Death Before Decaf (12 page)

“NO!” I screamed, writhing and kicking with everything I had, but he was strong. I had never felt so powerless in my life. My attempts were futile, and I began to panic at the thought of what was about to happen to me.

Just as Johnny's free hand began to snake its way up my skirt, I heard Pete's voice yell, “Hands off, asshole!”

Johnny turned around just as Pete's fist made contact with his jaw. I heard a loud crack, and Johnny released his grip on me and tumbled to the floor. My mouth hanging open, I stared at Pete, who was wincing and cradling his fist in his other hand. I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that my sweet little Pete had swooped in and delivered a beat down in order to save me.

Pete yelled at me, “Go!”

Startled into action, I ran for the door, stumbling in my heels in my haste. Pete grabbed my hand to keep me upright as we tore across the broken, uneven pavement. We didn't stop running until we reached his car. Pete turned the key, stepped on the gas, and peeled out of the parking lot. After running two stop signs, he finally pulled the car over several blocks from the motel. Still panting, he looked at me and scowled.

“What the hell happened?” he exploded. “Was that Johnny?”

I looked at his red knuckles. His hand had to hurt. I hoped the cracking sound I had heard was Johnny's jaw and not Pete's hand.

Using every last ounce of energy I had to keep my voice even, I said, “The one and only.”

His face was as red as his knuckles. “I told you this was a bad idea! Not only did we break into someone's room—which is illegal, by the way—but I
assaulted
someone!”

“Pete, I'm sorry. I didn't think he'd be back that soon.”

He shook his head angrily. “You've taken this way too far, Jules. What do I have to do to get it through your head?”

I wasn't used to Pete being angry with me. “I'm sorry,” I said quietly, as a tear rolled down my cheek.

He wasn't even close to finished with his tirade. “What do you think he would have done to you if I hadn't come back just then, huh? What if I hadn't come with you tonight? You didn't think any of this through! The bartender told you to steer clear of Johnny, but you couldn't let it go. I've never been so scared in my life as when I walked into that room. To hear you screaming…and then when I saw him pinning you against the wall…when I think about what nearly happened…Is
any
of this getting through?”

When his expression turned from angry to frightened, I lost it. Tears gushed from my eyes as reality came crashing in on me. What
would
have happened if Pete hadn't been there? I didn't want to think about it, but my mind kept replaying how Johnny had so easily overpowered me and how utterly helpless he had made me feel. Struggling to push him out of my thoughts and compose myself, I wiped my face with still-trembling hands.

Pete finally looked over at me and groaned. “Aw, now, that's not fair. I can't be mad at you if you're crying.” He reached over and gripped my shoulder, only to cringe and pull his hand back. “Holy hell, my freaking hand really hurts!”

“You may need to get that looked at,” I said uneasily, wiping my streaming nose. His knuckles had begun to swell.

Wincing, he made a fist and released it. “It doesn't feel broken.” He chuckled. “I wonder if that guy has been able to get up off the floor yet.”

I smiled through my tears. “You really put a beat down on him, Pete.
Muy macho
.”

Pete grinned at me. It struck me as horribly cute that Pete was so proud of clocking some guy. He had never hit anyone before in his entire life. “I think you're a bad influence, Jules. I was very mild-mannered until you came back to town.”

That was true, and I wasn't proud of it. I changed the subject. “So if you're not going to get your hand checked out, at least let me wrap it up and put some ice on it. There's a fully stocked first-aid kit at the coffeehouse.”

He sighed dramatically. “If you must.”

On the drive back to Java Jive, I filled Pete in on what I had found out from the bartender about Johnny and his fight with Dave. As Pete was unlocking the door, I asked, “Did you learn anything from talking to the manager?”

He laughed. “I learned that he's a jackass.”

“I already knew that.” I led Pete to the counter and filled a bag with ice, gently placing it on his injured hand.

“He told me that he wasn't Johnny's effing keeper and that my whore friend better bring his effing key back.”

I reached into my pocket and produced the key. “You mean this key? Oops.”

“Tough shit. We're not going back to return it.” He shook his head. “This whole thing is a mess. Charlene was right—Dave was in with a lot of screwed-up people who wouldn't think twice about killing him. The police targeting you in his murder is laughable. You were attacked tonight. Now do you feel like you can quit all of your Sherlock Holmes nonsense?”

He was right. This evening had actually scared some sense into me. I still felt a bit fragile and on edge, weak and shaky from the frightening ordeal. My head was splitting from when Johnny shoved me against the wall, but I didn't dare tell Pete. I got the first-aid kit out from under the counter and opened it. “Yeah. I really was in over my head tonight. I think I'm done.” After removing the bag of ice, I took Pete's hand and began wrapping a compression bandage around his injured knuckles.

“Good. Because if you need saving again, you're out of luck. I don't punch so good with my left hand.” He gave me a mock punch on the cheek with his free hand. I playfully swatted his hand away, but when I looked up, his face had become serious. He reached out again, this time cradling my face in his hand and piercing me with his brown eyes. “Jules, it really scared the shit out of me when I saw that guy assaulting you. I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you…”

Pete's touch on my face warmed me all over. My heart got that strange, full feeling like it had when he sang “You Are Mine.” I smiled, because I couldn't speak. My body began to quake again—with fear or exhaustion, I wasn't sure. I held his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest.

Then the front door burst open, and the moment was shattered. Pete and I flew apart as Cecilia stalked through the door. Her eyes were flashing, and her face was white with fury. She was pissed. “I thought you said you were tired tonight, Pete! I guess you're not too tired to go slumming with your slutty help.”

Oh. No. She. Didn't. Although, to be fair, I was purposely dressed as a slut, and technically, I
was
the help, so her statement was not inaccurate. This seemed like it was going to get ugly, so I took my cue to leave. I murmured, “I'll just head out to my corner now. Good luck, Pete.” I ran for the door, giving Cecilia a wide berth. Pete was on his own with this one.

It was nearly midnight, but since it was a college area, there were still a few people milling around and I felt fairly safe walking home by myself. My feet were killing me in these heels, but it would be far worse to walk barefoot on the sidewalk, so I hobbled the couple of blocks back to my apartment. Now that I was alone, a rush of feelings began to swirl inside me as images from the previous hour flashed through my head. Pete's fist colliding with Johnny's face. The raw fury in Pete's eyes. The crack of Johnny's jaw. Johnny's body pressed against mine. His breath. His overpowering strength. I walked faster.

Rounding the corner into my apartment complex, I got an odd tingling feeling in my spine that someone was watching me. I turned around, but didn't see anyone. There was no way that Johnny could have dragged himself up off the floor and followed us from the Franklin Motel. I was sure that I was imagining things. It had been a long, completely insane day. Hopefully tomorrow would be better. I kept thinking that, but it never seemed to happen.

When I got to my door, I found my neighbor sitting on my doorstep. I
so
didn't have the energy to deal with him tonight. Although, this time, he was sitting upright and seemed to be sober.

He looked up at me and his eyes bulged out. “Whoa. You look…different.”

I looked down at my clothes. “Um…costume party. You remember me?”

“Strangely enough, yes. I came to apologize. I'm sorry about crying all over your doorstep.”

Wow. Nice kid. “It's okay. We've all been dumped before.”

He got up and stuck out his hand. “I'm Trevor Wells, by the way. I'm a computer science major at Vandy.”

“Juliet Langley. I'm the new manager at Java Jive.”

“Oh, I love that place,” Trevor exclaimed, and then grew serious. “Hey, I wanted you to know that I'm really not a drunk. I just had a bad day. It won't happen again. I promise to be a model neighbor. Anything you need, just come over and ask me.”

“Thanks, Trevor.” I suddenly had a thought. “Actually, there is something you could help me with.”

“Okay, shoot.”

I was going to make one last attempt to figure out the connection between Dave and the mail he had taken from the three Vandy students. I didn't know if I could trust Trevor with all of my information, so I just told him the bare minimum. “If I gave you the names of three Vandy students, could you try to help me figure out the connection between them?”

He shrugged. “Sure. I can get you pretty much any information you want to know about any student there.”

“Wow. You must be pretty hooked up.”

Grinning sheepishly, he admitted, “No, I just know how to hack into their student database.”

“Oh, my. Okay, then.” You never knew when a computer geek could come in handy.

“Hey, come to my apartment, and we can do it now.” He hopped up and ushered me through his door.

I would have preferred to first wash away the lingering stench of Johnny that still clung to me. I would probably have to burn these clothes, not that it would be a big loss. But no time like the present. Trevor's apartment wasn't any cleaner or better smelling than before, but compared to Johnny Brewer's motel room, this place was spotless.

Opening his laptop, Trevor typed furiously for a few minutes and then asked, “What are their names?”

“Whitney Birch, Jared Drummond, and Aaron Saltzman.”

He typed some more, and then frowned at the screen. “I'm not seeing anything that they have in common. Different majors, different dorms, different ages, different hometowns, different clubs…There's nothing. Here, have a look.” He turned his laptop so that I could see the screen. I couldn't see any similarities between the three of them, either. He ventured, “If you don't mind me asking, why do you want to know all of this?”

I sighed. I guessed I could tell him a little more. “I think my…um…friend stole some mail from those three students. I'm afraid this friend could be mixed up in something that's not terribly legal. I'd like to know a little more about it so I can find a way to help, but I can't figure out why he stole from them specifically.”

Trevor looked thoughtful for a moment and turned his laptop back. He studied the screen for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Got it. Their mailboxes are near one another.”

“That's it? That doesn't tell me much.”

“No, but it makes sense. People get their mail stolen at school all of the time. All of the student mailboxes are in one place, and hardly anyone locks them. It would be very easy to grab mail out of several boxes in a cluster.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed. I'd been hoping for a more meaningful connection than simply that their mailboxes were close to one another. Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, I headed toward the door. “Well, thanks for the help, Trevor. I appreciate it.”

“No prob.”

The next morning, I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. I ached all over, and not even a hot shower could work out all of the kinks in my back and legs. I had kind of forgotten about the physical strain of working in a restaurant from sunup to sundown. I desperately needed coffee, but that would have to wait until I got to work. Since I worked at a coffeehouse, I didn't feel the need to purchase a coffeemaker for my apartment—or any other kitchen appliances, for that matter. I hadn't really intended to have a life outside of work, and my plan was to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at Java Jive. Maybe once the whole murder thing calmed down I wouldn't be quite as exhausted.

The day at Java Jive started out just like the day before, with an endless line of customers and consequently a bunch of frazzled employees. Something was different today, though. I felt like everyone was staring at me, and I could swear I kept hearing my name being whispered. As I was wiping off the counter, a smartly dressed woman sat down in front of me.

“Are you Juliet?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered cautiously.

“I'm Patty Fortune, from the
Tennessee Star
. How do you feel about Don Wolfe's allegations that you are the lead suspect in the murder of David Hill?”

I froze, and my heart skipped a beat. I breathed, “I'm…what?”

“Didn't you read his article this morning in the
Gazette
?”

“N-n-no.” How could this be happening?

“Is it true, then? Are you suspected of murdering one of your employees?”

“No!” I whispered furiously. “And keep your voice down!”

“I'd love to tell your side of the story. How about an exclusive?”

“No. Absolutely not. I want nothing to do with this.” I turned to leave.

“You're knee-deep in it, sister, whether you want to be or not. If I were you, I'd be trying to clear my name, not hiding.”

Heading for the sanctuary of the office, I allowed myself to have a little freak-out. Cromwell didn't say that I was the
lead suspect,
he said I was
one of the best leads
they had. To me, that was a big difference. Why in the hell would Don Wolfe tell a flat-out lie in the newspaper? Couldn't I sue him for that? Or what if he had a source inside the police department and now I
was
considered the lead suspect? Regardless of the danger (and my promise to Pete), I had to find the real killer.

I peeked out into the front of the house to see if the reporter was gone. She was, but Seth was there instead, chatting up Gertie at the counter. I really wanted to talk to Gertie, because she was the closest thing I had to family here, except Pete. However, I didn't especially want to talk to Seth, so I spent most of my time in the kitchen until he left.

When the coast was clear, I headed out to see Gertie. She was still at her usual stool, sipping coffee.

I grabbed the coffeepot and topped off her cup, and then leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Have you ever seen so many people in here, Gertie?”

She snorted in disgust. “Damn stupid gawkers. Don't they know there's not diddly shit to see now? Although it's not bad for business.”

“That's true. We're definitely raking in the profits. Too bad about the reason.” I hesitated. “Did you by any chance read the
Gazette
this morning?”

“Yes, I did. That bastard dragged your good name through the mud! If I were you, I'd sue him till his eyeballs bled.”

“I'd love to, but I don't want to make anything worse.”

She patted my hand with her wrinkled one. “Well, try not to worry your pretty little head about it, dear. At least it wasn't in the
Star
. Nobody reads the
Gazette
anyway.”

I knew talking to Gertie would make me feel better. She understood me. We were both from small towns in the Midwest, so she would always say we Yankees had to stick together against all these Southerners, especially the snooty Southern belles. In college, I had always gone to Gertie with my problems. I was happy to have her to turn to again.

I sighed. “I hope not.”

Gertie shook an arthritic finger in my face. “Juliet, I tell you, this murder doesn't sit well with me one bit. You be careful around here, missy. I don't want you or my Pete getting hurt. I never dreamed this damn place could be so dangerous. I guess it killed my George, though. The stress of running this place ruined his ticker.”

Poor Gertie. George was her only child. He'd had a year's worth of heart problems, until one day his heart just gave out. I didn't know how to respond to that, so I kept quiet and listened.

She shrugged and chuckled. “That, or pining over his bitch ex-wife was what did him in.”

Leave it to Gertie to ruin a sad moment with a crass remark. I smiled. “Oh, Gertie.”

Actually, she had handled George's death fairly well. She had never stopped coming to the coffeehouse every day, despite the painful absence of her son. She did it to support Pete. She'd practically raised him. Pete's mom had left when he was seven, not long after his sister was born. That left George alone with two children, but luckily Gertie was more than happy to jump in and help.

She eyed me and asked, “What's going on with you and that sweet piece of man-meat, Seth? He said you two went on a date. Did you get to see what's under that tight little T-shirt of his?”

I blushed. “No, I did
not
see what was under his tight little T-shirt. We went out on one date, and then lunch yesterday. That's all. I'm not even sure I like the guy.”

“What's not to like? Hell's bells, I bet his pecker is a foot long.”

I put my head in my hands and wished I could unhear that.

“Shit. If I were fifty years younger, I'd have him fixing my plumbing.”

I couldn't take much more of this. Thankfully, I heard the phone ringing. “Gotta answer the phone. Later, Gert.”

“Prude!” she called after me.

Retreating to the innuendo-free sanctuary of the office, I answered the phone. “Java Jive, this is Juliet. How can I help you?”

“Is this Juliet Langley?” asked a heavily-accented voice.

Damn it, not again. I didn't know if I could handle another reporter. I sighed. “Yes.”

“Good. This is Paolina Ghirlandi.” Thank goodness it wasn't a reporter. “I got your message, but I am confused. I've never been to your Java Jive, so I don't know how I could have lost something there.”

“I found a Visa card with your name on it.”

“A Visa card? A moment,
per favore
.” There was silence for a few seconds, and then she said, “I have my Visa card in my hand, so I don't understand how you also have my Visa card. What is going on?”

I was at a loss. “Do you know of any other Paolina Ghirlandis in the Nashville area?”

“No, and Ghirlandi is not a terribly common name. I am probably the only one.”

I was grasping at straws. “Do you by any chance have duplicate cards? Or maybe two different accounts?”

“No, I don't. Why don't we get together so that we can discuss it further? I can meet you at three.”

“Three o'clock would be fine. Would you like to come here to Java Jive?”

“My class schedule is very busy today. Is it possible you could meet me on campus? Maybe at the Vanderbilt library?”

“Yes, that would be fine.” A field trip would probably do me some good. It would be nice to get out. And it would do me even more good to get to the bottom of this credit card issue. Besides, if someone on my staff
had
stolen Paolina's card, it was probably best to discuss the matter elsewhere.

Lunch wasn't as rough as it had been the day before, probably because I actually knew what I was doing. The time passed quickly, and once the lunch rush was over, Pete came in through the back door. He looked like death, but…sexy death. He hadn't shaved, his hair was messy, and judging from the dark circles under his eyes, he hadn't slept. This wasn't normal Pete. This was like a hard-partying rocker version of Pete, only I knew he hadn't been out carousing last night.

“Pete, are you okay?” I asked worriedly.

Brandon looked up and said, “Yo, Pete.” Brandon didn't need to hear our conversation, so I ushered Pete out of the kitchen and into the office.

He sprawled in a chair and wiped a hand down his face. “I didn't sleep.”

“I gathered that. Wanna talk about it?” I had left him high and dry with an extremely pissed-off Cecilia last night, so there was no telling what had happened.

Pete groaned. “My damn hand was hurting all night, and I kept having nightmares about you and that guy at the motel.”

I went over and sat across from him, taking his good hand. “I'm so sorry. I feel like it's all my fault.”

“That's because it is,” he said sarcastically.

I chose not to engage. “Anything else happen?”

Shrugging, he said, “Cecilia dumped me.”

I didn't think that was a bad thing, but it hurt to get dumped, even if it was for your own good. “That was probably partially my fault, too. Sorry.”

He grinned. “Nah. Our relationship has been rocky for a while. It was time.”

“I never liked her anyway.”

“I know.” He was obviously done talking about it, because he abruptly changed the subject. “How's business today?”

“Busy, just like yesterday. But we're managing.”

“Good.” He looked at me with puppy dog eyes. “Jules?”

“Yes?” I replied warily. He wanted something.

“Would you make me one of your famous waffle tacos for lunch? I could use some comfort food.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Gross, Pete! I haven't made one of those in years. I don't think your thirty-one-year-old stomach can handle it.” I had come up with the waffle taco when we worked here in college. I'd make a waffle with some of the batter we used for our dessert waffles, then stuff it with our taco salad fixings: taco meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, salsa, and hot sauce. It was gastrointestinal distress on a plate.

“Please?”

I shook my head. “Fine. But don't come crying to me when you're farting fire later.”

He laughed. It was good to hear that. I was responsible for Pete's crappy day, and if a waffle taco was the only thing that would cure it, then that's what I would give him. I went to the kitchen and quickly made the nasty dish, getting a few strange looks from Brandon. I didn't explain.

Pete was going through the mail when I returned with his waffle taco. As soon as he saw the ungodly concoction, his eyes lit up.

“Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talking about!” he cried, grabbing the plate from me. He took a big bite and moaned, “Jules, this is
so
good.”

I turned up my nose at him. “I'll leave you alone with your lunch. I'm going to help with the shift change while you have your foodgasm.”

“I might just have multiple foodgasms. What do you think about that?” he called with his mouth full as I closed the door.

My evening crew members were beginning to trickle in, and Camille and Rhonda looked more than ready to go home. I caught them before they could leave, wanting to make sure I asked everyone about the mysterious credit card.

“Hey, ladies. I found a credit card in the pastry case yesterday. Either of you have any idea how it got there?”

“What are you trying to say?” huffed Rhonda. You generally didn't want to try to stop Rhonda on her way out the door.

“Nothing, Rhonda. I just need to know why it happened so we can make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“Well, I don't know. And I don't care. It's 2:01. Now let me out of here, or I'll charge you for overtime!” Rhonda pushed past me and swept out the door.

Camille smiled at me. “She's a bit gruff sometimes. Don't take it personally.”

“Thanks, Camille. Do you know about the card?”

“Sure wish I did. Sorry.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

When I turned back to the counter, Jamie, Brianna, and Cole were already in place and doing their thing. Luckily, we were not quite as packed as yesterday, but we still had a nice crowd. They wouldn't miss me when I went to meet Paolina.

Hoping that Pete was done with his lunch, I went back to the office. He had his hand on the back door, ready to leave.

“Hey, I gotta bounce, but thanks for lunch, Jules. I'll think of you when the diarrhea comes later.”

I choked on a laugh. “Please don't.”

Happy to see him joking around again, I started to feel a little better about my whole situation. Things were actually starting to look up around here. I had received a call earlier and had a potential candidate coming in for an interview for Dave's job. Having an extra set of hands around here would relieve a lot of my stress. Also, in an hour I'd have the credit card mess put to bed, and then I could focus all of my efforts on Java Jive…and trying to solve a murder.