Death Before Decaf (23 page)

“No, actually. It was someone else. I probably need to call to the cops.” They both nodded, so I asked, “Would you like me to box these pastries up so you can take some home?”

Both of their faces lit up. “That would be awesome!” Ryan exclaimed. “My sister is usually the one who keeps me in cookies, but she's been busy lately and hasn't been baking as much. I've been in major withdrawal.”

“I'll remember that next time I'm testing recipes.” I handed them each an overflowing box of pastries.

Trevor eyed me. “You never got around to telling me why the guy Ryan stitched up is going around saying he's Seth Davis.”

“Right. I didn't. Um…I guess since you already know he's not
the
Seth Davis, I can tell you that he's working undercover. That's about all I can say, though. Sorry.”

“That's cool. As long as he's not skeeving on college chicks like the actual Seth Davis, I'm fine with it.”

“Oh, he's definitely not doing that.” At least I hoped not, since he was sleeping with me. “Oh, Ryan, fake Seth Davis's stitches are doing great, by the way. Thanks again for that.”

“Hey, it was my pleasure. Live human skin stitches up differently than dead pig skin, so it was a great learning experience,” he replied.

“Sick, dude,” Trevor complained. “Later, Juliet.”

“Bye, guys.”

After they left, I reluctantly got out my phone and called Detective Cromwell. When he answered his phone, I said, “Hi, Detective Cromwell. It's Juliet Langley.”

“Keeping your nose clean this weekend?”

Good thing he couldn't see the face I was making. “Yes, sir. I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“I found three pieces of mail in with some of Dave's belongings he had at Java Jive. They're all from different companies and are addressed to different Vanderbilt students. I don't know if they're pertinent to his case in any way, but it doesn't seem particularly aboveboard to be in possession of someone else's mail, so I want to make sure that they get into the right hands.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You and I both know you tried to figure out what they had to do with David Hill's murder. What did you come up with?”

Detective Cromwell was no dummy. I sighed. “Fine. I tried, but I still don't really know anything. The only connection these kids have is that their mailboxes are near one another. As for the mail, I've been told that credit card offers, phone bills, and auto insurance quotes can all be used in identity theft. So there you go.” He could figure the rest out for himself. I did my duty.

He actually sounded impressed. “Not bad for an amateur. I'll have a uni come over and collect them. Where are you?”

“Java Jive.”

“You're there a lot.”

“You have no idea.”

He chuckled. “I know a thing or two about being married to your job. Thank you, Ms. Langley.”

We hung up, and I cleaned up my mess while I waited for the cop to show up. He was there in a few minutes, and barely said two words to me when I handed over the mail. That was fine. I was so done with this stupid case.

An hour later, Ryder finally came to pick me up. I grabbed the box of pastries I had set aside for him and went out to meet him.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing me and planting a big kiss on my lips. “I missed you.”

I smiled. “I missed you, too.”

“Don't freak out,” he warned, reaching into the backseat.

“Why?” I asked warily.

He produced a copy of the
Nashville Gazette.
There I was—in color, blood all over me, right on the front page, above the fold. The headline read,
LOCAL COFFEEHOUSE MANAGER INVOLVED IN TWO VIOLENT CRIMES IN ONE WEEK.
I cursed and tossed the paper out the car window as Ryder pulled away from the curb.

“You just littered,” he pointed out.

“I don't care!” I exclaimed, crossing my arms angrily.

Reaching over to squeeze my knee, he said, “Don't get upset. There were no facts in the article whatsoever. Wolfe tries to make you sound guilty, but he has no proof to back it up. It's very obviously a witch hunt, something he's known for.”

“I wish he'd find a new witch,” I grumbled.

“What did you do to piss him off so bad?”

“Well, you remember what I did to him when he accosted me in the ladies' room?”

Ryder grinned proudly. “Did you junk-punch him again?”

“I did.”

“I think I'm in love.”

After a few days? No freaking way. “You take that back.”

Ryder took me to his house again. “What's in the box?” he asked, tossing his keys next to the bakery box I had placed on his kitchen counter.

“I was baking this afternoon.” I opened the lid and showed him my creations. “Want one?” I wasn't convinced that Ryder, with his perfect bod, would even consider eating anything sweet. I had never seen him eat anything out of the pastry case at Java Jive, but then again, those weren't worth the calories.

“I didn't know you could bake,” he said, grabbing a cookie.

“Duh, I told you I had my own café. I made most of the food, and we had a bitchin' pastry selection.”

“This is amazing. Now I'm really in love.”

I made a face. “Would you quit saying that?”

He responded by slapping me on the ass.

I changed the subject. “So what did you do today, besides witness the most awesome funeral
ever
?”

He shook his head. “That was hysterical. Completely inappropriate, but hysterical. What is wrong with those people?”

“I think everybody there had a screw loose.”

“Yeah. Carmichael and Brewer didn't show up to the funeral, so I went looking for them. It was extremely frustrating. I drove all over town, hitting every place I could think of where they might be and asking everyone I met if they'd seen them. I came up with nothing on Brewer, but one of Carmichael's co-workers said he's on the road. He's a truck driver. I haven't been able to confirm it with the company he works for yet.”

“So the life of a P.I. isn't as thrilling as it's cracked up to be?”

“Surveillance is generally a snoozefest. On a good day, you're lucky to get one usable piece of information. Everything else is a waste, like today. However, I noticed that you and Pete kissed and made up.” He kept his tone light, but his eyes looked strained.

“Yes, we did, and I'm much happier.”

“I don't get the semi-platonic thing you two have going on.”

“He's been my best friend since I was nineteen. What's not to get?”

“Have you ever slept with him?”

I huffed, “Not that it's any of your business, but no.”

“But you want to.”

“Let's just leave it at I'm not going to.”

Shaking his head, he said, “What I don't get is that he never tried anything with you. You're gorgeous. Is he gay?”

“No! Why can't you wrap your mind around the fact that a man and a woman can be friends with absolutely nothing sexual going on?” I wished it hadn't made me giddy inside that Ryder said I was gorgeous.

“Because it's never happened to me.”

“Why? Because you're so incredibly hot that no woman can resist you?”

He grinned slyly. “You couldn't.”

“I've been under duress.”

He leaned his head back and laughed. “When are you going to admit that you like me?”

“Not until I start liking you, which hasn't happened yet.”

Coming over to stand very close to me, he said softly, “You like it when I do this,” and began kissing my neck. I couldn't argue. He stopped abruptly and took a step away from me. “Wait, maybe I shouldn't do that. One thing could lead to another…and I should probably save myself for someone who truly cares about me.”

“Dick.”

He snagged a scone. “So what else did you do this afternoon besides bake me a bunch of pastries?”

“They weren't just for you. I saved some cookie dough for tomorrow, and I gave the rest to Trevor and Ryan.”

“You're sharing your cookies with other guys? I'm hurt.”

I rolled my eyes. “I made too many, and someone had to eat them besides me. Those two are human garbage disposals. They're also gossips. Know what they told me about Rob Carmichael's brother, Logan?”

“If you tell me, won't that make you a gossip, too?” He looked appreciatively at the scone he was eating. “Hey, is there bacon in this thing?”

“Yes, and yes, but I'm not worried about you telling anyone. You can keep a secret like it's your job. Logan didn't quit school—he got kicked out of Vandy for stealing his roommate's identity.”

He choked on his scone. “What?”

“Logan is some kind of computer genius. His rich asshole roommate was hateful to him, so he got back at him by—”

“Identity theft,” he said to himself. He looked at me. “But Logan doesn't have a record, right?”

“No, the guys said he was tried as a minor, so his record was sealed.”

Ryder started fidgeting. “Are they absolutely sure it was him?”

“Yes. Trevor knew Logan from school. Oh, and I almost forgot, it would seem that our dearly departed Dave may have lied to Ron Hatcher about Rob's scheme.”

“What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

“I found some of Dave's…um…belongings at Java Jive. With them I found three pieces of mail addressed to Vandy students, obviously stolen. After talking to Trevor, I found out that this particular mail would be useful in a fraud and identity theft scam. I put two and two together and figured that this could be Rob's big scam and that Dave was in on—”

“What did you do with that mail?”

“I gave it to the police earlier and—”

“I have to go.” Ryder cut me off again, grabbing his keys and heading for the door.

“I guess I'll just stay here, then,” I called as he shut the door without a backward glance. Blowing out a disgruntled breath, I reached for a cookie and shoved the whole thing into my mouth. Men.

Besides watching TV, there was
nothing
to do at Ryder's house. He had no books, no magazines, his laptop was password protected (I checked), and there was no food, so I couldn't even cook us some dinner. What did he do for fun? Did he work 24/7? I guessed the same could be said of my apartment, except my laptop was not password protected and I had my new guitar to play. Halfway through a second rerun of
Keeping Up with the Kardashians
(there was also nothing interesting on TV), the doorbell rang. I got nervous, worried that Voice Changer Guy had found me, but decided that someone coming to kill you most likely wouldn't ring the doorbell. I peeked out the window and saw a cop car. That didn't seem like a good thing, but it was way better than a killer. And since the cops were actually back on my side again, I didn't think it would hurt to answer it.

I opened the door, and a plainclothes cop with a badge around his neck smiled. He said, “I'm looking for Hamilton. Is he here?”

“No, he's not. Sorry.”
What the hell did he do that the cops are looking for him?

He smiled. “No worries. I'll find him.” He'll find him? That didn't sound good
at all
.

I closed the door and immediately texted Ryder about what had happened. His only response was “OK.” Wasn't he worried? I would have been going nuts! Hell, I
was
going nuts, and it had absolutely nothing to do with me. I tried to calm down and watch more TV, but I couldn't sit still, so I paced the floor for a while. Pacing certainly didn't help my nerves. I was nearly at wit's end when Ryder came strolling nonchalantly through the door, Chinese takeout in hand.

“Hungry?” he asked.

I descended on him, demanding, “What have you done? Why did the police pay you a visit at home?”

“It's nothing. Don't worry about it,” he said, brushing past me and setting out the containers of food on his coffee table.

“I've never had the cops pay me a visit at home, and I was a prime suspect, remember? What's your excuse?” I cried.

“Would you quit nagging me about it, woman?”

“No! And don't call me ‘woman.' Cops don't come looking for you over nothing.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you kill someone?”

He laughed. “No.” His expression abruptly turned dark. “Not lately.”

“WHAT?” I exploded. I was
not
going to be involved in any way with a murderer of any kind.

A slow smile spread across his face. “You're easy to tease.”

“What?”

“I'm joking. I've never killed anyone.”

I slapped him on the arm. “Why would you
joke
about that?”

“Because it's fun to watch you get all bent out of shape.”

Grabbing the box of takeout he offered me, I flopped down onto the couch. “I hate you so much.”

Obviously amused by my distress, he chuckled to himself and sat down next to me. “I'm an acquired taste.”

“Are you going to tell me why you went tearing out of here earlier?”

“No,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I didn't think so.”

We ate our dinner in an awkward silence. For my part, I was miffed that I spent the evening worrying about him, and he responded by completely brushing the whole issue aside like it was nothing. He didn't need to tell me all of his secrets, but he could have at least addressed my concerns. He seemed to be struggling with something, though, since the crease in his forehead was deepening as he ate.

I got up to throw away my empty container, then came back and stood in front of him. “If this is what we're going to do all evening, I might as well go home. Then I won't nag you, and you won't irritate me.”

He didn't look up from his dinner. “Not gonna happen.”

“What, the me going home or the you not irritating me? Because the irritating is happening as we speak.”

“You're staying here. We discussed this.”

“Fine. Then I'm going to bed.” It was before ten, but I could use a little extra sleep, anyway.

I grouchily brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas. My cellphone rang as I was getting into bed. It was Pete.

“Hey, Pete. How was your date?” I made a gagging gesture to myself.

He hesitated. “It went really well, actually. I wanted to tell someone the good news.”

Hoping that his good news had something to do with Cecilia moving to Tibet or falling down a well or joining a convent, I asked, “And what's that?”

“Cecilia and I have decided to give it another try. We're back together.”

My heart sank. Deep down, I had sort of expected it to happen, but it was still a kick in the gut. Trying for a cheerful voice, I said, “That's great.”

“Jules, I know how you feel about her, and I don't expect you to like it. She's going to be around, so just find some way to tolerate her, at least at first. She really is cool once you get to know her.”

“I'll take your word for it.” I knew her. We hadn't ever become friends, but I had known her for ten years. If Pete thought we were all of a sudden going to be besties, he was insane.

“How did your recipes turn out?”

“Fine.”

“Jules…”

“What?” I replied, a little more exasperatedly than I'd intended to.

He sighed. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

I hurled my phone across the room and screamed, “Aaauugh!” It hit the wall and clattered to the floor unharmed. Indestructible cases were a must for the Redheaded She-Devil. “Damn it! Son of a bitch!” I flopped back on the bed and put my hands over my face. There was a soft knock at the door. “Go away!” I yelled, definitely not in the mood for more of Ryder's crap.

He stuck his head in the door. “You okay? I heard a crash…and screaming.”

Not taking my hands off my face, I fumed, “I said, go away!” Peeking through my fingers, I could see him coming toward me. “You're not going away,” I whined.

He sat down on the bed. “No, I'm not. What's wrong?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

His voice serious, he said, “I heard your phone ring. Did you get another threatening call from the guy with the voice changer?”

“No.”

“Who was it, then?”

I sat up and stuck my nose in his face. “What part of ‘I don't want to talk about it' do you not understand?”

Ryder smiled kindly at me and brushed my hair back from my face. “I'm sorry. I only wanted to make sure you were safe, that's all.” He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, and then got up and crossed the room to the dresser. He picked up a framed photo and brought it over, sitting down next to me again.

“This was my wife, Amanda.” He handed me the picture. It was of a very young Ryder and a beautiful blonde.

“She was lovely,” I said quietly. It wasn't like Ryder to bring up something like this on his own.

Taking the photo back and studying it, he said, “Yes, she was. She was an ER nurse.” He smiled to himself. “She was great at it. She could stay calm in the face of anything. Never lost her temper.” He nudged me.

“Come on, blondes have it easy.” I grabbed a handful of my red hair. “Temper tantrums are hard-coded into my DNA. It's not my fault.”

He laughed. “I suppose between the hair and the week you've had, you're due for a meltdown or two.”

“That's right. You remember that.”

He was staring at the photo again, lost in his own thoughts. After a moment, he began speaking quietly. “One night, a teenage girl came into the ER while Amanda was working. She had been beaten up badly, but she wouldn't give up the name of the person who did it, wouldn't let Amanda call her parents or anything. Amanda sat with her all night, trying to comfort her and get her to open up. Amanda was obligated to turn it over to child services, since the girl was a minor. That's when Amanda started getting death threats. She went to the police, and they put some crusty, two-months-from-retirement cop on the case, and he didn't do shit. Not long after, the teenage girl turned up dead.”

He stopped, his eyes anguished. I put my hand on his shoulder. Sighing, he continued, “I wouldn't let Amanda out of my sight, except when she was at work. I thought she'd be safe inside a damn hospital.” He shook his head. “They found her in a supply room, strangled with a length of IV line. Cops couldn't figure out who did it. It drove me crazy. So I quit law school and decided to investigate it myself.” Clenching his jaw, he said quietly, “It'll be ten years this spring, and I still haven't figured it out yet.” He hung his head.

Overwhelmed at his show of emotion, I pulled him to me. He hung on to me tightly, and we stayed there unmoving for several minutes. Finally, he let me go and took my hands. “If you wonder why I'm anal about your safety, that's why.”

I put my hand on his cheek. “I had no idea what you'd been through. I am so sorry. You're not obligated in any way to keep me safe, but you're doing it anyway. Know that I really do appreciate it, even though I might not show it.”

Ryder kissed my hand. “See? You like me after all. You just admitted it.”

I groaned. “Now I know why you're so good at twisting my words and arguing. You would have made a great lawyer.”

“It's a useful skill. I have many useful skills.” He kissed me gently.

“Yes, you do. And I do like you. Most of the time.”

“Only most of the time?” He laid me back on the bed and kissed me again. “We're going to have to do something about that.”

Morning came way too soon, and I did not want to give up my comfortable spot in Ryder's bed, cuddled up next to him. The alarm on my phone was being extremely annoying, and unfortunately, the phone was still across the room where I had lobbed it last night. Resentfully, I got up and shut it off. Ryder was still asleep, so I showered and got ready for work. He was awake by the time I'd finished, trying several of his best tricks to lure me back to bed. It took a lot of willpower to refuse.

He drove me to work, and when we pulled up in front of Java Jive, he said, “I'll be in and out all day to check on you. I have a couple of things to follow up on, but I won't be too far if you need me. If anything happens, even something insignificant, you call me, got it?”

“I will. Be careful, okay?”

He smiled. “You're starting to care about my safety. I'm definitely wearing you down.”

“Maybe,” I said, pulling him in for a kiss.

Camille was already hard at work when I got there, getting everything ready for us to open. She gestured outside and asked, “Is that the hottie professor who always sits with Gertie?”

I blushed, not realizing she had seen us together. “Yeah.”

She grinned. “Go, Juliet. Are you guys serious?”

Not feeling like discussing my dating (or whatever it was that Ryder and I were doing) with my staff, I replied, “It's complicated,” and headed for the kitchen. “Complicated” didn't begin to scratch the surface of what we had going on, but I didn't have time to think about it now. I had kept back a batch of the cookie dough I had made yesterday, and I wanted to get the cookies baked and cooled so that we could put them out for sale later today. I busied myself baking, happy to have something to keep me away from Camille, lest she ask any more probing questions.

It was time to open, and our requisite rush of customers came in. With all of the extracurricular nonsense I had to put up with this week, at least one thing I didn't have to worry about was Java Jive losing money anymore. For better or worse, that problem had fixed itself, for now. I was betting that in a month or so we'd be back to how it was before we became a macabre hot spot, so now was a good time to start implementing some changes for the better.

After I set all of my cookies to cool, I headed out front to help Camille and Rhonda. Gertie was there at the counter, so I went over to take her order, even though I knew it would be coffee and a bagel.

“Good morning, Gertie.”

“Good morning, yourself.”

“Want your usual today?”

“Do I have a usual? Shit, I thought I was more interesting than that.”

“I think you're very interesting, but you did have a bagel and coffee every morning last week. Well, except for the day I talked you into pie.”

“Hell's bells. So I did. What else you got?”

“I have some cookies I made.”

“It's about damn time somebody baked something from scratch around here. I always told George his bakery selection was shit.”

“I agree. And that's the first thing I want to change. I'll get you one.”

I went to the kitchen to get Gertie's cookie, and just as I delivered it to her, Ryder walked in. I could tell immediately that something was very wrong. He was sweating and wincing, holding one hand to his stomach as he walked. He looked like he was in terrible pain. I sucked in a breath. The last time he showed up looking like that, he had been in a knife fight with Johnny Brewer.

I rushed around the counter and over to him. I whispered, “What happened?”

With obvious effort, he said, “Can we go somewhere and talk privately?”

Gently, I steered him down the back hallway and into the office. He sat down carefully in one of the chairs. I repeated, “What happened? Are you okay?”

He blew out a breath. “I got shot.”

“WHAT?” I screamed, running over to him for a better look. “Where?”

He lifted his shirt. “Here. I'm fine. I had a vest on, but it still hurts like a bitch.” He had a red, bloody sore the size of a nickel on his upper abdomen, and a nasty purple bruise larger than my hand forming around it.

“Ryder,” I gasped, tears forming in my eyes. I kneeled in front of him and took his free hand. “You could have been killed. What were you doing?”