by Rae Davies
“Hmm.”
I stood with the door open, but neither man entered. I took that as a bad sign. “Did you need something?” I asked.
Peter glanced at Klein and stepped back.
The Chicago detective moved into his place like a menacing fog. “Do you mind if we come inside, Ms. Mathews? You are open for business?”
Behind me, Betty mumbled something.
I ignored her.
“Of course. Are you interested in antiques, Detective?” I knew that wasn’t why he was here, but Betty was making me jumpy. Well, more jumpy than I would have been anyway. Police other than Peter and George showing up at my shop tended to make me a little jumpy.
The two strolled inside. Peter shot me a look as he walked past. His lips were pressed tightly together. A little too tightly.
He was annoyed. With me? Klein? Or something/someone else altogether?
Feeling a bit more relaxed, I followed them to the front where Klein began “browsing.” His hands were in his pockets the entire time, but his eyes seemed to touch every item in my shop, even a few things that I’d forgotten I had.
He pointed to a horsehair hat band. “Do you mind?”
I forced myself not to look at Peter. “Of course not.”
Klein picked the item up, pinched between index finger and thumb, analyzed it for a moment, and then set it back down.
He repeated the request and action with a number of other items, all of them long, thin and flexible.
Eventually, I did glance at Peter. His mouth had softened, and his face had taken on its usual impenetrable expression.
Things were, I guessed, going well.
After ten minutes or so of Klein’s “shopping,” the Chicagoan stopped by Darrell’s open boxes. “Get some new merchandise?”
I explained that the items were on loan for my upcoming window display.
“Hmm.” He peered down into the depths of each box as if he could see anything past the mass of old newspaper and the few items I had pulled free of it.
“I could—” Something whacked me in the back. Startled, I glanced over my shoulder to see Peter looking back at me, the picture of innocence.
Klein’s gaze washed over us, taking in Betty too, who’d decided to scowl at me for some reason. “I could?”
“Um... come back after I get everything unpacked and set up in the window.” Seeing Betty’s expression soften, I smiled and, with new confidence, continued, “Darrell loaned me some great things. There’s a painting too...” Realizing I hadn’t seen the painting, I glanced around. There was no box big enough to hold it. I hoped Joe hadn’t left it out back too. If it had been stolen, Darrell would lose no time in holding me responsible.
“I might do that.” Klein waited, maybe to see if I had more to say, but, distracted by the missing painting, I didn’t.
“Well,” he said. “I guess we’ll be going. For now.”
I smiled again, but weaker. “Yes, for now. Like I said, I’ll give you a buzz when the display is done. I have your number.” I tried to sound cheerful, but the detective only grunted and walked out the back door.
Peter stayed behind, but only for a moment and only to stare at me in a way that said both a lot and nothing. Or at least nothing I could decipher. Then, as if worried he would break and actually speak a word or two, he spun on his cowboy heel and stalked out.
“Well, that...” Betty exclaimed, dropping onto the loveseat. “... was a close one.”
I collapsed onto the cushion beside her. “Yes, it was.”
A moment of silence passed.
I tapped the loveseat’s wooden arm. “Uh, but close to what?”
Betty raised both brows. “Arrest?”
“For what?”
“Murder.”
I waved my hand. That old thing. “I figured that, but more specifically, why was Klein here?” I’d decided Peter was here to watch Klein, or me, or both. I’d have to ask him later which... maybe. Or maybe I’d let that sleeping malamute of a question lie.
Realizing she hadn’t shared whatever nugget of information she’d had before Klein and Peter arrived, Betty sat up. “Someone called the tip line and said you had the murder weapon.”
“And how, exactly, do you know that?”
“I was at the station. I might have forgotten to pay a parking ticket or two.”
Last I’d checked, parking tickets weren’t paid at the police station, but I wasn’t one to pry.
“And as you know, little pitchers...” She ran a hand down her petite body. “Have big ears.”
“You overheard something?”
She nodded. “Some people seemed to think the call was a waste of time. Others didn’t.”
Obviously, Klein was in the “didn’t.” I had to hope Peter was in the “was.”
With that cleared up, I shifted back to her original revelation. “So, they were here looking for the murder weapon? But they didn’t get a warrant?”
She shrugged. “They couldn’t have. They just got the call.”
“So he came hoping to find something without it?”
“I guess.” Then she added the unnecessary. “He may be back. You should call Gregor.”
Since each time I picked up the phone for my attorney it cost me $100, I let her advice sit for a bit. Klein had left, after all, and he obviously hadn’t found anything, or he wouldn’t have left, not without me in cuffs beside him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After Klein and Peter left, I took a short break to run next door to Joe’s. I was hoping he had the painting, or would at least tell me it hadn’t been delivered. I also still needed to share my news about the interview that I’d lined up for him with Bev. But when I got there, the coffee shop was locked up tight.
I wandered into Pegasus Books for Rhonda’s take.
“He never closes in the middle of the day like this,” I commented.
Unpacking some boxes of her own, she shrugged. “He’s had to cut back. He’s let almost all of his help go. If he has an errand to run, what else is he going to do?”
It was sad, but she was right. Joe’s business had gotten so bad it had been weeks since I’d seen any of the cute college–aged boys that usually worked there.
Not that I had any interest in college–aged boys, of course.
I was busy digging through a stack of old Dog Lovers magazines when Rhonda interrupted me. “Isn’t that one of the Cuties? I think she’s going into your store.”
Sure enough Rachel Sanders bounced down the street in shorts way too short for the weather and a bright pink Cuties t–shirt.
Ugh, what if Joe came back and saw her? Panicked that he’d think I’d betrayed him, I rushed out of Pegasus Books without saying goodbye and into Dusty Deals.
Rachel was there, looking around as if she’d been dropped into some foreign land. Betty stood behind the counter, more than a little wary.
As I entered, Rachel turned. “There you are. I hadn’t heard anything about the website, so I thought I’d drop by.” She wandered a few steps until her turquoise tennis shoe hit one of Darrell’s boxes. “Did you get some new merchandise?”
After glancing out the front window to check for signs of Joe, I moved forward, forcing Rachel a bit deeper into the store as I did. Once I was comfortable that Joe wouldn’t spy her with a casual glance through our front window, I replied, filling her in on the window display contest and my good luck at getting Darrell to loan me a few things.
“That is lucky. I don’t know much about Helena history or the Deeres, but Ruby sounds fascinating.” She reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a handful of bunched up old newspaper.
The smell of mildew filled the space around us.
“Oh.” She dropped the newspaper. “I guess this hasn’t been gone through in a while.”
I frowned and dug deeper into the box. More mildew. It appeared Darrell had decided to unload at least one extra box filled with mismatched old jelly glasses and chipped cereal bowls.
“Were those Ruby’s?” Rachel asked with obvious disbelief.
I shoved the blue bowl I was holding back into the box. “No. There seems to have been some mix up.” Mix up, my ass. Darrell did this on purpose. I thought we’d gotten past our previous “issues,” but it appeared not.
“Maybe that’s why there’s no painting,” Betty offered.
Rachel tilted her head. “Painting?”
Lured out of my funk by the opportunity to talk more about Ruby, I described the painting to Rachel and just how wonderful it was going to look in my window.
“If someone didn’t steal it.” Betty again.
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Steal it? Did someone break in?” She looked around again and nodded, as if what she was seeing now made sense.
Shoving a stray plastic bag under the loveseat with my toe, I replied, “No. It’s just that the painting wasn’t delivered, and we found the other boxes outside in the alley.” I explained how a “neighbor” had gotten the boxes by mistake and nicely dropped them off for me.
“That is nice... as long as it isn’t the kind of neighbor who might...” She tilted her head and made a face.
“Joe would never!” I exclaimed, completely forgetting that I had been trying to avoid mentioning exactly which neighbor had done the good deed.
Rachel, however, seemed to take it in stride. “Oh, Joe, from Cuppa Joe’s? I’ve heard nothing but good things about him.” She paused for a second, then added. “For the most part.”
I shot an alarmed look at Betty. She batted her eyelashes and calmly said, “I didn’t realize anyone had an issue with Joe.”
Rachel turned as if she’d forgotten Betty was there. “Oh, it isn’t that anyone had an issue with him. It’s that he had an issue with us.” She lifted one shoulder. “Competition and all that.”
I didn’t like the direction this was going, but as Joe’s friend, I had to hear the worst. It was the only way I was going to be able to help him.
“What did he do?”
“Well...” She glanced around as if unsure she should be sharing. “I heard he was going through our Dumpster, which is just...” She scrunched up her face.
“Maybe he dropped something in it,” I offered. Weak, but all I had.
Rachel’s look said she agreed with me, about the weak part.
“He took bags out and put them in his car.” She shivered as if she’d just touched the trash herself.
“That is odd.”
Betty nodded in agreement, adjusted herself on her stool and asked, “What do you think was in the bags that he’d want?”
Rachel hesitated, then laughed. “Who knows? Maybe our coffee brand. Although if he’d asked, Missy would have told him. She wasn’t the best at keeping secrets.”
This perked my interest. “Really? What kind of secrets did she have?”
Rachel’s face straightened. “Just things about the business. Our suppliers and such. You might not think the coffee business is cutthroat, but with Joe going through our trash, those women picketing us and then Missy getting killed... It obviously is. I just don’t know who I can trust.” Her eyes got round and moist, like a tear could fall from one of her perfect lashes at any moment.
I pulled in a breath and tried not to resent the ease with which she pulled the wounded beauty thing off. When I tried it, I wound up looking and sounding as if I’d had a head cold for four months.
Betty, not as distracted as I by Rachel’s perfection, chimed in. “Are you thinking of closing?”
“What? No! Why would you think that? Is someone saying we’re closing?” Her annoyance obvious, she looked from Betty to me.
We both shook our heads.
She smiled and relaxed. “I’m sorry. It’s just been so stressful trying to keep everything going. Missy was really the boss. She made all the decisions and now, I have to.” More of the wounded beauty.
“But business is still good.” It was a combination statement and question on my part.
“Very good,” Rachel agreed. “Better, actually, than ever.”
I hadn’t thought the lines at the kiosk could get any longer, and actually I hadn’t noticed that they had, but maybe the Cuties were moving cars through more quickly now or maybe I just hadn’t been paying close enough attention.
“And that,” Rachel announced, “reminds me that I have a business to run.” She glanced at her cell phone and turned toward the door.
“Wait,” I called out. “I thought you wanted to see what Betty has done on the site.” I didn’t know if Betty had done anything on the site, but I wanted Rachel to stay a bit longer, maybe while I went to check on Joe and keep him busy while Betty snuck Rachel out the back.
Rachel, however, was in a hurry. She waved off my offer. “I’m sure it’s great. I’ll stop by again in a couple of days.” She headed out the front door and turned right, the same direction as Cuppa Joe’s.
I resisted the urge to step outside behind her, just to make sure she made it past Joe’s undetected.
“Check your reed enough times and it will split for sure,” Betty offered.
With a grunt, I sat down on the loveseat and stared at her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I spent the rest of the day stalking Joe’s and unpacking moldy newspaper. I still had a number of boxes to go through, but with the painting missing, it was all I could think about.
“Call him,” Betty suggested.
“Darrell?” I shook my head, vehemently. I didn’t want Darrell to know that the painting was missing until I was sure it hadn’t been delivered.
I really needed to talk to Joe.
Deciding to do a combo trip, I stuffed a trash bag full of the newspaper and headed to the Dumpster. I was reaching for the lid when I saw Joe coming out of the back of his shop.
I dropped the bag and scurried forward.
He didn’t see me coming. He was too busy carrying trash bags of his own to his car.
“Joe!” I called, waving.
He jumped, paled, and then let out a breath when he saw me. “Lucy, you almost stopped my ticker.” He placed his hand over his heart and smiled.
The smile told me that if he had seen or heard about Rachel stopping by Dusty Deals, he didn’t hold it against me. I relaxed and went to help him with his bags.
“What are you—”
Seeing me with a bag in my hand, he leapt forward and grabbed it. Paper spilled out.
“Sorry, I...” The words I was going to speak got lost in the shock of what I saw spread out on the ground around us. Receipts, notes, even baked goods still in baggies, and full boxes of coffee. Not that unusual, except the logo imprinted everywhere... Caffeine Cartel.
I dropped the now–empty bag. “Oh, Joe.”
His face fell, and then he dropped his chin to his chest.
“You did go through their trash, didn’t you?” And maybe more. I didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want to know, but a lot of the things spread out around me did not look like anything the Cuties would have thrown out on purpose.
“I bought some of it,” he said. “Or got someone to buy it. I didn’t want them to know that I was snooping. It’s just been so hard, Lucy. Not knowing why they’re doing so well. Why my longtime customers left me.”
I sighed. I understood. I really did.
I leaned forward to give him a hug, whether he wanted it or not.
I was interrupted mid–lean by a car pulling into the alley beside us.
Bev waved at us from behind the wheel.
Joe squinted and then paled. “Is that—?”
I shoved him out of my way and rushed toward her car.
By the time I got there, her heels were already firmly planted on the pavement.
I stood in front of her, hoping to block her view of whatever Joe was doing behind me. Which I hoped was casually gathering up the spilled papers and tucking them away out of sight.
Bev leaned to the side to see past me. “What is he doing—”
She blinked down at the receipt with the Caffeine Cartel logo emblazoned across its top.
I jerked it from her hand. “Oops, must have dropped that.” I gave a sideways glance to Joe who was busy shoving papers back into the black plastic trash bag from whence they’d come. “Wouldn’t want Joe to know I go there.”
Another paper escaped Joe’s realm and landed with a splat on Bev’s face. She ripped it off and hopped backward before I could complete the grab myself.
“And this....” She squinted and widened her eyes in quick succession. Then her gaze shot to Joe. “Oh, my—” She whipped her phone out of her pocket and held it up. “I can call the police now, or I can listen to Joe’s story first. His choice.”
My stomach dropped, and without another thought, I lunged to grab the paper from her hand. She stepped back, holding it over my head like a twisted repeat of every keep–away game that I’d lost in my childhood.
The scene sent me reeling backward in time to when I was a frustrated 6 year old tired of being the target of every “normal” height kid.
“Run, Joe!” I yelled. Then I spun, faced Bev and charged forward.
We both fell, hard. Me on top. Her on the bottom. The shock showed on her face and I knew immediately I had her. Victory surging through me, I scrambled up her prone form and tore the paper from her hand. Then I leapt to my feet, held it overhead, jumped up and down and chortled with glee.
I had her. I’d won. I’d...
My breath slowed and the world slowed with it.
Bev lay on the ground staring at me as if I were some demented miscreant who needed to be locked up and soon.
Her phone had fallen out of her hand. It lay a foot away, half hidden by the shadow of her car.
She reached for it.
For a minute, I almost acted again. Almost raced to kick the phone further afield. But then, like a clock winding backward, things click, click, clicked back in place.
And they weren’t pretty.
Realizing I had probably just taken things from bad to apocalyptic, I glanced at Joe. His hands were full of loose papers. He blinked. I could almost see his mind stutter as he tried to sort out what was happening.
