Death by Coffee (13 page)

13

Paul sat beside me in what I assumed was the interrogation room of the Pine Hills police station, though it looked like a lounge to me. There was the requisite table in the middle of the room, but the couch we were sitting on and the coffee machine across from us ruined the effect. Above our heads there was a dartboard, which looked well used. Unless they threatened to use our heads as targets, I doubted it was much use for interrogations.

Officer John Buchannan—I’d learned his last name on the way to the station—leaned against the wall by the door, grinning. When Paul tried to talk to him, John warned him to remain silent until Chief Dalton had arrived. He treated us like a couple of common criminals, which I suppose we were. Still, I didn’t think he needed to go so far as to arrest us like we were going to make a run for it. We were still zip stripped up.

Officer Buchannan had that look about him that spoke of a need to prove himself. He knew who Paul was, knew his mom was the chief of police, which meant he knew that anything the prodigal son did would only hurt her position and elevate his own. He was relishing this far more than he would have if he’d caught real burglars at work. His grin threatened to cut his face in two.

The door opened. Officer Buchannan straightened, though his smug grin didn’t leave his face. Patricia Dalton stepped inside the room to which he gave a sharp, “Ma’am,” before he stepped back against the wall.

“What were you thinking?” Patricia said, closing the door. She was wearing her uniform, though it looked as if she’d thrown it on in a hurry. John had called her up at home and made her come all the way down here.

“Chief, I . . .” Paul trailed off at a sharp look from his mom.

“You were irresponsible,” she said. “You made yourself look bad. You made
me
look bad.” She turned to me. “And you . . . you managed to make yourself look guilty of something I know you didn’t do. Why on earth would you two sneak in there like that?”

“It’s my fault,” I said before Paul could speak. All Chief Dalton could do to me was throw me in jail for a few days. She couldn’t fire me, like she could her son. “I talked him into it. I wanted to see a real crime scene and asked him to take me.”

“I didn’t exactly resist,” Paul said, doing himself no favors.

Patricia sighed. “The only crime scene is the one you created. Brendon Lawyer’s death was an accident. There was nothing to see there because there wasn’t a crime
until
you showed up!”

I clamped my mouth closed. I had my doubts about how much of an accident his death really was, and I assumed the police had to have the same doubts. However, to voice them now would only get me into more trouble than I was already in.

Patricia walked over to us, produced a knife, and then cut our bindings loose. Both Paul and I immediately began rubbing at our sore wrists. If it hadn’t been so pathetic, it might have been cute.

“I never want to catch either of you doing something like this ever again. That building is privately owned. You have no business there, even though you might have a key.” She stared hard at Paul. “Speaking of which . . .” She held out her hand.

Paul reached into his pocket and produced the key. He dropped it into her hand.

From where he stood by the wall, John smirked. He was thoroughly enjoying this. I gave him a good glare before turning back to Patricia.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “This is all my fault. I didn’t know we were doing anything wrong.”

Before turning to face John, she gave me a look that said, “How stupid do you think I am?”

“Go take a walk, Buchannan,” she said. John jumped at the sound of her voice and the smug grin faded.

He looked from where Paul and I sat, side by side on the couch, to the police chief. His face hardened as realization set in. He knew we were going to get away with this without much more than a slap on the wrist. I had a feeling he’d been hoping she would toss us both in a cell for a little while. He probably already had plans to post the pictures all over Facebook.

For a moment I thought he might actually argue. His face contorted, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and his eyes hardened. Then, with a huff, like a good little officer, he nodded once before he turned and stormed out of the room. He slammed the door behind him.

Patricia faced away from us for what seemed an eternity. She was rubbing her forehead with one hand while the other tapped lightly on the table. Paul shifted uncomfortably next to me as we awaited the next onslaught. I had no doubt we were in for a good long lecture.

“So,” Patricia said, turning, “how did the date go?”

I’m pretty sure my jaw hit my chest. I wasn’t too sure because Paul just about choked on his own tongue beside me and was sputtering out random gibber-jabber in an effort to come up with something to say. Whatever he’d expected to happen, this wasn’t it.

“Come on,” Patricia said. She sat down on the edge of the interrogation table, glancing toward the door as if to make sure Officer Buchannan was really gone. “Spill it.”

“Well,” Paul said carefully, “we went out to eat.”

“The Banyon Tree?” she asked.

We both nodded.

She winced. “No wonder you decided to find something else to do. One of these days, I’m going to find a way to hit those two with enough violations, they’ll be forced to pack up their grease bucket restaurant and find another town to poison.”

I didn’t want to mention that I’d actually liked the food there, so I simply twiddled my thumbs. Paul, likewise, only nodded, as if agreeing, though he’d said he went there every day.

“What could have possibly possessed you two to abandon a night out together and snoop around Lawyer’s Insurance?” she asked, leaning forward. “Did you find anything to make the trouble you’re in worth it?”

“No,” Paul answered. “It was as we left it.”

I clenched my teeth. If I were to bring up the picture and the dust, I’d just sound insane. I’m not sure why the police were so gung ho about classifying it as an accident, but I was pretty sure they wouldn’t want me telling them they were wrong. Maybe once I had something more concrete, I could present it to them. Until then, I was on my own.

Patricia yawned and stretched. “Well, the next time you decide to finish off a date by breaking and entering, run it by me first.” She stood. “There are far better ways to end a date, if you catch my meaning.” She gave me an exaggerated wink.

I caught her meaning, all right, but I didn’t want to. My face flushed about as red as Paul’s did. We both stood to cover our embarrassment.

“I need to get some sleep.” Patricia moved to the door. She rested her hand on the knob, but didn’t turn it right away. “You two should probably get to bed soon.” She winked again, this time with a grin, before opening the door and leaving the room.

I stood frozen beside Paul, not quite certain how I wanted to interpret his mom’s words. I’m really not so sure there were too many ways to take them that weren’t dirty. She was
far
too interested in her son’s sex life—that was for sure.

“I’m sorry about that,” Paul said, turning. He could hardly look me in the eye. “Looks like we’re getting off with a warning, though I’m not so sure that makes this any better. First date and I get you arrested.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” I said. “If I wouldn’t have brought it up, we wouldn’t have been there to get caught.”

He gave me a wan smile, telling me he didn’t quite agree. Men. Why can’t they let a woman take responsibility once in a while?

“Let me get you home,” he said after a brief, uncomfortable silence.

“Okay.”

He led the way out of the interrogation room, into the station proper.

Just like the force, the Pine Hills police station wasn’t very big. The front room held a reception desk up front and a few other desks farther in, where the officers did their paperwork. A door at the far end led to Chief Dalton’s office. The bathrooms were across the room from that, and a stairwell was next to them. I assumed they led down to the jail cells.

John Buchannan stood by his desk, glowering. There was only one other officer in the room, but she was busy at a copy machine in the back. She didn’t look up as we passed. Since Buchannan had been out on patrol earlier, I was assuming she was the night desk clerk.

I didn’t breathe until we were out in the cool, clear night. A part of me had feared I’d never see the stars again. I imagined being dragged every hour from my cell to be interrogated brutally by Officer Buchannan, before being shoved back into my closet-sized cage. Clearly, I’d watched too many overly dramatic crime dramas in my time. I took a deep breath, let it out, and then practically sagged into Paul’s car.

We rode in silence back to my place. It seemed like we did a lot of that when we were together. Was it a bad sign that we rarely had much to say to one another?

I was worried that just because we’d gotten off with a warning, it didn’t mean we’d avoided a disaster. Paul would have to deal with the rest of the force poking fun at him, especially since he was the chief’s son, and I had a feeling Raymond Lawyer wouldn’t take too kindly to the fact we’d been snooping around. Not only that, but I was now going to be known as the girl who got arrested breaking into Lawyer’s Insurance. I was under no illusions that the rumor patrol wouldn’t pick up on the story within the hour.

Paul pulled his car up in front of my house. He didn’t turn off the engine. He didn’t even look at me as we sat there. It was clear he wasn’t interested in coming in for a nightcap. I wasn’t even sure he would ever want to see me again after this. It was my idea that had gotten him into trouble.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said after a moment. “I’d envisioned things ending a little differently.” He paused and frowned. “Of course, I didn’t envision them ending quite like my mom did, either.”

I laughed. As unpleasant as being zip stripped and being hauled downtown had been, I hadn’t entirely hated my night. In a way the whole thing was sort of exciting.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I had fun.” And strangely, I meant it.

He snorted. “Right,” he said. “Getting arrested is part of every girl’s dream of a perfect date.”

“Really,” I said to assure him. “It was an adventure. Dates are rarely this exciting, especially first ones.” I said the last in a way that I hoped told him I was interested in there being more.

A small smile lit up his cheeks. There were those dimples I’d been missing. I’d been starting to worry I’d never see them again.

“I hope you won’t hold it against me if I don’t resort to criminal activity to impress you the next time?”

“I’ll try not to.”

There was a moment of silence wherein we both knew what was supposed to come next, but we weren’t brave enough to take that step. I could feel eyes on us and knew Eleanor Winthrow was watching from her seat by the window. I’d left my outside light on and it shone right through the windshield, like a spotlight, illuminating us for the world to see.

And then it happened, witnesses be damned. Paul leaned over and gave me a peck on the side of the mouth. I think he’d been going for my cheek, but I’d turned into it. I wasn’t sure if it was an accident or if I saw him coming and had been hoping for more. It was all kind of a blur.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said, sitting straight again.

“Yeah.” I was leaning toward him like a dope. We weren’t teenagers anymore. He wasn’t going to push me into the seat and make out with me for the next hour.

Still, I was sort of depressed we didn’t end our date with a little more flourish. The rest of the night had been over-the-top exciting, so why not end it that way?

“I should probably get back,” Paul said, glancing into his rearview mirror like he expected to see John Buchannan back there, watching us. That, or perhaps his mom cheering us on, pom-poms and all. “I’ll need to smooth things over back at the station. I’m hoping we can keep Mr. Lawyer from pressing charges.”

“Do you think someone will tell him?”

Paul gave me a reassuring smile. “Even if they do, I’ll make sure to spin it so that he thinks we saw something and had gone in to check it out. There was no harm done, so there is little reason to make a big deal about it.” He shrugged. “This sort of thing often blows over here.”

I really hoped he was right, though I did wonder if that was why they classified something that, to me, was clearly a murder as an accident. Were there so few crimes in Pine Hills that no one was willing to consider that an actual murder might have happened?

“Well, good night,” he said when I didn’t say something right away.

“Night.”

I got out of the car and leaned in for one last kiss on the cheek. I closed the door and then stepped back as Paul pulled out of my driveway and drove away. I really hoped he managed to keep Officer Buchannan from smearing our names all over the place.

Then again, why would he need to? I was doing a good-enough job of that myself.

With a sigh I turned and headed inside for a good long cuddle with my cat.

14

I woke up the next morning with absolutely no desire to go to work. There was just something about the day that made me want to crawl right back into bed and sleep for a good ten hours. Perhaps it was my little brush with the law the night before that did it. Maybe it was Brendon Lawyer’s death that was getting to me. Or it could just be the cloudy sky that gave no indication it was ever going to clear up.

Whatever the reason, it wasn’t enough for me actually to stay in bed. Maybe by the time I finished my morning routine, I’d be in a much better mood and would be able to get to work with a smile on my face.

Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen.

By the time I was out of the shower, dressed, and working on my second cup of coffee, I was positive I wasn’t going to be able to make it through the workday. Even the mushy cookie in the bottom of my mug couldn’t cheer me up.

I glanced at the clock and grimaced. I was supposed to have been to work ten minutes ago. We weren’t officially open, but by now, Vicki would have finished the morning setup. She was probably wondering where I was.

With a sigh I reluctantly picked up the phone and dialed the shop.

“Death by Coffee!” Vicki answered cheerfully. It sounded so sickeningly sweet—I wanted to stab her in her happy glands.

“Hi, Vicki, it’s me,” I said, squashing the thought. Homicidal tendencies weren’t conducive to a long and happy life.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Do you think you’d be okay without me today?” I winced as I spoke, knowing how it had to sound. “I’m not feeling too hot and am afraid I might fall asleep in the middle of my shift.”

“Oh no,” she said, sounding genuinely concerned. “Is everything okay?”

How did I answer that one? I felt like a royal jerk for calling in sick. This was supposed to be our dream job together; and after only a few days, I was already making excuses as to why I couldn’t come in. At least I was calling, I suppose. It’s more than you can say about a lot of other people.

But what was I to tell her? That I got arrested last night on my date? That I was still thinking about Brendon Lawyer’s death? Or that I was worried about how we never got any customers and I feared we were going to have to close the store by the end of the month?

I settled on “Yeah. I’m just feeling really tired.” Sue me.

“Officer Hunky keep you out all night?”

Boy, I was glad I was home alone so no one could see the blush that instantly rushed up my neck. “Not really,” I said, really hoping I didn’t sound guilty. “I think it’s just a combination of everything—new job, stress. I think I need a day to clear my head and then I’ll be as good as new.”

“Okay, sure.” Vicki sounded just as chipper as she had when she’d answered the phone. “I can take care of things here. Just get better.”

“Thanks, Vicki. I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” There was a faint tinkle. “Oh! I’d better go. First customer of the day!”

I hung up, feeling a little better. Now that the pressure of actually having to work was gone, I felt as if I could face the day without breaking down into a sobbing puddle.

Misfit sauntered in from the laundry room just then. He plopped down next to me and gave me a look that quite clearly asked, “What are you still doing here?” I guess he’d already gotten used to this being his alone time.

“I’m taking a day off,” I told him, which earned me an irritated tail swish. “Do you think I should get back into my pj’s and veg out in front of the TV?”

His ears pinned back and he swished his tail a few more times. Clearly, he didn’t like the idea as much as I did.

“You’re probably right,” I said with a sigh. If I wanted to break out of my little mental funk, daytime TV sure wasn’t the way to do it.

I glanced over at the box sitting beside the island counter. I could always spend the day unpacking. In reality, I knew, I should have finished it up days ago, yet I just couldn’t seem to find the energy for it. Unpacking meant going through all of my old things, which, in turn, meant bringing back all of the memories of things I’d prefer to forget.

Like Robert.

I ground my teeth together. Why should it matter to him where I was? We weren’t together anymore. I had no intention of crawling back to him, no matter how lonely I might get.

Okay, so unpacking was out. It would just rile me up, or perhaps depress me even more. Maybe once I had another cup of coffee in me, I’d start to get motivated.

Misfit followed me across the room as I rinsed out my mug, put in a fresh chocolate chip cookie, and then filled the mug with the last of the coffee in the pot. I carried the mug—a white one with an orange cat snoozing on it—over to the counter, set it down, and removed a Sudoku puzzle. Misfit leapt up onto the counter, presumably to try to play with my pen as I worked.

Puzzles were my way of escaping. Whenever I had some deep thinking to do, out came a puzzle—any sort of puzzle. I could work on them, putting piece after piece together, whether it was words or numbers or actual puzzle pieces, and it was like my mind reacted, putting my thoughts in order. I got it from my dad, who believed writing was like a puzzle. He believed that as long as you carefully placed each piece of the story onto the page, no matter how little those pieces seemed to go together, you’d eventually get a complete story that made perfect sense.

And my life really was starting to feel like a giant puzzle. You have Death by Coffee. Then you add a little Brendon Lawyer, some peanut dust, and swirl them around, adding a mysterious death, a missing EpiPen, and multiple mistresses. Sprinkle that with a wife he was about to divorce, yet kept a picture of—front and center—on his desk. And you can’t forget the brother, who appeared to be getting a little too cozy with the wife, or the father, who didn’t seem too broken up over his son’s death.

I wasn’t quite sure how it all came together, but I was determined to figure it out.

With a heavy sigh I opened the Sudoku book and found a puzzle I hadn’t yet started. I picked up my pen—something I steadfastly believed in. If you used a pencil, it meant you weren’t sure you were doing it right—and got to work.

Misfit watched my pen move across the page, but thankfully didn’t try to bat at it. There were more than a few marks across my puzzle books where he’d timed a strike just right. I’ve had to abandon a couple of puzzles because I could no longer read what I’d already written.

The coffee in my mug slowly dwindled and the puzzle was falling into place, yet I wasn’t feeling any better. I’d made a few minor mistakes, which irked me to no end, and was reduced to writing in the margin. I’d done countless number of these things and hated it whenever I made a wrong mark. It wasn’t like me.

I drained the last of my coffee and set the mug aside. I kept thinking of Paul and what we’d found in Brendon’s office. Why hadn’t Heidi come to get his things? Why hadn’t his father cleaned out the office if the police were done? Or were they? Was this whole “classifying it as an accident” thing some sort of smoke screen and they were closing in on the murderer even now?

A faint sliding sound tried to break through my thoughts, but I was so deep into trying to piece things together, it was only background noise. I’d stopped working on the Sudoku puzzle, but was staring at the page as if I might be able to find the answer in the numbers somehow. I
knew
Brendon hadn’t accidently consumed peanuts on the very day he’d forgotten his EpiPen. He was getting a divorce. His mother-in-law hated him. His brother and father didn’t seem too broken up over his death. He’d had not one, but two mistresses. There seemed to be no end to the amount of people who might want him dead. I mean, the guy did insurance work for a living. How many people did he screw over in his time on the job?

The sliding sound picked up speed. I glanced over just in time to see an orange paw finish pushing the near-empty coffee mug off the counter. I made a grab for it, but I was too slow. It hit the floor with a definite crack. Mushy cookie splattered everywhere.

“Misfit!” I shouted as he leapt gleefully from the counter and bolted out of the room and down the hall toward the laundry room. No wonder he hadn’t played with my pen; he wanted me to forget about him so he could take out a bigger, more satisfying target.

“I’m going to trade you in for a dog!” I shouted after him. I think I heard a kitty snicker from down the hall, but it was likely just my imagination.

With a groan I went to the sink for paper towels. This wasn’t the first time I’d cleaned up a mess the cat had caused on purpose and I seriously doubted it would be the last. I was really starting to wonder if his entire purpose in life was to make me miserable.

The cookie was ruined. It looked more like something a cat would hack up than anything I’d actually eat, spread across the floor as it was. I wiped it up, tossed the paper towels into the trash, and then carried the mug over to the sink. There was a crack that ran most of the way down the side, but other than that, it didn’t look too damaged. A line of superglue might keep it sealed well enough to use again. It was one of my favorite mugs. I wasn’t going to give up on it so easily.

I froze, mug hovering under the faucet, where I’d been about to rinse it out.

That was it. That was what I was missing.

I set the mug down and started pacing.

Brendon and Heidi Lawyer were getting a divorce because he’d cheated on her, not with only one woman, but two. Heidi was ready to break it off with him, but someone, perhaps her mother as Raymond believed, had interceded.

I glanced at the mug, mind racing. It was cracked, but still usable. I could put it back together and, really, it could be just as good as new.

Could their marriage have been the same?

I should have seen it before.

Brendon had kept a picture of his wife facing him, front and center, on his office desk so he’d look right into her eyes as he worked. Would you do that with a woman you were about to divorce? Raymond
had
said someone had interfered with them breaking up, but I’d dismissed it, thinking there was no way Regina Harper would have wanted her daughter to get back with her husband, but what if it wasn’t because of her? What if someone else was involved in restoring the spark they’d once had?

I could see how it fit, even if I didn’t have the entire picture. Maybe Regina Harper decided to kill Brendon instead of letting her daughter go through with a divorce, not knowing the two had worked things out. If Heidi would have been left with nothing by leaving her husband, but inherited everything upon his death, instead, maybe she decided to stay with him so she wouldn’t lose everything.

Or could they actually have come to some sort of understanding and someone decided to put an end to their reconciliation?

I needed to talk to Heidi Lawyer.

The problem was, I didn’t know where she lived. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been at Death by Coffee. I seriously doubted she’d come strolling in for a cup of joe just because I wanted her to do so.

The phone book. I knew I had one around there somewhere. I’d been sure to pick it up the very day I’d arrived in Pine Hills, but I couldn’t remember where I’d put it.

I rushed from the kitchen into the dining room. There were boxes stacked in here, just as they were everywhere else. Most of them were still taped shut. I passed by them and went to the nearly empty hutch. It was where I normally kept my phone book.

At first glance I didn’t see it. Papers were tossed on the shelves—mostly bills, which had already found their way to me. I shoved them to the floor in my scramble to find the book. I feared that even if I found it, I would arrive too late, that Heidi would have up and left town. I needed to talk to her before something else happened.

And then there it was, lying askew at the back of the bottom shelf. I snatched up the phone book, flipped through the pages until I got to the
L
’s, and then ran my finger down the page.

There it was:
Brendon and Heidi Lawyer.

I scrawled the address on the back of a bill envelope, grabbed my purse, and headed out the door.