Death by Coffee (3 page)

Vicki slowly nodded her head and then burst into a grin. She nudged me with her elbow. “He’s cute, though, isn’t he?”

“Who? The dead guy?”

“No, silly, the police officer.”

Visions of dimples and blue eyes swam in my head. I very nearly swooned.

“I suppose,” I said, clearing my throat. “Paul isn’t bad.”

“Paul, eh? First-name basis already.” She waggled her eyebrows at me.

“Shut up. He’s okay.”

“Right,” she said with a laugh. “The last time I saw you look like that was when my dad introduced you to Jason Momoa at the movie premiere. I swear you floated all the way home that night and wrote ‘Krissy and Jason forever’ in your diary about a thousand times.”

“I did not!” I’d settled on writing his name over and over, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

“You should go for it,” Vicki said. “He wasn’t wearing a ring.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

She winked. “Of course, it doesn’t.”

“He’s investigating a murder!” I said, putting as much indignation into my voice as I could. I knew Officer Dalton had said he thought it was an accident, but murder sounded much more dramatic. “I shouldn’t be thinking about whether or not the man is available.”

Vicki only smiled before walking off to take care of an elderly man holding a few paperback books upstairs.

I looked across the street at the now-empty building. The lights were out, telling me that anyone who worked inside had left with the crowd. Even Death by Coffee was emptying of guests now that the excitement had died down.

Or because they thought the coffee might kill them. Either way, the place was definitely dying down.

I thought of Brendon Lawyer and how he’d been rude and abrupt to me while he’d been here. But even then, he hadn’t deserved to die.

Could I have been responsible?

I looked away, wondering if I should do something. A man died after coming to my place. I couldn’t sit back and let that go. I might have to talk to Officer Dalton again sometime to make sure my coffee had nothing to do with Mr. Lawyer’s death. In a grim sort of way, I actually sort of looked forward to that conversation.

With a sigh that might have been just a little dreamy, I went back behind the counter to double-check my labels. If something I’d served had peanut extract in it, I planned on finding it. I never, ever wanted something like this to happen again.

3

“In our top story tonight, Brendon Lawyer, of Lawyer’s Insurance, was found dead in his office earlier today of an apparent allergic reaction to peanuts.”

I cringed, waiting for the news anchor to go on and talk about Death by Coffee, how it was instrumental in his death. The screen went to the Lawyer’s Insurance building with ambulances parked out front as the anchor went on. I didn’t recall seeing cameras there, but I suppose it was possible they had been.

“Mr. Lawyer is survived by his wife, Heidi, his father, Raymond, and his brother, Mason. While the police are currently classifying his death as an accident . . .”

I stopped listening as I studied the picture that popped up of Brendon standing beside a woman I assumed to be his wife. Neither Brendon nor Heidi was smiling. In fact, they looked as if they didn’t want to have the picture taken together at all.

Heidi Lawyer might have once been beautiful, but apparently her life hadn’t been easy. She was dressed in a black dress and heels, though she looked uncomfortable in them. Her hair hung around her shoulders, almost limply. She had lines on her face that spoke of an unhappy existence, eyes deep-sunken and sad. Thinking back to how Brendon had spoken to me, I could see why she might not be the happiest of people.

The screen cut back to the anchor, who threw it over to sports. I clicked off the TV, not really interested. I’d only wanted to see what they had to say about the death and was thankful my coffee wasn’t mentioned.

I heaved a sigh and looked into the empty carton of Rocky Road in my lap. I’d eaten the entire thing in one sitting. No wonder I could never get in Vicki-like shape. My cat, Misfit, was curled up at my feet, though he was giving me the stink eye for not offering to share. Normally, I let him eat off my spoon.

“Why is this happening to me?” I asked him. As far as I could tell, there’d been nothing in the shop that could have caused Brendon’s attack. I suppose Eleanor Winthrow could have had some peanuts with her coffee and left crumbs lying around, but I’d cleaned the table. There was no way he could have come into contact with anything in Death by Coffee. I was sure of it.

Then why did I feel so responsible?

I kept thinking that if I’d stopped him from leaving, he’d still be alive. I could have offered him a gift card or maybe offered a refill of his coffee. Perhaps he wouldn’t have come in contact with the peanuts that had killed him if I’d delayed him even by a few seconds. I mean, I could have been one of the last people—perhaps even
the
last person—to see him alive. If that didn’t totally suck goats, I didn’t know what did.

“What a day, huh?” I said to Misfit, who swished his tail at me. I heaved myself up and headed for the kitchen.

Misfit followed me, which he usually did any time he thought I was going to get him something. He and Trouble had come out of the same litter seven years ago, though you might not know it by looking at them. They both had the same long hair, same white feet, and same white underbellies. They both even had the same white spot on their upper lips, right beneath their left nostrils, which made it look like they’d gotten milk splashed on their faces. But where Trouble was black, Misfit was orange as, well, an orange.

I’d chosen the orange fluffball, while Vicki had taken Trouble. Of the two, Trouble tended to be far friendlier when it came to other people, hence him being chosen as the store cat. Vicki didn’t mind gathering him up and taking him home every night. I, on the other hand, would rather scrub toilets for a living than try to get Misfit into a cat carrier or on a leash. He knew how to use those back feet of his. He could strip flesh from bone in point-two seconds flat.

As soon as I entered the kitchen, he leapt up onto the island counter. I’d chosen this house specifically because of that little island, knowing it would be where I’d spend most of my time. Well, that and the quiet little cul-de-sac seemed like the perfect place to relax after a hard day’s work. I didn’t live at the end of the road, like I’d have liked, but was close enough for it not to matter. There was little to no traffic here, and that’s exactly how I liked it. It was a pleasant change from the busy streets of California. I never would have thought it before, but I definitely was liking the small-town-girl life.

A stack of puzzles sat on the floor beside the island. They’d been one of the first things I’d unpacked. There were word puzzles, Sudoku puzzles, and the traditional picture puzzles. I’ve spent more hours than I cared to admit putting puzzle after puzzle together. They always helped me think.

Beside the stack of puzzles was an open box labeled
MISFIT.
I removed a bag of treats sitting on top of his food. I opened the bag and shook out a few pieces in front of him.

“No more than that,” I said. “You’re putting on weight. I really don’t want to have to put you on a diet.”

He glared at me before he began the process of making a mess of the counter. I sometimes wondered if he actually ever ate the treats I gave him or if he simply liked to crush them up and spread them all over the place just to annoy me. It always seemed like there were more crumbs left than there were actual treats.

I reached for the box of puzzles, thinking I could start on one, but was distracted by the ring of the house phone. I altered my reach to answer it, curious as to who could be calling me. As far as I was aware, no one but Vicki and my dad knew my number.

Except maybe the police, of course.

I hesitated before answering. What if Officer Dalton was calling to tell me I was a suspect in the death of Brendon Lawyer? I’d let the word “murder” slip earlier. Could that have gotten me into trouble somehow?

I picked up the phone, ready to be read my rights. Why they would do it over the phone and not in person didn’t even occur to me at the time.

“Hello?” I asked with a cringe.

“Oh, my Lordy-Lou!” someone shouted in my ear. “Someone died in your store today!”

“Uh, hi,” I said, not recognizing the voice. It’s pretty hard to when they’re screaming so loud, your earpiece rattles. “Who is this?”

“It’s Rita, dear. Rita Jablonski.” She took a tiny breath before launching into her rant. “This is just awful. I mean, to have someone die in your place? It’s terrible. Terrible, I tell you. How will you ever recover? Do you think the coffee had anything to do with it? Am I going to get sick? What about your father? Do you think he’s going to come to town?”

My head was spinning at the onslaught. Rita Jablonski talked like the world was about to end and she just
had
to get in the very last word.

“He didn’t die in my shop,” I said.

“But rumor says—”

“Rumor is wrong!”
I didn’t mean to shout, but I really wanted to cut her off before she could launch into another spiel. “He came in for coffee and then left. He died in his office.”

“Oh.” She actually sounded disappointed.

“And there’s no reason to believe he was killed by anything from Death by Coffee, either.”
Despite the name,
I thought, but didn’t add.

Rita sighed heavily into the phone. “Oh, well. I was hoping for something of a mystery, something your father could solve for us. Wouldn’t that be exciting? They might even do a special on the television about us.”

I rolled my eyes. “My dad is a
writer.
He makes stories up for a living. He’s not Castle.”

“Oh, well, I know that. . . .”

“How did you get my number, by the way?” If Vicki gave her my number, I was
so
going to kill her.

“It was easy enough to find.” Rita laughed, but didn’t explain how she’d done it.

There was a knock at the door. Thank God for the interruption. Even if the police were out there, ready to arrest me for the murder, it would have been something of a blessing right then.

Rita was talking, but by this point, I wasn’t listening. I cut her off and smiled faintly at her shocked huff.

“Look,” I said. “I’ve got to go. Someone is at the door.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, sounding put out. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget about the writers’ group. We’d love to have you.”

I hung up with a shake of my head. The knock at the door came again. It sounded almost rhythmic, like it was to the beat of a song I didn’t know. I hurried to the door and opened it without looking through the window to see who it was.

A man stood smiling there. He was wearing, I swear to God, black-and-white tap shoes, a pink suit with white lapels, and his hair looked like something out of a British pop band. His skin was the color of caramel and there was a slight upward slant to his eyes.

“Hello?” It came out tentative. Someone dressed like that couldn’t be normal, especially in a small town like this.

“Hi!” he said, reaching out for my hand. I didn’t resist, too stunned to think straight. He kissed my knuckles, but didn’t let my hand go. He squeezed my fingers, like meeting me was the highlight of his day. “I’m so glad I could finally meet you.”

“Okay?”
I said, drawing out the word. With a little bit of twisting, I managed to remove my hand from his grip.

“I’m your neighbor!” he said excitedly. “Jules Phan.” He gestured toward the house next door. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get in today to see you at your new store. I was meaning to, but you know how things are. Busy, busy, busy.” He chuckled happily.

“Sure,” I said.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk? I’d love to get to know you.”

I sighed. I was
so
not ready to deal with this. If the guy knew where I worked, then he also knew about Brendon Lawyer and his death. I didn’t feel like defending myself to a man I didn’t even know.

“I’m tired,” I said. “I really am not in the mood for an interrogation, okay?”

The smile slipped from his lips and he took a step back. “I didn’t mean . . .” He stopped and trailed off before giving me a strained smile. “I’m sorry to bother you. Maybe we’ll see each other again, sometime soon.”

Jules spun and hurried away. He got into a tiny little car that was just as pink as his suit, started the engine, and backed out of my driveway. He only drove a few yards down the road before turning into the driveway next to mine.

Watching him go, I felt bad. The guy seemed harmless enough, friendly even. Maybe he really had just come over to talk. There was no reason for me to be so rude. The stress of what had happened earlier was quite clearly getting to me.

I promised myself I’d go over and apologize later. I just didn’t have it in me to do it tonight.

I closed the door and returned to the kitchen. Crumbs were spread clear across the counter. I had a feeling Misfit had batted them there on purpose. He looked proud where he preened, licking his paws.

I took a moment to brush away the worst of the mess, though some of it had stuck, thanks to the kitty slobber that acted like glue. Once the counter was clean, I headed into the living room to grab my purse. If it hadn’t been for Rita’s call, I would have forgotten about the coffee mug she’d given me. I stepped around a couple of boxes with the words
LIVING ROOM
written on them in marker and took my prize back to the kitchen. I had yet to unpack most everything I owned and had no desire to even attempt it tonight.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if Death by Coffee failed and I was forced to move back home. I was already packed, meaning it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. I could find a job easily enough and I was sure my dad would help me out until I was settled.

But Vicki would be devastated. This was what she’d always wanted, what she’d worked so hard for. If the store failed, she’d be forced to go back to acting and actually would have to put some heart into it. She used to go to movie auditions and would read her lines half-heartedly. The only time she ever took an acting job was when it was for stage acting, which didn’t sit well with her screen-acting parents. This was her last shot to be free of their influence. She looked at failure here as the end of her life.

A bit melodramatic, yeah—but if you met her parents, you’d understand.

I set the mug on the island counter, well away from Misfit. He eyed it with interest and I was pretty sure I saw his paw twitch toward it.

“Don’t even think about it, mister,” I warned him with a shake of my finger. “We just got here, and it’s a gift. I won’t have you breaking it.”

He glowered at me a moment before leaping from the counter. He fluffed his tail at me and then strutted down the hall, toward the laundry room, where I’d set up his litter box. I had a feeling he was going to make a mess on the floor, inches from the box, just to spite me.

I had half a mind to follow him and fight with him about using the litter box as intended. More often than not, he would leap out and do his business on the floor, no matter how many times I tried to force him to stay in the thing. A few times I’d even tried to throw him into the box as he was going, but he’d simply shut off the waterworks, step back out, and then let it rip, preferably on my shoes if he could manage it.

Tonight I didn’t have it in me to fight him. If he made a mess, I’d clean it up later. It wasn’t like I was expecting guests.

I rooted around in a box marked
KITCHEN
until I found my ball-peen hammer. I carried it back to the island and sat down with the empty mug in front of me.

And then I just sat there.

It sort of hit me all at once. Someone had died. Someone I’d talked to mere minutes before was dead. I mean, the guy could have walked across the street, sat down, and then keeled over instantly, meaning I really might have been the last person he’d spoken to face-to-face.

It was a real struggle not to break down and cry or pick up the phone and call Dad. He was the one person I knew I could lean on. I felt responsible for Brendon’s death; and if I let it eat at me, I would probably have a complete mental breakdown or something. Stuff like that had to wear on you, didn’t it?