by Carly Winter
"I work here," Carla said, getting to her feet, then wiping away her tears with her fingers. "I'm the manager. Tilly had bought some burritos from us and I came here with her to fetch them."
Sheriff Connor scribbled out her statement on his notepad. "I see burritos all over the floor by Mr. Martinez."
"Yes. I dropped them when I saw him."
"So you didn't notice him when you first walked in?"
Carla shook her head. "You can't see that booth from the front door. I went to the back to get the burritos and Tilly yelled for me."
"You found the body first?" the sheriff asked, his condescending stare trained on me.
"I did. I was walking around the restaurant looking at all the old pictures. I came across Mr. Martinez and called for Carla."
"If she had waited by the front door, we would have left and never seen him," Carla said. She stared out into the street and I wondered if she wished that had happened. I know I did.
The man grunted in response. "When was the last time you saw Mr. Martinez?"
"Last night," Carla replied. "He came in just as I was leaving saying he wasn't feeling well. He thought he may have the flu."
Byron exited just when a black SUV pulled into the parking lot. All of us turned to see who it was.
A guy in his twenties eyed us as he backed into a parking spot.
"That's José," Carla said. "He's the cook."
"What's he doing here so early?" Byron asked.
"He's got to prep for the lunch crowd."
"There's not going to be any lunch crowd today," Byron said, marching over to the SUV.
José watched him approach. The next thing I knew, his tires screeched as he raced out of the parking lot.
Byron sprinted back to his car ready to take off in hot pursuit, but the sheriff called him back.
"That makes him look really guilty of something!" Byron uttered breathlessly, reluctantly approaching us.
"We can get his address and find out what he's done," the sheriff said. "No point causing havoc on the roads."
I stared at the parking place where José had been. How odd for him to take off like that. What did he have to hide? Or maybe, he just didn't trust the police?
"What else can you girls tell us?"
"That's it," I said, not bothering to correct him on the fact that Carla and I were in our thirties and certainly not girls. "We came in to get the burritos, I found Mr. Martinez, Carla walked over and dropped the burritos. I checked for a pulse, then called 9-1-1."
Connor eyed me suspiciously.
"That's it. That's what happened," I said, trying to remain pleasant. I didn't want to tangle with him.
We all turned as another car pulled in. I recognized Doctor Wheeler who lived and practiced in Cedarville and also held the title of Coroner. In his fifties, he reminded me a bit of Ironman. Super smart and good-looking, he smiled as he approached us carrying a black leather bag.
"Ladies," he said with a small nod. He then turned to the sheriff. "What do we have here?"
"Jake Martinez is dead inside. I don't see any evidence of foul play."
"Well, let me check things out."
"Can we go now?" I asked after the man walked in the building.
"Not yet," Sheriff Connor said. "Let's make sure Doctor Wheeler doesn't have any questions for you."
I sat down next to Carla again and held her hand. Her fingers felt cold and her whole body trembled worse than mine.
A moment later, an ambulance pulled up, and they unloaded a gurney, then wheeled it past us and into the building. Sheriff Connor followed them in.
"What does this mean for the restaurant?" Carla whispered. "Does it shut down?"
"I don't know."
"What do I tell the waitstaff? Why did José leave in such a hurry?"
Without an answer for her, I simply squeezed her hand.
A few minutes passed and I realized the coffee I’d drunk at Carla's had rushed right through me.
"I'm going to go inside," I said as I stood. "Nature is calling."
Carla nodded absently and pulled out her phone. "I need to call Mac and tell him what's happened."
I opened the door and stepped inside. Muffled voices became clearer as I approached the back of the restaurant where I found the doctor, sheriff, and the two EMT's with their gurney.
"I don't like the fact he's got a blue tinge to him," Doctor Wheeler said as he bent over the body. "It indicates lack of oxygen. And the foam around the mouth... that could indicate convulsions. He also seems to have died in distress. Had he been ill?"
"The girl outside said that he told her he thought he had the flu last night as she was leaving, but nachos don't seem to be something someone who was sick would eat. Could be a drug overdose as well, Doc."
"Could be," Doctor Wheeler said while stroking his salt and pepper beard. "I find it odd he thought he had the flu but came to the restaurant. He should have stayed home."
"Based on the papers, it looks like he was doing a little bookkeeping, having some nachos, then dropped dead."
I cleared my throat and everyone looked at me. "I need to use the restroom."
"Go ahead," Connor said, turning back to the doctor.
"No." Doctor Wheeler held his hand out as he stepped around the burrito mess. "I think you should wait outside."
"Why is that?" Sheriff Connor asked.
"I'm not sure this man died of natural causes."
My stomach flipped as I stared at Mr. Martinez's hand. If he didn't die of natural causes, that could only mean one other thing.
"You think someone killed him?" Connor asked.
"I'm not sure. But something here doesn't seem right to me. This man suffered a lot before he died."
"People suffer when they die of natural causes, too, Doc," the sheriff said.
"I'm very aware of that."
"You want me to treat this as a crime scene?"
Doctor Wheeler nodded and crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed the body. "I think it would be best until I can rule out nefarious reasons."
The sheriff sighed. "All right. Byron, take Tilly outside and get the names, phone numbers, and addresses of everyone who works here from that other girl. Put some crime scene tape up across the driveway so no one can come in for lunch to get a taco.”
Byron nodded then motioned for me to follow him.
"I really need to go," I said, not moving. "If you want me to stick around, then I better use the restroom."
The sheriff rolled his eyes, but then Doctor Wheeler waved me through. "Go down the next aisle, please. We don't want the scene contaminated any more than it is."
I did as instructed and pushed through the bathroom door. After doing my business, I took a moment to catch my breath as I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
The need to go home and crawl back under my covers overcame me. Maybe attempt to restart my day again in a couple of hours. Finding my neighbor, Mr. York, a few months ago had terribly upset me, and now, discovering Mr. Martinez had the same effect. Maybe the sheriff was right. I had become a dead body magnet.
At least there was the distinct possibility that Mr. Martinez had died of natural causes. With Mr. York having a knife stuck in his chest, it had been pretty obvious a murder had occurred.
I took a deep breath, washed my hands, and slipped out of the bathroom.
"Make sure you bag the nachos," Doctor Wheeler said.
"Why is that?" Connor scratched his head. "You think he choked on a chip?"
"Of course, that's a possibility." Doctor Wheeler spoke in a grave tone. "My main concern is that he's been poisoned and the substance is on the nachos."
I gasped as I hurried for the front door. Carla was still sitting back against the building with her phone in her hand.
"I'm calling everyone and telling them not to come in," she said as she stared at Byron stringing up the crime scene tape. "Did you hear anything when you were in there? What does the doctor think happened to him? Wh
y is Byron putting up that yellow tape?"
"Oh, Carla," I said as I sat down next to her again. "I overheard them talking about a potential murder."
Carla’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O. "Murder?!” she shrieked. “They think Jake was murdered? How?"
I nodded. "The doctor says maybe poisoning."
"Who would do such a thing?"
"I don't know," I replied, "but if it does come back that he was killed, you better consider a list of people you think could be responsible because the sheriff is going to want to talk to you."
"Okay," she said, her tears starting again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“You and me both, Carla. You and me both.”
We sat in silence for a long while. Carla cried, and I prayed that Jake Martinez had met his maker through natural causes.
I didn’t want to be involved with another murder.
3
A week had passed since I'd heard from Carla and I was beginning to worry. It wasn't like her not to return my phone calls and texts. As I stood at my kitchen sink finishing up the last dishes, I glanced outside to find my neighbor, Derek York, jogging from his property to mine. A grin spread over my face and butterflies tickled my stomach. I hadn't seen much of him this week either, and it thrilled me to my toes that he had invited himself over.
"Don't you dare touch that banana bread, Belly-Belle," I said to my black cat who eyed it from the kitchen counter and actually licked her lips. "And get off there. You know better."
I tossed my dishtowel in her direction and she scampered off into the living room.
Derek smiled as I opened the front door.
"Hey, neighbor," he said, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Hi. Come in, neighbor."
"It smells wonderful in here," he said as he entered. "What are you cooking?"
"Banana bread. Do you want some?"
"I'd love a slice."
I glanced up at him as we entered the kitchen. Now his eyes looked green. I'd never understand how that happened.
"Where have you been?" he asked, taking a seat at the table. "I haven't heard from you much this week."
I grabbed two plates out of the cupboard while Tinker came bursting through the dog door and practically jumped on Derek's lap. I wasn't his only fan.
"Hey, girl!" he said, scratching behind her ears. "I've missed you, too. You need to tell your mom that we should see each other more frequently."
I filled the plates with banana bread and brought them over to the table. Derek eyed the food and licked his lips. "This looks as amazing as it smells."
"Thanks." I sat down and Tinker ran back outside. "I hope it tastes good, too."
He took a bite and grinned. "Delicious, Tilly. You’re a banana bread master. You need a crown or a sword or something.”
I giggled as I took a bite myself. Not bad at all. Debbie had been encouraging me to use other sweeteners besides regular sugar, and I had to admit, I couldn’t tell the difference.
“Is Tinker still in a love affair with the chickens?” Derek asked. “She tore out of here like her back end was on fire."
"Oh, yes. It's beyond ridiculous," I replied with a sigh "They just all sit there and stare at each other."
We ate in silence for a while, eating.
"So where have you been, Tilly?" he asked me again.
I shrugged and set down my fork. "Just busy. I guess you read about Carla's boss?"
"No. What happened?"
"I thought you read all my articles," I teased.
A slow smile spread across his face. "I've been busted. I must have missed the last edition. I'm sorry about that. Tell me please."
I told him about finding Jake Martinez and what Doctor Wheeler had said.
"Seriously?" His voice rose a few octaves as his mouth hung open. "Another murder? I thought the Tri-Town area was nothing but nice folks, pretty farms, and good banana bread."
I smiled and rolled my eyes. "I'm glad you liked the bread. As for everything else, we don't know for sure. When I called to have Doctor Wheeler confirm or deny the murder, he said he had to wait for some toxicology results that he'd been able to get rushed through."
"That's too bad. I hope there isn't another killer on the loose."
"Me too. I about went crazy trying to figure out who murdered your dad."
"Which you should have left up to the police."
"They thought I did it!" I screeched. "I had to prove my innocence!"
"I know," he said, reaching across the table and giving my fingers a squeeze. "I'm very grateful for what you did. I'm just glad you weren't hurt."
Another deep blush crawled up my neck and settled in my cheeks, turning them into two balls of fire.
"Has the restaurant been closed this week?" Derek asked, withdrawing his hand from mine.
My fingers chilled, and I wished he'd grab them again. "Yes."
"I feel bad for the staff. I used to be a server. It's tough having a job pulled out from under you like that. Especially when it happened so suddenly."
Even though Derek was a millionaire—his father left him the house and a big bank account—he didn't have an ounce of self-importance. I loved that he worried about Carla and her team.
"I'm sure it will be fine," I said. "They'll be back at work soon."
We stared at each other a quick beat, then he glanced around the kitchen. Without our voices to fill the silence, it seemed both of us felt uncomfortable.
"Do you want to watch some television?" he finally asked.
"I'd like that a lot. Do you want some hot tea? I've got chamomile or peppermint."
He grimaced as he considered his options. "Chamomile always tastes like dirt to me, but peppermint reminds me of the holidays."
"Well, it's almost Halloween. We're getting close to the holidays, so I think you should go with the peppermint."
"Sounds good. Speaking of, what are you doing for the holidays, Tilly?"
I stood and walked around the counter to prepare the tea. "I'm not sure. My parents may come out, or I'll get together with my friends. What about you?"
Remembering that he’d never spent the holidays with his father had me wanting to bite off my tongue. After Derek's mother had died, his dad had given up on him recovering from his drug habit and had wanted nothing to do with him. The situation was very sad, but I understood both sides.
"I don't know. I've been alone for the past few years or gone to a friend's house. Maybe if you're not busy we could do something together? If your parents don't come?"
"Of course," I replied as I busied myself. However, spending the holidays with Derek seemed like such a big commitment and so serious. And besides, what the heck did I buy a millionaire to put under the tree?
We were definitely friends, and he’d said he’d spent the holidays with friends in the past. Perhaps it didn’t need to be something significant, but two people who enjoyed each other’s company celebrating the season.
When the tea was ready, I turned to him and smiled. "What do you want to watch?"
"Let's go figure it out," he said as I handed him his cup.
I followed him into the living room and sat down on the couch. He took the cushion next to me, not too close but not too far. A comfortable distance where I didn't feel like I was being crowded, but I still had the companionship of someone I really liked.
As he scrolled through the channels, I sipped my tea. The pitter-patter of fall rain began hitting the roof and quickly turned into a downpour.
"What do you think, Tilly? A movie? Sitcom? Reality TV?"
"I don't know... let's look at—"
The pounding on my front door startled us both. The rain had blocked out the sound of the car pulling up.
Tinker barked and ran to the door as I stood and set down my cup. "That just about had me jumping out of my skin."
"Same here."
When I opened the door, dread overcame me. Byron stood on my porch. He either wanted to
talk about dating me, or the murder. Neither was a topic I wanted to discuss.
"Hey, Tilly. Can I come in?"
I glanced over my shoulder toward the living room and hoped he wasn't going to start his nonsense about dating me. That would be terribly uncomfortable with Derek in the next room even though I technically wasn't dating him, either. "I-I guess so."
Thankfully, Byron wiped his wet shoes on the entry mat. The storm had quickly escalated and thunder and lightning now boomed outside.
"What's up, Byron?"
"I need to talk to you about Jake Martinez's death."
"Okay. What about it?"
"Can we sit down?"
He didn't wait for an answer, but instead grabbed a chair at the kitchen table.
I sat down across from him with a sigh. The man was beginning to irritate me. "What's going on, Byron?"
"Doc Wheeler has ruled the death a murder by poisoning."
A gasp escaped me as I brought my hand to my mouth. "Oh, my. How horrible!"
The ruling shocked me. The Tri-Town area had gone a decade without a murder, and now, even with only two dead within a few months’ time, it felt like a tidal wave had hit.
"Yes. I have to go over your statement one more time for the investigation."
"Of course."
I needed to call my boss, Harold. I'd already written about Jake's death, but at that point we hadn't known for sure whether he'd been killed or had died of natural causes. This brought a whole new dimension. Everyone would want to know about the murder, which meant Harold would put out extra editions of the paper. I'd be working my tail off. The bonus I'd received from Mr. York's murder had bought me paint and new furniture, making my house my own instead of the one I’d shared with my ex-husband. I hated profiting off of other's misery, but I had a job to do.
Derek walked in and Byron turned to look over his shoulder. He quickly glanced back at me, obviously surprised by my company.
"There was another murder?" Derek asked, sitting down next to me. "Besides Jake?"
Byron cleared his throat and nodded a hello but didn't meet Derek's gaze. In fact, his cheeks turned the color of apples. Was he angry at my neighbor's presence? And if so, why? Jealousy?
Derek obviously hadn't heard the conversation correctly.
