Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. It had always been Mom and Dad, even after she’d died. He didn’t even have a female friend that helped him through the tough times. A part of me always thought that now that she was gone, he would continue on, just the same as always.

  “I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

  “Oh no!” I reached out and took his hand. “I think it might actually be a good idea.” And oddly, I wasn’t lying. Now that I was confronted with the possibility of my dad dating someone else, I realized it was probably a good idea. He shouldn’t have to spend his life alone.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I feel like I’m going to hurt you, or mar her memory somehow if I went out with another woman.”

  “Don’t,” I said. “You aren’t forgetting about Mom. She wouldn’t want you to remain alone for the rest of your life. I’m no longer there to help you if something were to happen to you.” A fact that hadn’t dawned on me until that very moment. “If you meet someone, I say go for it. You deserve to be happy.”

  “I am happy, Buttercup.” He squeezed my hand, and I swear I saw a tear in his eye before he looked away. “But I also get lonely sometimes.”

  “Then do it,” I said.

  He nodded and went about doctoring his coffee. He paused halfway to pouring his creamer and touched the chip in the mug. He glanced at me and smiled. I could only shrug. I’d started chipping my coffee mugs because of him. It was just one of those things that helped me feel at home, even when I was so far away.

  He chuckled and continued pouring his creamer. I took a sip of my own coffee and considered how I’d feel in a few months when I saw Dad with someone else. Would I still approve then? Or would I feel like it was a betrayal, even though I knew Dad wasn’t trampling on Mom’s memory?

  It was hard to tell. But I was willing to see how things panned out.

  “I didn’t do it, you know?” Dad said suddenly, drawing me out of my contemplations.

  “Do what?”

  “Kill Rick.”

  I was taken aback that he actually felt the need to tell me that. “I know! You never could have hurt him.”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But I did.”

  “Did what?” There was that dread again, creeping its way into my gut.

  “Hurt him.” Dad sighed and scrubbed at his face with both hands. He looked exhausted. “When I went over to confront him about what had happened outside the church, I lost my temper. He was so damn smug about it.” He glanced up at me. “Excuse the language.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve heard far worse.”

  “I don’t know.” Dad shrugged. “When he said he didn’t know what I was so upset about and that you could make up your own mind about him, I lost it. I punched him right in the nose, fired him on the spot, and stormed out.”

  “You punched him?” I gaped at him, in complete shock. I’d never seen Dad so much as squish a fly, let alone hit someone.

  “I did. It was the first time I think I really saw Rick for the bastard he was.” Pause. “Excuse the language.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Well, I could see Dad standing up for me, but to hit a man he’d worked with for decades and to fire him, all because of me? It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

  And then the reality set in.

  “Did you tell the police you punched him?”

  “I did.” Dad took a sip of his coffee and frowned. “They would have figured it out on their own, I’m sure.” He showed me the back of his right hand, where a small scab decorated one knuckle. “I got blood on him, not to mention busting his nose. They’d eventually find that and would have put two and two together.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. This wasn’t like a bigger city where they’d do DNA tests or anything. And unless he pointed it out, the scab on his knuckle was so small, there was a chance no one would have noticed it. Heck, I hadn’t, and I’d been around him for a while now.

  “I’m sure they understood,” I said, thinking of Paul. He had to know my dad would never kill anyone.

  “Maybe.” Dad yawned, took a final sip from his mostly full mug of coffee, and stood. “I should hit the hay. It’s been a hard, long day, and I could use some rest.”

  “Do you need me to get you anything?” I asked. “I don’t have a lot of spare blankets or pillows, but I’m sure I could scrounge some up somewhere if you think you’ll need them.” Even if I had to go next door and beg Jules Phan for them.

  “No, I’ll be fine. Thanks, Buttercup.” He started for the hallway.

  “By the way, Dad,” I said.

  He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

  “Make sure you keep the blinds closed.”

  He gave me a curious look, but nodded. “Will do.”

  I watched him go, worried. I couldn’t imagine what I would do if the police decided to arrest him for Rick’s murder. I’d probably end up going on a punching spree myself, landing my own butt in jail, right next to him.

  My cell rang, and I pulled it from my purse, still contemplative. “Hello?” I asked, not bothering to check the ID.

  “Hi, Krissy. It’s Will.”

  Suddenly, I was all ears. “Hi, Will!” I checked the hall to make sure Dad was truly gone, and then walked to the farthest corner of the living room, just in case. “I was just thinking of you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “My dad is staying with me now and I had an unpleasant run-in with my ex, Robert.” I gave him a quick rundown of what happened. “I wish you could have been here.”

  “I can’t believe that guy,” he said. I could imagine him shaking his head in disbelief, sexy dark eyes boring into my own, lips forming whispered words . . .

  I cleared my throat, feeling myself warm. Those were definitely not thoughts I wanted to have with my dad in the next room.

  “Anyway, I wanted to call and make sure you’re doing okay,” he said.

  “As good as can be, I suppose.” I would have been better if he’d stopped by instead of called, but this would have to do.

  “Well . . .” With the way he drew out the word, I knew he had something important to say, which only served to make my belly fill with butterflies.

  “Yes?”

  “The real reason I’m calling is that my parents found out your dad is in town.”

  The butterflies decided to start moshing around. “Oh?” It came out a croak.

  “They’d like you and your father to accompany me to dinner at their place tomorrow night.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “With your parents?”

  “With my parents.”

  “And my dad?”

  “That’s right.”

  I swallowed a dry lump that had risen in my throat. “Sounds great.” What are you thinking?!

  “Okay, great.” Will sounded relieved, like he’d been worried I might decline. “I can pick you up, if you’d like. Or I can give you the address. It’s totally up to you. I won’t pressure you either way.” He coughed, obviously realizing he’d started to babble.

  “The address is fine,” I said. I wasn’t sure I could handle the ride with both of them in the car together. The same house was going to be bad enough. I’d never been comfortable bringing boys around Dad. He never threatened them or anything, but I always feared he’d think I was making a mistake, especially after how my last relationship had turned out.

  Will gave me his parents’ address, and after a few quick good-byes, we hung up, the date planned.

  I returned my phone to my purse and slumped down onto the couch. What had I just gotten myself into?

  13

  “I’m surprised you haven’t taken off already.”

  I glanced over at Vicki, who was smiling mischievously. The morning coffee rush was over, and I was doing my best to relax behind the counter, cleaning up a few spills and trying hard not to think about Rick’s murder. Vicki had told me I didn’
t need to come in, but I decided I’d feel better with something to do. Leave me at home, and I’d end up poking my nose where it didn’t belong.

  “Why’s that?” I asked, all innocence.

  “I’d think you’d be all over this one,” she said. Despite the early rush, not a hair was out of place on her head, but she checked it, anyway. “Since it is someone you knew who died, and the police have yet to arrest anyone, it seemed like the sort of thing that would be right up your alley.”

  “I’m going to stay out of it.” Which was true, to a point. Sure, I might have already gone snooping around the crime scene, and I’d talked to the witness without police knowledge, but when I woke up this morning, I’d decided it would end there. With Dad in town, I needed to be on my best behavior.

  A chair clanked against the wall as Jeff moved it back to pick up trash that had been discarded under the table. I swear, people get messier and messier each day. The trash can was all of two feet away, yet the customer had chosen to drop his trash on the floor before leaving.

  “Uh-huh,” Vicki winked at me. “So, your dad is staying with you now?”

  “He is.” I was thankful for the change in subject. If Vicki kept asking about the case, I’d start thinking about it, and nothing good could come of it. “He promised he’d stay at the house today and deal with work instead of coming here. He’s going to have to figure out what he’s going to do now that Rick’s dead. He didn’t belong to an agency with a lot of agents who could fill in until something more permanent could be arranged. He’s going to have to find someone else.”

  “What about Cameron?” Vicki motioned toward the freshly minted agent, who was talking with Rita, a thick manuscript on the table between them.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He seems nice enough, I guess, but I bet Dad will want someone with more experience. He’s not producing books like he used to, and at this point in his career, he needs someone who knows what he’s doing.” I frowned at Rita’s manuscript a moment before I realized something I’d forgotten. “Crap!”

  Vicki jumped at my sudden outburst. “What happened? You okay?” She glanced at my hands as if to make sure I hadn’t cut myself on something.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “But I forgot to call Paul and tell him about what I saw at Ted and Bettfast.” I paused at her knowing grin. “What?”

  “I knew you couldn’t stay out of it.”

  “This was before I’d decided not to get involved,” I said, sullenly. “And I doubt there’s anything to what I found.”

  “Spill,” she said, leaning on the counter beside me.

  I glanced around to make sure no one was listening, especially the prospective authors in the room. Rita wasn’t the only one hanging around now. Both the Drummands were here, as was Andi Caldwell, and Harland. If I were still investigating the case, I’d end up asking the big man about why he was at Ted and Bettfast, or, at least, if he was the fat man Justin had seen. As it was, I could only watch him and wonder.

  The door opened, and Joel Osborne came in, joining the others. Apparently, Death by Coffee had become the de facto hangout for the literary types while they were in town. I couldn’t say I disapproved.

  “I found manuscripts inside Rick’s room,” I whispered once I was sure no one was eavesdropping on us.

  Vicki frowned. “That doesn’t sound too strange. He was an agent, so I would expect there to be a few novels lying around.”

  I shook my head. “These weren’t normal manuscripts.” I paused, frowned. “Well, they were, but I remember Rick refusing to look at any of them, yet there they were, hidden under his bed. All of them were written by . . .” I jerked a thumb toward the dining area.

  Vicki’s eyes widened as she took in the small gathering. “You think one of them killed him?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what to think yet. He had them in his room, so maybe Rick changed his mind and took the manuscripts in. But why shove them under his bed? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe he took them and put them there to forget about them.”

  “But why not dump them into the trash?”

  “Perhaps so he could give them back after pretending to read them?” Vicki spread her hands. “Or maybe he was planning to do something with them later.”

  “Maybe.” I sighed. “When I first was there, I saw manuscripts on the desk, but when I went back later, they were gone.”

  “Do you think the ones under the bed are the same ones?”

  “I don’t know. They could be.” I stepped closer to her and lowered my voice. “I was told someone came downstairs after the police left, and it is likely they had gone into the crime scene. Bett swears the door was locked, yet when I checked, it wasn’t.”

  “So, what? You think the killer came back for something?”

  “Could be,” I said. “Though I have no idea what he could have wanted. The police had already been through the room, so any evidence would have already been collected.”

  “Huh.” Vicki grinned. “It doesn’t sound like you’re staying out of things, you know?”

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “You started it.”

  She laughed. “And I don’t think you’ll have to worry about calling Paul to tell him about what you found.”

  “Why’s that?” I followed her gaze to the door. “Oh.”

  Officer Paul Dalton stepped inside, removing his hat as he did so. He took a moment to pat his head to smooth down a few wild strands of hair that refused to be tamed. He took a quick look around and then leveled his gaze at me.

  “Have fun,” Vicki whispered before gliding up to the bookstore.

  “Thanks,” I grumbled, heart hammering. Was he here because he’d learned something? Or was there a more sinister reason for his visit? I had gone against his wishes and talked to Iris, but that had been well after he’d gotten her statement, so he couldn’t hold it against me, could he?

  I didn’t have long to wait to find out.

  “Krissy,” he said, coming over to where I stood. “Is there someplace private we could talk for a few minutes?”

  I nodded, heart sinking to my toes. If he wanted to talk privately, then what he had to say wasn’t going to make me happy. “Jeff,” I called. “Take over back here for me, would you?”

  “Sure, Ms. Hancock.”

  I led Paul back to the small office behind the counter. Memories flooded in as I took a seat in one of the two chairs back there. When I’d first met Paul, it had been on my first day of work, and I’d taken him back here under similar circumstances.

  “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” he asked, echoing my thoughts.

  “Sure does,” I said. “But I hope this time the news isn’t so grave.” By the look on his face, I knew it was going to be.

  Paul heaved a sigh as he sat down to face me. “I need to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Mr. Wiseman.”

  “He was my dad’s agent,” I said. “You know that.”

  “I do.” A smile flittered across his face and then vanished. “How long did you know him?”

  I shrugged. “Most of my life, I guess. We didn’t live in the same state, so I only ever saw him when my dad had a big book release or event of some kind. Rick liked to fly in and take part.”

  “Would you describe your relationship as close?”

  I didn’t like where this conversation was heading, especially since we’d already talked about Rick and how I felt about him when we were at Ted and Bettfast. “No, not particularly. We weren’t friends or anything, if that’s what you are asking.”

  “You didn’t like him, did you?”

  “No,” I said. “I already told you that. He was rude and often quite crude.” Though I hadn’t realized until the night of his death how rude he really was.

  Paul nodded as if I were following his script perfectly. “Would you say you were nervous around him? Did you actively dislike spending time with him?”

  “I guess.” I frowned. The question
s felt leading, something I didn’t think the police were supposed to do. “Why are you asking me these things?” I asked. “You don’t think I killed him, do you?”

  “I don’t,” Paul said. “But there is some evidence I’ve uncovered that I think you need to be aware of. I wanted to make sure you heard it from me, not someone else.”

  A cold chill washed through me. “What evidence?”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a couple of folded pages. Silently, he handed them to me.

  I took a deep breath before unfolding them, thinking I’d find some sort of love letter or incriminating block of text. What met my eyes was far worse.

  “Where did you get these?” I asked.

  “From Rick Wiseman’s phone and computer.”

  I flipped through the pages slowly, looking down at my own smiling face. All of the photographs came from when I was young. There was a picture of me standing next to my dad when I was about eight, wearing a ratty skirt and knee-high socks. Another of me at twelve. Another at about the same age, clearly taken while I was unaware that anyone was taking my photo.

  “Why would he have these?” I asked, handing the stack back to Paul.

  “I’m not positive, since there was nothing but the photographs in the folder. Everything else on the laptop related to his work.”

  “Were there others?”

  “No, just these.”

  “I mean, other girls? Were there more?”

  “No. I believe Rick Wiseman was infatuated with you.”

  “But I was just a kid!” My mind went back to all those times I’d been near him, how he’d look at me, smile at me. I’d never noticed it before, but he had always treated me better than he did everyone else. He never took advantage of me or anything. I’d been alone with him in rooms before, and he’d never tried to touch me or said anything to me that was out of line—at least until the other night, that is.

  “I feel sick,” I said, sitting back. “I had no idea he had any of those.”

  “Do you think your father knew?”

  I shook my head. “He would have fired him a long time ago if he had.”