A Whole Latte Murder

by Caroline Fardig

  He was rooted to the spot in the middle of her living room, staring down the hallway. Chelsea’s apartment was different from mine—it was a two-bedroom, and the bathroom was at the end of the hall between the two bedrooms. The bathroom door was slightly open, and we could see a hand sticking out, about the right height if Chelsea was in the tub.

  “Trevor, let’s go.”

  “Wait.” He was staring down the hall. He choked out, “Chelsea,” as he took off for the bathroom.

  “Seriously?” I grumbled. Creeping on a girl who was in the tub was not the way to her heart.

  “Chelsea!” Trevor screamed. His voice didn’t sound right.

  I rushed to his side. He was staring down at Chelsea, mouth open in horror and eyes filled with tears. Chelsea’s eyes were open but blank. She was dead.

  Chapter 3

  “Oh, no…Trevor, I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t stand the anguished look on his face.

  He couldn’t rip his eyes away from her, poor guy. And poor Chelsea. The image of her floating there in the tub, naked and still, was horrifying. The outer perimeter of the tub was dotted with lit votive candles, casting a contrasting warm glow onto her ghostly pale skin.

  Her left arm hung lifelessly over the side of the tub. I noticed Trevor begin to reach for it. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to be taking this very hard. I glanced back toward Chelsea and saw something I hadn’t noticed earlier. A thick yellow extension cord was stretched across the bathroom floor, snaking all the way into the tub. Just as Trevor was about to make contact with her hand, everything clicked into place for me.

  Crying, “No!” I grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room.

  He turned hurt eyes on me. “What? Why the hell did you do that?”

  “I’m sorry.” My head was starting to spin as I began to realize what had happened. “We…we need to get out of here.”

  Jerking his arm away from me, he whispered, “Why? I can’t just leave…I can’t leave her…” His voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands.

  “Trevor, the police are going to need to look at this. We don’t want to touch anything.” A tear slipped down my cheek before I could catch it. “It looks to me like Chelsea may have been electrocuted. There’s an electric cord running into the tub, and it could be live, so you shouldn’t touch her anyway, for your own safety.”

  Trevor wiped his eyes. “Oh…right,” he muttered with a dazed expression.

  “Come on. Let’s go outside. I’ll call the police.”

  I led Trevor out and had him sit against the wall outside the apartment. He wasn’t saying much, poor kid. I felt like I needed to push my own feelings aside and mother him a little. However, my anxiety over making this phone call—two phone calls, actually—was overshadowing the situation for me. Neither the MNPD nor my boyfriend was going to be happy to get a death call from me. I made the easier call first, distractedly telling the 911 operator my story. I steeled myself for a difficult conversation and dialed Ryder’s cell. To my dismay, he answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, sweetheart.”

  “Hi.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Um…you’re not going to like this….”

  “What happened?” A slight edge had crept into his voice.

  “I found something…” Why was it harder to tell this to the man I was dating than the 911 operator?

  “Come on, Juliet. Spit it out. I’m working.” I heard a voice speaking in the background. He said, “Hold on a sec.”

  I waited, getting more apprehensive with every second that passed. Ryder had just been transferred to homicide, and the last thing he needed was his girlfriend being a person of interest in one of his department’s cases.

  Ryder sighed into the phone. “Tell me you’re not at your apartment complex right now.”

  He knew. I could tell by the tone of his voice. I could just see him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

  “I found one of my neighbors dead in her apartment.”

  Silence. Finally he said tiredly, “And I’m leaving now to head out there. I’ll be shadowing Cromwell on the case.”

  Damn it. This was not going to be a good thing for our relationship. “I guess I’ll see you in a few, then.”

  He hung up without replying.

  I knew from experience we had a long night ahead of us. Sighing, I turned around to let Trevor know that the police were on their way, but he wasn’t there. Shit. He’d gone back inside that apartment. If Trevor was standing over Chelsea’s body when Ryder and Cromwell got here, all hell would break loose. I guess that meant it was up to me to drag Trevor’s ass out of the place. Again.

  I didn’t relish the thought of going back in there. With trembling legs, I hurried inside. I found Trevor in the same spot, staring at Chelsea’s body, the same troubled expression on his face. It couldn’t be good for his state of mind to sear this image of her into his brain.

  As gently as I could, I said, “Hey, let’s get you back outside, okay? I know this is hard for you, and it’s a terrible accident, but—”

  He interrupted me. “This was no accident.”

  “What? Why do you say that?”

  “It’s not just a curling iron or a hair dryer that accidently fell in there with her. That’s a toaster.”

  I gasped. “A toaster?” I hadn’t taken too close a look earlier, for obvious reasons. My stomach rolling, I glanced into the tub again and spotted a toaster near Chelsea’s feet. I shuddered. There were certainly easier and less painful ways to commit suicide than by electrocution. I couldn’t look at her anymore, and I didn’t think Trevor should, either. I took him by the arm and steered him out of the bathroom again. Shaking my head sadly, I asked, “Why would she have done this to herself?”

  Trevor stopped in the middle of the living room, shaking. “She didn’t do this to herself. She had help.”

  He was not making a lot of sense, not that I was surprised. “I think you need to sit down, Trevor. Come on.”

  The wail of sirens could be heard in the distance, and they were coming closer. I grabbed Trevor’s arm again. “The police are on their way. If we’re still in here, we’re both going to be in trouble. Especially me. Now, move. Outside.”

  I ushered him out the door and had him sit in the same spot outside Chelsea’s apartment door. This time I kept my eye on him. My stomach churned knowing that in mere minutes Detective Cromwell was going to start grilling me within an inch of my life, plus Ryder would probably openly glare at me the whole time for screwing up his first-ever death case, even though none of this was even remotely my fault. The sirens were really close now, their noise becoming more deafening by the second. People were beginning to poke their heads out of their doors all around the complex. Keeping the gawkers back in this place was going to be a nightmare for the police. I was glad it was one thing that wasn’t my problem tonight.

  The door to apartment 28 opened, and a college boy came out, shirtless, even though it was a chilly early spring evening. I’d seen this guy around before, and I didn’t like him. He was nosy and way too friendly.

  He looked at Trevor. “What’s up, bro? Hey, do you know what’s with all the sirens?”

  Trevor had his head bowed so no one could see his face, and he made no move to respond.

  I didn’t want to cause a panic or start gossip, but I figured this guy wouldn’t leave us alone until he found out. I hedged, “There’s been an accident. The police are probably going to be here for a while.”

  “What accident?”

  Trevor muttered bitterly, “Chelsea’s dead.”

  The kid’s jaw dropped open. He began breathing heavily and pointed to Chelsea’s apartment. “Chelsea? But how…What?”

  A uniformed police officer jogged up the stairs and came barreling in our direction. As he passed each open door, he said, “Back in your apartments; shut the doors. No one can be out on this balcony until further notice. I will hand out citations. Don’t test me.”
>
  The apartment 28 guy jumped back into his room and quickly closed the door.

  The officer addressed me. “Are you Juliet Langley? Did you make the 911 call?”

  “Yes, I did.” I gestured to Trevor. “This is Trevor Wells. We found Chelsea Stone in her apartment just now.”

  “I’m Officer McKay, and that’s Officer Menendez.” He gestured behind him to a second police officer walking toward us. “Menendez is going to take a look inside while we have a chat out here.”

  I suppressed a groan. I hoped Trevor was up for this. I hoped I was up for this.

  Officer McKay took me aside but kept an eye on Trevor. “What happened here tonight?”

  As Officer Menendez entered the apartment, I launched into a short explanation of why Trevor and I had been in Chelsea’s apartment in the first place and then told Officer McKay how we’d found her. My stomach was becoming increasingly queasy, so I tried not to focus too much on the details of the bathroom. Officer McKay could go see it for himself. As I was wrapping up my story, I noticed Ryder getting out of an unmarked police car down in the parking lot. He looked up, locking eyes with me. I saw his face soften slightly, and it was enough to start my tears flowing. He hurried up the steps and came straight for me, enveloping me in a hug. If I hadn’t needed the comfort, I almost would have wished he’d been angry with me. Now I was a mushy mess.

  Ryder stroked my hair. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We need to get through this now, but you’re welcome to cry on my shoulder for as long as you need to later. Can you keep it together just a little bit longer?”

  I took a step back from him and nodded, wiping my eyes on my jacket sleeve. He and McKay went to talk to Trevor, leaving me to tangle with Detective Cromwell, who’d just reached the top of the stairs. He always reminded me of an old TV detective with his trademark trench coat and semi-permanent scowl.

  “What are the odds?” he said, chuckling as he approached me. “Pretty damn good when you’re around, eh, Ms. Langley?” At least he didn’t seem pissed—yet. The night was still young.

  I stifled a groan. “Hello, Detective.”

  “I’m going to have a look at the scene, and then I’ll be back to speak with you.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  He furrowed his bushy brows at my comment and headed into Chelsea’s apartment. Poor Trevor was still sitting in the same place, head in his hands, while McKay and Ryder questioned him. I couldn’t imagine what he was going through. He’d had feelings for Chelsea for a long time, and they’d been close friends even longer than that. It would have been like me losing Pete. Not that I had those kinds of feelings for Pete anymore. But it still would have absolutely destroyed me.

  After a few minutes, McKay and Ryder gave Trevor a break, but then Cromwell came out and gruffly told him to get up. Turning around, Cromwell said to me, “Mind if we use your apartment for a few minutes?”

  Yes, I minded. My apartment was a hole, and none too neat since I often worked sixteen-hour days. Especially right now, I didn’t want Cromwell judging me for it.

  I blew out a breath. “I suppose I can’t really deny your request, can I?”

  “No,” he replied.

  Stifling a groan, I ushered Cromwell and Trevor toward my door, unlocked it, and turned on the lights. Cromwell shooed me out and shut the door in my face. Lovely.

  The coroner and his assistant came up carrying a gurney. My chest ached. I didn’t think I could handle watching Chelsea leave here on that thing. I leaned back and slid down the wall into a sitting position on the floor. I rested my head on my knees, trying to blot out everything going on around me. I felt someone sit down next to me.

  “Hey, you doing okay?”

  I lifted my head and looked into Ryder’s concerned eyes. “Not really.”

  He put his arm around me and pulled my head onto his shoulder. “No matter how many you see, it never gets easier, does it?”

  I shivered as images of the other dead bodies I’d found flashed unwantedly into my head. This one wasn’t particularly frightening or gory—it was just so incredibly sad.

  “I want you to stay at my place tonight.”

  I lifted my head. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d honestly rather sleep in my own bed.” I frowned. “Not that I’ll be able to sleep after all this.”

  “It’s not up for negotiation, Juliet. For one thing, this place will be crawling with law enforcement for hours, making noise and shining lights. You’ll never have a chance of getting to sleep here. Plus, it’s safer at my place. I don’t want you here alone.”

  “What? It’s fine here. Besides, like you said, it’s crawling with police. And why are you worried about my safety? Chelsea committed suicide, didn’t she?”

  “We’re not ruling anything out until we have proof. So that means you’re with me until further notice.”

  “Seriously?” I whined.

  “What’s suddenly so bad about staying at my place? You did last night.”

  It would be way too teenager-ish to say I didn’t want to go simply because he was making me, but that was most of my reasoning. I liked my space. Even though his house was way nicer than my apartment, it wasn’t home.

  “I know, but…”

  “You are so hardheaded.”

  “That’s why you like me.”

  “True.” He kissed me gently on the cheek.

  Cromwell picked that time to swing my front door open. He sneered at us, “This is a crime scene, you know.”

  I looked up at him. “I need some kind of compensation for my growing number of witness statements. It’s either this or MNPD Homicide gives me a punch card, Detective,” I said, hoping a bad joke might lighten the mood before things got tense between the two detectives.

  To my surprise, Cromwell let out a bark of laughter. He’d been awfully cheerful tonight (for him). I even wondered if he’d started taking Xanax or something. He gestured to Trevor, who’d come skulking out of my apartment behind him, and said to Ryder, “Hamilton, take Mr. Wells here to his apartment while I speak to Ms. Langley.”

  We silently traded partners, and I followed Cromwell into my apartment. I wasn’t looking forward to this, but I definitely knew what to expect. The detective and I sat on opposite ends of my couch.

  “Let’s start out by you giving me your version of events tonight,” he said.

  I gave him the same spiel I had given Officer McKay. Cromwell nodded several times and took notes in the little black notebook he always carried around.

  “How do you know Chelsea Stone?”

  “Um, we’re neighbors?” I wasn’t able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, which earned me a glare from Cromwell.

  “Other than that.”

  “She comes in to Java Jive a lot.”

  “With Trevor Wells?”

  I shrugged. “Yes and no. College kids will trickle in and out at different times and yet all sit together in one big group. They’re usually in the same general area.”

  “But she went home with him tonight.”

  “Yes, he walked her home from the coffeehouse. I think she was worried about walking alone at night after that girl disappeared.”

  “Did Ms. Stone seem agitated to you?”

  “Not especially. She sang a song during open mic night and didn’t look nervous in the slightest. She wanted me to walk home with them because she was worried about me coming back by myself. That’s all I noticed.”

  Cromwell chuckled. “I’d like to see someone try to abduct you. They’d be sorry.”

  I frowned. “Thanks.” Not exactly a compliment.

  “Oh, don’t get your nose out of joint. Tell me more about her relationship with Wells.”

  “They are—were—close friends.”

  “But he wanted to be more than friends.”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Was she seeing someone else?” he pressed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone coming and go
ing from her place? A boyfriend?”

  “No. You know I’m not here very much, and when I am, I’m not worrying about what the college kids are doing.”

  “What do you know about her roommate?”

  “Her name’s Kira Gibson. She’s one of my baristas.”

  “Where was she tonight?”

  “At a study group. She left work around eight.”

  He kept up his pointed questions. “Why weren’t Ms. Stone and Mr. Wells more than friends?”

  “Seriously, how should I know that?”

  “You seem to know your next-door neighbor pretty well, and you were both inside Ms. Stone’s apartment just now, obviously without her permission.”

  I could feel my face redden. “Like I said, I was bringing her the scarf she’d left at Java Jive. Trevor insisted on going in, and that’s when we found her.”

  “I understand he entered first, but why did you go in there? You should know better than to barge into someone’s home.”

  “Initially, to try to get Trevor to leave. Then he found her and got upset, so I went into the bathroom to see what was wrong.”

  He stared at me with his steely eyes. “Yes, tell me more about his reaction to finding her.”

  I frowned. “Are you trying to insinuate something about Trevor?”

  “Were you aware that the extension cord connected to the toaster in the tub had his name on it?”

  “So? Trevor owns every electronic gadget known to man, and he loans his stuff out to half this complex. He lent me a surge protector and an automatic timer for my Christmas tree lights. Why is that a big deal?”

  “His name was on a part of a possible murder weapon. That’s kind of a big deal.”

  I shook my head. “How is this a murder?”

  “Are you the coroner now? Can you determine the manner of death?” He was becoming exceedingly grumpy.

  Rolling my eyes, I replied, “Come on. Who kills someone with a toaster?”

  “I could do without your sass, Ms. Langley. When did you last see Trevor Wells before you broke into Chelsea Stone’s apartment?”

  “We didn’t break into her—”

  “Answer the question.”

  I blew out a breath, trying to hold my temper. “At Java Jive, probably around ten.”