Coffee & Crime

by Anita Rodgers

  When I got out front, Zelda was already idling outside in the jeep. She hit the horn and motioned at me to hurry. I turned and bumped into Debbie, who handed me my jacket and bag. "Better hurry, Zelda wants to go now."

  I raised my eyebrows at Debbie. "So I see." I shrugged on my jacket and slung my bag over my shoulder. "Do me a favor and leave some cherry pie for the customers, okay?"

  Debbie snorted and shook her head. "That's a good one, Scotti."

  I went out the front door and climbed into the jeep. "What's the hurry? The church will be open until midnight. There's no rush." We always took the old pies from the diner and gave them to a local church who fed seniors and the homeless.

  Zelda pulled a set of keys out of her pocket and dropped them in my lap. She put the jeep in gear and eased into traffic. "Oh, we're not rushing to the church. We're rushing to George's office."

  I picked up the key ring in my lap and saw that they were George's. "But it's Sunday — nobody will be there."

  Zelda glanced at me and grinned. "Exactly."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We roared down the 134 in Zelda’s jeep, toward Pasadena. She shot me a sidelong glance. "Nervous?"

  I played with George's key ring and shrugged. It wasn't so much nerves as ethics. Even though we had the keys, could I justify breaking into George's office? I reasoned that since he’d given me the keys, he wanted me to have access to his office. Except that I couldn't get past why he'd done it. Perhaps the answer lie in the phone or files that we couldn't open. I scanned through my last conversations with George, hoping to recall an inference or clue that'd explain his actions. But all our conversations centered on the diner and our plans. Nothing mysterious, nefarious or even odd. Except the briefcase. Hang onto this until I see you again.

  Zelda shot across three lanes to get to the Colorado exit — leaving a chorus of angry horns behind her. She eased off the gas and slowed as we came to the red light at the top of the ramp.

  "What about security?" I asked.

  The light changed and Zelda zipped through the intersection. "What security?" She cut over to the right lane and turned into George's parking garage. The gate was down. She put out her hand. "Give me George's card." I dropped the keys into her outstretched hand. She rolled down her window, stuck out her hand, and scanned the card. The scanner beeped, went from red to green and the gate lifted. "Nice," Zelda smiled.

  "The security that all these buildings have," I said. "Security cameras?"

  Zelda pulled the jeep into a slot close to the elevators and peered through the windshield. "I don't see any security cameras."

  I pointed to the sign. "This is a reserved spot."

  Zelda read the sign. "I'm sure Dr. Singh is off today. Nobody wants their teeth drilled on Sunday." She released her seatbelt and got out of the jeep like it was Christmas morning and she couldn't wait. "Come on."

  I got out of the jeep and slammed the door. "Just because there aren't cameras down here doesn't mean there aren't any in George's office." I scanned the garage with cautious eyes. "And just because we don't see cameras down here doesn't mean there aren't any."

  “Man you’re full of positivity.” Zelda pushed the call button for the elevator. "You think George put security cameras in his office?" The doors slid open and we stepped into the elevator. "Was he that paranoid?"

  I stared at the keys in Zelda's hand. "The activity on that scanner card is probably recorded somewhere too. And George didn't own the building, so he wouldn't have decided whether they had security cameras."

  Zelda sighed. "Okay, then let's go home."

  The elevator thumped to a stop on the fourth floor and the doors slid open.

  "You want to go home?"

  Zelda fanned her arms and shrugged. "If you're going to freak out about secret security cameras, then what's the point?" The doors started to close but Zelda put out her arm to keep them open. She raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

  I huffed and pushed past her out of the elevator. Taking a win, Zelda chuckled and followed me into George's darkened offices. The lush blue carpet swallowed the sound of our footsteps as we walked through the reception area. Looking behind me I said, "This is creepy." The soft grey glow of the rainy afternoon coming through the windows provided light but not much. In the gloom, shadows animated and poised to pounce. "Hello?"

  Zelda punched my arm softly. "You're jumpy."

  I shrugged. "Maybe Jake is working late. Lawyers are always working late and on the weekends when they have a big case, aren't they?"

  Zelda snorted. "According to who?"

  "People."

  Zelda held her arms out at her sides and did a full turn. "I don't see anybody but us."

  Despite Zelda's mocking, I scouted the premises. The last thing we needed was Jake rounding the corner or sneaking up behind us. But my nerves were unfounded because all the office doors were locked, the kitchen and copy room were empty and the only sound was the rain whispering at the windows.

  "Satisfied?"

  I grabbed the keys from Zelda and unlocked George's office. "We're in and out in twenty minutes. No screwing around."

  I took one step into the office and froze when I saw George sitting at his big antique desk and smiling at me. It was only my imagination playing tricks on me but I felt his spirit in that room.

  Zelda put her hands on her hips and scowled. "What's the matter now?"

  I shook my head. "Just memories of George." Death is a thief you never see coming, but I could sure feel his breath on the back of my neck. "Never mind."

  Zelda shook her head and flipped on the lights. Before I took another step, she was across the room at the filing cabinet — yanking on the drawers. She snapped her fingers and put out her hand. "Give me those keys."

  I crossed the room to the filing cabinet but held the keys to my chest. "Those could be client files. We can't look at them. It's against the law."

  Zelda laughed. "We're already breaking and entering genius, what's the diff?" She snatched the keys from me and flipped to a file drawer key. The key fit ,and she pulled open the first drawer. "I love it when I get it on the first time."

  Scanning the file tabs, it was clear the files weren't for his clients but rather research of some kind. Zelda shut the drawer with a thump, opened the other three drawers in succession, and found similar files. Disappointed she closed the drawers — one, two, three, four, then locked the cabinet.

  She went for the two doors on the far side of the room and I drifted over to George's desk. I sat in his chair and said, "So, this is how it feels to be a millionaire." I spun around in the chair surveying George's kingdom. "Nice."

  Zelda came out of the closet and rolled her eyes. "What happened to in and out in twenty minutes?" She opened the other door that led to a private wash room. "Quit screwing around and help me."

  I watched her from across the room. "What's with you?"

  She turned away from the wash room and crossed the room to the desk. "I've got a bad vibe." She bopped me lightly on the head. "You had to mention security cameras?" She fisted and un-fisted her hands as her eyes darted around the room. "Let's do this or go!"

  Nausea teased my stomach. She was right, there wasn't time to screw around. We went at George's desk and found some interesting files in his bottom drawer. "Let's copy these." Zelda went deer in the headlights on me. I jerked my thumb toward the door. "There's a copy room down the hall.” I picked up a stack of files. "Grab the rest of those and follow me."

  Zelda became more agitated when we discovered the copy machine was locked and required a pass code. "Did this guy password everything in his life?" Zelda looked toward the door like the boogie man lurked outside in the hall. "Jeez."

  I knelt down and spread the files out on the floor.

  "What are you doing?"

  I opened the first file and pulled my phone out of my pocket. "We're going to have to photograph this stuff if we want copies."

  We couldn't snap everything but got what l
ooked important. I stacked the files to carry them back to George's office. "Hopefully we got what we needed because we won't get another chance to get in here."

  "Why do you say that?"

  We carried the files back to the office.

  "I don't know but when people die things change." I tried to return the files in their proper place but honestly didn't remember the order they were in before we removed them from the drawer. I locked the drawer and straightened up. "Okay."

  Zelda glanced around nervously. "Time to split." I hung back. Zelda looked desperate. "What?"

  I slowly turned, taking in all the details of the room. For such a large office there wasn't much there aside from George's antique desk and the filing cabinets. Just a couple of extra visitor chairs against one wall and a large credenza perpendicular to George's desk. I stared at the credenza.

  "What are you doing?" Zelda asked from the doorway.

  "Looking."

  Zelda was so agitated that her body vibrated. "At what?"

  "I feel like we're missing something."

  "Scotti, come on."

  I walked to the credenza to get a better look. It was huge and mahogany, like George's desk. On top were an attractive art deco clock and a silver tray that served as a portable bar with rocks glasses, ice bucket and a few bottles of expensive scotch. I reached for the cabinet doors below.

  "Scotti!"

  I turned to Zelda who looked pale and nervous. "What?"

  She glanced over her shoulder. "I've got a bad vibe. We need to get the hell out of here now."

  Zelda's panic was real even if it was based on paranoia, so I backed away from the credenza, snapping pictures of it as I went. "A few more pics — we can look at them at home."

  Zelda twitched like a puppet. "Would you hurry up already?"

  I backed out of the office, snapping pictures as I went. But once I was through the door, Zelda muscled me out of the way. She killed the lights, locked the door, and grabbed me by the elbow. "Now, Scotti, now."

  She rushed me to the elevator and pushed the button repeatedly until the doors slid open. She shoved me inside and pushed the button for the garage until the doors closed. During the ten seconds of descent, she paced like an expectant father. When the elevator doors opened onto the parking garage, she looked right and left then fast-footed me to the jeep. Just to screw with her, I snapped pictures of the garage, the elevator, and her. "Get in the damn car!"

  I laughed at her and climbed into the jeep. Before I could buckle my seatbelt, she put the jeep in gear, backed up and zipped to the exit. I slammed against the door fighting to get my seatbelt fastened. "Zee, what are you doing? Trying to permanently disable me?"

  Zelda scanned the key card and stared at the gate as though that would make it lift faster. When the gate lifted enough to clear, she hit the gas and shot out of the garage onto Colorado Boulevard.

  I managed to click in my seatbelt. "What’s the matter with you, Zee?"

  She eyed the rear view mirror. "Look behind you."

  I checked the side mirror and saw Jake Kannanack pulling into the parking garage. "Oh crap."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We continued east on Colorado Boulevard — the wrong direction for home. "Where the hell are we going?"

  Paying no attention to the wet roads and churning up water under her wheels, Zelda zipped in and out of traffic she said, "I don't know."

  "Then can we go home? We’re working the early shift tomorrow." Zelda hooked a left at Lake but sped past the entrance to the 210. I turned in my seat and pointed. "You missed the freeway entrance."

  She drove a few more blocks then pulled into the parking lot of a popular bistro. The waning daylight and misty air made the place look like an English cottage. We idled in the parking lot — the rumble of the engine and the thump of windshield wipers filling the silence. "Are we stopping for dinner?"

  Zelda switched off the engine. The rain pattered on the roof like thousands of tiny foot soldiers on their way to battle. Zelda stared at the parking lot through the windshield. "You're probably right. They had to have security cameras."

  My stomach clutched. "Nothing we can do about that now. Let's go home and print everything while we've got the chance." If we were on security footage, once somebody noticed, a visit from the cops would follow. "Yeah, let's go now."

  Zelda gaped at me. "We took over a hundred pictures."

  "So?"

  "It'll take two weeks to print everything with our printer."

  I frowned because she was right. Our printer was one of those three-in-one types that gobbled up ink cartridges like Zelda gobbled up pancakes. "Shit."

  We sat in silence — thinking.

  Zelda snapped her fingers. "What about that copy guy? Isn't his shop around here?"

  "You mean, Franky? We give the old pies to his church every two weeks and you don’t remember his name?"

  Zelda rolled her eyes. "The point is, he's got all that state-of-the-art copy equipment, right? He could download all the pictures from our phones and print them out, yeah?"

  Franky had impressive equipment but I didn't know if he could do what Zelda was suggesting. But even if he didn’t have a magic machine, he could produce copies faster than we could. "He probably has something that would work." I shrugged. "It's worth a shot." I grinned. "And he's open 24-7."

  <<>>

  Franciskos Pashayan, aka Franky P, was an Armenian immigrant who loved America. His business colors were red, white, and blue, and he wore a little American flag pin on his lapel. He took great pride in being an American businessman and always wore a suit and tie to work. We found Franky manning the counter by himself, with only one machine engaged by a do-it-yourself customer. Perfect, no waiting and no prying eyes.

  "Scotti!" Franky's smile exposed the gold cap on his front tooth. He took my hand and pumped it. "So good to see you again. What can I do for you on this terrible rainy night?"

  I explained what we wanted and asked if he could do what we needed. He nodded. "Piece of pie." Franky still had a little trouble with American idioms.

  We surrendered our phones and Franky went into production mode. As it turned out, he could do exactly what Zelda had suggested. He uploaded our photo files to his computer, then sent the files to a copier from his computer. Within twenty minutes, the machines were spitting out copies of everything. God bless technology. And Franky.

  In all, we'd taken nearly two hundred pictures. Franky added a front and back cover and bound it in a convenient package — and threw in an extra so we each had a full copy.

  By nine o’clock, we had two collated and bound copies of the pictures we took. Franky stacked the two binders and put our phones on top. "What else can I do for you?"

  I pulled out my wallet. "Not a thing. What do we owe you?"

  "Zero dollars and zero cents."

  I frowned and shook my head. "I can't let you do this for free."

  "Why not? You bring the pies and cakes every two weeks to my church. Do you ask for something? No, you give the pies and say, 'Enjoy!' So, I give you copies and say, Enjoy! It all comes to be fair, yes?"

  Franky's church was the beneficiary of the old pies and cakes from the diner but I tried to explain that the pastries were a small thing. "What's the point of tossing out perfectly good food, when somebody else can enjoy it?"

  Franky nodded. "Sure, sure." He peered through the front windows at the rain that pummeled the empty parking lot. "You stay dry best you can, my friend." He slid the binders across the counter. "Enjoy!"

  I put my wallet and phone back in my bag and scooped up the binders. "Okay, thanks. And speaking of pies, we've got some in the jeep for you. Get your umbrella and galoshes big guy."

  <<>>

  We were both starving but Zelda was so desperate to get home that I couldn't convince her to stop for burgers and fries. When we got home, we were greeted by a trembling Boomer who was so happy he peed on the floor.

  I headed straight for the kitchen.
"If we eat fast, we can look this stuff over and still get a few hours of sleep."

  But Zelda was already passed out on the sofa, with Boomer perched on her hip, wagging his stub. I shooed Boomer away and pulled an afghan over her, then turned up the heat.

  I was too wound-up to sleep and made a tuna, avocado, and pickle sandwich on sprouted grain toast — which I split with Boomer. Five minutes later he threw up his half of the sandwich on the kitchen floor. I made a mental note to clean that up later.