Death Before Decaf

by Caroline Fardig

  Several big, burly men ran over and pulled Gina and Charlene out of the grave. The two women were covered in dirt, their hair and clothes disheveled and ruined. Gina burst into tears and ran for the parking lot. Charlene smoothed her hair and dress, smugly watching Gina’s retreating back. The men then turned their attention to pulling Dave’s casket out of the grave.

  Pete threw his arm around my neck. “You know, if Dave had been here, he would have laughed his ass off at all the nonsense. I don’t know about you, Jules, but I want my funeral to be exactly like this. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Yes, it was the exact mix of morbid and hilarious that you look for in a funeral. Do you think people will still come to the luncheon after all this?”

  “Hell if I know. We’d better head over and start setting stuff out, just in case. I think they’re pretty well done here.”

  “Wait, I want to see how they get the casket out.”

  We stood and watched for a few minutes. Eight huge men pulled and hauled on that casket, but it was too deep into the hole for them to be able to leverage it out. Finally, they twisted it around and let go, allowing it to drop the rest of the way into the hole. It must not have gone in straight, because they then proceeded to stomp the hell out of it to get it to fit. I covered my eyes. I couldn’t watch anymore.

  “Had enough?” Pete asked.

  “I’m going to have nightmares about this.”

  He chuckled, leading me away from the mayhem and toward our cars.

  —

  When we got to Java Jive, Pete and I began setting out the salads and sandwiches that the kitchen staff had put together last night. The staff trickled in, one by one, and soon the buffet was ready. Pete and I, on the other hand, were not ready for the craziness that we were convinced was inevitable with all the people from the funeral packed into one room together.

  Pete pulled me aside. “What if someone starts a fight in here?” he asked worriedly.

  “Then we call the cops.”

  “What if the place gets destroyed in the meantime?”

  “I have pepper spray in my purse.”

  He rubbed his temples. “What if it turns into a full-blown bar fight? I don’t think one can of pepper spray is going to do much good.”

  “We could bring the hose in from outside and spray everyone down.”

  “I’m serious!”

  “So am I!”

  Pete ran his hands through his hair, at a loss for words.

  I loosened his tie and undid his top shirt button. “Take a breath, Pete. How about this—we take all of our staff and post them throughout the front of the house. If they feel like trouble is brewing, we deal with it before it gets out of hand. Sound good?”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “I guess.”

  Funeral attendees were starting to file in, so I quickly called the staff back to the kitchen. “First, thank you all for attending Dave’s funeral. His family may not have noticed amid all of the…um…disturbances, but it meant a lot to Pete that you were there.”

  “Disturbances? You mean when all those hicks went ape shit on each other?” Cole chortled.

  His face grim, Logan barked, “Shut up, Cole.”

  Ignoring them, I continued, “In light of the hurt feelings from this morning, Pete would like for us all to stay in the front of the house during the luncheon, for safety reasons. Please listen for arguments and disagreements, as we would like to stop them before they have a chance to get out of control. I know this is a lot to ask, but our first priority has to be to keep everyone safe. Please don’t try to stop any fighting yourselves. Find Pete or me immediately. We will handle it. Okay?”

  They all nodded, not looking too thrilled at the prospect of getting caught in the middle of another redneck brawl. They all dispersed, except for Rhonda.

  She sneered at me and asked, “Did you see your picture in the Gazette this morning?”

  Shit. That reporter bastard Don Wolfe was at it again. I called that one. “No, I did not.”

  She laughed meanly. “It wasn’t flattering. And neither was the story. Trouble seems to follow you wherever you go.”

  I didn’t really care what Rhonda thought, and I wasn’t about to get into an argument with her. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, hurrying out of the kitchen.

  —

  Gina, Billy, and Charlene were notably missing from the festivities. I assumed that Billy was busy moving his crap out of Gina’s house, or at the very least standing there aghast while Gina threw his crap out the front door. Or maybe he was getting his eyes tended to. Gina had very nearly clawed them out. I wasn’t expecting any of them to show up. After all of the nonsense Gina and Charlene pulled earlier, I wasn’t sure either was up for any more theatrics.

  Surprisingly, our staff dealt with the funeral-goers politely and with respect. I was just starting to relax when Charlene made her grand entrance.

  “Pete, sweetheart, yoo-hoo!” Scrubbed of the graveyard dirt and dressed in yet another hooker-esque getup, Charlene called and waved from the door.

  I glanced at Pete, who was frozen in his tracks, a look of total repulsion on his face.

  Charlene strutted over to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Pete. You wonderful man. I can’t thank you enough for footing the bill for this extravagant party for my family and friends.” Good old Charlene was seeing dollar signs again. She was ogling Pete the same way she had after he gave her that check at her house. I nonchalantly strolled closer to them so that I could hear their conversation.

  Pete grabbed her arms and disentangled them from his neck. “I did this to honor my friend Dave, Charlene. Not to throw you a party. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get some more plates from the back.” He swiftly walked away, leaving her pouting. Go, Pete. He usually couldn’t deal with Charlene, but today he put her in her place.

  Everyone who had been gawking at Charlene and Pete’s little exchange returned to eating, and I went around refilling coffee cups and collecting dirty plates. From what I could tell, the funeral-goers all seemed to be in a better mood now, probably thanks to the free meal. I was relieved to find that my staff didn’t have to deal with any unsavory characters. Rhonda, Jamie, and Shane probably could have held their own, but the others would have been toast.

  Pete emerged from the back with a stack of plates in hand, and Charlene immediately descended on him like a horny harpy. “Would you find me a place to sit, darlin’?”

  Snagging Shane by the arm, he said, “Shane, get Mrs. Hill a table. Charlene, have you met Shane?” After pushing the two of them together, he delivered his plates to the buffet table and holed up behind the counter, pretending to be very busy making coffee.

  I couldn’t resist. I leaned across the counter and asked, “Did I just see you ‘Have you met Shane’ Charlene? If so, that was pure evil genius. Shane is a very pretty young man, and if he’s even remotely polite to her, she’ll be on him like white on rice.”

  “What?” he said, wrinkling his forehead and feigning innocence.

  “I’m on to you, buddy.”

  Charlene was busy chatting up a very wary-looking Shane, so she didn’t notice when Gina walked in. Gina had cleaned herself up, but she still looked a wreck. I felt for her, even though the whole casket diving incident was mostly her fault. I hurried over to greet her, but Logan beat me to her. He put his arm around Gina and guided her to a table, then he ran and got her a drink. After she was settled, he filled a plate of food for her and sat down with her. What a sweet kid.

  People were starting to leave a couple at a time, so the crowd was getting more manageable. We needed to begin cleaning up or we’d never get out of here, so I made the decision to pull Shane from Charlene’s clutches so he and Brandon could get a head start on the dishes.

  I walked over to where Charlene had Shane pinned and said, “Shane, could you please start on the dishes? We have quite a stack of dirty ones in the kitchen.”

  “Absolutely,” Shane sa
id, beaming at me. He jumped up and took off for the kitchen, knocking over his chair in the process.

  I righted his chair and noticed Charlene giving me the evil eye. “Do you and my Pete have something going, firecrotch?” she asked.

  Redheaded She-Devil did not like being called “firecrotch.” Resisting the urge to slap Charlene, lest I start her second chick fight of the day, I replied, “No, but neither do you and Pete. You need to get that through your thick head.”

  Standing up, she got in my face. “We’ll see about that.” Spinning around and whacking me with her nasty, touch-up-needing hair, she zeroed in on Pete.

  He saw her coming, raised his palms, and mouthed, “What did you do?” at me.

  I gave him an apologetic smile and trailed behind her.

  Sashaying up to Pete, she stuck out her lower lip. “Pete, sugar, I know you love me. But Red here doesn’t believe me. If we don’t have something going on between us, then why else would you shower me with money, take me out on a date, and be so awfully sweet to me?”

  It was a good thing Miller Time Guy and Big Nose had taken a pass on the meal. They might have frowned on the fact that Charlene thought she was “dating” Pete, too.

  “Because I’m a nice guy. I only took you out to”—he flicked his eyes momentarily at me—“cheer you up after your husband died. Dave was my friend, and I felt I owed it to him to check on you. Nothing more. I gave you some extra money because I knew you’d be strapped without his paycheck coming in, and I wouldn’t put it past you to do something illegal to make a quick buck. But I’m done being nice. You made a mockery of his funeral, Charlene. I know you’re hurting from losing him, but this has to stop. You need to take it down a notch. Spend some time by yourself and allow yourself to grieve. And if nothing else, you need to understand that you and I will never be together. Ever.”

  Charlene stared at Pete, dumbfounded. She didn’t have a response, probably because that was the best kiss-off speech in the history of kiss-offs. There was no rebuttal for an ass-chewing like that. She backed away, wide-eyed. On her way out the door, she stopped for a moment next to Gina and Logan. Charlene whispered to Gina, “I’m sorry,” and fled.

  Wheeling back around to Pete, I said, “That was awesome! My sweet little Pete grew a great big pair of big boy balls and finally told Charlene what he thought. I’m so proud.”

  “My balls have always been plenty big,” he said defensively. “Besides, she needed a little tough love. She’s out of control.”

  “No shit.” After I thought about it for a moment, I realized Pete wasn’t being mean with what he said to Charlene. He was trying to help her. It was obvious she didn’t have anyone in her life to point out what a mess she was making. Every time I thought Pete couldn’t be more perfect, he surprised me.

  Most of the funeral-goers were heading out now, so I dismissed the staff from crowd control and had them begin cleaning up. I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do after the meal was over, whether I was “allowed” to go home or if I had to stay with Ryder again or what. I hadn’t talked to him since this morning, but I knew he had to be either following a lead or lurking around outside somewhere. I still couldn’t put together how Dave and his ex-con buddies fit in with whatever Ryder had been investigating at Vanderbilt. I knew better than to ask, because I wouldn’t get an answer anyway.

  Finally, Gina was the only one who was left. She had her hand on Logan’s shoulder, and Logan seemed very upset. There were tears in his eyes, and he was speaking earnestly to her. I continued to clean tables, staying far away, knowing that neither of them would want me in their business. Logan wiped his eyes, and Gina gave him a hug. She got up and went over to speak to Pete.

  I took my opportunity to make a little peace with Logan. Walking over to him, I said gently, “Logan, if you’d like to get out of here, you can. We’ve got more than enough help to get this place cleaned up.”

  He glared at me through his tears. “Yeah, I’ll go. But don’t think that I believe you actually care. I know it’s all an act.”

  The kid hated me. Maybe he needed someone to take his grief out on. I just wished it didn’t have to be me. “I do care. I’m sorry about how I treated Dave. I screwed up. And I wish I could tell him that, but I can’t. I have to live with it.”

  “We all have to live with what happened,” he said, brushing past me and storming out the door.

  Pete came over and put his arm around me. “I think you’re really getting somewhere with him, Jules,” he said with mock seriousness.

  “Shut up.”

  Chapter 22

  Once we were close to being finished, I texted Ryder to ask him what I was supposed to do next. I hated having to ask someone else’s permission to go to my own apartment, but Voice Changer Guy’s death threat weighed more heavily on me than I was letting on. He texted back, saying I could either stay at Java Jive, in the back so no one knew I was there, or he would take me to his house. He still had work to do, so either way I’d be on my own for a while. Going to my own home was unfortunately not an option. I chose to stay at the coffeehouse, thinking now would be a good time to try out a couple of pastry recipes I’d been working on. I wanted to get away from serving store-bought pastries as soon as we could. Granted, it would take a little extra manpower to bake them every day, but I figured I could come in a little early and get them started. What was another couple of hours tacked on to my already too-long day?

  The place was spotless again, and Pete and I let the staff go home. He asked me, “What are you up to now?”

  I hadn’t told him about my scary phone call, because he would only worry, and Ryder seemed to have my safety taken care of anyway. “I’m going to try out some recipes I want to use to replace our yucky bakery items.”

  He grinned at me. “Mmm. I think that’s a great idea. Want some help?”

  “Sure.” Pete and I used to concoct recipes in the kitchen all the time when we worked here. That’s how the waffle taco was invented. Pete came up with an equally nasty one, the chili donut, but the waffle taco was always our favorite.

  “What are we making?”

  I got out the recipe binder from my café and removed three printed pages. “How about Oatmeal Coconut Chocolate Chip Cookies, Bumbleberry Streusel Muffins, and Bacon Cheddar Scones?”

  “What’s a bumbleberry? It’s not like a dingleberry, is it?” he asked, making a face.

  I stopped hauling ingredients out of the refrigerator to stare at him. “What are you, ten years old? It’s a foodie term for mixed berries.”

  “Oh. Maybe you should call them Mixed Berry Muffins to avoid confusion.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be a problem since our customer base is mostly adults, Pete.”

  He ignored my little jab. “Jules, do you have to put coconut in the cookies?” he asked pleadingly.

  Getting out several bowls and various utensils and setting them on the prep table, I replied, “Oh, quit your whining. You may not like coconut, but other people do. Besides, I’m trying to get away from the same boring old cookies and muffins you can buy anywhere. Our coffee drinks and food are unusual—why shouldn’t our pastries be, too?”

  “I trust your judgment, Jules, but it’s a big risk to completely change our whole pastry selection.”

  As I started mixing the cookie dough, I asked him, “How many times in the history of Java Jive have we sold out of those tasteless, prepackaged pastries we sell?”

  He thought for a moment. “Um…once, almost?”

  “Exactly. And do you know how many times my café sold out of my homemade gourmet pastries?”

  “I bet you’re going to tell me.”

  “Every day,” I said proudly. “Well, that is, until Scott the Dickhead ruined the place and everything went to hell.”

  He looked at me sympathetically. “You really need to let that go, Jules.”

  I threw a handful of chocolate chips at him as my response, which he caught most of and ate. Smiling, Pete p
icked up a scooper and started helping me deposit cookie dough onto several cookie sheets.

  After putting the cookies in the oven, I asked him tentatively, “Did you see the Nashville Gazette this morning?”

  “Nope,” he said quickly, looking away.

  “Liar. You did!” I cried accusingly.

  He held out his hands defensively. “The article about you wasn’t that bad…”

  I sighed. “Rhonda seemed to think it was. She made sure to rub it in my face earlier.”

  “Don’t worry about her. She’s always hated you.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” I replied dryly.

  He chuckled. “Nobody reads the Gazette anyway.”

  “That’s exactly what Gertie told me.”

  “We Bennetts are wise people.”

  “Wiseasses, maybe.”

  Pete’s eyebrows shot up. “Ooh! I’m gonna need some ice for that burn.” As I was about to make a retort, he shoved some chocolate chips in my mouth and continued, “The police have assured you that you’re not a suspect, so who gives a shit what some hack reporter says? You just need to get over yourself. This whole thing will blow over soon, and you’ll be bitching because your life is so boring.”

  Once my mouth was no longer full of chocolate chips, I said, “You’re right. A little bad press is one thing I don’t need to waste time worrying about.”

  “Good girl. Now let’s make something I can eat. What about those bacon things?”

  While we were busy frying bacon for the scones, we heard the front door open. I was having so much fun with Pete, I had all but forgotten the reason I was here (hiding from a would-be murderer). I jumped, whispering nervously, “Didn’t you lock the door?”

  “Why are you so jumpy?” he asked, going to the pass-through to see who was here. He looked surprised. “It’s Cecilia.” He disappeared out the kitchen door.

  While I was relieved that it wasn’t someone who wanted to murder me—well, probably—I wasn’t exactly thrilled that Cecilia had come to see Pete. She was bad for him. Not in a dangerous way—she just didn’t treat him well. She had never appreciated Pete’s sense of humor. Even in college, she’d always roll her eyes when he told a silly joke. Someone like her needed to date some stuffy, boring person—not Pete.