by Jinty James
“I think it was more than that.” Zoe put a teapot on her tray. “If you ask me, it wasn’t an accidental death.”
“What are you saying?” Lauren frowned at her cousin. “Someone killed Steve?” She lowered her voice.
Zoe scanned the room but no one seemed to be looking in their direction. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. What if it was ... murder?”
Lauren instantly searched for Annie, relieved to see her snoozing in her cat bed.
“Are you serious?”
“As a dash of milk in a cup of tea,” Zoe returned.
“Why would you think it was something sinister like that?” Lauren hadn’t known what to think that morning when they’d been informed of Steve’s death. Had it been an accident? Perhaps it was a heart attack, although Steve had looked pretty healthy – apart from all the coffee he drank. Could you die from caffeine overload?
“Because he – the detective – looked at us like we were suspects. At first, anyway.”
“Isn’t that his job?” Lauren had no idea why she was defending the man.
Her cousin had a point – she had felt like a potential suspect, especially with the detective’s – Mitch’s – gaze scrutinizing her, as if he were trying to see into the very depths of her. But she’d told herself she’d only been fanciful. It had been a long time since a guy had instantly caught her attention, and she was unaccustomed to the feeling.
“I guess,” Zoe said grudgingly. “But I don’t think he would have asked all those questions if it had been an accident. Plus, don’t forget he didn’t tell us how Steve died, did he? He said they had to wait for the report.”
“You’re right,” Lauren said thoughtfully. “Maybe we should talk about this later, after we close.”
“Definitely.” Zoe slid the plate with the blueberry muffin on to her tray. “I’ll take this over to table two.”
“Thanks.” The raspberry swirl lady from yesterday was at that table, but alone this time. Lauren hoped she enjoyed the muffin.
There had been no sign of Pamela, who had held court yesterday with her two guests. But that wasn’t unusual. Some of her regulars only came once per week, while others, like Mrs. Finch, came in almost every day. That lady had popped in that morning, after the detective had left, and told Annie all about the commotion while she drank a cup of tea. Since Mrs. Finch lived next door to Steve, she’d seen and heard the police arrive.
Lauren hoped Annie would be okay – it might be too much for her if she had to listen to the customers talk about the tragedy. She glanced over at the shelf holding the cat bed – Annie slumbered, her ears twitching slightly. Perhaps a day at home tomorrow would be the best thing for the silver tabby.
“I’d better call my parents tonight,” Zoe said as she returned to the counter. “I doubt it will make the news in San Diego, but I don’t want them to worry.”
“Good idea.” Lauren felt guilty she hadn’t thought of calling her Mom, who lived in Sacramento. If it was a slow news day, Steve’s death could make the evening news and she knew her Mom would worry. She already fretted about Lauren running the café “single-handedly” and living in an old cottage, however well-maintained, despite Lauren reassuring her that Ed and Zoe worked at the café as well, and Zoe was her roommate.
She didn’t think her mother had worried so much when Lauren lived fifteen minutes from her childhood home in Sacramento.
“And then we can discuss what happened today,” Zoe said. “Over pizza.”
“Okay.” Pizza was one of Lauren’s weaknesses, and the local pizza place made a near perfect one, and delivered. “But why would someone murder Steve?”
AS LAUREN OPENED THE café on Tuesday morning, she thought back to her conversation with Zoe over pizza Friday night. Despite discussing the matter thoroughly, they hadn’t arrived at any firm conclusions that it was murder.
They had finally decided to wait until they heard more from Detective Denman – Mitch, although Lauren half-hoped they wouldn’t. That would mean Steve’s death had been either natural or an accident – somehow – and it also meant that she wouldn’t see the detective again.
On Saturday, Annie stayed home, only venturing into the café once, just as Mrs. Finch entered. After taking tea with her, Annie trotted down the hallway and through the cat flap to the cottage, seemingly glad to have an extra half-day off.
On Sunday, Lauren and Zoe hiked in the nearby Tahoe National Forest, a cool breeze ruffling their hair. On Monday, Lauren had done the grocery shopping and worked out a cupcake menu for the following week.
“Brrp?” Annie trotted over to the front door of the coffee shop.
Mrs. Finch tapped her way into the café, resting on her cane for a second.
“Oh, Annie.” There was a note of distress in her voice. “I definitely need a cup of tea – and one of Lauren’s cupcakes.”
“Brrt.” Annie brushed against the elderly lady’s leg, then slowly led the way to a table near the counter.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Finch?” Lauren hurried over.
“Ed said the first batch of apple Danishes is ready.” Zoe burst through the kitchen swing doors into the shop, then skidded to a stop. “You’re early today, Mrs. Finch.”
“You are open, aren’t you?” The senior tried to smile.
“Of course,” Lauren assured her. “What can we get you?”
“Oh, I’ve had the most dreadful morning,” the elderly lady told them.
“What happened?” Zoe’s eyes widened.
“Brrt?”
Lauren checked her practical white plastic watch – 9.35 am.
“The police knocked on my door this morning just before seven. They wanted to know everything about my relationship with Steve.” Mrs. Finch’s cheeks turned pink under her hastily applied orange rouge. “I told them I didn’t have a “relationship” with him. He was my neighbor – and my friend.”
“Good for you,” Zoe murmured.
“But that didn’t stop them. They said they had a search warrant to search my house – and garden. And just after Pastor Mike organized two nice boys to tidy up the wind damage from last week! The police tramped in, looked through things, and that detective who seemed nice last week asked me a lot of questions!”
“Brrt.” Annie patted the senior’s arm with her silver paw.
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Finch smiled at the cat and stroked her.
“Then what happened?” Zoe leaned forward.
“Zoe!” Lauren admonished in a hushed whisper.
“It’s all right, Lauren.” A wobbly smile. “They combed through my garden and bagged up some bits of plants – not even asking permission! Then the detective said they were leaving, but they might come back at any time. And,” she added indignantly, “not to leave town!”
“Wow,” Zoe murmured.
“I told him, ‘Where would I go, young man? I can’t drive anymore, and I certainly couldn’t walk to the edge of the city limits.’”
“What did he say?” Lauren couldn’t resist asking. Surely there wasn’t more than one detective in the small town? Mrs. Finch must be talking about Mitch.
“He said there are always buses and planes!”
“Oh dear.” Lauren didn’t know what else to say.
“Brrt!”
“Don’t you worry about him.” This time, Zoe patted her arm. “We’ll make you a nice cup of tea and Lauren’s baked a few different cupcakes today. And Ed’s apple Danish has just come out of the oven.”
“You do spoil me, my dears.” Mrs. Finch slowly relaxed in the wooden chair.
“It’s our pleasure.” Lauren smiled, realizing she’d come to think of the elderly lady as a kind of substitute grandmother. How could Detective Denman – Mitch – even think the frail woman was capable of murder?
Mrs. Finch finally decided on a banana cupcake with chocolate frosting and a pot of Earl Grey tea. Annie stayed by her side as Lauren and Zoe hurried back to the counter.
“So it was murder,”
Zoe whispered as she spooned tea leaves into the pot.
“Looks like it,” Lauren replied glumly. “Otherwise they wouldn’t be going through Mrs. Finch’s house and garden.”
“Or asking her all those questions.” Zoe shook her head. “Do you think we should suggest she hires a lawyer?”
“What?” Lauren stared at her cousin.
“It’s what happens in all the crime dramas,” Zoe explained. “If the police even think you might be guilty, it’s best to lawyer up ASAP. That way you know what you should and shouldn’t say. Even if you’re innocent,” she added hastily as Lauren continued to stare at her.
“I don’t believe Mrs. Finch is guilty,” Lauren stated. “Do you?”
“No,” Zoe replied. “But what does the detective think?”
“Who cares what he thinks?” Lauren plated the cupcake with more force than necessary. “I don’t.”
“Okay, okay.” Zoe held up her hands. “I just hope he doesn’t arrest Mrs. Finch because he thinks she did it.”
AFTER MRS. FINCH HAD left, looking a little more cheerful, more customers trickled in until they were almost full by lunch. Usually, Lauren would be glad to see so many patrons on a Tuesday, but since the most popular topic of conversation was Steve’s death, she wondered if it had been a good idea to open today.
Nonsense, she told herself. If you were closed, then poor Mrs. Finch wouldn’t have been able to spend some time with Annie, as well as fortify herself with cake and tea.
She tried to forget about the police descending on Mrs. Finch’s house – especially the detective in charge – and busied herself with attending to her customers.
Until ...
“Oh no,” Zoe whispered. She’d just finished making a cappuccino and was about to take it to the table when a tall, thin woman in her fifties walked in. Her hair was a dull brown and her outfit consisted of taupe slacks and a raisin colored sweater.
“Double oh no,” Lauren murmured.
Ms. Tobin was one of the regulars – the only one Lauren wished wasn’t a regular. She found fault with everything – apart from Annie.
“Brrt?” Annie trotted toward their most difficult customer, swiveled, and took her to a secluded table in the corner.
Lauren noticed the woman smile very briefly at the tabby, before sitting down.
“I’d better go over there,” Lauren said. She knew from experience that Ms. Tobin would not make her way to the counter to order.
“Okay.” Zoe picked up the tray and carried the cappuccino to a table near the front.
All trace of good humor was gone from Ms. Tobin’s face when Lauren reached the table. So was Annie.
“Is everything fresh today?” The middle-aged woman asked with a frown, tapping the menu.
“Yes, it is,” Lauren forced her voice to sound cheerful. “I made all the cupcakes this morning, and Ed’s apple Danish has just come out of the oven. And it’s cool enough to eat,” she added hastily.
“What sort of cupcakes?” Ms. Tobin peered toward the counter, but Lauren didn’t know how she would be able to see the baked goods from such a distance. She knew she wouldn’t be able to – unless she had binoculars.
“Banana with chocolate frosting, orange poppyseed, and vanilla.”
The customer sighed. “Vanilla is so boring, isn’t it?”
“Even with specks of real vanilla?” Lauren tried to keep her tone even.
“Maybe you should include that on the menu.” Ms. Tobin pointed to the entry on the menu with a short, clean fingernail. “It just says, the cakes are at the counter. You should have a daily menu for the cakes and pastries. Then I wouldn’t have to ask you what you’re offering today.”
Or you could walk over to the counter and look for yourself. Lauren didn’t think there was any physical reason why this fifty-something woman couldn’t easily walk the length of the café to view the sweet treats in the glass case.
But ... she didn’t know anything at all about this customer, apart from the fact that she liked complaining. Maybe she had some kind of medical condition that limited her physically – yet during her days off, Lauren had seen her striding around the town. Perhaps she was just one of those prickly people who didn’t like anyone. Even Annie didn’t stay to “chat” with her – but did Ms. Tobin want the Norwegian Forest Cat to stay?
“No other pastries?” Ms. Tobin asked brusquely.
Lauren started, telling herself to focus. “Not yet.”
She’d been so busy in the dining area that she hadn’t popped into the kitchen to see what else Ed was baking that day. She knew he didn’t like being disturbed – or being told what to make.
“What a shame.” Ms. Tobin sighed again. “I suppose—” she paused “—I’ll have an orange poppyseed cupcake. Give me the biggest one.”
“They’re all the same size,” Lauren told her as politely as she could.
“And a large latte. Now, make sure you give me large. Not small, not regular. And I want two espresso shots in it. Don’t give me a large that’s full of milk and a single shot. It must have two shots of espresso.”
“Of course.” Lauren’s pencil stabbed out the order on her notepad.
She hurried back to the counter to plate the order, knowing from experience that Ms. Tobin might time her. Sometimes she wondered if it was worth having that lady as a customer, but she didn’t feel comfortable banning her. And what reason could she give? Because Ms. Tobin was a little rude?
Perhaps the middle-aged woman had an unhappy life, Lauren mused as she steamed the milk for the latte. Or perhaps she wasn’t a very good cook, and that was why she came in at least once per week for a sweet treat and a hot beverage.
“All anyone is talking about is the detective and how good looking he is,” Zoe grumbled as she joined Lauren at the counter. “Oh, and Ed said to tell you that he’s making cherry pie and it’s taking longer than he thought.”
“Make sure you save me a piece,” Lauren whispered, telling herself to ignore the first part of Zoe’s conversation.
“Already did.” Zoe cheered up. “And one for me, too.”
Ed’s cherry pie was legendary.
“How many is he making?” Lauren asked.
“Three. That’s all the cherries he has. We should definitely charge more for his pie,” Zoe suggested. “It sells out so fast.”
“Would that be fair to everyone, though?” Lauren crinkled her brow. “I’d feel guilty if we charged Mrs. Finch more.”
“We’d better save a piece for Mrs. Finch as well. I can take it to her house later. She needs extra cheering up after what happened this morning.” Zoe’s eyes narrowed as she studied her cousin. “I thought I might be imagining things, but I don’t think I was.”
“What?” Lauren placed the cupcake on the white china plate, careful that the tongs did not leave any sort on indentation on the unbleached paper case. Ms. Tobin noticed things like that.
“Whenever I mention the detective, your cheeks turn pink.” She giggled.
“They do not!” Lauren felt as if she suddenly had sunburn.
“They do. But don’t worry.” Zoe put her hand to her mouth, as if she were trying to stop laughing. “I think he’s noticed you, too.”
“Really? I mean, why would you say that?” Lauren tried to backtrack.
“Caught you.” Zoe unstifled her giggle. “It’s okay. I don’t like him in that way so we won’t have a problem if you go for it.”
“Go for what?” Lauren crinkled her brow.
“Go for what?” A deep, masculine voice asked.
Lauren’s mouth parted as she looked up. He stood there –Detective Denman – Mitch.
Oh no!
How much had he overheard? She couldn’t guess from his expression – it looked closed off and serious. He wore black trousers this time, with a cream button-down shirt. Lauren assumed it was part of his professional wardrobe, like capris, t-shirts, and sometimes an apron was for her.
Why hadn’t she noticed h
im enter the café?
Where was Annie?
“Brrt!” Annie suddenly appeared, a scolding expression on her face, as if she were saying, “Why didn’t you wait to be seated?”
Zoe snickered, then covered her hand with her mouth as the detective’s gaze turned to her.
“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Her cousin fled.
Coward.
“Brrt,” Annie repeated in an admonishing way.
“Why is your cat making that noise?” he asked. “Why isn’t she meowing instead?”
“She’s a Norwegian Forest Cat,” Lauren informed him. “That’s her way of meowing – or talking – although she can meow like a regular cat if she wants to. She can also purr.”
“Huh.” His eyebrows drew together as if assessing Annie. “She’s an unusual cat.”
“We like to think so.” Lauren smiled at the silver tabby, positive Annie smiled back at her.
“Brrp!” Annie seemed to agree.
“What can you tell me about Mrs. Finch?” he asked abruptly, straight back to business.
Her mind flashed on Mrs. Finch’s worried face that morning and she frowned.
“Why did you distress Mrs. Finch like that? Surely you don’t believe that she—” Lauren swallowed “—killed Steve?”
“What do you know about it?”
“I know a frightened old lady came into the café this morning, after her house and garden had been ransacked.” Lauren realized her voice had risen and she quickly looked around. But only a couple of patrons looked toward the counter.
“Does she come here often?” he asked.
“Practically every day,” Lauren said, then wondered if she should have answered his question.
“Brrt?” Annie asked softly.
“It’s okay.” She bent down to stroke the tabby, glad to have a second to gather her thoughts. “Why don’t you visit one of your favorites?” she whispered.
“Brrt!” Sounding happier, Annie trotted toward a table in the middle of the room, jumping on a vacant chair and causing a woman with glasses reading a book to show Annie the page she was up to.
“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” the detective asked.
