Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  Kari didn’t live too far from me, which made my decision to stop by that much easier. Her house was a small ranch that could use a fresh coat of paint. The shutters were once black, but were now streaked with white spots that hinted that someone had tried to do just that, but had stopped somewhere short of actually painting them. Near the foundation, the white siding had turned shades of brown and green. A pair of ugly faded pink flamingos stood on either side of the cracked brick walk that led to the front door. Somewhere out back, a dog barked in a decidedly unfriendly way.

  I made my way carefully up the walk, wondering if I’d made the right decision coming here alone. Most of the houses down the lane looked better than Kari’s, but all were modest in size. Many driveways held pickups with prominent gun racks attached to the back, Kari’s included.

  Swallowing hard, I knocked on the door. I was here, so I might as well get it over with now. I definitely didn’t want to come back here anytime soon. Who knew if someone would decide to train one of those guns on me for prying?

  “What?” The shout came from somewhere inside the house and held a similarly unfriendly tone as the maniacally barking dog.

  “Ms. Collins?” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the racket. “My name is Krissy Hancock. I’d like to talk to you for a minute, if that’s okay?”

  Silence from the other side of the door.

  “Ms. Collins?”

  “Hold on to your jockstrap.” Chains clinked. Many chains. As in, paranoid-that-someone-is-going-to-try-to-break-in-and-kill-you chains. The latch clicked a moment later, and the door opened. A woman who looked to be about forty, going on eighty, peered out. Her hair was a fuzzy mess atop her head. A cigarette jutted from her lower lip, burning slowly and fouling up the air. Her eyes were yellowed, as were her teeth. I wondered if I’d catch something by standing next to her, but there was no help for it, not if I wanted to ask her about that night.

  “I’m Krissy,” I said, reaching out a hand and mentally hoping she wouldn’t take it.

  She didn’t. “You said. What you want?”

  “I heard you were working at Ted and Bettfast the night of the murder.”

  Not so much as a blink. “Yeah? So?”

  “So, I was wondering what you could tell me about that night.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  I cleared my throat and rapidly blinked my stinging eyes. “I knew the victim,” I said. “I’m trying to figure out what exactly happened to him.”

  She studied me a moment, sucking hard on her cigarette. The thing burned almost all the way down to the filter before she blew out a bellow’s worth of smoke, right into my face. I immediately started coughing, eyes burning from the poison being blown into them. I staggered back and tried to find breathable air, but it seemed to be saturated with smoke.

  Kari laughed as if it was the funniest thing she’d seen. “Ain’t much to tell you, honestly. The guy died. Probably happened while I wasn’t inside.”

  “Smoke break?” I hazarded a guess when I could breathe again.

  “ ’Course.” She winked, snorted, and spat in the grass. “Was late is all I can tell ya. Didn’t go looking at no clock. No one was supposed to be inside at the time, and I sure didn’t let anyone in, so if somebody did the deed while I was there, they did so without my knowledge.”

  “Could they have slipped past you while you were outside smoking?”

  “’Suppose.” She shrugged as if she didn’t care one way or the other. “But if they did, they were real quiet about it.” She paused and removed what was left of her cigarette from her mouth. She pointed it at me. “I did hear something while I was outside, though. When I went to check on it, there wasn’t nothing there.”

  “What did it sound like?” I asked, ignoring her less-than-stellar grammar.

  She studied her cigarette before snuffing it out on the side of the house. She dropped the crushed butt into what might have once been a flower bed, but was now little more than an ashtray.

  “Something heavy hitting the ground somewhere outside. There was a thud and a flutter.”

  “A flutter.”

  “Yeah, a flutter.”

  “Like the sound a bird makes when it takes off?” I asked, imagining a giant parakeet landing somewhere outside Ted and Bettfast.

  “Like a flutter.”

  Gee thanks, I thought bitterly. That’s such a help. “And you said nothing was there when you checked?”

  “Not a damn thing as far as I could tell. Was dark. It happened around the side of the place, where I couldn’t see, and I wasn’t about to go looking all over the property for something that probably didn’t mean anything.”

  I thought about it a moment before asking, “Which side did the sound come from?”

  “The right side.”

  Knowing it would be pointless to ask for clarification, I tried to envision it myself. If Kari had been facing Ted and Bettfast on her smoke break, the right side would have taken her to the same side Rick’s room was on. Could someone have leapt from the window? But if so, what had fluttered? And why not leave the way they came in if they’d already managed to sneak inside? Unless whoever had snuck in had used the window to get in in the first place.

  “Were any of the windows open that night?” I asked, trying to remember if Rick’s was or not when I’d found him, and failing.

  “Don’t know. Didn’t check.”

  I had to remember that she wouldn’t have suspected anything to be amiss at that point. As far as anyone knew, Rick was still alive in his room. I was sure strange sounds happened around old mansions all the time. It wasn’t like she would have automatically assumed a thump and flutter meant a killer was trying to escape.

  Even I wasn’t sure that’s what had happened.

  Kari fished out another cigarette, and I decided it was time for me to go. One cloud of smoke in my face was enough for a morning.

  “Thank you for your time,” I said. “You’ve been a great help.”

  “Whatever.” She lit up, stepped back inside, and slammed the door in my face.

  “That went well,” I muttered, happy I’d managed to get anything out of her at all. I couldn’t imagine that woman working someplace where she’d have to deal with people on a regular basis. Then again, she did work nights, where it was unlikely she would have to interact with anyone. It was probably the only time anyone would put up with her.

  Knowing I was being a little too judgmental, especially since I’d only talked to Kari once, I got into my car and checked the time. I still had a good hour before my doctor’s appointment. Ted and Bettfast might not be on the way, but I thought I could get there, have a look at the spot Kari indicated, and get to the office in time to meet with Paige.

  Without giving it much thought, I started up the car and was on my way.

  I wasn’t sure if what Kari had told me meant anything or not, but I was hoping that if it did, there’d still be some indication of what had happened. It had been days since Rick’s death, so there was a chance any evidence could be long gone by now. At least it hadn’t rained, so maybe I’d get lucky.

  The parking lot to Ted and Bettfast was depressingly empty as I pulled into an open spot. Only two cars were present, my own making three. I assumed one belonged to Jo and the other to the Bunfords. Murder was definitely hurting their business. If it kept up, maybe they could start advertising it as a murder house. There are actually people out there who would love to stay in a place where someone else had died, strange as it seems.

  I got out of my car, but didn’t head for the front doors. Instead, I walked around the side of the building, toward the right. I kept my eyes up toward the windows, but was disappointed to see they were all closed. I counted down to where I thought Rick’s room would be and then lowered my gaze to the ground below.

  It took all of two seconds to note the pair of side-by-side indentations in the grass. I moved to stand behind them, careful not to step on anything, and then bent my knees
to hover over them to measure their size. Sure enough, the marks could have easily been made by someone falling hard and landing on their knees here, though by the size of the marks, it was someone larger than myself. I glanced back up and cringed at the height. Landing hard enough to leave a mark would have had to hurt. Chances were good that whoever jumped had spent the rest of the night tending sore knees, and might be limping even now.

  So, I now had what I thought might be the killer’s escape route. But what good did that do me since it wasn’t like I could go around measuring people’s knees. No other houses had sight lines to this location, and the only possible witness had been out front, smoking at the time. Looking at the side of the bed-and-breakfast, there didn’t appear to be a way up to the windows, so it was unlikely the killer would have gotten in that way unless they’d brought a ladder. But if that was the case, why jump when they could have simply climbed back down once the deed was done?

  I scratched the back of my neck and frowned. If the killer couldn’t climb in through the window, then they would have had to take the stairs. I found it hard to believe that no one saw them. Then again, everyone but Kari was in bed. All the killer had to do was wait for her to go outside to smoke, and then sneak inside, kill Rick, and jump out the window.

  Or the killer could have been hiding in one of the other rooms the entire time.

  It made sense. Anyone could have stuck around after all the authors left their manuscripts. It wasn’t like the bed-and-breakfast was locked up during the day. The killer might even have entered with Rita’s crew and slipped away when no one was looking. All he or she had to do was wait until everyone was asleep, break into Rick’s room, and kill him.

  My mind went back to the fat man Justin had seen the next day. Had the killer hid afterward and snuck out once everything calmed down? Seemed strange, especially since someone had leapt from the window. Could the killer have left something behind and returned to retrieve it?

  And what was that flutter Kari said she’d heard?

  I returned my gaze to the ground. The grass hadn’t been mowed in a few days, so it was a tad long, but not so much that I couldn’t see. It took only a few moments for me to spot a faint tan blemish amid the green of the grass. I picked up the thin piece and held it up so I could see it better.

  The tan object was a rubber band that had long since passed its prime. Little cracks spider-webbed along its faded surface. Had it belonged to the killer? Or had it lain out here, exposed beneath the sun, for months, dropped by an unsuspecting gardener? From the look of the thing, both were just as likely.

  I pocketed the evidence, trying to remember if the manuscript that lay loose beneath Rick’s bed had a broken rubber band nearby, or if this could have belonged to it. But if so, why take the rubber band and not the actual pages? It didn’t make any sense.

  I pulled out my cell phone, intending to call Paul and let him know what I’d found. He’d know better than I.

  My eyes landed on the time, and panic shot through me. I was going to be late for my appointment.

  Promising myself I’d make the call later, I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, hurried back to my car, and raced out of the parking lot.

  19

  “I’m sorry I’m late!” I hurried to the window and wrote my name down on the sign-in sheet there. “I’m here to see Doctor Paige.”

  “Doctor Lipmon?” the nurse at the window asked, looking over the top of her bifocals at me. She was at least eighty if she was a day. Her name tag read BEA.

  I winced, still out of breath from the mad dash from my car to the office. I was late, but not nearly as late as I’d feared I would be. “Doc Lipmon, sorry.”

  Bea gave me an “are you a complete moron?” look before nodding toward the plastic waiting room chairs. “Take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”

  I started toward one of the chairs, but stopped. I turned back to the window and lowered my voice. “Could you let Doctor Foster know I’m here?”

  Bea leaned toward me, arms crossed on the counter in front of her. “Are you here to see Doctor Lipmon or Doctor Foster? Can’t be both.”

  “I’m here to see Doc Lipmon for a checkup, but I’d also like to talk to Doctor Foster. He knows me. We’re sort of dating.”

  Bea looked me up and down. “Mm-hmm. Take a seat.” She closed the window.

  I sat down, feeling like a fool. Here I was, my first visit with Paige, and I’d already screwed it up. Thankfully, I’d already done the paperwork a few days ago when Will had brought it to me, thinking it would save me time. Little did he know how much I would need it.

  There was only one other person in the waiting room with me—an older man who kept nodding off to sleep, only to jerk awake a few minutes later to look around like he had no idea where he was. The usual outdated magazines sat on a rack by the front door. A pretty nice flat-screen TV hung on the wall, tuned to Ellen, but was turned down so low, only the faintest murmur could be heard. At least the closed-captioning was turned on, so I could follow along without too much trouble.

  “Krissy? You wanted to see me?”

  I turned away from Ellen and rose. “Will.” I went over to him for a hug, but he stepped back and shook his head.

  “Working,” he said with an apologetic smile. He glanced at the old man, who’d nodded off again. “I’ll be with you in just a minute, Mr. Karmack.” He just about shouted it, though it did little good. The old man didn’t budge. “Is everything okay?” he asked me, looking me up and down as if he expected to find bullet holes.

  Knowing my track record, it wasn’t too far of a stretch.

  “I guess,” I said with a sigh. “I’m late for my appointment.”

  He winced. “Paige won’t like that.”

  “I have a good reason.” I lowered my voice even though no one else was listening. “I’ve learned a few things about the murder, possible suspects and whatnot. Apparently, someone jumped from Rick’s window the night he died. I’m guessing that someone was his murderer.”

  “Krissy . . .” Will gave me one of those looks usually reserved for a child who couldn’t keep her hand out of the cookie jar. “You know you shouldn’t be doing this.” He sighed. “Mom put this idea into your head, didn’t she?”

  I blushed, thinking about last night’s dinner. “Not really. You know me. I can’t leave a good mystery alone, especially when I have a stake in the outcome.”

  “Even if it gets you into trouble.” It wasn’t a question, which I found pretty telling.

  “Even if it does. Will, my dad is a suspect. They might not think he had anything to do with it now, but what happens in a few days when they can’t pin it on someone else? I can’t leave it be, not when Buchannan can come knocking on my door at any moment, handcuffs at the ready.”

  Another long-suffering sigh. “I know you can’t. It’s just, I worry. I have no idea what happened last night when you took off. You never called, never let me know you were okay.”

  It was my turn to wince. “I’m sorry about that. I had to take Rita home.” I held up a hand when he started to ask a question. “I’ll have to tell you later. It’s a long story.”

  He smiled, glanced at Mr. Karmack to make sure he was still asleep, and then kissed the top of my head. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  I made a cross over my heart. “I promise.”

  He didn’t look convinced as he turned to face the napping old man. “Mr. Karmack,” he called, raising his voice. “I’ll take you back now.”

  “Me?” The old man blinked rapidly awake, eyes watering. “Where’s my wife? Where’s Tiffany?”

  Will walked over and knelt by Mr. Karmack’s chair. “Tiffany passed away five years ago.” He sounded like this was something he’d had to say more than once.

  “Did she, now?” Mr. Karmack looked close to crying before he frowned. “Where’s my glasses? I think I left them at home.”

  “That’s all right. We won’t
need you to look at anything today.” Will helped him stand. “Do you have a ride home?”

  “My car is in the lot, so I’d darned well better.”

  Will gave me a “what can you do?” look before he led Mr. Karmack into the back, holding on to his elbow so the old man wouldn’t fall.

  I was about to sit back down, when a good-looking male nurse poked his head into the room. “Kristina Hancock?” He looked right at me when he said it. Considering I was the only one there, it was no surprise.

  “That’s me.”

  “This way.” He held the door open with a smile. As I passed, he pointed toward a scale at the far end of the hall. “Right down there. I’ll need to take your measurements.”

  I refused to look as I stepped onto the scale. He wrote something down, a number I was sure was bigger than when I’d last weighed myself a year ago, and then he checked my height. After writing that down, he led me into a small exam room that held all the trappings of your usual doctor’s office. The padded exam table was covered in white roll-on paper. Various health posters hung on the walls, warning of bad diets and early warning signs of disease. The computer looked new, though it was about as basic a machine as you could get. Cotton swabs and a box of disposable gloves sat on the counter by the sink.

  “You’re here for a standard checkup, right?” the nurse asked, moving to the computer.

  “I am.”

  “First time here?”

  “It is.”

  He flipped through the paperwork, and then typed a few things on the computer—likely the measurements he’d just taken. He then proceeded to ask me the basics: Do I smoke? Do I have any known diseases? Does my family have any history of various other diseases? All of these things had been answered before, filled out in the earlier paperwork, but answer them I did. After that came checking my blood pressure, which was higher than I’d like, though with everything going on lately, it was a wonder it wasn’t much higher.