Death by Tea, page 20
“Miss Winthrow claims you tried to break in.”
“I simply knocked,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite my irritation. “Someone threw something at my house and I wanted to know if she happened to see who it was.”
Buchannan was standing about three feet away, so despite the shadows cast by his hat, I could still see his left eyebrow raise. “Threw what?” he asked, sounding like a real cop for once, thank the Lord.
I gestured toward the rock on the stoop. “That,” I said. “The note beneath it was taped to it.”
Buchannan regarded me for a long moment before walking past me to the stoop. He picked up the rock, hefted it in his hand, and then snatched up the folded slip of paper before it could blow away. He eyed me speculatively before opening it.
I already knew what the page said, yet I had to fight the urge to walk over and read it over his shoulder. I satisfied myself with watching his face as he read. Nothing registered as his eyes scanned over the scrawl. I swear he looked at it for a good minute. Buchannan was either a really, really, really slow reader, or he couldn’t quite make out the words in the gloom.
Finally he looked up, choosing to study me instead. “Any idea who would do something like this?” he asked.
“No.” I had a few ideas, and most of them weren’t good. I didn’t want to go pointing fingers at any would-be murderers, considering they seemed to know where I lived. If I made a wrong move now, I doubted my next warning would be a simple rock against a screen door. The next one might find my head.
Buchannan glanced back down at the page and frowned. “Why would someone send something like this to you?”
“Send?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Buchannan sighed, clearly annoyed. “Okay, who would throw something like this at you?” He looked like he wouldn’t mind doing it himself.
I almost told him that it wasn’t actually thrown at me but rather at my door, but it felt a bit nitpicky. “I really can’t tell you,” I said with a shrug.
“You haven’t been doing anything you shouldn’t, have you?” he asked, knowing I’d been doing just that.
“Um . . . no?”
He heaved a sigh. “I have half a mind to bring you in.”
“For what?”
“What do you think?” He scowled. “You are the prime suspect in a murder. You sneak around at night causing mischief and mayhem. You antagonize your neighbors and people involved in the murder case itself. And now, this.” He tossed the rock into the air a few times, as if weighing it.
“I had nothing to do with this.” And half of what he said wasn’t quite true. I mean, most of it was, I guess, but not to the extent he was thinking.
“Someone wouldn’t go to the trouble of leaving you a message like this unless you were doing something you shouldn’t.”
I lowered my eyes. He was right, of course. Hadn’t Paul said nearly the same thing to me just a little while ago? Could I really be doing more harm than good?
Nah. I was helping. Right now it might seem like I was getting in the way, but once I solved this thing, they’d see how valuable I was. They were simply struggling to appreciate my version of helping.
“Could you at least ask Eleanor if she saw anything?” It came out pleading, but I was past caring. If I could figure out who threw the rock, I was positive I’d have the killer in hand within a day.
Buchannan heaved another clearly put-out sigh before nodding. “I guess I should.”
Thank you, Jesus. It was probably the best news I’d heard all day.
“But you’re staying out here.”
“But . . .”
He didn’t have to say anything to get me to back off. One hard look and I was simpering like a puppy. Still, he said it anyway, like he didn’t trust me to do the right thing.
“Stay. Here.”
I nodded as Officer Buchannan walked past me, rock and note still in hand. He knocked on the door and glanced around, as if taking in the scene. It was only a few seconds before the door opened and Eleanor poked her head out.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Officer,” she said in her best “the crazy woman is going to kill me” voice.
“Let’s go inside and talk, ma’am.” He glanced meaningfully at me as he spoke.
Eleanor stepped aside, letting Buchannan in. She gave me a good, hard glare before closing the door forcibly behind her, leaving me standing alone by her front stoop.
Even though I’d been sitting outside, alone before Buchannan arrived, I suddenly felt exposed. What if the killer was still lurking out there somewhere? Now that I was spotlighted by the cruiser’s headlights, I’d make an easy target.
I eased sideways, into the shadows, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Now I was standing where no one could see me if the murderer were to sneak up on me. At least with the headlights illuminating me, someone might see something. I glanced toward my house and considered running for it. But what if the killer was inside, waiting for me? I hadn’t locked the door when I’d left.
“Stop it, Krissy,” I reprimanded myself. Whoever threw the rock was long gone, and it wasn’t even a sure thing they’d killed David Smith. If our rock thrower hadn’t run off before Buchannan arrived, they surely would be gone by now.
Unless John Buchannan is the murderer.
I had to admit, a part of me hoped it was true. If I could point the finger at him, everything he’d ever done to me would come to light and I would be deemed a hero. Again.
But Buchannan was an officer of the law who had done nothing but do his job, albeit a bit forcibly and perhaps with a little too much zeal. It was only wishful thinking that he could have anything to do with the murder, yet I couldn’t help daydream about it.
I considered walking home to grab the wallet. I could give it to Buchannan, which would get it out of my hands.
But I knew Buchannan well enough to know he would probably accuse me of killing David and stealing the wallet. It would be yet another piece of evidence he could use against me, and while I could tell him about Justin, I wasn’t quite ready to break my promise to him yet. No, it would be far better if I waited until I talked to Paul again.
I turned my focus to who might have killed David. Buchannan was unlikely, as much as it pained me to admit it. And while Justin knew where I was, it didn’t quite track that he would bring me the wallet and then warn me off the case.
That left the members of the book clubs. I was positive Rita knew where I lived, but there was no way she could have killed David, no matter how angry she had gotten. The same went for Georgina and Andi. Those two women were as harmless as they come. I couldn’t imagine a pair of old ladies taking down a bigger man like David Smith.
That left Jimmy and Cindy as the only Pine Hills members who could have done it. Cindy was too taken with David to have killed him, though if she’d discovered his secret, then perhaps she could have grown angry enough to kill. No one likes to be deceived. And if not, Jimmy might have grown jealous enough to attack David, blaming him for what went on in his own bed.
Still, I just didn’t see it. That meant I was looking at someone from Cherry Valley. Albert was the obvious answer, though why he would kill one of his own, I had no idea. Orville and Vivian were as unlikely as Georgina and Andi. If Sara learned about David’s real name and past, she very well might have gotten angry enough with him to kill him. And Dan had the obvious motive of getting his book club spot back, as well as remove someone he clearly detested.
But how would any of them get inside Death by Coffee to kill him? I kept coming back to that and had no answer.
Could it really be someone from Death by Coffee?
I didn’t want to believe it, but I did have to start to consider it. Aside from me, Vicki, Mike, and Lena were the only other people with keys. None of them had a reason to kill David as far as I was aware.
The only thing I could think of was that one of them had let David and the killer back into the store sometime that night. Whether it was because they claimed they’d forgotten something inside, or it was by complete accident, I don’t know. Perhaps the killer placed something in or on the door that prevented it from locking properly. That made more sense than anything else I’d come up with so far.
And what if one of them had indeed lost a key? Would they have told me? Could they have lost it but found it again almost immediately? The killer could have taken it, copied it, and then returned it before anyone was the wiser.
It seemed unlikely, though. How would the killer get hold of the key without anyone noticing? It just didn’t make sense.
I heaved a sigh and looked for something to kick. I was frustrated by the case, frustrated with Buchannan, and frustrated with myself because I couldn’t come up with a solution that would end this entire mess.
The door to Eleanor’s house opened before I found anything that wouldn’t break my foot if I were to kick it. Buchannan stepped outside, still chuckling from something Eleanor had said.
“Thank you,” he told her. “I’ll have to take you up on that sometime.”
The door closed and Buchannan turned to me. His smile faded and he actually looked somewhat chagrined as he spoke. “It appears as though your story pans out.”
“Why wouldn’t it have?” I asked, annoyed. Why couldn’t he ever believe me?
Buchannan ignored the question. “Miss Winthrow says she happened to look out her window just as the car pulled up at the end of your drive. A man, dressed in black, got out, ran forward, and heaved the rock at the door. He fled before it ever hit.”
My ears perked up. “Is she positive it was a man?” If she could confirm the gender, it would eliminate Sara, as well as Lena, Vicki, and the older women of the book clubs. That would significantly reduce the list of suspects.
Buchannan shrugged. “That’s what she tells me. She was pretty sure the culprit was one of your scorned lovers, so she didn’t pay much attention. There is a distinct possibility we are dealing with a woman here, dressed so as not to give herself away.” He paused. “Do you know of any women who might be upset with you because you slept with their boyfriend or husband?”
“What?” I stared at him, dumbfounded. He didn’t just ask me that, did he?
“Any old lovers seeking revenge, perhaps?”
“I . . . No . . . There’s no one.” My face reddened. I didn’t want Buchannan to know about my sex life—or lack thereof.
Buchannan nodded as if that was exactly what he’d expected. Ass. “Then there is someone very unhappy with whatever it is you are doing here in Pine Hills. I suggest you stop before you get hurt.”
“What about the car?” I asked. He could suggest whatever he wanted. As long as he wasn’t arresting me, I was going to keep looking into this thing until the murderer was caught. To do that, I needed more information.
“What about it?”
“Did she give you a make or model? A color maybe?” Even that bit of information could go a long way in solving the case.
“She didn’t say.”
“Is she even sure it was a car?” I asked, starting to grow frustrated.
“She wasn’t certain.”
I threw my hands up in the air, giving in to the frustration. “How is that even possible?”
“It was dark,” he said with a shrug.
Great. So we had a witness who saw what could have been a man, but might have been a woman, who threw a rock at my house and got into a car, or possibly a truck, shrouded in shadows. That was a huge help, thank you, Miss Winthrow. The only thing I learned was that it wasn’t a motorcycle or a scooter and that the rock thrower was human. It was something, I guess. No biker alien attacks for me.
“I want you to stay inside tonight,” Buchannan said. “Lock your windows and doors.” He turned toward his cruiser. “And whatever you do, stay out of trouble.”
“What about the note and the rock?” I asked. I really wanted them back so I could study them further. Maybe the rock was from a quarry somewhere, or distinctive in some way that would help. I should have considered the fact that there could be fingerprints all over the rock and note, and my handling of it could have contaminated the evidence. Then again, Buchannan should have thought of it as well.
He paused at his car door and shrugged. “Evidence,” he said before tossing the rock into the backseat as if it was nothing more than a souvenir.
Without another word, he got into his cruiser, started the engine, and backed out.
And then he was gone.
I felt oddly empty as I went back home. This should have been a defining moment in the case, one where something extraordinary was discovered, yet I was left with nothing. I just wanted to crawl into bed with a bag of popcorn and my fluffy orange bed warmer. Nothing else was going to get accomplished tonight. I still had to go to work tomorrow, but afterward . . . that’s when I was finally going to make some serious progress.
Either that or take a rock to the head.
With the way my life was going, both were just as likely.
24
The bell above the door jangled. I looked up, worried we had yet another customer. Death by Coffee started out the morning busy, and it hadn’t slowed down for the two hours since. Lena was at my side, filling orders as fast as I could take them, when she wasn’t up in the bookstore. Vicki wouldn’t come in until later, which meant it was just the two of us for the time being.
I breathed a sigh of relief as Mike Green waltzed in, looking as if he didn’t care about the line that was still almost to the door. Every table was occupied and dirty. It was as if the entire town had up and decided to pay me a visit just to run me into the ground.
“What’s happening?” Mike said, coming around the counter for his apron.
Before I could answer, the man at the counter did it for me. “J&E’s is closed today. They’re redoing the floors.”
Ah, well, that explained why everyone was coming to Death by Coffee. I just hoped after sampling my coffee, many of the customers would decide to keep coming back. Just not all at once. I don’t think I could take another morning like this.
Mike tied on his apron and slouched his way over to the coffee machine to pour himself a cup. He leaned against the wall and took a casual sip.
“How about you clock in?” I asked, flustered. I couldn’t remember if the man at the counter had ordered a mocha cappuccino or a French vanilla. I turned and asked him as Mike answered.
“Nah, man. I got another three minutes ’til I’m due.”
“French vanilla,” the customer said.
“Just do it already!” I shouted, spinning for the cappuccino machine.
“Man . . .” Mike grumbled as he made his way over to the register to clock in.
With him there, things ran just a little smoother. I handed the register over to him and went about filling the orders, leaving Lena to handle the customers upstairs. It felt like all of Pine Hills was there, buying coffee and books as if they were going out of style. I wasn’t complaining about the money we were earning. In fact, I was thrilled by it. But the work that it was taking to earn said money had my feet barking and my back aching.
It didn’t slow down for another hour. By then, it felt like I’d been beaten on the back with a crowbar after walking barefoot over hot coals. I was quickly beginning to wonder if I’d be mobile enough later that day to go all the way to Cherry Valley to snoop around like I’d planned. Chances were good that if lunch was as insane as breakfast, I’d be in a coma.
“Take over for me for a minute,” I told Mike. He gave me a nod as he turned to a new customer. I headed back into the kitchen to whip up some cookies. The case was barren, and I’d had to disappoint a few kids who’d come in specifically for the cookies. This seemed like it might be the only time I’d get to take care of the baking before the dreaded lunch rush.
I’m not too proud to admit it—I took longer in the kitchen than I normally would have. I mixed up the batter, placed it on the sheets in round balls, and then shoved the sheets into the oven. Then I sat on the counter to give my feet a break while I waited for the cookies to be done. It didn’t appear as if I was going to get a real break anytime soon, especially since I’d have to give one to each of my employees. By the time they had their breaks and Vicki came in, it would be time for me to go. And when I left, I wasn’t going home to my warm bath. This was the only moment of relaxation I was likely to get.
I was anxious to get off work, but I wouldn’t leave Lena and Mike hanging just so I could run off to Cherry Valley. I didn’t know where David lived, but I hoped that after investigating his workplace, I’d find out. If there was any evidence of who David Smith really was, I was positive I’d find it there.
The timer on the oven dinged. I leapt off the counter, wiped my butt down as best as I could—it was covered in flour—and removed the cookies. My stomach grumbled at the smell, so without waiting for them to cool down, I snatched one off the cookie sheet. I sucked in a breath in a vain attempt to cool the lavalike chocolate with every bite; swallowed the steaming goo, which scorched my throat all the way down; and then, satisfied I wasn’t going to starve to death, carried the cookie sheet out to the front, calling “Hot cookies!” as I went.
“Oh, there you are!”
My first instinct was to vanish back into the kitchen as if I’d suddenly forgotten something, but it was already too late. I plastered on a fake smile and carried the cookies to the front display case, where I began to shovel them into place. Rita scooted down the counter so she could talk to me face-to-face.
“I’ve heard the most horrible of rumors,” she said, peering in at the cookies as if she didn’t quite trust them.
“Really?” I asked, knowing that whether I said anything or not, she’d tell me all about it.
“I heard you were brutally attacked by one of your boyfriends out in the open where the world could see! Are you okay? He didn’t cut you too deeply, did he?” She darted her head back and forth, apparently looking for a gaping wound in my scalp.
