Morning Cup of Murder

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  An hour later, after desperately searching every nook and cranny and then putting everything back together, Lacy fell into bed exhausted. Not even bothering to wash her face, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 13

  For the third day in a row, Lacy woke just after the sun rose. Frustrated that her exhaustion hadn’t resulted in more sleep, she picked up her pillow and ground it into her face.

  But when she remembered all she had to do, she rolled out of bed. After yawning so often in the shower she was in danger of drowning, she realized she was in need of mass quantities of coffee. Since her schedule was so busy, she dressed for the funeral, loaded her bag with her computer and the journals, and drove to the coffee shop. Driving to the small café a few blocks away wasn’t part of her routine, so after she walked halfway there, Lacy had to go back and get the car.

  As usual, the shop was crowded and the bran was sold out. Lacy irritably wondered why they didn’t scrap all the other flavors of muffins and put all their efforts into producing more bran, by far the fan favorite. Of course that meant there would be no chocolate chip muffins for her, and that would be sad.

  Before she could muster the words to order, Peggy presented her with a chocolate chip muffin and large coffee--her standard order.

  “Peggy, I love you,” Lacy mumbled as she handed Peggy her money.

  Peggy laughed and tucked the money into the cash register. “Hope the day gets better from here, Lacy.”

  “Thanks,” Lacy said, though she had no idea if Peggy heard her because another, older person had already taken her place in line.

  She was almost finished with her coffee before she finally started to perk up. She pulled out one of the journals and picked up where she had left off, reading the list of items and mentally keeping a tally of how much they were worth. When her mental tally reached a million dollars, she put the book facedown on the table, feeling sick to her stomach.

  The coffee shop hit a lull. Peggy appeared before Lacy, offering a refill.

  “Thanks,” Lacy said. If Peggy noticed her dismal tone, she didn’t comment on it before skittering back to the counter when a new group of customers arrived.

  Lacy began to look around the coffee house, wondering if anyone else was dressed in funeral wear. As she was making her inspection, Rose, Janice, Maya, and Gladys trooped in as a unit. They were all jabbering, and all dressed in black. Once again Rose was the first to notice Lacy. She nudged the two ladies standing nearest to her, and they turned toward Lacy jointly as if there were hidden ropes that tethered them together.

  Lacy smiled and waved. As soon as they received their food, they plodded over to her and stopped in front of her table.

  “I’ve never seen you guys in here before,” she said.

  “Today is going to be a long day,” Rose said. “We thought it would be nice to relax before the big event.”

  Lacy tried not to wince at the way Rose made the funeral sound like a demolition derby.

  “Why are you going?” Rose asked, nodding toward Lacy’s black dress.

  “She knew my grandmother,” Lacy said, trying to rattle them with that information. Did they know about the connection between the two women? Were they covering for her grandmother?

  “She did?” Rose asked in genuine surprise. “Lucinda wasn’t one of our original set in high school. Even if she had been our age, she was always too mature and sensible for the likes of us. We were boy crazy and immature. Lucinda always had marriage and family on her mind.”

  If Lacy hadn’t been staring directly at them, she wouldn’t have noticed Maya and Janice elbow Rose in an attempt to shut her up.

  Rose is chatty, Lacy noted, filing the information away for a later purpose. She had a feeling she wasn’t done wringing information from this bunch. From what she could tell, they were the people in town who knew Barbara best. Who’s to say one of them wasn’t still in contact with her? Why else would she have returned from New York after so long an absence if it wasn’t to reconnect with someone in the community?

  “A table opened up,” Janice said. “Let’s go, Rose.” She clamped her hand on Rose’s elbow and practically dragged her to the waiting table.

  Lacy picked up the journal again, but almost immediately a new shadow fell over her. “Mr. Middleton,” she said with a yelp of surprise. He stood to her right, frowning down at her.

  “Why is a young girl like you wasting your time hanging around at viewings and funerals?”

  Lacy was so surprised by the question that she blinked at him a few times. Why did it sound like he earnestly cared about her wellbeing? She had always thought of him as a stern disciplinarian, a loner who had no time for marriage or a family of his own. But maybe Tosh was right; maybe she had misjudged him. Did he think of his many former students as his children? Was he secretly lonely and longing for some companionship?

  “Would you like to sit down?” she found herself asking.

  Now it was his turn to blink at her in surprise. “Okay.” He pulled out the chair across from her, scraping it loudly on the ground. He sat and they stared at each other.

  “I didn’t know you knew Barbara Blake,” she blurted, trying desperately to fill the awkward silence.

  “I know everyone in this town,” he said. His voice was more gravelly than she remembered. For an older man, he had retained his good looks. He was what her grandmother would call distinguished looking with his white hair and spiffy clothing.

  “Were you a principal when she was in school?”

  He shook his head. “We grew up together. I was four years older than her. Our parents were friends.”

  There was another awkward pause while they studied each other and then he spoke again.

  “I was sorry to hear about your grandmother. The police in this town are a bunch of fools if they believe Lucy could murder anyone.”

  Two conflicting thoughts warred in her head, tumbling to get out. “Not all the cops are bad, and you know my grandmother?”

  One lip curled in the semblance of a smile. “I told you I know everyone. Your grandmother is a nice lady. And you’re correct: Jason Cantor is a good officer.” He sipped his coffee and gave her a knowing glance.

  Her cheeks warmed with a blush. Somehow it was more embarrassing to talk to this man about Jason than it was with anyone else. Probably because she had thought of him as a loveless soul who knew nothing about romance. But apparently she had been wrong.

  “I’m sorry your friend died. I think you might be the only person in town who is mourning her.”

  “I’m not mourning her,” he bit off. “She was a horrible person, and I’m glad she’s dead.”

  Lacy gasped. Mr. Middleton cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not glad she’s dead, but she was a horrible person, and I don’t mourn her. But proper respect needs to be paid. Goodness knows no one is going to cry for an old codger like me when I’m gone, but I hope people will do the right thing by me and show up anyway.”

  It was the most Lacy had ever heard him say at any one time. Previously her experience with him had been limited to hearing him yell a misbehaving kid’s name down the hallway at school. And it had always had the effect of causing the kid to freeze in his tracks, a look of sheer terror on his face.

  “How’s your sister?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

  “She’s fine.” Now it was Lacy’s turn to adopt a clipped tone.

  Mr. Middleton took another sip of his coffee. “Sisters shouldn’t fight.”

  She tipped her head, perplexed. “How did you know Riley and I aren’t speaking?”

  “Old principals with nothing else to do know everything, Lacy,” he said. Then he did the unthinkable: he winked and smiled at her, a real, warm smile that looked as cheerful as Santa Claus on Christmas morning. He lumbered slowly to his feet. “See you at the funeral.”

  Lacy had no reply. Mouth agape with surprise, she watched him slowly walk out the door and down th
e street.

  A few minutes later, after she had fully recovered her senses, she looked at the clock on the wall and realized it was almost time for her meeting with Detective Brenner. She hopped in her grandmother’s Buick and drove to the jail.

  The detective had been unavailable to meet with her yesterday after her visit. Instead she had set an appointment for first thing this morning. She arrived a few minutes early, and his secretary told her he wasn’t in yet. Impatiently, she sat on her hands, twisting back and forth and waiting for her name to be called.

  Raucous male laughter sounded from down the hall. She craned her neck around the doorway and saw the detective, sipping his coffee and talking to another employee.

  “I see him,” Lacy said to the secretary. “Can you tell him I’m here, please?”

  “I told him ten minutes ago,” the secretary said. She sounded longsuffering, and Lacy felt no small amount of pity for her. What must it be like to work for someone so rude and overbearing?

  Lacy loudly cleared her throat in the vain attempt that the detective would look her way. At last when it was either speak to him now or be late for the funeral, she stood and marched through the door, coming face to face with the detective. Whomever he had been talking to scurried into a nearby office, closing the door firmly behind him.

  “Detective, we had an appointment twenty minutes ago,” Lacy said.

  He stared at her or, rather, he stared down at her--most likely trying to intimidate her with his superior height and girth. But Lacy wasn’t intimidated; she was angry. This man was responsible for inflicting emotional harm on her sweet and delicate grandmother. If necessary, she would take him on in a physical fight to the death if that was what was needed to make him listen to her. When he realized she wasn’t quavering in fear before him, he relaxed his position slightly.

  “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “It’s about my grandmother. I want to know Ms. Blake’s time of death.”

  “I can’t release that information.”

  “That information is public property. I could get a lawyer to draft a notice on the Freedom of Information Act, or you could simply tell me what I already have the right to know.”

  He stood staring at her a moment longer, probably deciding how far he wanted to take his resistance. Was everything a battle with this man?

  “The coroner puts the time of death sometime between noon and three.”

  “My grandmother put a cake in the oven at two. It’s a laborious, time consuming recipe that takes a half hour to put together, at the very least, making the time she arrived home one thirty at the latest. According to your witness, the neighbor I talked to myself, my grandmother arrived at the dead woman’s house at eleven AM. Wouldn’t it make sense that she would kill her immediately and flee as quickly as possible? Yet according to your expert the murder time wasn’t until at least an hour after my grandmother arrived. And then there’s the matter of the cake she baked for me.”

  “So you say,” he said. “How am I to believe there even was a cake?”

  “It was sitting on the table when you arrived to arrest her. Didn’t you smell sugar and cinnamon the minute you walked in?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Go home, Miss Steele. Leave the police work to the professionals.”

  “I would if I could find one,” she retorted. “There are so many holes in your case it looks like Swiss cheese, and yet you refuse to see differently. My grandmother didn’t do it. She had no motive. She has an alibi.”

  “A cake is not an alibi,” he said. “And we have witnesses.”

  “Witnesses who saw her arrive an hour before the murder took place,” Lacy said. “And she admitted to being there, but she was only there to drop off that pie.”

  “And the murder weapon had that very pie on it,” the detective said smugly.

  “But did it have my grandmother’s fingerprints or DNA? Were either of those things found on the plates or glasses? No, because she didn’t stay to eat the pie. She dropped it off and left it, just like she said.” Saying the words out loud made her think of another question. “Whose prints and DNA were on the plates? Who did she have pie with?”

  The detective shifted uncomfortably. “The DNA on the plates came back to a man. No discernable prints or DNA were found on the knife, except that of the victim.”

  Lacy blinked at him. “You mean to tell me that you have male DNA, and yet you’re holding my grandmother because she’s the one who baked a pie.”

  “Obviously there was some sort of love triangle going on. Your grandmother killed Miss Blake in a fit of jealous rage.”

  And that was the moment Lacy snapped. “Are you insane?” she yelled. “What is wrong with you? That’s the stupidest piece of garbage I’ve ever heard. My grandmother has dated and loved exactly one man in her entire life, and he’s buried in a cemetery that has her name on the tombstone beside his. You will not be able to find one witness who will testify that my grandmother was interested in a man. In some ways I almost hope this case goes to trial because then the world will be able to see what a fool of a buffoon you really are.”

  His face was puce by the end of her speech. He took a step toward her and leaned over, shoving his index finger in her face. “You listen to me, little girl. I’m going to give you the chance to walk out of here right now. If you’re not gone in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to arrest you for obstruction of justice and threatening a police officer. The clock is ticking.”

  She opened her mouth to unleash on him again when a hand clamped firmly over her lips. Another arm came around her waist and forcibly lifted her from the ground, dragging her backwards out of the room.

  When Jason set her down outside the building, she rounded on him.

  “What are you doing? How can you possibly take his side?”

  “I’m not taking his side, Lacy. I’m keeping you out of jail. He wasn’t kidding about arresting you. He levels those charges at anyone who disagrees with him, and he would have had me cuff you just because he’s that mean and petty.” He ran his hands through his hair, causing it to stand on end. “What are you thinking? Can’t I leave you alone for a minute without you getting yourself into hot water? You can’t go around yelling at the second most powerful man in the county that way. He’s not the sort of man you want as an enemy.”

  “What am I thinking? What are you thinking? How can you swallow your pride and wallow in the misery he emits, day after day?”

  “Because I don’t have the luxury of letting him have it and then walking away. I work here. I work for him.” For emphasis, he pointed his finger toward the building. “Like it or not, he’s my boss. What happened to miss ‘I’m not emotional, I’m a planner, I’m a thinker, I’m rational?’”

  Hearing him toss her words back in her face had an oddly cooling effect on her. It was no secret that she had a raging bad temper, but she had always respected law and authority before. She looked Jason up and down while she thought. He was dressed in civilian clothes and his hair was in wild disarray. Not to mention that his hands were fisted on his hips, his feet spread wide in a fighting stance, and he was scowling at her. She couldn’t help it; she giggled.

  His scowl deepened. “What are you laughing at?”

  “You. Me. Us. This whole absurd situation. I mean, two weeks ago I could never have imagined myself yelling at a detective because he arrested my grandmother for murder.” Another giggle bubbled up and she suppressed it. “What are you doing here, anyway?” He didn’t begin work until noon, and it was only a little after nine.

  “I heard through the rumor mill that you had this appointment today. Color me clairvoyant, but I thought something like this might happen.”

  “Did you just roll out of bed?” she asked, ignoring his backhanded insult.

  “I work second shift,” he reminded her. “Most nights I’m not in bed until after two.” He swiped a weary hand down his face before resting his arm on her shoulders and turning her toward th
e parking lot. “C’mon. Do you have time to grab a cup of coffee?”

  “I’d better not. I’ve already had four cups today. And I have a funeral to attend.”

  They reached her car and faced each other. “Do you really think you’re going to learn something by going to her funeral?” he asked.

  “No, but it’s not about that anymore. This woman died all alone in the world, and no one cares. I feel like I need to go because someone needs to be witness to her passing. Does that make sense?”

  “It does, and it also proves you are as sweet and lovely as I thought you might be.”

  She smiled up at him, enjoying the sight of his sleep-swollen eyes and tousled hair. “Why don’t you go home and get some more sleep? You look tired.”

  “I am tired,” he said, sounding groggy.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she put her hands on his chest, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for coming to get me.” When she pulled away he was staring at her, dumbfounded.

  “I thought you said no kissing,” he said.

  “Cheeks don’t count.” She winked at him, and gave him a little wave before turning to duck into her car. He caught her wrist, holding her in place.

  “Lacy, what’s gotten into you this morning?”

  I don’t want to die alone like Barbara Blake and Mr. Middleton. “Maybe it’s all the coffee I drank.” Her flippant tone was sharp contrast to her inner turmoil. Already it had been an emotionally draining morning, and she still had a funeral to attend.

  “Then by all means let’s get you one of those hats with two cups and a straw. We’ll keep you caffeinated all day long.”

  She laughed, feeling some of the weight shift slightly away from her chest. She started her car and poked her head out the window. “Did I get you in trouble with him?” She bit her lip and looked worriedly toward the building.