Ice Coffee Corruption, page 5
“I love you, Patrick Cane.” I rose up on my toes and gave him a gigantic smooch.
I bent down and ran a gentle hand down Deputy’s back to wake him from his sleep. He bolted up to a sitting position as if he understood the call before I even got his leash.
“Okay, boy,” I said to him on our way out of the tent. “It’s time to see if what I think about you is actually true.”
Patrick gave me a final squeeze before I headed off with Deputy. The festivities remained behind me, but laughter, music, and the occasional bark still filled the air. The lights from the carnival rides flickered in the distance, casting colorful reflections on the lake.
Deputy and I walked down the sidewalk that led to the boardwalk, the soft glow of the festival slowly giving way to the darker, quieter stretch ahead. The path was lined with planters filled with vibrant mums, their rich colors muted in the dim light but still adding a touch of beauty. The crispness of the evening air was invigorating, enhanced by the scent of fallen leaves and the faint hint of wood smoke from nearby chimneys.
As we approached the boardwalk, the sounds of the carnival began to blend with the gentle lapping of the lake’s water against the shore. The boardwalk was quieter now. The twinkling carriage lights along the path provided a soft glow, casting long shadows that danced with each flicker.
Deputy trotted beside me, his ears perked up and his nose occasionally dipping to the ground. The cool breeze ruffled his fur, and he seemed more alert, as if he knew we were heading toward something important.
Ahead, the yellow crime-scene tape fluttered gently in the breeze, a stark reminder of the morning’s grim discovery. The tape cordoned off the area where the pier met the boardwalk, right in front of the Bean Hive.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the task ahead. As we neared the tape, I could see the outlines of the scarecrow still standing ominously in the distance, its form eerily lifelike in the shadows. Deputy’s pace quickened slightly, his nose twitching as he picked up a scent.
“Okay, Deputy,” I murmured, bending down and unclipping his leash. “Show me what you’ve got.”
He hesitated for a moment, looking up at me with his expressive eyes, then lowered his nose to the ground and began to sniff around the perimeter marked by crime-scene tape. His movements were deliberate, each sniff and pause indicating he was picking up on something.
The air grew colder and the scent of the lake more pronounced as we approached the pier. The wooden planks creaked under my feet, a familiar sound that now seemed laden with tension. The gentle hum of the festival in the background was a distant reminder of the world still turning, still celebrating, while we delved into the mystery at hand.
Deputy led me closer to the spot where the scarecrow had been found. His tail wagged slowly, a sign that he was onto something. I watched him closely, noting the way he followed a specific trail, his nose remaining pressed to the ground.
We reached the edge of the pier, where the water lapped gently against the posts. Deputy stopped, pointed his nose toward the water, and let out a low, questioning whine. I knelt beside him, peering into the darkness, trying to see what had caught his attention.
“What is it, boy?” I asked softly, my eyes scanning the water and the surrounding area.
Deputy glanced up at me then back at the water, his body tense with anticipation. He took a few steps closer to the edge, his nose still working the air, and released another low whine.
I took a deep breath, felt the cool air fill my lungs, and stood. As I looked around the pier and the boardwalk, the shadows seemed to deepen, and the sounds of the festival grew even fainter. Whatever Deputy had picked up on, it was here, somewhere in the darkness, waiting to be discovered.
“All right, Deputy,” I said, my voice steady. “Let’s see where this leads us.”
Together, we continued our search, the quiet night enveloping us as we delved deeper into the mystery that had come to Honey Springs.
As Deputy and I continued our search, something caught my eye. Glinting faintly under the moonlight, half-hidden by the leaves, was a pen clipped on the business card. I bent down, picked it up, and turned it over in my hand.
"Good boy, Deputy," I murmured, scratching behind his ears.
It was a business card for Aiken Armstrong’s real estate business.
My heart skipped a beat. The back of the card had a cryptic note scrawled in hurried handwriting:
Meet at the pier. Noon. Bring the proof.
The words sent a shiver down my spine. Why was someone meeting Aiken Armstrong at noon with “proof”?
Proof of what? And why was Jennifer stuffed as a scarecrow instead of Aiken?
I ran a finger and the pen over his name as a cold breeze skittered off the lake, along my ankles, and up my legs, leaving me with the feeling that Aiken was the first suspect on my list.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Roxy, I don’t think you need to go see Aiken,” Patrick said as he walked into the Bean Hive, carrying empty trays stacked precariously high. He paused, surveying the scene with a raised eyebrow.
The wipe-off recipe board from the kitchen, which Aunt Maxi had commandeered earlier in the day, had become the official murder board. Scribbled notes, photos, and timelines were arranged haphazardly under the bold heading Operation Scarecrow.
The coffeehouse now looked more like a makeshift investigation headquarters. The scents of coffee and baked goods lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg from the festival treats we had served earlier.
“And you couldn’t come up with a better name than Operation Scarecrow?” Patrick asked, a mix of amusement and disbelief in his tone.
Just then, Aunt Maxi bustled in, balancing a couple of industrial thermoses in her arms.
“And I’m assuming that’s not decaf coffee you’re drinking,” he said.
“Operation Scarecrow?” she echoed, her voice tinged with excitement. “I’m in!” Eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, she hurried over to the counter. She clapped her hands together and rubbed them vigorously, clearly pleased with the setup. “Perfect title.” Then she playfully smacked Patrick on the arm. “And if anyone sees this,” she pointed out, “they will think it’s about the scarecrow scavenger hunt.”
Patrick shook his head. “I’m not so sure, Maxi,” he said, pointing at a note on the board. “It says ‘killer’ right here under Aiken’s name. I don’t think anyone would mistake this for a scavenger hunt.”
“We keep it in the back anyway,” I assured him, giving him some instructions for the trays. Patrick nodded and headed through the pass-through door to the kitchen, his silhouette framed momentarily by the light from the oven.
I took a sip of coffee and turned to Aunt Maxi, eager to fill her in on my theory.
“I was telling Patrick about how Deputy sniffed out the murder at the Friendsgiving Harvest Festival tonight,” I began, glancing at Deputy, who was now alert on the couch. Sassy, comfortably sprawled in front of the fireplace, lifted her head lazily, while Pepper remained blissfully asleep in his new pet bed from Shandra. His tiny snores punctuated the quiet.
“So, that might’ve been a stretch,” I admitted, “but I honestly believe he picked up some sort of scent. And it got me thinking about if Deputy is true to his name.”
“Decaf?” Aunt Maxi pointed at my cup.
“Yes, right over there.” I pointed her in the direction of where I had made a pot of decaffeinated coffee, which wasn’t truly coffee in my opinion, but I loved the beverage so much that I had to have a cup to get my head on straight if I was going to look into what happened to Jennifer.
More than likely, my belief that coffee made me think more clearly was a mental thingy, but it was my mental thingy, and I was here for it.
And so was Aunt Maxi.
“And what did you find?” Her eyes widened with interest as she took her cup of coffee over to the coffee bar and doctored it up with all sorts of the extra ingredients we had there.
“Well,” I started, glancing at the board filled with clues and theories, “I think Deputy has a knack for this kind of thing. Maybe we can use his skills to our advantage.”
“Like a canine detective,” Aunt Maxi said on her way over to look at the board, nodding thoughtfully. “I like it. Now, what do you think Deputy did to help in the investigation?”
Deputy, as if understanding he was the topic of conversation, popped his head up from the couch. His alert expression made Sassy lift her head from where she was cozily settled in front of the fireplace, her glossy black coat gleaming in the firelight. Pepper, however, stayed happily unaware, rolling over on his back and snoring softly.
Deputy trotted over to us, wagging his tail. I reached down to give him a pat then turned to Aunt Maxi. “Well, he’s already proven he’s got a knack for this kind of thing. Earlier today, he found this.” I handed Aunt Maxi a clear evidence bag that contained the ink pen and business card we had found near the scene.
She took the bag, her eyes widening with interest. “An ink pen and a business card,” she mused, holding the bag up to the light to get a better look. “And what’s this?” She peered closely at the card, her brow furrowing as she read the cryptic note scribbled on the back.
“It’s a business card for Aiken Armstrong’s foundation,” I explained. “The note on the back mentions a secret noontime meeting.”
“Noon as in Jennifer was murdered at noon.” Aunt Maxi’s eyes grew even wider.
“That’s when Deputy found her, or a little after.” I pointed at the makeshift evidence bag. “She’s married to Aiken.”
“Yes. I know. I’ve known them for years and sure did hate to hear tonight that it was Jennifer.” Aunt Maxi looked away solemnly. “I sure didn’t recognize her with all of her stuffed in that straw.”
“When I was a lawyer, I used to talk to people who knew the victims,” I said thoughtfully, looking at Aunt Maxi. “Since you know Aiken and Jennifer, can you tell me more about them?”
“First off, you’re still a lawyer, since you keep up your certification. You just aren’t practicing.” Aunt Maxi nodded, her expression serious. “Aiken had come to me a couple of times to see if I’d sell some of the buildings I own downtown, even this place where the Bean Hive is located, but I declined his offer. He’s always been keen on expanding and developing the town to attract more tourists. That’s why he’s a huge contributor to the events in town. He wants Honey Springs to thrive.”
“And Jennifer? Did you know her well?”
“Jennifer was quieter,” Aunt Maxi said, apparently thinking back. “She supported Aiken’s ambitions but stayed out of the limelight. I think she preferred it that way. She was always polite and kind, but I didn’t know her as well as I know Aiken.”
Aunt Maxi’s jaw tensed, and she looked up at me, her eyes wide again.
“What?” I asked, wondering what she’d just remembered.
“Did you know Aiken proposed at the town council meeting last month to purchase the Bee Happy Spa on the small island in the middle of Lake Honey Springs from Kirk?” she asked, watching my reaction.
“Really?” I replied and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know about that. But it makes sense. The spa is a prime location and could draw a lot of tourists.”
Not that I would like to see my ex-husband and his little family of three move out of Honey Springs after he’d moved here, bought some property, and ended up staying. We were on fine terms, but I sure would like to have a life without him in it.
“Do you think Aiken would go to extreme lengths to get what he wants?” I asked, my mind racing with possibilities. “And why would he kill his wife?”
Aunt Maxi sighed, looking troubled. “I don’t know, Roxy. He’s ambitious, but murder? That’s a whole different level. But we can’t ignore the evidence Deputy found. There’s definitely something more going on here.”
I nodded, feeling a mix of determination and unease. “We need to find out more about that meeting and what Jennifer knew. It might be the key to solving this. Which is why I am going to go see Aiken myself.”
Aunt Maxi and I both picked up our coffee mugs and looked beyond us, like we were both thinking about the possibility of Aiken killing his own wife over a business deal.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The potbelly stove in the corner was already warming the room, filling it with a crackle of burning wood that would normally make for a relaxing Monday off, but this morning, my mind was filled with the errands I needed to do so I could put on the best Friendsgiving for my own friends and family. I had done that over the last several years. There was no way I would let a murder alter my plans, but if on my travels today I just so happened to hear something or run into someone—say, Aiken—then I could stray from the day’s mission for a moment.
I sat at the small café table, making lists and coordinating plans for the upcoming event. The smell of fresh coffee from the pot on the counter mingled with the scent of the wood burning in the stove. Chilling thoughts ran through my head.
Patrick and Sassy were getting ready to leave for work. She was patiently sitting at his feet while he packed his lunch. It was the cutest image. That girl loved her daddy. I didn’t blame her. He was pretty amazing.
“What’s on your plan today?” Patrick poured himself a cup of coffee, came over to the table, and sat down across from me.
“Well…” I smiled and watched as he took a sip of the coffee, knowing how much he loved the new blend.
“Oh, this is so good, Rox.” He sighed.
“I’m doing our Friendsgiving planning this morning before I go to Pet Palace,” I said, reminding him that it was my night to go volunteer there.
“Is that all?” he asked, knowing me so well. “And there’s the silence.”
“I’m not going to look for anything, but I’m open to finding out information if it’s presented to me,” I told him. “Have you heard any rumblings about Kirk selling the Bee Happy Spa?”
“Aiken did come to see me about some renovations for the spa. He had photos of the outsides of some of the buildings. Not only has the lake weather done a number on some of them, but so has just being in the forest foliage.” He took another sip. “I asked him if Kirk was selling, and he mentioned something about trying to get him to.”
“But nothing definitive?” I pressed.
“Roxy, I’m not a witness to a murder, and you aren’t the district attorney.” In no uncertain terms, he was telling me to stop asking questions.
Hearing things in passing was okay with him, but me actually putting myself in danger and actively snooping around was something that didn’t sit too well in his gut. Still, he knew I was going to do what I did best… snoop.
He got up and walked back over to the coffeepot to fill up his to-go mug.
“I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I did go over there to check out the spa as a favor to Aiken, and I saw Kirk talking to Jennifer.” Patrick said that like he was just reporting some Sunday talk. You know, the kind of words you exchanged with someone you saw in passing in the pews in church.
That sort of talk.
Patrick gave me a kiss on the cheek as he headed toward the door. Sassy trotted obediently by his side. She had a gorgeous glossy black coat.
“Whoa, whoa.” I jumped to my feet and planted myself between him and the front door. “You can’t just casually say that and leave.”
“This is why I didn’t tell you.” He cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t hear anything but Kirk fussing after he saw me, and he came up wanting to know what I was doing there.”
“Did you tell him?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“And?” I could see I was going to have to pull this information out of him like I would do to a witness on the stand. “What did you say, exactly, and what was his reaction?”
“I told him, ‘Aiken sent me over, which isn’t a crime.’ He told me he wasn’t selling.” Patrick apparently felt like that was enough for him not to have to answer any more questions.
He always took people for however they wanted him to see them. But I knew Kirk and saw him for the low-down, dirty-dog, cheating SOB that he was, and I didn’t care one bit that he was married and had a child.
Only one problem. I liked his wife. Bless her heart.
“Do you think Kirk and Jennifer were…” I let the incomplete sentence linger, unable to bring myself even to think he was doing to her what he’d done to me. “I mean, she is probably a client of the spa, and he cheated on me with one of our clients.”
Kirk and I had been married lawyers who started our own law firm. I had thought we were solid, doing good, until I went back to the office late one night and saw him doing exactly what he told me he was going to do—working on a client. Literally.
“I don’t know, Roxy, and I don’t care.” Patrick reached around me and opened the door. “I care about you and these rascals.” He pointed his truck keys at each one of the fur babies, including Deputy. “And no.”
He protested the look on my face that told him how well Deputy fit into our little family of four.
“Be careful today,” Patrick said, his deep-brown eyes filled with concern. “And keep an eye on Deputy. He’s a good dog, but I don’t want him causing any trouble for you.”
That was his way of telling me not to let the dog sniff out any more clues.
“I will,” I assured Patrick, giving him a reassuring smile. “You have a good day too. And don’t worry about Deputy. I’ve got plans for him.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow, knowing exactly what that meant. “Just don’t get yourself into too much trouble.”
He gave me one last kiss and headed out the door, Sassy following close behind. The front porch creaked as they walked across it, the sound mingling with the soft rustling of the leaves in the morning breeze.
Deputy and Pepper were staying with me today. Normally, Deputy would be showcased at the Bean Hive for adoption through the Pet Palace, but given recent events, I decided to keep him with me. I had a hunch that his keen sense of smell might come in handy for the investigation.
