Murder Over Mochas

by Caroline Fardig

  Lizzie replied, “My bestie is not big on the hands-on investigating. Her husband frowns on it, because he thinks it’s ‘unsafe.’ Well, to be fair, I’ve gotten her in a lot of trouble over the years. So it’s kind of my fault that he feels that way.”

  “I get it. My bestie is not the biggest fan of me being a PI.”

  “That has got to be the best job.”

  “It has its moments. But you have to do things by the book, which is constrictive. I especially have to play by the rules with Ryder looking over my shoulder.”

  “I can see where that might be a drag. Are you sure you and your hunky detective aren’t more than friends? You fight like an old married couple,” Lizzie observed.

  I smiled. “We have quite a history, which makes it a little more complicated than it should be. But we’re both moving on.”

  Blake’s voice came over the speaker. “What’s up, Fisher? Long time no see. You doing okay?”

  Jared’s voice was flat and slightly slurred. “I’ve been better.”

  “Hey, this is my cousin Ryder. He’s visiting from out of town.”

  “Good to meet you, Jared,” Ryder said.

  Jared mumbled something in reply.

  Blake said, “Thanks for meeting me tonight. I’m doing a story on the upcoming Liberty Youth Soccer Tournament this weekend, and I wanted to get some input from an insider. I hear you’re quite the coach.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Jared said.

  “And that your oldest is becoming a star player.”

  “He’s really getting good.” Jared seemed to perk up once he began talking about his kid and the town’s soccer league.

  I tuned their conversation out and turned to Lizzie. “How does this guy go from soccer dad to possible murderer?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve seen firsthand how unstable people really are when you peel back the shell they show to the world. After what I’ve seen, I have to tell you, I’m not surprised anymore at what people will do to one another.”

  That was alarmingly accurate of how I felt a lot of the time. “You’re right. I guess I’m not surprised. To be honest, I’m a little overwhelmed with this whole thing.”

  “Ah. You’re too close. Been there.” Her voice softening, she added, “I remember the rampant gossip around town when Scott left you. I can’t imagine any of this is easy for you—investigating his death to clear your name and your friend Pete’s name. Especially since you probably still hate Scott’s guts for how he treated you.”

  My stomach twisted. “Wait. How did you know we’re persons of interest?”

  Lizzie gave me an apologetic smile. “Ryan. I pried it out of him on Sunday when you guys came to town. It took a couple dozen cookies and a pan of brownies, but he finally spilled it.”

  I sighed. I knew all too well that Ryan Hart could be bought with baked goods. However, I hadn’t heard any word from my parents that my name had been mentioned in any of the Chronicle’s newspaper articles about Scott’s death. My dad read the paper cover to cover every day, and if he’d seen anything, he would have called me immediately.

  I said, “You and Blake knew the names of two murder suspects and didn’t include them in any articles?”

  “You’ve been so kind to my brother, and he thinks the world of you and your friend Pete. We didn’t believe for a second that you could have been involved, so there was no reason to ruin your reputation for nothing. Plus, contrary to what you might think, the Chronicle really does try to report actual facts and not just gossip and hearsay.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry about my predisposed ideas about the Chronicle and newspapers in general. I can’t say I’ve had any good experiences with the media.”

  “Maybe we can change that—”

  She stopped when we heard Blake say, “Crazy about what’s happening at your workplace. First O’Malley drops dead, then his wife disappears. She’s your trainee, right? Are you worried about her, or do you think she maybe took off to be alone?”

  There was a pause, then Jared’s strained voice said, “I don’t know. I can’t reach her. I’ve spent all day looking for her, but I can’t find her anywhere.”

  Blake said, “Do you think something bad happened to her?”

  Jared choked out a sob. “I…Maybe.”

  Ryder said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Can we do something to help?”

  “No, there’s nothing anyone can do,” Jared muttered.

  I frowned. “So if Jared didn’t run away with Mandi and he doesn’t know where she is—and I’m assuming he’s telling the truth, because he’s drunk—there’s either another player in this, or Mandi is the mastermind.”

  Lizzie said, “You’re convinced she killed her husband?”

  “I don’t know if she did the deed, but my gut says she was involved. I think Jared was, too.”

  Blake said, “There’s always something we can do. Ryder here is a…a PI.”

  “That’s right,” Ryder said. “I’d be happy to try to track her down.”

  “It’s no use,” Jared wailed, his words garbled. “It’s over and done. I know it.”

  “Wait. What do you mean? Do you think she’s dead?” Ryder asked.

  We heard a thump, then Blake said, “Damn it. He’s out.”

  I turned on the mic. “Out? Like passed out?”

  “Yep. Out cold,” Ryder replied. “This interview is over.”

  I turned off our listening equipment. “Well, that was short and sweet.”

  Lizzie wrinkled her forehead. “And we learned nothing, except that Jared wasn’t the one who made Mandi disappear.”

  “I guess that’s something.”

  Ryder and Blake appeared at the door, each with one shoulder under Jared’s limp arms. They began dragging his dead weight toward a black Range Rover parked at the edge of the parking lot.

  “Should we help them?” I asked.

  “Nah, they’re big strapping boys. They’ve got this.”

  After they crammed Jared into the passenger side of his vehicle, they walked back over to where we were parked.

  When they got within a couple feet of us, Lizzie gagged and held her nose. “Eww. You guys smell like soured beer and an ashtray had a baby. And then it vomited on itself.”

  I burst out laughing. I liked her. And she wasn’t wrong. They reeked of Old Depot.

  Blake lifted up his collar and smelled it. “Yep, that’s accurate. I’m going to drive Fisher home so he can sleep this off. Follow me over?”

  She replied, “You got it.” She vacated the driver’s seat.

  I leaned out the window and said, “I guess this is where we leave you guys. Thanks for your help.”

  Frowning, Blake said, “I don’t feel like we’ve helped you much. Maybe we can think about this tonight and meet tomorrow morning. What we need to know is out there. All we need to figure out is the right person to ask.”

  Sure. It wouldn’t be any more difficult than finding a needle in a haystack.

  Chapter 20

  When we got to my parents’ house, my mom and dad greeted us with big hugs and huge smiles.

  Mom said, “We’re so happy you decided to stay the night with us. I know we just saw you yesterday, but we’re still thrilled to have you both.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Langley,” Ryder said.

  She sniffed the air and frowned at him. “Have you been smoking, dear?”

  “No, ma’am,” he replied. “I had to go inside the Old Depot to question someone.”

  My dad chuckled. “Being in there for five minutes will make you stink for a week.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. I think it’s time for me to hit the shower.”

  Mom bustled down the hall to show Ryder to the bathroom, and Dad pulled me over to sit on the couch with him.

  “I don’t quite understand something, Juliet. Why are you investigating Scott’s death? Isn’t it a police matter?” he asked.r />
  I blew out a breath. “It is, Dad. But…since he died at Java Jive right in front of me, the Nashville police have to take a hard look at me—and Pete—as part of their investigation. I’m doing what I can to find a better suspect so there’s less chance of either of us being accused of something we didn’t do.”

  My dad frowned. “I thought I’d heard through the grapevine that Scott overdosed on drugs.”

  “That’s one theory.”

  “What do you think?”

  I shrugged. “I think someone drugged or poisoned him. He was mixed up in some underhanded stuff, and he seemed to think he was in danger. When he came to me, it seemed like he was trying to stay alive, not commit suicide.”

  “It could have been an accidental overdose.”

  “True, but…”

  Dad put his hand over mine. “But you knew him well and don’t think that’s the case.”

  “Exactly. Scott was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.”

  He sighed. “I hate that you have to be mixed up with that bastard anymore. But I surely don’t want to see you in trouble with the law. I suppose Ryder is watching out for you?”

  I smiled. “Always.”

  “What does Pete think about you gallivanting off with another man?”

  Chuckling, I replied, “Pete’s fine with it. Why do you ask?”

  “Because of the way that boy looked at you during your performance last night. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

  I felt a blush creeping up my face. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  My phone rang, and I showed it to my dad. “Speak of the devil.”

  “I think you’d better take that,” he said.

  I hurried out the back door and stretched myself out on a lounge chair on the patio. “Hey, Pete,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t as shaky with excitement as my insides were.

  “Hey. What’s the good word?”

  “Ugh. We’ve talked to people all day and found out a lot of nothing.” I filled him in on Jared having stolen the sodium oxybate and how if mixed with the other stolen drugs it could have killed Scott.

  “Well, then that points to Jared as the killer, right?” Pete asked.

  “But Mandi is still nowhere to be found, and we think Jared had nothing to do with her disappearance. It’s possible Jared obtained the drugs for Mandi and then she killed Scott. Or they did it together, and then she bailed on Jared, leaving him to take the rap. Or…I don’t know.”

  His voice softened. “Hey, you’ll figure it out, Jules. I know you will.”

  “Thanks. I wish I were as confident as you are.”

  “I wish we were on our date right now.”

  I smiled. “Me, too.”

  “Think you’ll be back tomorrow?”

  “I better be. I’m so sick of this.”

  My mom peeked her head out the door, calling, “Dinner’s ready.”

  Pete heard her. “Aw, I’m jealous. Your mom’s cooking is the best.”

  “Sorry. I’ll bring you with me next time.”

  “You better. I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Bye, Pete.”

  I ended the call and went into the kitchen. It smelled heavenly. Pete was right—my mom’s cooking was the best.

  She gave me a knowing wink. “I take it you were talking to Pete.”

  “Did Dad tell you?”

  “Well, yes. But the smile on your face confirmed it. When are you two going to realize you’re made for each other?”

  I sighed. “I think we’re almost there.”

  “Oh!” she cried, wrapping me up in a hug.

  “Now, Mom, don’t start planning a wedding or anything.”

  She let me go and scoffed. “Wedding? Who cares about a wedding? I want some grandkids.”

  “You know where I stand on that, Mom.”

  “Pfft. You’ll get the urge someday, missy.”

  —

  After a surprisingly relaxing dinner with my parents—probably because no one brought up the investigation—Ryder and I headed for Vecchio’s to meet his date.

  “So. Are you nervous?” I asked.

  He gave me a puzzled look. “Why would I be nervous?”

  “It’s your first date. You should be nervous.”

  “Can it, Julie,” he growled.

  I laughed. “Whatever you say, Seth.”

  He pulled to a stop in Vecchio’s parking lot and turned to me with a serious expression as he readied his mic and earpiece. “If this goes too far, I’m pulling the plug.”

  “Define ‘too far.’ Over-the-top innuendo? Inappropriate groping?”

  “I’m not joking around here.”

  “You want to come up with a safe word to use so I know when to storm in and save you from Dr. Succubus’s unwanted advances?”

  I got a mega glare for that one.

  “Oh, lighten up. If we don’t start laughing at some of this stuff we’ve had to do today, I’m going to start crying.”

  Ryder’s expression softened. “I’ll do what I can, okay?”

  “Thank you. I appreciate you being the bait. Now go get her, tiger.”

  We checked the listening equipment, and I began recording as he headed for the restaurant.

  After a few moments, I heard him say, “Dr. Grantham. You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Oh, Seth. You flatterer. Call me Vanessa.”

  “That’s a lovely name for a lovely lady.”

  I made a gagging noise and jeered into the mic, “Come on. Seth Davis can do better than that.”

  Dr. Grantham asked him, “What are you drinking tonight?”

  “A beer for me, thanks.”

  There was some shuffling, as if Ryder was settling into his seat. I heard Dr. Grantham placing their drink order.

  “Are you new to Liberty, Seth? I would have remembered seeing you around town,” she purred.

  “Just moved here. I used to live in Nashville.”

  “I adore Nashville. I’d love to hit the town with a local. You should take me there sometime.”

  I said into my mic, “Wow. She’s not shy.”

  Ryder said to the doctor, “Sounds like a plan. So, I hear that you prefer to prescribe Silver Spruce meds exclusively. As a doctor whose patients regularly use our products, what kind of services and assistance have you come to expect from our representatives? What can I do to serve you better?”

  Dr. Grantham replied, “Let’s not talk work. I want to get to know you.”

  He chuckled. “Well, if we don’t talk a little shop, I can’t charge our drinks to the company credit card.”

  “Oh, well in that case, let’s get the shop talk over with quickly. Hmm. What can you do to serve me? You could give me some hands-on training for some of your products.”

  Ryder didn’t miss a beat. “Hands-on training is my specialty.”

  She let out a peal of laughter.

  “What else?” he asked.

  “I like shiny things.”

  “Duly noted. Any other requests?”

  “Designer labels.”

  “Got it. On a serious note…and this is somewhat sensitive—one of our former reps, Scott O’Malley, has caused trouble with one of the other doctors in town. Did you ever have any contact with him? I’ve been tasked with finding out to make sure our reputation around here hasn’t been too badly tarnished.”

  Nice. He wasn’t a detective for nothing.

  Dr. Grantham replied, “Yes, actually. He’s—I mean, he was—a dreadful little man. He came in my office early last week, angry and belligerent. Tessa tried to make him leave, but he pushed past her and came into an exam room while I was with a patient.”

  Ryder sighed. “That’s awful. I apologize on behalf of the company. What did he say to you?”

  She paused. “Wait. You don’t already know?”

  Ooh, she was calling him out. He took it in stride, though. “I heard the version spun by Silver Spruce, but I’d rather hear it straight from you
. Please don’t leave anything out.”

  “Oh. Well, okay.”

  The man was good at his job.

  Dr. Grantham continued, “He wasn’t making a great deal of sense at first, but he managed to get his point across. The two Silver Spruce reps I deal with are quite generous and attentive—in a quiet way, of course. I thought Scott would have been aware of that, especially since one of them was his wife, but he kept saying things like, ‘I know you’re taking kickbacks, and I’ll make it public unless you pay up.’ He said if I didn’t give him five thousand dollars by Monday he’d send the Chronicle photos of me accepting bribes. I can’t have that kind of bad press. It would ruin my practice. I’d have to move to another town. Or worse, I could be fined or even jailed.”

  As I sat there slack-jawed at the thought of Scott shaking down Dr. Grantham for cash, a thought came to me. Hauling Scott’s tablet out of my oversized purse, I opened his calendar. I found Dr. Grantham’s name on his schedule at one o’clock last Tuesday.

  Ryder said, “This sickens me. I suppose the good news is that he won’t be bothering you anymore. I assume you let Mandi or Jared know what Scott had said to you.”

  “You better believe I did. I contacted Mandi immediately. She said the problem would be taken care of.”

  My gut started churning as I murmured uneasily, “Yeah, the problem was taken care of, all right.” It didn’t seem like much of a coincidence that Scott didn’t make it until Monday to collect his blackmail money.

  Ryder said to Dr. Grantham, “Scott had already been fired before he even spoke to you, but even so, we at Silver Spruce feel like it happened on our watch. I’m at a loss for how we can begin to make this up to you.”

  As I tapped the screen to check the appointment’s details, I noticed it said “5K” in the notes section, which matched the amount of money Grantham said Scott was blackmailing her for. Scott was nothing if not a planner. Every event in his life—even down to tiny things like what day mail-order packages were supposed to arrive and when he was supposed to change the filter in the HVAC system—was listed on his personal calendar. His work calendar was no different. He’d scheduled out a fifteen-minute time frame to go blackmail someone. Nerd.

  Dr. Grantham’s voice got husky. “I know exactly how you can make it up to me, Seth.”