after three rings.

  “DeLuca. It’s Lainey—” I heard his sigh before I could finish my sentence.

  “Of course. We’re still waiting to confirm with a toxicology report, but right now it looks like Mayor Lockwood had an allergic reaction to something.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Try to hide your disappointment a little, will you?” he said with undisguised sarcasm.

  I could feel my face get hot with embarrassment. Bob was right about the tact thing. “Sorry. I’m guessing foul play is ruled out.”

  “At this point, yes.”

  “At this point? So, it’s not completely ruled out?”

  “Lainey, you’re reading too much into things. Mayor Lockwood was severely allergic to peanuts and preliminary tests show that his cause of death is consistent with an allergic reaction. I’m afraid that this was just one big tragedy,” Nick snapped

  “That’s awful. Thanks, DeLuca.” I hung up. My heart sank to my stomach. Poor Dylan. It looked like he really was responsible for killing Mayor Lockwood.

  I looked at the giant clock that hung on the wall opposite my desk. Five o’clock exactly. Larry’s desk was already empty and I saw Bob gathering up his things to leave. Only a few people in the sales department lingered, finishing up their work for the day. With my story on the pie bake off completed, I decided to head home, too. The Aurora Heights Chronicle only published three days a week and my story on mayor Lockwood wouldn’t be due until tomorrow. It would be old news by then, but in a town as small as Aurora Heights newspapers had to be consolidated to three days a week. There just wasn’t enough to print the paper every day.

  I gathered my things and headed out the door. It was a short distance back home, but I took a detour to the Cozy Cat Cafe. The journalist in me was desperate for a quote from Dylan. As I peered through the glass door with the words closed taped to it, I saw him sitting at one of the tables with Fur Ball in his lap. He looked absolutely miserable as he stroked the cat’s fur. Now was not the time for a quote. Even I knew where to draw the line, and I was the least tactful person I knew.

  Just as I was about the leave, his face looked up. His bright eyes were red and stained with tears, but he smiled a small, sad smile. He got up and unlocked the door. “Hey. You came back,” he said, moving aside for me to come in.

  “Yeah. I had some follow-up questions, but it can wait until tomorrow,” I said.

  “Would you like some coffee?” His voice sounded sad and far away and my heart ached for him. I was about to say no when he flashed a small, crooked smile and I couldn’t help myself.

  “Sure,” I said. He locked the door behind me and motioned for me to sit as he busied himself behind the counter. I watched him effortlessly brew espresso and froth milk at the same time, like watching an artist paint. “Can I ask how you became a barista?”

  A low rumble of a chuckle escaped him as machines whirred. “I worked at a coffee shop when I was at college. Long story short, I decided I liked making coffee more than I wanted to be a CEO like my parents had planned for me.”

  “You certainly have a talent for it. Where’s Jake?” I asked.

  “Gone home. The place cleared out pretty quickly after… what happened. No one’s been in here since. I don’t blame them. I might have to close the place down now. Who would want coffee from the place that killed the mayor?”

  I bit my lower lip so hard I thought I was going to draw blood. Asking him a million questions would only shut him down right now.

  “I can’t believe I sunk everything I had into this business.” he continued.

  “Really? Isn’t your family rich or something?”

  “My family is. I’m not. I wanted to prove to them that I didn’t need their money. That I could make it on my own, you know? I came back to this town with a business degree, a hefty loan from the bank and a pipe dream.”

  “Tell me about it. I thought I would be a reporter in some far-off place by now. I thought I’d be traveling the world and writing about important things instead of…”

  “Instead of a silly cafe opening?” He finished the sentence for me. He slid the fancy coffee—complete with a perfect leaf in the foam on top—to me. Fur Ball jumped up on the table and began rubbing his head against my arm. “I think my cat really likes you,” Dylan said.

  “I think I like him, too,” I said. “Thanks for the coffee. How much to I owe you?”

  “On the house,” he said.

  “Oh no, I can’t take this for free.” I pulled my wallet out of my bag and fished for cash.

  “No please. I insist,” Dylan waved a hand at the money I offered him, so I shoved it into the tip jar beside the register. “Thanks,” he said.

  “I should be getting home. It was nice seeing you,” I said.

  “You too,” I heard him say, but I already had my back turned and was quickly moving to the door. I unlocked the door and waved another small, awkward wave at him. Our little chat was going well. Too well. It was probably best that I left before I said or did something stupid.

  Chapter 3

  My place was just a few blocks from Main Street, hidden among the charming little houses that peppered the streets. I think of the house as my place only because I had grown up in it, but it really belonged to my grandmother, Gertie. My mom and I moved in after my parents divorced when I was little. My dad left Aurora Heights when I was ten. Last I heard, he had settled in some big city with a new family. Whatever. The three of us were just fine, thank you very much.

  Last year, my mom met a man in town during tourist season and moved to Spain. I had mixed feelings about her leaving
, but she had basically been celibate my whole life and I knew that she deserved happiness. Now it was just me and my grandma in the little bungalow. This suited me just fine.

  I dragged myself up the steps onto our porch. It was littered with pots of pink and purple petunias waiting to be planted. I shoved a small pot to the side that was blocking the door and made my way in. The sweet, sugary smell of freshly baked cookies tickled my nose as I made my way into the kitchen.

  “Smells good,” I said to my grandma Gertie. She was busy at the island in the kitchen, plating the fresh chocolate chip cookies. I reached for one, but she swatted my hand away by threatening a slap with the spatula.

  “That’s for the game tonight,” she said, sternly.

  “Come on, Grandma,” I pleaded.

  “Okay. One.” I grabbed the biggest one I saw and bit into the gooey cookie. “If you want more, you could just come tonight, you know.”

  “To your poker game? No, thanks,” I said.

  “Why not? You get to hear all the latest gossip. Maybe get some inspiration for a new story?”

  “And be subjected to your friends trying to set me up with their grandkids and nephews? No, thanks.” I made the mistake of going once and that was exactly what happened. Little old ladies one by one would tell me about their newly divorced nephew or grandson who just came back to town and back on the market. It’s not that I’m not interested in dating, it’s just that I wasn’t interested in dating anyone I went to high school with. Which pretty much ruled out men my age in Aurora Heights.

  “What’s wrong with that? I don’t see you putting yourself out there much these days,” Grandma said. She pushed her large oval glasses up her nose and raised her eyebrows. I gave her a frustrated sigh and made my way out the back door to sit on our back porch. She followed me.

  “I’m not having this conversation,” I said, taking the last few bites of the cookie. I sat on the lawn chair, taking in the view of the mountains from our yard.

  “You’re not getting any younger, Lainey. I want to see you happy and settled before I’m gone,” she said. She took the chair beside me and sat down.

  I rolled my eyes at her attempt to guilt me. Even though my grandmother was pushing eighty, she rode her bike everywhere in town and her food was always heavy on the vegetables. At an age when most people are walking around hunched over with a cane, she stood straight and held her head high. Not only did she organize fun runs in town, she regularly partook. She was healthier than most people my age. It would take a nuclear explosion to kill Grandma Gertie at this point.

  “I want to concentrate on my career. If I can get more substantial stories published, maybe I can move on to a bigger news outlet and do some serious reporting.” I crossed my arms over my chest, indicating that I was done with the conversation.

  “I know you’re still upset about Ben—”

  “No. I’m not,” I interrupted with more force than I had intended.

  “Even so, it’s been almost a year. It’s time to move on. There’s no reason you can’t focus on your career and have a special someone,” she said. She gave me a small smile before patting my shoulder and leaving me to my solitude.

  I knew my grandma was right. I knew that eventually, I would have to get over whatever anger I still harbored for that lying, cheating, ex-boyfriend. I would’ve liked to do it without little old ladies nosing their way into my business, though. I didn’t think that was an unreasonable request.

  I went back inside to find her gathering her purse to go to her poker night. “I’m sorry I got snippy. I guess I’m just shaken by what happened at work today.”

  “I heard about Mayor Lockwood. Such a shame. He was a staple at our poker nights. Do you know what happened?”

  “Well…” Tell my gossipy grandma on her way to gossip with a bunch of other gossipy grandmas? “DeLuca said they’re still waiting on a toxicology report.” That should keep her happy. For now.

  “Nick DeLuca? He’s so handsome—”

  “Grandma. He’s way too young for you,” I said, before she got any ideas.

  “Not for me, silly.”

  “I’m pretty sure the only thing Nick hates more than crime are reporters. Now, go have fun. Win lots of money,” I said as she slipped her shoes on.

  “Don’t wait up,” she said with a wink and left.

  I chuckled as I closed the door. Then I thought about how sad it was that my elderly housemate was out having fun while I was at home all alone. It’s not that I didn’t like to have fun. I just liked my solitude.

  It wasn’t always like this. Before I moved back to Aurora Heights, I was a lowly copywriter at a small advertising agency in Vancouver, but I was living the dream. I had a great life with a great boyfriend—Ben. He was a handsome account manager at the agency I worked at. We lived an exciting life partying the night away. We went to all the hottest clubs and restaurants on opening night. We had the most romantic getaway spots on the weekends. My life was perfect.

  Until I found out I wasn’t the only one enjoying romantic getaways with him. That’s right. I wasn’t the only one dating the party god. The whole time we were together, he was seeing someone else—my best friend. Well, ex-best friend now.

  I came back to Aurora Heights for a weekend to commiserate with my grandmother and ended up staying after I heard the newspaper was hiring. It’s not the glamorous, big city life I had been living only a year ago, but this was my home. This was where I felt safe.

  I made myself dinner—a grilled cheese sandwich—and took it out to the deck to eat. I enjoyed eating outside in the springtime. The gentle breeze was still a little cool, but the sun’s rays were enough to keep me warm on the deck. Besides, nothing could keep me away from the best part of the house—the view from the back yard.

  The house was near the edge of town with the perfect view of the mountains. Aurora Heights was a small town nestled in the Rockies. Tourists from all over came every year and paid a ridiculous amount of money for a view like this. I was fortunate that I had it for free. I always felt safe looking at them; they were sleeping giants protecting our little town from anything bad happening.

  Except something bad did happen and the giants couldn’t stop it.

  I thought about how I would approach Dylan tomorrow. He was obviously upset about Mayor Lockwood dying at his cafe’s opening. Then again, who wouldn’t be? Mayor Lockwood was beloved. I wondered what kind of ripple effects his death would have on our sleepy little town.

  Chapter 4

  I was up bright and early the next morning. Having a grandmother who ran marathons well into her sixties, I wasn’t given the luxury of sleeping in often and the early morning was now ingrained in me. She would drag me out on early morning runs with her, rain or shine. I would complain that I couldn’t keep up with her—nor did I want to. I wasn’t the athletic type. It never mattered to her, though. She just wanted me around for company. She hung up her running shoes a few years ago now, but she liked the early wake-up call for a quick power walk around the block.

  I assumed that she had slept in today because grandma Gertie had slinked into the house well past midnight last night. I had fallen asleep on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching that true crime documentary everyone was talking about.

  “Sorry I’m late. We stayed late gossiping about what happened to Mayor Lockwood,” she said in a hushed tone when I woke from my groggy sleep.

  “It’s okay,” I said. We both went to bed, me passing out as my head hit the pillow. I didn’t even bother changing into pajamas.

  Now, as the early morning sunrise streamed through the kitchen window, I sat eating toast and enjoying my first cup of coffee. I heard the door open. It was grandma Gertie coming in from her morning walk dressed in matching pink jogging pants and a sweater. “You’re up early,” I said, surprised.

  “Yes. I felt antsy. I feel awful about what happened to Brian Lockwood. Poker night was just so weird without him there,” she said. She crossed the kitch
en to the pot of freshly brewed coffee and poured herself a generous cup.

  “Do you know if he had any family nearby? I’d like to get a quote from someone close to him for the paper.” Lockwood was a lifelong bachelor with no children that anyone knew of.

  “I’m not sure. I can ask around, though. It will be the talk of the town for a while. Did you know he owed Neil Dunn thousands of dollars?” she said.

  If I were a dog, my ears would have been standing straight up. “What do you mean thousands? Brian Lockwood was the richest man in town?”

  “Yes, but he liked to gamble. A little too much because Neil was upset last night. He was going off about how Lockwood died owing him thousands of dollars in gambling debts. I guess he’d been borrowing money from him for a while.”

  “Why would the richest man in town be borrowing money from Neil Dunn? The man owns a gas station?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” grandma said. Her eyebrows raised and her lips pursed as she took another sip of her coffee.

  My phone buzzed on the counter. I reached for it and saw Nick DeLuca’s number from the police station. “Hello?” I answered.

  “Boggins,” he barked.

  “DeLuca,” I replied.

  “I can officially release preliminary autopsy results. Mayor Lockwood definitely died of anaphylaxis due to an allergic reaction to peanuts. The full report won’t be available for a few weeks, but the police chief is confident we can rule out foul play. Looks like it was just a tragic accident,” he said.

  “Okay. Thanks for letting me know,” I said.

  I hung up the phone and got ready for the rest of my day. This was not going to go over well with Dylan Sawyer. I wondered if I should even bother talking to him. My instincts told me I should give it some time, but the journalist in me disagreed. This was a breaking story, and we needed as many sides as possible.

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