Morning Cup of Murder

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  If his tone had been condescending, she would have come back with a sarcastic reply. Instead he had spoken sincerely and patiently. “That doesn’t look so hard,” she said meekly.

  He smiled at her and glanced at the eggs. “Do you know how to make eggs, or should I do those, too?” There was the condescension that had been missing from the coffee lecture.

  “Sit.” She shoved at his chest. “I can make eggs. I can make many things. My grandma taught me to cook and bake.”

  “But not to make coffee,” he said.

  “She doesn’t drink it since my grandfather died, and I was too embarrassed to ask for a lesson. It’s such a simple thing; I should already have known how to do it.”

  “Now you know,” he said. He resumed his seat at the kitchen table and watched her while she deftly cracked a few eggs into a bowl and stirred them with a whisk. She didn’t ask him how many he wanted, instinctively knowing that three was the correct number. He smiled when her whole body wiggled as she used the whisk. “I like my eggs well beaten,” he said when she put down the whisk.

  She paused to look at him over her shoulder. “Weird,” she muttered, then she picked up the whisk and resumed stirring. After another minute, she turned to look at him again. “Is that enough whisking?”

  “For now,” he said, smiling wider when she gave him a look that told him she thought he was crazy.

  He continued to study her as she devoted herself to the eggs, turning them, salting them, and then removing them from the heat at just the right moment as if she knew he liked his eggs slightly moist. She slid them onto a plate, added a generous serving of prune cake, poured him a cup of coffee, and set both plate and cup before him.

  “Thanks,” he said, trying to remember the last time a girl had cooked for him.

  She smiled and sat at the table beside him.

  “Aren’t you eating?” he asked.

  “I already ate.”

  “At least have a cup of coffee with me. I hate eating alone.”

  She smiled, remembering how he had insisted she order a soda the night he took her to makeout point. She stood again, poured herself a coffee, and sat, only then realizing that he had pulled her chair closer to his when her back was turned. She found it odd that a guy who valued his bachelorhood as if it were a priceless treasure seemingly hated to be alone.

  “This coffee is actually good,” she said as soon as she took a sip.

  “You doubted me? By the way, the eggs are good, too.”

  “You doubted me?” she asked. He looked up and they shared a smile.

  “What’s on your agenda today?” he asked.

  “I’m going to visit my grandma.”

  “Do you think she’ll see you today?”

  She nodded. “Travis convinced her.”

  His fork froze halfway to his face. “Buzz? What’s between you two, anyway?”

  “It’s called friendship. You see, there are some people in the universe for whom platonic relationships come naturally. Not all of us have to date every available member of the opposite sex.”

  “Wow, breakfast and a lecture. It’s like being at a conference,” he said before shoving the forkful of egg into his waiting mouth. She nudged his leg with her foot and he caught it, settling it into his lap and resting his hand on her ankle. Lacy wasn’t sure which of them looked more startled by his action. He cleared his throat and tried to ignore the new, intimate position he had created for them. “What else have you got going on today?”

  She glanced at the far wall, wondering if she should tell him about the journals. Why was it so easy to tell Tosh about them and so difficult to tell Jason whom she had known all her life? “I’m going to Barbara Blake’s viewing tonight.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe because there’s a murderer out there who possibly tried to kill you last night,” he retorted, shoveling in a fistful of eggs and chewing angrily.

  She sat up and removed her foot from his lap. “So you admit you think my grandmother is innocent.”

  “Of course she’s innocent,” he practically yelled. “I’ve never believed otherwise.”

  “Then why did you arrest her? Why didn’t you stand up for her from the beginning?”

  He sat back and ran his hand through his hair. “You are just…How would it have helped you for me to get fired?”

  “’All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing,’” she quoted.

  “That’s a great quote, Lacy. I’m sure it would have kept me warm on the unemployment line.”

  “You don’t know you’ll get fired if you stand up for what’s right. And even if you do, isn’t doing the right thing worth anything you might suffer?” she asked.

  “Where am I supposed to go if I lose my job? Not everyone has the luxury of a loving grandmother waiting to pick up the pieces of our broken lives. All I have is myself, and I have to do whatever it takes to take care of me. Ideals are great, but they don’t pay the rent.”

  “You are just so…”

  “What? Different from you? Are you so closed minded that you think everyone who doesn’t agree with you is necessarily wrong? And, while we’re on the subject, what is it you aren’t telling me? What are you hiding from me, and don’t say nothing because I can tell there’s something.” He studied her, noting the conflicting expression fleeting across her face. “Trust me.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m a cop.”

  “It’s because you’re a cop that I can’t trust you with this,” she said.

  He froze, turning the words over in his mind. “You found something in her house last night.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, her eyes rounded with worry over his reaction.

  Nervously, he scraped his bottom teeth over his lip. He was walking a very fine line here. “What did you find?”

  The pulse in her neck jumped. He stared at it, wanting to touch it, wanting to ease her anxiety. “Some journals,” she said.

  The news was worse than he thought. If the journals contained the identity of the killer, they would be inadmissible in court. Not only that, but if it somehow came to light that he had helped support an illegal search of the house and then suppressed evidence, he would not only lose his job, he would be prosecuted.

  “Have you looked at them yet?” he asked.

  “No,” she whispered. Would he make her turn them over to the police, sight unseen?

  “Go get them,” he commanded.

  Nervously, she scurried down the hall to her room. With shaking hands, she peeled up the floorboards and returned with the journals. She set them on the table between them and resumed her seat, sitting on her hands and resisting the urge to fidget.

  While she was gone, Jason finished his food and poured himself another coffee. He also retrieved a clean cloth napkin from a drawer and used it to open one of the journals. Lacy’s mouth went dry when she realized what he was doing; she hadn’t even thought to protect the book from her fingerprints.

  “Does any of this mean anything to you?” he asked.

  He made room for her as she leaned in to look at the book. “It looks like some sort of code,” she said.

  “Hmm.” They stared at the book together in silence awhile as she turned pages.

  “Wait,” she said. “There.” She tapped a page in the book. “Jimmy Choo’s. I saw a pair of Jimmy Choo’s in her closet.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” he said.

  “They’re shoes, very expensive shoes.”

  “How expensive?” he asked.

  “The cheap ones start at around seven hundred.”

  His mouth fell and he shook his head. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “Do you see anything else you recognize?”

  As a unit, they leaned closer to the book. She jumped and looked at him when he rested his hand on her leg.

  He froze, then let out a breath, and
relaxed. “Lacy, you have to stop looking at me like that every time I touch you.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Like I’m the villain in an old black and white movie who is going to tie you to the railroad tracks. I’m a touchy-feely person. This is how I am with everyone.”

  “You must be really popular on the force,” she said.

  He rolled his eyes. “This is how I am with women.”

  “I know; your reputation precedes you.”

  “Do you have a comeback for everything?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Of course you do,” he said. Turning his attention back to the book, he leaned forward again. “Does anything else ring a bell?”

  She too, leaned forward, but it was difficult to think clearly with his hand on her leg, his thumb making circles on the inside of her knee. The journal was divided into two columns. The right hand side appeared to be a list of items, and some of them she recognized from the house.

  “Here.” She tapped the book. “I saw these two perfumes in her bathroom. They’re very expensive. And this might be the designer dress I saw in her closet.” She looked up, staring thoughtfully into space. “I might be able to recognize more if I could take another look around her house.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said.

  “I was just musing,” she said defensively.

  “Don’t muse. My nerves can’t take it.” He gave her knee a gentle squeeze, and she jumped because it tickled. “Do any of the words in the left column make sense?”

  Reluctantly, she ripped her attention from his face and turned back to the book. “Simon Says,” she read out loud. “Feathers McGee.” Those names were across from the two perfumes. “No, nothing about those words makes sense in any way. Those must be code for something else.” Her watch alarm beeped, and she turned it off.

  “What’s that for?” he asked.

  “Visiting hours at the jail.” A glance at the clock showed it to be almost ten. Jason had arrived at eight. How had the time sped by so quickly?

  “I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he said. “Thanks for breakfast, Lacy. It was good.”

  “Can I send you home with some prune cake?” she asked hopefully. She had to get it out of the house, the quicker the better.

  “No thanks,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong; it was really good, and I liked it, but I try to watch what I eat.”

  “Me too,” she said. I watch it go in as quickly as possible, that is.

  “Walk me to the door,” he commanded. Then he grasped her hand and led her behind him, not giving her the chance to refuse. Once there, he turned and slipped his arms around her, cinching her close. “We need to have a talk that’s a little overdue.”

  Lacy’s heart kicked into high gear. This was totally unexpected; Jason seemed like the kind of guy who would do anything possible to avoid talking about feelings, and yet here he was apparently initiating the conversation.

  “What you were talking about earlier, the platonic thing, do you think we have a chance at being friends?” he asked, catching her by surprise.

  He wanted to be friends with her? She had expected him to reiterate his earlier statement that they were all wrong for each other, to tell her she was a great girl, but she wasn’t his type, to say he needed space. Asking to be friends was so shocking she at first had no reply. “I don’t know,” she said at last, drawing out the words.

  “Because we can’t seem to get along for more than five minutes at a time?” he asked.

  “No. The fighting doesn’t bother me. The touching does.”

  “This bothers you?” he gave her an emphatic squeeze.

  She nodded. “This isn’t how I relate to my friends. This seems more like dating.”

  “Don’t you like it?” he asked.

  “I like it too much,” she replied honestly. “But it’s not me. I’m not casual like this. I’m not touchy-feely.”

  “So maybe you’ll come around to my way of thinking,” he said.

  Or maybe I’ll fall in love with you. That thought, so horrible and scary, made her shiver. “I can’t think clearly when we’re like this,” she said. As if to prove her point, her hands snaked up to clasp around his neck. “I don’t like this foggy feeling when I’m around you. You make it hard to think straight.”

  “Pardon me if I take that as a compliment,” he said cockily.

  “But it’s not,” she argued. “I’m not the girl who has casual flings. I’m not the girl who plays with fire. I’m a thinker, a slow mover, a deliberate planner. I’m rational.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that I know these things about you already? And that, just maybe, that’s what I want and need in my life right now? I’m tired of drama. I want a relationship that’s not based purely on physical attraction. I want to try something new for once; I want to be friends.”

  The problem, she realized, was that as far as she was concerned their relationship was based purely on physical attraction, at least from her perspective. Even in the midst of this serious conversation, she was hyper aware of his hands on her, and her hands on him. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said.

  “Try. We can help each other. You can teach me how to be friends with a girl, and I can get you a little more comfortable with physical affection.”

  She groaned and dropped her head to his shoulder. “You don’t get it at all,” she said.

  “I do,” he insisted. “This is hard for me, too, refraining from kissing you right now. But I’m doing it. Maybe with time we’ll get used to each other and it won’t be so difficult.”

  But even as he said the words, all she could think was how his shoulder felt like warm granite. His hand smoothed up and down her spine, and the soothing touch, along with the powerful bunching of rock-hard sinew and muscle beneath her ear, made it difficult to think clearly.

  “I’ll try,” she promised at last. “We’ll be friends. But don’t kiss me; kiss me and the deal is off.”

  “What if you kiss me?” he asked.

  “The same goes if either of us kisses the other one.”

  “So, just to clarify, I not only have to make sure I don’t kiss you, but I have to make sure you don’t kiss me,” he said.

  “Those are the rules.”

  “I feel like we’re twelve.”

  “So do I. When we were twelve, I had a huge crush on you.”

  He pulled back so he could see her face. “Does that mean you have a huge crush on me now?”

  “I’m not answering that question.” She gave his chest a light shove. “Go away.”

  He gave her an impish smile as he let himself out. “See you, pal.”

  “Later, buddy,” she replied. She watched until his Jeep was out of sight, then she gathered up her keys and purse and went to visit her grandmother.

  Chapter 11

  The jail was crowded again, causing Lacy to wonder just how many people were incarcerated in their town. When it was her turn, she presented a large gourmet coffee to Travis who greeted her with a cheerful smile.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” he said. “I slept four hours last night, and the coffee here is horrible.”

  She could have argued with him, telling him he was the lifesaver for getting her grandmother to agree to talk with her, but she didn’t. There was a mercenary part of her that thought it might be better to leave him feeling in her debt. Maybe it was her journalistic instincts, but it was always good to have a cop source, and Jason had already made it clear he wouldn’t be providing that service.

  Lacy had never felt nervous in her grandmother’s presence before, but she did now. Then again, she had never been rejected by her grandmother, never visited her in jail, never sat opposite her on one side of thick, bullet-proof glass.

  If her grandma had shuffled in, looking old and defeated, Lacy would probably have broken down and run crying from the visitation room. But she didn’t. Despite the ugly orange jumpsuit, her step was as spry and lively as ev
er, and she wore a smile on her face, even if it looked slightly strained and subdued.

  “Hello, Lacy,” she said, but Lacy could only read her lips. She pointed to the phone, and her grandmother looked at it in surprise before picking it up. “Just like on television,” she said.

  Lacy smiled. “I guess so. How are you doing, Grandma?”

  “I’m fine, honey.”

  Lacy suppressed a sigh of impatience. How long could she keep up the charade? When would she realize Lacy was an adult, an equal, and not a child who had to be protected from the ugly realities of life?

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Lacy suggested.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” her grandmother insisted. “I didn’t kill that woman.”

  “I know, Grandma, but I need to know why the police think you did. How long have you known Barbara Blake?”

  “I don’t know her, really. She was younger than me in school, and we ran in different circles then. She went to our church occasionally, and I always remember thinking she was such a pretty, vivacious girl.”

  “Why did you take her a pie?” Lacy asked.

  “Well, it just seemed like the neighborly thing to do,” her grandmother replied, which would have been a reasonable answer if her eyes hadn’t shifted slightly to the right so as to avoid contact with Lacy.

  “Grandma,” Lacy pressed. “What happened on the day you went to visit her?”

  “Nothing, Lacy,” her grandmother said. “I took her the pie. We talked for a few minutes, and then I left.”

  “Did you stay to have pie with her?” Lacy asked.

  “No, I didn’t,” her grandmother said and once again she was looking Lacy in the eye. “Everything happened exactly as I said. I took her the pie, followed her inside her house to set it on the counter. We talked briefly, and then I left.”

  “Did anyone see you leave? Did you go anywhere after her house?”

  “I went straight home and began baking again.” Her grandmother perked up. “It takes an hour to bake that cake. You got home at three that day. I remember because I had just taken it out of the oven. That means I put it in at two, and I would have had to start it sometime before that. Maybe you could check the woman’s time of demise against what time the cake went in the oven.”