Murder Over Mochas

by Caroline Fardig

  Having almost forgotten an important part of our sleuthing (not leaving fingerprints behind), I reached into my pockets and produced two pairs of my winter gloves. I handed Pete the pink pair. “Here. These will look pretty on you.”

  Pete grunted at me, but obediently put on the gloves and then grabbed a chair and wedged it under the doorknob. “Now at least we won’t be interrupted.”

  I put on my gloves and looked around the icky room. They hadn’t changed a thing about their rooms (or probably cleaned any of them) since we were here a year ago. The stained orange shag carpet, the seventies wallpaper, and the nasty, nasty paisley bedspread added to the overwhelming dreariness of the place. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around Scott having been here, but a suitcase with his name on the tag sat open on the bed.

  “He didn’t bring much. Did he tell you how long he was planning on staying in town?” Pete asked, rummaging through a plastic bag filled with a few snacks and bottled drinks.

  I began going through the suitcase. “No. I guess just until he managed to find Mandi.”

  “Where was he living, anyway?”

  “Liberty,” I said quietly. “Mom told me a while ago that she heard he’d moved back.”

  Liberty, Indiana, was my hometown, where I’d met Scott and started my café with him. It was also where we were living when he left me. I hadn’t known where he went when he disappeared, but I guessed after I left town he figured it was safe to come back and resume his life there.

  I caught a whiff of Scott’s cologne (which I didn’t love, but he was never without) as I went through his things. It caught me off guard and triggered a memory of happier times with him, bringing tears to my eyes. I couldn’t see clearly, so I stopped my search for a moment.

  Pete noticed and came over and put his arms around me. “Hey, I get it. You hated the guy, but now he’s dead. If there’s anyone who understands what you feel right now, it’s me. You know I’m here for you, day or night, like you’ve been for me.”

  I sniffed. I hadn’t realized it before, but my current situation was eerily similar to his. I’d watched Pete go through hell after his girlfriend told him she was seeing someone else, they fought, and then she was murdered before they resolved anything further. At least I’d had a year to work out my resentment toward my ex.

  Before I got too caught up in my own feelings, I reminded myself we had a job to do. I could cry about this later in the comfort of my own home. A seedy motel in a bad part of town was not the place to break down.

  Straightening up, I wiped the back of my sleeve across my eyes. “I’m good. I need to focus.”

  He brushed my red hair away from my face. “Right. But when it hits you full on, and it will, you know where to find me.”

  I nodded and went back to looking through Scott’s suitcase. It was only filled with his clothes—and hastily done, at that. Scott was normally an agonizingly neat packer. This was the suitcase of someone who’d literally thrown his clothes in and zipped it up.

  Pete was checking out the bathroom, so I called, “This suitcase is a mess. Very un-Scott-like. What if part of him coming here was because he running away from something?”

  Appearing out of the bathroom, Pete said, “Or someone. Like running for his life?”

  “Maybe.”

  Pete knelt down on the floor and pulled up the bedspread. “Bingo. Big bag wedged under the bed.” He reached under the bed and gave a tug. “The bag under the bed always holds the one clue they need in the movies.”

  My stomach clenched as he hauled out a duffel bag and set it on the bed. He unzipped it, opening it to find box after box of prescription drugs packaged in fancy wrappers with the names of the drugs and the drug companies splashed across the fronts. Digging deeper, he found fancy printed flyers and promotional materials all touting the effectiveness of the drugs, plus a handful of ballpoint pens with SILVER SPRUCE PHARMACEUTICALS printed on them. Reaching into the zippered compartment on the side, he pulled out a nametag and showed it to me.

  He read, “ ‘Scott O’Malley, Pharmaceutical Sales Representative, Silver Spruce Pharmaceuticals.’ Scotty was a drug dealer.”

  I frowned. So he’d made the move from selling food to shilling prescription drugs. He probably made double or triple what his old job paid, but it kind of felt like he’d sold out. He’d always made a huge deal about how food was his passion—that he believed it was “the backbone of humanity that brought us all together.” I guessed that was all just more of his salesman shtick. Not that it mattered that he’d changed careers, but it was yet another thing I would never have expected out of him.

  Mistakenly thinking that my frown was directed at his joke, Pete added, “Seriously though, Jules, how does a drug rep get into enough trouble to get his wife kidnapped? Most of these samples are for stuff like GERD and Parkinson’s and diabetes. Not exactly the good drugs people are looking for on the street.”

  “True, but you have to admit this motel is the perfect place to set up your drug-selling operation. Maybe he’s already sold the good stuff. Or maybe you can make a decent living selling GERD pills on the black market. It’s not like we know a lot about the drug trade.”

  “Fair point.” He sighed, running one hand through his dark spiky hair. “You know, though, it’s possible we’re jumping to all kinds of conclusions here. Scott was an asshole. There’s no denying that. What if he was in town for work and decided to look you up and yank your chain a little for fun?”

  “Why after a year?”

  He shrugged. “The man had a screw loose. What if his wife simply left him, and he was looking for some attention?”

  “So he showed up at Java Jive and dropped dead?”

  “I didn’t say my theory was a good one, Jules. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about his story I’m not quite buying.” He opened another zippered compartment on the side of the duffel, and this time he found a tablet computer. “Here we go. This could have some good info on it.” He turned it on, but it was password protected, just like Scott’s phone had been.

  “Well, there’s another electronic paperweight for our collection,” I muttered.

  Pete thought for a moment. “How about your neighbor Trevor? You think he could hack his way around the passwords for the tablet and the phone?”

  “I’m really not supposed to have him hack stuff anymore.”

  “Remember our discussion about you needing to be open to breaking a few rules so we don’t get thrown in the pokey? This is one of those times where that would be applicable.”

  I sighed. “Okay, I’ll ask him.”

  “Let’s get out of here. I feel like I could contract a disease just from being in this room.”

  I took photos of everything we found, whether I thought it was important or not, and then we packed everything back up and put it back exactly the way we’d found it—except for the tablet, which we essentially stole. I didn’t like this old, rogue-Juliet approach I was taking toward this investigation, but we didn’t have a lot to work with right now.

  We exited the room, and this time we got a bit of a different reaction from the other motel patrons, who clearly thought we’d rented room ten for a late-night tryst.

  Amid the catcalls and whooping and hollering, there was of course the requisite “Does the carpet match the drapes?” joke, an overused taunt to all redheads. We ignored the nonsense, but when one of the prostitutes stepped in front of us and cooed at Pete, “You look like you could afford more than a quickie, sugar. Did this bitch not get the job done for you?” he couldn’t keep quiet.

  “Are you kidding? You think I have to pay for it?” he scoffed. “This was an audition. A freebie, if you will.” He leered down at me and slapped me on the butt. “Don’t worry, dollface. You’re hired.”

  It was all I could do to keep my expression impassive after that, but I managed to clench my jaw hard enough to immobilize most of my face.

  The hooker glared at me and then sidled up close
to Pete. “You need any more girls to audition for you?”

  One of the larger men we’d walked past barked, “Yo, Destiny! You better not be stepping out on me.”

  A hooker named Destiny. There’s a shocker.

  Destiny took a step back from Pete and said, “Of course not. I—”

  Approaching us, the guy silenced her with one finger and lasered his gaze in on Pete. “And you better not be trying to poach my property.” He moved his jacket back to show a large, silver revolver.

  I didn’t know what offended me more—the fact that he’d called another human being his “property” or that he’d threatened to shoot someone for speaking to said property.

  Pete didn’t flinch, which totally impressed me. It was becoming more evident to me by the moment how hell-bent he was on clearing our names. He was definitely all-in. Calmly, and to my dismay, Pete removed the gun from the back of his waistband and transferred it to the front of his waistband to make it visible to Destiny’s pimp.

  Even though every fiber of my freaked-out being wanted to step in and diffuse this situation, it was clear that “the property” weren’t allowed to butt in while the men were talking.

  Pete said evenly, “I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t need any more girls. Happy?”

  The pimp stared him down for a long moment. He grunted, “Get the hell out of here,” then grabbed Destiny and wandered off the other way.

  Pete gripped my hand tightly as we hurried toward his car. Once inside, he threw it into gear and zoomed out of the parking lot, not slowing down until we were several blocks away.

  Still trying to calm himself and return his heavy breathing to normal, Pete said, “See? Told you the gun was a good idea.”

  I shook my head. “Pete, I can’t even…”

  “And I’m truly sorry about the ass-slapping thing. Won’t happen again.” Turning to me with an impish grin, he added, “Unless you want it to.”

  Chapter 5

  Java Jive was closed on Sundays (not that it would have mattered this weekend, because the police still hadn’t released the place back to Pete yet to reopen), so Pete and I had decided we’d get cracking on the case early in the morning. But before he showed up at my apartment, I had another visitor.

  I opened the door to find Cooper standing there, his face stricken. Without warning, he barged in and put his arms around me, squeezing until I had to squeak, “I can’t breathe, Coop.”

  He loosened his grip but didn’t let me go. “I heard about what happened at Java Jive on the news, and social media is blowing up about it. I knocked on your door several times last night, but you didn’t seem to be here. I tried to stay awake and watch for you to come home, but I ended up falling asleep. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you. Were you there when it happened? Are you involved? Is this Scott person the same guy you were talking about yesterday?”

  I sighed. This was a little more than I could handle before my morning coffee. “Um…yes.”

  “To which of my questions?”

  Wincing, I replied, “All of them?”

  Cooper let me go to stare down at me. “You were there when he…died?”

  I nodded.

  “Your former fiancé who you’d taken your aggression out on earlier in the day?”

  I nodded again.

  His expression was stunned. “How are you coping with that, Juliet?”

  I held back the urge to roll my eyes. What I didn’t need today, especially since I planned to spend every waking moment investigating, was to be shrinked and have to haul out then work through my emotions. I didn’t have time for that.

  Luckily, I was saved from answering his question by another knock at the door. But as I opened it, I realized my current visitor situation was going to open up a whole new vein of drama in my life.

  Pete walked in with a bakery box and two large to-go cups of coffee. “Hey, Jules, I thought we’d need plenty of caffeine and sugar to get started on—” He stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on Cooper, who’d come over in his pajamas, with bare feet, no less. “Am I interrupting something?”

  I groaned inwardly, hoping Pete wasn’t thinking what I thought he was thinking. “Not at all. Pete, this is my neighbor Cooper Milford. Cooper, this is Pete Bennett, my bestie.”

  Cooper stuck out his hand. “Pete. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Pete shook his hand and cast a smirky glance at me. “Funny, I haven’t heard a word about you.”

  Cooper’s eyes registered hurt, which made my heart clench. This was an idiotic arrangement we had going on. Worse, I had the sneaking suspicion that Cooper was becoming way more emotionally invested in it than I was.

  “Okay,” I said a little too loudly. “Cooper, I appreciate you coming over and checking on me this morning, but Pete and I have some…work stuff we need to…work on. I’ll see you later?”

  Cooper got the hint and headed for the door, but just as I was about to close it, he said quietly, “Juliet, I’d really like to discuss something with you. When can I see you?”

  “It may be a while. I’ll let you know, okay?”

  He nodded, looking thoroughly dejected. This was why you shouldn’t get involved with someone in his early twenties. He didn’t yet have that thick skin that came with life experiences. He was a baby. A hot baby, but still a baby.

  “Wow, Jules. I didn’t take you for a cougar,” Pete said, not even trying to hide his amusement.

  I lied between gritted teeth, “I am not a cougar. He’s just a friend.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Shut up, Pete.”

  Still grinning, he held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Shutting up. So, boss—what’s on today’s sleuthing agenda?”

  “I figure I’ll run background checks on Scott and on Mandi, and I’ll have Trevor hack the tablet and the phone. Once we have that done, then we can look at the info and decide what our next step is.” I walked over to him and plucked one of the coffee cups out of his hands. “But first, coffee.”

  Before I could get a sip, my phone rang. “Hey, Maya,” I said.

  “I’ve got Ryder with me on speaker. How are you this morning?” she asked.

  “Hanging in there.”

  Ryder’s deep voice said, “You keep your chin up, okay?”

  “I am,” I replied.

  Maya said, “We came to the office early to run background on Scott for you.”

  I smiled, even though they couldn’t see me. “Aww, thanks, you guys.”

  Ryder said, “We just emailed it to you. Anything else we can do?”

  “Can you also run one on Mandi Jenkins O’Malley? She’s the missing wife.”

  Ryder replied, “Will do. And we’ll also check it against Scott’s and email you our notes. Save you a little time.”

  “Thanks.”

  Maya said, “Juliet, please be careful, and keep us up-to-date on your progress with the case.”

  “I will. Thanks again, you two.”

  After we said our goodbyes, I pulled up the email they’d sent with Scott’s background info and let Pete read it over my shoulder. “Not even a parking ticket,” I grumbled. “Not a lot to work with.”

  Pete pointed at my phone. “Hey, you’re listed.”

  “Yes, unfortunately, because we shared an address at one time. Wait. Look at the credit history. He took out a mortgage six months ago. Three months ago he was already behind on the payment, which is a whopper, but now he seems to be current. During that same time he also got behind on his car payments to both Audi and Mercedes financial services. Now they’re up-to-date, too. He also nearly maxed out his credit cards during this time, but he’s paid them down as well. None of this is like him. He always kept his payments current every month and drove a middle-of-the road vehicle. We had a small apartment with reasonable rent. I don’t get it.”

  “I do. He stole your money, got a fancy new job, and thought he was rolling in it, only to overextend himself. Happens all the time. He probably had to ke
ep up appearances as a drug rep. Did you see the outrageous dry-cleaning receipt in his murse?”

  “I did. I could have bought a whole new wardrobe for what it cost to clean part of his.”

  He stared at me thoughtfully for a moment. “What would you think about taking a road trip with me?”

  My eyebrows shot up. “A road trip? I think we’re kinda busy for the foreseeable future, Pete.”

  “I mean to Liberty. You always say everyone there is in everyone else’s biz. We find some gossipy housewives and listen while they spill what Scott and his wife have been up to the past year.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be kind of weird for me to go back home asking a bunch of probing questions about my ex like I’m some kind of stalker?”

  “You can’t be accused of stalking someone who’s dead.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that logic. Let’s go see a man about a phone.”

  —

  After downing our coffee and donuts, we headed next door to Trevor Wells’s apartment. He had several friends over, but he welcomed Pete and me in anyway.

  Trevor said, “Sorry about the mess. We’re nearing the end of a twelve-hour videogame tournament. Hope we weren’t too noisy in the middle of the night.”

  I’d heard them loud and clear through our thin apartment walls after I got home, but I was so exhausted, I’d fallen instantly asleep. “Nope. Didn’t bother me.”

  Ryan Hart, his eyes trained on the TV, waved from his seat on the couch. “Hey, guys.” Ryan was from Liberty as well, although I’d met him here in Nashville through Trevor.

  “Hey, Ryan,” Pete and I both replied.

  Trevor said, “What’s up? I know you’re not here as a late entry into our tournament.”

  “We are not. I have a hacking favor to ask of you.” I handed him Scott’s tablet and phone.

  A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you were above hacking these days.”