by Harper Lin
I gave him a “see, I told you so” look and picked up where I left of. “What I was saying is that he actually gets more money out of the ring by staging a robbery. He gets the fifty thousand”—I enunciated carefully—“from the insurance company, plus whatever he gets from fencing it.”
“Fencing it?” Matt looked amused.
“Dean’s word, not mine.”
“It didn’t sound like you.” He chuckled.
I ignored him. “The other thing was how hard he was trying to convince me that it was Georgina’s ex. He was absolutely certain that it was Alex. He didn’t even admit the possibility that it could have simply been a robbery.”
“Because it really was one.”
“Exactly. And he told me all that right before he asked me to help him out by investigating, like he was trying to plant the idea in my mind.”
Matt looked thoughtful and nodded.
“It smells fishy.”
“Everything smells fishy, Franny. We live at the beach.”
“It does not smell fishy! It smells beachy!”
“Same difference.”
“Not really.”
Matt shrugged and took a sip of his cocoa. I saw him look at me out of the corner of his eye. He was teasing me.
I rolled my eyes. “Besides, if he really thought the ex-boyfriend did it, why wouldn’t he really push the police to follow up on that theory? I mean, he said he told them, but why would he tell them and then shrug his shoulders and ask me to investigate?”
“You are getting quite a reputation for your investigative skills.”
I swatted at him. He ducked away, laughing, and barely avoiding spilling his cocoa. “The point is that I’m not buying it. He may have asked me to help, hoping I would buy the story about the ex and keep attention away from Dean, but all he did was convince me that he had means, motive, and opportunity.” I ticked the three words I knew from cop shows off on my fingers.
Matt smiled at me, shook his head, then drained his cup. He set it on the end table next to him. Mine was almost gone too, so I finished it off and handed it to him. He put it next to his.
“How are you going to prove it?”
“Same as before. Talk to people. Ask questions. See what makes sense.”
“As long as you stay safe and are finished by the time we leave next Tuesday, I don’t care what you do.”
“Well, according to a very opinionated woman at the café today, if they don’t find a suspect in the first forty-eight hours, they’re unlikely to find one at all.”
“You already have a suspect. You just have to prove he did it. Did the very opinionated woman have anything to say about that?”
“Surprisingly, no. She had an opinion about pretty much everything else anyone said though.” I told him quickly about Ellen and Diane and their incessant bickering. I was still curious about where the animosity between them came from.
“They sound fun,” Matt said with more than a little sarcasm.
“Oh, they were.”
“Well, as I said before, as long as you have it all wrapped up by next Tuesday, I don’t care how long it takes you.”
I laughed. “You don’t care how long it takes, as long as it’s less than a week?”
He smiled and pushed a stray strand of my long dark hair out of my face. “That’s right.”
“Oh, okay.” I smiled back at him.
As Matt leaned in to kiss me, Latte hopped off our laps and headed for his water bowl in the kitchen.
The next day at the café, Rhonda hung out in the back with Sammy and me even though she wasn’t scheduled to work. Her kids were at school, her husband was at work, her house was empty, and she was bored, so she came in to Antonia’s. We weren’t very busy, but she was pitching in with whatever she could, and of course, I was going to pay her for her time. I didn’t have to, but it seemed wrong not to pay her. Besides, she was going to be picking up most of the slack at the coffee shop while I was in Italy.
When the café emptied out around mid-afternoon—no book clubs—the three of us gathered in the back room to talk. I leaned against the doorway as Sammy and Rhonda sat in the couple of chairs we had kept back there. Sammy, unable to keep her hands still, was fiddling with the papers on the desk. Rhonda and I clung to cups of coffee.
“I can’t believe you’re not going to at least ask a few questions about it,” Rhonda said after a pause in our conversation about Georgina.
I hadn’t exactly been moving around, but I froze completely, remembering that I’d told her the night before that I was going to stay completely out of the investigation into Georgina’s death, only to change my mind a few hours later after talking to Dean.
“Are you going to ask questions?” She apparently noticed my hesitance and got excited about the possibility.
Sammy stopped fiddling with her receipts and looked expectantly up at me.
I sighed. “So I went and talked to Dean last night.” I felt like I needed to explain myself. “And we talked for a while. By the end of it, I agreed to at least nose around a little bit. For Georgina. She doesn’t deserve to have her murder go unsolved one second longer than necessary, and I feel I would be letting her down if I didn’t at least try.”
Sammy looked back down, but her hands remained still.
“Good,” Rhonda said. “You’ll figure it out. You have a knack for finding information other people don’t.”
“It’s my years in PR. I learned how to get clients to tell me their dirty secrets so I could stay ahead of the rumor mill.”
Before I moved back to Cape Bay from New York City, I’d worked in public relations for years. I was good at it, but it was tense and stressful. I never knew when the squeaky-clean celebrity I’d been peacefully representing for years was going to have a drug or sex scandal, or worse, when the clients I’d been working for tirelessly would lose their minds over an unflattering paparazzi picture, holding me personally responsible for its release, and telling my boss in no uncertain terms that I was incompetent and should be fired on the spot.
Compared to those, the clients who were always getting into trouble were a walk in the park. At least I expected drama with them, and even when the newspapers called with some new outlandish accusation, I wasn’t really surprised and could reflexively answer, “no comment,” without skipping a beat. Compared to that chaos, even the busiest days at Antonia’s were exhausting, but not really all that stressful. At least the job had given me some pretty good investigative skills.
“Whatever it is, you’re good at it. I know if I got murdered, I’d want you on the case,” Rhonda said.
“Rhonda!” I exclaimed.
“Don’t say that!” Sammy gasped.
“What?” Rhonda asked. “I didn’t say ‘when.’ I said ‘if.’ The way things have been going around here the past few months, I wouldn’t rule it out.”
“Rhonda, don’t say that!” Sweet Sammy was visibly disturbed by Rhonda’s even suggesting that she might be the victim of foul play. I knew she was just being dramatic, and made a face somewhere between an eye roll and a scowl.
“Anyway, you’ve been on the case for what, twelve hours now? You have it figured out yet?” Rhonda asked.
“It’s been more like eighteen.”
“You probably have it solved then!” From anyone else, it would sound as if she was mocking me, but I knew she was looking for gossip. She wasn’t much of one for sharing it beyond a small circle, but she loved to hear it.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I said.
“So what would you say?”
I shrugged. “Just that I have some thoughts.”
“Thoughts you’re going to share with us, right?”
I hesitated but only for a second. Sometimes, the best way to get information was to give some. “I have my suspicions about Dean.”
“Dean? Really?” Rhonda leaned forward. “Why?”
“Something about his story didn’t add up to me.”
“Ooh, what?”
&
nbsp; “It’s hard to say. It’s the way he was acting—like there was something he wasn’t saying.”
“They’d been fighting,” Sammy said quietly.
“What?” I turned to look at her. Rhonda whirled around too. “Dean and Georgina?”
Sammy nodded.
“How do you know?”
“Georgina told me. When she was here. The day before she died.”
“Did you tell Ryan?”
She nodded again. “He said they’d look into it.”
“What were they fighting about?” Rhonda asked.
“She didn’t say. All she said was that Dean was mad at her again. He chewed her out. She kind of laughed it off, said that’s why she was down here—she needed a break from him.”
I stared at her.
“Well, I guess you’ve got your motive, huh?” Rhonda turned back to me.
“I guess…” I let my voice trail off.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I just—” I looked at her with my forehead wrinkled up. My grandmother would have told me to stop frowning before I gave myself wrinkles. “You know the ring that was stolen?”
Rhonda nodded. Sammy seemed to be lost in thought, although I suspected she was still paying attention.
“My theory was that Dean staged the robbery to get the insurance money, Georgina caught him in the act, and he killed her to protect himself. But what if…” I trailed off again, trying to find the words that felt the least awful to say out loud. Somehow, a spontaneous murder seemed less evil than a premeditated one.
“He killed her and staged the robbery to cover it up?” Sammy asked, proving that she really was paying attention.
I nodded. “Do you think he could have been that angry with her?”
Sammy looked at me, and I saw that her eyes were filled with tears. “I can’t imagine ever being that angry with anyone.”
I had to give her that. Still, you heard about it all the time, so some people must have been capable of it. “She didn’t say what they were arguing about?”
She shook her head.
“Did she seem scared at all?”
“No.” She shook her head again. “She was practically rolling her eyes about it. Like, oh, yeah, Dean’s mad again. Whatever, no big deal.”
“Does he have a reputation for getting angry?” I looked from Sammy to Rhonda and back. I didn’t remember Dean being an angry guy, but there were a lot of years of Cape Bay history that I’d only heard about second hand.
“He has a temper, but I’ve never heard of him being violent.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” I said, half to myself. This conversation was doing nothing to shake my theory that Dean had been the one to kill Georgina, whether it was premeditated or not.
Before any of us could say anything else, the bell over the café’s door jingled, announcing a customer.
Chapter 7
I looked out through the café to the door to see whether it was an actual customer or a friend who would likely just be joining us in the back to chat. Customers. Two women, one of whom looked vaguely familiar.
I put my down coffee, walked out into the café, and stood behind the counter to take their orders. From the back, I heard the sounds of Sammy and Rhonda getting up from their chairs.
“What can I get for you ladies today?” I tried to sound chipper.
“A latte,” the familiar-looking one said. “And none of that fancy milk art stuff. Just give me a normal one, okay?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, I knew who she was: Diane from yesterday, every bit as abrasive now as she was then. Clearly, it hadn’t been her just having an off day.
“Same,” the other woman said. “Do you want something to eat?” She glanced at Diane. “I’m hungry.”
Diane sighed heavily and looked into our display case. “Two scones.”
“I don’t want a scone.”
She rolled her eyes and looked at the other woman. “Then what do you want?”
The second woman walked around her to look in the display case. “Umm… Uhh…”
“Can you just make our drinks while she makes up her mind?” Diane asked me, although it sounded more like an order than a request.
“Sure thing!” I said with a big smile.
Sammy materialized beside me and grabbed the cups and saucers we’d need. She was pulling the espresso shots before I could even step over to the machine.
“Hello, Diane,” Rhonda said.
Diane looked at her. “Rhonda. I forgot you worked here.”
There was an awkward silence, and I wondered if there was anyone this woman was nice to.
“I’ll have some of those cookies,” the second woman said.
Some? I thought. Our cookies were six inches across. People took part of one home more often than one person asked for “some.”
“Which kind?” I finally asked.
“The plain ones.”
I slid the case open and pointed at the sugar cookies. “These?”
“No, the other ones.”
I pointed to the peanut butter cookies, figuring they were the next closest to plain. “These?”
“No! The little ones!”
Little ones? I scanned the contents of the case.
“These!” She poked her stubby-nailed finger at the display case so hard it made a noise.
“Oh, the ladyfingers!”
“Yes.” She sounded more than a little disgusted that it had taken me so long to understand. No wonder she hung out with Diane.
“What did you think she meant?” Diane asked.
I took a deep breath and tried not to sound as annoyed as I was with her attitude. “Oh, I was just confused.” I forced a smile onto my face and didn’t particularly worry myself with whether it was convincing. I pulled on a glove and grabbed a handful of the ladyfingers. A saucer with a paper doily appeared at my elbow, and I dropped the ladyfingers onto it.
Sammy put the saucer on the tray with the lattes and told Diane the price. Diane huffed and puffed like she didn’t know we charged for coffee. She dug in her purse for her wallet, pulled out a card, and held it out to Sammy. “That’s only for mine. Sabine can pay for her own.”
Sabine made a face at Diane’s back but started fishing in her purse for her own wallet.
Sammy rung up the two orders then smiled at the women. “If you’ll find a seat, Fran will bring your drinks over to you.”
The two of them went back to the big table in the corner that the book club had occupied the day before. I watched the drinks on the tray to make sure they didn’t spill as I slid the tray off the counter and onto my hand. I had to hold back a smile. As requested, Sammy had left them “normal” with no design poured in. She had, however, poured sloppily with a bit of a heavy hand so that, while not art by any stretch of the mind, a smear of milk appeared across the top of each drink.
I dropped off the drinks and ladyfingers, asked the women if there was anything else I could get them, and went to stand back behind the counter with Sammy and Rhonda. We stood in silence, watching Diane and Sabine, doing our best to make it look as though we weren’t.
“Wow,” Sammy breathed after a while.
I tried not to laugh, but it was hard. Sammy wasn’t usually so critical. But then customers weren’t usually so rude, especially not locals who knew they had to live with us for more than a week. We did get tourists once in a while—mostly ones who proudly wore their New York Yankees caps into Boston Red Sox territory—who seemed to think the people of Cape Bay existed only to irritate them on their vacation. Those people did sometimes provoke a reaction from Sammy.
“Yup,” Rhonda said.
“Is she always like that?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
“Mm-hmm,” Rhonda confirmed.
“It’s amazing she has any friends.”
“Oh, Sabine’s not her friend.”
“That explains it. Diane pays her to hang around her.”
Rhonda snorted
. “No, she’s her sister.”
I bit my tongue to keep from saying the nasty thing I wanted to. I was supposed to be the boss, after all. I shouldn’t encourage snarking about customers, especially not inside the café.
Rhonda looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“If you can’t say anything nice…” I said and mimicked zipping and locking my lips the same way a grade-schooler would.
Rhonda nodded and shot me a knowing smile.
“Everyone has redeeming qualities,” Sammy said.
Rhonda and I both looked at her, surprised she was calling us out, but knowing we deserved it all the same.
Sammy flashed the angelic smile that kept the customers coming back. “I have to remind myself sometimes.”
Rhonda laughed loud enough that Diane and Sabine looked over at us. I elbowed her, but that just seemed to make her laugh harder. I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help laughing a little along with her. The two of us laughing got Sammy going too, and soon, the three of us had descended into that self-perpetuating giggle fit that only ever happened at the most inopportune times.
I fought to take deep breaths to calm myself down. Slowly, it worked, and I managed to pull myself together. Rhonda’s and Sammy’s laughing fits ended about the same time—funny how that happens—and the three of us stood there behind the counter, out of breath but happy.
“Oh, I needed that.” Sammy’s cheeks flushed bright pink, and her blue eyes sparkled.
“Didn’t we all?” Rhonda replied.
I knew I did. After thinking so much about Georgina’s murder over the past day, a pure giggle fit was exactly what I needed. But then thinking about Georgina reminded me of something I’d wanted to ask Sammy since working in the café for years had led to her knowing pretty much everyone in town and frequently a good bit about them.
“Hey.” I lowered my voice even further than it had been when we were talking about Diane and her nasty attitude. Rhonda scooted in next to me so the three of us formed a tight circle. “Do you know anything about Georgina’s ex-boyfriend? Alex, I think?” Even if Dean was my prime suspect, I would be stupid not to pursue other leads.
“Yeah. He was actually in here yesterday.”
