Mocha, She Wrote

by Ellie Alexander

  “Keep your baby blues focused on those two,” Lance commanded, nodding to Sammy and Diaz. “I’m watching our other suspects.”

  Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. The baristas concentrated on steaming milk and pouring shots. I wasn’t sure what I had been hoping for. That Diaz would raise his hand halfway through the first round and confess?

  Alas. Not so much.

  There was also no way to tell how Andy was doing. The judges said nice things about every competitor’s drink but wouldn’t reveal scores until the grand finale later in the day.

  “This is spicier than the closet scene from Hamlet,” Lance commented as the buzzer started for the second round. “I dare say that I think my heart is palpitating a bit.” He thumped his hand on his chest for effect.

  “You should have been here yesterday,” I retorted. “Benson brought a Polonius-like energy to the event.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it.” He gave me a half clap. “And, well played on the Shakespeare reference.”

  Shakespeare was part of the ether in Ashland. I had grown up amongst playwrights, actors, dancers, artists, and a backdrop of Elizabethan culture. My father, like the Professor, would quote the Bard at will. He was one of the original founders of the Midnight Club—a late night band of merrymakers who staged impromptu performances and shared a mutual admiration of and obsession for Shakespeare’s works.

  James shouted out time warnings. “Ten minutes, baristas! Get those shots extracted and milk steamed!”

  Steph who sat on my left, bounced her knee up and down.

  “You’re not nervous, are you?” I teased.

  She gave me her signature scowl, her deep purple lips curling downward. “No.”

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  We watched in rapture as the competition continued, her toes continuing to tap on the floor.

  I kept my eye on Diaz and Sammy, both of whom were singularly focused. Diaz swayed to the tunes the DJ was spinning, but unlike yesterday, he didn’t stop to flex for the crowd or show off his dance moves. He had abandoned his headphones and used sheer force to grind his beans, pulsing them to a fine pulp. I wondered what that would do to the portafilter.

  Sammy, on the other hand, treated her beans like a newborn infant. She had stored them on dry ice again. The billowing fog that escaped as she tenderly scooped the beans into the grinder made the crowd oooh and aaaah.

  “Artistic illusion at its best, and well-timed I must say.” Lance gave a nod of appreciation to Sammy’s theatrics.

  She didn’t notice. She cradled her beans with both hands as if they might break. Wasn’t that the point?

  Meanwhile, Andy continued to sweat. He stopped twice to mop his brow and caught my eye.

  You okay? I mouthed.

  He shrugged and shook his head before refocusing on steaming a combination of almond, coconut, and oat milks. I knew that he had spent hours perfecting the ratio in order to achieve a delicate balance between the nondairy milks. I wished I could go rescue him or at least give him a quick pep talk, but the time continued to tick down.

  “Five minutes, baristas!” James motioned for the crowd to cheer. “Five minutes until every offering needs to be cupped and ready for the judges.”

  The DJ played the Jeopardy theme song.

  Piper took one last spin past each of the competitors’ stations. She took great interest in Sammy’s machine, bending over to study the settings. Sammy ignored her.

  “Okay, let’s count them down,” James announced. “Ten … nine…”

  Andy’s face blotched with red streaks as he placed his alternative latte on the tasting tray. For this round, the baristas had to provide the judges with a nondairy latte, a chai latte, and a matcha latte. Sequoia had been an asset for Andy when he was prepping for this round. She had offered constructive feedback on how to warm the milk, whisk in the matcha powder to form a thick paste, and then steam the leafy, fragrant tea with the milk. She also suggested he add a dusting of matcha powder on the top for extra flourish and texture. By the looks of his beautiful green drink with a leaf made of foam, he had followed her advice.

  At the end of the scoring, Andy stood in third place. A solid finish, but he didn’t look happy.

  When it was time to break for lunch, June—who had arrived with her knitting again—Mom, Marty, and Steph went to find seats at the buffet. Lance scooted off to have another go at James. The ballroom cleared out pretty quickly, except for Thomas, Kerry, and the Professor. I went to see if they’d made any progress and found them huddled near the judges’ table.

  “Any updates?”

  The Professor broke off their conversation. “Ah, Juliet.”

  Thomas and Kerry turned around. Thomas wore a pair of khaki shorts and a navy polo with Peace Officer embroidered on the chest.

  Ashland’s small team of police officers were just that—peace keepers. They took a community approach to policing, getting to know anyone who might be at risk or in need of support and services, and then figuring out ways to connect them with that support. I knew we were lucky to have such a caring team helping to lift up our community.

  Kerry was dressed in a sleeveless black tank top and matching narrow skirt. Her long auburn hair was twisted in a messy bun at the back of her narrow neck. Kerry was a minimalist in terms of style—I was too. I’d rarely seen her wear jewelry, which is why my eyes traveled to the sparkling diamond engagement ring on her left hand. Thomas had shown me the exquisite ring before he proposed. I was thrilled for both of them, and crossing my fingers they would take us up on our offer to cater the wedding. Mom and I had discussed it—we thought it would make for a wonderful gift to be able to serve Thomas, Kerry, and their guests.

  Kerry’s ring made me acutely aware of my bare hand. During my separation with Carlos I had stopped wearing my wedding band; but when we reconciled, Carlos insisted he wanted to give me something new.

  “We are starting fresh, mi querida,” he had said, caressing my naked finger. “We both need new rings to signify our commitment again. This is a new life we are beginning together in Ashland. It will be a chance to renew our vows, si?”

  I had agreed. Not that I needed a ceremony or a ring to convince me that I’d made the right choice, but there was something to be said for the symbol of merging our lives in Ashland.

  Kerry waited for me to respond to the Professor.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” I started to back away.

  “Not at all. I was hoping for a word with you as fate would have it.” The Professor stopped me. He removed his notebook from his shirt pocket. “I noticed that you were able to get a moment with the other competitors and wondered if perhaps they revealed anything of interest?”

  Thomas followed the Professor’s lead and took notes on his iPad mini.

  “Maybe.” I told them about Diaz’s salt canister and Sammy’s gloves.

  “Noted. Anything else?” He waited to see if there was more. I wished I had more to share.

  “No. I didn’t get much out of either of them. They were prepping for the competition.” I wished I had thought of a way to bring up the subject of sleeping pills with either of them. It wasn’t exactly casual conversation. So, are you taking anything to help you sleep? I would have to ponder a more subtle way of approaching the topic.

  A uniformed officer interrupted us. He held a thumb drive for the Professor to see. “Here’s the information you requested.”

  The Professor gave him a grateful nod. “Many thanks.”

  What was on the drive? I wanted to ask, but Thomas beat me to it.

  He clicked off the iPad and pointed to the thumb drive. “Is that the surveillance footage?”

  “Indeed. We’ll see if The Hill’s cameras were able to capture anything of interest. I’m optimistic and yet also a realist. I fear that our killer likely considered the placement of cameras. It wouldn’t have been difficult to maneuver around them, but we can hope.” He handed the thumb drive to Thomas.
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  “What’s Lance up to?” Thomas asked.

  I held my breath. Oh no, what was Lance up to? I followed Thomas’s gaze to the far corner of the ballroom where Lance was laughing loudly with James. I could tell that he was intentionally trying to draw attention, from the way he threw his head back and let out a booming laugh.

  “Who knows? Being Lance?”

  The tiniest glimmer of amusement crossed Kerry’s face before she narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘being Lance.’”

  I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Another officer approached us. He whispered something to the Professor, who in turn motioned to Kerry and Thomas. “That’s our cue. Juliet, excuse us please, and thank you for the information.”

  I watched them leave the ballroom in a hurry.

  What was that about?

  There was no sign of Andy or Sammy, but Diaz was at his station listening to music. I decided to give it another shot.

  “Good job this morning,” I said.

  He lifted one side of his headphones away from his ear. “Huh?”

  “I said ‘good job.’ You did well this morning.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He took off the headphones.

  I stared at the slew of ingredients at his messy station.

  He must have noticed my eyes linger on the container of salt because he grabbed it and stuffed it into a paper grocery bag.

  “Oh, are you using salt in one of your drinks this afternoon?”

  He threw the grocery bag under the table. “Why do you care?”

  “I just wondered. After what happened with Andy yesterday I thought maybe salt would be taboo.”

  He glared at me. “Don’t you own a coffee shop? You should know that you never want to be underprepared. Better to pack more than you need than not enough.”

  He had a fair point, but I didn’t trust him and my gut was telling me that he was lying. I should have dropped it, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “I was just talking to the police. They’re looking into who spiked Andy’s first drink with salt.” That wasn’t fully true, but the Professor hadn’t actually said that they weren’t looking into that possibility.

  Diaz clutched the edge of the table. “Oh yeah?” He tried to sound casual.

  I knew I should leave it, but I might not have another chance to speak to Diaz alone. “They think that whoever sabotaged Andy’s drink could have done it again, with deadly consequences.”

  “What?” Diaz threw his hand to his chest. “Nah, no, that’s not what happened.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Was he about to confess?

  Diaz smoky eyes narrowed. He glanced around us. “Look, you know the police here, right? You were just over there talking to them.”

  “Yes, I know them.” I could feel my heart rate speed up. What was he going to say?

  “You have to talk to them for me.” His eyes shifted. They were wide with fear. “You have to tell them that I didn’t kill Benson.”

  “I didn’t suggest that you did.”

  He cracked his knuckles. “You know about the salt.”

  I played innocent. “What do you mean?”

  He reached into the grocery bag and slammed the salt on the table. “This. Okay, this. I admit it. I tossed a bunch of salt into Andy’s drink.”

  I’m sure my face reflected my shock. Not that Diaz had done it, but that he was claiming responsibility.

  “Look, I need the money, okay? Do you know how expensive it is to live in San Francisco on a barista’s salary? My tip money barely pays for my gas. I don’t have health insurance. I’m bumming on my friend’s couch. Ten grand would help a lot.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay to sabotage another competitor. And why Andy? Sammy seems like she was the one to beat.” The reality of Diaz’s confession had started to sink in. I felt my internal temperature rise.

  “I was going to slip something into her drink too.” He shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like it was deadly. It was just some salt. These competitions have gotten bigger and bigger with fat payouts. I was just trying to get a leg up. You’re looking at me like I took some kind of a drastic measure. It was just salt,” Diaz repeated.

  It was more than salt, but I kept quiet.

  “Sammy doesn’t need the money,” he continued. “She’s a YouTube star. She makes serious cash on her coffee videos. I found out what each of the contestants was serving for the signature round and I came up with a plan to taint their drinks. I didn’t mean to throw that much salt into Andy’s cup, but you spotted me. I had to hurry.”

  So he had been tampering with Andy’s coffee when I’d seen him yesterday. “And what about Sammy?”

  Diaz shuffled his feet and fidgeted with his hands for a moment. Then he bent down and removed a plastic tub from beneath his table. “I had a plan in mind for her coffee too, but she never left her station.” He lifted the lid.

  I leaned closer for a better look. “Is that dirt?”

  “Yeah. She was making that ridiculous earthy mushroom coffee. I figured a sprinkling of dirt would add too much earth. I had to stick with flavors they were already using in their coffees, otherwise it would be too obvious. I had to add just enough to throw off the balance. That was the brilliance of the plan. Two of the judges would get great drinks. They would argue with the third judge who would claim something was off, but things went south.”

  That dirt must have been what I had seen on Andy’s station. “I don’t understand. How did you target Benson?”

  “I didn’t. That was the luck of the draw. It didn’t matter who got the drink. I just needed one judge to disagree with the others and I’m in first place.” He put the lid back on the tub of dirt and stuck it under the table.

  How should I respond?

  Diaz had admitted to cheating. That would exclude him for the competition. But the bigger question was, could Diaz also have slipped deadly sedatives into Benson’s drink?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You’re going to tell the police, aren’t you?” Diaz pounded his fists on the table, causing his headphones to fall to the floor. He bent over to pick them up. “Bruh, I’m such an idiot. I should have been more careful. If I hadn’t tossed that much salt into Andy’s drink I would have gotten away with it. It was just salt. What’s the big deal?”

  The big deal was that he had ruined Andy’s placement in the competition yesterday at best, and at worst, he might be the one who killed Benson with a latte.

  “Listen, Diaz, you need to go talk to the police—now. I’ll take you to the Professor, our lead detective here in Ashland. He’s one of the most intelligent men I know. He’ll hear your side of the story, but this is a murder investigation. If you don’t go talk to him then, yes, I will.”

  “But, I didn’t kill him. You don’t understand. It was nothing. A way to ensure that I would at least have a shot of getting into the finals. I need the cash. I wasn’t going to do anything today. I knew that if I could make it to the finals, I had a good chance of winning, and even second and third place pay some serious cash.”

  “This is everything you need to say to the police,” I insisted. The ballroom was starting to fill in. People trickled to their seats. The DJ started the music and the judges had reconvened at the main table.

  Diaz fiddled with the chord on his headphones, twisting it around his hand like a tourniquet. “They’re going to think I killed him. I didn’t touch the new drink that Andy gave Benson. I wasn’t even here when Andy was making it. I was up at the judges’ table waiting to have a word with Benson.”

  I nodded and let him continue, but internally I made note to share that fact with the Professor. Standing at the judges’ table when Andy delivered Benson the second hot honey latte gave Diaz the perfect opportunity to spike the drink.

  “I swear, I only wanted to level the playing field. I was going to flex on everyone. I wanted a shot at the money and the title. That’s all. I didn’t kill Benson. I didn�
��t even know the guy.” He tossed the headphones onto the table.

  “All the more reason to share this with the police now. The longer you withhold information, the more you’ll look like a suspect.”

  Diaz groaned. “Okay, but I’m going to tell them that the person they should be looking into is James, not me.”

  “James?” I wished I had a better poker face. I was sure my mouth was hanging open.

  “Yeah. He and Benson went head-to-head yesterday. I thought he was going to punch the guy. He might have if Piper hadn’t jumped in between them.”

  “When was this?”

  Diaz shrugged. “I don’t remember. Late. After the competition was over. It was dead in here. I was packing up my stuff when they got into it.”

  “Do you know what they were fighting about?”

  “No, but it sounded like an old grudge. James kept saying that Benson wasn’t going to do this again. He threatened him.”

  I had heard a similar argument between the two men yesterday, which made me more inclined to believe that Diaz was telling the truth—at least about that.

  “Should we go find the Professor?” I asked.

  “Do I have a choice?” Diaz expelled an audible breath.

  “You don’t have to come with me, but like I said, if you don’t tell them what happened, I will and I think it will be much better coming from you.”

  He pounded his fist on the table a final time. “God, I’m such an idiot. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  We didn’t talk more on the way to the lobby. I spotted the Professor speaking with a woman at the reception desk.

  “Wait here,” I said to Diaz and went over to the Professor.

  “Can I snag you for a minute?” I asked, pointing to Diaz, who stood near the front door. I half wondered if he was considering making a quick escape.

  The Professor excused himself and came with me. “You already know Diaz. He and I were just talking and he has something important he needs to tell you about.”

  I left them to talk, wondering what might happen to the Barista Cup now.