Death by French Roast

by Alex Erickson

  “I was afraid this might be hard on her.”

  “It is.” Patricia began moving chairs back to where they belonged. I noted Lena and Zay were helping as well, though they kept their distance from us. “It was a trying time then, and it still weighs on her today.”

  “She never once mentioned it.” I felt like I’d failed her as a friend because of it. I should have seen something; a hint of her sadness, perhaps.

  “I’m not surprised. You have to understand what it was like back then. There was an age difference between Rita and Wade Fink, one most people weren’t too keen to let slide.”

  “They were harassed.” I made it a statement, but she answered like it was a question.

  “All the time. I remember responding to a call once from Wade’s parents. Someone painted some pretty obscene things across the Fink house. Never caught who did that, either.”

  “It sounds horrible.”

  “It was no peach, that’s for sure.”

  We finished replacing the chairs. Lena and Zay headed off with a pair of waves, leaving Patricia and me alone. We walked slowly down the stairs and out into the parking lot, lost in our own thoughts. I noticed Rita’s car was still there, but she wasn’t in it. I supposed that meant she’d gone to one of the other rooms in the church to be alone for a little while. I hoped she’d be okay, because I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I’d upset her to the point where she withdrew into herself.

  “Be careful with this one,” Patricia said as she opened the driver’s-side door to her car. “The murder hit Rita hard then, and she’s still struggling with it now, though she doesn’t like to show it.”

  “I don’t want to upset her,” I said, wondering if it was too late for that.

  “I’m not going to stop you from poking around on this,” she said. “But know that you’re going to make quite a few people unhappy. This town doesn’t like controversy, and Rita’s relationship with Wade was as controversial as you could get back then. I imagine there’s still some resentment floating around and I wouldn’t want it to come back on you.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I promised her.

  Chief Dalton started to get into her car, but paused. “I should probably warn you: Rita wasn’t looked at as just the girlfriend of the victim.” She ran a hand over her mouth, seemed to consider whether or not to add more, and then hit me with it. “There are some out there who still believe Rita Jablonski killed her boyfriend in a jealous rage, and I’m afraid that bringing it up again might end up proving them right.”

  4

  “Thanks for stopping by, Cindy. Tell Jimmy I said hi.”

  The short librarian lifted her box in salute before making her way out of Death by Coffee to deliver the books I’d donated to the library where both she and her husband worked.

  I sagged against a bookshelf the moment she was through the door. The rush was done and Vicki was due to replace me within the next hour. My legs felt like rubber, and my hands were red from a wayward cup of coffee that I’d tried to catch before it had hit the floor.

  “Busy day,” Lena said as she joined me upstairs in the books. After my mishap with the coffee, I’d decided to let Lena and Jeff handle the downstairs rush to see how they did. The results were more than I could have hoped for.

  “Abnormally so.” I couldn’t say I was unhappy about it, but the morning and afternoon rushes had just about run me ragged, despite the fact I’d handled the bookstore portion of the store. I wasn’t used to it, and had struggled to keep up with the demand of reshelving books and checking people out at the same time.

  “It’s nice what you’re doing for Rita,” Lena said, drawing my attention back to her. “Zay thinks it’s pretty cool, too.”

  “Is Zay your boyfriend?” I asked.

  Lena’s face reddened. “No. He’s just a friend.”

  “You sure about that?”

  She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the grin from stretching across her face. “He’s pretty cool, but we just like to hang out. He’s just starting to write, so I thought it might be good for him to check out the writers group, see what it’s all about.”

  “It lets you spend some time together without the pressure of a date, huh?”

  “Stop, please.” Lena held up her hands. “Or else the next time you make googly eyes at someone, I’m never going to let you hear the end of it.”

  “I don’t make googly eyes!”

  “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.” Lena winked and then headed back downstairs to wipe down the tables.

  “I don’t,” I muttered.

  Now that the rush was done, and I’d caught my breath, I turned my attention to the shelves themselves. While I liked the layout of the bookstore, I felt it could use some updates. Moving between the shelves was sometimes a tight fit when we were busy, which made browsing difficult for our customers.

  I spent the next twenty minutes trying to come up with a way to reorganize the shelves, or better yet, figure out how we could budget for a new set. Taller shelves meant more books could fit in a smaller, more vertical space. I didn’t want to have to remove the couch and chairs we reserved for our readers, but if it came down to that, or leaving things as they were, I thought we might have to consider it.

  Vicki showed up just as I finished pricing a new set of high-quality bookshelves, Trouble in tow. She released the cat upstairs, and joined me at the counter. “What are you up to?” she asked, glancing over my shoulder.

  “Something for you to consider.” I handed her my handwritten notes, which included the often excessive prices I’d found. While she perused that, I headed downstairs, grabbed my things, and then left Death by Coffee. Despite my exhaustive day, there was still something I wanted to do before bedtime.

  The former Pine Hills police chief, Albie Bruce, was easy enough to find online. He lived just outside of Pine Hills, in a house that had seen better days. I knew he was an older man, but when he opened the door to my knock and I saw how old he really was, I started to wonder whether or not my visit would be worthwhile.

  Albie’s skin was the color of old parchment paper, and was so wrinkled, it was obvious he’d spent a lot of time in the sun. He wasn’t all that tall, but that could be because of a crook in his back that forced him to lean forward constantly. When he saw me standing there, his fluffy white eyebrows rose.

  “Krissy Hancock, on my doorstep. Will wonders never cease.” He shuffled back a step. “Come on in. I haven’t had a visitor in months, and I already know this here visit’s going to be a doozy.”

  “You know me?” I asked, accepting his offer and stepping into the small farmhouse. There was a draft, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The curtains fluttered at the windows, which were propped open by chunks of wood.

  “I do,” he said. “I’d imagine just about everyone who pays attention in this town does.” He shuffled over to an armchair and lowered himself slowly into it. He let out a sigh once he was settled. “Please, sit. I imagine you’ve got something quite interesting to say or else you wouldn’t be here.”

  I wasn’t sure about interesting, but I did want to talk to him, so I sat on the couch across from him. The furniture was old-fashioned and made me feel as if I’d been transported back to the seventies, but it was in good condition. A grandfather clock ticked the seconds, and I noted there was no TV in the room, just an old radio, which was on, but turned down so all I could hear was a faint mumble.

  I could imagine Albie sitting in his armchair, listening to the news on the radio, eyes closed. He had a grandfatherly air about him, yet I could see strength in the way he held himself.

  “Not everyone is keen on talking to me,” I said.

  “Not everyone cares to have their dirty laundry aired. The way I hear it, you like to pry. Good at it, too.”

  I flushed, not in embarrassment, but in delight. “I can’t help myself, I guess. I want to do what’s right.”

  “Sometimes, it’s hard to see what that is, don’t you
think?” He didn’t seem to expect an answer. “What is it I can do for you, Ms. Hancock?”

  “Krissy, please.”

  “Krissy.” He smiled, causing his eyes to nearly vanish within the wrinkles. “Feel free to call me Albie. Most people do these days, though a few still insist on calling me Chief Bruce.”

  “Albie.” I relaxed and sat back. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Eleanor Winthrow passed away a few days ago.”

  His smile faded as he nodded. “I heard. Shame, that is. She didn’t deserve none of what happened to her. Sometimes people get stuck in positions that they can’t pry themselves free of, and that was our Eleanor to a T.”

  “Are you talking about what happened to her brother, Wade?”

  Albie rubbed at his chin. “I suppose in a way, I am. Eleanor never quite got over it. Guess no one ever does, really. Especially with the way it happened.” He made a strange click sound with his mouth I assumed signified sympathy.

  “What do you remember?” I asked, not expecting much. From what little I’d gleaned, Albie was well into his nineties. His memory might not be what it once was.

  Albie picked up a pipe from a stand next to him. He regarded it a moment, and then set it aside. “Probably shouldn’t with a guest.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He folded his hands in his lap. “Everyone minds to some degree. I understand the health risks, but at this point, I don’t think it’s going to matter to me none. You, on the other hand, have a life ahead of you. Don’t want to risk that. It can wait until you are gone.” He heaved a sigh and settled back into his chair. “Let me think, this would be what? Thirty some years ago?”

  “About that. I keep hearing that it happened in 1985 or ’86.”

  “Sounds about right. I was already sixty by then, if you can believe it.”

  I could. “You were the police chief back then.”

  “I was. Was near retirement, too. I was one of those men who thought they’d keep going forever, but things were starting to catch up to me. Hip was going, and I’d taken a fall and wrenched my back something good that year. Still bothers me today, not that I’ll admit that to anyone else. Don’t need some nurse fussing over me. I get around well enough without it.”

  Albie shifted in his seat with a wince, and I wondered how much longer he could put off that nurse.

  “Wade Fink.” He said the name as if trying to discern some meaning from it. “He was found by a jogger off one of those runners’ paths in the woods that’s no longer there thanks to all the development that’s happened since then. She might have zipped right past him if her dog hadn’t led her off the trail.”

  “You’ve got a good memory,” I said, more out of surprise than anything.

  Albie chuckled. “Body might be falling apart, but my mind is as sharp as ever. I’ll credit all the fish I eat.”

  I made a mental note to have salmon for dinner. “Do you remember the name of the woman?” I asked.

  “Jill Thatcher. Died in ’93, I believe. Was a good sort, but had a thing for smoking and drinking to excess when she wasn’t trying to burn it off with all that running.”

  “What killed him?” I asked. “The most anyone has said so far was that Wade was murdered. Could it have been an accident?”

  “No, not an accident. Blow to the temple did him in.” Albie tapped his own temple to demonstrate. “Never found the murder weapon. Might’ve been a rock, but if it was, it wasn’t near the scene.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t fall and hit his head?” I asked. I was pretty sure that by now that wasn’t the case, but wanted to get Albie’s take.

  “Anything is possible, I suppose, but the doctors back then said it was unlikely. Add to that he was hastily buried, then you question it even more. If I were to guess, someone got into a fight with Mr. Fink and then, in a fit of rage, struck him upside the noggin.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, especially after what Patricia had said about Rita. “Did Wade have any enemies?”

  Albie snorted. “Enemies? Not so much. But people were pretty unhappy with him. Was dating that Jablonski kid at the time. Flaunted it, even. Someone come tell him it wasn’t right and he’d plant one right on her lips just to show ’em how right it was. They never hurt no one, but to hear people talk back then, you’d think they were both trying to bring the wrath of God down on the entire town.”

  “What did you think?”

  “Don’t really matter what I thought then, or what I think now. He should have stuck to his own age group, but who am I to say who should do what with whom? My job was to find the person who killed him, and that’s that.”

  Albie shifted in his chair, wincing again. He rubbed briefly at his hip before settling back in.

  “Honestly, I think a lot of people were happy Wade was gone, even his friends,” he went on. “No one would come right out and say it, but now, I imagine quite a few would admit to being relieved that Wade was dead.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Why do you think? He dies, then there’s no more controversy. If I’d caught the killer, I bet half the town would have asked me to let ’em go. There wasn’t much pressure to find whoever did it, let me tell you. Wade’s family pressed the issue, of course. Eleanor and her husband were on me the most, in that regard. Had a little pressure from the inside, too.”

  I took a wild guess. “From Patricia Dalton?”

  Albie chuckled and shook his head fondly. “She was a spitfire back then, just as I hear she is today. Couldn’t go two steps without her demanding to be put on the case. She never asked, just told me I was stupid for excluding her. Can’t say she was entirely wrong, but you know what they say about hindsight.”

  His brow furrowed and he leaned toward me. “What’s all this about anyway? I doubt you’re curious just because old Eleanor passed on.”

  “That’s it. I’m interested to hear about her life, what made her the way she was.”

  “Why don’t I believe that? Krissy Hancock on my doorstep, asking questions about a thirty-year-old murder. You thinking you might go and do what I couldn’t and find the person who did Wade in?”

  I shrugged one shoulder, refused to meet his eye. “I thought I’d at least ask around, see what people remembered. Rita’s my friend.” The last came out defensively.

  “Is she now?” Albie sat back and stroked his chin as he regarded me. “You best be careful poking around in a murder that’s sat silent for this long. If the killer is still out there and catches wind you’re sticking your nose in their business, they might not like it too terribly much.”

  “They never do.”

  “Well, this one has simmered for a very long time. The reaction might not be what you expect.”

  Something in his eye told me there was something he wasn’t telling me. I didn’t think he knew who killed Wade Fink, but he knew something.

  “Did you have any leads you wished you could have pried into further?” I asked. “Something that bothered you back then, or that you’ve reconsidered in the years since?”

  Albie stared at me for a long time and didn’t respond. He weighed me with those old eyes of his. They were still keen after all these years, as, apparently, was his mind. I had a feeling Albie Bruce rarely missed anything.

  Which made me wonder how a killer could have eluded him for over thirty years.

  “If you insist on poking the bear, you might want to start in the den.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, I prodded him. “Where’s this den?”

  “You’ve supposedly got a good head on your shoulders, so think about it and I’m sure you’ll figure it out without my help.” Albie stood with a groan. “I think it’s time I took a bit of a break. As I said, body ain’t what it used to be and I could use a little shut-eye.”

  I rose with him, disappointed our conversation was over so quickly, but happy that he’d at least taken time out of his day for me. “Thank you for talking to me.”

  “Don’t thank me
yet,” he said. “By the time you’re done with this thing, you might not be too happy about what you discover.”

  He led me to the front door, but didn’t open it right away.

  “Some people said Wade was robbing the cradle, while others said Rita was the one who deserved to be punished for disgracing an older man.”

  “Disgracing?” I asked. “They were just dating.”

  “Be that as it may, that’s not how a lot of people saw it. Wade’s family, outside of Eleanor, weren’t too happy about what happened to his reputation because of her. Rita Jablonski’s own family took issue with the relationship, too. Both of them suffered quite a lot for their time together. Neither kept their friends by the time it was all said and done. Even Wade’s buddies turned on him in the end.”

  This time, I couldn’t miss the reference. “The Coffee Drinkers,” I said.

  Albie shrugged and opened the door. “I hear the Banyon Tree’s got good food, if you can abide the company.”

  I stepped outside and bid Albie Bruce good-bye. He parted with one last, “Be careful, Ms. Hancock,” before he closed the door.

  5

  My Ford Focus sputtered as I idled outside Rita’s house. Her car was parked in the driveway, and the lights were on inside, so I knew she was home, but I wasn’t so sure I was ready to face her. I’d lived in Pine Hills for a few years now, had known Rita just as long, yet she’d never once mentioned her murdered boyfriend to me. There had to be a good reason for that.

  I considered backing out and driving away to give her more time to process my interest in the case, but shut off the engine instead. The murder might have happened over thirty years ago, but it was obvious it still affected Rita greatly. I didn’t want my friend to continue to suffer when there might be something I could do to help.

  When I knocked at the door, Rita opened it with an, “Oh! Krissy.” Despite the exclamation, she didn’t seem all that surprised to see me. She was already dressed for bed, despite it still being relatively early in the evening. “You should come on in.” She turned and walked into the house, leaving the door hanging open for me.