He smiled. Even weirder. “I’ve put in my forty-eight hours straight. After that, I always like to take my wife out for a nice evening and get a well-deserved night’s sleep. That way I can come back refreshed and maybe look at the case in a different way.”
“You have a wife?” I blurted.
Cromwell rolled his eyes. “Yes, Ms. Langley. I’m not all about the job, as you might think. This is my wife, Barbara. Barbara, this is Hamilton’s girl, Juliet, and her friend Pete.”
Pete and I said our hellos.
Barbara smiled sweetly. “It’s nice to meet you two, since I’ve heard all about you. Juliet, dear, no matter what my grouchy other half says, you keep on giving him a run for his money.” She beamed up at Cromwell. “I think it keeps him young.”
I liked her instantly. She’d have to be a saint to put up with Cromwell day in and day out. “I’ll be sure to do that. Although, no offense, if I never had to talk to your husband again, that would be okay, too.”
Barbara erupted in a peal of laughter, and even Cromwell let out a little chuckle.
Then the detective nodded at us. “Enjoy your evening. Although it looks like you two are already doing that.”
The Cromwells continued up Second Avenue as Pete and I rounded the corner onto Broadway. I never tired of this view: the bright lights and milling crowds, the live music spewing out of every door all the way up and down the street, and the electricity in the air. And I couldn’t think of any person I’d rather be here with than Pete. I grabbed his hand and dragged him up the street and into the loudest bar I could find.
—
“Where the hell are you?”
“Um…” I said into my phone.
Having been startled awake out of a gloriously deep, alcohol-induced sleep, I’d honestly forgotten. I peered around the dark room. Oh, yeah. I vaguely remembered stumbling into Pete’s living room well after one in the morning and collapsing on his couch. I jumped and let out a little yelp as I looked down and realized I’d been sleeping with my head on Pete’s shoulder.
“I’m at Pete’s.”
“Staying over?” Ryder sounded really angry.
Even through my haze, I knew exactly what he was getting at, and I was still way too drunk to have this conversation. “Ryder, I had a little too much to drink,” I said, slurring a bit. “I’m sleeping it off on his couch. I’ll see you in the morning.” I ended the call before he could yell at me some more, and promptly lay back down and fell instantly asleep.
Chapter 9
“You have to understand where I’m coming from here.”
From the moment Ryder had walked in the door to Java Jive the next morning, I could tell he was itching to jump straight into the fight he’d tried to start with me last night. He was pacing around the office, and I was sitting on the couch with my throbbing head in my hands.
I groaned. “Would you please quit yelling?”
“I’m not yelling. You’re hungover.”
“Yes, I am. I’m not denying that. I just don’t understand what the big freaking deal is about me sleeping on Pete’s couch last night.”
“You were supposed to be in my bed.”
I looked up at him and snapped, “You weren’t there, so what difference did it make?”
“How would you like it if I stayed over at Maya’s one night?”
Did he have to play that card? I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, nor was I going to dis my new friend. “Well, if you were drunk off your ass like I was, it would have been preferable to getting into a car to drive to an empty house! You promised me you’d come home the last two nights, and both times you haven’t shown up. Have you given up entirely on sleep?”
He frowned at me. “No, I told you, last night I got some new information on the case, and I needed to follow up.”
“That’s great, but it still would have been there this morning. Even Cromwell the robot was out last night blowing off a little steam.”
“I have to prove myself.”
“You can’t think straight if you don’t sleep. Trust me.”
He stopped pacing and stood staring down at me, his hands on his hips (one thumb hooked around his badge of course). “Can we set this fight aside for a while? I have something I need to ask you.”
Finally a break from his incessant badgering. “Fine with me.”
“I spoke to Chelsea Stone’s sister last night. She said Chelsea was having an affair with a professor, but she had no idea which one. Have you ever seen her with a professor?”
“Not that I can recall. Did you ask Trevor and Kira?”
“Trevor is done talking to the police. He’s clammed up. And Kira is so shell-shocked and frightened, I can’t get her to open up to me.” His eyes were strained, and he looked defeated, but at the same time strangely hopeful.
It dawned on me what he wanted. “You’re joking, right?”
“Juliet, I don’t know what else to do.”
“You could always go undercover as a professor,” I said with a smile.
“Would you please be serious?”
“Let me get this straight: you, Detective Hamilton of the MNPD, are asking me, the meddling pain in your department’s ass, to help with a case. You see the irony in this, don’t you?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, I’m well aware of the can of worms I’m opening by even bringing it up with you.”
“Wait, does Cromwell know about this? He made it abundantly clear he’d throw me in jail if—”
“I’ll take care of Cromwell. Now will you do it for me or not?”
I frowned. “I don’t know if I feel right about coaxing information out of those poor kids only to turn around and snitch to you about everything they said.”
He was starting to get testy again. “Do you want to find Chelsea’s killer?”
“I do.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely…”
“Juliet,” he growled.
“Okay, fine.” I added, “If you’ll drop the subject of last night.”
He raised his hands in defeat. “Done.” He walked over and dropped down beside me on the couch. Placing his arm around me, he blew out a long breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right—I’m not thinking straight. I trust you. I can’t help it if I’m territorial sometimes.”
Sometimes? I managed to hold my tongue on that one. Honestly, I was surprised he hadn’t driven over to Pete’s in the middle of the night, grabbed me and thrown me over his shoulder caveman-style, then taken me back to his house.
Ryder leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, then turned my chin so I was facing him. Before I knew it, his mouth was on mine, urgently, and within a few moments I completely forgot about our stupid fight. When we finally came up for air, we were both a little breathless.
“I’ll make some time tonight so we can be together. Why don’t we meet at my place for an early dinner? Maybe around five?” he asked.
Damn it. I’d made a huge deal about him blowing me off, and now I was going to have to blow him off. “I’m busy this afternoon and probably part of the evening. I’m playing in a charity tennis tournament.” He was not going to like the next part. “With Stan.” Ryder tolerated my friendship with Pete, but he hated Stan.
His jaw clenched. Wordlessly, he got up and strode to the door. Before he left, he muttered angrily, “I tried.”
Seriously? I let out a little growl and picked up the nearest couch cushion, chucking it toward the door. Not that it had any chance of hitting him, but it made me feel marginally better.
After a moment, Pete stuck his head in the door and whistled. “Wow. Ryder Likeapony is torqued. What happened?”
“He didn’t appreciate my sleepover at your place last night.”
Pete came in and sat next to me. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “He’s jealous of me?”
“I thought you two were past your long-running pissing contest.”
He s
hrugged.
“And I told him I’m hanging out with Stan this afternoon.”
He snickered. “Ah, that’s what did it. Why do you want to hang out with that douche in the first place?”
“I like Stan.”
“No one likes Stan.”
“That’s mean, Pete.”
He griped, “I’m allowed to have an opinion.”
I hoped the snippy thing Pete had going this morning was a product of a hangover and not an indicator of his mood today. He’d been nearly back to his normal self the last two days, and I’d desperately been wishing he’d stay that way. It was probably still too soon to think we’d be out of the woods yet.
I smiled, hoping to deflect his angst. “Yes, you are.” I changed the subject. “Does your head hurt as much as mine does?”
“Nope. I took an oxy this morning. I’m feeling no pain.”
“Lucky.”
He gestured to his broken arm. “What exactly about this is lucky?”
“I was making a joke.”
“You should really leave the jokes to me, Jules. You’re not that funny.”
I glared at him. “How would you like to have matching broken arms?”
He smirked at me. “See, that would backfire on you, because then I’d need you to take care of me. It would be all fun and games until you had to wipe my ass.”
I burst out laughing, only to grab my aching head and moan, “Oh, please don’t make me laugh this morning.”
“That’s like telling Picasso not to paint.”
—
Pete had only come in to get breakfast, so after he left, it was back to business as usual for me. Wayne had the day off because he had a medieval nerdfest to attend, so I was in the kitchen all morning helping Brandon until Clay and Shane, my evening-shift kitchen workers, showed up at two o’clock.
I went out to the front of the house to find Kira. I hadn’t had a chance to talk with her yesterday but hoped to be able to do so today. She was just putting on her apron when I got to the counter.
“Kira, can I speak to you in the office, please?”
She nodded, then ducked her head, following me slowly down the hall. After closing the door for some privacy, I had her sit on the couch and sat down next to her.
With my voice as gentle as I could make it, I asked, “How are you holding up?”
Tears began running out of her eyes before she could even get a word out. My heart broke for her. I took her hand and held it while she cried for a couple of minutes.
When she was able to get herself under control, she said, “Chelsea wasn’t just my roommate. She was my friend. We grew up in the same town and stayed friends all this time. I don’t ever remember not knowing her.”
I knew I’d told Ryder I would try to get information about Chelsea’s affair, but I couldn’t bring myself to grill this poor girl. “Kira, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you’d known each other for so long. You’ve got the week off from school. Use it. We can manage here without you. Maybe some time at home would be good for you.”
She sniffed. “That’s the thing. It’s terrible being here without her, but it would be so much worse to go home. We’re from Hawthorne Grove, a tiny town not too far from here. My parents said the whole community is in mourning. I don’t think I could handle being there. It’s better here, where it’s not front and center on everyone’s minds.”
I patted her hand. “I can understand that. I’m from a small town, too, and when one family hurts, everyone hurts. It’s nice, but sometimes it can be suffocating.”
Kira nodded. “I’ll drive over for the funeral, but that’s it. It’s on Monday. Trevor’s going with me.”
“That’s good. I think he needs some closure.”
Another tear slipped down her cheek. “We all do.”
“He was very much in love with her. Did she know?”
“Yes, but things were complicated.”
We were on the subject, so—although I hated myself for asking—I went for it. “How so? Was she seeing someone else?”
“Yes. It wasn’t a healthy relationship.” She added under her breath, “But what do I know?”
“Was it a professor?”
Kira nodded. “She didn’t tell me much. I think she was ashamed, but couldn’t help herself. You love who you love, right? He’s one of the pre-med profs, but I don’t think she ever had the guy for class. Not that it would matter, because it’s still against the rules for faculty to date students.”
“You mentioned their relationship wasn’t healthy. Did he treat her badly?”
She thought for a moment. “Not exactly. He was just really demanding. Like, he’d call her, and she’d have to drop everything and meet him.”
“Was she afraid of him?”
“No.”
“Trevor said she was afraid of your neighbor Jasper, though. He doesn’t bother you, does he?”
She let out a mirthless laugh. “Jasper is harmless. Chelsea didn’t seem to think so, but then again he was creeping on her pretty bad. I think he wanted to go out with her but has no game whatsoever.”
“Are you going to be able to live in the apartment or are you thinking of finding a new place?”
“I haven’t decided, but I’m leaning toward finding somewhere new.”
“Where are you staying now?”
Kira’s demeanor completely changed, like she’d shut down. “With a friend.”
I’d brought the subject of her living arrangements up twice now, and she hadn’t been forthcoming in her answer either time. “Do you feel safe enough where you’re staying?”
She shrugged, but her eyes were wide and troubled.
“I’m sure the police can do something for you. You know Detective Hamilton, right? He comes in here all the—”
“I don’t think there’s anything the police can do to help me,” she said flatly.
That was an odd thing to say. “I’m sure they’d be able to offer some kind of protection if you feel like you need it. Has anything happened to make you think you’re in danger?”
She cast her eyes down. “It’s fine.”
“Kira, you can tell me if something’s bothering you. Maybe I can help.”
After wiping her eyes, she stood up, a sure sign to me that this conversation was over. I noticed her grimace and lay a hand on her lower abdomen as she made the quick movement. She said with finality, “I’m good. Thanks, Juliet. I’d better get to work.”
Kira left the office, leaving me to stare dumbly after her.
—
It was nearly time for Stan to pick me up for the tennis fundraiser, so I couldn’t sit around and stew about Kira. I changed into some athletic wear and met Stan as he pulled up in the parking lot.
“Hey, Stan,” I said as I got into the passenger seat.
“Hello, Juliet.” He looked at the leggings and zip-up jacket I was wearing and frowned.
“What?”
“Where’s your tennis skirt?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not even sixty degrees outside. I’m not going to freeze my ass off just to be fashionable.”
He looked down at his own clothing. He was in all white—polo shirt, shorts, and a sweater tied around his neck. I thought he looked rather ridiculous, but knew all of his snobby friends would be dressed exactly the same. “Hmm. I didn’t think about the weather.” He grinned at me. “Beauty is pain, right?”
“It shouldn’t have to be.”
“I think you’re the only woman I’ve ever heard say that.”
“That’s just sad.”
—
When we got to “the club,” the elite country club Stan and the rest of his high-society friends belonged to, the parking lot was packed.
“Is everyone here for the tennis tournament?” I asked as we headed toward the tennis complex.
“Yes, it’s one of the biggest events of the year. I think there are twenty four-man teams.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “Four-man tennis t
eams? How does that work?”
“It’s a rather fun spin on a regular tennis tournament, actually. Each team is made up of two sets of male/female doubles partners. Rather than doing an elimination-style format, each team racks up points based on wins. The matches are eight-game pro sets, so the tournament won’t take all day. Each match, you trade partners within your group.”
“Does that mean I won’t be your partner the whole time?” That kind of bummed me out, because I loved playing tennis with Stan.
“Don’t be too sad. Dean and Lucinda are both much better at tennis than I am. Trust me, you’ll enjoy playing with them.”
When we entered the tennis complex, a huge banner welcomed us: Fifth Annual Tennis Fundraiser for the Alexander Meade Memorial Scholarship Fund.
“What’s the Alexander Meade Memorial Scholarship?” I asked.
“It’s for pre-med students at Vandy. Alexander Meade was a well-known local doctor in his day and a huge philanthropist. He didn’t want any promising pre-med student to be unable to continue school because of the overwhelming costs.”
People in predominately white designer tennis attire were packed around several clay courts. The bleachers lining the courts were also crowded with onlookers who were more warmly, but still as expensively, dressed.
As I scanned the crowd, the wheels began turning in my brain. “So do you think there’ll be a lot of pre-med professors from Vanderbilt here?”
Nodding, Stan replied, “Yes, there should be. They’re staunch supporters of the scholarship fund and all the fundraisers for it. Why? Looking for a better catch than your angry detective?”
I shot a frown at him. “No. I’m interested in a particular piece of gossip concerning one of them.”
“What kind of gossip? Is it juicy?”
“You could say that. One of them was in a secret relationship with the girl who was murdered this week, and my angry detective wants me to find out who it is.”
Stan’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s juicy, all right. And you’re in luck, because if there’s anyone who knows the scuttlebutt around town, it’s Lucinda and Dean. If they don’t know who it is already, they’ll be more than happy to help you find out.”
A Whole Latte Murder Page 8
