Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  I glanced at his laptop. He followed my gaze and flushed. Dad hadn’t closed the last photo he opened, which was an embarrassingly revealing close-up of Rick and his lover.

  “I can explain that,” he said.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Please, do.”

  He licked his lips and cleared his throat before speaking.

  “Rick didn’t pay well,” he said. “In fact, he had no problem withholding money from my check if he thought I didn’t perform up to expectations, which happened a lot more than was warranted. I sucked it up because I really wanted to learn, and despite his quirks, I was learning.” He sighed. “Then, one night, I found out he was sleeping with an editor from one of the small presses.”

  “That’s where I know her from!” Dad said, snapping his fingers. “I’ve seen her at some of the conventions I used to go to, but that’s been years now.”

  Cameron nodded. “When I realized he was using her to land contracts—all small-time—for some of his less-than-talented clients, I figured I could use it against him to get him to pay me more.”

  “You mean you were blackmailing him,” I said.

  “No.” Cameron shook his head. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  “Then why do you have the pictures?” I asked.

  “I followed them a couple of nights, and took the pictures, I admit, but I never showed them to him. Knowing Mr. Wiseman, he would have fired me on the spot, his reputation be damned. It wasn’t like people liked him, anyway. I realized I was more likely committing career suicide than accomplishing anything, so I decided not to press forward with my plan.”

  “But why keep them?” Dad asked.

  Cameron took off his glasses and used his shirt to clean them before answering. “Security, I guess. I don’t know. If he fired me, then maybe I could use them to get back at him. It’s spiteful, but Rick Wiseman tended to bring that out in people.”

  He was so earnest, I actually believed him. “When he died, why not get rid of the pictures?” I asked. “What if the police found them? They are pretty incriminating.”

  He looked abashed when he said, “Honestly, I didn’t think about it. I was distraught about his death at first, and then was so excited about the opportunity, I simply forgot I had them. I know,” he said when he saw me glance at the laptop. “I didn’t even see the folder I kept them in when I worked. I’m so used to it being there, I simply overlooked it.”

  “Then why not tell us this from the start?”

  He snorted a laugh. “Right. I’m trying to start my own agency here. Blackmail, even if I didn’t actually go through with it, wouldn’t look good on me.” He lowered his gaze to his folded hands. “I know I should be mad at you for breaking in here and going through my stuff.” His shoulders slumped. “But I’m not. In fact, I’m kind of glad you did.”

  My eyebrows shot skyward. “You’re happy we broke into your hotel room looking for clues to Rick’s murder?”

  “If it means you can dismiss me as a suspect, I’ll go through any indignity.” He stood and picked up his laptop. He weighed it in his hands a moment before holding it out to me. “Here. Take it. You’ve apparently already figured out the password and have found the only thing on there I’m ashamed of.”

  I took the laptop from him, sure this was some sort of trick. “Why?”

  “Other than those photos, there’s nothing on there that could implicate me in Mr. Wiseman’s death.” He raised his chin defiantly. “In fact, you can go through all my e-mails, poke through every document. The passwords are all the same. You’ll find everything in order, including e-mails with the man who did my Web site for me. I have been completely honest with you, and I want you to see it for yourself.”

  It was all said so shockingly straight, I felt he had to be telling the truth. Why hand over evidence if he thought there’d be something on his laptop that would prove he killed Rick? He wouldn’t. Sure, he could have deleted the incriminating evidence, but if that was the case, taking his laptop wouldn’t do a lick of good. I could hand it over to the police and maybe they could do whatever it was they did to find documents thought scrubbed from hard drives, but then I’d have to explain how I’d come to be in possession of the laptop. All he would have to do was tell them I’d broken in, which was the truth, and my goose would be cooked.

  I looked at the laptop in my hand and then held it back out to him. Cameron took it with a grateful smile.

  “Thank you,” he said. “If you’d taken it, it would probably ruin me. Since I’m just starting out, I need it so I can keep on top of prospective clients, but I figured if it proved my innocence to you, then I’d suck it up and deal with the consequences.”

  “You might have been the last person to see Rick alive,” I said, not sure if it was an accusation or me trying to sort through the facts.

  “Actually,” Dad said. “I think I was.” He paused. “Other than the killer, of course.”

  I kept forgetting about that. “Well, you were with him much of the night,” I amended.

  “I was.” Cameron hugged his laptop to his chest. “He was angry about everyone bothering him. I tried to tell him I could go through the manuscripts for him and would pass on only the ones I thought he might like, but he refused to consider even that. He said he’d burn them first. His only reason for being in Pine Hills was for the two of you.”

  I winced inwardly. He might have been here for Dad’s novel announcement and signing, but the only thing he wanted from me was, well, me.

  “I convinced him to at least take them into his room, just in case. I left them on the desk and packed up for the night. He was alive when I left him, I swear. When I showed up the next morning to pick him up, and he didn’t come downstairs to meet me, I figured he might be mad at me for forcing the manuscripts on him. I should have gone in to check on him.” He sat down heavily on the bed as if the weight of it was simply too much to bear. “I was going to finish out the year and then move on to my own agency. I’m not sure I can handle this.” He made a vague gesture toward the floor next to where the manuscripts were hidden under the bed.

  “You’ll be fine,” I said, feeling bad for him. If he wasn’t the killer, then he had just lost his boss, as well as a mentor. While Rick’s death might have accelerated his career change, it also put more pressure on him, pressure that could very well break him.

  He looked up at my Dad. “I was hoping I’d find a way to impress you,” he said. “I thought if I showed you how hard I worked, you might consider taking me on as your agent. I know I’m inexperienced, but I also know Rick’s methods and his contacts. I answered a lot of his e-mails for him. I can do this.” He looked at his laptop and tossed it onto the bed. “But after this, I’ll understand if you want to have nothing to do with me.”

  Dad was silent a long moment before he spoke. “You know, it would be a much easier transition if I signed with you.”

  Cameron’s eyes lit up, while mine widened in alarm. Just because Cameron didn’t appear to be the killer at the moment, it didn’t mean he wasn’t.

  “Dad,” I hissed out of the side of my mouth. “We should talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. At least, not right now.” He stepped forward and put a hand on Cameron’s shoulder. “Now isn’t the time to make important decisions like this,” he said, in what I thought was the understatement of the year. “Once everything calms down and Rick’s killer is behind bars, you’ll be the first person I call.”

  “Do you mean that?” Cameron sounded like he might break down into happy tears.

  “I do.”

  “Oh, God.” I could see the headline now: MYSTERY AUTHOR’S NEW AGENT A CONFIRMED KILLER! Then again, it would probably increase his book sales. Controversy always did.

  “We’ll be going now,” Dad said. He raised his hand to silence me when I started to protest. There was so much more we could learn from him. “Thank you for not calling the police on us and cooperating with our inv
estigation. You’ve been a tremendous help.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Hancock.” Cameron glanced at me. “Ms. Hancock.”

  Dad led the way out of the room. I trailed behind, pouting. I had more questions for Cameron about that night, like if he’d seen anyone, or if Rick had said or done anything that might have led to his murder. But I knew Dad was right. We’d overstayed our welcome already, and had put the poor man through enough. Besides, Dad had managed to smooth things over to the point I was pretty sure Cameron wouldn’t jump on the phone to the cops the moment we were out the door.

  I supposed that all in all, our trip to Cameron’s room was a success. We’d learned what it was he’d been hiding from us. And while it was unsavory, I believed him when he said he hadn’t gone through with the blackmail. If he had, Rick wouldn’t have treated him like he had in front of everyone.

  So that left me with two more solid suspects: Harland Pennywinkle and Joel Osborne, with Harland topping the list. I had yet to get a chance to talk to him, and when Rita had tried in my stead, he’d called the cops. While it might have been justified, I still found his behavior suspicious.

  “That went better than expected,” Dad said as we got back into my car.

  “We got caught,” I pointed out, in case he’d forgotten.

  “We did,” Dad said. “But we also learned a lot.” He buckled in and sat back, smiling. “I sure did work up an appetite, though. I never realized how exhausting sleuthing could be.”

  Sleuthing? I stared at him, surprised. He was actually enjoying himself, far more than I would have thought.

  “What do you say we go back home and I’ll whip us up some pancakes,” Dad said. “Breakfast for dinner was always a favorite of mine, especially after a hard day’s work. I think we both deserve that, don’t you?”

  I immediately buckled in and started the car. “I want chocolate chips in mine.”

  “Of course,” he said with a knowing chuckle.

  25

  After our pancake dinner, both Dad and I went straight to bed. I was asleep the second my head hit the pillow, my belly full and content. I slept straight through the night, and when I woke, I felt refreshed and ready to face the day.

  Dad was still asleep by the time I’d finished my morning routine. I fed Misfit his breakfast, downed the remains of my coffee, and I was out the door. It was my turn to open, and I was going to be doing it with Vicki, something that was slowly becoming a rarity. With Jeff coming along nicely, and Lena able to handle most of the early-morning duties, we could now have one of them open to prevent either Vicki or me from having to spend the entire day there, from open to close.

  But today, it was going to be like old times: just the two of us to start the day.

  I parked a block down the street and walked the rest of the way to Death by Coffee, once again wondering if we should invest in a parking lot. It might be a strain on our budget for a time, but having somewhere for the guests to park would likely increase business. On-street parking was fine sometimes, but during the rush, many of our guests had to walk quite a ways. When it rained or snowed, I noted a definite decline in people coming through the door.

  My mind was still on the logistics of buying a space without going bankrupt in the process as I reached Death by Coffee. I yanked on the door, and was surprised to find it locked. A quick glance at my watch told me I was three minutes late, meaning Vicki should have already been inside, setting up. Even when I was on time, she was always there bright and early. I’d never known her to be late.

  Worry for my best friend had me scrabbling for my phone. I nearly dropped it twice as I dialed her number. I was terrified something had happened to her.

  “Come on, Vicki.” I stood outside, trembling, watching the street for anyone who looked out of place. If the killer had come after Vicki, then he or she might want to watch my reaction, or worse, come for me next.

  My stomach soured so much at the thought, I was very nearly sick. While her absence could be explained simply—like an alarm not going off—I just couldn’t see it. Vicki was the epitome of a morning person. She woke up radiant and smiling, with or without an alarm. It used to annoy me to no end how cheery she could be, even on the gloomiest of mornings, but right then, I’d give anything for that cheer.

  Just as the call went to voice mail, a car pulled up in front of the shop. The passenger door opened, and Vicki stepped out. She leaned in and kissed Mason before she opened the back door for Trouble’s cat carrier. She kissed her boyfriend one more time, and then turned to find me standing there, phone in hand, gaping.

  “Oh!” she said, flushing. “What time is it?” She looked at her watch and winced.

  “I thought something happened to you.” I wasn’t sure if I should be mad or relieved.

  Vicki’s flush deepened. Unlike with me, the color looked good on her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. Time sort of got away from us this morning.”

  “Hi, Krissy,” Mason called from the driver’s seat of his car.

  I waved at him, but kept my eyes on Vicki. It wasn’t until he honked and drove off that the pieces started coming together.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, watching as Mason vanished down the street. “Is there something wrong with your car?”

  “No.” Sly grin.

  “So, if your car’s fine, and Mason is driving you to work . . .” I grinned at her.

  Her smile lit up her entire face as she moved to the door to unlock it. “Mason and I had dinner last night.” She pushed the door open and waited for me to go in before continuing. “It ran later than expected.”

  “I’d say. Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

  She laughed and carried Trouble upstairs to release him. I flipped on the lights and met her back behind the counter.

  “I’d say I managed about two hours,” she said, smiling.

  I was insanely jealous that she could look and sound so good after so little sleep. And that’s not to mention the fact her love life made mine look depressingly pedestrian. What I wouldn’t give to wake up next to someone I loved each and every morning. Maybe I’d have a better outlook on life more often.

  “How are things with Will?” she asked, as if reading my mind.

  “Good, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “With Dad being in town, and Rick’s murder, we haven’t spent much time together.” Of course, his job had a tendency to dictate how much time we spent together more than anything. Even if Dad hadn’t come, we still might not have seen each other for much more than that single dinner.

  “Well, let me tell you, love is marvelous.” Vicki floated into the dining area to take the chairs off the tables.

  We were bordering on too mushy for my liking—especially since it accentuated my own pitiful state—so I changed the subject.

  “Dad is going to be coming in sometime after he wakes up,” I told her. “He wants to do the signing today, despite everything.”

  “You sure?” she asked. “If he wants to cancel, I’m okay with it. I can put a sign on the door, apologizing for the inconvenience, but still sell the books for him if he’d like. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. “He’s sure. He figures it might help raise spirits—mostly his, I think. And now that he’s seriously considering taking Cameron Little on as his agent, he hopes a lot of the authors will show up, too. I think he views Cameron as a project and wants to do whatever he can to help his career along.”

  “That’s nice of him.” Vicki paused halfway through putting a chair on the floor. “So, this Cameron guy isn’t a suspect, then?”

  I thought about it and then shook my head. “I don’t think so. I haven’t talked to Paul to know what the police think, but if I had to put money on it, I’d say someone else did the deed.”

  “Huh.” She finished with the chairs and met me behind the counter, where I was getting the morning coffee started. “Maybe I should have lef
t Trouble at home today. It’s going to be busy and you know how he can get when the crowd gets too big. I’d hate for him to get underfoot.”

  “He’ll be fine.” I caught a glimpse of the black-and-white cat. He’d already found himself a spot on top of one of the bookshelves and was settling down for a nap. “He adds a little something special to the place.”

  Vicki went into the back to get the registers in order, while I finished up the morning food prep. Conversation drifted off since she was busy counting and I was running back and forth from the oven to the front, making sure the food and drinks were in order. Thirty minutes later, everything was in place, the doors were open, and we were ready for business.

  Dad’s signing wasn’t scheduled to start until noon, so I spent the morning rush promoting it as I served coffee. Lena came in an hour after rush, taking my place at the register, which allowed me to slip out into the dining area to clean tables, and to put on fresh coffee. Jeff was due an hour after that, which would give me a chance to help Dad finish his own setup.

  At a little past eleven, Dad arrived, but not in his rental like I’d expected. The front door opened, and in he walked, Rita Jablonski hanging off one arm. She smiled at me in a way that made my stomach churn before she walked over to the counter, still clutching at Dad’s arm.

  “Hey, Buttercup,” he said. “It’s a nice morning to be out today, don’t you think?”

  “Very nice,” Rita said, looking into Dad’s eyes.

  “Dad, can I speak to you for a moment?”

  He gave me a quizzical look before nodding. “Sure, Buttercup. Is everything okay?”

  I didn’t answer. I walked around the counter and headed for the stairs.

  “I’ll get us both something to drink,” I heard Rita say, which thankfully meant she wouldn’t be following us upstairs, at least not right away.

  I stopped beside the table where Dad would be signing his books. Some of the early-morning customers had already purchased their copies and were waiting downstairs for the reading portion of the event to take place. They watched us with interest, so I made sure to stand far enough away that no one would be able to overhear us.