Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  “Rick did rub a lot of people the wrong way.” Which was making narrowing down the suspects harder than it should have been.

  “When I heard that Jablonski woman and some of the other authors were going to drop manuscripts off at the bed-and-breakfast where the agent was staying, I decided to join them. I printed the stupid thing off just like she’d told me to, even though I knew for a fact Mr. Wiseman preferred his queries sent by e-mail. I should have known better than to listen to anything she said.” Amy laughed, and then shrugged. “The others left before me, which was fine. I figured I’d be the last one there and wouldn’t have to deal with any of them.”

  “But you weren’t?”

  “Nope.”

  The door opened, and Doghouse stepped outside, whistling and carrying his bouquet. He nodded to each of us in turn, winked at Amy, and then got into a Beemer. He revved the engine twice before speeding off.

  I turned my attention back to Amy as she flipped the toothpick over in her mouth. One end was chewed to splinters. Nerves? Or did she simply like the sensation?

  “Who else did you see when you went to see Rick?”

  “I don’t know his name offhand. Wore a sweater and a hat.”

  “A fedora?”

  “Yeah, like in the detective novels I read.”

  “Joel Osborne?”

  She shrugged. “Could be. He was at the meeting. Wore the same thing then. Got into a fight with a big guy.”

  That was Joel all right. “Was he alone?”

  “He was when I saw him. He was leaving in a hurry. Don’t think he even saw me.”

  Interesting. So, Joel was there after everyone else had gone. If it weren’t for the fact Dad had gone to see Rick later that night, I’d consider Joel a good suspect for having done the deed right then and there. But the timing was off. If he was our killer, then he’d done it some other time. He could have always come back later, still angry about something Rick had said, and finished the job when no one was around.

  Of course, it was all still pure speculation. As far as I knew, Joel was in a hurry because he didn’t want to miss his favorite show.

  “Did you talk to Rick when you got there?” I asked, thinking that if he was agitated, then perhaps there had been an altercation. Then again, Rick was always agitated, so I wasn’t so sure it would help.

  She laughed. “I didn’t even try. With how the man was acting, and seeing the pile of manuscripts outside the door, I got the point. He didn’t want to talk to us, and nothing good could come of me trying. I figured it couldn’t hurt to leave my work there on the off chance he read it. It wasn’t like I couldn’t print off another copy if he threw it away.”

  A knock on the glass behind us brought her head around. The middle-aged woman spread her hands, eyebrows raised, in the universal “what are you doing?” gesture, before walking deeper into the store.

  “Look, I’ve got to go,” Amy said, shoving the remains of her toothpick back into her pocket. “I wish I could tell you more because, quite frankly, I was hoping this agent was going to be my big break. Now that he’s dead, I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”

  “I hear his assistant, Cameron Little, is looking to take on clients,” I provided. “I’m sure he’d be willing to take a look.”

  Amy got a faraway look in her eye before snapping back to the present. “I might check him out.” She started for the door.

  “He’s usually at Death by Coffee,” I called after her. Not only was it true, but it would put her around the other authors. If one of them had killed Rick and had seen her that night, maybe they’d show some sign of being nervous. Another long shot, but hey, long shots sometimes worked out.

  Amy nodded and waved before she stepped back inside Flower Power. I wiped at my nose and eyes one last time, still feeling the effects of the flowers inside, and then headed back to my car.

  I sat back and considered my next move. Amy might have seen Joel at Rick’s that night, but many of the authors had gone there then. I couldn’t put too much stock in it, especially when I had a far better suspect in mind, one who, as proven by my referral, was benefiting from Rick’s death.

  And, like I’d told Amy, I knew exactly where to find him.

  21

  Cameron Little sat at one of the corner tables with just about every author in town clustered around him. He was talking, hands in constant motion, as he presumably explained the intricacies of the publishing world and how the small group could best accomplish their goals. Rita was just about leaning into his lap, her recent run-in with the law apparently forgotten. Georgina and Andi sat next to her, nodding along to Cameron’s words, with Andi supplying the occasional gasp when he said something especially interesting.

  Theresa and Barrett Drummand sat off to one side, Joel Osborne to their left. He was still wearing the battered fedora, but at least his sweater was different.

  While Rita might have forgotten about her transgression from the night before, Harland Pennywinkle hadn’t. He sat across from her, arms crossed, and glared. I eyed him, wondering if he could have killed Rick in a fit of rage, and whether or not he’d worked alone. He wasn’t sitting with Joel, but the mousy man would glance up at him occasionally. Was it out of fear of another argument? Or had they put their differences aside in order to put Rick Wiseman in his place? They might not agree on a favorite Drake novel, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t work together if they thought it necessary.

  It sounded so good in my head, I very nearly marched over there and accused them of it, but managed to hold myself back. The last time I accused someone of murder in front of a room full of people, it didn’t go so well. In fact, every time I did it, something went wrong, and it usually ended up with me getting hurt. I wanted to talk to both Joel and Harland, but I thought it best to wait until I got them alone, or, at least, had police backup.

  My interest moved from the two authors to Cameron. He hadn’t noticed me yet, so it gave me a chance to watch him. He was smiling, energetic, and he spoke with such conviction, with such a love for what he did, it was hard to believe he might have had anything to do with someone’s murder. He sure didn’t look the part.

  But the facts were the facts. He’d had the most to gain by Rick’s death. And here he was now, reaping those benefits.

  I crossed the room, eyes on Cameron. I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying and wanted to listen in. I stopped just outside the ring of authors, hoping he’d somehow overlook me, but I had no such luck.

  He turned a smile on me. “Ms. Hancock,” he said. “Please, pull up a chair. I’d love for you to join us. I was just about to discuss the common mistakes I’ve found in many of their manuscripts in the hopes I can guide them to become even better writers.”

  “It’s very enlightening,” Rita said. “You really should join us, Krissy. You could use the help.”

  Ignoring the unwarranted barb, I kept my focus on Cameron. “Not right now. I’m not a serious writer.” Or a writer at all, really. I might go to the meetings, but I never have anything to share.

  My proclamation was met with the usual disbelief. They acted like they couldn’t believe an author’s child didn’t inherit the same skill set and interests. It seemed like a completely foreign idea to them, as if they thought that simply because Dad knew how to string words together in a coherent manner, I could do the same.

  “You sure?” Cameron asked, sounding mildly disappointed. A cynical part of me wondered if the only reason he’d offered was because he thought that if he managed to impress me, it would also impress my dad.

  “I’m sure.” I put on my cheery, happy face. “Actually, Cameron, I was hoping I could borrow you for a few minutes.”

  He looked surprised. “Me? Why?”

  “I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask you. It’s nothing major. I’d like to clear a few things up.”

  Rita’s hand went to her mouth. “You don’t suspect him of killing that agent man, do you?”

  All eyes
jerked my way. Harland’s glower was enough to make me take a step back out of fear he might launch himself out of his seat at me. With Rick out of the way, Cameron was all these people had when it came to realizing their literary dreams. And here I was, about to mess that up. None of them looked happy.

  “I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” I said.

  I was met with a round of “Mm-hmms” and “Yeah, rights.”

  Cameron stood, eyes concerned. “If there’s any way I can help, I’ll certainly do it. What do you want to know?”

  “I think we should go upstairs and talk privately,” I said, glancing around the group. If I started asking questions in front of them, not only would it be all over town in seconds, but I’d probably end up drawn and quartered for my trouble.

  Rita jumped to her feet and grabbed me by the arm. She marched me a few steps away and lowered her voice. “Don’t ruin this for us!” she hissed. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I’m just asking him a few questions,” I said, pulling my arm from her grip. “I’m not going to ruin anything.”

  She glared at me.

  “It’s all right, Ms. Jablonski,” Cameron said, coming to our side. “I want to do this.”

  Rita glared at me a moment longer before turning to Cameron. “Please, call me Rita.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Rita, then.” And then, to me, “Where do you want to do this?”

  “This way.” I led him up the stairs, into the bookstore portion of Death by Coffee. Rita looked like she wanted to follow, but she held her ground, arms crossed, foot tapping. I put a bookshelf between us and found a spot where I could still be seen, just in case Cameron tried anything. Vicki was at the counter, talking to both Cindy and Jimmy Carlton. A small box of books sat between them. We’d decided to donate a small collection to the library, and they were apparently there to pick it up.

  “Okay,” Cameron said, running a hand down Trouble, who was snoozing on the shelf next to him. “What did you want to ask me? I have nothing to hide.” His eyes darted around the room, contradicting his words.

  “I was curious about what exactly happened the night Rick died,” I said. “I’ve talked to a few people who said they saw you in Rick’s room and I was wondering if you saw or heard anything while you were there that would make you think someone had it out for him.”

  Cameron shrugged. “I told the police everything.”

  “I’m not the police,” I said. “And I’m not here to accuse you of murder.” Although I still wasn’t sure he didn’t do it. I wasn’t ready to take that step, not until I had more facts. “I only want to know what happened so I can establish a time line of sorts.”

  He sighed. “There isn’t much to tell. I drove him back to that bed-and-breakfast after the meeting. While he ranted and raved about how no one in town respects him, I made him his latte, like I always did.”

  I refrained from saying anything. I hoped someone dropped that darned machine out a window. Better yet, maybe they’d let me do it.

  “Some of the authors started showing up a short time later,” Cameron went on. “Rick refused to talk to anyone, other than to scream at them. When I tried to let some of them down softly, he turned on me. I backed off because I knew what he was like and didn’t feel like spending my entire time here listening to it.” He looked down at his feet as if he was ashamed.

  “Do you remember who all he yelled at?” I asked.

  “I don’t know who was out there exactly. He wouldn’t let me open the door, and I never looked out the peephole. He was in a mood, so all I wanted to do was gather my things and get back to my hotel room to take a hot shower. I figured he’d be calmer in the morning.”

  “Did you see anyone when you left?”

  “Not a soul.” He paused. “Well, I did see one of the women who worked there. She was working on something at the desk. She didn’t even look up when I passed by.”

  “What time was this?” I asked.

  Cameron frowned, and then shrugged. “I’m not sure. I didn’t look at a clock.”

  So, the woman could have been Bett Bunford. Or Jo. Or even Kari. None of them had said anything about Cameron leaving that night, but why would they? He’d dropped Rick off and then left. There was nothing sinister in that.

  I decided to go with a different tactic and hope it didn’t rub Cameron the wrong way, though if it did, maybe he’d let something slip.

  “It seems like Rick’s death has paid off for you.” I said it casually, looking across the room, rather than at him.

  A smile flickered across his features, and he actually blushed. “It has. I hate to say it, but his murder is probably the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.” He blinked a few times, and then the smile faded as if he just realized how that sounded. “It’s a tragedy, for sure. And while my career has advanced since, I’m scared I’ll mess it up without his guidance.”

  “Have you signed anyone yet?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve read through a few of the manuscripts, but haven’t found anything publishable as of yet. I’m hopeful though. They aren’t all terrible.”

  “What about through your Web site?” I asked, watching him closely this time. “Anyone contact you through there?”

  Cameron hesitated before saying, “You saw my Web site?”

  “I came across it,” I said, trying to make it sound like it was an accident, not that I’d been actively looking into him.

  He took a step closer to me. “I know it looks fishy,” he said, voice low and pleading. “But I’ve been planning to start my own agency for a while now. I had the Web site made up a few months back, but haven’t advertised it anywhere. When Rick died, and I decided to work with some of the authors here, I figured it was time, so I published it.”

  It sounded plausible enough, but it was pretty crappy timing. I decided there wasn’t much more I could ask him, not without accusing him of anything. I still had questions, but wasn’t sure how to broach them quite yet.

  “Well, I hope you have good luck finding authors for your agency. Starting up can be hard.” And I knew that from experience. There were times when I thought Death by Coffee would be the death of me, no pun intended.

  Cameron smiled. “Thank you. It’s been a journey. I was shocked to learn one of the local authors had only one copy of his manuscript.” He shook his head in wonder. “I mean, I can’t even imagine not saving it somewhere, just in case. What if I were to lose it?”

  “Doesn’t seem very smart,” I allowed.

  “No, it doesn’t.” He sighed and pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. “It’s why we usually only accept digital copies, so something like this never happens. But what can you do?” He glanced at his watch. “I should probably go. There’s a lot of work left to do, and I’d like to get through the rest of the manuscripts and talk to each of the authors about their work before I head back home.”

  “You’ve been a great help,” I said.

  Cameron turned and hurried away.

  “What do you think?” I asked Trouble, gently stroking him. He was being irregularly docile. I wondered if he’d spent some extra time being a terror today, or if he only did that when I was working.

  I wasn’t sure what I thought about Cameron now. He seemed genuine, yet I couldn’t shake the thought that he almost had to have had something to do with Rick’s death. Who else benefited? You didn’t kill someone simply because he was jerk, or, at least, no sane person did. But who, other than Cameron, had a solid reason to be angry at Rick?

  Other than Dad, of course. I absolutely refused to follow that line of thinking.

  “Can you believe what she’s done?” Rita’s voice pierced through my thoughts. I followed the sound of her wail to find her clutching at Dad, who’d apparently just walked through the door. “He left! I didn’t even get a chance to tell him about the changes I’m going to make to my story, and she went and scared him off!”

  Groaning inwardly, I hurried down th
e stairs. “What are you doing here?” I asked Dad.

  “I came looking for you,” he said. “What is she talking about?”

  “Nothing.” I glared at Rita, silently warning her not to contradict me. Dad didn’t need to know I’d been investigating without him. “Cameron had to go. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “She took him aside and accused him of killing your agent!” Rita said it loud enough that the entire store stopped to stare.

  “I did no such thing!”

  “What else could have happened?” she asked. “It’s just the sort of thing you do all the time.” She huffed. “You never care how your actions hurt others.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like you’re one to talk,” I muttered.

  “Ladies,” Dad said, grinning. “There’s no need to argue. I’m sure Kristina has a perfectly good explanation as to why she wanted to talk to Cameron with no one else present.” He looked at me expectantly.

  There was no way of talking myself out of this one. I felt ashamed, and it wasn’t because of my encounter with Cameron. I’d told Dad we could look into Rick’s murder together, and here I was, running off and doing it on my own. I might have felt like I’d had a good reason at the time, but now, I was wishing I would have waited for him.

  I grabbed him by the elbow and led him away from Rita, who gasped as if I’d just stolen her most prized possession. Thankfully, she took the hint and didn’t follow us over.

  “I might have done some snooping while I was out today,” I admitted, guilt causing my ears to burn.

  “Oh?” He sounded as disappointed as I feared he would be. “Did you learn anything?”

  “I’m not sure. It appears someone jumped out of Rick’s window the night of his murder. I’m guessing it was the killer, but I can’t be sure.” I fingered the rubber band in my pocket, but didn’t remove it.