Death by Coffee (11 page)

I spent the next half hour going through Tessa’s Dresses and ended up choosing a dark blue dress that cinched with a black belt at the waist. I already had shoes that would match, thank God, because the dress itself cost more than I’d originally wanted to spend. There was a cheaper red dress I’d considered, but quickly dismissed it. I didn’t want to seem desperate.

I paid for my dress and carried it back to Death by Coffee to show Vicki. She oohed and aahed over it and asked more questions about my plans for the night. I answered automatically, but I really wasn’t listening. I kept thinking about what Tessa had told me about there being another woman, and I knew I had to find out who it was.

My eyes strayed over to the building across the street. I knew—absolutely
knew
—the answer was over there. I just had to find a way to get inside and get the information I needed, all before the police closed the case and Brendon Lawyer’s killer walked away a free man.

Or, as I was beginning to believe, a free woman.

11

There is one thing that cat owners everywhere understand: no matter how hard you try, no matter how many times you lint-roll yourself off, you will always,
always,
have cat hair on your clothing.

I’m not sure how Misfit managed to get fur all over my new dress. I kept it in a bag from the moment I’d gotten home, carried it into my bathroom, and got dressed after a shower. It was like he found a way to shoot his fur like quills beneath the door and somehow managed to get them into the bag. It was almost like he had some sort of fabric radar.

“This is your fault,” I said. I was standing outside on the front stoop, madly lint-rolling his fur off me. I swear I could have made a coat out of all of it. “I’m going to shave you bald, you know?”

Misfit stared at me through the screen door. I think he was grinning.

I finished my last swipe, turned in a circle as I tried to see if I got all the hair off my ass, and then stopped to frown at the door. My purse was inside, as were the shoes I planned on wearing. The moment I stepped inside that house, Misfit would be all over me, intentionally trying to coat me in a warm, fluffy blanket.

“Stay back,” I warned, shaking the lint roller at him. “Or I’m going to run this thing over you until there’s nothing left.”

He eyed me warily before fluffing his tail and sauntering away.

Of course, I didn’t trust the rascal. Just because I couldn’t see him—it didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Chances were good I’d be ambushed the moment I let my guard down. I would
not
let that cat ruin my date even before it began.

I stepped into the house like I was entering a war zone. The living room was quiet, almost too quiet. I peered around the corner, half expecting Misfit to be crouched on the recliner closest to the door, ready to pounce. It was a favorite ambush spot of his.

I contorted my neck around, searching for any hint of tail, or perhaps ears pinned back above devious, glowing eyes.

But he wasn’t there.

The dining room was likewise empty, as was the kitchen. A growing sense of dread crept over me as I moved through the house, toward my bedroom, where I’d dumbly left my shoes. I tiptoed as quietly as I could manage down the hall, into the room, and snatched my heels from the floor before rushing back out into the perceived safety of the dining room. I picked up my purse and scanned the immediate area.

No cat.

Irrationally, my heart was pounding. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this nervous. Misfit still had his claws, so if he decided he wanted to shred my dress, he could do it faster than I could run. The cat—and he was bigger than the average cat—was a lot quicker than he looked.

A knock on the door startled a scream out of me. I spun around to face the door just as an orange streak came barreling out from behind the couch. He hit me hard on the legs, swishing his tail up and under the hem of the dress, coating the inside with his fur. He zoomed past me, into the hall, and vanished into the bedroom, where he was more than likely preparing for another sneak attack from beneath the bed.

“I’m going to kill you!” I screamed after him before regaining some of my composure and turning to answer the front door.

Officer Dalton stood on the stoop, eyes wide, hand hovering near his waist. Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing his uniform, which meant he didn’t have his gun. By the look on his face, I really think he would have drawn it if he’d had it.

“Is everything okay in there?” he asked slowly. He looked at me as if he thought he might have misjudged me and that he very well might be looking at someone capable of murder.

“My cat,” I said, slipping on my shoes. There was nothing I could do about the fur now. I wasn’t about to lift the hem in front of Paul to check the damage.
Here’s hoping our date doesn’t progress past the eating stage.
I blushed as my brain tried to turn the thought into something
far
different. “He’s trying to kill me, I think.”

Paul frowned. “A cat?” He gave a shudder. “I’m more of a dog person. I have two huskies.”

“I like dogs, too,” I said . . . like a dope. I glanced back toward the hall. There was a nervousness to my voice when I asked, “Can we get going now?” Who knew when the cat would make his next attempt on my life?

Paul stepped aside and I slipped out of the house before Misfit could make a bigger nuisance of himself. I closed the door firmly behind me and then turned to see Paul grinning at me.

“You look nice,” he said, carefully keeping his eyes on my face, rather than scanning up and down my body like I knew he wanted to do. I mean, he was a guy, wasn’t he?

“Thanks.” It was then I noticed he was wearing a simple polo shirt and jeans. “You too.” I felt my face flame. Boy, was I ever overdressed.

“I figured we could grab something to eat, if that’s okay with you?” he asked as he led me to his car. “I probably should have mentioned it on the phone so you knew not to have dinner beforehand.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I figured you’d want to have something to eat.” My mind flashed back to my earlier thought. I was thankful it was dark enough outside so that Paul couldn’t see my blush. “I’m starving.”

As if to prove the point, my stomach grumbled.

Paul laughed, opened the car door for me, and then went around to the driver’s side. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Neither of us seemed to have much to say as he backed out of my driveway and onto the road. I really wish I would have had time to run back in and get changed—preferably without getting assaulted by a demonic feline. As it was, I just had to make the best of things. It wasn’t a sin to dress nicely on a date, even if I could have stuck with something a bit more comfortable.

“I hope you don’t mind sandwiches,” Paul said after a few minutes. “I didn’t know what you liked and, really, there isn’t much selection in Pine Hills. I suppose we could have headed out of town to go to a real restaurant, but with everything that’s happened lately, I wanted to be sure to stick close to home just in case I’m needed.”

“Do you think you will be?”

Paul shrugged. “Chief Dalton can be pretty demanding when she wants to be.”

I giggled. “You call your mom ‘Chief.’ That’s cute.”

We pulled into a mostly full parking lot as he answered. “It’s best that way. We’re a small force here. There’s no real need for us to be any bigger. But that means we have to be careful so that the others don’t think she’s playing favorites. I sometimes wonder if maybe we’re a little too casual and a little too small for our own good.”

He parked in a space almost right in front of the door. My entire body groaned in protest when I saw the sign:
J&E’s Banyon Tree.
Great.

“I hope this is okay?” Paul asked. He looked at me hopefully.

I gave him my warmest smile. “It’s perfect.”

We got out of the car and headed for the diner. When I’d first heard about the Banyon Tree from Rita, I’d assumed it would be this little place on the side of the road where the chairs were plastic and the food smelled of grease on top of more grease. When we entered the quaint little building, I found myself surprised to find sturdy wooden chairs placed around solid tables. The counter was long and barlike, with stools placed at regular intervals along its front. Rockabilly music played over the speakers overhead. Nearly every table was taken by smiling patrons.

A waitress met us at the door and led us to the last remaining booth. I kept my eyes peeled for Judith or Eddie Banyon, but if they were at the diner, they were keeping out of sight.

“The ham and Swiss is great here,” Paul said as we sat down. He ordered a Coke to my Sprite.

The waitress gave us both a winning smile before winking at Paul. She then spun on her heel in a flurry of curls to grab our drinks. She glanced back once, quite obviously grinning at my date.

“Come here often?” I asked, feeling a little out of place. It wasn’t the first time I felt like a square peg trying to fit into a round hole.

“Most every night,” he said, but then hurriedly added, “but always alone. Until now.” He looked shyly away.

I scanned the menu and found a variety of sandwiches and burgers. There were the usual chicken fingers and fish and chips as well. It was quite clearly diner food. However, if the smells coming from the back were any indication, it was
good
diner food.

The waitress returned and Paul ordered his ham and Swiss. I went ahead and got the same, trusting in his judgment.

“I really should have thought this out better,” he said when our waitress—
SHANNON
, her nametag said—left. “It was sort of out of the blue, really.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I kind of like the place.” I glanced around, hoping fate wouldn’t come knock me upside the head in the form of Judith Banyon. It would have been just my luck for her to arrive to kick me out before I’d had a chance to get to know whether or not I was making a mistake.

Paul smiled. “I’m glad. And I promise the food is worth the noise.”

It was pretty loud, but I didn’t mind. There was a coziness to the place you couldn’t find much anywhere else. Back home you had to be careful how you acted, what you wore, when you went out. Here it felt like you could just be you and have a blast. No wonder Vicki had chosen to settle down in such an out-of-the-way town. It was nothing like the bustle of our former lives.

Our sandwiches arrived with a side of coleslaw. Shannon asked if we needed anything else, to which we both answered in the negative. Then she gave Paul a little finger wave and vanished back behind the counter.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

“She loves to tease me,” he said. A ring of red crept up his neck. “Always asks me why I never bring a date. Now that I have, she isn’t going to let me get through it without teasing me mercilessly.”

I took a bite of my sandwich to keep from saying something stupid. I’d never known a place where you could go to eat and actually
know
the people serving you. I was used to everyone being strangers, even your neighbors. It was odd to think that if I stuck around town long enough, I might be treated just the same.

“Look,” Paul said, setting down his ham and Swiss without taking a bite. “I have something to get off my chest.”

“Okay.” My hand shook as I picked up my Sprite. Was this going to be the big letdown? Had he only asked to go out with me because he thought that was what his mom would want? Was he already secretly engaged to a supermodel and was about to elope to Hawaii with her?

“When we first discovered your cup in Brendon’s office, I instantly suspected that you might have been somehow involved in his death.”

I very nearly choked on my Sprite. “What? You thought I’d actually kill a guy I didn’t even know?”

“No,” he said hurriedly. “I didn’t think you did it on purpose, but thought that maybe you weren’t careful and had accidently poisoned him. You were new. You didn’t know about his allergy. Mistakes happen.”

The last made me think of the conversation Mason and Heidi had had the day after Brendon’s death. I almost brought it up, but decided against it. I had no proof either was involved. I didn’t want to start pointing fingers and making things worse for the two of them. They were already having a hard-enough time as it was.

“Anyway,” Paul went on, “I just wanted to get it off my chest. Ever since I talked to you the first time, it had been bothering me. I didn’t want you to think I thought you were careless or a suspect or anything.”

“It’s fine,” I said, and I meant it. “You didn’t know me. I probably would have thought the same about you, especially if you owned a store called Death by Coffee and then someone had died after drinking said coffee.”

Paul sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He looked as if he was ready to drop the subject, but I wasn’t about to let it end there. His bringing up Brendon made me think of my talk with Tessa and how I was sure all of the answers might very well be found within Brendon’s closed-up office.

We might be on a date now, but what other chance, really, would I get to ask him?

“Did you know Brendon had a mistress?” I asked. I took a bite of coleslaw to hide my nervousness. Not surprisingly, it was fantastic.

“I did,” he said. “I also know he had a second one.” He leaned forward and grinned. “Turns out it was his secretary. How cliché can you get?”

Cliché or not, I found it interesting. I tried to remember anything I could about the secretary I’d seen when I’d chased Mason into Lawyer’s Insurance, but I came up blank. I wasn’t even sure what she looked like. Some detective I’d make.

“Do you know which one?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound like I was pumping him for information. I mean, that was exactly what I was doing, but I didn’t want to make it
too
obvious.

“There’s only the one,” Paul said. “Beth Milner has been with the Lawyers for about a year now. I think she started seeing Brendon within a few months of getting the job.” He glanced around to make sure no one else was listening before going on. “In fact, I think she got the job because he planned on sleeping with her from the start.”

I was really starting to think that maybe Brendon’s death wasn’t such a bad thing. The guy was slime, yet I couldn’t let it go. Whoever killed him—and I was pretty sure it was a murder—might not stop at one man.

With a sigh Paul finished off his own coleslaw and set his fork aside. “I really shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

“It’s not that. I don’t know . . .” He frowned. “If this was a bigger department, in a bigger city, I’d probably get fired for talking about an active case, even if we’re thinking accident at the moment. This is mostly gossip and all, but still . . .”

I felt horrible for dragging out the conversation, but if there is one thing I’m not, it’s a quitter. When I start something, I see it through until the end, even if it might ruin any chance I had with the hunkiest guy in town.