Dark Roasted to Death

by Nikolett Strachan

  Mrs. Cruikshank sold a few new books, but her specialty was the used and rare ones. The place smelled a little musty and felt a little dusty and cramped. Shelves that reached the ceiling were stuffed with fiction and nonfiction alike. What she couldn’t fit on shelves, she placed in boxes neatly placed on the old hardwood floor. Because of the sheer amount of stuff in the shop, it seemed smaller than it was. Near the back behind the cash register, was a room sectioned off by a dark green curtain that matched the exterior pain of the shop. The little room was where she held a book club once a month—and poker night every Sunday.

  “Gertie, you’re here,” Mrs. Cruikshank said when we made our way to the room. “And you brought Lainey.” My name came out less enthused.

  “Yes, I decided to tag along. I hope it’s all right,” I said.

  “The bigger the pot, the better.” Neil Dunn waved and nodded a welcome at me. He was already sitting at the round poker table, shuffling cards and eager to begin.

  “We’re happy to have you, dear,” Mrs. Cruikshank said, although the snip in her voice told me otherwise. Mary-Anne Cruikshank didn’t like surprises, and I had just sprung one up on her by showing up. She was an orderly woman who probably scheduled her bathroom breaks. Adding another body to a poker game was a surprise she obviously wasn’t in the mood for.

  Dylan appeared at the curtain holding a large travel jug in one hand and a gray ball of fur in the other. “Hi everyone,” he said, flashing his movie star smile. “My grandmother isn’t able to come today so I hope I can take her place. I brought coffee.” He held up the jug encouragingly, but no one moved. No one said anything. It was like someone had sucked all the air out of the room and everyone’s breath along with it.

  Finally, Mrs. Cruikshank said “of course. Welcome, Dylan. I see you brought your… cat.” She spat out the word cat like the word was something nasty in her mouth. The cat meowed, jumped from his arms and made its way to me. He jumped into my lap and curled into a ball, promptly going to sleep.

  “Yeah, I hope it’s okay. Fur Ball doesn’t like being left alone,” Dylan sheepishly admitted. He placed the coffee jug on the back counter along with all the other snacks and found a seat next to me. “Hey,” he whispered to me.

  “Hey,” I smiled back.

  “Looks like you’re Fur Ball’s new best friend. He likes you more than me,” he said.

  “I’m starting to really take to him, too.” I stroked the cat in my lap, feeling the soft fur between my fingers and feeling his purrs of content.

  “Well, I think that’s it for everyone tonight,” Mrs. Cruikshank announced. “Shall we get started?”

  “That’s it? Where’s Allen? And Eli? And the Jennings sisters?” My grandmother asked.

  “Allen is out of town and Eli is busy with the theater opening. The Jennings didn’t feel right coming without Lockwood here. It’s just us tonight,” Mrs. Cruikshank said. The only other person here was Mrs. Chapley, a small, round woman with short, gray hair and thick glasses. She was always in a good mood and always baking something sweet. Even she looked suspiciously at Dylan.

  The card game went under way and when Dylan lost what everyone considered a substantial amount, they seemed to relax. Everyone was getting more chatty now that they had his money. I folded my hand and went to the snack counter to pick at the food. I poured myself a cup of Dylan’s coffee and took one of Mrs. Chapley’s blueberry muffins to snack on. The coffee and muffins were the perfect combination. The two should go into business together. I made a note to mention it to Dylan.

  “So, are we going to question these guys or am I going to have to lose more money?” Dylan whispered to me at the snack counter.

  “I’m working my way to it,” I said.

  Dylan took one of Mrs. Chapley’s muffins and bit into it. His face relaxed into the delicious treat. “Wow. Mrs. Chapley, these muffins are amazing.”

  “Why thank you, dear,” the old woman gushed. She pursed her lips as she giggled slightly. She always played bashful whenever someone complimented her cooking or baking. She was such a cute old lady.

  “You should think about carrying these at the cafe,” I said.

  “That’s a great idea,” Dylan said.

  “Oh, I would love that. And I love your little cafe and all the cute little cats.” Fur Ball meowed at Mrs. Chapley from my empty seat next to her and the old lady gave him a scratch on the head. I watched Mrs. Cruikshank sneer as she did so. Apparently, Mrs. Cruikshank was not a cat person.

  “I noticed the cafe has been closed the last few days. And did someone break your window?” Mrs. Cruikshank said to Dylan. Her tone was just slightly on the snide side. I bet she was really proud of herself for reminding everyone just where Mayor Lockwood died.

  “Yes. I’m getting the window replaced next week. And after… what happened… people don’t seem too keen on coming to the cafe with their cats,” Dylan said. He took another muffin from the plate and sat back down at the table. I stayed behind at the counter, curiously watching Mrs. Cruikshank’s smug demeanor. It was as if she was reveling in Dylan’s failing business.

  “Well, who could blame them? What a tragedy that was,” Mrs. Cruikshank said. This time, she had the decency to look sad.

  “Tragedy indeed. The man owed me money I’ll never get now.” Neil Dunn had been fairly quiet until now. He was a man in his late forties with thin, wispy hair on his head and a stocky build. Years of working construction had given him a permanent leathery tan, aging him to look older than what he was. He wasn’t an Aurora Heights native, but had taken over the gas station years ago after a back injury forced him to switch careers.

  “We know, Neil,” my grandmother said. “You wouldn’t quit griping about it last time.”

  “Well, I’m upset. The man owed me a lot of money,” Neil defended himself. He then looked over at me. “I better be careful what I say. Don’t want it to end up in the paper tomorrow,” he chuckled.

  Just when I thought I had escaped that joke.

  “What do you mean? I thought Mayor Lockwood was the richest man in town?” I asked. I hoped I sounded inquisitive and not like a nosy journalist.

  “Oh sure, the man had money and bought up half the town with it. Always telling me he ‘wasn’t liquid’ right now. He borrowed nearly a thousand dollars from me,” Neil said.

  “He was buying up property in Aurora Heights?” I pressed on.

  “Yes. He was very adamant on tearing down our historic buildings and building condos in their place,” Mrs. Cruikshank said. She made a face as if condos were the building equivalent of raw sewage. “Can you imagine? It horrified the Historic Society. It’s a shame he’s gone, but at least the building projects are on hold.”

  Could someone have killed Mayor Lockwood to stop his building plans? Mrs. Cruikshank certainly hated change and took pride in her work with the town’s Historic Society. She had a motive, and she was at the scene of the crime. She was a strict woman, but could she really be capable of murder?

  “That’s right. My grandmother was just saying how happy she was to have those building projects off her plate,” Dylan said.

  “I bet. Your grandmother must be swimming in work. Oh, the mess that man made of Aurora Heights. I’m just glad we finally have someone who puts this little town first.” I was a little taken aback by how much disdain Mrs. Cruikshank had for the mayor. I exchanged looks with Dylan, who seemed to be thinking what I was.

  Mrs. Cruikshank might be a suspect.

  Chapter 9

  A little after seven o’clock, as the sun was turning into a warm yellow haze ready to set, the group finally dispersed. I had learned that Allen Bell was thinking of moving to Vancouver and was looking at property there and the Jennings’ grand niece had just dropped out of college. I had also learned that my grandmother is a quite the poker player because she went home with the most winnings.

  When Mrs. Cruikshank had locked the doors of The Crooked Book, Dylan waved me over and asked to talk in the
cafe. I told my grandmother I’d meet her back home and she gave me a sly smile and told me not to rush. I wanted to tell her it wasn’t like that, but I didn’t. A part of me wanted her to believe that Dylan, and I were doing exactly what she thought we were.

  Even Main Street was quiet on Sunday evenings. Most shops were closed and cars were few and far between. Dylan and I walked across the road without a care in the world with Fur Ball trotting away behind us to the cafe. He led me to a side door where we took a flight of old, rickety stairs up and into his apartment. A cozy living area was the first room we walked into.

  A large, leather couch faced the windows overlooking Main street and was framed by two small side tables. The walls were a soft cream color with modern-looking paintings on the walls. “Have a seat,” Dylan said, pointing at the couch. He made his way into the kitchen.

  I sat down, letting the pillowy softness engulf me. I couldn’t believe it. I was in Dylan Sawyer’s apartment. My inner teenager felt all giddy and squishy inside. The adult me was trying to calm her, but teenagers can be so difficult. “Do you need any help?” I called into the kitchen.

  “Nope. Be there in a minute,” Dylan said. He appeared with a tray holding a pot of tea and two cups. “I thought we could use some chamomile after all that caffeine. I think we were the only ones who drank the coffee.”

  He poured a cup of tea and handed it to me. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Once we find out what happened to Mayor Lockwood, people will be lining up for your coffee again.”

  “I hope so,” Dylan said. “So, what do you think? Anyone at poker night a suspect?”

  “Well, Mrs. Cruikshank is a contender. And how come you didn’t tell me about Mayor Lockwood’s building projects?” I said. I took a sip of the tea, feeling its soothing warmth trickle down my throat.

  “I didn’t think it mattered. Do you think Mrs. Cruikshank did it to stop the building projects?” Dylan asked.

  “I don’t know. She certainly seemed pleased with your grandmother being Mayor,” I said.

  A hard look flashed across Dylan’s face. “It was weird, wasn’t it?” Dylan stayed silent, staring just passed me. He seemed deep in thought, as if trying to decide if he should tell me something. Finally, he spoke. “When I told my family I was thinking of opening the cafe, they all thought it was a brilliant idea. Except for my grandmother. She thought the idea of a cat cafe was ridiculous. I thought it would bring in tourists and she scoffed at it like old people do. Then she found out I wanted to buy this building and suddenly, her tune changed.”

  “Your grandma came around? That’s nice,” I said.

  “Yeah, but not because she was so supportive. Apparently, Mayor Lockwood had his sights on the building too and she didn’t want him to have it. You know she’s a member of the Historic Society, too? And best friends with Mary-Anne Cruikshank.”

  “You think they’re behind this?”

  “I hate to accuse my own grandmother,” Dylan said gravely.

  I couldn’t imagine what must have been going through his head.

  “I’ll see if I can get an interview with her tomorrow.” Maybe I could get information out of Esther Sawyer myself and save Dylan at least some heart ache.

  “How are you going to do that?”

  I shrugged. “I’m a reporter. I’ll say I was working on a story or something.”

  He nodded in approval and we sat sipping our teas. “I have to admit that I’m having a great time with you, Lainey.”

  “Really?” I felt my skin burn and my heart quicken. Maybe we would be doing what my grandmother thought we were doing after all.

  “Yeah. You’re fun to hang out with. How come we didn’t do more of this in high school?”

  “Investigate murders?” I asked, and he laughed. It was a hearty laugh that boomed all around the room.

  “Hang out. Why didn’t we hang out more in high school?”

  I don’t know. Maybe because you were captain of the lacrosse team and I was a nerdy weirdo you barely noticed? I gave him another shrug.

  “Well, I’m glad we’re hanging out now,” he said.

  “Me, too,” I replied.

  ✽✽✽

  The night’s cool breeze felt good as it grazed against my skin. I felt my hair whisper around me as the gentle wind swayed. I was a little chilly in my cotton dress and denim jacket, but the cold air was refreshing against my hot, embarrassed skin. If I was going to seriously investigate a murder with Dylan, I would have to get over my schoolgirl crush. I couldn’t be fantasizing about him confessing his undying love for me. I needed to focus. Still, a girl could dream.

  The walk back to my grandmother’s house was a short one, but I took my time getting there. The streets were quiet at this time of night and even with the impending tourist season approaching, Aurora Heights was always safe to walk at night. When I finally got back, I found my grandmother on the couch, curled up in a purple fleece blanket and reading a book.

  “You’re back early,” she said, sounding disappointed.

  “Well, it is a work night. Besides, I didn’t want you to worry,” I said.

  “Lainey, I might be old, but I’m a modern old woman. If you want to spend the night with Dylan Sawyer, I understand.” She winked at me. My grandmother actually winked at me.

  “It’s not like that, Grandma. We’re just friends.” No matter how much I wanted more. I took off my denim jacket and hung it on the hooks behind the door. I slipped off my shoes and plopped myself down on the couch with her. I briefly considered telling her about what Dylan and I were really up to. My grandmother has always been supportive of me, but investigating a murder might be pushing it.

  “Well, why not? Friends become lovers all the time.” She dog-eared the page she was reading and tossed the book onto the coffee table in front of us.

  I tried not to cringe at her use of the word “lovers.” I placed my feet on the table and pushed against the couch, sinking myself lower into the soft fabric. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s a Sawyer. Why would he be interested in me? You know his friends used to call me Plainy Lainey in high school”

  “You’re not in high school anymore. Besides, you’re beautiful and smart and he’s an idiot if he doesn’t see that. And Dylan Sawyer would make an excellent suitor,” she said and winked again and I felt my face get hot. “I’m just glad you’re spending time with someone your own age again.”

  “Thanks, gran,” I said. I could always count on her support. “I have to admit, it is kind of nice to spend time with a nice guy.” Most of my old friends had moved on to live big lives in big cities, like I had. After my relationship ended, it was nice to be back home. Everything was familiar; everything was the same as it ever was. After a year, though, I was getting restless again. This murder investigation was a nice change. Maybe she would understand my amateur sleuthing. “We’ve been spending time together for a different reason, though.”

  “Oh?” She perked up and shifted closer.

  “The day that Mayor Lockwood… had his accident? Well, Dylan doesn’t think it was an accident. And neither do I. We think someone had laced his coffee with peanuts on purpose.”

  “Why do you think anyone would kill him?” Grandma Gertie leaned even closer, but there was no shock on her face like I had expected. She seemed more inquisitive; fine material for gossiping about.

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. So far, we think it might have something to do with the Historic Society,” I admitted.

  Grandma Gertie just nodded. She seemed to take this thing seriously. “I think that’s a good place to start. I know that not everyone liked that man.”

  “What do you know?” It was my turn to perk up.

  “Nothing, really. Mary-Anne Cruikshank and her cronies at the Historic Society are all so tight-lipped, but if they had something to do with Mayor Lockwood’s death I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Chapter 10

  The next morning was what I liked to call the Great Monday Morn
ing Madness. It usually set the tone for how the rest of my week would go. The editorial meeting was first thing, and they usually stuck me with whatever fluff piece was being handed out that week. I always prepared a good argument on why I should focus on a story that was more important.

  This week would be different. This week, I would do whatever fluff was handed my way, but I would also pitch a story about deputy mayor Esther Sawyer and how she was handling her new duties. It was the perfect opportunity for me to write something more than fluff while interviewing a suspect. It was a perfect plan, really.

  I stopped by the Cozy Cat Cafe on my way to work. The shop was open and men were already fixing the broken front window of the place. Again, the place was deserted. Jake was busy sweeping the already clean floors while Dylan was behind the front counter. He smiled and waved when I walked in.

  “Good morning,” he said. His tone was cheerful, but his face looked weary.

  “Good morning. I see the window’s already being repaired.”

  “Yes. Although I’m not sure why I’m bothering. It’s not like anyone’s likely to come in.”

  “You don’t know that. I’ve seen a few tourists around already. They don’t know that this was ground zero for the death of the mayor,” I said, trying to sound positive.

  “You’re right,” he said, perking up. “Besides, with all this free time, I’ve had time to experiment with some new coffee concoctions. Want to try my new lavender latte?”

  “Sure,” I said, a little reluctantly. Fancy coffees made me a little nervous. I loved the bitter bite of a regular black coffee. After being around fancy restaurants and hot night clubs courtesy of my cheating ex, I had sworn off fancy. Then again, this was just coffee. How fancy could coffee get?