“Hey, Jules, how’s it going?” Pete’s voice coming from the open doorway snapped me out of my thoughts.
I groaned. “We are so busy. It seems that everyone wants to hang out at a murder scene.”
“That’s kinda sick, if you ask me, but I’m not complaining about the extra customers. Hey, where did you find that?” He came over and picked up the open jewelry box from the desk.
“In a really odd place. I’ll give you three guesses.”
Pete grinned, always ready to play along. “An odd place, hmm? I’m going to guess…hidden in Rhonda’s bra.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Eww. No. That’s a terrible guess. And what would I be doing in Rhonda’s bra?”
“I don’t know. Exploring your sexuality?”
My eyebrows shot up. “With Rhonda?”
He made a face. “Bad visual. You could get a way hotter chick than Rhonda.”
“Thank you,” I said dryly. “Now do you want me to tell you where I found the pendant?”
“Nope. I’m having too much fun guessing. How about…buried in the backyard with a treasure chest full of booty, me hearty? Arrr.”
I rolled my eyes at Pete’s bad pirate impression. “No. And I don’t think pirates ever got this far inland.”
“Right. So I’ve only got one more guess?”
“Yep. Make it count.”
“Okay. You found it tucked away in the kitchen somewhere, by someone trying to make sure that no one else found it.”
Startled, I replied, “Yes, actually. Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“Yeah, Dave bought this necklace last week to give to Charlene for her birthday.”
“If you knew all about it, then why did you play my guessing game?”
“Because I like to make you laugh.” He looked down at the pendant and frowned. “He was so excited about this. He found it at an estate sale a couple of blocks away and ran back over to show it to me. Evidently Charlene would always tear their house apart looking for her birthday presents, so he said he was going to keep it here in a safe place. Where was it?”
“In this container.” I gestured to the cornstarch tub. “In the freezer.”
“Strange place, but I guess it was well hidden. Until you found it, of course.”
“That’s not all I found. Take a look at the rest of the stuff that was in the tub. There’s mail belonging to three students at Vanderbilt and a handwritten note.” I handed him the papers. “What would Dave be doing with college kids’ mail?”
Pete shrugged. “Hell if I know. And it’s really none of my business.” He set the items down on the desk.
I replied thoughtfully, “Not normally, no. But since we’re looking for reasons as to why Dave went and got himself killed, I’d say everything’s our business. Look, this was obviously Dave’s secret stash, which he didn’t want found. The tub was on the top shelf of the freezer, wedged behind a bag of crabmeat, which we rarely use. If you consider how well he hid this stuff, it all seems like it could be pretty important.” My eyes grew wide. “Do you think any of it could have something to do with why he was killed?”
He blew out a breath. “That’s kind of a stretch, Jules.”
I knew that, but it was also intriguing. After all, Dave had been killed outside, mere steps away from his stash. These were the only physical clues we had. Maybe it wasn’t such a stretch after all.
Putting the items back into the tub, I said, “I need to get back and help Brandon, but I’m going to take another look at these things later.” I stopped at the pendant and instead handed it to Pete. “You should take this to Charlene. Dave probably would have wanted her to have it.”
He took a step away and held up his hands. “Oh, no. I’m not going back over there to that nympho!”
“What will you do, keep it?”
He hesitated for a moment, and then took the jewelry box from me. “I’ll mail it to her.”
“Chickenshit.”
“You know it.”
Pete got his lunch to go, promising to return later to help. It had to be hard on him to work all day and then come over here and work all evening. I was used to working all hours from running my own place, because you pretty much had to be there every minute your restaurant was open in order to keep things working smoothly. But Pete was used to sitting in his control room, calmly turning knobs and listening thoughtfully to music. These last few months must have been stressful on him, because he looked like he had aged since his father’s funeral. That was another reason I wanted to make Java Jive a success again—so Pete could go back to doing what he loved and quit worrying about this place.
I was never so happy to see some college kids than when they arrived for their evening shift. Now that Logan and Shane were here to help Brandon, I was off kitchen duty, so I called Seth and told him I was finally free for lunch. A disheveled Camille and a pouty Rhonda clocked out and gladly let Brianna, Jamie, and Cole take their places. The three new baristas looked around the crowded room in shock.
“Is this all because someone died here? People are so morbid,” Jamie said, exasperated.
Brianna didn’t say anything, but she looked like she was on edge, twisting her frizzy blond hair around her finger.
Cole summed it up best when he observed, “Dude, if any more dudes come in here, this place is going to freakin’ explode. This shit’s messed up.”
Seth came in then, and I quickly popped into the office and changed my shirt. If I had learned one thing in the restaurant business, it was to always have a change of clothes available. I was forever spilling something on myself or sweating to death and needing a fresh shirt. After changing, I hurried out to meet him.
“Why don’t we walk?” he asked.
“Sounds good. I could use some fresh air.”
We walked a few blocks and ended up at the Pancake Pantry, a Nashville icon and easily my favorite restaurant in the world. I had eaten my weight in pancakes here as a student. It was nearing closing time for the day, so it was fairly empty.
After we ordered our food, Seth asked, “Happy to be away?”
I groaned. “You have no idea. The crowd didn’t let up until I called you. Without Dave, someone had to help Brandon in the kitchen during the lunch rush.”
“That someone would be you?”
“Unfortunately. I didn’t do so great, mostly because I didn’t know where anything was. But George hadn’t changed the menu since I worked there in college, so at least I knew how to make the food.”
“Did Pete work there in college, too?”
“Yes. George was nice about putting us on the same shifts, even though he knew we’d get more done if we weren’t together.”
“So you’ve known him a long time.”
“Since I was nineteen. Why?”
He shrugged. “I was wondering if you thought he had anything to do with the murder.”
“What?” I cried, baffled. “Pete wouldn’t hurt a fly! In fact, I don’t think he’s ever done anything wrong in his life.”
“Hey, I was just thinking out loud. I love thrillers, you know, where the mild-mannered guy snaps and kills someone, but you don’t find out until the end and it’s this huge shock.”
“This is real life, not a movie,” I griped. Who was he to doubt Pete’s character?
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” He took my hand. “I know he’s your best friend. It’s just that I’ve been following this case on the news and in the newspapers, and there haven’t been a lot of developments since they first reported the murder. The police don’t seem to have too many good leads.”
Not if you didn’t count me. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to mention that to Seth. Then I’d really get the third degree. “Yeah, they’re not exactly cracking this case wide open,” I replied uncomfortably. Time for a subject change. “So how was your class this morning?”
“What class?”
“I thought you mentioned something about a lecture earl
ier.”
His jaw tightened. “Oh, right. No…it’s later.”
“What’s the lecture about?”
Seth was saved from answering my question by the arrival of our food. He deftly changed the subject. “You know that reporter from this morning?”
“Yeah.”
“I checked him out online. You really should watch your back with him. He has a reputation for dragging people’s names through the mud. I’d hate to see him do that to you or any of your staff.”
“Wow. I didn’t know that. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“I know they say there’s no such thing as bad press, but that doesn’t always hold true with restaurants. Right now, Java Jive is enjoying some notoriety, being a murder scene. But a couple of negative articles could change people’s minds.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said ruefully, thinking about the decline of my own café.
After Scott the Dickhead wiped out our accounts and my employees’ checks bounced, they started abandoning ship. I didn’t really blame them. Who would keep working without getting paid? So I had to do more and more myself, and ended up stretching myself way too thin. I would screw up orders or forget them completely. With little to no operating money, we would run out of ingredients constantly, and I couldn’t afford to restock. Customers got pissed when they were told we were out of their favorite dish. I burned batch after batch of pastries, frequently having to abandon the kitchen to take care of issues in the front of the house. As a result, many days our selection of desserts was meager. My café was in a small town, and word got around that the service and the food were declining. After one bad review in the town’s newspaper, I was done.
Seth wrinkled his forehead and asked, “Are you okay? You went dark there for a moment.”
I tried to smile, but it probably came out as a grimace. “What you said reminded me of what happened to my café. Bad press can be the final nail in the coffin.”
He looked impressed. “You owned your own place?”
“Yeah, I’m surprised Gertie didn’t tell you my life story.”
“She likes to talk about herself when she’s with me. She also likes to make me flex so she can feel my biceps. I drew the line when she asked me to pull up my shirt so she could see my abs.”
I didn’t blame her for trying. Shaking my head, I said, “Yep, that’s my Gertie. She needs a muzzle.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I heard her cuss out Rhonda the other day.” Seth wasn’t kidding about being a regular. He seemed to know every staff member by name.
“Rhonda probably deserved it.”
“She’s not your best employee. What’s her deal?”
“Who knows? She’s been working there way too long. I remember her from ten years ago. She hasn’t improved her job skills even a little.”
“The woman is mean, too. I told her you guys were out of cream at the counter this morning, and she nearly took my head off. Maybe she killed Dave.”
Chuckling, I said, “I doubt it. She’s too lazy to expend the effort.”
“How about your other employees? Anyone acting squirrelly?”
“Not any more than usual, although I just met them on Tuesday. Everyone’s on edge, but that’s to be expected.” Besides, the only staff member who seemed to have a beef with Dave was yours truly.
The waitress brought our check, so I had a reprieve from the inquisition while Seth settled up with her. It was a little tiring talking to him, but I really did kind of like him. He walked me back to Java Jive and gave me a lingering kiss goodbye.
“I’ll come see you later,” he said.
“Thanks for lunch. Sorry it had to be so late.”
He smiled at me. “I told you I don’t mind waiting for what I want.”
Chapter 9
Later that afternoon, another reporter came in and tried to engage Jamie in conversation, but Jamie chewed her out and made her leave. Sometimes the giant chip on Jamie’s shoulder was useful. Brianna watched the exchange with wide eyes, and Cole didn’t even notice. It wouldn’t be a terrible idea to do some random drug testing around here.
Quirkiness aside, the three of them worked extremely well together. They didn’t get in one another’s way, and they didn’t gripe at one another too much. Normally, it was part of their job to trade off on garbage duty, but I knew none of them enjoyed it. With more customers coming in, we had tons more trash. Many of them must have been new customers, since there was a marked rise in people leaving messes on tables. Regulars never did that. I walked around, wiping down tables and throwing away abandoned trash.
One of the cups caught my eye. There was writing all over the side in black Sharpie. Granted, we normally wrote the coffee order on the cups to make sure we got it perfect, and sometimes we wrote the person’s name on the cup if we were backed up and had a line of people waiting to pick up their coffee. But this was ridiculous. There were hearts and smiley faces, plus the words, “You have a nice smile.” I thought it was important to be friendly to our customers, but this was over the line. I didn’t mind a little flirting—I was definitely guilty of that—but graffitiing someone’s coffee cup was a little juvenile and a lot unprofessional. Then again, with college help, what did I expect?
I returned to the counter and pulled the baristas aside. I showed them the cup. “About the message on this cup, I’m not going to make a big deal out of this or point fingers—”
“That’s all Brianna,” said Jamie. You had to respect a person who would throw someone under the bus to her face. Brianna made a pouty face.
“It doesn’t matter. While we do want to be kind and friendly, we don’t want to take it too far. I’m going to make a blanket statement that we probably shouldn’t write little love notes on our customers’ coffee cups. If you want to flirt with someone, do it the old-fashioned way. This”—I gestured to the offending cup—“is unprofessional.”
Brianna sniffed, “The baristas over at Starbucks do it.”
“Yeah, the slutty ones,” interjected Cole, grinning. I wasn’t sure if he was insinuating that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Exactly,” I said. “That’s why we aren’t doing it. Got it?”
Jamie and Cole went back to their stations unfazed, and Brianna pouted for a while. I headed outside with the bags of trash, and suddenly a weird feeling of déjà vu spread over me. I was going to have to open the dumpster again. Granted, it wasn’t the same one that Dave had been in. The crime scene people had taken the entire thing with them to the crime lab, so at least we didn’t have to use the same one. Pete called and got a new dumpster brought out to replace it, but unfortunately it was identical, and therefore still creepy. Every time I saw it, I was reminded of when I found Dave two nights ago. Gingerly, I lifted the lid, half expecting to find another horrible scene, but it was only trash. I added mine and hurried back in, unsettled by the chill that had crept up my spine.
By four o’clock, the pastry case was very nearly empty, which never happened, because frankly the pastries weren’t that good. George had always bought his baked goods from a restaurant supply company rather than baking them onsite, which was one major change I was going to make. It would save a ton of money to make our own pastries. They would also taste much better, therefore I was sure they would sell better. Today’s sales were a fluke, thanks to the increased traffic.
Thankfully, there was a lull in the flood of customers, so I let the baristas and the kitchen staff all take a break before the dinner rush. I took the time to clean up the area around the espresso machine, making sure to separate trash from recyclables. I wiped the diner counter down and tidied up the area around the cash register. The pastry case looked pretty sad and ravaged, so I took a moment to slide all of what was left to the front, so it would look fuller.
As I was moving one of the plates of muffins, something fell down onto the lower rack. It was a credit card. What in the hell would a credit card have been doing in the pastry case? The name on it read “Paolina Ghirlandi
.” It certainly didn’t belong to anyone on the staff. I wondered if in the frenzy today someone had accidentally dropped it or set it down while getting out a pastry and forgotten to return it to the customer. The staff was just coming back from their collective break, so I could ask them before they returned to work.
I stopped the baristas in the hallway, so none of the customers would hear our conversation. “I found a customer’s credit card in the pastry case. Anyone know anything about it? Maybe one of you dropped it during the rush?”
Jamie and Brianna shook their heads, and Cole shrugged.
I asked, “Cole, is that a ‘no’ or an ‘I don’t know’?”
“Hell if I know. We were in the weeds all day. Could have been me.”
“Okay, thanks.” Not helpful. Cole was more likely high on weed than “in the weeds,” which was barista slang for busy and behind on orders. I’d have to talk to Camille and Rhonda in the morning.
Nervously, Brianna asked, “Juliet, um, do you think it’s going to be like this for much longer? You know, the crowds…and people asking about the murder?”
Sighing, I replied, “I hope not. I’m sure that after a week or so people will start to forget about it.”
“You mean forget that a man died here? That’s real nice,” Jamie snapped, looking down her nose at me. Jamie was a very beautiful girl, part Asian, with impossibly silky hair. When she got on her high horse, though, it wasn’t pretty.
I took a breath to relax. “No, Jamie, I meant that the people who are here to gawk will move on as soon as there’s some new gossip.”
Cole piped in, “Did ya hear? Everyone’s calling us Java Jive Murderhouse.”
Seriously? Java Jive was doing badly enough already without a derogatory nickname. “Look, let’s just make sure we don’t do or say anything that will add to the nonsense that’s going on. Just do your jobs and try to ignore the rest.”
Death Before Decaf Page 9
