Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  I groaned. “So, you did go there last night?”

  “I did.” His gaze moved past me, to the front of the store, where Paul’s head, including his police hat, were just visible. “Why are the police involved? Did something happen last night?”

  I swallowed back an urge to scream at him to run. “It’s Rick, Dad.” I licked my lips with a tongue that had gone sandpaper dry. “Someone killed him.”

  “Mr. Wiseman’s dead?”

  I jumped about three feet straight up in the air at the sound of Cameron’s voice. He must have come upstairs to see what I’d learned. He was leaning against a bookshelf, face gone deathly pale as he stared at me.

  “Who died?” This from Rita, who must have heard Cameron’s exclamation.

  “I think he said the agent died,” Joel said, sounding stunned.

  I grabbed Dad’s arm and walked him a few paces away. He looked just as pale as Cameron, but was doing his best to hide his shock. “Someone says they saw you there last night, that you were arguing with Rick before he died.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “That someone saw you? That’s what she said.”

  “No.” He shook his head, brow crinkling. “That Rick’s dead.”

  I nodded. “Found him myself.” I shuddered. “The police are here to talk to you, but they let me come in and break the news first.”

  He looked past me again, and then straightened. “Then I best not keep them waiting.”

  “Dad!” But he walked right past me and went down the stairs and out the door without a backward glance.

  I felt like passing out, which would have probably been a blessing. If I could sleep through the next few days, it would save me a lot of heartache and stress, I was sure.

  “What am I going to do?” Cameron said, sounding much like I felt. He was looking at me as if I might hold all the answers.

  “I don’t know,” I told him. I didn’t even know what I was going to do.

  Death by Coffee was now buzzing with the news of Rick’s death. Rita was already on her phone, more than likely calling her gossip buddies, Georgina McCully and Andi Caldwell. The entire town would know of Rick Wiseman’s demise within minutes, and I was pretty sure no one would think it an accident.

  I drifted past Cameron, who didn’t look like he’d be able to stand on his own anytime soon, and headed for the front windows so I could watch Dad’s visit with the police. Vicki started my way, but I waved her off. I needed to be alone. I was hoping that Dad would set the police straight and would come back inside and tell me everything was okay, that they’d figured out who’d killed his agent, and that he wasn’t a suspect.

  Of course, when was the last time something happened just like I wanted?

  Buchannan was standing stiff beside Paul, who looked concerned. He kept sneaking glances my way, which only made me feel that much more nervous. Dad’s back was to me, so I couldn’t read his lips to know what he was saying. He made a gesture toward Paul’s car, and then both cops looked straight at me. Neither looked happy.

  “Come on, Dad.” I shifted from foot to foot, antsy to know what was going on. I wanted nothing more than to rush outside and listen in, but knew I’d be told to go back inside, so I stayed put.

  Dad said something else, which brought both cops’ eyes back to him. Paul rested a hand on his shoulder, said something, and then turned to his cruiser.

  Buchannan opened the back door.

  It felt like someone had poured ice water down my spine. I stood frozen, watching as they helped my dad into the back of Paul’s police cruiser. Buchannan closed the door, lifted his hat to run his fingers through his hair, and then he walked slowly back to his own cruiser, shaking his head. Paul turned toward the front of his car, and that’s when my paralysis finally broke.

  I shot for the door, screaming Paul’s name as I did. Nearly everyone in Death by Coffee was on their feet, watching in fascination as the visiting author was arrested and his daughter flipped her lid. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn half of them had their cell phones out and were recording. I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let them take my dad to jail.

  “Paul Dalton! How dare you!” I shouted, flying out of the store.

  He paused halfway into his car, sighed, and then stepped back out. “Krissy . . .”

  “Don’t ‘Krissy’ me!” I couldn’t stop shouting. My blood was boiling now, and there’d be no cooling it. “How dare you take my dad to jail? He didn’t do anything wrong! Both you and I know it.”

  “He’s coming willingly,” Paul said, trying his best to sound diplomatic, but I was beyond listening.

  “Let him out of your car right now or I’ll . . . I’ll . . . Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but you can darn well imagine that it won’t be pleasant.”

  Paul raised a hand, and I noticed Buchannan had started our way, a stern look on his face. He was likely thinking back to when I’d rushed him months ago and punched him on the shoulder a few times. I don’t think he ever quite forgave me for that, though I hadn’t hurt anything but my pride. I’m not sure I forgave myself for acting like such a fool.

  “Krissy,” Paul said, forcing me to look him in the eye. “We aren’t arresting him.”

  “Then why is he in your car?”

  “Because he wants to give a statement and said he wanted to do it at the station.”

  I frowned. “Why would he want to do that?”

  Paul’s shoulders eased slightly now that it didn’t appear as if I was going to rip his ears off. I, on the other hand, was still undecided.

  “It was his choice,” he said. “He suggested it. He admits that he was at the bed-and-breakfast last night, in the victim’s room. He wants to make sure we get his statement down correctly, without all of this.” He gestured toward Death by Coffee and the crowd of onlookers. More than one nose was pressed against the glass.

  “Oh,” I said in a small voice, before straightening my back. “Then I want to come, too.”

  Paul shook his head. “Stay here. Let us do our job. You’ll help your dad out far more by staying put and out of trouble than if you insist on getting involved.”

  There was something in his voice that told me he was thinking about more than my just coming down to the station. Maybe I did have a habit of sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, but this was my dad! I couldn’t just let it go.

  “I don’t know what to do with myself,” I said, very near pleading. “He’s my dad. And I . . . I just can’t . . .” Tears threatened, and I silently cursed them with every ounce of my being. “I can’t do nothing.”

  Paul put his hand on my shoulder, leaned in close; much closer than was strictly socially acceptable. Our foreheads very nearly touched. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to your dad, okay? He’s going to give us his statement and I’ll drive him right back here, safe and sound. Don’t stress yourself out over this. We’ll get to the bottom of this, and your dad’s statement can only help.”

  “But . . .” I’d seen the shows, read the books. How many times did someone tell the police something, only to have it twisted back on them?

  But what could I do? As much as I didn’t like it, Paul was right. I couldn’t help anything by coming along. I’d just get in the way. And if Dad told them the honest truth, then there would be no way they could suspect him of any wrongdoing. He never would have killed Rick.

  I simply had to be patient and let the police do their jobs.

  Unfortunately, patience wasn’t my strong suit.

  Paul leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead before straightening. He cleared his throat and looked around at all the watching faces. A flush ran through him as he spun on his heel and hurriedly got into his car. Buchannan watched me a moment longer, as if checking to make sure I didn’t throw myself on the hood of Paul’s car, and then got into his own cruiser.

  I looked into the backseat of the car, suddenly aware my dad had witnessed the entire thing. He smiled at me and waved. I wa
ved back, but couldn’t bring myself to smile.

  And then both cruisers pulled away, taking my dad with them.

  7

  Waiting for someone I love to come back from being interrogated by the police wasn’t something I ever wanted to do again. Sure, it wasn’t an actual interrogation; he’d gone in of his own volition. But it didn’t make me feel any better. My dad was still sitting in the police station, answering questions about a murder I was sure he didn’t commit.

  Everyone in Death by Coffee was looking at me like they thought I knew more than I’d let on. At least they weren’t bombarding me with questions, though Rita had tried to pry information out of me between her calls. Everyone else was a bit hesitant about me after my near meltdown outside.

  “How long does giving a statement take?” I asked, not expecting an answer, but getting one, anyway.

  “I’m sure he’s just making sure they get everything right so there are no mistakes later.” Vicki stood beside me, behind the counter.

  I grunted in frustration. It had been over an hour already. My nerves were fried, my focus on anything but my job. I’d already made five mistakes on simple orders, burned a batch of chocolate-chip cookies, and knocked over an entire pot of coffee. Thankfully, I hadn’t dropped it on the floor, so nothing broke. Vicki took over from there, leaving Lena to handle the bookstore duties, and giving me the freedom to worry my little heart out.

  I was both grateful and ashamed they were doing this for me. There was a lot going on in my life right now, I’ll admit, but that was no excuse for me screwing up so badly. This was our business, and I should be doing my part, not standing around, moping.

  “He should be back by now,” I said, straightening from where I leaned on the counter, a firm resolution washing over me. “I’m going to go down to the police station to make sure they aren’t holding him on some trumped-up charge.” Apparently, doing my part was going to have to wait.

  “Krissy,” Vicki warned. “Don’t go mucking things up because you can’t be patient. These things take time.”

  “But what if they arrested him?”

  “Did they say they were arresting him?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Wasn’t he going in willingly, of his own free will, to give a statement?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “They aren’t going to arrest him unless he confesses to something or they have proof he did something wrong.” Vicki held up a hand when my eyes widened in panic. “I don’t believe for a second he would do that. Nor do I think the police have anything on him. If they did, someone would have called you by now. Stop worrying. You’re going to chew your fingernails right off if you keep it up.”

  I jerked my hand away from my mouth. “I hate this.”

  “We all do,” she said with a warm smile. “You need to relax. It will work out.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered, burying my chin in my hands as I leaned on the counter again. “It’s not your dad at the police station.”

  Vicki gave me a sour look. “That’s not fair. We’re all practically family.”

  I sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help.”

  She squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t be. This isn’t easy for any of us, and I know how hard it has to be on you. Just try to look at the bright side.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m sure there has to be something.”

  We both stopped talking and looked up as Cameron approached the counter. The poor man hadn’t sat down since learning about his boss’s demise. And when anyone tried to talk to him, he’d shake his head and wander off, muttering to himself. He looked better than he had an hour ago, but he still looked like he’d just lost everything he cared about.

  “How you holding up?” I asked him, pushing aside my own worries. Vicki was right; I needed to try to find the bright side in all of this. Or at least realize that there were other people affected by Rick’s death just as much as me, if not more so.

  “Not all that well,” he said. “Can I get a coffee? Something with a lot of caffeine?”

  “Sure,” Vicki said. “I’ll make something for you that’ll knock you right off your feet.”

  He gave her a strained smile. “Thanks.” He looked at his phone as if he thought Rick would suddenly call him and tell him this was all some elaborate joke designed to see how he’d handle the stressful situation.

  Of course, I knew firsthand that wasn’t going to happen.

  “What are you going to do now?” I asked, genuinely curious. He was only in Pine Hills because of Rick. Now that the agent was gone, Cameron had no reason to stay.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I feel like I should be doing something.” He frowned at the door. “Like, should I go and identify the body or something? Pick up his things?”

  “I think he’s already been identified.” I mean, I was the one who’d found the body, and there was no mistaking it for anyone other than Rick Wiseman. “And I imagine they’ll call someone when it’s time to get his stuff.” I paused and frowned. “Was Rick married?”

  Cameron shook his head. “He wasn’t exactly the marrying type.” He laughed, though it came out sounding off somehow, like it had very nearly popped out a sob, instead. “Rick went out with women a lot, but it was never serious. He liked his freedom, I guess. He wanted to be with women, but not with a woman, if that makes sense?”

  “Yeah, it does.” A vague part of me wondered if Rick chose the bachelor lifestyle by choice, or if his personality was what kept him single. It was a shameful thing to think since he was dead, but I couldn’t help it. “So, there was no serious girlfriend or anything? Someone who’d want to know about his death?”

  “Not that I was aware of. I don’t think he ever went out with anyone more than twice.”

  So, chances were good we weren’t looking for a vengeful ex or a jealous girlfriend. I suppose someone could be angry with him for ditching her after only one or two dates, but why come all the way to Pine Hills to seek vengeance? It didn’t make much sense.

  “I’m sure his family will take his things, then,” I said.

  Cameron shrugged. “I guess. Though I don’t think he was on good terms with any of them. I never heard him talk about anyone, anyway. No photographs of his parents or a sister or nephews on his desk.” He frowned. “Come to think of it, I didn’t know much about his personal life, even though I’d worked closely with him this last year.”

  “Well, you were only his assistant, right? Why would you know?”

  He gave me a wan smile just as Vicki returned.

  “Free of charge,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Cameron picked up his coffee and took a sip. His eyes widened, and when he swallowed, he practically gasped. “Wow. That’s good.”

  “Thanks!” Vicki beamed at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

  He took another sip. “I definitely needed this.” He turned and walked off, taking quick sips of his coffee like he was afraid to swallow too much at once.

  “What did you make him?” I asked.

  “Secret recipe.” She winked at me. “It was something I came up with back when I was in college and had to pull all-nighters studying. I don’t think I would have made it through, otherwise.” She tapped her chin. “I wonder if we should consider adding it to the menu.” Her gaze drifted as she considered it.

  I left her to it as the door opened and the one man I wanted to see—other than my dad, of course—entered.

  “Krissy, are you okay?”

  I came around the counter and fell into Will’s arms. He looked especially good today, dressed for work. He was a doctor, and a sexy one at that. He had that creamer-rich coffee skin tone that made me want to lap him right up. I swear it felt like I was on one of those medical dramas where all of the doctors were drop-dead gorgeous and I was the not-quite-so-pretty girlfriend. I’m not sure how I ever got so lucky.
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  “As good as I can be under the circumstances,” I said, stepping back. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have to work?”

  “I heard about what happened and wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He looked me up and down as if he thought discovering dead bodies could cause physical harm.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I only found him.” An involuntary shudder worked through me.

  “That can’t be easy. You knew the guy, right?”

  “He was my dad’s agent. I didn’t really like him all that much.” I wasn’t sure why I added the last. It wasn’t something you wanted to admit when the man in question was murdered, yet it kept popping out of my mouth, anyway.

  “Still, it had to be hard.” Will pulled me close and gave me the world’s best hug. “I came as soon as I heard. It’s all over town.”

  “You didn’t have to come.” Though I loved that he did. Will Foster was everything I could ever want, yet my stupid brain kept waffling between him and Paul Dalton. I knew what I should do, but for some reason, I couldn’t seem to bring myself to take the plunge. Maybe I was afraid it would turn out that the perfect man didn’t exist and if I were to give myself fully to him, he’d just vanish in a puff of smoke.

  “I did,” he said. “How’s your dad handling it?” He glanced around the room, searching for the man in question.

  “He’s not here,” I said, some of my melancholy coming back. “The police took him in for questioning.”

  Will’s eyes narrowed. “Was it that Dalton guy? Do they think he did it?”

  I shook my head, then started to nod, before finally shrugging. “I don’t know what they think. Some woman said she saw my dad leave Rick’s room last night, but I know that can’t be true. Dad never would have hurt him.” I paused, his first question finally registering. “And yes, Paul was the one who came to get him.”

  Will was silent for a really long time before he said, “I’m sure it will work out.”

  “Everyone keeps telling me that.” I sighed. “Dad went in voluntarily to give his statement. I know I shouldn’t worry, but I can’t help it. He’s my dad.”