Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  Glancing toward the door to make sure no one was coming, I moved to the end table by the bed and opened the single drawer there. A ratty Bible and a capless pen lay inside. I picked up the Bible and flipped through it to make sure nothing had been hidden inside, before returning it to the drawer. Turning, I started for the closet, but my foot collided with something hidden just beneath the bed.

  I screamed as I tripped, falling hard on the floor. Thankfully, I was on the other side of the bed and hadn’t fallen where Rick had died. If that had been the case, I probably would have passed out from the horror of it, and someone would have found me sprawled across his bloodstain. Not a pretty thought.

  Still, I might not have tripped in the exact spot where he’d been murdered, but it was close enough. Heart thumping, I scuttled away from the bed, half afraid I’d find an arm sticking out from beneath it.

  Instead, the corner of what looked to be a stack of papers poked out from beneath the comforter, which hung nearly to the floor.

  “What have we here?” I muttered, crawling over to the pages. I carefully lifted the comforter, just in case there was someone hiding beneath the bed—or worse, another dead body—and peered into the gloom.

  There wasn’t just one stack of pages, but many, bound by rubber bands or large clips. It didn’t take a genius to figure out I was looking at novel manuscripts—at least seven at first glance. I assumed these were novels Rick had brought with him from home to review while he waited for Dad’s signing to be finished, but when I glanced at the desk where I’d seen the manuscripts before, they were gone.

  “Huh.” It was possible the police had taken the manuscripts, but if that was the case, how did they miss these? The stacks were haphazard, as if shoved quickly beneath the bed. One of the manuscripts lay unbound, pages scattered and bent.

  This wasn’t Rick’s style. He was a perfectionist, always needing everything to be in its place. There’s no way he would have left such an untidy stack. It was highly unlikely he’d shoved them under the bed, not unless he was trying to hide something.

  Nervously, I pulled the manuscripts out one by one, checking the top page for names. Joel Osborne. Rita Jablonski. Albert Elmore. All names I knew either from town or from the last writers’ group meeting. I couldn’t find the cover page for the one scattered all over the place, but the header atop the pages listed the author as Drummand, so it was safe to assume it was Theresa or Barrett’s great American novel.

  Sifting through the manuscripts, I did find one name I didn’t recognize: Tony A. Marshall.

  My eyes strayed to the desk again. Were these the same manuscripts that had been sitting beside the latte machine earlier? I hadn’t looked for names there at the time, so it was possible. But why move them? Had the police done it? Someone else? It couldn’t have been the killer because I’d seen them sitting on the desk after he was gone—not unless he’d come back.

  Or perhaps I was making too much of it. Why would anyone kill over a stack of unpublished—and likely unpublishable—novels?

  I considered trying to pack up all of the manuscripts to take them with me, but there had to be well over three thousand pages there, not exactly something I could sneak out without notice. I doubted I could even pick them up at the same time, let alone lug them down the stairs.

  Instead, I grabbed one of the single sheets, as well as the pen from the nightstand. I scrawled all of the names on the back of the manuscript page. After a moment’s hesitation, I went ahead and added the titles next to each name, just in case there was a plagiarism conspiracy that somehow led to Rick’s death. Unlikely, yeah, but you never knew in this town. Once that was done, I dropped the pen back into the drawer and shoved the rest of the pages back beneath the bed.

  Satisfied no one would realize I’d been poking around, I folded my page, which contained only the header of “Drummand—122” and the words “to the death!” and shoved it into my purse. From there, I made a quick check of the dresser and closet, finding nothing of interest, before heading out of the room. I closed the door behind me, checked to make sure the police tape looked secure, and then headed downstairs.

  Iris was gone, having fled to a hotel where no one had died, leaving only the Bunfords and Justin inside the bed-and-breakfast. I headed straight for Ted and Bett, mind still on what I’d found in Rick’s room. While I didn’t want to tell them I’d been snooping around, I did have concerns about the door being unlocked and the manuscript pages beneath the bed. If I was lucky, they would go in and check and then contact the police without my having to admit anything.

  “I saw the room upstairs was taped off,” I said as I approached.

  Bett glanced at me and sighed, clearly not happy I’d come back to bother her. “The police don’t want anyone inside.” She narrowed her eyes at me as if she suspected I’d done just that, which, of course, I had.

  “I wouldn’t do such a thing!” I said, placing one hand on my heart, and the other behind my back so she couldn’t see me cross my fingers. “But I think someone else did.”

  Both Ted and Bett looked startled.

  “What do you mean?” Ted asked.

  Time for a lie, something I was becoming alarmingly good at. “After I finished talking with Mrs. McDonahue, I noticed the door across the hall was open a crack and the tape was loose in one corner, like someone had pulled it free and then replaced it.”

  “The room was locked!” Bett said with a firm shake of her head. “No one could have gotten in.”

  Interesting. It sure hadn’t been locked when I’d tried the door. “Well, I was worried when I saw it. No one was inside the room, and being the concerned citizen I am, I fixed the tape and closed the door.” I forced myself to look suitably concerned. “But I’m pretty sure someone had been inside snooping around. Did the police come back sometime recently?”

  Ted shook his head. “Once they left, the only people I’ve seen are here right now.”

  “Other than Iris,” Bett muttered, obviously bitter about her guest’s flight.

  “Neither of us have gone inside the room,” Ted went on. “And I can assure you no one else has either.” His eyes flickered toward where Justin was slouched against the wall. He glanced at us, reddened, and looked away. “You must have been mistaken.”

  “I can only tell you what I saw,” I said solemnly. “You can check the door if you’d like. It’s still unlocked.”

  Bett immediately stormed for the stairs. Ted frowned at me a moment before following after. As soon as they were gone, I turned and made a beeline for Justin.

  “Spill it.” I could tell he had something to say. He was nervous by nature, but he became even more so when he knew something.

  “I didn’t go in there,” he said. “I’ve been down here ever since the body was discovered.”

  “But someone else did, didn’t they?”

  He looked down at his feet, hair falling into his face, hiding his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  “What do you mean, you’re ‘not sure’?”

  A very loud, very blunt curse came from upstairs. Bett wasn’t very happy about her unlocked door.

  Justin cleared his throat, eyeing the stairs like he thought he would get into trouble if they came downstairs and saw him talking to me. Knowing how the Bunfords felt about me lately, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was right.

  “Come on, Justin,” I said, putting on my “we’re best friends” voice. “You can tell me.”

  “I’m not sure I saw anyone,” he said. “So much was going on, it could have easily been my imagination.”

  I could tell he didn’t believe that any more than I did. “What did you see? And when was it? Before the police got here?”

  He shook his head. “After. The Bunfords weren’t out here. They were in the office, trying to convince Mrs. McDonahue to stay. I went out back for some fresh air, you know? It was crazy in here and well”—he shrugged a bony shoulder—“when I came back in, I thought I saw someone come down the stai
rs and hurry out the front door.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, mind racing. It would almost have to have been the killer, wouldn’t it? Who else would sneak into a place where a murder had just taken place?

  Other than me, of course.

  “I don’t know. It was bright outside and when I came in, I had those dark spots you get when you look into the sun too long.”

  “Could you at least tell me if it was a man or a woman?”

  Another shrug. “A man, I think. It’s hard to tell. All I know for sure is he was pretty big.”

  “Big as in tall?”

  “Big as in big.” He held his hands out from his stomach by a good foot and a half.

  The only fat man I knew that might have had any contact with Rick was Harland, though my dad wasn’t on the light side these days, either. As scrawny as Justin was, anyone would look fat by comparison, so I could be looking for someone of average size.

  “When was this?” I asked. If it happened while I was with my dad, then there was no way he could have been the one to sneak in and out of Rick’s room, leaving Harland as my only suspect.

  “An hour ago, maybe?”

  My heart sank all the way to my toes. I hadn’t heard from Dad for hours now. He’d gone to the police station to give his statement, sure, but it seemed like an awfully long time had passed, more than enough to give a statement and leave.

  He wouldn’t have come here. I refused to believe it. It had to have been someone else. Harland was a big man, though why he’d kill Rick, I had no idea.

  “The door was unlocked,” I said. “Could someone who works here have gone in?”

  Another shrug. “I don’t know. I doubt it. When I’d gone outside, I’d left my keys on the counter. They were there when I got back, but I’m pretty sure they’d been moved.”

  I thanked Justin and wandered out the front door in something of a daze. I needed to call Paul and find out how long they’d kept my dad. Maybe he was still there. For the first time, I hoped they were holding him for some reason. If he had come to Ted and Bettfast after giving his statement, I’m sure he would have had a good reason, but would the police accept it if they found out? Maybe he’d simply come to apologize to Ted and Bett about the argument last night.

  But that wouldn’t explain why he would have gone upstairs, into Rick’s room, and shoved those manuscripts under the bed. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would do something like that.

  I got into my car, stomach twisted in knots. I knew deep in my heart that Dad had nothing to do with Rick’s murder, but that knowledge wouldn’t keep him out of jail if Buchannan were to catch wind of what Justin had told me. He’d twist it around until he could pin everything on Dad, just to spite me. He might not treat me as badly as he used to, but Buchannan and I weren’t exactly best buddies, either.

  I dreaded it, but I picked up my phone and prepared to call Paul. If anyone could tell me where my dad was right now, it was him.

  Just as I unlocked my screen, the phone vibrated to life, causing me to scream and nearly drop it onto the floor. I checked the ID and saw the call was coming from Death by Coffee. Maybe Dad just got in and is calling to let me know everything went okay.

  I swiped across the screen and answered. “Dad?”

  “Hey, it’s Lena.” She sounded strangely out of breath.

  Great, what else has gone wrong? “Is everything okay?” I asked, voice hitching on the word. Right then, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the shop was on fire.

  “I don’t know.” There was a slight pause where I noted loud voices in the background, though I couldn’t tell what they were saying. “Your dad’s here.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Is he doing okay?”

  “I’m not sure.” I didn’t like the sound of that. “I think you’d better get down here,” Lena said. “Something’s happening, and I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like it.”

  11

  Tires screeched as I slammed to a stop in front of Death by Coffee. I fully expected to see smoke rolling from the front door or possibly a riot taking place inside, glass strewn across the sidewalk, bodies lying in pools of blood. My mind has a tendency to go to the worst places when I don’t know what to expect, so I very nearly broke down and cried when I saw nothing wrong with the place. There were no cop cars or ambulances nearby. People strolled up and down the street like nothing was happening at all.

  I sucked in a deep breath. I should have demanded Lena tell me what she’d meant when she’d called, but after my trip to Ted and Bettfast, I wasn’t thinking straight. She’d hung up, and I’d raced here, thinking my entire life was going up in smoke.

  I took a moment to park properly, not half in the road like I had been, and then got out of my car, heart still pounding. Nothing might appear out of place from the outside, but that didn’t mean something horrible wasn’t going on inside.

  I sprinted the short distance to the door and threw it open, eyes immediately scouring the store. No fire. No bodies. No overturned table or hostage situations. Lena was standing behind the counter, serving a guest, so whatever she’d wanted me here for wasn’t bad enough she felt she had to monitor it.

  Rita’s voice broke through then. I tracked the sound of it to find her upstairs, just barely in view. She was standing next to Dad. A crowd was huddled around them, listening to whatever she had to say. From my place by the door, I couldn’t quite make it out.

  Slowly, almost fearfully, I made my way across the store, up the short flight of stairs, and stood at the back of the small crowd to listen.

  “We cannot let it stand!” Rita proclaimed, stomping a foot and wagging a finger. “A man has been murdered. The police here in Pine Hills don’t know who did it.”

  A grumbling rippled through the crowd. A man beside me said, “They’re imbeciles.” It appeared the town had about as much faith in the local police department as I did. Though, to be fair, I’d been told numerous times they’d never had to deal with murders in Pine Hills, not until I arrived, so I supposed they could be forgiven for not being the best when it came to murder investigations.

  “I think it is time some of us take matters into our own hands,” Rita went on. “We now have an expert in our midst. He can solve this case and put Pine Hills on the map!”

  Dad looked embarrassed as he smiled. The crowd nodded, and a few started clapping.

  A sinking feeling started in my stomach. No wonder Lena had called me in and sounded so worried. Rita was going to drag my dad into this, and I knew it would somehow end in disaster. I had to put a stop to it long before that happened.

  I pushed through the crowd as Rita started to speak again. She saw me and immediately latched on to Dad’s arm, like she feared I might grab him and drag him away from her. I had to admit, it wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “Dad,” I said, cutting her off. “Why didn’t you call me? When did they let you go?”

  Rita huffed, but didn’t argue when Dad turned to me.

  “Hey, Buttercup.” He sounded almost relieved. “Officer Dalton dropped me off just a little while ago. I was going to call, but kind of got swept up in the moment.”

  Rita beamed. “I’ve had a brilliant idea!” she said.

  The small crowd was watching us. I gave them a good glare until they started to disperse, then turned back to Dad.

  “I was worried,” I said. “When you didn’t call, I thought they’d arrested you!”

  “I’m fine.” Dad pulled from Rita’s grip to give me a quick hug. “I appreciate the concern, but there was no reason to worry. I had nothing to do with Rick’s death, and I’m pretty sure they know that.”

  “Still . . .” I took a deep breath and stepped back. “I didn’t know what to think. I sat around the house, worrying, and then when Lena called, I was afraid something had happened to you.”

  “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to him,” Rita said. “In fact, I believe James here can solve Mr. Wiseman’s murder in no time! It’s
what I was telling everyone else when you showed up. It’s not often we have a brilliant mind working local crimes.”

  “Hey!” I said, mildly offended.

  Rita flapped a hand at me. “I don’t mean just you. I’m talking about the Pine Hills Police Department! They leave a lot to be desired when it comes to brainpower, if you know what I mean?” She winked at Dad.

  Okay, so I might have thought the local police were a little slow on the draw sometimes, but they had come to my rescue more than once when I’d gotten in over my head. And just because I tended to get involved in their murder cases didn’t mean they wouldn’t have figured out the correct culprit on their own eventually. I just sped things along, usually by getting myself attacked by the murderer.

  “Dad’s not working on the case,” I said, crossing my arms. “None of us are going to get involved.” I pointedly ignored the nagging voice in the back of my mind reminding me about my recent visit to Ted and Bettfast.

  “Nonsense,” Rita said. “You’ve done an adequate job making Pine Hills a safer place, but we have a professional here now. We can’t let this opportunity pass.”

  I ground my teeth together. “He’s not a professional,” I said. “He’s an author.”

  “Same thing,” Rita said, rolling her eyes.

  “While I’m flattered that you think I could be of help, my daughter is right.” Dad rested a hand on Rita’s shoulder. She practically melted at his touch. “I’ve never worked an actual murder investigation before and I’m afraid I’d only get in the way if I tried.”

  “Pah!” Another patented Rita hand wave. “Your books speak of your intelligence and capabilities. You know what you’re doing.” Her eyes lit up. “Maybe you could both work together! Father and daughter, solving crimes in our little town!” She clapped her hands together. “You could solve the murder, and we could pitch it to someone in Hollywood. It would make a great movie.” Her eyes glazed over as she thought about it. Chances were good she was picturing herself in a starring role.