Death by Coffee

by Alex Erickson

  “It’s too dangerous to go poking around on your own, okay?”

  I nodded, frowned, and then turned to look at him, some of my stubbornness returning. “But I’ve learned some things on my own.”

  Paul looked interested, but he tried to hide it. I think he’d been told to make sure I understood not to get involved, yet he was part of the reason I was involved. If he hadn’t taken me to Lawyer’s Insurance that night, I might not have continued with my own private investigation. In a way . . . this was all sort of his fault.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Krissy.

  “First, do you know for sure if the dust was peanut?”

  He nodded. “It was.”

  “Okay. We know that Brendon Lawyer had two mistresses, one of them being his secretary, Beth.”

  “We do.”

  “And if the dust was placed inside the vent, then whoever killed him had to have access to the room, right?”

  “Right.”

  “That could be anyone who worked there, as well as those who had gone in to see Brendon that day, correct?”

  “Yeah.” Paul’s face was passive. He was listening intently, but I had a feeling I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.

  “And maybe someone who managed to get into the office the night before could have planted it?”

  “Perhaps.”

  I considered telling him about Heidi’s mysterious boyfriend, but I decided against it. I wasn’t sure it mattered. Just because she was seeing someone on the side didn’t mean she, or the man she’d cheated with, had killed Brendon. Maybe once I knew more, I could tell Paul. Until then, I wanted to cause Heidi as little grief as possible. Regina had been right about something; I’d already done enough.

  “Did you know Brendon and Heidi were going to get back together?”

  Paul frowned. “Where did you hear this?”

  “Rumors,” I said with a shrug. “Heidi herself.”

  Paul’s frown deepened. “She didn’t tell me this.”

  “I don’t think many people knew.” I gave him a smug smile, one that told him I actually was being helpful. “But she told me.” I didn’t tell him that my interrogations had brought her to tears.

  Paul scratched his head and then rubbed at his face. He looked tired, as if he’d been called in just after settling down for the night. Me being the reason he wasn’t sitting snug in his favorite chair or lying shirtless in bed probably wasn’t making much of a good impression.

  I melted just a little. Paul Dalton. Shirtless. It sounded good to me.

  “Krissy?”

  “Hmm? What?” I came back to reality in a hurry. My traitor face flared red and I cleared my throat to hide the hitch in my voice. I knew he wouldn’t know what I’d been thinking, but damn . . . he was right there. I didn’t need to be daydreaming about him taking his clothes off, bit by bit, flashing those scrumptious dimples at me all the while....

  “Krissy.” This time his voice was firm.

  “Sorry,” I said, rising. If I sat much longer, I’d probably drift off into dimple-filled dreams.

  Paul sighed. “I said, I don’t really see how the Lawyers getting back together is relevant. I suppose someone could have been jealous, like the mistresses, but . . .” He shrugged.

  “It was Heidi’s idea,” I said. “She forgave him.”

  “Why’s that?”

  How could I answer that without smearing Heidi’s name? “I don’t know,” I said, mentally punching myself for lying. He was so going to hate me when I finally told him the truth. “Maybe she just decided she couldn’t live without him anymore.”

  “Uh-huh.” He said it like he didn’t believe it. I admit, the story was sort of hard to swallow after you’d met Brendon.

  “It could be relevant,” I said, hoping Paul wouldn’t totally dismiss it. “Like you said, maybe one of the mistresses got angry after Brendon broke it off. Maybe she wanted him all for herself.”

  “Then why not go after Heidi?”

  “Maybe she was just so mad at him, she figured that if she couldn’t have him, no one would. Brendon wasn’t exactly the nicest of guys. She could have been fed up with him.”

  “Maybe,” Paul said. He glanced at his watch and yawned. “I think it’ll be okay to take you out of here now. I’m to drive you home.”

  I gathered myself and followed Paul out the door. This time, when we walked through the station, all eyes were on me. There was suspicion there. I was getting the feeling that not everyone was certain of my innocence. I was beginning to wonder if Paul was starting to question whether or not I was involved in Brendon’s death somehow.

  He opened the car door for me and I got in. I barely even noticed when he slid in beside me, started the engine, and then backed out onto the road. My mind was elsewhere, sorting through everything that had happened. I was new in town. The day after I get there, someone died. While it was a coincidence, not everyone would see it that way.

  Paul stared straight ahead as he drove. I could almost see the wheels spinning behind his eyes and wondered if he was thinking about me or about the case. Or both. I’d been the one to point out the dust. I was the one who kept poking her nose into everything. Could he really think I was responsible?

  Then again, if I’d killed Brendon Lawyer, why would I have told him all of this stuff?

  Before I knew it, we were sitting in my driveway. My Focus was parked askew, back wheels in the grass. I vaguely wondered if Officer Buchannan had driven the car here and done it on purpose.

  “Here we are,” I said. I didn’t make a move to get out of the car.

  “Yup.” Paul didn’t, either.

  “Want to come in for a few minutes? I can make some coffee.”

  He was silent for a long moment before shaking his head. “I best go home and get some rest. I have an early morning ahead of me.” He barely looked at me as he said it.

  “Oh.” I opened the car door and stepped out into the night. The air was cool on my flushed skin. I felt like a fool. “I’ll see you soon then?”

  Paul nodded, hesitated, and then leaned across the seat so he could see my face. “Krissy,” he said.

  For a moment I thought he might say something that would make everything better. He’d tell me he believed in me and that he had changed his mind and would come inside, not just for an hour or so, but for the night.

  I leaned down, anticipating his smile, his dimples, and was instead rewarded with a concerned frown.

  “Be careful.”

  He straightened and I closed the car door. A moment later he backed down the drive and drove off, leaving me standing there, alone. I waited in the driveway in the hopes he’d change his mind and turn around, but the only person who seemed interested in what I was doing now was Eleanor Winthrow. Did that woman ever leave her place by the window?

  I turned away, hugged my arms to my chest, and then went inside for a long night alone with my cat.

  21

  Puzzles and ice cream weren’t helping. It was still too early even to attempt to sleep, yet I wasn’t sure what else to do. A bath would be nice and might help me work through a few things; but then again, did I really want to think anymore tonight? All it had done so far was to get me into trouble.

  I kept hoping Paul would call and set my mind at ease. I ate my plain vanilla ice cream—I was still out of Rocky Road—chugged coffee, and then ate the cookie afterward, all while working through puzzle after puzzle, hoping for something that never came.

  I knew I should simply drop my little investigation, but I was afraid the murderer might get away with it if I did. I seemed to be the only person making any headway in the case. Most of the police force seemed content to plod along and let whatever happened, happen.

  A cynical part of me wondered if perhaps someone in the department was intentionally stalling the case. Could Officer Buchannan be the killer? Maybe he’d gotten a bad insurance deal from Brendon Lawyer and decided to kill him? He obviously could get
into the place on his own. I almost hoped that was the case. I’d love to see the smug look fade from his face when I confronted him with the facts.

  Sadly, though, it didn’t quite ring true. As much as I would like to see Buchannan in trouble, I seriously doubted he would have killed Brendon Lawyer. He might be a jerk, but he was still an officer of the law.

  I was back to my list of suspects—those that Beth had given me. Any of those people could have gone into Brendon’s office and put the dust into the air vent while he wasn’t looking. Sure, someone could have come in the night before and planted it, but if so, why hadn’t Brendon suffered his attack earlier? And what had happened to his EpiPen?

  With a sigh I pushed my empty bowl away. I needed to get away from the case. It was going to drive me insane if I let it.

  Misfit immediately hopped up onto the counter and began to lick the bowl clean. He purred contentedly and even gave me a friendly glance as he ate. For the moment he accepted me. He’d go back to puking into my shoes as soon as the contentment wore off. I gave it about fifteen minutes.

  “Hope you’ve enjoyed your time here,” I told the purring cat. “I’m not sure how much longer it will last.”

  Death by Coffee was suffering. If I didn’t find a way to bring in more customers, both Vicki and I would be going back home to California with our tails tucked between our legs. I don’t think I could handle going back to retail, and I knew for a fact Vicki would rather jump off a bridge than go back to acting. Our families would take us in, sure, but at what cost?

  Of course, thinking of home made me think of Dad.

  Before I could change my mind, I picked up the phone and dialed. If nothing else, he would know what to do. He always did.

  It rang only twice before he answered with a hearty “Kristina? Hello!”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Why sound so glum? Aren’t things working out in Pine Hills?”

  He knew me so well. “Not so much,” I said.

  “Don’t people drink coffee there?”

  “They do.” I sighed heavily into the phone. “But it looks like they prefer to drink it at a diner in town. No one seems to be interested in my place at all.”

  “Ah. It’ll turn around.”

  “That’s what Vicki keeps telling me.”

  He chuckled his dry, raspy chuckle. He’d never smoked, but he’d had problems with his throat a few years back, which now gave his voice a gravely sound. I think it only added to his mystique in most people’s eyes.

  “I’d listen to her, buttercup,” he said, using the pet name he’d used for me since I was little. “Change happens, whether we want it to or not. Just because they don’t come now, it doesn’t mean they won’t start popping in to investigate your wonderful coffee. They just need to get used to the idea of changing their routine. It’s never easy.”

  “If we’re not broke by then.” I slumped in my seat. Misfit finished off the ice cream, licked his lips, and then whapped me in the face with his tail before leaping off the counter. Maybe fifteen minutes had been a little too generous for him.

  “I’m sure everything will be okay.”

  And I knew he was right. Dad always was. He took the “let things develop and see what happens” approach to life. I think that was why he was such a good mystery writer. He didn’t rush things, didn’t force them to happen just because he wanted them to. He sat back patiently, smiled, and let it wash over him. He claimed the characters wrote the story for him; he was just there to transcribe them.

  “Is there something else bothering you?” he asked. I hadn’t realized it, but I’d fallen silent in my ruminations.

  “Well . . .” I drew out the word. Should I bother him with what I was starting to think of as a murder in a small town? He’d written countless books about this very thing. Maybe he’d have some insight that would lead me to the killer.

  Then again, this was real life. Things didn’t always fall neatly into place like they often did in books and movies.

  “There’s been a murder,” I said, figuring I might as well tell him now. He’d more than likely hear about it eventually.

  “I see.” He paused. “Are you okay? Is Vicki?”

  “We’re fine,” I said. “We didn’t know the guy. He stopped over for coffee once.” And then went back to his office to die. I didn’t add the last.

  Dad was silent for a long time. I could tell he was torn between asking for more information and driving down to Pine Hills to make sure I truly was okay. He’d always been protective of me, especially after Mom died five years ago from some genetic heart condition I couldn’t pronounce the name of if I tried. It was hard on the both of us, considering how close we all were. Even though there was nothing Dad could have done to save her, he often blamed himself. Because of Mom, he would never let anything happen to me as long as he was able to prevent it.

  “Tell me,” he said eventually. “Tell me everything.”

  And so I did.

  I started with how Brendon came in, rudely asked for coffee, and then started to drink it in the store before getting a call that sent him back to the office. I told him about how the police had first ruled it as an accident, but there was growing belief—mostly my own—that he’d actually been murdered. I told him about Regina Harper, about Heidi and Mason Lawyer, and all about the mistresses and the mystery man with whom Heidi had cheated on Brendon. What do they call that, anyway? A mister?

  Dad listened in silence. He never interrupted, never asked for clarifications. He let me babble on and on. I could almost see him nodding thoughtfully as I spoke.

  I felt oddly better when I finished. Having it laid out like that didn’t make anything clearer, but it allowed me to just get it out and tell someone. I’d told him things I hadn’t even told the police. He would know what to do.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, buttercup,” he said after a slight pause.

  “What?” I was shocked. Dad always knew what to do. “There’s got to be an answer.”

  “There is, I’m sure,” he said. “But you don’t have all of the pieces yet, do you?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  I could hear him groan through the phone as he settled himself in. He was getting comfortable. It was the same sound he always made right before he’d open a book and begin reading, or when he was about to tell me a nighttime story. For the first time since I’d arrived in Pine Hills, I felt a little homesick.

  “Well, for one, you don’t know who this Heidi person was seeing. You also don’t know who to trust, because you know so little about the people of the town. Just because someone is friendly doesn’t mean he or she is a good person. The same could be said about some of the nastier people. Perhaps the reason Mrs. Harper was so angry with you was because she was upset that you kept bringing up the death of her daughter’s husband. She might be happy he is gone, but she doesn’t want to see her daughter upset. Make sense?”

  “It does,” I said. “I never really thought about it like that.”

  “And what else don’t you know? What was Mr. Lawyer’s last claim? Could he have shorted someone? Dropped them from their insurance? Could he have run a red light, dinged a car, and then driven off? Could he have discovered his wife’s infidelity, confronted the other man, and then threatened his wife to stay with him or else he’d take her for all she had, while also revealing her indiscretions to the world?”

  The questions swirled around me. Dad was right; I didn’t know everything. There was no possible way I could find all of this out without going through Brendon’s entire life. I didn’t have the skill or energy to do it. I’d been running on the assumption his murder had something to do with his cheating ways this entire time without fully considering the fact the guy had his whole life to mess with people. It might even have been an old collage rival who’d finally decided to pay up on an old debt who’d done him in.

  “You’re right,” I said, feeling strangely lighter. With it all put in front of me,
I realized I never should have gotten involved. This simply should have been handled by the police and the families from the start.

  “Now,” Dad said, “I don’t mean you should give up. I’m extremely proud of you for what you’ve done thus far. Not every person would have put herself in harm’s way to put a killer behind bars.”

  “But I don’t know what else I can do,” I said. “I’ve tried to talk to the people involved, but they never tell me the whole story. I feel like everyone is hiding something—and no matter how many times I ask questions, I’ll never get the truth.”

  “There is someone always willing to talk,” he said sagely. “If you look hard enough and in the right places, someone will say something that will break the whole thing wide open. In fact, they might already have.”

  I frowned at that. I couldn’t think of anything that anyone had said that would help me get to the bottom of Brendon Lawyer’s murder.

  “Just don’t force it, okay?” Dad said. He sounded concerned. “I don’t want you to stress yourself out over this. If you start to feel overwhelmed, then there is nothing wrong with stepping back and letting the legal system work. If you feel in danger, do the same. I’ll never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

  “It won’t,” I said. “I promise.”

  “Good.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “I’d better go,” I said, feeling much better. Dad had a way of making everything make sense, even if I still had no idea who’d killed Brendon. I was also pretty sure nothing could save Death by Coffee now. Still, the thought didn’t bother me nearly as much as it had a moment ago.

  “Okay. Get some rest. Think things over.”

  “Will do.”

  “Love you, buttercup.”

  “Love you, too, Dad.”

  We hung up at the same time.

  I drifted away from the phone in something of a daze. He’d told me to step back when I felt overwhelmed. Well, I’d been feeling that way since the start. Maybe it was time I let things go and get back to work. I did have a life to manage.