Death by French Roast

by Alex Erickson

  We stood awkwardly at the counter for a few moments, with Paul sipping at his coffee, and me just staring at him like a dope. There were only two customers in Death by Coffee, and neither of them was paying us any mind. Thankfully, Jeff had wandered off to give us some semblance of privacy, and Beth was upstairs working with the books.

  Paul cleared his throat. “I was thinking,” he said, but he didn’t immediately tell me what it was he was thinking about. Instead, he took a long drink of his coffee.

  “And?” I prodded. My heart was racing again. I could almost feel the question before he asked it.

  “I’m done here in about an hour,” he said. “I was thinking that after you close, you might want to get something to eat.”

  My racing heart decided it was time to hang out in my throat. “Eat?” I croaked.

  Paul’s smile turned amused. “Yeah. You know, you put food in your mouth and chew.”

  “I know what ‘eat’ means,” I said, blushing to my roots. “I was just . . . I thought . . .” I closed my eyes and mentally berated myself for stumbling over my words. “I would love to.”

  Paul’s entire face lit up. “Great!”

  “But I can’t tonight.”

  And then his face fell. “You can’t?”

  “Tonight’s the writers group meeting. I was hoping to go and talk to Rita and some of her friends there. It’s been a while, and well . . .” I wanted to talk to them about Wade’s murder, but he didn’t need to know that yet.

  “I didn’t realize you were getting back into writing,” Paul said.

  “I’m not. But I do miss getting together with everyone, and thought tonight would be a good night to do it. I could always change my plans.” Though, honestly, I really wanted to see what Rita and her friends had to say about Wade’s death.

  Paul shook his head and then put on his hat. “No, don’t do that on my account.” He shot me a dazzling smile. “We can always plan for another night.”

  “Tomorrow night?” I asked, rushing my words like I was afraid he might walk out and never ask me out again.

  “I can’t tomorrow night,” he said. “But the night after would be good for me.”

  “Let’s do it then.” I nearly shouted the words. “If you still want to.”

  “Of course I do.” He hesitated a moment and then reached across the counter to briefly touch my hand. “I’ll pick you up at your place at eight?” He made it a question.

  “Eight sounds great.”

  “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  “Yep.”

  He turned and walked out of Death by Coffee. I held my breath until I saw him get into his car and drive off. Only then did I squeal in glee.

  One of the two customers clapped, while Jeff appeared from the back to shoot me a wink and a thumbs-up. Beth, who’d apparently been secretly watching from the counter upstairs, grinned and shook her head as she turned away.

  Needless to say, I went back to work in such a good mood, I felt as if I was floating on clouds. I’m not sure my feet touched the ground again until it was time to close up and confront my friend about a murder.

  3

  The Pine Hills writers group held their meetings in one of the upstairs rooms of the church in downtown Pine Hills. From the outside, the building looked splendid with its stained-glass windows, well-tended hedges, and ruby red stonework. The inside, however, showed the age of the huge building. The stairs, which had worn verses painted on them, creaked loudly as I headed up to where the meetings were held.

  I was still wearing my work clothes since I’d come straight from closing to the church. There was a stain on my shirt, which I absently rubbed at as I made my way to the top of the stairs. I would have liked to have changed, but I’d hoped to catch Rita alone before the meeting started. Thankfully, when I’d parked, her car was the only one in the lot.

  Rita was setting up chairs as I entered. Her back was to me, so she didn’t see me right away. I took a moment to regard her, to see if I could see some sort of, I don’t know, residue from what had happened all those years ago. If it was there, I sure didn’t see it. All I could see was a highly energetic, somewhat plump, middle-aged woman.

  “Oh!” she said when she turned and saw me standing there. “I didn’t hear you come in, dear. I swear my mind wanders sometimes. Would you mind helping me finish up? I got a late start and would like everything in place before anyone else arrives.”

  “Sure.” I snagged a chair from where it sat against the wall and placed it in the center of the room, next to the others Rita had set up.

  “I’m glad to see you here, Krissy. James Hancock’s blood runs through those veins of yours, so I know you’ve got something to contribute to our little chats.”

  James Hancock was my dad. He was also a mystery writer. Rita claimed to be his number-one fan, and honestly, I couldn’t say that she was wrong. She also had a gigantic crush on him that made me a little queasy every time I thought about it.

  It was a good thing Dad lived in California, or else I’d probably have to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t try to drag him off somewhere.

  “I’m not here for the group,” I said, carefully not meeting her eye. “Well, I am, but not for writing.”

  “Oh?” She turned to face me. “Then why are you here?”

  I set up two more chairs—which was probably two too many considering the size of the group the last time I was there—before I answered.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard Eleanor Winthrow passed away.”

  Rita went still. “Yes, I heard. It’s a real shame. She was the lonely sort, never really got out much, if you know what I mean. I can’t say she had the best choice in friends, but who am I to judge?” When she laughed, it came out strained.

  “I went to the services,” I said. I was struggling to get to the point, but knew I needed to get there soon. Once the others started arriving, I might miss my chance. “I talked to her daughter, Jane.”

  “Did you now?” Rita said. She moved to the front of the room where a recliner sat, facing the rest of the chairs. She sat down slowly. I had a feeling she knew where I was going with this.

  “I did. We talked about Eleanor’s past.” I paused, and then, because there was nothing else I could do but say it, I added, “We talked about her brother.”

  There was a moment of silence where Rita didn’t so much as breathe and I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. Would she be mad I’d brought him up? Would she cry? This was a subject Rita had never talked to me about since I’d known her, which meant it wasn’t something she was comfortable talking about, because Rita talked about everything.

  “I see.” Her voice was strong, controlled. When I chanced a look at her, Rita’s expression was thoughtful, rather than angry or sad. “And what did she tell you about him?”

  “That his name was Wade. That he was murdered.” I swallowed a lump that had grown in my throat. “That you dated him.”

  “I did.” Rita took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “I suppose our relationship is no big secret. Wade Fink and I were an item right up until the moment some no-good villain killed him.”

  “Do you know who did it?” I asked.

  “Of course not, dear. If I did, I would have done something about it long before now.”

  “What about suspects?” I asked. “Was there someone who had a reason to kill him? An enemy or a rival, perhaps?”

  “Well, let me think . . .” Rita trailed off, as if in deep thought, and then her eyes went suddenly wide. “Wait. Are you going to investigate Wade’s murder?”

  Feeling self-conscious, I nodded. “I was thinking about it.”

  Rita bound to her feet and clapped her hands together. The resulting sound made me jump.

  “I should have considered it myself!” she said. “I mean, the famous Krissy Hancock, living right here in Pine Hills, and I never once thought of asking you to look into our own little unsolved mystery.” She rushed forward and took both
my hands. “Whatever I can do to help, just tell me. I’ll do anything you ask.”

  I squeezed her hands. “I don’t know what to do yet, Rita. I just learned about it earlier today, and honestly, I’m not so sure where to start. That’s why I’m here.”

  Rita released my hands so she could pace back and forth in front of me. “Well, coming here was an obvious first step. If you need to ask me whether or not I had anything to do with his death, you best get it out now.”

  “It never crossed my mind,” I said, shocked she’d even think I’d consider her a suspect.

  “It should have,” Rita said. “You know how it is. You investigate those closest to the deceased first. I was definitely the closest person to Wade at the time.” She tapped her chin. “So, where do we go from here?”

  The door opened downstairs and voices drifted to us before I could so much as think of a suggestion.

  “Let me take care of things, dear,” Rita said. “You sit right down and once the meeting starts, I’ll make sure you get exactly what you need.”

  I wasn’t sure what that would involve—and was kind of worried about what she might do—but I did as she said, dragging a chair to the side of the room so I could see the entire group, including Rita, at the same time.

  The voices belonged to two women I didn’t know. They looked to be about college-aged, and of an energy I only wished I possessed. They greeted Rita warmly before taking their seats. One of them glanced my way and waved. I returned the gesture just as another group member—this one I knew; Adam—arrived.

  It didn’t take long for others to show. Rita’s gossip buddies, Georgina McCully and Andi Caldwell sat next to one another, while the Pine Hills police chief, Patricia Dalton, took a seat directly across from me. She nodded to me once in a way that wasn’t quite friendly, but wasn’t outright hostile. To say we had a complicated relationship would be an understatement.

  The last to arrive was one of Death by Coffee’s employees, Lena Allison, with a man I hadn’t met before. His hair was the same purple as hers, and his arms were covered in tattoos. When Lena saw me, her face brightened.

  “Ms. Hancock!” she said. “I haven’t seen you here in forever.”

  “Please, call me Krissy, Lena. You know that.”

  She reddened. “Yeah, I know. I was just surprised.” She slapped the guy she was with hard on the back. “This is Zay. He’s a friend.”

  Zay gave a lazy wave. “Hey.”

  I returned the wave, just as Rita cleared her throat. Lena shot me a grin, and then the two of them took their seats.

  “All right,” Rita said. “I think that’s going to be everyone for tonight.” She settled into her recliner, though she looked antsy to be up and about. She rocked back and forth, causing the chair to squeak with every movement. “We’re going to start a little differently tonight. I know, Haley, I promised you’d get to lead the group, but something has come up. We’ll make it up to you.”

  One of the young women—Haley, I presumed—gave an exaggerated sigh, smiled, and then settled back and rested her hands on a paper-thin laptop that was sitting on her lap.

  “As many of you know, we lost one of our longtime residents recently. Eleanor Winthrow never came to group, but she touched many of our lives in some way.” A crack appeared in Rita’s calm expression. For the first time, I could see the immense sadness she was hiding.

  Murmurs went up around the room. Across the room, Chief Dalton narrowed her eyes at me.

  “What some of you didn’t realize, Eleanor and I shared a connection. You see, I used to date her brother, Wade. I was young, and maybe a little naïve at the time, but we did love one another. Unfortunately, he was murdered before that love could truly be realized.”

  Someone gasped. I was shocked to realize it wasn’t Andi, who had a tendency to gasp at just about every declaration.

  “It happened thirty-three years ago,” Rita said. “The crime remains unsolved to this day.” Her gaze swept across the room, finally landing on me. “But that’s going to change. Our resident detective, Krissy Hancock, is going to look into Wade’s murder, and finally put his killer behind bars.”

  All eyes turned to me. I wanted to shrink into my chair, but there was nowhere for me to go. “That’s me,” I said. “But I’m not a detective.”

  Rita waved a dismissive hand at me. “Of course you are, dear.” She turned her attention back to the group at large. “What I’d like to do is have everyone tell Krissy what they know about Wade and his death. Maybe we’ll be lucky and your statements will cause something to click and she can solve this thing before we leave tonight.”

  I doubted that would happen, but I wasn’t about to dissuade anyone from talking. I sat up straighter and put on my best “listener” face.

  The woman who’d come with Haley raised a hand.

  “Yes, Wendy?” Rita asked.

  “I wasn’t born yet, so . . .”

  “Of course you weren’t, dear,” Rita said. “But it might be good for you to listen in. The details might help you with your own mystery.”

  Wendy considered that a moment before she opened a thin laptop that was the twin of Haley’s own, apparently to take notes.

  “I’m not sure what you expect,” Patricia said, focusing on me. She was still in her uniform, though she was wearing it loosely—the top button unbuttoned, shirt untucked. “The case has remained unsolved for a reason.”

  “Were you in charge of the investigation?” I asked.

  Patricia laughed. “Not quite. Thirty years ago, I wasn’t in charge of anything. Albie Bruce was the police chief back then.”

  I knew the name Albie Bruce, but couldn’t place where I’d heard it before. Working at a bookstore café, a lot of names and faces passed through, so there was a chance he’d come in a time or two.

  “What do you remember of it?” I asked Patricia. “I imagine a murder investigation was as big of a deal in a small town as it is today.”

  She nodded. “It was. This was what? ’85? Maybe ’86? Things were different back then, of course. We didn’t have the same sort of technology or know as much about DNA as we do now, so it wasn’t like we could just pop something into a computer and get the answers we needed. There were no fancy cell phones like today, so there were no recordings or texts that we could go look at.”

  “I can’t imagine living like that,” Haley said with a shake of her head.

  “I never got to see the scene,” Patricia went on. “In fact, some of the guys thought that me being a woman made me too sensitive and I couldn’t handle a murder.” If we hadn’t been inside, I had a feeling she would have spat on the ground to emphasize what she thought of that. “Unfortunately, it means I don’t have much I can provide when it comes to firsthand information.”

  The idea that anyone could think Patricia Dalton too sensitive for anything was as much of a shock to me as it was disgusting. I was glad most of the world had moved on from such primitive thinking.

  “Wasn’t Wade part of the Coffee Drinkers?” Georgina asked. Her glasses hung from a chain around her neck today as she rocked slowly in the only rocking chair in the room.

  “I do believe he was,” Andi said next to her. Her steel gray hair was thinning up top, and the lines around her eyes had deepened so much, they looked like canyons in her face.

  “Coffee Drinkers?” I asked, interest piqued even more.

  It was Patricia who answered. “It was a group of men who used to drink coffee together at the Banyon Tree years ago. They were all suspects at one time, but were cleared.”

  Rita’s posture stiffened. “Cleared only because no evidence was found against them.”

  “I think they still go there,” Andi said.

  “They do.” Georgina nodded sagely. “I saw Arthur Cantrell there just last week.”

  “Wait.” I sat forward. “Arthur Cantrell? Gray hair, loud voice?” I wasn’t sure how else to describe the man I’d seen earlier that day at Eleanor’s services.

/>   Georgina scratched at her chin as she considered it. “Sounds like him, I suppose. He tends to be in a bad mood often, doesn’t he?”

  “He does,” Andi agreed.

  “He argued with a group of guys earlier today,” I said. “He said Eleanor wouldn’t have come to their funerals. He made it sound like she didn’t like Wade’s friends all that much.”

  Andi snorted. “There was definitely no love between her and those men,” she said. “If I recall, she never thought Wade should have ever hung around them. Called them a bad influence.”

  “That they were,” Georgina said. “It’s why we had a name for them, though I always thought we should have called them something a little more descriptive.”

  “Why?” I asked. Could one of those men have killed Wade?

  “We won’t devolve into rumor and speculation,” Patricia cut in before anyone else could speak. “The case is dead. I’m not sure dredging it up again is in anyone’s best interest.” She looked to Rita, who was just barely holding on.

  “Maybe we should move on to writing,” Lena said. “At least for a little bit.”

  I wanted to press Georgina and Andi further, but held off on asking anything more. Rita might have wanted me to investigate, but the moment we’d started talking about her deceased boyfriend, she’d grown tense. She seemed all too happy to hand the floor over to Haley, who popped open her laptop and started reading.

  While I wasn’t interested in writing myself any longer, I did my best to enjoy the meeting. I noted there was a marked improvement in everyone’s writing since the last time I was there. Even Rita read a little from her latest work, though her voice broke twice in the reading.

  Once everyone finished, and after a brief discussion on the best way to attack editing, the meeting ended. I rose, intent on asking Rita a few questions, but she vanished out the door without so much as a good-bye.

  “Best give her some time,” Patricia said, joining me. “She’ll be back to close up, but I think she needs her space for now.”