Death by Tea (9 page)

9

The idea of going in to work the next morning was enough to make me sick. After I got home from the fabulous dinner Lance and Jules had prepared, I'd spent the rest of the night cleaning up after Buchannan. Even though I'd promised myself I'd stop worrying about things I couldn't control, I kept thinking about how he'd gone through my house, through my things, without me being there to make sure he didn't take anything. And to top it all off, I'd actually had the object he was searching for, the cutout the police had erroneously linked with the murder, thanks to Rita. And with all of the martinis I'd had, I was in no shape to sleep, let alone get up in the morning and spend all day working.

I staggered out of bed, hand to my pounding head. I dragged myself into the bathroom, where I took a couple of aspirin before stepping into the shower. There was no way I was going to survive work today. I wasn't even sure I could make it in without collapsing.

The one thing I
was
sure of, however, was that I didn't regret the previous day. I'd met someone new, and even if it didn't go anywhere, it had gotten me out of the house and made me feel better about myself. I'd spent a nice evening with a pair of great people, and while I'd spent the last hour before crashing cleaning up after Buchannan, it hadn't been all bad.

As I stepped out of the shower, I realized sitting around the house and moping would do me no good. I'd dwell on Buchannan, on how the murderer might have been inches away from me when I'd stolen Cardboard Dad. I'd completely forget about the good things that had happened, and that was something I wouldn't allow.

I left the bathroom, got dressed for work, and then with a determined if not shaky walk, I headed for my car. There'd be no slouching for me today.

Death by Coffee was mostly empty as I walked through the door, a strained smile plastered across my face. Vicki had opened up alone and was happily ringing up a sale upstairs. I gave her a short wave and a yawn before heading back into the office for my apron. When I came back out, she was waiting for me by the downstairs register.

“How are you doing?” she asked, resting a hand on my shoulder. “You look beat.”

“I am.” I proceeded to tell her all about what happened after I'd left her last night. Her brow furrows increased the longer I talked. By the time I was done, she looked ready to break someone.

“What a jerk!” she said with an angry shake of her head. Blond hair bounced around her face in a way that made me think of all those slow-motion videos of women shaking raindrops from their hair, or slowly emerging from the ocean, water spraying from them provocatively. “Something should be done about it.”

“I just want to put it behind me.” Buchannan wasn't worth all of the energy I was putting into hating him.

“Well, if you need to take some time off, I can handle this until Mike gets in.”

I shook my head and winced when it made my headache worse. The thought of going home to Misfit now wasn't appealing in the slightest. Here, I could focus on the monotony of my workday. At home, I'd drive myself insane thinking about all the things I could do nothing about.

“I'll be fine. I need something to do.”

Vicki nodded in understanding. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Vicki wandered back up into the bookstore to help a young couple who'd just come in. As I watched her go, I caught a glimpse of yellow tape in the far back of the stacks upstairs. I walked around the counter, eyes never leaving the incriminating flare of yellow, and moved so I could get a better look. A small section of floor was cordoned off with police tape—something I'd be happy to never see again. There appeared to be no blood, though I wasn't about to get close enough to be sure. A couple of people hovered near the area, pretending to look at books, though their eyes constantly strayed to the sectioned-off area.

I wondered whether the store cat, Trouble, was in today, or whether Vicki was keeping him at home until the excitement blew over. I hadn't seen him anywhere. He normally liked to perch atop one of the four-foot-tall bookshelves, watching customers until he decided to make a nuisance of himself. The black-and-white cat lived up to his name just as much as Misfit did. There were probably rules against letting a feline around a crime scene, so he probably was pouting back at Vicki's place, which was fine by me. I didn't think I could deal with his hijinks today.

“Excuse me, miss.”

I just about jumped out of my shoes. I turned to find a short, balding man in a tweed jacket standing behind me, hand over his nose. His eyes were watering as they darted from side to side, presumably looking for the very same cat I'd just been thinking about. He'd come in a few times before, and each and every time he complained about Trouble. The last time I'd seen him, he'd just about been killed by the cat, so I was surprised to see him now.

“Yes?” I asked, swallowing my heart. If people kept sneaking up on me, I was going to have a heart attack.

“Could I get a cup of coffee, to go?” He licked his lips and his eyes scrunched up. He held the pose for a solid ten seconds before letting out a strained sneeze. “Quickly,” he added, eyes watering all the more.

I went back behind the counter to get the man his coffee. He claimed he was allergic to cats, and I for one wasn't going to call him a liar, but Trouble was nowhere to be seen and the man was acting as if the cat had just finished rubbing all over his face. Either Trouble's dander was floating heavily on the wind, or the guy had more than one allergy he was dealing with. I almost felt sorry for him.

I passed the coffee across the counter and took his money. He looked worried as he waited for his change.

“There you go, Mr. . . .” All these months in town and I had yet to learn the guy's name. It wasn't very sociable of me.

“Melville. Todd Melville.” It came out nasally, as if he was holding back another sneeze.

“Well, Mr. Melville, I hope we see you again.” I handed him his change.

He took it with a quick nod before darting out the door. As soon as he was outside, his entire demeanor changed. He took a deep breath of fresh air, wiped his eyes, and then strode down the sidewalk as if he hadn't just been gushing from the eyes and about to have the largest sneezing fit ever witnessed by man.

Go figure.

I spent the next two hours filling orders and pretending like my life hadn't been turned on its ear. At least half of the customers paid me sidelong glances as they sat at their tables, and nearly everyone stared openly at me as I went to fetch their coffee. One woman actually had the audacity to ask me if someone had truly died upstairs and if I had anything to do with it. I'll admit, the woman ended up with one less sugar in her coffee than she asked for. It was the only way I could get back at her without Buchannan all over me.

My eyes strayed to the window. I half expected Officer Underwear Rifler to come striding through the door, badge waving in the air. I couldn't see his cruiser, but that meant little if he was in his own personal car. Besides, the man had to sleep sometime, didn't he? He couldn't be watching me all of the time. He had Eleanor Winthrow for that, apparently.

I sighed and leaned against the counter. A few tables needed to be wiped down, but I didn't have the energy for it. I planted my chin in my palms and watched the world go by, doing my best to pretend that everything was peachy keen, though I did keep sneaking glances toward the door every few minutes in the hopes Will Foster would saunter in and proceed to make me feel better about myself again.

Sadly, I waited in vain.

At promptly noon, the door opened and Mike Green walked in. “Yo,” he said, striding past me. He went straight to the office, where he tied back his hair and slapped on a hat to keep the wild strands out of the coffee. He returned five minutes later, looking about as ready for work as he could manage.

I frowned at a tear in his jeans that was high enough on the back of his leg to expose a portion of his faded blue boxer shorts. If it had been anyone else, I might have said something, but from what I gathered, Mike was living paycheck to paycheck and a good portion of what he earned was going out to his ex in child support. His tennis shoes were dirty, and the back end of one of them flapped at the heel where it was coming loose.

Mike smiled at me as he leaned on the counter next to me. “Crazy week, right?”

“Right.” I sighed. “I could use a little less crazy around here right about now.”

“You got that right, chica.” His smile slipped and his eyes grew haunted as he looked toward where the yellow tape could just be seen. “Hard to believe, isn't it?”

“Sure is.” I paused and frowned. “Hey, weren't you here the night he died?”

Mike looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, I was.”

“Did anything happen that might tell us who could have killed him? Were there any big fights or anything? Vicki said you closed up after she left.”

“I did.” He wiped his hand over his mouth as if it had just gone sour. “There were some arguments, you know? About stupid stuff mostly. That Rita lady gets worked up pretty easily.”

No kidding. “What about David?” When his eyebrows rose, I added, “The dead guy.”

“What about him?”

“Did he fight with anyone?”

Mike's face scrunched up as he thought. “He spent most of the night with that stuck-up chick. He didn't say much as far as I can remember.” He shrugged. “That's really all I can tell you.”

“What about afterward?” I asked.

Mike's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Are you sure everyone was out of the store before you locked up? Could someone have stayed behind, hiding in the stacks perhaps?”

Mike straightened and actually looked offended. “I'm positive; everyone was gone. I did a head count. That Dave dude was the last to leave. I specifically remember it because the rich chick walked out before him, looking pissed.”

“Did they leave together? As in, did they get into the same car?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Mike was looking annoyed by all of the questions. “They left and I cleaned up and then closed up. That's all there is to it. They were gone by the time I left.”

Well, that wasn't what I'd wanted to hear. I was kind of hoping Mike would have seen someone hanging around afterward, or perhaps a fight had broken out in the parking lot. Even if he would have said that he couldn't remember whether everyone had left, it would have helped. It would have given me direction.

As it was, I had no more to go on than I did before. “Thanks,” I said. “You've been a great help.”

“Sure, sure. Glad I could be.” He turned to the register as an elderly woman came up to it. His smile looked genuine, which was something I could never pull off when taking orders. “Welcome to Death by Coffee. We've got some killer java in the pot.”

I cringed and mentally reminded myself to have a talk with Mike about the lingo. This wasn't the '90s anymore. Come to think of it, he couldn't have been more than five in the '90s. How he'd picked up the dated phrases was anyone's guess.

I wandered over to the front door and looked it up and down. No one had said anything about forced entry, but I thought it wise to at least give it a look. I opened the door enough so I could lean down and peer closely at the lock. There were no more scrapes than what you'd normally expect to find around a keyhole. There were no telltale crowbar marks—not that I knew what those would look like—or bent metal to be found.

“Thinking of changing your locks?”

A yelp escaped my lips and I clunked my forehead against the side of the door as I shot upright. I turned, rubbing at my throbbing head, to find Mason Lawyer smiling at me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, sore from being startled yet again. What I needed were eyes in the back of my head.

Mason only smiled at my grumpy tone. His brother had been murdered a few months back, and while I didn't exactly dislike the guy, he hadn't made my life any easier during the investigation. He didn't interfere per se, but he hadn't been too happy about my asking questions. Really, I couldn't blame him, especially since I'd thought he might have slept with his brother's wife.

He ran his fingers through his hair, which was darn near black. He'd been letting it grow out recently, which looked good on him. Not that I was looking. I already had enough men in my life I didn't know what to do with.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his demeanor suddenly changing to concern. “Vicki told me about that police officer following you around.”

“She what? When?”

“Last night.” His head popped up and a wide smile split his face.

“Mason!” Vicki rushed over and gave him a quick hug. “I'm glad you came.”

I stared at them for a long time, unable to speak. Mason and Vicki? It not only didn't compute, it caused my stomach to do these strange little flips that made my legs wobbly.

I stepped back from the doorway as Vicki led Mason inside. She was babbling at him practically nonstop, pointing to where the yellow tape blocked off a small section of the bookstore. The door swung closed behind me, nearly catching me on the butt as I stared after them, still completely unable to process what I'd just seen. Mike sauntered over with a sly grin.

“What just happened?” I asked.

“Looks like sexy Miss Patterson found herself a disc jockey.”

That was enough to distract me from the two of them. I turned a perplexed look to Mike. “What?”

He grinned, winked, and then shot a finger gun at me before walking away.