Death Before Decaf (22 page)

“Disturbances? You mean when all those hicks went ape shit on each other?” Cole chortled.

His face grim, Logan barked, “Shut up, Cole.”

Ignoring them, I continued, “In light of the hurt feelings from this morning, Pete would like for us all to stay in the front of the house during the luncheon, for safety reasons. Please listen for arguments and disagreements, as we would like to stop them before they have a chance to get out of control. I know this is a lot to ask, but our first priority has to be to keep everyone safe. Please don't try to stop any fighting yourselves. Find Pete or me immediately. We will handle it. Okay?”

They all nodded, not looking too thrilled at the prospect of getting caught in the middle of another redneck brawl. They all dispersed, except for Rhonda.

She sneered at me and asked, “Did you see your picture in the
Gazette
this morning?”

Shit. That reporter bastard Don Wolfe was at it again. I called that one. “No, I did not.”

She laughed meanly. “It wasn't flattering. And neither was the story. Trouble seems to follow you wherever you go.”

I didn't really care what Rhonda thought, and I wasn't about to get into an argument with her. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, hurrying out of the kitchen.

Gina, Billy, and Charlene were notably missing from the festivities. I assumed that Billy was busy moving his crap out of Gina's house, or at the very least standing there aghast while Gina threw his crap out the front door. Or maybe he was getting his eyes tended to. Gina had very nearly clawed them out. I wasn't expecting any of them to show up. After all of the nonsense Gina and Charlene pulled earlier, I wasn't sure either was up for any more theatrics.

Surprisingly, our staff dealt with the funeral-goers politely and with respect. I was just starting to relax when Charlene made her grand entrance.

“Pete, sweetheart, yoo-hoo!” Scrubbed of the graveyard dirt and dressed in yet another hooker-esque getup, Charlene called and waved from the door.

I glanced at Pete, who was frozen in his tracks, a look of total repulsion on his face.

Charlene strutted over to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Pete. You wonderful man. I can't thank you enough for footing the bill for this extravagant party for my family and friends.” Good old Charlene was seeing dollar signs again. She was ogling Pete the same way she had after he gave her that check at her house. I nonchalantly strolled closer to them so that I could hear their conversation.

Pete grabbed her arms and disentangled them from his neck. “I did this to honor my friend Dave, Charlene. Not to throw you a party. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get some more plates from the back.” He swiftly walked away, leaving her pouting. Go, Pete. He usually couldn't deal with Charlene, but today he put her in her place.

Everyone who had been gawking at Charlene and Pete's little exchange returned to eating, and I went around refilling coffee cups and collecting dirty plates. From what I could tell, the funeral-goers all seemed to be in a better mood now, probably thanks to the free meal. I was relieved to find that my staff didn't have to deal with any unsavory characters. Rhonda, Jamie, and Shane probably could have held their own, but the others would have been toast.

Pete emerged from the back with a stack of plates in hand, and Charlene immediately descended on him like a horny harpy. “Would you find me a place to sit, darlin'?”

Snagging Shane by the arm, he said, “Shane, get Mrs. Hill a table. Charlene, have you met Shane?” After pushing the two of them together, he delivered his plates to the buffet table and holed up behind the counter, pretending to be very busy making coffee.

I couldn't resist. I leaned across the counter and asked, “Did I just see you ‘Have you met Shane' Charlene? If so, that was pure evil genius. Shane is a very pretty young man, and if he's even remotely polite to her, she'll be on him like white on rice.”

“What?” he said, wrinkling his forehead and feigning innocence.

“I'm on to you, buddy.”

Charlene was busy chatting up a very wary-looking Shane, so she didn't notice when Gina walked in. Gina had cleaned herself up, but she still looked a wreck. I felt for her, even though the whole casket diving incident was mostly her fault. I hurried over to greet her, but Logan beat me to her. He put his arm around Gina and guided her to a table, then he ran and got her a drink. After she was settled, he filled a plate of food for her and sat down with her. What a sweet kid.

People were starting to leave a couple at a time, so the crowd was getting more manageable. We needed to begin cleaning up or we'd never get out of here, so I made the decision to pull Shane from Charlene's clutches so he and Brandon could get a head start on the dishes.

I walked over to where Charlene had Shane pinned and said, “Shane, could you please start on the dishes? We have quite a stack of dirty ones in the kitchen.”

“Absolutely,” Shane said, beaming at me. He jumped up and took off for the kitchen, knocking over his chair in the process.

I righted his chair and noticed Charlene giving me the evil eye. “Do you and my Pete have something going, firecrotch?” she asked.

Redheaded She-Devil did not like being called “firecrotch.” Resisting the urge to slap Charlene, lest I start her second chick fight of the day, I replied, “No, but neither do you and Pete. You need to get that through your thick head.”

Standing up, she got in my face. “We'll see about that.” Spinning around and whacking me with her nasty, touch-up-needing hair, she zeroed in on Pete.

He saw her coming, raised his palms, and mouthed, “What did you do?” at me.

I gave him an apologetic smile and trailed behind her.

Sashaying up to Pete, she stuck out her lower lip. “Pete, sugar, I know you love me. But Red here doesn't believe me. If we don't have something going on between us, then why else would you shower me with money, take me out on a date, and be so awfully sweet to me?”

It was a good thing Miller Time Guy and Big Nose had taken a pass on the meal. They might have frowned on the fact that Charlene thought she was “dating” Pete, too.

“Because I'm a nice guy. I only took you out to”—he flicked his eyes momentarily at me—“cheer you up after your husband died. Dave was my friend, and I felt I owed it to him to check on you. Nothing more. I gave you some extra money because I knew you'd be strapped without his paycheck coming in, and I wouldn't put it past you to do something illegal to make a quick buck. But I'm done being nice. You made a mockery of his funeral, Charlene. I know you're hurting from losing him, but this has to stop. You need to take it down a notch. Spend some time by yourself and allow yourself to grieve. And if nothing else, you need to understand that you and I will never be together. Ever.”

Charlene stared at Pete, dumbfounded. She didn't have a response, probably because that was
the
best kiss-off speech in the history of kiss-offs. There was no rebuttal for an ass-chewing like that. She backed away, wide-eyed. On her way out the door, she stopped for a moment next to Gina and Logan. Charlene whispered to Gina, “I'm sorry,” and fled.

Wheeling back around to Pete, I said, “That was
awesome
! My sweet little Pete grew a great big pair of big boy balls and finally told Charlene what he thought. I'm so proud.”

“My balls have always been plenty big,” he said defensively. “Besides, she needed a little tough love. She's out of control.”

“No shit.” After I thought about it for a moment, I realized Pete wasn't being mean with what he said to Charlene. He was trying to help her. It was obvious she didn't have anyone in her life to point out what a mess she was making. Every time I thought Pete couldn't be more perfect, he surprised me.

Most of the funeral-goers were heading out now, so I dismissed the staff from crowd control and had them begin cleaning up. I wasn't really sure what I was going to do after the meal was over, whether I was “allowed” to go home or if I had to stay with Ryder again or what. I hadn't talked to him since this morning, but I knew he had to be either following a lead or lurking around outside somewhere. I still couldn't put together how Dave and his ex-con buddies fit in with whatever Ryder had been investigating at Vanderbilt. I knew better than to ask, because I wouldn't get an answer anyway.

Finally, Gina was the only one who was left. She had her hand on Logan's shoulder, and Logan seemed very upset. There were tears in his eyes, and he was speaking earnestly to her. I continued to clean tables, staying far away, knowing that neither of them would want me in their business. Logan wiped his eyes, and Gina gave him a hug. She got up and went over to speak to Pete.

I took my opportunity to make a little peace with Logan. Walking over to him, I said gently, “Logan, if you'd like to get out of here, you can. We've got more than enough help to get this place cleaned up.”

He glared at me through his tears. “Yeah, I'll go. But don't think that I believe you actually care. I know it's all an act.”

The kid hated me. Maybe he needed someone to take his grief out on. I just wished it didn't have to be me. “I do care. I'm sorry about how I treated Dave. I screwed up. And I wish I could tell him that, but I can't. I have to live with it.”

“We all have to live with what happened,” he said, brushing past me and storming out the door.

Pete came over and put his arm around me. “I think you're really getting somewhere with him, Jules,” he said with mock seriousness.

“Shut up.”

Once we were close to being finished, I texted Ryder to ask him what I was supposed to do next. I hated having to ask someone else's permission to go to my own apartment, but Voice Changer Guy's death threat weighed more heavily on me than I was letting on. He texted back, saying I could either stay at Java Jive, in the back so no one knew I was there, or he would take me to his house. He still had work to do, so either way I'd be on my own for a while. Going to my own home was unfortunately not an option. I chose to stay at the coffeehouse, thinking now would be a good time to try out a couple of pastry recipes I'd been working on. I wanted to get away from serving store-bought pastries as soon as we could. Granted, it would take a little extra manpower to bake them every day, but I figured I could come in a little early and get them started. What was another couple of hours tacked on to my already too-long day?

The place was spotless again, and Pete and I let the staff go home. He asked me, “What are you up to now?”

I hadn't told him about my scary phone call, because he would only worry, and Ryder seemed to have my safety taken care of anyway. “I'm going to try out some recipes I want to use to replace our yucky bakery items.”

He grinned at me. “Mmm. I think that's a great idea. Want some help?”

“Sure.” Pete and I used to concoct recipes in the kitchen all the time when we worked here. That's how the waffle taco was invented. Pete came up with an equally nasty one, the chili donut, but the waffle taco was always our favorite.

“What are we making?”

I got out the recipe binder from my café and removed three printed pages. “How about Oatmeal Coconut Chocolate Chip Cookies, Bumbleberry Streusel Muffins, and Bacon Cheddar Scones?”

“What's a bumbleberry? It's not like a dingleberry, is it?” he asked, making a face.

I stopped hauling ingredients out of the refrigerator to stare at him. “What are you, ten years old? It's a foodie term for mixed berries.”

“Oh. Maybe you should call them Mixed Berry Muffins to avoid confusion.”

“I don't think it'll be a problem since our customer base is mostly
adults,
Pete.”

He ignored my little jab. “Jules, do you
have
to put coconut in the cookies?” he asked pleadingly.

Getting out several bowls and various utensils and setting them on the prep table, I replied, “Oh, quit your whining. You may not like coconut, but other people do. Besides, I'm trying to get away from the same boring old cookies and muffins you can buy anywhere. Our coffee drinks and food are unusual—why shouldn't our pastries be, too?”

“I trust your judgment, Jules, but it's a big risk to completely change our whole pastry selection.”

As I started mixing the cookie dough, I asked him, “How many times in the history of Java Jive have we sold out of those tasteless, prepackaged pastries we sell?”

He thought for a moment. “Um…once, almost?”

“Exactly. And do you know how many times my café sold out of my homemade gourmet pastries?”

“I bet you're going to tell me.”

“Every day,” I said proudly. “Well, that is, until Scott the Dickhead ruined the place and everything went to hell.”

He looked at me sympathetically. “You really need to let that go, Jules.”

I threw a handful of chocolate chips at him as my response, which he caught most of and ate. Smiling, Pete picked up a scooper and started helping me deposit cookie dough onto several cookie sheets.

After putting the cookies in the oven, I asked him tentatively, “Did you see the
Nashville Gazette
this morning?”

“Nope,” he said quickly, looking away.

“Liar. You did!” I cried accusingly.

He held out his hands defensively. “The article about you wasn't that bad…”

I sighed. “Rhonda seemed to think it was. She made sure to rub it in my face earlier.”

“Don't worry about her. She's always hated you.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I replied dryly.

He chuckled. “Nobody reads the
Gazette
anyway.”

“That's exactly what Gertie told me.”

“We Bennetts are wise people.”

“Wiseasses, maybe.”

Pete's eyebrows shot up. “Ooh! I'm gonna need some ice for that burn.” As I was about to make a retort, he shoved some chocolate chips in my mouth and continued, “The police have assured you that you're not a suspect, so who gives a shit what some hack reporter says? You just need to get over yourself. This whole thing will blow over soon, and you'll be bitching because your life is so boring.”

Once my mouth was no longer full of chocolate chips, I said, “You're right. A little bad press is one thing I don't need to waste time worrying about.”

“Good girl. Now let's make something I can eat. What about those bacon things?”

While we were busy frying bacon for the scones, we heard the front door open. I was having so much fun with Pete, I had all but forgotten the reason I was here (hiding from a would-be murderer). I jumped, whispering nervously, “Didn't you lock the door?”

“Why are you so jumpy?” he asked, going to the pass-through to see who was here. He looked surprised. “It's Cecilia.” He disappeared out the kitchen door.

While I was relieved that it wasn't someone who wanted to murder me—well, probably—I wasn't exactly thrilled that Cecilia had come to see Pete. She was bad for him. Not in a dangerous way—she just didn't treat him well. She had never appreciated Pete's sense of humor. Even in college, she'd always roll her eyes when he told a silly joke. Someone like her needed to date some stuffy, boring person—not Pete.

While the bacon for the scones was cooling, I started on the muffin recipe without him. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Cecilia was laughing, and Pete's voice sounded happy. Blech. I wasn't jealous, but the thought of them together made me sick. I'd almost rather he go out with Charlene than Cecilia.

Realizing that I was mindlessly beating the living hell out of my muffin batter, I stopped and took a breath. I also stuffed an entire cookie into my mouth. And then another. If he didn't get rid of her soon, I'd go into a sugar coma. Just as I was reaching for cookie number three, Pete came back into the kitchen. He looked apologetic, and a little wary. What was he up to?

“Jules,” he said tentatively, “I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a rain check on the baking. Cecilia wants to talk, so we're going to dinner.”

I nodded, afraid that if I said anything, it would be something rude.

He sighed. “I know that look. We're just talking, that's all.”

“We've already fought once this week over poking our noses into each other's love lives. If you're going to let me make my own mistakes, then I have to do the same for you.”

Squinting at me, he said, “That was a sly way of telling me I'm making a mistake, wasn't it?”

“You caught that, did you?”

He smiled. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Cursing and grumbling, I slammed the muffin tins down and began slopping the batter into the cups. Pete could do so much better than Cecilia, the bitch. There were plenty of nice women in Nashville for him to date, but she wasn't one of them. I threw the muffin tins into the oven, splashing batter all over the place.

It was awfully quiet in here with Pete gone. And kind of creepy. I went around to all of the doors and made sure they were locked. I knew no one was in here with me, but I kept hearing noises. Being alone was driving me nuts, and the pastries were piling up. I was in serious danger of eating them all myself. I had to get someone over here to keep me company and get rid of some of these cookies.

I texted Trevor, asking if he and Ryan would be interested in eating several dozen baked items, and he responded immediately with a “YES!” They must have dropped what they were doing and rushed over, because they arrived in only a few minutes.

“Hey, guys,” I said, letting them in.

“All the free pastries we can eat? What's the catch? Your boyfriend get shanked again?” asked Ryan, smiling at his own joke.

“Nope. I'm testing recipes, and I need guinea pigs.” I led them back to the kitchen. “Now, I also want honest answers, so if something tastes like puke, I want you to tell me.”

Trevor took a deep breath. “It smells awesome in here. I can't imagine anything that smells this good could taste like puke.”

When they saw the mountain of cookies, scones, and muffins on the prep table, their eyes bulged out. They immediately went to work on them, stopping only to say, “Mmm” and “Oh, man, these are good.”

After eating a dozen or so items each, they began to slow down. Trevor asked, “Hey, does Logan still work here?”

“Yes. Do you know him?” I replied.

“He used to be a computer science major, so I knew him from school. I heard he started working here after…uh…” Trevor shot a glance at Ryan, who raised his eyebrows.

“He's taking some time off from school to save up for next year, right?” I asked, hating to air my employee's dirty laundry too much.

Trevor wrinkled his forehead. “Maybe, but the real reason he's not there is that he got kicked out.”

“Oh, I didn't know.” It was amazing what I
didn't
know about my employees.

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Turns out Vandy frowns on stealing your roommate's identity, for some reason.”

“Wow. I didn't know Logan had it in him.” I didn't peg Logan for a cybercrime guy. Pete had said that Logan was bright, but he never showed it much at work.

“The kid's freakin' brilliant,” Trevor said. “And, honestly, his roommate was a stuck-up, rich prick who was a total asshole to him. Nobody really blamed Logan for getting back at him.”

“Except the police,” Ryan interjected. “And the school.”

“Right. Just them,” Trevor said, chuckling. “It was lucky that he skipped a grade as a kid, so he was still seventeen his freshman year. He was tried as a minor, so his record was sealed and he didn't have to do time or anything.”

Maybe that was why Dave was so interested in keeping an eye on Logan—he had already gotten himself into trouble once, and his brother wasn't the best role model. It stood to reason that Logan was surly, given the shame of being kicked out of school and having to work in food service instead of technology. Not that this information would help me in getting along with him, but at least I understood why he was the way he was.

“The whole thing freaked out lots of people at school, though,” said Ryan. “Everyone who wasn't getting along with their roommate was scrambling to lock down all of their personal information and shred their mail. I heard Logan started with the information from just a couple of pieces of his roommate's mail and went nuts from there.”

Mail. I asked slowly, “What kind of mail, exactly?”

Ryan shrugged. “Beats me. Trevor's the cybercrime expert.”

Trevor blushed. “Knock it off, bro! It's not like I use my hacking skills for evil.”

“I want to show you something,” I said, running to the office. I grabbed the three pieces of mail that Dave had stashed, brought them back to the kitchen, and handed them to Trevor. “What could you do with this mail?”

Trevor thumbed through the stack. “A lot. These are the names you had me look up a few days ago, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, the pre-approved credit card offer is easy,” he replied, waggling the envelope. “Steal one of these babies, send it in with a change of address, and you've got yourself a free credit card. That's basic credit card fraud.”

“Wait, so…” All this talk about credit cards and fraud started pulling thoughts together inside my head. “Okay, let me see if I have this straight. Let's say you steal a credit card offer out of my mailbox and get yourself a ‘free' credit card. It would have my name on it…but I would have no idea that it had happened. Am I right?”

“Yep.”

Could that have been what happened to Paolina, the Vandy student whose credit card I found in the pastry case? If so, poor Paolina was getting scammed, and she didn't even know it.

Trevor continued before I had time to piece anything else together. “As for the auto insurance quote, that's a little more complicated, but an identity thief can take out an insurance policy in your name, make a bogus claim, and pocket the money.”

“I see. And the phone bill?” I asked.

“That's probably the most useful one. Any account number is an open gateway for identity theft. With even a few computer skills, someone could obtain enough personal information to do as much damage as they wanted. We're talking fake loans, wire transfers, phony accounts…you name it.”

I blew out a big breath. “So with these three little envelopes, someone could be running a sizeable scam. Is that what you're telling me?”

Trevor nodded uneasily. “Yes.”

Hmm. Was it possible that Dave wasn't as clean as I'd thought? Maybe identity theft was the big scam that Rob Carmichael had going on, and instead of trying to stop it, Dave was a part of it. And what if narcing to the cops was his way of not getting caught himself? Dave could have flat-out lied to Ron Hatcher about any part of that deal. Even worse, instead of supposedly watching out for Logan, Dave could have been using him for his cybercrime skills. Wait. Why did I care? I wasn't a murder suspect anymore, so from my perspective, this little nugget of information didn't really matter that much. I supposed I could do my civic duty and turn my information over to Cromwell, or I could just let him figure it out on his own. He'd be pissed if I told him I'd hidden evidence from him for days.

“Juliet?” Trevor asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You said a friend of yours stole these. That friend wasn't Logan, was it?”