“I don’t want you investigating this,” she said again. “Somebody killed Mr. Pratt, and that somebody is dangerous. If they killed Mr. Pratt, they might try to kill you, and I’ve only just found you as a friend. I don’t want to lose you.”
I decided to play dumb. “What makes you think I’d investigate?” Susie made a face at me, one that chided, “Come on.” She wasn’t buying my innocent act. Still, I wasn’t sure if I was being warned off because she was guilty or because she was legitimately concerned about my safety. Or… was it both?
“You investigated Rachel’s murder to clear your name,” Susie said. “Then you investigated Cam’s to clear Zoey’s name. Now, just like a cold that’s getting past around, it’s my turn, but I don’t want you looking into it. I want you to stay clear.”
“But I don’t understand why.”
“Just please,” Susie said, “leave this one alone.”
Chapter 5
With Susie having gone on her way, I was left to ponder all that she’d said to me. Zoey and I had managed to clear our names of murder when we were innocent. Yet Susie wanted me to stay away. That had me wondering: was Susie innocent?
I was mindlessly wiping down the counters, lost in thought, when Brad walked in. He took a seat across from me, and I enjoyed watching his incredibly athletic body move beneath the thin fabric of his uniform. Albeit there wasn’t much to see. He had his jacket on. It stopped me from being able to appreciate all of what good genes and good habits had done for him.
“What’s on the menu today?” he asked.
“You missed breakfast. You’re late.” I was stating the obvious, and he hadn’t missed breakfast. I’d make him his usual eggs now if he wanted.
“I had to be at the court this morning. Had to testify at a hearing.”
“Anybody I know?” I asked.
“More like somebody who wishes you didn’t know them,” Brad said with a smile. Then he shrugged. “It didn’t go well for them.”
I was glad. Zoey and I had made an enemy when solving Cameron Caldwell’s murder. I’d be able to sleep better knowing there were walls, bars, and armed guards between us.
From his seat, Brad talked me through making a pot of coffee just as he would do it. When done, I poured him a cup. Then I got him a plate of the meal of the day. It was loaded potato soup with grated cheese and crumbled bacon on top. It was served with crostini that had been topped with garlic-infused oil. Brenda had guided me in making the soup, and then I’d practiced toasting the bread until I got it right. She’d made the garlic oil.
Brad leaned over the dish and breathed it in deep. Then he took a bite. “Mmm, I should come late more often.”
Compliments from Brad came far and few between, and I embraced that one as a good one.
Agatha came in, and I got her a bowl of soup as well. She put on reading glasses and slid them to the end of her nose, pulled out a book and started reading. An actual book with actual pages. It had been ages since I’d seen anyone do that.
With Agatha occupying herself, I took the opportunity to gently pry Brad for information.
“Have you learned anything more about what happened to Mike Pratt?”
With his head down over his soup, Brad looked up at me past his eyebrows. “I shouldn’t have talked to you about that,” he said. “I was runnin’ my mouth, and I knew better.”
I gave a one-shouldered shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “You didn’t say anything that everyone didn’t already know.” It was time to give a little to get a little. If I got him talking, maybe he’d say more than he meant to. “Susie was in here this morning.”
Brad put down his spoon. “Oh, yeah? How’d that go?”
I shrugged again. “She was a bit deflated, but I perked her up with some chocolate cake.”
“Hey, is that the same chocolate cake you made the other day? You got any left? Can I take a piece to go?”
My heart swelled and I had to fight to keep from getting all giddy and smiley. Brad liked my cake.
“Doris on dispatch had a birthday yesterday and I forgot to get her a card or anything. I figured that cake would be okay in a pinch.”
All my happiness escaped. It was my turn to be deflated.
“You’re a cruel man, Brad Calderos,” I said.
Despite her apparent attention being on her book, Agatha chuckled.
Brad glanced at her. “Agatha’s a good kid. Knows when to stay out of things.” He said the last looking straight at me. He was baiting me. Goading me.
Game on.
I leaned onto my arms, perching them on the counter. “I’m going to investigate Mike Pratt’s murder.” I purred the words. Dangled them out in front of him.
Brad’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it. You just can’t keep out of stuff that has nothing to do with you. Got to be Little Miss Busybody.”
“I’m going to figure out who the killer is before you do.”
“Not a chance,” he said, leaning forward.
“I did it before. Twice.”
“No, you didn’t. You just made such a God awful nuisance of yourself until the killer decided to kill you next. Until then, you didn’t have a clue.”
“If I didn’t have a clue, how’d I manage to make a nuisance of myself with the killer?”
“Luck. The dumb kind,” he said.
“I might be a brilliant idiot, but at least I’m still brilliant. What are you?”
Agatha slapped her book down on to the counter. “Are you going to pull her piggy tails next, Brad? And what about you, Kylie? Are you going to kick him in the knee and then kiss him?”
I gasped, but Brad chuckled. “She’s got your number,” he gloated, but the gloating was short lived because Agatha hit him on the head with her book.
“Hey! Assaulting an officer is a crime, you know.”
“And what will you do about it?” Agatha asked, looking at him over the rim of her glasses.
Brad cleared his throat, then coughed into his hand before choking out, “Nothing.”
Agatha went back to reading, and I decided to press Brad one more time. I was hoping Agatha’s assault on his pride had eroded his defenses.
“Mike Pratt,” I said. “Have you gotten the fingerprint results back on the comparison to Susie?”
“Not yet.”
“They’re Susie’s,” I said. “She told me all about it.”
Brad’s brows went up. “She confessed to you about killing Mike Pratt?”
I shook my head. “No, she confessed to trying to save his life.”
Brad scoffed.
“She went into his office and found him on the floor with the shredder on top of him,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah… I’ve heard the story. I’m not buying it. Too convenient.”
“A person trying to save another person’s life is too convenient?”
“When you’re a cop, yeah. It is. The stuff I’ve seen, Kylie. The things people have done, and the excuses they come up with to explain away the evidence.” He leaned forward. “You know the difference between reality and all those crime shows on TV?”
I shook my head.
“In real life, the most likely suspect almost always did it. If the wife got killed with a shotgun and the husband keeps one in the closet, well guess what… the husband did it. Not the dog. Not the kid next door. Not the nosy neighbor from down the street. The husband.”
“Mike Pratt wasn’t married.” I didn’t know if he was or not, but I hadn’t heard anyone even once mention a wife, so I decided to take a shot in the dark.
“Don’t matter. Whoever is the most likely suspect most likely did it. Right now, Susie’s our girl. She’s got motive, means and opportunity.” He ticked them off on his fingers as he said them. “She was there at his office the day he died. He was hiking up her rent up to extortion-level prices. And he liked to wear that ridiculously long scarf wrapped around his neck. It’s like he was begging for somebody to kill him, and our girl Susie just complied. Now that�
�s the way it happened, isn’t it? She confessed to you, didn’t she?” He was nodding his head as if him nodding would get me to nod and confirm his theory.
“Not. Even. Close.” I sucked in a breath to tell Brad about Susie’s brand new fiancé, but stopped. What if her fiancé killed Mike in a misguided attempt to protect Susie and his future with her? As wrong as it was—if that was what he’d done—I wasn’t ready to put a finger of guilt at him. I liked Susie, too, and I felt more than a little bit protective of her. Could I fault the man who loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her for having similar yet more intense feelings?
I knew the answer to that question even if I didn’t like it. Whoever killed Mike, no matter who it was, they had to be held accountable. Even if it was Susie herself. After all, she’d even joked about planning to kill Mike a couple of days before his death.
In the end, I stopped trying to pry Brad for information. I was getting nothing from him, and I was on the verge of giving information away. While I wanted the killer to be caught, I didn’t want to point a finger at someone before I was sure.
I got Brad his piece of cake and sent him on his way.
“You’re trying to help Susie, aren’t you?” Agatha asked. She’d put down her book and she had a twinkle in her eye. “You knew more than you were saying to Brad.”
I blew out a tired breath. “I do, Agatha!”
“And you’re going to investigate.”
“I am…” I said it in the same way a person might admit to having a crush on someone they didn’t want to have a crush on. And I was starting to have such doubts about Brad. We’d found ourselves in adversarial positions to each other over and over again since having met. We could never get on the same side of an argument.
Agatha sighed, her eyes looking dreamy. “The sparks that are gonna fly between you and Brad if you solve another murder before him.”
“He’ll never forgive me, will he?”
Agatha laughed. “Mmmm, don’t you worry about that. Some men run away from a strong woman, but that man is like a moth drawn to a flame.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “You keep shining just as bright as you want to, honey. He’s not going anywhere.”
I wasn’t sure what to think about that, didn’t have time to process it… before Bruce and Maryanne—my ex’s parents—walked through the café door, holding up a phone in the middle of a video call. Dan’s smiling mug took up the whole thing.
“Kylie! Baby! There’s my girl!” he said.
“I’m dating Brad!” I blurted. Joel was walking into the café behind Dan’s parents, and I pointed my finger so emphatically that it was more like jabbing it through the air. I cried out, “And Joel, too! I’m dating both of them! I have two boyfriends!”
Chapter 6
It was not one of my finer moments. I had grabbed Joel with both hands and tossed him right under the bus—the I’m-not-yours-anymore, will-never-be-yours-again bus that I was trying to make painfully clear to Dan and his parents. Joel’s expression went from blank to smiling in under half a second.
“Sweetheart,” he said, moving around Bruce and Maryann to stand next to me where I’d come out from behind the grill’s bar. He snuggled up against me and slid his arm low around my waist. He turned to the phone, still held up by Maryann. “There’s the man I want to thank!” Joel boomed, pulling me closer against him. “Your loss—my gain. You know how it goes.”
Dan was no longer smiling. After nine years of marriage, I knew his expressions well. His face was stoic, but his eyes were blazing. “Well, wasn’t that fast,” he said drolly. “Didn’t take you long to pillow hop.”
My eyes bulged and my mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” So many things went through my head, and then my sense of self-preservation kicked in. I looked around me. Besides Dan, Dan’s parents, Joel, and Agatha, there were a few other customers scattered throughout the café. All eyes were on me. If I made a scene, if I aired my dirty laundry for all to hear, that’s exactly what would happen. All would hear about it. And with phone cameras the way they were, with my luck I’d end up on YouTube telling Dan off for being a womanizing, self-centered, egotistical, no good ex-husband who had slept with half of the eastern seaboard. A million views later and I could kiss my dream of a happy, healthy, cozy and sweet café goodbye. Instead of being known for having good food (hey, a girl can dream), it would be known for being owned by the woman who thought she was on stage at a Jerry Springer show.
So, instead of unloading months of intense anger, pain and humiliation, I instead smiled bright, patted Joel on the side, and asked, “Have you met my boyfriend, Joel? I told him about Mom’s pot roast, and he’s looking forward to a great big sit down meal together.”
Maryann squeaked. Her eyes were bulging, and I wasn’t sure she was still breathing. She was a nice woman. She’d always been good to me. And I felt bad about subverting the dinner she had planned. I’m sure she had imagined how the evening would go. Dan would be charming. I’d swoon. We’d go off for a chat to work things out, and then we’d come back ten minutes later to announce that I was pregnant with twin grandbabies, a girl and a boy. Joel was a definite kink in the future she had envisioned. Of course, Dan cheating with enough women to fill a banquet hall hadn’t fit in with my life plans either.
Dan narrowed his eyes and leaned into the camera. “How old is he? He’s too young for you.”
“He’s my age!” I said, offended. I didn’t actually know how old Joel was. I glanced up at him, and he nodded agreement.
Dan was nine years older than me. My guess was that he didn’t like seeing me with another man younger than him and that his complaint had next to nothing to do with how old I was versus how old Joel was. It was about how much younger Joel was than Dan.
“You’re embarrassing yourself, Kylie. People are going to talk. And what will Mom and Dad think?”
“Dan, they’re your Mom and Dad!” I regretted the words instantly, but it was too late. Maryann’s eyes started filling with tears. “Mom… Mom… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’ll always be dear to me, no matter how much of a dumb—”
“Sweetheart,” Joel interrupted with a squeeze. “Maybe you would like to host your ex and your, uh, parents here at the café. You could cook dinner for all of us.”
Dan fell silent. Maryann’s unshed tears got stunned into submission. Bruce coughed and then said, “Now, now. No reason to go to extremes.” He froze as he seemed to realize the insult of his words.
“It’d be great!” Joel beamed. “With you hosting it here, Brad could come too. That way you’d have all your fellas around you.”
More coughing from the Hibberts.
I latched on to the life raft that Joel was throwing me. “I could make chicken cacciatore!”
“Honey, Kylie,” Maryann said, “let’s think a moment. Salmonella is such a risk these days. Dan was in the hospital for so long after the Thanksgiving turkey.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” I blurted, my cheeks turning hot. I turned to Joel. “Honest, that wasn’t my fault.”
“It’s okay, babe. You make turkey. You make chicken. You make blowfish. I’m there, and I’m having dinner with you.” He leaned down and gave me a kiss on my cheek, and I melted. If Dan, his mother and father, Agatha and the few other customers hadn’t been around, I would have totally turned that cheek kiss into the kind of kiss that makes a school girl blush.
When I looked back toward Maryann and the phone she was holding up, Dan had hung up. He was gone.
I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned into Joel. My hero.
Looking disheartened, Maryann and Bruce left.
“You were a lifesaver, Joel. Thank you,” I said.
Joel shoved his hands deep into his pockets and got an awww shucks look on his face. “Who would I be if I couldn’t help a pretty girl out?” he said.
It was my turn to feel bashful and unsure of what to do with myself. Joel was a big guy. He had broad, thick shoulders and a tight wa
ist. His build was somewhere between football player and runner. He was bigger than life. Yet here he was, with eyes for me. That’s when I realized, even the bigger-than-life guys need someone to cuddle up with on a long, cold night.
Just like that Joel shifted from out-of-reach superhero to snuggly teddy bear. Approachable. Loveable. And, yes, even attainable.
“You know,” he said, “I still haven’t taken you out on that date.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “All those pesky murderers getting in the way.”
Joel’s expression changed. He went from looking like an overgrown kid to a man on a mission. “Speaking of murderers, what do you know about Michael Pratt’s murder?”
Ahhhh, I thought to myself. I was no longer talking to Joel the suitor. I was talking to Joel the newspaper man.
“You grab a seat at the bar’s grill, I’ll get you some lunch, and I’ll fill you in on what I know.” That wasn’t the complete truth. I’d fill Joel in on what I thought that I could tell him, which was less than what I knew—or rather what I suspected.
Joel sat and I got him a big bowl of potato soup with grated cheese sprinkled on top. I added to that a great big piece of my mocha chocolate cake. I loved that I’d finally figured out how to bake a cake and bake it well, but I was concerned that I was going to wear my customers out with only having the one and same dessert option available day after day. I guessed that I could mix it up by adding some nuts on one day and some chopped chocolate on another, but at the end of the day, it would still be the same mocha chocolate cake they’d been eating.
“I’ve been thinking about this cake all morning,” Joel said as he cut himself a big forkful before even trying his soup. When he put it in his mouth and closed his eyes, he looked as though he were in heaven.
“Joel,” I laughed, “you always know the perfect thing to say!”
“What kind of a newspaper guy would I be if I didn’t?” he said, giving me a wink. “Now you tell me what you know about Mike Pratt’s death.”
“Is this for a big scoop? You going to do a big write-up?”
A Berry Clever Corpse Page 4
