A Whole Latte Murder

by Caroline Fardig

  I let out a bark of laughter. “Kind of?”

  All joking aside, I was thrilled at the idea of the two of them hanging out together. When they first met, they couldn’t stand each other, but they’d since become actual friends. It certainly made my life a lot easier than it had been when all they would do was trade insults back and forth.

  Wayne stuck his head into the pass-through between the kitchen and the front counter, calling, “Hey, Juliet, the food delivery guys are here early today.”

  “Thanks, Wayne,” I replied. Coming out from behind the counter, I went and put my arms around Ryder’s neck. “Sorry, duty calls. Please be careful. And promise me you’ll take care of Pete.”

  “I promise.”

  —

  About three hours later I got a call from Ryder. “Hey, Juliet. It’s me. You, uh…” He sighed into the phone. “Can you meet us at the Vanderbilt ER?”

  “What?” I cried, dashing for the door. “What happened? Who’s hurt?”

  “Pete.”

  Chapter 2

  As I ran full speed toward my apartment, where my car was parked, I yelled into the phone, “You promised me you’d look out for him!”

  “Calm down. He’ll be fine. He’s pretty banged up, though…and he may have a broken arm.”

  “That will pale in comparison to what I’m going to do to you!”

  I hung up on him and jumped in my car, screeching out of the parking lot and speeding the short distance to the Vanderbilt ER. Of course there was nowhere to park, so by the time I finally found a space and got to the door I was even angrier than I’d been when Ryder delivered the news. I found out what room Pete was in and hurried there.

  Pete was on the examination bed, his arm elevated on a pillow. His poor face was all cut and scratched, and his shirt was torn and bloodied in several places. When he saw me, though, he broke into a smile. I immediately rushed to him, taking his uninjured hand and giving him a kiss on the top of his head.

  “Pete, what happened?” I asked.

  I was actually pleasantly surprised at his apparent condition. Horrible thoughts had run through my head on the way over, not knowing what Ryder had meant by “pretty banged up” and too angry to stay on the phone with him long enough to find out.

  He shifted in the bed and winced. “I grabbed a piece of loose rock. Rookie mistake.”

  Ryder, who was standing in the back corner, arms crossed and jaw clenched, probably ready for me to lose it on him, said, “It could have happened to anyone.”

  I left Pete, marched over to Ryder, and slugged him in the chest. He didn’t even flinch. It was a little anticlimactic. “You did a shitty job of watching out for him.”

  His eyes got dark. “I couldn’t hold his hand the whole time, Juliet.”

  “You could have done something.”

  Pete said, “Hey, don’t blame him. It was an accident.”

  Glaring up at Ryder, I said, “We’ll discuss this later.”

  I went back over to my spot next to Pete and took his hand again.

  “Jules, put the Redheaded She-Devil back in her cage,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  A beautiful blonde in a crisp white lab coat came into the room. “Well, Pete, you have a fracture in your wrist, but other than that, yes, you are in fact fine.”

  My eyes widened as I realized who the woman was. “Mallory!” I exclaimed, rushing to give her a hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Pete grinned at us. “What are the odds of Mallory Shaw being my doctor on a random visit to the ER?”

  When I’d first started at Java Jive in college, Mallory was already working there. Even though she was a senior and I was a freshman, we hit it off immediately. After she started med school, she had to quit working due to her heavy course load, so we would only see her when she had time to stop in for an occasional meal.

  “Hello, Juliet. It’s been a long time. And it’s Mallory Beaumont now.” She wiggled her left hand at me, her huge diamond ring sparkling under the fluorescent lighting.

  “You and Jack got married? That’s great news.” I remembered back to when Mallory went on her first date with Jack.

  —

  “How’s my hair?” Mallory had asked me, having fluffed it about thirty-seven times in the previous two minutes.

  She and I were standing in the ladies’ room at Java Jive. It was almost closing time, and we had talked Pete into covering the counter for us so I could help her get ready for her first date with this new guy named Jack.

  “It looks great, but if you mess with it any more, you’re going to ruin it.”

  She froze, a stricken expression crossing her pretty face. “Oh, no. You know I’m no good with this hair and makeup stuff.”

  True, Mallory was a no-nonsense kind of girl. She was completely beautiful inside and out, and her skin was so perfect, she had no need for makeup. Hence the reason she had no idea how to apply it. I, on the other hand, had a pale complexion that needed a lot of help and a somewhat unruly mane of red hair, so I was a hair and makeup pro.

  She was obviously nervous, because she kept chattering on. “He’s a first-year med student. A year older than me. And he’s gorgeous. And brilliant. And so kind! Juliet, you’re going to absolutely love him.”

  I chuckled as I applied some more blush to her cheeks. “It sounds like you already love him, Mal.”

  She sighed dreamily. “I don’t believe in love at first sight, but when I’m with him, I feel alive and all tingly on the inside. I’ve never felt that way before. We’ve known each other for only a few weeks, but there’s just something about him. I’m going to marry that boy.”

  “Slow down, there. You can’t know that already.”

  Mallory looked pointedly at me. “You want to marry Pete, and you’ve never even kissed him.”

  My entire face flamed red. “I don’t want to marry Pete. That’s ridiculous. We’re best friends.”

  “Best friends don’t look at each other the way you two do.”

  There was a knock at the door. Pete called, “Mallory, your date’s here.”

  She squealed. “Ooh! Wish me luck!”

  I gave her a hug. “Good luck, although it sounds like you won’t need it.”

  —

  Present-day Mallory smiled, looking back and forth between Pete and me. “And of course everyone knew the two of you would end up together.”

  Pete and I both started protesting at the same time.

  “Oh, we’re not—”

  “No, the two of us aren’t—”

  I jerked my thumb toward Ryder. “I’m actually with him.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, her cheeks turning pink.

  Ryder growled from the corner, “It’s a common mistake.”

  Her professional bedside manner firmly back in place, she said, “Pete, I’ll have someone come in and clean up your face, and then we’ll have your wrist casted. Get comfortable, because you’ll be here for a few hours. And, Juliet, pull up your calendar. We’re going to find a date this week for a girls’ night out.”

  —

  A few hours later, after I’d apologized and been forgiven for blaming Ryder for Pete’s accident, I drove Pete to his house.

  “Seriously, Jules, you don’t have to stay here with me,” he said, slurring the last half of the sentence as he stumbled up his sidewalk.

  Luckily, I had a tight grip on his good arm to make sure he didn’t create any extra bumps and bruises. “They gave you some good drugs, so I’ll settle you in at least.”

  I got him in the house and laid him down on the couch, placing the remote within his reach. I then ran to the kitchen to rummage through his refrigerator for a bottle of water and something for him to eat. By the time I’d warmed up a slice of leftover pizza and brought it out to him, he was fast asleep.

  I stayed for about an hour, until he woke up, grunted something at me, and got up and headed for his bedroom. After I made sure he was safely in bed, I let myself out, h
oping I would be lucky enough to fall asleep that easily tonight.

  —

  The monotony of my workdays lately was starting to get to me. Today was pretty much an exact copy of yesterday, including an even grumpier Pete, thanks to the added pain of his wrist and other wounds. Ryder came in for lunch, but I could tell he was still not quite over my rant about Pete’s accident. He was a little standoffish and short with me.

  That evening, I finally got a reprieve from my all-encompassing boredom. Wednesday was open mic night, which was one of my favorite things about Java Jive. I would’ve loved to have been up on the stage performing, but that ship had sailed long ago. I was still more than happy to watch others perform, though.

  Open mic night was as packed as ever, and Pete seemed to be in a little bit better mood, at least. Maybe it was the pain meds. We were standing off to the side of the tiny stage in the front of the coffeehouse, facing the crowd.

  “That girl’s not bad,” he said, thoughtfully regarding the pretty singer onstage. He turned his attention back to the crowd. “And your neighbor is drooling all over her.”

  I scanned the room for Trevor Wells, the college student who lived in the apartment next to mine. When I’d moved down here, all I could afford was a crappy one-bedroom apartment, so I unfortunately lived in a complex with a gaggle of struggling college students. I liked Trevor, though. He was a good kid.

  “Yep, Trevor has it seriously bad for Chelsea. She’s Kira’s roommate. They live at the end of our floor, and he’s always finding some excuse to go knock on their door.” Even though she was our newest barista, Kira was my favorite evening-shift worker. She learned quickly and never gave me a moment’s trouble.

  “Did you mean to make a lame rhyme?”

  Great. Tonight it was Sarcastic Pete. “No.”

  He shook his head. “Poor nerd. He doesn’t have a chance in hell with her.”

  I frowned. “I think he has a great chance with her. He’s a nice guy.”

  “Says the woman dating the GQ model.”

  I was tired, and my temper wasn’t going to hold much longer. “I thought you guys were bros now. Why are you dissing Ryder, too?”

  He tugged at a lock of my red hair. “I’m just having a little fun, that’s all. Don’t be so uptight. Ryder Likeapony can take a joke.”

  “Not really. And I wouldn’t call him that to his face, especially if he has his gun with him.”

  Pete shrugged, unimpressed, but then winced and grabbed his wrist.

  “Speaking of him, how’s your wrist doing?”

  He turned to glare at me. “You’re mothering me again. I don’t need it or want it.”

  I held up my hands in surrender. “Sorry. I was only asking how you were doing. Don’t bite my head off. Anyway, I’ve got a food order to put in. See you in a bit.”

  Hurrying back to the office, I felt horrible for ditching Pete and lying about the food order, but I didn’t want to be around him while he was like this. Normally, I’d rather hang out with him than anyone, but not so much lately. It twisted my insides to be such a terrible friend to him when he needed me the most, but some days I just couldn’t stand to be with him.

  —

  After I’d had enough alone time to clear my head, I came back out to the front of the house. The last performer had just ended his song, and people were picking up their things and trickling out of the coffeehouse. Pete seemed to have left already. I felt a stab of regret. To cheer myself up, I went to find Trevor, and of course he was chatting with Chelsea.

  “Hey, guys,” I said.

  Both Chelsea and Trevor turned to me and smiled. Trevor said, “What’s up, neighbor?”

  “I came over to tell you how much I enjoyed your song, Chelsea. Pete liked it, too. The lyrics were amazing,” I said.

  A wisp of Chelsea’s blond hair fell into her eyes as she looked down and blushed. “That means a lot coming from you and Pete.”

  My smile faltered. Pete was the real deal—he worked with famous talent every day. I, however, was a washout. My successful but brief music career tanked years ago. Trevor knew, and I assumed he’d told Chelsea at some point, based on a few comments she’d made. I didn’t really care that people knew; it just wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on or be reminded about.

  Trevor jumped in, saving the conversation from becoming awkward. “We’re heading out. Want to walk with us?” he asked me.

  I glanced at my watch. It was closing time, but I still needed to do a few things. “Thanks, but I have to close up.”

  Chelsea’s face creased into a frown. “Be careful going home, Juliet. You know a girl went missing around here a few days ago.”

  She had a point. The entire area had been on edge lately after a Vanderbilt student had disappeared. The rumor going around was that she had quit and gone home in the middle of the semester due to financial trouble. That story seemed a little fishy, especially since the police were still actively investigating her disappearance. Of course the media was going nuts over it, trying to cause a panic. It was working, too—every college girl in town was convinced she was going to be kidnapped whenever she set foot outside.

  “I will. Thanks,” I replied.

  Since I lived only a couple of blocks from Java Jive, unless it was raining or bitterly cold, I walked to and from work. That meant I was frequently out alone after dark and before sunup. Even with the disappearance of the girl, I normally felt safe enough around here. I’d gone to college at Belmont University, just yards away, and I knew this area like the back of my hand. Besides, with all of the nubile young co-eds running around, who’d want to nab a cranky thirty-year-old lady like me?

  As we were cleaning up, Cole, one of my baristas, came to me carrying a multicolored fringed scarf. “I found this thing under one of the tables.”

  I took the scarf in my hands and ran my fingers over the silky fabric. “I think Chelsea Stone was wearing this tonight. I’ll make sure she gets it back. Thanks.”

  “Okeydoke,” he replied, going about his business.

  Once everyone was finished cleaning and ready to head out, I killed the lights and locked up the coffeehouse. I hurried down the street toward my apartment complex, surprised at how deserted the area seemed tonight. There was a chill in the air, but no breeze. Everything was still and silent. And creepy. As much as I tried not to think about it, Chelsea’s warning rang through my head. I picked up my pace, nearly jogging the last block. Once I made it to my parking lot, I felt somewhat less apprehensive. At night there was always a ton of students milling around, going from apartment to apartment like the place was one giant outdoor dorm. Tonight, however, it was mostly empty. It made sense, though, because it was the week before spring break, and that meant midterms. For once everyone was studying instead of carousing at night.

  As I trudged up the rusty stairs to my second-floor apartment, I realized I didn’t know for sure whether Chelsea lived in apartment 28 or 29, and didn’t want to be wrong and knock on her idiot neighbor’s door by mistake. Trevor would know.

  He answered on my first knock. “Good to know you got here in one piece,” he joked. “Chels was kind of freaked about you walking home alone.”

  “It was nice of her to worry about me.”

  “I told her you were a real badass and could take care of yourself, but I don’t think she believed me.”

  I laughed at his assessment of me. “Right, that’s me.” I held up the scarf. “This is hers, isn’t it? I was going to drop it off but didn’t know her apartment number.”

  Trevor peered at the scarf. “Yep, she was wearing it while she was singing tonight. She said it was her good luck charm.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and cast his eyes down. “If you want, I can show you where her apartment is.”

  “Um, isn’t it just down the…” I was going to make a sarcastic remark about it being like twenty yards away, but then I realized he was looking for an excuse to talk to her again tonight. Duh. I took pity on him. “Yeah, Tr
evor, why don’t you take me there.”

  He couldn’t hide his sheepish smile as he led the way across the balcony.

  Our apartment complex had been a motel once upon a time, and the only renovating that had been done to make the switch was adding kitchens to each room and slapping on a new coat of paint. The place still had the look of a fleabag motel. Each apartment had an exterior door, which was not exactly the height of security, as well as a window that faced the open-air balcony.

  Trevor knocked on the door of apartment 29 and waited. The lights were on, but there was no answer. He knocked again, this time saying, “Hey, Chelsea, it’s Trevor and Juliet.” Again no one came to the door. Trevor shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He knocked again. “Chelsea? Kira?”

  “Kira’s at a marathon study-group session tonight. She took off early from work to go to it. Maybe Chelsea’s taking a shower or something,” I said.

  “She took a shower before open mic night. Her hair was wet when she got there.” Trevor knew way too much about this girl.

  “Well, she could be doing something else in the bathroom and can’t come to the door.” I knew he wanted to see her again tonight, but maybe it wasn’t in the cards.

  “I’ll call her.”

  “She might not answer if she’s otherwise occupied…”

  He shook his head. “She always answers.” That was kind of gross.

  Trevor called her, pacing as he waited for her to pick up.

  I said, “Look, I’m tired, so why don’t you just take this scarf, and—”

  Ending the unanswered call, he cut me off. “I’m worried about her.”

  “Why? I’m sure she’s—”

  “I’m going in there.” He reached for the doorknob.

  I blew out an uneasy breath. “I don’t think we should go into her apartment without her permission.”

  The door was unlocked, and Trevor was already inside before I finished protesting. “Chelsea!” he called. “Chelsea!”

  I reluctantly followed him into her apartment but only to implore him to get the hell out of there. “Trevor, we’re invading the girl’s privacy. We need to leave. Come on.”