Morning Cup of Murder

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  While she was waiting for the food to cook, she also decided to make a dipping sauce for the fries. Because she tended to be a messy cook, she pushed the mixing bowl and ingredients to the far side away from the counter so as not to splash on herself while she stirred.

  “Now what are you doing?” Jason slid open the patio and set the platter of steaming meat on the counter.

  “You don’t have any aprons,” she told him. “And I don’t want to spill.”

  He opened a drawer to his right and took out a large dish towel, flinging it open with a flick of his hand. Lacy froze as he moved close and used both hands to tie it around her waist.

  “There,” he said, not touching her, but also not moving away. “Is that better?”

  “Uh-huh,” she answered, though now she was in more danger than ever of dumping everything her quaking fingers touched.

  “I’ll set the table while you finish up,” he said. He reached for the cabinet over her head, drawing his body nearer hers so that he was almost but not quite touching her. She was oh-so-tempted to lean back, to give in to the urge to rest her weight against him with no care for what might happen next.

  With the plates in hand, there was no reason for him to linger, but he did. His free hand rested on her hip, and his face pressed against her neck, inhaling. “You smell nice,” he said, his breath blowing warm on her neck.

  Two things Lacy realized right away: First, she had missed this male/female interplay. She had missed touching, loving, and cuddling with a member of the opposite sex. Second, much as she had missed it, she wasn’t ready for any of this. Her nerves felt overstretched and on the verge of snapping. At any moment, she was either going to break down into a fit of hysterics or do something equally mortifying like turn and throw herself at him.

  Thankfully he let her go and turned toward the table. There was something to be said for being with someone who had a lot of experience. He seemed to possess a sixth sense about when to press and when to let things go, unlike Robert who had steamrolled her into every action or Tosh who seemed afraid to make any move at all.

  The food was ready and they sat at his cozy kitchen table to eat. The evening was beginning to take on an intimate undertone, and Lacy was beginning to feel the edges of panic creeping in. Her anxious feeling was made worse when she felt his sock-clad feet slip over her bare ones in a gentle caress.

  Lacy couldn’t believe that not only was Jason playing footsies with her, but that his light and casual conversation gave no indication of the cozy action going on beneath the table. She was torn between appreciation for his technique and chagrin over how many times he must have practiced it on other women.

  Her feet had always been sensitive. Robert hadn’t liked feet and had never touched hers, even though she would have been delighted by a massage. And now she was practically on sensory overload, trying to come to terms with the fact that Jason was gently caressing her feet while talking about baseball and eating a steak.

  “The steak is delicious,” was the only coherent thing she could contribute to the conversation for a while. “Do you grill often?”

  “The grill doesn’t require a lot of finesse. Basically you turn it on, set the meat down, and, voila! it’s done. I like this sauce on the vegetables.” His big toe pressed against her instep, causing her to lose the thread of the conversation.

  “This steak is delicious,” she said, then quickly realized she had already said that. Jason must have realized, too, because he looked down at his plate with a smile.

  As she groped for more conversation, she spotted a wall calendar with a picture of puppies and kittens. “Do you have any pets?”

  “No. My hours are too odd and I’m gone too often.”

  “So you’re just an animal lover?”

  At his confused look, she pointed to the calendar behind him. “Oh,” he said uncomfortably. “Someone gave that to me.”

  A girl, no doubt. How many nights had he repeated this scene, cooking for a girl and rubbing her feet under the table? Unlike Lacy for whom there had only ever been Robert. Renewed thoughts of Robert caused her to feel queasy. She pushed back from the table slightly, ending her meal and the under-table foot show.

  “Thank you, Jason. I can’t remember the last time someone besides my grandma cooked for me, especially not two meals in a row.”

  “Your last boyfriend didn’t cook for you?” he asked.

  “Cooking for someone in New York generally means that you order takeout for them,” she said, striving for a casual tone. Thinking of how things had been with Robert wasn’t doing much to ease her anxiety. She felt on the brink of a panic attack.

  Jason templed his index fingers under his chin, studying her. “Was is serious?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve never been serious with anyone,” he volunteered. He stood to clear the table and she joined him. He didn’t have a dishwasher, so they did the dishes together in silence. Lacy felt the tension mounting between them, and hoped it was her imagination working overtime. They had agreed to be friends, hadn’t they? He knew where she stood on the topic of relationships, didn’t he? And he had agreed he didn’t want anything either, hadn’t he?

  She began to have her doubts when, as soon as the dishes were finished, he clasped her hand and led her into the living room. He sat on the couch and pulled her down close beside him, keeping hold of her hand.

  “I have to tell you that I’m a little surprised you showed up here tonight,” he said. “I thought…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. What matters is that you’re ready for the next step.”

  “The next step,” she repeated dumbly.

  “The next step,” he reiterated. His right arm slid behind her back while his left arm eased over her waist, drawing her close enough that their lips were in easy touching range of each other. Then he just looked at her. She had never had anyone else pause that way before kissing her, as if he were savoring the moment. His eyes closed, his head dipped, and that’s when it happened. The full-blown panic attack that Lacy had been skittering toward finally erupted.

  She pressed her fingers to his lips and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I think you should let Bryce out of jail.”

  Chapter 19

  Jason paused and kissed her fingers where they lay gently on his lips. “Hmm?”

  Obviously he had been too caught up in the moment to hear what she had said. She removed her fingers and eased away from him slightly. “Jail. Bryce. He should go.” Now that the initial adrenaline rush was over, Lacy felt drained and confused. How had she ended up in this mess? What signal had she mistakenly given him?

  Jason began to come to his senses, too. He dropped his arms and sat back. “What did you say?”

  “I said…”

  “I know what you said. But I thought I must have heard you wrong. What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t want to press charges against Bryce for breaking into my house,” she said, hoping that would be enough to convey her point.

  “You don’t have to press charges. I witnessed the crime. I’m pressing charges,” he said, still sounding confused.

  “You can’t,” she said.

  He held up a hand to stop her from speaking. “Wait a minute here. Let me see if I understand what just happened. You showed up here tonight looking like that,” he paused to wave a hand at her, “because you want to talk about my job?”

  She nodded.

  “And if not for that reason, you would be with that other guy right now,” he added.

  “You make it sound really bad. It’s not like that.”

  “Then, please, tell me what it’s like because, from where I’m sitting, you showed up here tonight because you want something from me, and not because you want to be with me.”

  She sighed in frustration, pressing her fingers to her temples. “No, you’re twisting everything around. Tosh and I didn’t have specific plans. I had lunch with him this afternoon.”

  “I�
�m so glad you could arrange your schedule to fit us both in today,” Jason said. His tone was scathing.

  “Jason, please just let me explain. You’re getting everything all mixed up. I came here because I wanted to talk to you, but that’s not the only reason. I mean, I did want to see you; I do want to see you. I was having a nice time until…”

  “Until I tried to kiss you. Geez, aren’t I the idiot for trying to break that rule? What was I thinking trying to be friends with a woman? It’s impossible.” He ran his hands through his hair and stood, pacing back and forth a few feet away.

  Lacy wanted nothing more than to flee from the awkwardness, but she didn’t want to go until she had made herself understood. “Jason, please, you’re taking this all wrong. I didn’t have any motivation in coming here tonight other than to talk to you.”

  He stopped short and glared at her. “Fine. Talk away.”

  It wasn’t easy to talk to him when he was scowling at her, but she did her best. “I think you need to let Bryce go.”

  “We already had this discussion. I’m charging him, end of story.”

  “But new information has come to light,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  She bit her lip. “I can’t tell you.”

  “You mean you can’t trust me. And that’s what this is really all about, isn’t it, Lacy? You can’t trust me because you think I’m the same wild partier you thought I was in high school.”

  “No, that’s not it. But you’re a police officer, and what I found out is something that could get someone I care about in trouble.”

  “Is it Tosh? He’s involved in this murder, isn’t he? I knew it.” He searched around, looking for his phone. “You’d better believe I’m going to arrest him. I’ll call it in right now. I can’t believe you would want anything less.”

  “Jason.” She stood and practically shouted his name to get him to stop talking and look at her. “What is wrong with you?” she yelled, frustrated beyond control now. “I’m not talking about Tosh, and you are proving to me why I can’t tell you what I know. You’re so convinced that the law is the law and everything is black and white that you’re not willing to look between the cracks at the gray areas to see the people you might be hurting.”

  “The law protects people, Lacy. The law makes sense of the senseless and order of the chaos. It’s the only barrier between some people and total destruction.”

  She wanted to argue with him some more, but intuition told her he wasn’t speaking generally. Her head tipped to the side, studying him. “What happened to you?” she asked softly.

  “This isn’t about me,” he said gruffly. “This is about truth and fact, both of which are on my side.”

  “And it’s also about grace and mercy, both of which are on my side.”

  They squared off, each one waiting and hoping that the other would relent.

  “I’m not going to let Bryce go,” he said. “I can’t. He broke the law.”

  With a defeated sigh, she gathered her purse and walked over to where he stood. “Then think about this: When the full truth of what Bryce has done comes to light, Detective Brenner is going to know I broke into Barbara Blake’s house. And he’s going to make you be the one to arrest me. Are you ready for that?”

  He didn’t reply; he simply remained silent and stoic, staring at her through narrowed eyes.

  She took another step toward him until there were only a few inches between them. “Here’s something else for you to ponder: When I eventually am arrested for my role in that night, I won’t ever tell that you’re the one who found me and that you turned a blind eye to my crime. I would never give you up, no matter what. And I’ll be able to sleep just fine tonight. Will you?”

  She had to pivot around the coffee table to squeeze by him. Their bodies brushed, and Lacy felt the sizzle on her arm from the contact.

  By the time she reached her car, regret was setting in. Regret that she had handled things so badly, regret that she had gone there in the first place, and regret that Robert had left her so broken and bruised that she was no longer whole.

  Home was exactly as she had left it, and she was thankful there was no drama waiting for her when she arrived. She simply wanted to get this murder solved so she could get on with her life and get out of this town. And the best way to do that was waiting for her in her room.

  After changing into her nightgown and scrubbing her face, she settled into her bed with Barbara Blake’s journals. She skimmed all three of them, but kept coming back to her belief that the first one held the key. There was something niggling in her mind just out of reach about the first page, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was, and that frustrated her.

  It was a long time before she finally fell asleep. This time she remembered to put her phone right next to her bed in case there was an emergency, but she regretted that action when it rang bright and early the next morning.

  For the first time in a while she had been set to sleep in, and then the shrill buzz of her phone woke her from a dead sleep. She fumbled for it, thinking it was an alarm, and not until she heard a man’s voice did she realize it was her phone.

  “Ms. Steele.”

  By now she was well acquainted with Ed McNeil’s voice. Guessing correctly that she was just about to end the call, he hastened to continue.

  “Please don’t hang up; this isn’t about your grandmother, it’s about you,” he said.

  Lacy’s throat constricted with fear. Had Bryce told someone that she was in Barbara Blake’s house that night? Was there already a warrant for her arrest?

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  “I’m handling Barbara Blake’s estate,” he said.

  Uh-oh. If he was the executor, did that give him the power to have her arrested for trespassing? Was that why he was calling, to rub her nose in his newfound power? “Okay,” she drawled. Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the inevitable axe to drop.

  “You’re going to need to come in here and sign the papers.”

  Bile rose in the back of her throat and she swallowed it down. Apparently he was going to swear out a warrant for her arrest. “Couldn’t I just meet you at the jail and save time?”

  “Uh, okay, if you prefer. I usually handle wills in my office, but whatever.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “What?”

  “The will. You need to sign the will.”

  “What?” she repeated dumbly. “What are you talking about?”

  There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Didn’t you know you’re her beneficiary?”

  “Who?”

  “Barbara Blake, the deceased.”

  “What are you talking about?” she repeated. “That’s not possible; I never met the woman.”

  “Nonetheless, she bequeathed all her worldly possessions to you; the house, her clothing and jewelry, and a bank account totaling a million dollars.”

  Lacy choked and dropped the phone. She fumbled for it with shaking fingers, dropping it twice more before bringing it to her ear again. “Sorry,” she said. “Mr. McNeil, is this a joke?”

  “I never joke about money,” he said.

  And somehow she believed him. Numb with shock, she was just about to hang up when a new thought occurred to her. “If I hired you to represent my grandmother, how soon could you get her out of jail?”

  “By noon today,” he said.

  “Then do it,” she said. “I have some questions that need answered as soon as possible.” Questions like why a dead woman Lacy had never met left her all of her worldly possessions.

  After hanging up with the lawyer, Lacy looked once more at the journal beside her bed. The answer was in the first few entries--she was sure of it. But what was it?

  “Matherly- Bundle,” she read out loud. Then a few lines later “bundle” was mentioned again. “Baker- Gave Bundle for 10.”

  And then something her brain had been trying to tell her finally became apparent. Nowhere in any of
the other journals had Barbara given anything away. That meant that this entry was significant, possibly more significant than anything else.

  A theory began to come together in Lacy’s mind, but she needed confirmation. She picked up the phone and called Rose, not caring that it was still very early.

  “Rose, it’s Lacy. I was wondering if Barbara had a nickname for Mr. Middleton.”

  Rose laughed. “We all had nicknames for Tom Middleton. He was only four years older than us, and our math teacher our senior year of high school.”

  Lacy gripped the phone tighter. “Math teacher?” she squeaked.

  “Yes, he was a whiz at math. In fact, that was Rose’s nickname for him: Mr. Matherly.”

  “They dated, didn’t they?” Lacy asked.

  “No one ever knew for sure, but we all suspected. All the men were crazy about Barbara, Tom especially. There were a lot of rumors about them right before she went away. We all thought that was why she kept to herself so much there at the end.”

  “Thank you, Rose,” Lacy said distractedly. She was almost certain now, but she needed confirmation, and she knew just where to get it. She rolled out of bed, throwing on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt before grabbing her purse and heading out the door.

  She jogged to the coffee shop and bypassed the usual line of elderly customers. Mr. Middleton sat at his usual seat beside the counter, sipping his coffee, and reading the paper. He looked up when Lacy breathlessly plopped into the seat across from him.

  “Hello, Lacy,” he said, his eyes narrowed in concern. “Something wrong?”

  “You’re my grandfather, aren’t you?” Lacy exclaimed. The shock of discovery was too new for her to try and be tactful.

  He opened his mouth--to deny it?--but then closed it and slumped forward, appearing to age ten years in those few seconds. “So now you know,” he said.