Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  The HOTEL sign came into view. I flew into the lot and came to a screeching halt across three spaces. I’d already broken at least a dozen traffic laws on my way there, so what was one more? It wasn’t like anyone was going to give me a ticket.

  “I don’t see it,” I said, heart hammering as I scanned the vehicles in the lot for Barrett’s car. “Do you see a blue Honda anywhere?”

  Dad looked around and shook his head. “Maybe he didn’t come.”

  My heart sank. His car wasn’t there; I was sure of it. Paul was probably racing here now, thinking I’d given him a lead, when all I’d done was send him on a wild goose chase. And since I didn’t bring my phone, I couldn’t call him. When he got here, he was going to kill me.

  My eyes strayed to Cameron’s hotel room door. It was hanging open a crack. There were no indications that anyone was inside.

  “We’re too late,” I said, staring at that tiny sliver of darkness. “He was already here and we missed him.”

  Dad put a hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed. “You tried. It’s all you can do sometimes. At least now the police will have somewhere to start.”

  Trying wasn’t good enough for me. “Maybe he left a clue inside that will tell us where he went.” I pushed open my car door, thinking that if he did, then perhaps I could give chase. All wasn’t lost, at least not yet.

  “Kristina!”

  Dad almost never called me by my full given name, and when he did, I’d always taken heed.

  But not today. I got out of the car, fully intent on the open doorway. I doubted Barrett would have left incriminating evidence on where he was going. It wasn’t like he’d leave a forwarding address so Cameron could contact him about his novel later, once things calmed down. Murder didn’t simply blow over.

  But I refused to believe the trail ended here. There had to be something that would help me find him.

  A door opened down the line of rooms. A man poked his head out, squinted at me as if trying to determine who exactly I was, and ducked back inside without a word. No one else moved, no doors opened. It was just me and the waiting empty room.

  I crept toward the open doorway, not sure what to expect when I got inside. Would Barrett have ransacked the room in search of his manuscript? He had no way of knowing where Cameron would keep it. Thinking back, I was starting to doubt Barrett was the one who’d shoved the manuscripts under the bed. There had been a stack on the desk when I’d found Rick, and I didn’t believe the police took them. Harland might have been the one who’d moved them.

  If that was the case, then perhaps Barrett hadn’t found his novel. Maybe he would come back later, or go looking for Cameron. There still might be a slim chance he hadn’t left town yet, which could very well spell his doom.

  The car door opened behind me. I held up a hand and hoped Dad would stay back. It was bad enough I’d dragged him out here in the first place. I’d risked his life by driving like a lunatic, bringing him to where I’d thought I might find a killer. I didn’t need to get him into any more trouble, be it a breaking-and-entering charge, or worse.

  I took a deep breath and made for the door, though I did move slower than I had been. Barrett was long gone, so there wasn’t anything to be afraid of, yet I couldn’t help but be cautious.

  Loud music played in one of the rooms down the row. A car zipped by on the road behind me. I glanced back to find Dad standing by my car, a concerned expression on his face. He nodded once, as if to tell me I had his permission to keep going, which meant a lot. I turned back to the door, straightened my back, and reached out to push it open the rest of the way.

  Before my fingers could so much as brush the wood, the door jerked inward and I came face-to-face with Rick Wiseman’s killer.

  “Oh!” It came out as a surprised gasp.

  “Ah!” Barrett’s had a little more life to it as he jerked back in surprise.

  We eyed each other, neither moving. Barrett had his manuscript clutched to his chest, fingers holding so tight, his knuckles were popping white.

  “Barrett,” I said, swallowing back my fear. The man had killed once; he could very well decide to do it again. “Let’s think about this.”

  “There’s nothing to think about,” he said. “Get out of my way.”

  “Please.” I licked my lips, which had gone completely dry. “You made a mistake. We all make them.” Like me coming here without a weapon. “Think about Theresa.”

  “I was thinking about her,” he hissed. “That’s why I’m in this mess.” His eyes flickered over my shoulder, to my dad, and then back to me. “She only wanted to talk to him, and that man treated her so horribly. I . . . I didn’t like it. It made me realize how”—his jaw bunched—“It wasn’t right.”

  “Of course it wasn’t.” I needed to stall. If I could keep Barrett there until Paul arrived, I could step aside and let the man with the gun take care of him. If Barrett were to push the issue, there was no way I was going to be able to stop him.

  Barrett shook his head angrily. “You can’t possibly understand. He liked you.” He said it like it was a curse. “Everyone knew it. If you would have asked him to look at our novels for us, I’m sure he would have done it, just to get on your good side.” He looked me up and down, disgust painted all over his face. “But you wouldn’t have helped us, even if we’d asked. No one was willing to stand up for us. If it wasn’t for the fact he wouldn’t open the door, I would have knocked him flat when he’d yelled at us that night, just to show him he couldn’t treat people that way and get away with it.”

  “You didn’t have to go back,” I said. “You could have left your manuscript and hoped for the best like everyone else. You could have left well enough alone and made your wife feel better about herself, instead of making things worse.”

  His eyes flashed in anger. “It wasn’t that easy.” His grip tightened on the pages in hand. It was a wonder his fingers didn’t pop through the stack.

  “Did you go there that night to kill him?” I asked, wanting to understand. And buy more time for Paul to get there.

  Barrett barked a bitter laugh. “I went there to put him in his place. I slipped in when no one was looking and beat on his door until he answered the damn thing. He was sporting a swollen eye and a busted lip already, so I wasn’t the first one who’d grown tired of his attitude.”

  That would have been Dad, of course. “What happened, Barrett?” I put as much sympathy into my voice as I could. As long as he was talking, he wasn’t running. Or stabbing me. Both were a win. “Did he threaten you? Make as if to call the cops?”

  Barrett shook his head, and for a moment, I thought I saw regret in his eyes. “He let me into his room and I gave him a piece of my mind. He just stood there, looking at me, almost like he was bored. When I finished my rant, all he said was, ‘Are you done?’ I couldn’t take it. He was so damn smug. So . . . I . . .” He swallowed hard, seemingly unable to go on.

  “You snapped,” I finished for him.

  “I grabbed one of those coffee mugs off his desk. It was already filled, so I threw it in his face. It burned him—I could see his skin redden—but he only laughed at me. There was a pen sitting there, so, I . . . I . . .” His jaw hardened. “I need to go.”

  “Don’t do this,” I said, glancing back at Dad. He was still by the car, watching us.

  “Get out of my way.” He took a step forward, out of the hotel room, right into my personal space.

  Reflexes took over. I mean, when someone walks toward you, you don’t just stand there. And since I didn’t want him to escape, I wasn’t going to simply step aside.

  So, instead, I planted my palm square in the middle of Barrett Drummand’s chest in an attempt to stop his forward momentum.

  He stopped all right. For all of the two seconds it took for him to grab hold of my wrist with one hand and twist.

  I cried out as pain shot through my arm, up into my shoulder. I went straight to my knees, and no matter how I fought, I couldn’t break
his hold.

  “You need to learn your place,” he whispered at me, his tone harsh and uncaring. I imagined Theresa had heard that exact same line, spoken in the exact same way, at least a hundred times. “All women do.”

  Any sympathy I might have had for him vanished right then and there. The man treated women like they were beneath him. He might have gone to confront Rick about how he’d treated Theresa, but it had been for entirely selfish reasons, not out of any sense of manly duty.

  Tears blurred my vision, but I could still see well enough to note the way the rubber band holding Barrett’s manuscript was straining. With my free left hand, I reached up and gave it a quick tug, while allowing myself to fall backward, right hand jerking away from where Barrett held it.

  Pain just about made me black out, but my action had the desired effect.

  Barrett staggered forward a step as the rubber band snapped. Pages flew everywhere, slipping from his grip.

  “No!” He released me as he tried to snatch the fluttering pages out of the air.

  The sudden release caused me to fall over onto my butt, but I was free. Sirens rose in the distance, and before I could right myself, Barrett’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He looked at the pages fluttering along the parking lot pavement, and then in a split second, made up his mind.

  Ignoring the loss of his life’s work, Barrett scrambled to his feet and ran for a white Chevy parked only a few spaces away from my car. He was so intent on his escape, he didn’t see my dad coming.

  James Hancock, mystery author and father to yours truly, leapt at the fleeing murderer, much like his character Bobby Drake might have done in one of his novels. He hit Barrett on the side, using his weight to drive the other man to the ground. They rolled over once, Barrett on top, and I was sure he was going to jam an elbow into Dad’s gut and complete his getaway.

  But Dad had other ideas.

  He flipped the other man, somehow gaining hold of Barrett’s arm in the process. Barrett landed on his stomach with a grunt, Dad rolling to sit on his back, bending his arm up nearly to his shoulder blades. Barrett cried out as Dad’s knee became firmly planted on his kidneys.

  I got to my feet and stared at the man I’d lived with nearly my entire life. It was like I was truly seeing him for who he was as I asked, “Where in the world did you learn to do that?”

  Dad smiled and winked. “Research.”

  A moment later, Paul’s police cruiser tore into the lot. By the time he took control of Barrett, the killer was practically begging for him to arrest him, just as long as he was out of Dad’s viselike hold.

  “Well, Buttercup,” Dad said as we watched Officer Dalton shove the killer into his car. “What do you say we go and get some ice cream? I’ve worked up something of an appetite.”

  I glanced at him and smiled. “Sounds fantastic.”

  We’d have to give Paul our statements at some point, I was sure, but it could wait. Right then, Dad and I had some serious father-and-daughter time to catch up on, and I, for one, wasn’t going to miss it for the world.

  29

  “Tell me it isn’t true!” Rita clutched at my hand, squeezing until it felt like she was going to break the bones. “This can’t be the end.”

  “It is,” I said, extracting my battered appendage. “It’s time for him to go.”

  She wailed and sat down heavily, rocking the chair back on two legs before settling it back down on four. She covered her eyes with the back of her hand as she spoke. “It’s as if the sun will never shine again.”

  I rolled my eyes skyward. “I’m sure he’ll come back someday.” I looked upstairs, where Dad was thanking Vicki for allowing him to hold his signing here at Death by Coffee. It was just past the morning rush, and I was due to clock in in an hour to help handle lunch. Before then, I had time to say my good-byes.

  I left Rita to her grief and went over to join Dad and Vicki. They broke from a brief hug as I drew near.

  “Hopefully next time will be less of an adventure,” Vicki was saying.

  “I could definitely use some downtime.” Dad smiled. “But it wasn’t all bad.” He put an arm around my shoulder and hugged me close. “I got to spend some quality time with my daughter, and see how adventurous her life has become.”

  I hugged him back. “I could use a little less adventure myself,” I said. Ever since I’d come to Pine Hills, it felt like I was always getting myself into one crazy situation after another.

  “’Bye, Mr. Hancock,” Lena called from behind the counter downstairs. She waved and then spun away, purple hair bouncing as she headed for the back, presumably to do the dishes.

  In the dining area, Rita’s wails reached a crescendo.

  “I’d better tell her good-bye,” Dad said, eyeing the mourning woman. He looked a little worried, like he thought she might latch on to him and never let go if he got too close.

  I wasn’t so sure he wasn’t wrong. “Let her down easy,” I said with a wink.

  Dad headed over to her. I stayed where I was, not wanting to get involved. Trouble must have caught wind of my mood, because he came over to me and rubbed up against my leg. I picked him up and stroked his head twice, then put him back down before he changed his mind about me and brought out the claws.

  “You okay?” Vicki asked, catching a hint of my melancholy.

  I nodded. “Yeah. It was nice seeing him, but it’s time he went home.” I sighed. It might be time for him to go, but I was going to miss having him around.

  “I heard the two of you found the killer together,” she said. “It must have been quite an interesting ride.”

  “Tell me about it.” I rubbed at my sore wrist. It was bruised purple, but it was a small price to pay for putting a murderer behind bars.

  I watched as Dad helped Rita to her feet and gave her a hug. She blubbered into his chest and grabbed hold of him as if she might drown in her own tears if she were to be let go. He glanced back at me and mouthed “I don’t know what to do” before putting his arms around her and hugging her back.

  I was about to go down and rescue him, when the door opened and Paul Dalton walked in, dressed in full police uniform. He glanced around the room, pausing to take in Rita and Dad. He looked mildly alarmed, but when he caught sight of me, he put them out of mind. He crooked a finger at me as he took off his hat and smoothed down his hair.

  “I’d better go see what he wants,” I said, knowing there was a good chance he was going to let me have it for chasing after the killer without him. He had yet to give me a firm reprimand.

  “Good luck.” Vicki said before heading into the stacks, Trouble in tow.

  Paul cleared his throat as I neared. He looked nervous, but forced a smile when I stopped in front of him.

  “You doing okay?” he asked, glancing at my wrist.

  “Peachy.” I tucked my hand under my arm to hide most of the bruising. “Did he confess?”

  “He did. Even went as far as admitting to stealing his neighbor’s truck. He figured he’d grab his laptop and go, but when he saw me at his house, he changed his mind and went after the physical pages, instead. If he wouldn’t have been so worried about his book, he might have gotten away.” Paul sighed, sounding relieved. “He told us he killed Rick Wiseman in a fit of rage, and swears up and down his wife had nothing to do with it.”

  “That’s good,” I said, glad he hadn’t dragged Theresa down with him. “I mean, about her being innocent. She seems like a nice lady.”

  Paul nodded. “She’s pretty upset. Not only is her husband in jail, but I guess that other agent told her he wasn’t interested in her manuscript before he left. She blames Barrett for that, too.” He sounded mildly amused.

  “Cameron’s gone?” I asked, though I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been a very long week, and if he wanted to get his business on track, he had to get back to New York soon so he could get started with all the inevitable paperwork. I doubted he could simply declare himself an official literary agent w
ithout having to sign a few papers first.

  “Left last night as soon as I cleared him to go.”

  I felt a little bad that he hadn’t said good-bye to me, but understood why. He might not have shown it while the investigation was going on, but he had to be mad that I’d ever considered him a suspect. I was pretty sure I’d hear from him again, however. Dad was almost positive he was going to sign with Cameron to help him get his career jump-started.

  “What about Harland Pennywinkle?” I asked. “Is he in trouble for going back to the murder scene after his manuscript?”

  Paul rubbed at the back of his neck. “I think we’re giving him a pass on that. Buchannan ripped him a new one when he found out, and I figure that’s good enough. What he took wouldn’t have changed anything when it came to catching the killer, although, the next time he pulls something like that, he’s going to spend some quality time behind bars.”

  There was something in his voice that told me he wasn’t just talking about Harland.

  “I’m glad it all worked out,” I said, doing my best to act like I didn’t catch his meaning. “Now things can get back to normal.”

  Paul went still. His eyes latched on to mine, held me there. “About that... ,” he said, voice wavering in uncertainty.

  My heart went into overdrive, and my mouth went dry. I glanced at Dad, who was trying to extract himself from Rita’s grip. She was on her knees now, begging him to take her with him. I felt bad for him, but was glad she was keeping him busy.

  “Yes?” I asked, turning back to Paul. It came out as a croak.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about how things have gone lately.” He cleared his throat and paused.

  Before he could continue, the door opened and in walked Will Foster. “Krissy!” he said, hurrying over to me. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He barely paid Paul a glance as he wrapped me in a hug. “I’m glad I didn’t miss him.”

  Paul sagged back, looking almost relieved. “Will,” he said in greeting.