Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  “We’re not going to get involved,” I said, and right then, I was pretty sure I meant it. Normally, I’d have been all over the case, poking into everyone’s business like it was my own.

  But my dad was here. I couldn’t put him at risk by sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. And there was no way I was going to let him wander around town, acting the part of an amateur sleuth, all because Rita thought he was some sort of brilliant detective. He’d only get himself hurt, much like I did every time I started snooping around.

  “I could be your sidekick,” Rita said, clearly not listening to a word I was saying. “I could ask the hard questions of people in town and bring you whatever I found out.” She rubbed her hands together in a way that made her look more like an evil mastermind than a detective on the side of good.

  Dad looked amused as we watched Rita plot what would inevitably be our downfall. She was lost in her own world, and nothing I said would drag her back to reality. I glanced back behind the counter to where Vicki stood, watching us, smiling in a way that told me she knew exactly what was going on. I had no idea how long Rita had been babbling about solving the case, before I’d gotten there.

  “Can I have a moment alone with my dad?” I asked, cutting Rita off, midfantasy.

  She looked startled, like she’d forgotten we were even there. “I suppose so.”

  “Thanks.” I grabbed him by the arm and all but dragged him across the room and in between a pair of shelves, where Trouble was sprawled out on the floor, head resting on a book that had fallen. It was likely he’d pawed it down on his own. Normally, I would have taken the book, but he looked so peaceful, I let him lie.

  “You can’t be seriously considering this,” I said in a harsh whisper as we came to a stop.

  “No, not seriously,” Dad said. “But it’s nice to be appreciated. She’s rather nice, isn’t she?” He glanced back to where Rita was still standing, talking to herself.

  “What happened at the police station that took so long?” I asked, changing the subject in the hopes he’d forget all about Rita and her mad schemes.

  “Not much. I gave my statement, answered a few questions, and that was it. The police were pretty friendly overall. I signed a few autographs on my way out.”

  Of course he had. “You didn’t go back to Ted and Bettfast afterward, did you?”

  He shook his head. “No. Officer Dalton drove me directly here from the station. I haven’t left since. Why?”

  A knot in my chest eased. “Well, I might have stopped there after I went home.” When my dad started to frown, I added, “I only went to check on a friend who works there.” I wondered how many white lies it took before they turned black.

  “Did you see someone who looked like me?” he asked.

  “No, but Justin—the worker I was telling you about—said he saw a fat man leave the bed-and-breakfast a few hours ago. The door upstairs was unlocked and it looked like things had been moved around.”

  “A fat man?” Dad sounded wounded as he touched his gut.

  “I don’t mean you’re fat!” I said. “Justin said he didn’t get a good look, and I was worried that perhaps. . .” I trailed off, unsure how to fix my gaff.

  Dad smiled. “It’s all right, I know what you mean. I’ve put on a few pounds these last few years, haven’t I?” He chuckled and patted his belly.

  I flushed. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Did you go into Rick’s room?” Dad asked, face going somber. “You weren’t investigating, were you?”

  “Not really,” I lied. I was really going to have to stop doing that. “I sort of noticed the door and peeked inside out of curiosity. I found something . . . strange.” I reached into my purse and removed the folded manuscript page. I handed it to him.

  Dad scanned the names. “What is this?” he asked, handing the page back.

  “A list of manuscripts I found beneath Rick’s bed. They looked as if they’d been tossed there, as if whoever put them there had been in a hurry.”

  “Why would someone hide a bunch of manuscripts?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I asked myself the same question. I do know that when I found Rick, there were manuscripts on the desk. They aren’t there now.”

  “Maybe the police took them.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “But how did they miss these other ones?” I tapped the paper before shoving it back into my purse. “I think someone moved them for some reason. Bett Bunford swears the door to Rick’s room was locked, but when I checked, it most certainly was not. Someone went in there after the murder and I think they hid the manuscripts under the bed after the police left.”

  “But why, I wonder?” Dad got a faraway look in his eye, and I immediately regretted telling him anything. I didn’t want him involved, and here I was, giving him fuel for an investigation.

  “I’ll let the police know what I found,” I said. “We can let them handle it. Neither of us needs to get involved.” It pained me to say it, but I felt I had to. I mean, I’d had a hand in every murder investigation since I arrived in Pine Hills, yet here was one far closer to me than the others and I was thinking of keeping out of it, all because of my dad.

  He smiled and nodded. “I know, Buttercup. I was just fantasizing a bit about playing the part of the hero. I’ve written so many of them, it would be nice to be one for a change.”

  “You are a hero to me.” Even as it came out of my mouth, I realized how cheesy it sounded.

  Dad only laughed. “Thank you.” He sighed. “I guess my part is done. I gave my statement and that’s all I need to do.” A look of sadness passed over him. “Rick and I might have had our differences as of late, but he didn’t deserve this. I should be focusing on whether or not to continue with the signing, or if I should call it off in his name.”

  “Don’t let Rita talk you into doing something you don’t want to do,” I said, not just meaning about the signing.

  He smiled. “I won’t, Buttercup. I promise.”

  He started to walk away, but I stopped him as a new thought came to mind. “Hey, Dad, why don’t you get your things and stay with me instead of that hotel?” I wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t asked me before.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t be,” I said. “It would be nice having you around, kind of like old times.”

  He smiled wistfully. “I guess it would be nice.” He still didn’t sound convinced, so I pressed.

  “Besides, we don’t know if Rick was the killer’s real target, or if he or she was after something else, like your unpublished novel.” Rita’s name flashed through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. She might be obsessed with Dad, but not so much that she would kill just to read his novel early. “I’d feel better having you close.”

  Dad sighed and nodded. “I suppose you’re right. It’s better to circle the wagons and all that.” He put an arm around me and hugged me, shoulder to shoulder. “And this way, we’ll be able to keep an eye on each other and make sure we both stay out of trouble.”

  “Yeah, great.” I forced a smile. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. I mean, I didn’t want Dad investigating Rick’s murder, and I might have said I wouldn’t get involved either, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t end up in the middle of it somehow. I had a tendency to find myself exactly where I didn’t belong, and I didn’t want to drag Dad along with me.

  But it was too late now. I’d just have to try harder.

  “Let me get my things from the hotel,” he said. “I’ll be over afterward.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “See you in an hour or two, then.” He kissed the top of my head and left. Rita was still standing where we left her, muttering to herself. I had a feeling she wasn’t going to be easy to dissuade, and I, for one, didn’t feel like trying—at least not yet.

  I stood in the stacks a moment longer, wondering if I was doing the right thing. I looked to Trouble for help, but he was
still off in dreamland. He’d probably stay that way until Vicki came to gather him up for the night, which was going to be soon.

  “What am I getting myself into?” I asked the snoozing cat. A whisker twitch was all the response I got.

  With a quick wave good-bye to Vicki and Lena, I put Death by Coffee behind me and headed for home.

  12

  I snatched a pair of dirty socks off the floor and tossed them into the clothes hamper. My house wasn’t a total disaster, but it could use a real cleaning, something I’d been meaning to do for the last week or three. Okay, the last month or more. I ran the vacuum and did the laundry regularly, but simple stuff like dusting and picking up old discarded newspapers and the like wasn’t a high priority since I lived alone and rarely had guests.

  Now that my dad was coming to stay with me for a few days, I was in full-on cleaning mode. Every surface needed to be scrubbed, every piece of trash found and discarded. I wanted the house to look pristine and smell of pine and bleach. I didn’t want him thinking I was a slob, even if it was kind of true.

  Of course, not everyone shared the same enthusiasm for cleaning as I did.

  “Put that down!” I shouted as Misfit snatched up a tissue that had fallen from the bathroom trash can. He ran out of the room, through the bedroom, and down the hall, where he vanished in the living room, likely behind the couch, where I’d struggle to get to him. He’d have the flimsy tissue torn to shreds in seconds, and I knew he’d find a way to spread it all over the house, just to watch me panic trying to pick it up.

  I gave chase, sweat beading my brow. Cleaning is already a workout, so I didn’t need to add to it by chasing after a misbehaving cat. To his credit, Misfit dropped the tissue when he heard me thundering behind him. It could have been an accident, but a part of me hoped he was taking pity on me.

  “Bad kitty,” I scolded him. He glared at me from his perch on the armrest of the recliner. I ruffled his fur, picked up the tissue, and then carried it to the trash can in the kitchen. I couldn’t be mad at my big fluffball for long. Normally, when I cleaned, I didn’t mind what he did, be it stealing stray trash or batting around bra straps. But tonight was different, and I hoped he understood that.

  I filled his bowl and turned to call for him, only to find he’d magically appeared at my side and was scarfing down his dinner like he hadn’t been fed for weeks.

  “You’re hardly starving,” I told him as I scanned the living room for anything else I needed to pick up.

  My house was thankfully of the smaller variety, so cleaning hadn’t taken as long as it could have. The spare bedroom took the longest because I never set foot in there. Dust had coated practically everything, and at some point, I must have decided it was the perfect room to toss spare boxes, because there had been ten of them strewn about. They were now broken down and tucked next to the trash can, and the dust had been knocked free and swept up, though it still smelled like a dusty, unused room.

  At least Dad wouldn’t have to worry about it. I’d decided I’d take the room, old bed and all. Dad could have my newer, more comfortable bed, as well as the privacy my bedroom provided. The spare bath was small and contained only a stand-up shower, sink, and toilet. I’d have to make due with no long soaks in the tub for the few days he’d be here, but thought I could manage.

  Satisfied I’d gotten everything picked up, I moved to the closet for the vacuum just as there was a knock at the door. My eyes darted toward the clock, afraid I’d run out of time. I’d been cleaning for well over an hour now, and while Dad had said he’d get his things and be over, I’d kind of hoped it would take him longer.

  Misfit’s back was arched as he stared at the door. I could practically read his mind.

  “The dog isn’t coming back,” I assured him. I swear I saw him narrow his eyes at me in suspicion as I headed for the door.

  The knock came again, this time more insistent. A brief flare of worry worked through me, but I suppressed it. Dad was probably weighed down by his laptop, and quite possibly half a dozen books. He was never one to travel light, and I doubted this time would be any different.

  I plastered on a nervous smile, gave the house one last scan, and then turned to open the door.

  “Are you okay? I heard all about it.”

  Someone who was most definitely not my dad barged past me, into my house, uninvited. He looked around, appraising the place, before turning back to face me. He held out his arms like he expected me to rush into them.

  That was so not going to happen.

  “What are you doing here, Robert?” I asked, not hiding my irritation. Robert Dunhill was my ex, had been for a while now, a fact that seemed to have escaped his attention. He was a no-good cheat who’d followed me to Pine Hills, choosing to live close to me when I wanted nothing to do with him. Somehow, no matter how many times I told him to go away, he never quite got it.

  He gave me a concerned look I wasn’t buying for one second, before dropping his arms. “I heard about the man’s death. You knew him, didn’t you? To find the body like that . . .” He shook his head and tsked, like it was the worst thing he could think of happening to anyone.

  At least there, I could sort of agree.

  “Yes, I knew him. I’m fine. Now leave.” I held the door open for him.

  “Don’t be like that, babe,” he said, not moving. “I’m only concerned about you.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “I’m surprised you didn’t show up with some girl draped over your arm just in case you didn’t get what you wanted out of me.”

  He had the decency to look somewhat chagrined at that. “I’m better than that now,” he said. “I’ve learned my lesson. I swear you’re going to see how much I’ve changed. Just give me a chance to prove it to you.”

  “No, Robert. We’re done. You ran out of chances a long time ago.” It felt like I’d been saying that for half my life now. “Please leave. I have company coming.”

  His concern for me vanished like smoke, proving it had all been a put-on. “Is it that man?” he asked.

  It took me a moment to realize who he was talking about. “Will?” I asked. “No, it’s not,” I said when he nodded. “And even if it was, it’s no business of yours who comes over to see me.”

  “He’s no good for you,” Robert said, crossing his arms. “I would treat you far better than he ever could.”

  “Robert, you . . .” I shook my head, unable to continue. I couldn’t believe he was standing there, acting like I’d just up and forgive him for what he did to me. How many ways could I tell him that he screwed up and I was done with him before he’d finally get it?

  “I’m really hurt here,” he said, adopting his poor-me pose, with shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. “I came here only to make sure you were okay, and you treat me like this. It’s not right. In fact, it’s indecent.”

  “The only thing indecent here is your insistence on injecting yourself into my life. It’s late. I have things to do. I want you to leave.”

  “You might want to do what the lady says.”

  I just about jumped out of my socks when my dad spoke behind me. I’d been so focused on getting Robert out of my house, I hadn’t even heard him drive up.

  Robert paled. “I was just checking up on her.”

  “Sounds to me like you were harassing her.” Dad stepped past me and leveled hard eyes at Robert. I’d been a victim of his angry glare before, and let me tell you, it’s not something you ever want to repeat. My dad wasn’t a violent man, but, boy, could he stare when he wanted to.

  Robert wilted beneath those intense eyes, nodded, and then scurried past me without another word. I slammed the door right behind him for good measure.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I can’t believe he came over.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Dad said. “I always thought you could do better than him, Buttercup. I don’t know what you saw in him in the first place.”

  “Me either,” I muttered, before perking up. “Do you have
everything?”

  Dad held up a pair of heavy-looking suitcases. “All accounted for. Where should I drop them?”

  I led him into my bedroom, where he deposited his suitcases by the bed.

  “You don’t have to give up your space for me,” he said, looking around the room. “I can take the couch or a spare room if you have one.”

  “No, you’re staying here, and that’s final.”

  He smiled and nodded. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. Now that he was here and hadn’t run shrieking into the night after seeing how I lived, I was feeling better. I led him out of the bedroom, to the kitchen, where I put on some coffee. “You remember Misfit, don’t you?”

  “I do.” He scratched the orange furball behind the ears. “He always allowed on the counter?”

  “I don’t think he’d forgive me if I didn’t allow it,” I said. Misfit had claimed the island counter as his main perch from the moment we’d moved in. Displacing him was completely out of the question.

  “So, I thought I heard you mention something about a guy named Will?” Dad asked, nonchalant as could be, not looking up from Misfit.

  I reddened. “Yeah. Him.”

  Dad chuckled. “New boyfriend, I take it?”

  I suddenly felt fifteen again. “I guess.”

  “He nice?”

  “Very.” I melted as I said it.

  “Good.” Dad sighed and sat down on one of the counter stools. “I know how hard it can be to date again after a long time with someone else.” He glanced toward the door as if he could still see Robert there.

  I filled two mugs with coffee, dropping a cookie into mine. I carried both mugs to the counter, grabbed some cream and sugar for Dad, and then took a seat next to him. “After Robert, I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to date again.”

  He nodded and stared down into the black depths of his coffee. “It’s been a long time since your mother died.” He cleared his throat, scratched at the back of his neck. “I was thinking that maybe it was time I got back into, well”—he glanced up at me to see how I was taking it before continuing—“I was thinking of trying to date again.”