Death Before Decaf

by Caroline Fardig

  “How did you find out? Tell me.”

  “I told you I was a good sleuth, but you dissed my skills.”

  “Juliet…” he growled.

  “All right, all right. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I looked up your address on the county property assessor’s website.”

  He blew out a pent-up breath. “You’re nosy, you know that?”

  Throwing my hands in the air, I said, “If you would tell me stuff, I wouldn’t have to be.”

  Smiling again, he put his arm back around me and pulled me close. “Now that you know my last name, I don’t feel as mysterious anymore.”

  “And I don’t feel as slutty.”

  He chuckled. “You’re far from it. But what I don’t get is that most women, once you sleep with them, start shopping for a wedding dress. I don’t get that impression from you.”

  “It wasn’t long ago that I had a relationship end very badly. Worse than I could have imagined. I had my wedding dress picked out. Big mistake.”

  “Was it the guy who stole everything from you?”

  “Yep.”

  “What happened?”

  “Hell if I know. I met Scott a few years ago. I should have known immediately that he was a dickhead, right?” I made a face. “Scott.”

  “Every guy I know named Scott is a dickhead.”

  “Same here. He was a sales rep for a food-service supplier, and the bakery where I used to work was one of his customers. That’s how we got to know each other, because I was the manager there and had to deal with him to purchase our food and supplies. We started dating, and I told him how I wanted to open my own place. He said that was something he had always wanted to do, too, so we started making plans. Two years ago, we opened up a café together. It was mostly mine, though, because I had put up most of the money.”

  “That wasn’t a red flag right there? That you took all the risk?”

  I shook my head ruefully. “The day we opened, he put a ring on my finger.”

  “Slick.”

  “Very. We moved in together, and everything was so perfect. I never saw it coming. One day, he faked being sick and stayed home from work. What he was really doing was cleaning out our apartment and the café’s bank account. At the end of the day, my best waitress quit, and I went home to an empty apartment. I found out later that she left with him. It was going on right under my nose, and I didn’t have a clue.” I sighed, hanging my head. “I can’t believe how stupid I was.”

  He gently took hold of my chin and turned my face toward his. “You’re not stupid. You trusted someone you loved. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

  “I’m not convinced I loved him all that much. I loved my café. Sure, the rejection hurt, but what really knocked me for a loop was having to close the restaurant. It was like losing a part of myself. I was kind of hoping to redeem myself with Java Jive, but it’s going to hell in a handbasket.”

  “You’re a fighter. If anyone can get it turned around, you can.”

  “I’d have a lot more time to spend on the coffeehouse if people would quit trying to murder people on my watch.”

  “Yes, you would.” He leaned toward me and kissed me.

  It was a sweet kiss, not too short, not too long. I asked, “So do I get to know some of your backstory now? You’re thirty-four and single. There must be something wrong with you.”

  He smiled. “I was married. A long, long time ago.” I didn’t expect to hear that.

  “You don’t seem like the marrying type. What happened?”

  “My wife was murdered.”

  I gasped, feeling terrible for making jokes before. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked—”

  “It’s fine. It was years ago. I turned obsessing about her killer into a profession.”

  “That’s why you’re a PI?”

  He sighed, muttering, “Yeah.”

  “Did you ever solve the case?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “No. Never did.” Wow. Ryder was even more screwed up than I was. Maybe we were perfect for each other. He changed the subject abruptly. “Want to watch a movie?”

  Relieved that our melancholy conversation was over, I wrinkled my nose and said, “With Seth Davis, film studies professor extraordinaire? I don’t know. I don’t want to have to watch some artsy-fartsy film and discuss the underlying subtext or some shit like that.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of the marathon of shark-themed movies on the Syfy channel.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  We snuggled together on the couch, laughing at inappropriate times and cheering for the sharks until we fell asleep.

  —

  Ryder nudged me and said, “It’s morning, sunshine. Don’t you have a funeral to go to?”

  I kept my eyes closed, not about to give up my cozy spot next to him. “Nope. Dave’s funeral isn’t until noon.”

  “So what you’re saying is that you have a little free time?”

  I opened my eyes and looked at his hopeful face. “A little.” As he nuzzled his way from my collarbone to my earlobe, I amended my previous statement. “Okay, a lot.”

  —

  A couple of hours later, we were on our way to my apartment so I could get ready for Dave’s funeral. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was something that I needed to do. Java Jive was closed today, but Pete was hosting a meal there after the funeral (a “repast,” as it was referred to here in the South). He had the staff coming in to work a little overtime today. As soon as the funeral was finished, we all were to hightail it over to the coffeehouse and start setting out food.

  “Hey,” Ryder said as he parked the car. “Since you won’t let me take you to the funeral and hold your hand, I’ll be there watching at a safe distance.”

  “That sounds even creepier than asking me on a date to a funeral in the first place.”

  He snapped, “Would you be serious, please?” I gave him a mock serious look. “Carmichael and Brewer are dangerous, and they’re still out there. Since they were fellow inmates of Dave’s, they might try to come to the funeral.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Not if they killed him. That would be awkward.”

  “You’re still not being serious.”

  “Sorry.”

  “If anything feels off to you, come to me immediately.”

  “Will do. But don’t you have better things to do than spy on a funeral?”

  He slipped his hand into mine. “I don’t have anything better to do than keep the girl I’m not dating safe.”

  “Wow. You really know how to talk to the ladies.”

  Smiling, he said, “It’s a gift. You sure you don’t need help with your shower?”

  “I’m sure.”

  After a lingering kiss, I headed for my apartment. I showered and dressed properly for a funeral and packed an overnight bag, just in case. After this morning, I had decided that being forced to stay with Ryder wasn’t such a bad thing. When I went out to get in my car, Ryder was still sitting there in the parking lot. There was no way following me around was interesting for him, but he was insistent. I guessed having my own badass security detail wasn’t a terrible idea, considering some psycho had threatened to kill me.

  Chapter 21

  Dave’s sister, Gina, had said that Charlene either couldn’t or wouldn’t pay for a big funeral, so they were only having a simple, quiet graveside service. From the look of the rabble roaming the cemetery, though, this funeral was going to be anything but simple and quiet. Half the crowd from The Dirty Duck was here, including Ol’ Ricky the skeevy bartender and Johnny’s bandmates. The Java Jive employees (minus Wayne, who had a medieval nerdfest to attend today) were here, too, even though some of them (Cole and Jamie) looked like they were not terribly happy about it. I spied Pete, looking handsome in his suit, talking earnestly to Gina and patting her on the back. Being at odds with him was like a knife through my heart. I couldn’t stand it much longer.

  I didn’t feel righ
t about taking a seat next to all of Dave’s friends and family, so I stood back behind the rows of chairs. There wouldn’t be enough chairs for everyone, anyway, which was a testament to how good of a guy Dave had actually been. I didn’t see Johnny anywhere, so I relaxed a little. Music started to play, signaling the beginning of the service. Everyone who was still milling around came and found a place in front of the casket.

  Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t notice when Pete came and stood next to me. He startled me when he whispered, “I hate funerals.”

  Shocked that he was speaking to me, and not yelling, I replied quietly, “Me, too.”

  “They remind me that life is way too short…and that I shouldn’t waste time on stupid arguments,” he said. “Especially with my favorite person in the world.” He whispered softly in my ear, “I’m sorry, Jules. I said some horrible things to you. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Tears pooling in my eyes, I looked up at him. “I already have. I’m sorry, too.”

  Pete smiled. “Let’s never fight again, okay?”

  “Okay.” I felt so relieved. All was right with the world.

  The minister began the service. He spoke of all the ways Dave had helped out his friends when they were in need. It was very moving. He then called for people to come to the front and share their memories of Dave. Charlene got up first. Whoa. That was most certainly not a mourning dress that she was wearing. Her dress was skin-tight, leopard-print, and cut so low she had to have duct-taped her boobs to keep them in it. Next to me, Pete’s mouth was hanging open. I put my finger on his chin and shut it for him. He stared at Charlene, completely repulsed.

  When she got to the microphone, she put on a fake sad face and sighed. “I wrote a poem.” She looked upward. “This is for you, Davey.” I could hear the crowd murmuring and shuffling a bit. You would have thought they could give the widow a little respect, given the circumstances. Charlene read,

  “My wonderful husband, taken before his time.

  He was sexy, well hung, and kind.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand, hoping I had heard her wrong. Pete’s eyes grew even wider. She continued,

  “He could cook, and not just in the kitchen.

  After he pleasured me, you wouldn’t find me bitchin’.”

  From the crowd, one man slurred, “That’s the only time you’re not bitchin’.” His comment was met with a fair amount of chuckling from the crowd.

  Pete leaned over and said, “Sounds like it’s Miller Time for him. Do you suppose he’s still drunk from last night, or do you think he had a beer breakfast?”

  I stifled a laugh. “Good question. I’m still waiting for the camera crew from My Big Redneck Funeral to show up.”

  He snorted, covering it with a cough.

  Charlene glared at the crowd and went on,

  “I’ll never forget our wedding at The Dirty Duck.

  My Davey was the only man for me, and a good—”

  “Bullshit!” cried Miller Time Guy, lumbering out of his chair. “You said I was the only man for you, Charlene!”

  Another man stood up. Not a looker, this guy. His nose took up half of his face. “Damn, Charlene, I thought I was your man.”

  Charlene’s eyes bulged, her head whipping back and forth between the two angry men. The crowd began to murmur and whisper.

  I nudged Pete. “You went out on a date with her this week, too. Want to throw your two cents in?”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  Chuckling quietly, I murmured, “Answer me this: if you’re sleeping with Charlene—”

  “I don’t want to ever hear those words in a sentence again.”

  “I mean, is it proper funeral etiquette to show up at the funeral of the husband of the woman you’re nailing?”

  “Proper funeral etiquette went out the window a long time ago. I’m now thinking that inviting these people to lunch at Java Jive wasn’t such a good idea.”

  While we were talking, Charlene had wisely chosen to sit back down. Her two suitors were headed for each other, fists clenched and nostrils flaring. With all of the commotion and irreverence around here, my running commentary with Pete went unnoticed.

  “I’ve never been at a funeral where there was a fight before,” said Pete.

  I nodded. “This is hands down the best funeral I’ve ever gone to.”

  Pete and I had to take a couple of steps back so the two men had plenty of room for their graveside brawl. The minister was trying unsuccessfully to get people to sit down, but everyone was out of their chairs, trying to get a better view of the showdown.

  Miller Time Guy stuck his finger in Big Nose’s face. “You keep your damn hands off her. I don’t do nobody’s sloppy seconds.”

  Big Nose puffed out his chest. “I don’t share my women with anybody. You need to take a hike, dumbass!”

  Miller Time Guy shoved him. “Screw you.”

  “You want to go? Let’s go!” Big Nose was sober, coldcocking Miller Time Guy before he even knew what hit him. Miller Time Guy went down like a sack of potatoes, out for the count. Big Nose spat on him and stalked back to his seat.

  “Well, that was a sucky fight,” Pete observed, disappointed.

  Red-faced, the minister was yelling into the microphone now. “Please take your seats! This is a funeral. Please show some respect for the deceased and his family!”

  Once the show was over, the crowd resignedly returned to their seats. I scanned the cemetery, wondering if Ryder was here and had witnessed that little exchange. He was parked at a safe distance for spying, but too far away for me to be able to see the expression on his face. It probably wasn’t nearly as funny without being able to hear what the men were saying to each other.

  The minister wiped a shaking hand down his face. Poor guy. I’d hate to be in charge of this cluster. He asked nervously, “Is there anyone who’d like to share a nice, touching story about Dave?”

  Dave’s sister, Gina, approached the microphone. She looked more haggard than when we saw her a few days ago. She opened a folded-up piece of paper and began to read haltingly. “My brother, Dave, was the best big brother anyone could ask for.” She looked up and gave Charlene the stink eye. “And he was a faithful spouse, unlike some people. He was always there for me, ready to drop everything when I needed something. Dave would do anything for his friends, too. He might have been rough around the edges, but he cared about the people he loved. Dave worked hard to make ends meet.”

  Charlene let out a sob, and Gina’s baby daddy, Billy, reached over and gave her a pat on the back.

  Gina glared at both of them and continued, “When he was younger, he made some mistakes, but he took his punishment like a man and learned from it. He turned his life around and tried to help others do the same. Dave was a good man, and he—” She stopped short, and her whole face turned red with fury. “BILLY, IS YOUR HAND ON THAT WHORE’S ASS?” she screeched.

  Everyone swiveled toward Charlene and Billy. At that point, Billy had his hands up in the air and was scrambling to scoot away from Charlene. Gina shoved the poor minister aside and made a beeline for Billy, a murderous look in her eye. Charlene backed away from them, understandably scared.

  I leaned over to Pete and said, “Would you look at that, Pete? Billy the Cheating Bastard is not a changed man after all. Who could have seen that coming? Oh, yeah. I did. I totally told you so. He may not be guilty of murder, but he’s certainly guilty of being a world class douchebag.”

  “Well, excuse me for trying to look for the good in people. I’ll try to be more of an asshole next time.”

  I pinched his cheek. “Don’t you dare. You’re perfect the way you are.”

  “I am, aren’t I?”

  We turned our attention back to the three-ring circus in front of us. At this point, the minister had given up. He was sitting on the ground, several headstones away, a dazed expression on his face. The people were all focused on Gina, Billy, and Charlene, no one making a move to stop
what was clearly about to happen.

  I hadn’t noticed before, but Gina had some serious fingernails. They were painted bright red and had to be over an inch long. She went nails first, straight for Billy’s face. He must not have thought she would go through with it, because he didn’t get his hands up in time and got scratched all to hell.

  He fell back against the empty chairs, screaming, “Ow! My eyes!”

  Gina then whirled on Charlene, who had backed herself up against Dave’s casket. “You bitch!” she howled. “You cheated on my brother the entire time you two were married! All he ever did was love you, and you treated him like shit!”

  Gina picked up the closest flower arrangement and hurled it at Charlene. It hit Charlene square in the gut, drenching her with water. Screaming, she doubled over.

  Pete elbowed me and whispered gleefully, “Chick fight!”

  Gina wasn’t finished with her tirade. “And now, you dirty skank, you have the balls to go after my man? Oh, hell no!”

  Gina charged Charlene, who still hadn’t recovered from the flower arrangement attack. Charlene fell back against the casket, and it wobbled on its flimsy stand. Before Charlene could stand back up, Gina came after her again, and this time they both slammed into the casket. One of the legs on the stand buckled, and the casket started sliding down into the open grave. Thank goodness the lid was closed.

  Wide-eyed, I grabbed on to Pete’s arm, saying, “This cannot be happening.”

  He was riveted by the scene unfolding in front of us, as was the rest of the crowd—with the exception of Jamie and Cole, who were filming it on their phones and snickering.

  Tangled up with each other, Gina and Charlene both lost their balance when the casket shifted. They fell backward together, their momentum pushing the casket completely off the stand. The stand, which was on wheels, shot out in the other direction and nailed the podium, knocking it over, while the casket crashed into the grave on its end. Gina and Charlene tumbled in after it.

  For a moment, there was silence. No one spoke, and no one moved.

  Charlene’s muffled voice cried, “Get me the hell out of this damn hole!”