Death by Tea, page 21
“I’m fine,” I said. “It was just a rock, and it was thrown at my front door.” I paused. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”
She waved a hand at me. “Well, I know that. I could tell that just by looking at you.”
It took me a moment to realize what the comment implied. “What do you mean by that?”
Another hand wave. “Never mind. I came here to let you know that we will be resuming our writers’ group meetings next week. There was some talk of taking a week off after the exertions of the book club, but I said, ‘No! We have to have the meetings for those unfortunate not to be a part of the club.’ Meaning you, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I hope to see you there.” She sighed dramatically. “Well, I best get going.” Rita glanced toward the menu as if she might order, but she shook her head instead. “No time for coffee today. I’ll see you soon.” She waved and scurried out the front door.
Mike snorted a laugh from over by the register.
“It’s not funny,” I grumbled. I carried the cooling sheet to the back, deposited it by the sink for Mike to wash, and then went out to join him.
“That was pretty crazy,” he said, leaning on the counter. His hair stuck out in every direction from beneath his hat, obscuring his eyes. It was a wonder he could see.
“She can be, yeah.”
“No, man, I mean the rush. Never seen the place so busy.” There was a gleam in what I could see of his eye, like the endless stream of customers had made his day.
“I like seeing so many people here, but I sure hope it doesn’t get that busy again today.” I rubbed at the back of my neck. It was sweaty and sore and in severe need of strong hands to rub the pain away.
Mike nodded as if it was the wisest thing he’d ever heard. “True dat.”
I eyed him a moment and then shrugged. It was like he was talking in a foreign language sometimes. I at least got the gist of that one.
Lena came down the stairs with a groan. “My feet are killing me.” She rubbed at the side of her face where a fresh scrape ran across her cheekbone. It was ironic, because she never once complained about her skateboarding wounds, despite the fact that they looked far worse than a couple of sore muscles and blistered feet.
“I think we’re all suffering,” I told her with a weary smile.
She came to stand on my other side. “Hey, Mike, how about you clean the tables? Some of the customers are leaving.”
“Aw, man.” Mike grabbed a rag from beneath the counter. “Whatever.” He strode out to where there were now two empty tables.
I turned toward Lena. There had been something to her tone that set alarm bells ringing in my head. I wasn’t sure whether it had something to do with David Smith or something else entirely. Either way, I was anxious to hear what she had to say.
“I’d keep an eye on him,” she said at a near whisper. She nodded toward where Mike had gone.
“Who? Mike?” I asked to be sure.
“Yeah.”
My heart did a little hiccup. “Do you think he could have killed Mr. Smith?”
Lena gave me a sideways glance. “What? No.” She shook her head. “Or at least I don’t think so. But I do think he’s up to something. He acts weird when he thinks no one is looking. And do you notice how he likes to run the register more than anything else?”
I nodded, a frown creeping over my face. I hadn’t noticed it before, but she was right; Mike was almost always working the register, even when someone else wanted to do it.
“You don’t think . . .” I trailed off, not sure I wanted to voice my suspicions.
“Don’t know,” Lena said. “But I thought it might be a good idea to let you know.”
I thought back to when I first started noticing the lack of funds coming into Death by Coffee, despite the uptick in business. As far as I was aware, Vicki saw nothing out of the ordinary in the books, but what if Mike was skimming from the top? Could he be cancelling orders after taking the money, shoving it in his pocket instead of the register?
My heart plummeted to my feet at the thought. If he was stealing, then not only would I have to let him go, I’d have to tell the police so it wouldn’t happen again. But he did have to pay child support, which meant he was probably barely making ends meet. Could I really do that to him?
But if he was stealing, I couldn’t let it continue, no matter how bad I felt for him.
“Thanks,” I told Lena.
“Any time.”
I started to turn away when I thought of something else. “Hey, has your key come up missing lately?”
“My key? No. Why?”
“Just wondering.” My gaze traveled to Mike. “Go ahead and head upstairs. I’ll handle things down here.”
Lena hesitated only a moment before she turned and went back up into the bookstore, where a few kids were playing around in the stacks. I could hear her yell at them, though she tried to keep her voice down. From the way the kids acted toward her, I was pretty sure she knew them.
I tried to get back to work, but my eyes kept going to Mike. He lingered out among the customers, wiping down tables and chairs, as if afraid to come back to where I stood. I didn’t know whether he knew that I knew what he’d been doing or if it was something else. Even when a new customer came in, his head didn’t rise. He looked so forlorn, lost in his own miserable thoughts, it just about broke my heart.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. The next time he looked up, I motioned for him to join me behind the counter.
“What’s up?” he asked, not meeting my eye.
“I was curious about something,” I said. “Has your key come up missing lately? Or did you let someone borrow it, perhaps?”
“What? No.” He looked genuinely upset I’d even think it. “I’m more careful than that.”
I gave him a reassuring smile. “I was just checking,” I said. “Can’t be too safe.”
He made a noncommittal sound and eyed me skeptically. “That all? I have a few more tables I can scrub down.”
I almost let him go then, but I decided I couldn’t do that. I had to know if what Lena said was true. “Yeah, uh, Mike.” I swallowed. This was going to be tough.
A worried expression passed over his face. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, sounding as if he was afraid I was going to fire him on the spot.
“Well . . .” I glanced toward where Lena was replacing some books that had been taken from the shelves before turning back to Mike. “I’ve noticed a decided lack of income lately.” My mouth went dry, and I felt myself start to blush. God, I hated this. “And you tend to work the registers, so I was wondering . . .”
Mike’s jaw tensed. “Wondering what? If I took it?”
I shrugged before nodding.
“No, man, I would never.” He looked away as he said it. “That’s stupid.”
“I had to ask,” I said. “You have to understand.” I could tell he wasn’t happy with me, but I wasn’t quite sure if his unhappiness was because of my accusation or because he’d been caught. “I want us to trust each other, but in order for that to happen, I need you to be honest with me. We can work something out if you are in need.”
“No, I’m cool.” He looked toward the ceiling. “I just want to get back to work, if that is okay with you?”
“Sure.”
He strode out to wipe down more tables. He looked miserable and I felt bad, yet it had to be done. Maybe if he had been stealing, he’d stop now that I was onto him. If he didn’t, well then, I might just have to fire him. It was something I really hoped I could avoid.
The lunch rush came and went. Mike avoided me during that time, though he was forced to help at the register while I filled orders. I tried to keep an eye on him, but it wasn’t easy, since I kept having to run to the back. Eventually, Vicki came in, as chipper as I’d ever seen her. I don’t think there was anything on God’s green earth that could have wiped the smile from her face as she joined me behind the counter.
“It’s a great day,” she said, practically swooning.
I gave her a noncommittal shrug.
She hardly noticed. She swept past me and headed for the back. I followed her, feeling like a royal jerk for what I was about to do, but she deserved to know.
“Vicki?” I said, closing the door quietly behind us. The office felt cramped, which caused me to break out into a sweat. It was either that or my nerves that I was about to get what could very well be an innocent man into trouble. “Can I talk to you a sec?”
“Sure.” She pulled her hair up into a ponytail.
“It has come to my attention that Mike might, um . . .” This was almost as hard as confronting the man himself. “He might be stealing.”
Vicki frowned. “Stealing?”
“The register has seemed light lately, hasn’t it? I think he’s been skimming a little. I’m sure it has to do with his other troubles and he doesn’t mean anything by it. And I don’t think you should say anything to him; I already did. But you should keep an eye on him just in case he’s doing it.” I looked down at my feet. “I thought you should know.”
Vicki was silent for a long moment before saying, “Okay, thanks.”
I didn’t know how to interpret that, and didn’t care to think too hard about it. I so wasn’t the confrontational type. Every time I tried, I ended up getting myself into trouble, or making a fool out of myself. Actually, I usually end up doing both.
Vicki went back out into the store, a troubled look on her face. I wanted to stick around and make sure everything ran smoothly, especially with Mike, but I really wanted to get to Cherry Valley before Penelope’s Restorations closed for the day. I should have asked Vicki about her key, and still could, but I decided I’d put enough on her for the day. I could always ask her tomorrow.
Mike watched me, almost sulkily, as I headed for the door. Lena gave me a reassuring nod, as if telling me I’d done the right thing. Vicki was standing beside her, staring out at nothing. I guess I could indeed ruin her good mood.
“See you all tomorrow!” I called, putting as much cheer into my voice as I could. All it earned me was three half-hearted waves. Knowing it was likely all I’d get, I turned and headed out the door.
25
Cherry Valley wasn’t much different than Pine Hills. They were about the same size, though Cherry Valley felt larger due to the fast-food restaurants and the large shopping mall downtown. Many of the houses I passed coming into town were cozy and white, with well-tended lawns. It was the kind of place you’d imagine retiring to, where everyone knew everyone else, where shopping was close by but didn’t overrun the area. It felt as if it came straight out of one of those old television shows like Leave It to Beaver.
A pair of women walked dogs with curly fur that matched the women’s own permed white hair. They waved as I drove past, smiling as if nothing in the world could bother them.
I’m not sure what I’d expected to find in Cherry Valley. A part of me thought it would be full of old houses with paint peeling from the siding, windows broken and boarded over, a road with potholes large enough to swallow an entire car. Maybe it was the fact that David was living under a presumed name, so I automatically thought of an inner city where something like that might be more common. Instead, I found myself in a place I might actually like to visit every now and again—just as long as it wasn’t full of murderers.
I continued on through the town, taking in the scenery. I passed by more tidy little houses and bumped over a set of old railroad tracks that no longer appeared to be in use. The houses here were a little older, a little more run-down, but it wasn’t as drastic as it could have been. This wasn’t the stereotypical “wrong side of the tracks.” In fact, despite the older homes and businesses, I didn’t feel threatened here at all.
Penelope’s Restorations was on the far end of town. It sat between a pair of empty-looking warehouses that didn’t appear derelict as they could have. The small bike repair shop was squashed between them. A half-dozen motorcycles sat outside, none with riders evident. The building itself could have used a fresh coat of paint. The old red, white, and blue had faded and chipped away long ago, though it still didn’t look as derelict as you might expect. The garage door that led into the area where the restorations took place was up, and I could see someone crouched next to a bike that looked as if it had seen better days.
I pulled into the parking lot and came to a stop next to the motorcycles. I felt out of place here, knowing nothing about motorcycles or the type of people that rode them. And if the people who worked here were anything like the bikers on TV, I was pretty sure they wouldn’t appreciate my showing up and asking questions.
I gathered my purse, not trusting to leave it unattended in the car, locked or not, and got out. As soon as I closed the door, the figure in the shop rose and turned my way. As it happens, it was a woman.
“Can I help you?” she asked. Her voice was surprisingly sweet, something I wouldn’t have expected out of someone who worked on motorcycles. She stepped out of the shadows cast by the garage, and I saw that she was pretty. Her face was smeared with grease, as was her brownish blond hair, yet I could see through it to the delicate features that would normally put her on a runway rather than under tons of machinery. She even had the figure for it, the curves that spoke of someone who could easily have become a seductress. She wore dark blue coveralls with the arms torn off, exposing biceps that would make quite a few men feel inadequate.
“Um, yeah. I’m looking for Penelope, I think?” It came out as a question.
She chuckled. “You think?” Before I could answer, she went on. “I’m Penelope. And you are?”
“Kristina Hancock, but everyone calls me Krissy.”
Penelope wiped her hands on a rag she pulled from her back pocket. The thing looked as if she had dunked it in oil before using it, so it did little to remove the grime on her hands. She looked at the dirt and grease under her fingernails, shrugged, and then held out a hand. I took it and shook.
“What can I do for you, Krissy?” she asked. As she pulled her hand back, she wiped her arm across her brow, smearing what appeared to be motor oil across her forehead. I tried hard not to stare.
“I have a few questions about a man named Caleb Jenkins.”
“Yeah?” she said. “And why would I know him?”
That took me a little aback. “Your website says he worked here at one point. I figured you could tell me something about him.”
“Does it, now?” She bit her lower lip and looked over my head as if she could see the website somewhere in the clouds. “I don’t really recall the name.”
My heart sank. If Caleb hadn’t worked here long, it would be easy to forget him.
“What about David Smith? Does that ring a bell?”
Penelope shook her head slowly. “No, but now that I’m thinking about it, I think there was a Caleb who worked here for about a week before he up and quit on me.”
“Do you remember why he quit?”
She laughed. “Honey, if I could remember that far back, I wouldn’t keep misplacing my wrench every damn time I set it down.” She grinned. “I hire enough people here that I can hardly recall who still works here and who doesn’t on most days. There’s a lot of people looking for work, what with the economy and all. I tend to get people who breeze into town and work for a month or so before moving on down the road. The only reason I remember Caleb now was because he actually seemed to know a little something about bikes.”
I thought back to the photos on Facebook. I supposed a scooter was close enough to a motorcycle, though I imagine there were also major differences. Maybe he knew something about both. I didn’t know what he did for a living in Idaho, so I supposed it was possible he could have worked at a repair shop there as well.
“What more can you tell me about him?” I asked, hoping she could remember something else.
Penelope gave me a long look as she shoved the rag into her back pocket. “What’s this about, anyway?”
I hated being the one to break the bad news but saw no way around it, not if I wanted to get anything out of her. Penelope seemed like one of those people who would talk only if they felt they could trust you. Lying was no way to earn trust.
“Caleb was murdered a few nights ago.”
Penelope winced but didn’t say anything.
“I was hoping you could tell me a little about him. When he came to Pine Hills, he was going under a different name, making it harder to pinpoint who he was, where he lived, and so on.”
Penelope eyed me, a frown creeping over her pretty features. There was a hint of distrust there, for which I didn’t blame her. I was a stranger here, asking about someone she’d barely known. She had no reason to trust me, and I hadn’t given her any reason to.
She ran her fingers through her hair, darkening it with the grease and oil still on her hands. “You a cop?” She asked it in a way that made me think she might turn around and walk away if I was.
“Nope,” I told her with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
“A dick?”
“Uh, a what?”
“A PI? You know, investigator or something.”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I’ve helped on a murder case before, but this time I’m doing it on my own time. He died in my shop, and well . . . I’d really like to know why.”
“Ah, that’s cool, then.” Penelope rubbed at her chin as if considering what to tell me before turning away. “Wait here a sec.”
I did as she requested. I was anxious to hear what she had to say, hoping she would know something about the man I didn’t already know. Even if she just had a different perspective, it might help me understand who he really was.
A dog barked in the distance, sounding angry. The shadows began to lengthen as the sun neared setting. I had maybe an hour of daylight left, which was fine by me. Once I was done here, I was going to head back to a McDonald’s I’d seen on my way in. I was craving a Big Mac something fierce, having gone without for so long. It would go to my hips, I was sure, but I could deal with that. I still couldn’t get past the fact there were no fast-food places in Pine Hills. It was a tragedy, to be sure.
