by Winnie Reed
He paused, looking around, looking slightly dazed at the silence which fell over the room. Yes, that was him. Yes, he looked good. It seemed button-downs tucked into well-worn jeans were his uniform, and I was okay with that. He made it work.
Rather than respond verbally to my mother, I chose to step out from behind the counter and greet Deke by the door. “Hi,” I whispered. “And forgive her. She’s… my mom, and she’s great but… you know.” There I went again, tripping over my tongue. It looked like the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
He grinned. “It’s okay. This place is great, by the way. The whole street is so charming, for lack of a better word.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I glowed with pride. At least, it felt that way. Here, especially in the café, I was stronger. I felt like we were on even footing. “Have a seat. Can I get you a coffee? Something to eat?”
A few minutes later, I sat across from him with coffee and croissants between us. This was going to be great. I had everything under control.
“Would you like some coffee with your sugar?” he asked.
“Hmm?” I looked away from the stream of white granular heaven which poured into my coffee.
“Maybe some diabetes, instead?” Deke snickered. “I watched you pour those packets into your coffee at the station, too, and I thought for sure you were joking until you took a sip.”
So much for thinking this was going to go smoothly. I placed the glass pourer on the table and picked up my spoon before very deliberately stirring the sugar into the drink. Never once did I break eye contact. “I like sugar.”
“Evidently.”
“I didn’t think that was a crime.”
“It isn’t. Murder, on the other hand…”
“Lower your voice, please. We’re in my mother’s café, remember, and you know I didn’t kill anybody.”
He leaned closer, which was unfortunate since it meant smelling his spicy cologne. “I’m practically whispering, and nobody else besides your mother is under the age of eighty.”
“Which means they wear hearing aids and can turn them up real, real high,” I informed him. “Trust me. They can hear everything.”
“Sure can!” Mrs. Merriweather chimed in from clear across the room.
I grinned, wiggling my fingers in a wave, before turning to Deke with a flat expression. “The defense rests.”
“Point taken,” he whispered, glancing at Mrs. Merriweather and her yellow-veiled bluebird hat before looking back to me. “I guess sugar comes with the territory around here. Your mom being a baker and all.”
I decided to let that slide rather than countering with the fact that he, too, was acquainted with the white stuff. After Raina’s reveal of Deke’s family history, I’d done a little digging. Mr. Bellingham’s family was basically made of candy.
But for whatever reason, he chose to keep this quiet rather than speaking of his illustrious background. There had to be more to the story. I was willing to bide my time.
“I’ve basically been mainlining the stuff since I was in the uterus,” I confirmed. “I was Mom’s first taste tester. She didn’t start the café until she was pregnant with me, and she had to test out her recipes, of course.”
“Of course.”
“If she ended up feeling wonky—nauseated and all that—she knew she had to move on to something else. If it stayed down and I seemed happy, she added it to the menu.”
“Seems logical.” He looked around. “I’ve gotta give credit where it’s due. She opened a café while raising a family. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been.”
“Neither can I. This was my daycare. I watched her work until she was almost ready to collapse some days, but I was too young to understand, you know? She still wakes up well before dawn and doesn’t leave until closing time. My sister and I practically have to tie her down to get her to take the occasional day off.”
“What about your father? How does he feel about not seeing his wife?”
I winced with a quick shake of my head. “Ix-nay on the ather-fay,” I murmured through clenched teeth, looking to the counter. She was busy steaming milk for a latte, thank goodness.
“Oh.” He grimaced. “Sorry. That was clumsy.”
“Though maybe that answers your question, somewhat,” I offered, looking down into my creamy, sweet coffee. Coffee loved me and made it possible to sit across from this man without starting an argument like I’d already become so good at. I took another sip.
“The café got in the way?”
“It’s not like he wasn’t married to his job, either,” I made it a point to say, like I felt the need to defend my mother. Nearly five years had passed since the divorce, and I still felt the need to take sides. “Darcy and I always used to joke that we felt like the whole town was our brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles. Because he cared just as much about them as he did about us.”
“But not all jokes are funny,” Deke mused.
“Exactly. Sometimes we joke when we’re trying to get a message through to somebody. He never got it. But he’s happy now with his g-i-r-l-f-r-i-e-n-d.” I spelled it out from behind my hand, just in case anybody was reading lips along with listening in.I then realized I’d spilled half my life story to this stranger to whom I didn’t owe anything. “You’re probably wondering why I can’t stop talking,” I offered before sipping my brew again for lack of anything else to do.
“I figured you’re buzzing off all the sugar you’re drinking. And the caffeine.”
“What’s it feel like, up there on your high horse? Ever get a nosebleed?” I took note of the way he drank his coffee. Black, no sugar. What kind of monster…?
“It’s unhealthy, is all.”
“Thanks for your learned medical advice, Doctor.”
He rolled his eyes and obviously decided to let the matter drop, since he leaned in with his hands folded on the pink tabletop and generally looked like he was ready to get down to business.
“This probably isn’t the best place to talk about this, now that I’ve found out how… curious the townspeople are,” he whispered, “but I went through all the photos I took that night and studied them. I mean really studied them. And there’s one point where James’s demeanor changes visibly. It’s like night and day. You remember how he was early on in the night.”
“Sure. Mr. Personality. Big smile, a million teeth. Wants to sell you a used car.”
He sputtered, choking a little on his coffee. I handed him a napkin. “Yeah. Something like that,” he agreed when he’d gotten himself under control and his color came back to normal. “Then, after the toast Robbie gave, he changed. According to the timestamp, I don’t have him in any pictures for twenty minutes after that. And when I do, it’s like Jekyll and Hyde.”
“Jee-kill,” I corrected without thinking.
“Excuse me?”
“A common misconception. It’s actually pronounced Jee-kill, not Jeck-yl.”
He blinked. “And?”
“I don’t know. It’s just something I picked up. Anyway, go on.” Me and my big mouth. Deke didn’t seem like the type to discuss random literary trivia early on a Sunday morning.
“As I was saying,” he continued with a little sigh, “something must have happened between the speech and the next time he showed himself.”
“And the next time he showed himself, he must’ve been on his way out to the beach,” I mused.
“Yes. There are no more pics of him after that. Except…” He looked down into his coffee, and I couldn’t see his expression.
“Tell me you didn’t take pictures of the body,” I whispered. When he didn’t, I wasn’t sure if I admired him or what. “The police couldn’t have been too happy when they found them.”
“The police didn’t find them.”
I stood, holding onto the table for support. “I’m gonna get us to-go cups. We need to talk about this outside the café.
Yet before I had the chance, the door opened and revealed som
eone I would never have expected to see stepping foot inside that café ever again.
Once again, the room went silent.
This time, for my father.
Chapter Thirteen
“Dad?” I asked, eyes darting back and forth between him and Mom. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer your phone, and I needed to speak with you.” He noticed Deke and gave him a brief nod. “Now.”
Mom had gone stock still, the color draining from her face. I could only remember how much it hurt to see Landon again, how many mixed emotions had swirled around in my head and my heart.
That was after spending three years with the man. A far cry from the quarter-century of marriage she and my father had shared before everything fell apart.
I turned to him. “We should get out of here and talk someplace else. Next door.” Darcy wasn’t his biggest fan—she was Team Mom, all the way—but she wouldn’t kick him out. Not if I begged her not to.
Deke followed us without asking if we wanted him to. I was starting to understand him a little better, and one thing had already become abundantly clear; he didn’t hang much weight on social niceties. I made a mental note to revisit the secret pictures he’d hinted about.
Darcy’s jaw fell when the three of us walked in with Dad in the lead. I threw her as apologetic a look as I could. But that wasn’t enough. “What are you doing here?” she asked, coming out from behind the register to greet us. Or throw us out. I wasn’t sure which way the wind would blow.
“We needed somewhere to talk that wasn’t next door,” I explained in a whisper. There were customers in there, even so early on a Sunday morning. And naturally, they all wanted to see how this would play out.
Darcy eyed Dad, which he pretended not to notice. One thing she and I had never agreed on and maybe never would was our view on how to treat him after the divorce. And his subsequent relationship with Holly, his girlfriend.
It was Holly who hurt Darcy worse than anything. She was barely ten years older than Darcy, twelve years older than me. Not young enough to be his daughter, but it still irked my sister something fierce that he had moved on with somebody who we could agree didn’t hold a candle to Mom.
But that wasn’t our business, not really. He was still our father, and it wasn’t like he’d cheated on Mom.
“Don’t raise your voices,” she warned, arms folded over her chest like she was protecting herself. “And make it quick if you can.”
I gave her another apologetic look before following Dad to the rear corner of the shop, between dusty stacks of secondhand books turned in for store credit. “What’s this about?” I murmured, careful to look around for eavesdroppers.
He grimaced. “I wanted to give you a little more insight on what I referred to yesterday. Before I drove away. Remember?”
My heart beat a little faster. “Sure.” I looked up, over my shoulder, to find Deke standing just behind me. Strangely, his was a comforting presence. “He said there were lots of people who might have wanted Flynn killed.”
“How do you know that?” Deke asked Dad.
Dad sighed.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “You can say it in front of Deke. He’s helping me.”
“Helping you?” Deke asked.
If he only knew how to hold his tongue when it mattered.
“Helping you?” Dad repeated. “With what? When last I checked, I asked you to leave it to the police.”
“And yet you took the chance of walking into the café, which tells me there was something you found important enough to step foot in there. What is it?”
“I only wanted to grant you a little consolation, since I know you’re worried about your friend.” He looked at Deke before continuing. “You know James Flynn owned property in Cape Hope. Up and down the coast, in fact, at times through shell companies and at times under his own name. We were already investigating after a handful of lawsuits were filed against him by vendors, contractors. There was quite a lot of questionable activity going on.”
My palms tingled. My pulse raced. “So there were tons of people who might’ve wanted to kill him.”
“But how many of them had access to the chef’s knife?” Deke murmured, close to my ear. Like the devil on my shoulder. Just when I was starting to get excited.
I turned my head, looking at him. “Okay. Then I’ll find out who did it.”
“Emma. Don’t make me regret sharing this information with you,” Dad growled.
“I’m not asking you to tell me exactly who threatened to sue him, am I? No. You don’t have to give me any specific information. Unless you want to,” I added, hopeful.
“You know I won’t.”
“I wonder at Robert Klein getting himself mixed up with a guy like that,” Deke mused. “I thought he was supposed to be smart.”
“Yeah, but if he didn’t know, he didn’t know,” I whispered with a dirty look.
“You don’t have to get so defensive.”
“I’m not!”
“Regardless,” Dad interrupted, “that was what I had to tell you. Now that he’s dead and word has spread down here, there’s more interest than ever in learning who he screwed out of what. Pardon the expression.”
“Could you tell me what you find?” I asked, hopeful again.
“What difference could it possibly make?” He wouldn’t let me look away, holding my gaze. “Well? Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I have to do something, Dad. I have to feel like I’m helping. I can’t let Robbie rot in prison when there might be a way to help.”
He glanced at Deke, then sighed. “There is next to nothing you could truly do, you know.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Deke snickered softly, but I pretended not to notice instead of stepping on his foot like I wanted to. I was proud of my maturity.
I knew my father’s sighs. The one he let out then told me he knew when he was beaten—and that my sister was probably shooting us dirty looks from across the room, which meant time was growing short. “If anything comes up, I’ll let you know. But.”
I gulped. “But?” Of course, he wouldn’t let me get off that easily.
“But I want a promise from you. Promise me you won’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“Dad—”
“I mean it,” he continued, his voice firm. “Stay out of this. Somebody killed that man. You don’t think they would hurt you if they knew you were getting close to them?”
“He has a point,” Deke murmured.
“Hush,” I hissed.
“Maybe I should leave you in charge of her,” Dad suggested, raising a brow.
“Oh? Like I’m a baby? Like I need to be babysat?”
He chuckled. “Emma. Promise me you’ll be careful and stay out of trouble.”
I crossed my fingers behind my back. “I promise.”
Dad kissed the top of my head and slipped past me, making a quick exit. He looked to Darcy before stepping out, like he hoped she would turn toward him for once, rather than away, but he was disappointed. So was I.
Meanwhile, Deke touched the hand behind my back. “Your fingers are crossed,” he observed with a wry laugh.
“Yeah? So?”
“So, I could’ve said something while your father was here but decided not to.” He ran a hand over the spines of a row of books. “Because I respect you wanting to help a friend.”
“Well, gee golly. I’m glad I’ve met with your approval.” I tilted my head to the side. “What? Are you going to take my father up on it? Are you planning to babysit me?”
“Do you need babysitting? Are you going to keep behaving like a baby?”
“You literally just finished saying you respect me, and now you’re calling me a baby. Which is it?”
“You tell me,” he challenged. “Which do you intend to be? Somebody with guts, or a baby who whines?”
“You are so lucky my sister owns this store,” I whispered, t
urning my back on him and working my way through the stacks to get to the door.
“Why?” he asked, and I hated the laughter in his voice.
“Because I might have pushed a pile of books on you.” I waved to Darcy on the way out and noted her interest in Deke. I would have a few questions to field later.
“But then you would never get to see the pictures I took, would you?” he asked, patting the bag he still carried over one shoulder. I guessed his laptop was in there, and the memory card.
Upon stepping outside, I turned to him. Better to ask this question now, on the sidewalk, rather than wait to enter the café and run the risk of half the town hearing in time. “How did you take pictures the cops didn’t see?”
He smiled, his eyes darting over my face. “I don’t know if I’ll tell you now. You threatened violence upon me.”
“I’ll do more than threaten if you don’t tell me. Dad made sure I took self-defense classes for years. One of the benefits--or perils—of being a detective’s daughter.”
“But I don’t intend to give you anything to defend yourself against, so I guess you won’t have reason to put all that training to use.”
Dang, he had an answer for everything. I could only shrug. “Please. Just tell me. I’ll lose sleep if I don’t know.”
“Tell me the truth about something first, if you would.”
“Can’t you ever just give me a straight answer?”
“One question.” He lowered his brow. “Just how close were you with Robert Klein? Or Robbie, as you keep calling him?”
I snorted before I could stop myself. “That’s what you wanna know? What are you, jealous?”
“Curious.” He didn’t crack a smile.
What did I have to lose? “I had a crush on him when I was sixteen. We kissed one time, near the end of the summer. My first kiss. I call him First Kiss Robbie sometimes. Do you want details, or is that enough humiliation?”
He pursed his lips. “First Kiss Robbie. Boy. You must really want to know about those pictures I took if you were willing to share that.”
“You’re right. I do. It was in the walk-in fridge, by the way.”
