Death by Espresso

by Alex Erickson

  Chief Dalton flashed me a noncommittal smile. “Did Vicki Patterson want the wedding planner involved?”

  “No.”

  “She was upset?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “What about her fiancé?” Chief flipped open the folder again, scanned the sheet, and then closed it. “Mason Lawyer.”

  “He wasn’t happy about it either.” And then, just so she knew: “Neither of them would have hurt Cathy. They weren’t happy about the situation, but would have found a way to manage without resorting to violence.”

  Chief considered it a moment before asking, “Do you have the names of anyone else who might know the deceased? You said the Pattersons brought friends?”

  “They did.” I rattled off the names, hoping I got them right. Could one of them have held a grudge against Cathy Carr and decided to come all the way to Pine Hills to off her? It sounded like a stretch, especially considering these people were here for a wedding, not to kill someone they could have just as easily killed in California. I mean, who kills someone right before a wedding? It’s rude.

  “Know where I can reach these people?”

  I couldn’t recall if anyone had said where they were staying, and I told Chief Dalton so. I was sure one or two of them had said something, but my brain was such a jumble, I was having a hard time remembering for sure.

  “We’ll find them,” she said. “Trust me on that.”

  Oh, I did. Chief Patricia Dalton might look like a small, innocent woman, but she was determined and could be scary when she wanted to be. Out of everyone at the Pine Hills police department, she was the only one who I felt acted like a true, hard policewoman. Everyone else seemed a little Mayberry, if you asked me. I almost felt bad for the visiting actors and actresses.

  Almost.

  “Are you sure she couldn’t have just fallen and hit her head? Buchannan said it was possible.”

  As an answer, Chief Dalton opened the folder again and pulled a photograph from it. She slid it across the table in front of me.

  “Do you recognize this?”

  I picked up the photo and frowned, not quite sure how it could have anything to do with Cathy’s death.

  “It’s Gina’s necklace.”

  “Do you know how it ended up in the deceased’s possession?”

  My frown deepened. “Last I knew, Vicki had given it back to her mom.” I left out the fact she’d thrown it at her, since it wouldn’t help anyone. “I assumed she still had it.”

  “The box was still in the room the Pattersons are using, but it was empty. Ms. Carr had the necklace tucked away in a pocket. One of the EMTs found it when she was searched.”

  About a zillion thoughts rushed through my head then. Had Cathy tried to steal the necklace? If that was the case, did that mean one of Vicki’s parents had killed her? It seemed strange. I mean, why steal something like that now? Why not wait until they were about to board the plane for home. If she’d tried to take it tonight, and Gina found it missing, it would have been only a matter of time before someone would look to her as the likely thief since she was currently living there. But to kill Cathy over something like that?

  I doubted it. There’s no way either Gina or Frederick was capable of murder. They might not be the nicest of people, but that was partially because of their lifestyles. They might have killed people—and been killed—on screen, but never could I imagine them actually physically harming anyone.

  “Maybe she was holding it for them,” I said, not very convincingly.

  One corner of Chief Dalton’s mouth turned down, while her eyebrows rose in a “Do you really believe that?” look. I had to admit, it was pretty unlikely Gina would have given it to Cathy to hold, especially out of its box.

  “Take another good look at the picture,” she said. “Really look at it and tell me if you think that’s truly Mrs. Patterson’s necklace.”

  I looked again, studying it. I hadn’t seen the thing for more than a few seconds when Vicki had first looked at it, but it shone just like the one I’d seen—diamonds and ruby and all. It truly was very pretty.

  “I think so,” I said. “Though I never actually held it or got an up-close look at it.”

  “I see.” Chief Dalton took the photograph and slid it back into the folder. “Well, the necklace recovered at the scene is a fake.”

  “A what?”

  “A fake. You know, a forgery. A replica, or whatever they call it when the gems aren’t real.”

  “But . . . how?” I couldn’t imagine Gina trying to pass off a fake necklace as the real deal. She was too concerned about her image to do something like that.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “We’ll be sending it away in the morning for testing, but one of the EMTs on the scene has an interest in jewelry. She apparently collects the stuff.” Chief Dalton shook her head as if she couldn’t imagine anyone doing such a thing. “Said she could tell right away the thing wasn’t the real deal.”

  All sorts of new thoughts zoomed through my head. Why would Cathy be carrying a replica of the necklace Gina had brought? Could she have wanted one of her own and had one made that looked just like it? If so, where was the original? And why would that culminate in her death? The only person who cared about the necklace was Gina, and as I said before, I didn’t think there was any way she could have killed Cathy. It had to be one big coincidence.

  “It’s late,” Chief Dalton said, punctuating the statement with a yawn. “We all need some rest.”

  I nodded, though, at this point, I wasn’t feeling all that tired. Murder had a way of doing that to me.

  “We’re not going to hold you, but I don’t want you leaving town. As much as it pains me to say it, you are a suspect in the possible homicide of Ms. Carr.”

  “But I didn’t kill her!”

  “I know that.” And by the way she said it, she sounded genuine. “But still, I can’t in good conscience let you off the hook just because of my gut feeling. There’s procedure to follow, and I, for one, plan on following it.”

  This time, my nod was contrite.

  “Go home. Get some sleep. And if you think of anything else that might help, call me or Paul and let us know.”

  “Okay.”

  Chief Dalton rose. “Thank you, Krissy. Paul will be waiting for you outside.” She left the room.

  I remained seated for a good couple of minutes more. Talk about escalating quickly. We’d gone from a manageable wedding disaster to a dead wedding planner, right into a murder and counterfeit jewelry. Why couldn’t anything be easy in this town?

  With a surprising yawn, I rose and left the interrogation room. Buchannan wasn’t around, and I wondered who’d filled Chief Dalton in so quickly. I suppose Paul could have brought her the photographs, or perhaps Buchannan had already been here and left again. It was all happening so fast. I didn’t even know what time it was anymore.

  And I’m a suspect.

  Paul was standing by the doors, brow furrowed in concentration. He perked right up when he saw me and hurried over to take my elbow. I must have looked faint because his grip was firm and secure, and he asked, “You okay?”

  “Not really,” I said, and let him guide me out the door and to my car.

  He didn’t say anything more until I was safely seated and buckled in. He watched me a moment, as if trying to determine if I was fit to drive, before speaking.

  “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here,” he said, leaning his arms on the top of my door so he could look in at me.

  “I think I’ll be okay,” I said. “My dad’s staying with me.” I looked up, met his eye. “But thanks.”

  “Anytime.” He smiled, and did I notice a hint of sadness in his gaze? Was it because I was smack-dab in the middle of yet another murder investigation? Or was it something else entirely? Just because we’d stopped seeing each other after one semi-disastrous date, that didn’t mean we stopped caring for one another.

  My stomach did one of those slow flips. “Pe
rhaps we can get together some other time,” I said.

  The sad smile remained. “Of course.”

  We remained like that a moment longer, each of us unsure what to say. Here I was, a possible murder suspect, and he, a cop, and we were acting like two love-struck kids, too afraid to let our real feelings be known. Yep, we definitely had a complicated relationship.

  “Seems familiar, doesn’t it?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood, yet it came out sounding sad.

  “Just as long as it ends the same as the last couple of times,” Paul said.

  I smiled at that. It seemed like every time something good happened to me, someone ended up dying. Some sort of cosmic justice? Or was it fate’s way of keeping Paul and I in the same orbit? These murders had put us closer in some ways.

  They were also the reason Paul and I had stopped hanging out.

  My smile faded and I fished out my keys. “I’d better go.”

  Paul stepped back. “Drive safely, Krissy.”

  “I will.”

  I closed the car door, started the car, and then, with one last hopeful glance Paul’s way, I put the car into drive and headed for home.

  7

  Lights were on in my house when I pulled to a stop. It was late, and I’d expected Dad and Laura to be in bed. Not even my neighbors were up. It was strange not having Eleanor Winthrow looking at me from the chair by her window all of the time. In some ways, I kind of missed her nosiness. It was like having my own personal watchdog. Sure, her prying had often ended with a cop showing up with the wrong impression of what was going on, but at least if something did happen, I used to be able to count on her to call someone.

  Now, I only ever saw her when she stepped outside for the mail or the morning paper. I hoped she was doing okay all alone.

  I removed the key and sat in the car, listening to the ticking sound of the cooling engine. I might have wanted Cathy Carr gone, but not in this way. And the suspect list hit awfully close to home. I mean, I had been found with the murder weapon in hand, while standing over the body. Vicki and Mason had been angry with her for thinking she could come in and change everything about their wedding, which gave them motive.

  And then who? No one else in town knew her. She’d come all the way from California with Gina and Frederick and the rest of their friends. Could one of them be the culprit? It had happened where Gina and Frederick were staying, but once again, they were practically family. Despite how they treated me—and Vicki, to be honest—I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to them.

  “Maybe it was an accident,” I said, speaking out loud to calm my nerves. I wasn’t sure how she would have managed to fall and hit her head on the candlestick, but it was possible. She could very well have swallowed an espresso bean wrong, which in turn, caused her to stagger and fall, hit her head, and then, unconscious, she’d choked to death.

  But that doesn’t explain the fake necklace. Or the light snapping off.

  I got out of my car. I was afraid that no one would ever know what had happened for sure, not unless she truly had been murdered and the killer was caught. I was still hoping for an accident.

  Dad was sitting at the island counter, a mug of coffee between his hands, when I entered the house. He looked up as I stepped into the kitchen, brow furrowed with concern.

  “It’s late,” he said.

  “I know. Sorry about that.” I crossed the room and poured myself a cup of coffee so I could join him. I so didn’t need the caffeine at this hour, but I doubted I’d be able to sleep anyway. I grabbed a cookie, plopped it in, and watched the bubbles form as it sank to the bottom.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shrugged, considered what to say, and came up blank.

  “If you’re mad at me . . .” He cleared his throat and frowned.

  “Why would I be mad at you?” I asked, pushing the coffee away. For the first time in my life, I didn’t actually want it.

  “For bringing Laura. For not, I don’t know, telling you more. I know it has to be weird for you; it’s weird for me. Your mother still means the world to me, even though she’s gone. That will never change.”

  I blinked at him. “I’m not upset with you,” I said. “Actually, I like Laura. I’m glad you brought her.”

  “Then why do you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders?” He snapped his fingers. “It’s the wedding, isn’t it? It’ll be all right, Buttercup.”

  “It is. Kinda.” I sighed, frustrated. I didn’t want to dump Cathy’s death on his shoulders, but he’d hear about it soon enough anyway. The rumor mill was likely already working overtime, spreading the news. I was half afraid to hear what they’d come up with, considering how I had been discovered.

  I told him all about my night, about going to see Gina and Frederick, but finding Cathy instead. I told him how they’d accused me of the murder, though I made it sound like they had done so because I was holding the murder weapon, not because they’re mean people. I told him of my visit to the police station and how, because of how it had all gone down, I’d ended up as a suspect, despite the fact Chief Dalton didn’t think I had done it.

  Dad listened, elbow on the counter, chin in his hand. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to force me to say anything more than I wanted to. He simply watched me, brow pinched, waiting for me to get it all out.

  It felt good to be telling someone who wouldn’t immediately judge me for what had happened. By the time I was done, I thought I could drink my coffee without bursting into tears. I reached for my mug and took a large, satisfying gulp.

  “It appears I’m bad luck,” Dad said, sitting back in his chair.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been to Pine Hills to visit you twice now. Someone has died both times.” He grimaced. The last death had been someone he knew.

  “Trust me, it’s not you,” I said. “This is like the sixth murder since I moved to Pine Hills. Maybe I’m the one who’s bad luck. Apparently, this sort of thing never happened around here before I got here. Now, I can’t go two steps without tripping over a dead body.” It might have been an exaggeration, but lately, it sure felt like every time I turned around, someone was dying.

  Dad smiled. “Maybe fate brought you here to help.”

  I grunted and took a drink of my coffee.

  There was a long moment of silence. It was then I noticed Misfit wasn’t prowling around, looking for his dinner like he normally would be at this hour. Dad smiled as I checked his dish to see the remains of his dinner, telling me someone had already fed him.

  “He’s in bed with Laura,” he said. “They’ve really taken to one another.”

  “She can’t have him,” I said, only half joking.

  Dad laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell her.” He sobered quickly. “Are you going to . . . you know?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, if you’re going to look into it, I can help.” His eyes seemed to sparkle as he said the last. Dad had always had a thing for mysteries—he was a mystery writer, after all—and to be smack-dab in the middle of another one would turn this little trip to town into an adventure.

  I swirled my coffee a moment. Cookie chunks were floating in it now. I watched them circle, and thought about it.

  The last time Dad had been here, we’d worked together to help put a killer behind bars. He’d kept his head when I’d lost mine. Let’s just say, I tended to be a little more high-strung and didn’t think about what I was about to do or say until I did or said it. He tended to think things through and roll with the punches. I simply took them.

  I rubbed my wrist in memory. I’d sustained bruises, broken bones, and more than enough wounded pride for a lifetime. Was there any reason to get involved again, especially since bringing him along would put both Dad and Laura in danger if there was indeed a murderer running around? I mean, I wanted to help Vicki and Mason. But to risk Dad? Never.

  “Let me think about it,” I said, not wanting to commit to anything quite yet. As f
ar as we knew, it was an accident, and there was nothing to investigate. “I’m pretty sure the wedding is still on, so I’ll need to focus on that for now. If the police need something from me, I’ll gladly help, but otherwise, it’d probably be best if I spent my time making sure nothing else happens to ruin Vicki’s wedding.”

  Dad nodded, though I noted the slump of his shoulders. “Of course, Buttercup.” He rose, leaned forward, and kissed me on the forehead. “I’m going to get some sleep. If you do look into her death, please be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you, especially if I could have prevented it.”

  I smiled. Dad knew me so well. I might think I’ve convinced myself I’ll avoid the entire mess, but inevitably, I always found myself involved, even when I didn’t want to be. “I will.”

  He gave my shoulder a squeeze, and then headed for the bedroom.

  Despite what I’d said, there really was no way I could let this go. Cathy might have been annoying and on the verge of ruining my best friend’s wedding, but she hadn’t deserved to die. And it had happened in Vicki’s house, a place where no one but Vicki, Cathy, and her parents were supposed to be. And if solving the murder would somehow help keep Vicki from postponing—or worse, cancelling—her wedding, I couldn’t simply sit back and hope the police figured it out when I knew there had to be something I could do.

  I mean, how many cases have the local cops solved on their own anyway? Not a lot when you really thought about it.

  But first things first. I picked up my phone, considered calling, and then, instead, shot Vicki a text, letting her know I was out of jail and safe, and that if she needed me, to call. I wasn’t sure if she was still up, or if she was busy dealing with her parents and the aftermath of Cathy’s death. No sense interrupting with a call when a simple text would do.

  It took only a few seconds before I got a quick, Thanks. Will do reply. I sent a silent prayer her way, and then, this time, made a call.

  A muffled response that went something like, “Mrello,” made me realize how late it really was.