A Cuppa Trouble

by Angela Ruth Strong

Marissa held her hands wide, knocking Tandy in the face with her torch. “I only have three more months before the big day. I have to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “I know, I know.” Connor humored her with a grin. “If you want to know about the virus, it’s a form of ransomware. You’ve heard of ransomware, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve heard of a ransom.”

  “Right. It’s like that.” Connor snapped and pointed. “Hackers hold all the information on your computer for ransom unless you pay them a fee to return it. It can really affect big businesses. Like Ohio Power for example.”

  Her eyes widened. “You think Randon is a hacker?”

  Tandy lifted a shoulder. This wouldn’t be the first time she suspected him of a crime. “When I took him his coffee, he did turn his computer away from me so I couldn’t see what was on his screen.”

  “Then we certainly shouldn’t leave him alone.” Greg cleared his throat. “We could watch the parade from the windows.”

  Tandy twisted to grin at him. “You just don’t want to go outside in your costume.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Connor shifted his weight to stand without knocking anyone else off the bench. “But if I stay inside, the crowd on the sidewalk will block my view of my parents’ float.” He ducked out of the booth to give the rest of them room to move.

  Tandy smoothed Greg’s fuzzy beard. “And you’re supposed to hand out our coupons.”

  Greg sighed and scooted her off his lap onto the bench next to Marissa so he could stand as well. “You’re right. Both Abe and I are men of our word.”

  “Thank you.” Tandy grinned up at him. He was normally as polished as George Clooney, which made his ridiculous costume that much more endearing. “I’d come with you if I could, but one of us has to stay here to ensure Randon doesn’t hack our laptop and hold Marissa’s precious wedding plans for ransom.”

  Marissa shooed her away. “They’re my wedding plans. I’ll keep them safe. Plus, Greg needs you.”

  Greg nodded solemnly. “I do.”

  Tandy let herself be pulled away. It was probably time to back off before Marissa’s wedding obsession got even worse. If that was possible.

  Marissa waved goodbye then smiled at her image in the photo booth’s computer screen. She’d earned herself more free time to plan her wedding.

  The bell over the door rang a couple of times, joining in with the music from the band and announcing her friends’ exit. She didn’t envy them at all. While they were going out into the crowds and heat, she got to stay in the cool and the quiet. Not to mention, having the whole photo booth to herself.

  She removed Lady Liberty’s crown from her head and set down the torch, as well. The next time she was in this booth, she’d be wearing a wedding dress, and all the photo booth strips would be taken home by guests as mementos of her big day. She twisted her long, blond hair up to imagine how she might want to style it. Though Connor liked her hair down. She released it to cascade over her shoulders.

  Should she make a strip of photos for Connor? She could hold out the engagement ring for a closeup on one then blow him a kiss in another. Or she could spell out the word LOVE with her hands by forming one letter in each of the four photos taken. That would be cute.

  She practiced her poses then reached for the button to start the countdown.

  “Give me the file.” A deep voice boomed through the room.

  She froze in place before pushing the button. A shiver slid down her spine. Who was talking?

  She leaned forward and pulled the curtain back a few inches. Across the shop, a man in jeans and a white t-shirt stood over Randon, gun drawn.

  Marissa covered her mouth to keep from gasping aloud, but that didn’t stop her heart from quivering.

  Randon glared up at him. “How’d you find me?”

  He knew the man? He knew what file the man wanted? Then why didn’t he hand it over so he wouldn’t get killed?

  “I traced your computer location. What? You thought you would be safe in this crowd?”

  Randon snapped his laptop shut.

  Marissa wanted to scream, No, Randon! Your stupid apps are not worth dying for! But then she might also get killed. Was there any way she could save them both?

  She fumbled through her jean pockets then apron in search of her phone. All empty except for one of her “Save the Date” cards she’d been planning to give to Tandy. She must have left her cell with her magazines. If she didn’t do something fast, she might not even make it to her own wedding.

  “You won’t get away with this,” Randon growled.

  The man laughed. It was a low and menacing sound that would haunt Marissa’s nightmares.

  What else could she remember about this guy? Jeans and a white t-shirt weren’t that memorable. If he killed Randon, how would she ever be able to describe him to Sheriff Griffin?

  From the back, she could see the perpetrator had dark skin, but that wasn’t unusual in the summer. What else?

  There wasn’t much hair on his head. He was either bald or buzzed cut. And he seemed to be in pretty good shape. She’d guess six foot and 180 pounds—a little leaner than Connor. She needed more.

  He lifted the gun. Hopefully it was only to make a threat that Randon would take very, very seriously. “Ironically, this crowd is what will allow me to get away with whatever I want. I could shoot you, and nobody would hear it over the bang of those drums.”

  As if on cue, a heavy drumbeat broke through the white noise of festivity.

  Marissa tugged the curtain open a little farther to see the people on the street. Every back was turned her way. If she ran and screamed for help, she’d never make it. She could be shot and killed within feet of her friends as they obliviously sang Yankee Doodle, laughed at Shriners in little cars, and caught candy.

  Randon lifted his hands as if being arrested by the cops. “How do I know that, if I give you what you want, you’ll let me go?”

  That was such a good question. But not worth the risk of refusing to obey.

  The gunman shook his head. Ooh, he had a mark on his neck. Like a tattoo.

  Marissa narrowed her eyes to decipher its shape. She leaned sideways to get a more direct view. Her elbow bumped the front of the booth.

  Had the gunman heard the thud over the sounds from outside? Her heart jumped to her throat as she waited. The man didn’t even move. Whew, that was a close…

  A flash lit up the photobooth.

  Oh no. She’d bumped the button.

  The gunman turned. His jaw hardened.

  “Run, Marissa,” Randon yelled as he splashed the contents of his coffee mug over the man’s white shirt.

  The gunman turned to retaliate.

  Marissa charged up the staircase. It was closer than the front door, and that way she wouldn’t have to pass the guy with the gun.

  Her feet scrambled. Her arms pumped. Her pulse pounded louder and faster than the drums outside. She dared to look over her shoulder to see if she needed to duck bullets.

  The man brought the butt of his gun down against Randon’s head. Randon crumpled. The gunman jumped over his body and bolted toward the stairs.

  Tingles shot down Marissa’s arms and legs. She couldn’t run fast enough. Feeling the pressure as if swimming upstream, she dodged ornate tables and chairs to reach the metal exit door.

  She burst into the warmth of sunshine on the roof and the jovial tunes of a marching band below. It felt like breaking the surface when drowning—igniting a surge of hope mixed with the fear of being sucked back under.

  She spun and faced off with the man who’d cleared the stairs and was close enough that she could make out not only his light green eyes but the symbol on his neck. Then with every millisecond stretched into a lifetime, she slammed the door in his face and slid the bolt into place.

  The door rattled against his weight but held. She’d survived. Though she didn’t know if she could say the same for Randon.

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  Angela Ruth Strong, A Cuppa Trouble