He didn’t take his eyes off the basketball game he was watching on the TV at the end of the counter. “Yep.”
I slid down the counter to be more in his line of sight. “I lost my key to room 8. Think you could let me in?”
Flicking his eyes at me, he said, “Room 8 ain’t rented to you, honey.”
Ooh. This guy was no pushover. Smiling, I said, “I know. I’m meeting Johnny here, and I wanted to get myself ready for him, that’s all.”
His eyes were glued to the TV again. “You’ll have to wait till he gets here.”
Leaning even farther over the counter, I asked, “Really? And there’s nothing I could do to change your mind?”
“Nope.”
Sighing, I dropped the act and reached into my pocket. “Will you do it for twenty bucks?”
He brightened. “Room 8, you say? Here you go.” He handed me a key. “Bring it back when you’re done.”
I was a little miffed that my slut costume didn’t get me anywhere this time. At least it was a decent disguise, because I didn’t look at all like myself. I walked past Pete’s car and wiggled the key at him, gesturing for him to follow me. There couldn’t have been more than twenty rooms in the whole place, and they all faced a nasty green bog that I assumed had once been a swimming pool. Pete and I managed to get to room 8 without being accosted by any of the other hotel guests. We slipped inside, closing the door behind us.
“Gross,” I complained, taking in the fraying orange shag carpet, peeling wallpaper, and decades-old paisley bedspreads.
Pete was equally appalled. “I’ve heard they rent rooms by the hour. Now I know why. No one could stand to be in here for more than an hour. What’s that smell?”
I couldn’t place it exactly. “Dirty gym socks and moldy Taco Bell, maybe?”
He cringed. “Yeah. That’s it, all right. Let’s get this over with. What are we even looking for?”
I stopped. I didn’t know. I had been so excited about putting a couple of clues together that I hadn’t thought it through. “Um…evidence?”
“What kind of evidence?”
Irritated, I snapped, “I don’t know. A bloody glove? Just look around.”
Chuckling to himself, Pete gingerly perused Johnny’s suitcase. I looked through his drawers and through the mountains of crap he had strewn on top of every flat surface in the room. After finding nothing out of the ordinary—well, if you consider storing visibly soiled boxers in a pizza box “ordinary”—Pete had had enough.
“Jules, we don’t know what we’re doing, or what we’re even looking for. Let’s call it a night.”
I sighed. “I guess you’re right. There are a couple more places I want to look. Would you go ask the manager if he knows where Johnny might have been on Tuesday night?”
Frowning, he said, “Fine. But when I get back, we’re leaving.” He disappeared out the door.
I went to go check in the toilet tank, since in movies it always seemed to be the place to find damning evidence. There was nothing there, so all I got out of it was the overwhelming urge to wash my hands. I quickly did so, and as I was coming out of the bathroom, the front door opened. I guessed that meant my sleuthing was over for the night.
Expecting to see Pete, I sucked in a breath when another man walked through the door. It was Johnny Brewer.
“What are you doing in my room?” he slurred. He was drunk. Thank goodness. Surely I could talk my way past a drunk guy. My heart decided to start beating again.
“Waiting for you, of course.”
Johnny looked at me in confusion. “Do I know you?”
Taking a page out of Charlene’s book, I flashed what I hoped was a seductive smile and threw in a wink for good measure. “Biblically, baby.” Sashaying my hips, I moved closer. “You did me against the wall in the bathroom at The Dirty Duck last week. Don’t break my little heart and tell me you forgot.” I was taking a shot in the dark here, but any drummer worth his salt has been involved in a bathroom sexploit or two.
“Oh…yeah. You’re…um…your name is…ah…”
“Lisa,” I supplied.
He nodded, as if he’d realized exactly who I was. He looked me up and down. What a douche. “Lisa. Right. How you doin’?”
I stuck out my lower lip. “Well, not so great, Johnny. See, you stood me up on Tuesday, remember? You were supposed to be at my place at seven.”
“You shittin’ me? Tuesday nights are always band rehearsal. I wouldn’t have made a date on a Tuesday.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You sure I know you?”
Oh, crap. Johnny was either smarter or soberer than he looked. He was on to me. “I see what’s going on here. You’re trying to get rid of me. You know, if you didn’t want to go out with me, you should have just said so. Goodbye, Johnny.” I turned to hightail it the hell out of there, but Johnny caught my arm roughly.
He snarled in my ear, “Come to think of it, I don’t remember you at all. But I bet if I did you against this wall now, my memory would come right back.”
Shit, shit, shit! I tried to jerk my arm away, but he held tight. My heart started to pound as I struggled against him, trying desperately to get away. With one swift move, he slammed me backward against the wall. I cried out in pain as my back and head made contact with it. He pressed his body hard against mine, immobilizing me and making it difficult to breathe. With one hand, he gripped both of my wrists above my head like a vise. I winced as his stubble scraped my face and the scent of whiskey overwhelmed me. His putrid breath felt hot on my neck as he said, “Just relax, baby.”
“NO!” I screamed, writhing and kicking with everything I had, but he was strong. I had never felt so powerless in my life. My attempts were futile, and I began to panic at the thought of what was about to happen to me.
Just as Johnny’s free hand began to snake its way up my skirt, I heard Pete’s voice yell, “Hands off, asshole!”
Johnny turned around just as Pete’s fist made contact with his jaw. I heard a loud crack, and Johnny released his grip on me and tumbled to the floor. My mouth hanging open, I stared at Pete, who was wincing and cradling his fist in his other hand. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that my sweet little Pete had swooped in and delivered a beat down in order to save me.
Pete yelled at me, “Go!”
Startled into action, I ran for the door, stumbling in my heels in my haste. Pete grabbed my hand to keep me upright as we tore across the broken, uneven pavement. We didn’t stop running until we reached his car. Pete turned the key, stepped on the gas, and peeled out of the parking lot. After running two stop signs, he finally pulled the car over several blocks from the motel. Still panting, he looked at me and scowled.
“What the hell happened?” he exploded. “Was that Johnny?”
I looked at his red knuckles. His hand had to hurt. I hoped the cracking sound I had heard was Johnny’s jaw and not Pete’s hand.
Using every last ounce of energy I had to keep my voice even, I said, “The one and only.”
His face was as red as his knuckles. “I told you this was a bad idea! Not only did we break into someone’s room—which is illegal, by the way—but I assaulted someone!”
“Pete, I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d be back that soon.”
He shook his head angrily. “You’ve taken this way too far, Jules. What do I have to do to get it through your head?”
I wasn’t used to Pete being angry with me. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly, as a tear rolled down my cheek.
He wasn’t even close to finished with his tirade. “What do you think he would have done to you if I hadn’t come back just then, huh? What if I hadn’t come with you tonight? You didn’t think any of this through! The bartender told you to steer clear of Johnny, but you couldn’t let it go. I’ve never been so scared in my life as when I walked into that room. To hear you screaming…and then when I saw him pinning you against the wall…when I think about what nearly happened…Is any of this getting through?”
/> When his expression turned from angry to frightened, I lost it. Tears gushed from my eyes as reality came crashing in on me. What would have happened if Pete hadn’t been there? I didn’t want to think about it, but my mind kept replaying how Johnny had so easily overpowered me and how utterly helpless he had made me feel. Struggling to push him out of my thoughts and compose myself, I wiped my face with still-trembling hands.
Pete finally looked over at me and groaned. “Aw, now, that’s not fair. I can’t be mad at you if you’re crying.” He reached over and gripped my shoulder, only to cringe and pull his hand back. “Holy hell, my freaking hand really hurts!”
“You may need to get that looked at,” I said uneasily, wiping my streaming nose. His knuckles had begun to swell.
Wincing, he made a fist and released it. “It doesn’t feel broken.” He chuckled. “I wonder if that guy has been able to get up off the floor yet.”
I smiled through my tears. “You really put a beat down on him, Pete. Muy macho.”
Pete grinned at me. It struck me as horribly cute that Pete was so proud of clocking some guy. He had never hit anyone before in his entire life. “I think you’re a bad influence, Jules. I was very mild-mannered until you came back to town.”
That was true, and I wasn’t proud of it. I changed the subject. “So if you’re not going to get your hand checked out, at least let me wrap it up and put some ice on it. There’s a fully stocked first-aid kit at the coffeehouse.”
He sighed dramatically. “If you must.”
On the drive back to Java Jive, I filled Pete in on what I had found out from the bartender about Johnny and his fight with Dave. As Pete was unlocking the door, I asked, “Did you learn anything from talking to the manager?”
He laughed. “I learned that he’s a jackass.”
“I already knew that.” I led Pete to the counter and filled a bag with ice, gently placing it on his injured hand.
“He told me that he wasn’t Johnny’s effing keeper and that my whore friend better bring his effing key back.”
I reached into my pocket and produced the key. “You mean this key? Oops.”
“Tough shit. We’re not going back to return it.” He shook his head. “This whole thing is a mess. Charlene was right—Dave was in with a lot of screwed-up people who wouldn’t think twice about killing him. The police targeting you in his murder is laughable. You were attacked tonight. Now do you feel like you can quit all of your Sherlock Holmes nonsense?”
He was right. This evening had actually scared some sense into me. I still felt a bit fragile and on edge, weak and shaky from the frightening ordeal. My head was splitting from when Johnny shoved me against the wall, but I didn’t dare tell Pete. I got the first-aid kit out from under the counter and opened it. “Yeah. I really was in over my head tonight. I think I’m done.” After removing the bag of ice, I took Pete’s hand and began wrapping a compression bandage around his injured knuckles.
“Good. Because if you need saving again, you’re out of luck. I don’t punch so good with my left hand.” He gave me a mock punch on the cheek with his free hand. I playfully swatted his hand away, but when I looked up, his face had become serious. He reached out again, this time cradling my face in his hand and piercing me with his brown eyes. “Jules, it really scared the shit out of me when I saw that guy assaulting you. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you…”
Pete’s touch on my face warmed me all over. My heart got that strange, full feeling like it had when he sang “You Are Mine.” I smiled, because I couldn’t speak. My body began to quake again—with fear or exhaustion, I wasn’t sure. I held his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest.
Then the front door burst open, and the moment was shattered. Pete and I flew apart as Cecilia stalked through the door. Her eyes were flashing, and her face was white with fury. She was pissed. “I thought you said you were tired tonight, Pete! I guess you’re not too tired to go slumming with your slutty help.”
Oh. No. She. Didn’t. Although, to be fair, I was purposely dressed as a slut, and technically, I was the help, so her statement was not inaccurate. This seemed like it was going to get ugly, so I took my cue to leave. I murmured, “I’ll just head out to my corner now. Good luck, Pete.” I ran for the door, giving Cecilia a wide berth. Pete was on his own with this one.
It was nearly midnight, but since it was a college area, there were still a few people milling around and I felt fairly safe walking home by myself. My feet were killing me in these heels, but it would be far worse to walk barefoot on the sidewalk, so I hobbled the couple of blocks back to my apartment. Now that I was alone, a rush of feelings began to swirl inside me as images from the previous hour flashed through my head. Pete’s fist colliding with Johnny’s face. The raw fury in Pete’s eyes. The crack of Johnny’s jaw. Johnny’s body pressed against mine. His breath. His overpowering strength. I walked faster.
Rounding the corner into my apartment complex, I got an odd tingling feeling in my spine that someone was watching me. I turned around, but didn’t see anyone. There was no way that Johnny could have dragged himself up off the floor and followed us from the Franklin Motel. I was sure that I was imagining things. It had been a long, completely insane day. Hopefully tomorrow would be better. I kept thinking that, but it never seemed to happen.
When I got to my door, I found my neighbor sitting on my doorstep. I so didn’t have the energy to deal with him tonight. Although, this time, he was sitting upright and seemed to be sober.
He looked up at me and his eyes bulged out. “Whoa. You look…different.”
I looked down at my clothes. “Um…costume party. You remember me?”
“Strangely enough, yes. I came to apologize. I’m sorry about crying all over your doorstep.”
Wow. Nice kid. “It’s okay. We’ve all been dumped before.”
He got up and stuck out his hand. “I’m Trevor Wells, by the way. I’m a computer science major at Vandy.”
“Juliet Langley. I’m the new manager at Java Jive.”
“Oh, I love that place,” Trevor exclaimed, and then grew serious. “Hey, I wanted you to know that I’m really not a drunk. I just had a bad day. It won’t happen again. I promise to be a model neighbor. Anything you need, just come over and ask me.”
“Thanks, Trevor.” I suddenly had a thought. “Actually, there is something you could help me with.”
“Okay, shoot.”
I was going to make one last attempt to figure out the connection between Dave and the mail he had taken from the three Vandy students. I didn’t know if I could trust Trevor with all of my information, so I just told him the bare minimum. “If I gave you the names of three Vandy students, could you try to help me figure out the connection between them?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I can get you pretty much any information you want to know about any student there.”
“Wow. You must be pretty hooked up.”
Grinning sheepishly, he admitted, “No, I just know how to hack into their student database.”
“Oh, my. Okay, then.” You never knew when a computer geek could come in handy.
“Hey, come to my apartment, and we can do it now.” He hopped up and ushered me through his door.
I would have preferred to first wash away the lingering stench of Johnny that still clung to me. I would probably have to burn these clothes, not that it would be a big loss. But no time like the present. Trevor’s apartment wasn’t any cleaner or better smelling than before, but compared to Johnny Brewer’s motel room, this place was spotless.
Opening his laptop, Trevor typed furiously for a few minutes and then asked, “What are their names?”
“Whitney Birch, Jared Drummond, and Aaron Saltzman.”
He typed some more, and then frowned at the screen. “I’m not seeing anything that they have in common. Different majors, different dorms, different ages, different hometowns, different clubs…There’s nothing. Here, have a look.” He turned his laptop so that
I could see the screen. I couldn’t see any similarities between the three of them, either. He ventured, “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want to know all of this?”
I sighed. I guessed I could tell him a little more. “I think my…um…friend stole some mail from those three students. I’m afraid this friend could be mixed up in something that’s not terribly legal. I’d like to know a little more about it so I can find a way to help, but I can’t figure out why he stole from them specifically.”
Trevor looked thoughtful for a moment and turned his laptop back. He studied the screen for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Got it. Their mailboxes are near one another.”
“That’s it? That doesn’t tell me much.”
“No, but it makes sense. People get their mail stolen at school all of the time. All of the student mailboxes are in one place, and hardly anyone locks them. It would be very easy to grab mail out of several boxes in a cluster.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed. I’d been hoping for a more meaningful connection than simply that their mailboxes were close to one another. Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, I headed toward the door. “Well, thanks for the help, Trevor. I appreciate it.”
“No prob.”
Chapter 12
The next morning, I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. I ached all over, and not even a hot shower could work out all of the kinks in my back and legs. I had kind of forgotten about the physical strain of working in a restaurant from sunup to sundown. I desperately needed coffee, but that would have to wait until I got to work. Since I worked at a coffeehouse, I didn’t feel the need to purchase a coffeemaker for my apartment—or any other kitchen appliances, for that matter. I hadn’t really intended to have a life outside of work, and my plan was to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at Java Jive. Maybe once the whole murder thing calmed down I wouldn’t be quite as exhausted.
The day at Java Jive started out just like the day before, with an endless line of customers and consequently a bunch of frazzled employees. Something was different today, though. I felt like everyone was staring at me, and I could swear I kept hearing my name being whispered. As I was wiping off the counter, a smartly dressed woman sat down in front of me.
Death Before Decaf Page 12
