Jamie rolled her eyes. “Brianna’s losing it. Seriously.”
“What’s going on?” asked Pete.
“Walk with me,” I said. I grabbed the trash and dragged Pete out to the dumpster with me. “These kids. Well, Brianna, actually. She’s writing love notes on customers’ coffee cups, and I told her to cut it out this afternoon, but this last cup I found crossed the line. It was an invitation for a hookup, I assume. I’m going to need to talk to her tomorrow.”
“Please do. Pop would roll over in his grave if he knew about it. That’s not acceptable here. A couple of weeks ago, some barista at Starbucks wrote her number on my cup. Trust me, I didn’t ask for it. She was not an attractive woman.”
Chuckling, I said, “Poor Pete. You have to beat women off with a stick, don’t you?”
He sighed. “That’s what I get for being handsome and irresistible.”
“Wait. You own a coffeehouse. Why the hell were you at a Starbucks?”
“What? I like their coffee!”
“You’re cheating on us, Pete. Not cool,” I said.
He rolled his eyes, and I looked past him to the garage next door. The property was vacant at the moment. The garage butted up against Java Jive’s property line, right behind the dumpsters. Curious why Brianna would ask someone to meet her in an abandoned garage, I walked over for a closer look.
“Where are you going?” Pete asked.
“The cup said, ‘Garage next door 7:15.’ I wonder why she would want to meet anyone here.” I peered in through a grimy window. It was dark and I couldn’t see anything. I walked around to the door, and Pete followed me. The lock on the door was broken, so it opened easily. We stepped inside.
Pete turned his phone on for a little bit of light. “It’s all kinds of nasty in here. Not really the best spot for a romantic interlude.” He stepped around a puddle of goo and kicked some trash aside. Picking up a rusty set of hedge clippers from the workbench, he said, “This place is a serious boner-killer.”
“Pete, gross.”
“You were thinking it, too,” he muttered.
“No, I’m thinking if you’re flirting with someone at work and asking to meet somewhere, why not grab a table inside on your break and talk? Why be all secretive and come out to this shed of horrors?” I nudged an overturned wicker chair, and a rat skittered out and ran between our feet.
Pete and I both screamed like little girls and hightailed it out of the shed, slamming the door behind us. Once we caught our breath, we looked at each other and burst out laughing.
He said, “That was kinda pathetic, wasn’t it? We’re adults, and a little rat nearly gave us both heart attacks.”
I agreed. “Yeah, that was pretty lame. It’s not like we found a dead body or anything.” He gave me a look. I asked apologetically, “Too soon?”
—
By closing time, only a handful of people were left, and unfortunately one of them was Seth the Liar. I hadn’t had the time to think about my Seth problem, so I wasn’t thrilled that I literally bumped into him in the hallway.
As we disentangled ourselves, he laughed. “Sorry about that. I think I’m in the wrong hallway,” he said, sliding his hand down my arm to take hold of my hand.
Ooh, his hands. Even though I was somewhat angry with him, I still couldn’t shake the desire to feel those hands all over me. Using all of my self-control, I squeezed his hand and let it go. “Yeah. It’s employees only back here. If you’re looking for the restroom, it’s over there.” I nodded toward the far wall. Being a regular, he should have known where the restroom was.
“Thanks. I’ll remember that. Busy day?”
“Yeah,” I said, walking to the front of the house, trying to get him out of the back area.
“That sucks. Need me to take you out for a drink?”
Yes. But something in my mind kept nagging me. I smiled sweetly. “No, I’m beat. I’ve been here since before seven this morning. Thanks, though.”
“I understand. Your feet must be killing you. Can you sit with me for a minute?” He led me over to his table and gestured to the chair across from him.
I hesitated. Liar or not, I guessed it wouldn’t hurt anything to sit for a moment and talk to the guy. Maybe it was a misunderstanding, and we’d laugh about it later. Warily, I sat down.
He smiled. I wished he would quit doing that! I couldn’t think straight when he smiled. “Have any more trouble with nosy reporters?”
Grimacing, I said, “No, just with my detective friend.”
“Did you get questioned again about finding the body?” He looked concerned.
I shook my head. “No, this time he came to bother my staff instead. Poor kids. They’ve been through enough.”
“Have you been able to talk to each one of them individually and find out what their thoughts are?” Seth sure seemed interested in my college kids. Maybe it was just his nature as a teacher.
“I talked to one of them. The rest aren’t opening up to me.”
“Want me to try?” he offered.
“Thanks, but I need to do this. I need to find a way to gain their trust.”
“Trust is important.”
I looked at him closely. “Yes, it is.”
“Why are you looking at me funny?”
Busted. “I’m not. I was just agreeing that trust is important between people. And telling the truth. So how was your class this afternoon, Professor?”
He didn’t blink. “Fabulous. My lecture went well, and my students and I had a great discussion on film noir afterward.”
“Interesting. Which class?” Seth had never told me specifically which classes he taught. With that info, it would be easy to find out whether or not he was telling the truth.
He moved to take my hand across the table, and in doing so, knocked his coffee over. It hit the floor, and the lid popped off, splashing coffee onto our shoes. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he said, bending to grab the cup.
I rushed to the counter and plucked the towel off Pete’s shoulder. There wasn’t much coffee left in the cup, so the cleanup took no time.
Seth apologized again. “Juliet, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to have to clean it up.”
“It’s no big deal. Besides, it’s my job. Speaking of which, I need to get back to work.”
His face fell. “Sure. Maybe we can get together some other time.”
“Yeah. Some other time.” That certainly got awkward after I asked about his class. Lost in thought, I flipped the sign on the door to read CLOSED and purposely went the other way around the room to get back to the counter.
“That’s enough cupcaking, Langley. Get back to work.”
“What?” I asked, breaking out of my jumbled thoughts.
Seeming the slightest bit perturbed, Pete nodded toward Seth. “You were drooling all over that guy. The one who always sits with Gertie.”
“Was not.”
“Yes, you were, but you were also giving him the third degree about something. What’s up?”
Damn Pete and his ability to read my mind. “Um…”
“You guys dating? You’ve been in town for, what, four days?” If I didn’t know better, I’d think Pete was jealous. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. But it definitely felt weird.
I chose to laugh it off. “Dating? No. We went out last night for a drink…and today for lunch, but it was nothing. Besides, he’s Gertie’s boyfriend. I would never push up on her man.”
Grabbing a clean towel, Pete began working awfully hard at an invisible spot on the counter. “He looks shifty to me. I don’t trust him. Neither of you are allowed to date him. Or be alone with him. Or talk to him.”
Coming from anyone else, an order like that would have pissed me off. “Oh, yeah?” This was getting fun.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll tell old Gertie that the next time I see her.”
Pete froze. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I laughed. “I’m kidding. Now quit being such a turd.
”
He put his hands up in mock defeat. “I’m just protecting my womenfolk, that’s all.”
“Well, knock it off,” I said, punching him in the arm. He retaliated by snapping my butt with his towel. “Ouch! Hey, speaking of protecting your womenfolk, what would you think about coming with me to The Dirty Duck later?”
“I’m not going back to that hellhole, and neither are you.”
“Pete, you know we need to talk to someone there about who Dave fought with a few days ago.”
Pete pulled me aside and said quietly, “Look, Jules, I think you should give this a rest. We’ve hit two dead ends, and the police are working on the case. If they were going to charge you with something, they would have already done it. Besides, I’m sure they have a better suspect than you.”
“Is that why just this evening Cromwell said I’m one of the best leads they have?”
He frowned. “I didn’t know that.”
“I’m going with or without you.”
Grumbling, he said, “Fine, I’ll go with you. But we’re only going to find out the guy’s name so we can tell the police. We are not going to stalk him or engage him in any way. Got it?”
The hell I wasn’t. I was totally planning on stalking and engaging the guy, especially if it meant finding out about him and Dave, or at least where he’d been on Tuesday night. But maybe Pete didn’t need to know about that.
“Fine. Whatever,” I said huffily, crossing my arms and avoiding eye contact.
Pete took off his apron. “Let the guys close up. I’ll drive.”
“Um, we need to stop at my place first. I’m not going to get any information out of anyone looking like this. I need to change.”
Chapter 11
After finding the shortest skirt, the highest heels, and the tiniest tank top I owned, I swiped on some heavy makeup and fluffed out my hair. I surveyed myself in the mirror and decided I looked slutty enough to con information out of any man in a bar. I left my apartment and teetered down the stairs to Pete’s waiting car.
When I got in, Pete’s jaw dropped, and he drawled, “Dayum, Jules! You’re hot!”
“Shut up,” I said through gritted teeth. “And ‘damn’ is a one-syllable word. Besides, you were the prostitute last time, so it’s my turn.”
“Like I said, we find out his name and that’s all. No going after this guy, especially since he could be a murderer.”
“Pete, quit staring at my boobs.”
He acted offended. “What? They were looking at me!”
I shook my head. “Just drive.”
When we got to The Dirty Duck, it was packed. I had told Pete to come in a couple of minutes after me so it looked like I was alone. Stepping in the door, I was greeted by a cloud of smoke and a wall of noise. Some crappy country band was playing way too loudly, and people were shouting to be heard over the awful music.
Nearly forgetting to act the part, I sidled up to an empty stool at the bar. Making sure I had the bartender’s attention, I leaned forward, slyly pushing my cleavage up as I did so.
I smiled coyly. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself, darlin’. What can I do you for?”
Yuck. This guy was grody—greasy hair, scraggly beard, dirt under his fingernails. At least he seemed like an easy mark. “I’ll have a…” What did bimbos drink? Sex on the Beach? Buttery Nipple? Bingo. “A Redheaded Slut, please.” Duh.
The bartender winked at me. Again, grody.
I looked around the bar and spied Pete, sitting alone at a table by the door. He nodded toward the band and put his fingers in his ears. Stifling a giggle, I turned back around. Poor Pete. This band was assaulting his ears for sure. They were so out of tune, I didn’t know how the lead singer was able to stumble through the melody. Their drummer was horrific, so their timing was all off, too. Pete’s musical ear had always been amazingly fine-tuned, and because of that, he was a bit of a musical snob. There was no way he was enjoying this.
“Here’s your Redheaded Slut, sweetheart,” the bartender said as he slid my drink to me. No way was I drinking anything that guy touched. He leaned in closer. “Now, what else can ol’ Ricky help you with tonight?”
Ol’ Ricky’s breath was less than fresh. I backed away a little and smiled. “Well, Ricky, I’m looking for someone. Two men got in a fight here this past weekend. One of them stole a week’s worth of my tip money out of my purse. I need to find him so I can get my brother to go beat it out of him. What do you say? Can you help a girl out?”
“You say Dave stole your tip money? That doesn’t sound like something he would do. Anyhow, I can’t help you much there, because ol’ Dave is dead. I’m sorry, darlin’.”
Mercifully, the band stopped playing and took a break. I lowered my voice. “I knew Dave. It wasn’t him. It was the other guy. The one who was hitting on Charlene.”
Ol’ Ricky looked at me funny. Well, funnier. He was not the most attractive man in the place. “Sweetheart, Johnny didn’t hit on Charlene.”
“That’s what she told me.”
“Aw, Charlene. She’s crazier than a shithouse rat.” No shit. “What I seen was that the minute Dave came into the bar, Johnny was all up in his business, and damned if it didn’t end in a fight.” Wait a minute. Johnny. That name rang a bell. Ol’ Ricky continued before I had time to think about it. “Both of them was pretty tore up. Good thing one of Dave’s buddies stepped in and broke up the fight. He threatened Johnny and throat-punched him. That pretty much ended it.”
Poor Dave. Now I felt even worse. He was probably sitting down in the kitchen at work because he was injured. “So the other guy, Johnny. What’s his last name and where can I find him?”
“Last name’s Brewer.” He nodded his head to the stage. “He’s the drummer.” He was here? Jackpot! But he was a drummer. That wasn’t good. Drummers are always squirrelly. I’d be lucky to get any information out of the guy. “Be careful with him, darlin’. Johnny’s not right. He’s a mean son of a bitch, and I’d hate to see a pretty little thing like you getting hurt.” Oh! Now I remembered the name Johnny—from Dave’s hidden note that read Franklin Motel, Room 8, Johnny. Could it be the same Johnny? I was going to find out.
“Thanks, Ricky. I’ll remember that. Any idea where he lives?”
He shook his greasy head. “Nope. Can’t help you there.”
“No problem. One more thing. Do you know Ron Hatcher? He’s a bookie.”
“Yeah, he’s the one who broke up the fight you were talking about.”
Interesting. “Do you know where I can find him? I’m looking for a new bookie.”
“If you’re looking for a bookie, don’t use Ron. He’s shifty. Doesn’t always pay out when you win. And I ain’t seen him in here since the fight.”
“Thanks for everything, Ricky.” I slid a twenty across the bar to him. “You’re a peach.”
Ol’ Ricky blushed. “Shoot, darlin’. It was my pleasure.”
I smiled at Ricky and hopped off my barstool. The band’s lead guitarist was already back onstage, tuning for the upcoming set. I had an idea that I thought Pete might go along with, since it didn’t involve “stalking or engaging” this Johnny guy. While the band was busy onstage, Pete and I could go over to the Franklin Motel and see if we could find anything there that would tie Johnny to Dave’s murder.
Snagging Pete, I made my way out the door. Once we were in his car, away from that horrendous music, I said, “The guy who beat up Dave last week is the drummer in the band from tonight.”
“He sucks ass.”
“Yes, he does, but there’s something more interesting about him. His name is Johnny.” Pete turned in the direction of home, but I stopped him. “Hey, we need to make a stop at the Franklin Motel.”
He snorted and gave me a sideways glance. “I think that hooker outfit is going to your head. I appreciate the offer, Jules—”
I gave him a look, and he promptly shut up and started driving in the general direction of the motel. “You rem
ember the note in Dave’s stash that said, ‘Franklin Motel, Room 8, Johnny’?”
“Oh, yeah. You think it’s the same Johnny?”
“I think we should check it out.”
Pete slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street. “I think that’s a bad idea! That place is a whorehouse, and…and a crack house, and—”
“Oh, sack up, Pete. It can’t be worse than The Dirty Duck. It’s either go to the motel and poke around or go back there and talk to Johnny face-to-face. Which, according to the slimy bartender, is something we probably don’t want to do.”
Grimacing, Pete said, “Okay, but after this, no more sleuthing.” He begrudgingly started driving again.
“Really? You don’t think this is the least bit fun and exciting?”
“No! It’s dangerous. If you need an adrenaline rush, go skydiving or something.”
I shook my head and didn’t reply.
He continued harping on me. “And how do you think you’re going to get into his room anyway? Pick the lock? Smash a window? That’s illegal!”
Taking out my lipstick, I applied another layer. “Maybe I can talk the manager into giving me a key.”
“What if the manager isn’t a dude?”
I turned to him and smiled. “Then you’re going to do the talking, stud muffin.”
He looked a little green, no doubt thinking back to his last encounter with Charlene.
The Franklin Motel was not in the nicest neighborhood. And Pete was right, it did kind of seem like a crack house. There were several really expensive cars and several complete junkers in the parking lot, plus there were thuggy-looking dudes standing guard outside some of the doors. I counted three prostitutes, one of them being a man (biologically, at least). Poor Pete. He looked more and more nervous as we pulled to a stop outside the office. We could see a middle-aged man at the desk inside.
“I’ll go get us the key,” I said, opening the door.
Pete caught my hand. “Be careful, okay?”
I nodded, pulling my hand away. “I will.”
Trying to remember to walk sluttily, I sauntered into the office and up to the desk. Leaning over, I asked sweetly, “Are you in charge around here, honey?”
Death Before Decaf Page 11
