Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  Will squeezed and then released me. “I completely understand. It’s hard not to worry when someone you care about might be in trouble.” He gave me a pointed look I chose to ignore.

  “Exactly!”

  “Excuse me, dear.”

  I turned to find Rita leaning forward, phone still in hand, with most of the other writers standing behind her. She was flush with excitement, which only served to anger me. I mean, a man was dead, and here she was, gossiping about it like he’d done it just to make her life more exciting.

  “What do you want, Rita?” I tried hard to keep the exasperation out of my voice, but failed.

  She didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Well, I was just wondering if you know whether or not Mr. Hancock will still be holding his signing this weekend. There are some people who don’t want to make the drive if he isn’t.” She held up the phone, as if those people were waiting on the other end of the line. Knowing her, they probably were.

  I really tried to rein in my temper, but with everything that had happened, I just couldn’t keep a handle on it, and I snapped.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask the police about that. I know, maybe I can drive you down there right now and you can ask them yourself. Walk right in on an interrogation, perhaps? Because a book signing is so much more important than a man’s death.”

  Rita jerked back from me as if she thought I might bite. “Well, I never!”

  I started to say more, but Will pulled me back. “Krissy has had a very stressful day,” he said. “She could use a little time alone.”

  Rita glared at me a moment longer before sniffing as if I were beneath her. “Well, I guess I’ll have to talk to the man himself.” Her eyes lit up, and she turned to the crowd of writers. “Maybe he’ll pass on our novels to his next agent!”

  “I . . .” Red dots flashed before my eyes. I was seconds away from exploding, and we’re not talking just mentally or verbally. It felt like someone had put a volcano in my head and all my worry and stress was about to send it into a full-scale eruption. I knew I was overreacting, but I couldn’t help myself. It was all just too much.

  “I could look at them.”

  All eyes turned to the small man standing nearby. “I could look at your novels for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Cameron,” I said. He’d had just as hard of a day as I had, maybe more so since his job was as dead as, well, as Rick.

  “No.” He smiled. “I want to. I started working for Mr. Wiseman so I could eventually become a literary agent. Nothing says that just because he’s gone, I have to give it up. In fact, it might be time for me to take that next step.” He took a deep breath and held out a hand. “If you would leave your manuscripts with me, I’ll happily take a look at them.”

  Rita, Joel, and the rest of the small gathering leapt upon him like a pack of ravenous lions. His heart was in the right place, but I had no doubt Cameron was going to regret his offer before the day was out.

  “I should get back to work,” Will said, now that the attention was off me. “You should go home and get some rest. You’ve had a stressful day.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, though I knew I wasn’t. I’d snapped at Rita, and while I don’t think I was wrong, I never should have said anything. Or, at least, been so mean about it. “I want to wait for my dad.”

  “No, he’s right.” Vicki came up to stand beside me. “I called Jeff in early. He’ll be here soon. Go home and try to get some rest. You look as if you need it.”

  “But . . .” The protest died on my lips. I really didn’t want to be there. Working and worrying didn’t go well together. Dad would let me know when he was back, and then we could talk about why it took so long.

  Until then, some R & R would do me some good—as would a tub of Rocky Road.

  “Okay,” I said, relenting without putting up much of a fight. “Thank you both.”

  “I can drive you home if you’d like,” Will offered.

  “That’s okay. You go ahead and get back to work. I’ll be fine.” I smiled in the hopes of reassuring him.

  He looked skeptical, but nodded. He leaned in and kissed me on the forehead, right where Paul Dalton had done the same a little over an hour before. “I’ll talk to you later.” And then, with a wave to Vicki, he was gone.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked her as I gathered up my things. “I could stick around until Jeff gets here. I don’t want to leave you shorthanded.”

  “I’m sure.” She practically pushed me toward the door. “Go home. Get your head on straight. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  A part of me hated leaving, but leave I did. I got into my car, started it up, and then hesitated. Free from work, nothing was stopping me from going down to the police station to demand someone tell me why they had kept my dad so long.

  Well, nothing but Paul’s plea and everyone’s advice. Maybe for once, I should listen.

  “You’re doing the right thing, Krissy,” I told myself out loud, needing to hear it as much as say it. “Like everyone says, it’ll all work out in the end.”

  And like a good girl, I listened to the reasonable part of my brain, and I headed straight for home.

  8

  “What am I going to do?”

  Misfit stared at me from his perch on the island counter. He held my pen between his paws and regarded me a long moment before he leaned forward and resumed chewing on the cap. An open puzzle book lay next to him, though I hadn’t been able to work on it. I was too distracted for anything but the simplest of tasks, and even that was stretching it.

  Dad had yet to call even though the minutes kept ticking by. I couldn’t imagine what was taking so long. Unless he saw the killer, there was very little he needed to tell the police. I doubted that was the case since he would have told me if he’d seen someone else there last night.

  Wouldn’t he have?

  “I should go down there.” I nodded to myself, but didn’t make a move for the door. I paced back and forth in the kitchen, instead. Dad would have warned me about wearing a hole in the floor if he were here, though it was a habit I’d picked up from him. Anytime he was stuck on one of his novels, he’d pace in his office, sometimes for hours on end. And here I was, doing the exact same thing.

  Misfit managed to work the cap from the pen. It dropped to the floor and bounced beneath my chair. Before he could stab himself in the roof of the mouth with the pen, I snatched it up, as well as the cap so he wouldn’t decide to snack on it later. After recapping the pen, I shoved it into my purse and moved it out of reach of his prying paws. He glared at me before rising, taking two steps, and plopping down on my open book.

  “Go ahead,” I told him. “I can’t work on it, anyway.”

  He closed his eyes and put his head down for a nap.

  I sighed and rubbed at my temples. I was beside myself, and I knew of no way to make things better. Puzzles were my way of working through problems, of relaxing and getting my head on straight, yet I’d taken one look at the crossword and knew I wouldn’t be able to do it. My brain was stuck on one track, and until I was certain my dad was safe and out of jail, it wouldn’t unstick.

  A knock at the door caused my heart to leap into my throat. “Dad?” I gasped, rushing over to the door. I hadn’t heard a car, but I’d also been pretty distracted with my own worrying thoughts. I threw open the door and was about to launch myself into a hug, when I realized it wasn’t my dad standing out there.

  “Jules?” I blinked at him, startled. The little Asian man was holding his white Maltese, Maestro, under one arm. He was dressed for home in a white polo and khakis. When at work, Jules Phan was known to dress far more extravagantly. “What are you doing here?”

  “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by,” he said. Maestro gave a little bark and tried to worm his way out from under Jules’s arm to get to me. I rubbed him behind the ears, which only seemed to agitate him more. He was panting nonstop, eyes eager for freedom.

&
nbsp; “No, it’s no problem,” I said. “I thought you’d be at work.”

  “I closed a little early today,” he said. “Maestro had to pay a visit to the vet, didn’t you, boy?”

  The dog barked an affirmative.

  “I hope he’s okay.”

  “Just a checkup.” Jules hugged the dog close to his chest. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Good.” I stepped back. “Do you want to come inside?”

  “I’d better not. Maestro is excitable today. He always gets this way after a trip to the vet. Unlike most animals, he seems to actually enjoy it.”

  I couldn’t say the same for Misfit. I had to dress in thick, padded clothing, and wear gloves, just to get him into his cat carrier. And then once we were there, he’d often refuse to come out, swiping at anyone who attempted to touch him.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I said. “Please, come in.”

  Jules bowed his head in thanks and then stepped inside. He took a quick look around before following me into the living room. I was a little self-conscious about the state of my house, knowing how clean and orderly Jules kept his own place. He didn’t seem to mind my mess, however. Or at least he was kind enough not to say anything.

  Maestro was nothing but churning feet and a panting tongue by now. Jules was struggling to keep hold of his little dog, and in a way, it was cute.

  “You can put him down,” I said with a smile.

  “I don’t know.” Jules was looking at Misfit, who was now standing on the island counter, hackles raised, but he hadn’t hissed or made a sound as of yet. “I don’t want him to mess with your cat.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” I said. “Misfit will stay up there as long as the dog is in the house. And if he feels the need to escape, he knows how to get around without touching the floor.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Jules looked reluctant, but he lowered Maestro to the floor. As soon as his feet touched, the dog was off, rushing straight for the counter, barking up a storm. Misfit stood there, looking down at the invader, but made no move to attack or run. I think he was kind of curious about the strange animal, but he’d never admit that to me.

  “I heard about what happened,” Jules said, watching the Maltese. “It’s absolutely terrible that horrible things keep happening to you. Are you holding up okay? I heard you found the body.”

  I sighed. “I’m fine.” I had an inkling I knew where he’d heard about Rick’s death. Rita and her gossip crew were probably working overtime on this one. “My dad’s at the police station, giving a statement, so I’m a little frazzled at the moment.”

  Jules’s eyes widened. “They don’t think he did it, do they?”

  “I don’t know.” No sense in lying. “A witness places him at the bed-and-breakfast near the time of Rick’s death. I know he didn’t do it, and I’m pretty sure Paul Dalton does as well, but I wouldn’t put anything past Officer Buchannan.” I refrained from calling him an unkind name, since he hadn’t actually done anything to me yet this month.

  A faint smile lit the corners of Jules’s mouth. “Still having problems with the good officer?”

  I shrugged. “I guess. He’s been nicer to me lately, though that’s not saying much. Ever since Halloween and . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to relive the last murder investigation I’d found myself right in the middle of. At least that time, the police had asked for my help, though Buchannan wasn’t thrilled by my participation. In the end, I think he actually appreciated what I’d done to put the killer behind bars.

  “That was a terrible business as well,” Jules said.

  “I think Buchannan’s coming around and is starting to realize I’m not the bad guy. He hasn’t come over for dinner or anything, but at least he doesn’t come running at me with handcuffs at the ready every time something illegal happens.”

  “That’s good. I’ve always felt he was too critical of you,” Jules said, taking my hand and giving a squeeze before dropping it. “You’re a good person.”

  “Thank you.” I felt myself blush. “Where’s Lance, by the way?” I asked, redirecting. “I haven’t seen him in a few days.” Lance Darby was Jules’s live-in boyfriend. Or husband. I wasn’t actually sure whether or not they’d ever tied the knot, and had never asked. Either way, they were perfect together.

  “He’s out of town on one of his trips,” Jules said, sounding a little sad. “He’s not due back for another week.”

  “That has to be hard.”

  “It is sometimes. The house feels so empty when he’s not around.” His eyes strayed to where Maestro had given up barking and was now sitting down, staring up at Misfit, who stared right back. I think they were starting to like one another.

  “You know, you could always stop by here if you ever feel lonely.” I paused, realizing how that might get misconstrued, so I added, “Just for company. We could talk.”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Jules looked embarrassed, like he didn’t want anyone to think he might actually get lonely sometimes. “I’m just being melodramatic. Time apart is nice. I can sit back and read or catch up on a few shows Lance doesn’t especially care for. And it does make the time we have together that much more special.” His eyes twinkled at that.

  I gave a little wistful sigh. What I wouldn’t give to have someone like that, a partner who could make my every day that much brighter. I guess it’s true what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder. It was definitely working with Will, who I didn’t get to see nearly as much as I’d like.

  “Well, don’t hesitate to stop by if you need to talk,” I said. “I don’t have many guests visiting, so I’d welcome the company.” The last visitor I’d had was Vicki. She’d stopped by so we could binge watch Making a Murderer on Netflix, and that had been over two months ago.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Jules took my hand again. “And if you start to feel overwhelmed about any of this, our door is always open.”

  “Thank you.” I could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made me want to cry. What did I do to deserve such a good neighbor and friend?

  “I should get back to the house,” he said, giving my hand one last squeeze. “Maestro is being good for the moment, but I can see the calculation in the tilt of his head.” He clapped his hands together, causing the little dog’s head to whip around. “You’re thinking of jumping up there, aren’t you?”

  Maestro’s tail wagged in what I assumed was a big fat “yes.”

  “Thanks for stopping by,” I said as Jules gathered his dog. “I appreciate the concern.”

  “I do hope it all works out. You deserve some peace for once.”

  “Tell me about it,” I muttered, but then plastered on a big smile. “Come in to Death by Coffee sometime. Tell whoever is working that I said it is on the house.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” But I could tell he was pleased.

  “I’m happy to,” I said. “You’ve made me feel a lot better.”

  And he had. It wasn’t really anything he’d said or done, other than the fact he was willing to take the time to come over and make sure I was doing okay. That meant a lot to me. Ever since I’d moved in next door to him, Jules had been nothing but nice to me, and I hoped I could adequately repay him someday.

  We said our good-byes, as did Maestro, who was barking his own farewell to Misfit, who was watching the display with trepidation. I walked Jules outside and waved as he cut across the yard to his own home. I waited until he entered his house before turning to go back inside. A curtain swished in the house on the other side of me, and I knew Eleanor Winthrow had been watching us.

  “Great,” I muttered. Rumors that I was sleeping with my gay neighbor would be all over town soon enough. I had half a mind to go over there to set her straight, but knew it wouldn’t make much difference. She seemed to think that my life was a string of one lover after another, and nothing I could do or say would change her mind about it. The last
time I’d tried to go over and talk to her, I’d ended up in jail, so it was probably better if I stayed in my own yard.

  I went back inside and closed the door. Misfit was still sitting on the island counter, glaring at me, tail swishing back and forth so hard, he’d knocked my puzzle book to the edge. A few more angry swishes, and it would hit the floor.

  “He didn’t hurt you,” I said. “In fact, I think he only wanted to play.” I crossed the room and snatched up the puzzle book and dropped it into a drawer. “You could try to make friends, you know?”

  Misfit’s eyes narrowed before he jumped off the counter and started for the hall.

  “I’m sure you’d like him if you gave him a chance!” I called after the annoyed feline.

  All I got in return was a tail swish before he was gone, off to my bedroom, where he’d likely spend the next hour pouting before coming back out for dinner. No matter how mad at me he might be, as soon as it was time to eat, all would be forgiven.

  Now that Jules was gone and Misfit was ignoring me, I felt alone. I looked at the clock, my trouble growing. Dad should have been back by now. And while he was under no obligation to call me or stop by to let me know he was okay, it was common courtesy to do so. He wouldn’t leave me hanging like this.

  But I wasn’t going to go down to the police station, no matter how much I wanted to. If I got word they’d arrested him, then I’d make the trip to raise holy hell. But not before. I was going to be a good girl this time.

  I swear I heard someone snicker on my left shoulder, because right about then, a new idea started to form in my head.

  The police station was out. I couldn’t go to Death by Coffee because Vicki would just send me home. And there was no way I could continue sitting around the house, doing nothing. I’d go insane.

  But nothing said I couldn’t go back to Ted and Bettfast and talk to the witness, right? The police had already talked to her and had taken her official statement, so it wouldn’t be such a big deal if I showed up and asked her a few questions. Once I heard Iris McDonahue’s story straight from her lips, I’d be able to figure out why she thought my dad could have killed Rick when I knew for a fact he hadn’t. She had to have heard or seen something else, and I was determined to figure out what that might be.