Death Before Decaf (24 page)

“Don't freak out,” he warned.

A tear ran down my cheek. “Too late.”

He grimaced. “Johnny Brewer was in your apartment this morning. I assume he was waiting for you.”

I froze. “He was in my apartment?”

“I drove by there after I dropped you off. I saw his car, but he wasn't in it. I did a sweep of the area and didn't find him. That's when I checked your apartment. The door was open, and he shot me the second I walked through.”

I couldn't breathe. Several horrible images of what could have happened passed through my head. If I had gone home this morning to get ready for work, I would have been shot and very likely killed. If Ryder hadn't happened to be wearing his vest, that gunshot would have killed him. I felt sick. I didn't want to ask my next question, but I couldn't help it. “And Johnny Brewer? Where is he now?”

Ryder looked away. “I was able to get a couple of shots off as I was going down.”

My heart sank. I knew what had happened in my apartment. I didn't care at all about Johnny Brewer. My concern now was what was going to happen to Ryder. “Is he…dead?” I whispered.

Ryder didn't respond.

I closed my eyes. “Ryder…are you going to be charged with murder?”

He shook his head. “It's going to be fine. Don't worry.”

“You killed a man! Did you call the police? Or…wait, did you flee the scene? Tell me you didn't flee the scene. That makes you look guilty! Surely you know this!”

Putting a hand on my shoulder, he said, “Would you relax? The police are at your apartment now. I spoke to them already. I have to go to the station later to give my formal statement, and they said you will, too, since it's your apartment.”

I put my head in my hands. I wanted nothing more than to run back home and live with my parents again. Hell, I would rather relive what Scott the Dickhead did to me than deal with anything that had gone on since I moved here. Being cheated on and stolen from was nothing compared to this. However, I couldn't imagine what Ryder was feeling, having taken someone's life. Granted, it was a gunfight, and it was either him or Johnny, but still.

As gently as I could, I put my arms around Ryder. “I'm sorry I lost it. I can't stand the thought of you getting into trouble because of me. I am on your side no matter what, okay? Anything you need, just say so.”

He leaned back and smiled at me. “I need you to quit worrying. Carmichael's boss confirmed that he's been out on the road since last weekend, so there's no way Carmichael could have killed Dave or shot Ron. He was halfway across the country. Brewer's our guy, and he's dead. It's over.”

Standing up, I took a deep breath and let it out. I started pacing around, even though my legs were trembling. “Are you sure? I don't like the idea of Rob Carmichael still being out there. If he sent Johnny to beat up Dave and silence Ron…and me…doesn't that still make him a bad guy?”

Gingerly, Ryder got out of his chair. He stopped me and pulled me to him. “I don't want you stressing anymore. The situation is covered. Yes, Carmichael is still a bad guy, but his boss is cooperating with the police. They know exactly where his semi is and are sending a unit as we speak to haul him in for questioning. It's really over.”

My mind couldn't quit racing. I mumbled into his shirt, “But what if they let him go, like they let Brewer go? If he finds out you killed Brewer, he might come looking for you.”

“Can we just have this moment, please?” Ryder asked impatiently.

“Sorry.”

We held each other for a few minutes, and then Ryder said, “I think I should head to the hospital. I'm pretty sure I have a broken rib or two.”

Looking at him, I said, “No med student patch-up this time, tough guy?”

He laughed, then grabbed his side. “Ow. Don't make me laugh. This one is going to require a little more attention than that tiny knife wound.”

“Want me to take you to the hospital?”

“No, you'll be bored, sitting there waiting for me to get X-rays and shit. If you want to do something for me, make some more of those bacon biscuit things.”

I smiled. “They're
scones
. There's a difference.”

He gave me a sexy grin. “Whatever they are, I want you serving them to me tonight, wearing nothing but this apron, waitress.”

“If you hadn't just literally taken a bullet for me, I might be offended by that. But you get a free pass today.”

“A free pass? For anything?”

“Let's not get too carried away.”

I hadn't been so relieved in a long time. I wanted to tell Pete the whole story, but he didn't show up at his normal time for lunch. Gertie said, among a tirade of curses, that he was having lunch with Cecilia today, so he wouldn't be here. Gertie was no more pleased than I was that Pete and Cecilia had gotten back together. I decided to wait until I saw him in person to tell him about Johnny Brewer, thinking it would be too difficult to properly express all of the gory details over the phone.

I was so happy that my troubles were over that I didn't even mind when Detective Cromwell came into Java Jive and asked me to go with him to the station to make a statement.

“Ms. Langley. We meet again,” he said sternly, looking at me with his bushy eyebrows furrowed.

“Hello, Detective. It's nice to see you, too. Can I get you anything? On the house, of course.”

“No, thank you. All I need from you is your statement. I'm afraid I need to take you to the station.”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Rhonda smirking and chuckling, but I didn't care. I was done with all of the bullshit, and the only thing that stood between me and total freedom was this one little interview. Nothing could ruin my mood.

Removing my apron, I said to Detective Cromwell, “Lead the way.”

He let me ride in the front seat this time, so I didn't feel like a common criminal. We went back to the same little interrogation room that I had been in after Ron was shot, but this time it didn't seem so small and lonely.

Detective Cromwell began, “Let's not prolong this, shall we? What was Jonathan Brewer doing in your apartment this morning?”

“I assume he was waiting for me. I didn't stay at my place last night.”

“Where did you stay?”

Thankful that I could at least tell him Ryder's last name this time, I said, “At Ryder Hamilton's home.”

“Why?”

Without going into too much indiscreet detail, I said, “For my safety. Johnny Brewer has been stalking me.”

“Bet you're glad you used your head on that one. Why would Brewer be waiting for you in your apartment with a gun, ready to shoot the first person who walked in the door?”

“Johnny Brewer had a beef with me.”

“Over what?”

“It started because I tricked him while I was trying to come up with suspects for you for Dave's murder. He didn't take kindly to a stunt I pulled to get information out of him, and he decided to retaliate. He threatened me to my face twice, and had also been caught lurking outside my apartment. My friends Pete and Ryder both, on separate occasions, made it clear to him that he wasn't to accost me again, but I guess it didn't sink in. I think he may have been the one who shot Ron Hatcher, and I'm not convinced I wasn't a target as well. Maybe this morning he was coming back to finish what he started.”

Cromwell nodded. “So you feel that he came after you because you were poking around in David Hill's murder?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Do you think he killed David Hill?”

“I think he's a strong possibility. He threatened Dave and beat him up a couple of days before he was killed. Dave had damning information on Johnny and his buddy that could send them back to prison. That's a pretty decent motive, in my opinion.”

“You're just a regular Nancy Drew, aren't you?” the detective asked dryly.

“You asked.”

“And you're aware that your friend Ryder Hamilton shot and killed Johnny Brewer in your apartment.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then I asked hesitantly, “Detective?”

“Yes?”

“Is Ryder going to go to jail for killing Johnny Brewer?”

He looked at me strangely. “No, why would you think that?”

“Well, because you're generally not supposed to kill people, or so I've heard.”

“Brewer fired on him. Of course he fired back.”

“And that's okay? He's not in danger of being charged with anything?”

“The only thing he's in danger of is a mountain of paperwork. I don't envy him that.” He chuckled. The gears in my brain started turning as I thought about what the detective had just said—that he wouldn't envy the paperwork Ryder had to do.

“Paperwork? Is that because he's a PI? Because I thought civilians didn't do paperwork—they get interrogated, kind of like we're doing here.” As I was speaking, I noticed the detective's expression. Something flickered in his eyes, and his face, which had been sort of smiling (as much as crotchety Cromwell could), turned into his stony cop face.

Something was off. I thought back to all the times that Ryder had said something about being a PI. He always either hesitated or looked away or seemed uncomfortable when he talked about it. He wouldn't ever tell me his last name. According to Cromwell, he wasn't going to even get a talking-to for killing Johnny Brewer, just some paperwork. There was a cop looking for him yesterday who didn't seem particularly on-duty—to be honest, it almost seemed like it could have been a social call. Ryder had the connections to run license plates and get private information, and he always seemed to know what the police thought about a situation.

My eyes grew wide as I realized how badly I had been played this whole time. How blind could I have been? “HE'S A COP!” I screamed, exploding on poor, unsuspecting Detective Cromwell.

“Now, calm down, Ms. Langley. I'm sorry you had to find out like this, but I thought since you knew his real name, that you knew the rest.”

“No, I
didn't
know! He lied to me this whole time!” I was dangerously close to tears. It's not like I was in love with him, but being lied to again by someone I had been intimate with was damn near likely to kill me this time.

“He had to. He was undercover. And, in fact, he still is. You can't let on that you know. He still has work to do on his investigation.”

“What investigation? Is he not working on the murder? I mean, that's why he got close to me, right? Because I was your lead suspect?”

“No, his investigation started long before the murder.”

I thought back to my first day at Java Jive. I met him the morning of the murder, and he was already a regular. This whole situation had addled my brain. “So what's the case, then? Why did he pretend to…be interested in me?” Those words hurt to say out loud.

“I don't know what's going on between the two of you. I don't want to know. But it wasn't part his mission to become your boyfriend, if that's what you're asking. And I can't tell you what he's investigating. That would compromise his investigation even further than it already is.”

I thunked my head down onto the table between us. “I give up. Just put me in jail, where I can't get hurt.”

“Oh, buck up. It's over. Well…almost. Getting the brains scraped off the wall of your apartment is your problem.”

“
What?
There are
brains
on a wall in my apartment? Wait, of course there are brains on a wall in my apartment. My life needed a little more shit thrown on it. I'll just go home and get to cleaning. I'm not certifiable yet—I need more emotional trauma to tell the therapist at the funny farm!” I wailed.

“Don't be so dramatic.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a card. “We have people for that. Here's the number for a private trauma-cleaning service. You won't have to clean up a single dollop of brain. If you have renters insurance, it might even cover it.”

I sighed. I did have renters insurance, thank goodness, not so much to cover my belongings (that I didn't have), but because it was cheaper to buy it and get the discount from combining it with my car insurance. “Thanks.”

“Obviously you'll have to find another place to stay, at least for a couple of days.” He chuckled to himself as he stood up. “I take it that won't be with Hamilton.”

“You got that right.”

Detective Cromwell extended his hand, and I shook it. “Ms. Langley, it's been a pleasure. Don't take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope this is the last time we see each other.”

“Back at ya, Detective,” I agreed.

Cromwell had a uniformed officer drop me off at Java Jive. It was still afternoon, but I was exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into the office and hide, but with Brianna gone, I had to do her job. So I freshened up my makeup in the bathroom and put on a brave face. I just hoped that the moment I saw Pete I wouldn't burst into tears, even though what I really needed was a good cry on his shoulder.

Jamie didn't buy my fake face for a second. “What happened to you?”

“I don't even know where to begin, and I don't want to talk about it.”

“Don't you live in that shitty apartment building a couple of blocks from here? The one with the rusty stairs?”

She didn't have to rub it in. “Yes,” I answered tightly.

“Somebody died there this morning. Who was it? Did you see anything?”

Between clenched teeth, I said, “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Damn. Cranky much?” She flipped her silky hair as she turned to go fill someone's coffee at the end of the counter. I hated college kids. I may have mentioned that before.

Working helped take my mind off of my emotional state. It stayed busy all afternoon, so I didn't have time to sit around and feel sorry for myself. I volunteered to collect trash, thinking a few moments of fresh air would do me some good. On my way, I cleaned off several tables, still finding cups left that people hadn't bothered to throw away on their way out. With all of the new customers flooding in, maybe I needed to post a sign to the effect of
CLEAN YOUR SHIT OFF YOUR TABLE BEFORE YOU LEAVE
so that people would understand that we didn't bus tables. The trash had overflowed yet again, so I set two of the cups down on top of the trash bin while I made more room in the trash bag.

The sleeves slipped down off of those cups, and damned if one of them didn't have writing under the sleeve
again
! Seriously? After I had made it perfectly clear that this was
not
to happen? No way it was Brianna, because the leftover coffee in the cup was still warm, and she hadn't worked here in days. The message said,
Garage next door, 8:30.
I'd had it. With the mood I was in, someone was likely to get fired over this little stunt. This time I wasn't even going to waste my breath asking who wrote it—I would catch them in the act. At 8:30, I would be waiting in that garage, and whoever came through the door was going to be so busted.

Having somewhere else to channel my anger did wonders for my mood. That was, until Pete came in an hour earlier than usual, concern etched all over his face. He came straight for me and swept me up in a crushing hug.

“I just heard what happened at your apartment building. Were you there? Are you okay? Who got shot?”

I knew that once I started spilling my guts to Pete, the tears would start and never stop, so I'd tried to delay the conversation. “I'm fine, but I need to tell you a few things you're not going to like, and this is not the place to do it.”

“You're coming to my house, then. Now.” He whisked me away to his car. We drove the few minutes to his house in a nervous silence. He ushered me quickly inside, sat us both on his couch, and ordered, “Let's hear it.”

I sighed, hardly knowing how to begin a story like this. “Johnny Brewer is dead. He's the one who got shot in my apartment.”

“No way!” Pete exclaimed. “What was he doing hanging around your apartment building?”

“Not ‘around my apartment building.'
In my apartment
.”

“What? What in the hell was that guy doing in your apartment?”

I looked down. “We think he was waiting for me.”

“Jules, no,” Pete breathed as he grabbed me and held me to him. Right on cue, my tears started. Pete let me lean on him and cry and cry, stroking my hair and holding me close.

I finally quit blubbering and lifted my head. Glancing down at his shoulder, I said apologetically, “I think I ruined your shirt.”

“You know I don't care about that. I only care about you.” His words made me feel all warm inside, even though I was pretty sure he meant them platonically, especially since he was back with the bitch Cecilia. I didn't care, though. I'd take what I could get. “Were you there when it happened? Why didn't you call me?”

“You were busy today, and I didn't think I could tell you all of this over the phone.”

“You know I would have dropped everything if you needed me.”

“I know. I handled it. Anyway, I was at work when it happened. Um…Ryder was the one who shot him.”

He grimaced. “That doesn't surprise me. Is he locked up now, I hope?”

“No. Johnny fired on him first. Ryder got hit, but luckily he was wearing a bulletproof vest. He's got a nasty-looking wound, but otherwise he's fine. The police said Ryder wouldn't be charged.” I neglected to tell Pete why. I knew I should keep Ryder's identity a secret, but I didn't know if Pete would buy our parting ways without an explanation. More likely, he'd probably be so happy I was done with Ryder that he wouldn't care about the reason.

“Why? Because it was self-defense?”

“Um, yeah. That's why.” Close enough for me.

Pete's eyes got shiny. “Jules, that could have been you.” He wrapped his arms around me again, more tightly this time.

“I know.” I had been trying all day not to think about that little fact, and had succeeded until now. “But with Johnny Brewer dead, the police think it's over.”

He pulled away and asked worriedly, “Aren't they forgetting about Rob Carmichael?”

“No. According to Ryder, Rob has been out of town for over a week, so he couldn't have killed Dave or shot Ron Hatcher. That doesn't mean he didn't mastermind it, though. The cops know where he is, and they're bringing him in for questioning. It was supposed to have happened this morning, so technically we should be done with the drama. Except for my poor apartment.”