Death by French Roast

by Alex Erickson

  “It’s what she said.” Buchannan turned to Garrison. “Let’s go.”

  I waited until both officers were gone before rounding the desk and heading to Chief Dalton’s office. One of the other cops raised his eyebrows at me, but he didn’t comment or try to stop me. At this point, everyone on the force knew me, so he probably figured I’d landed myself in hot water again and was going in for my quarterly reprimand.

  “Ah, there you are,” Patricia Dalton said when I entered her office. “Close the door behind you, would you?”

  I did as she asked and then turned to face her, not quite sure what to do next.

  “Take a seat.” She motioned to a chair on the other side of the desk at which she sat. There were files stacked all over the place and about two dozen Post-its stuck to her monitor.

  I eased slowly down into the chair, still half expecting her to yell at me, though I hadn’t done anything wrong. Habit, I supposed.

  My eyes immediately found the half-eaten sheet cake sitting on the desk amid the file folders. I could read the words Hap and Birth written in blue icing.

  “It’s your birthday?” I asked, shocked I hadn’t known before now.

  “Don’t remind me,” she said. “Take some if you want it. I don’t need all the sugar.”

  She didn’t need to tell me twice. The cake was already sliced into squares, so I snatched up a small paper plate and slid a corner piece onto it. Chief Dalton offered me a box of plastic forks and I took one of those, too.

  I inhaled half my slice before taking a moment to breathe. The cake was really good and I was far hungrier than I’d realized. And, well, I had a notorious sweet tooth, so even if I was stuffed to the gills, I’d have eaten the cake without complaint.

  “Thank you,” I said, as soon as my mouth wasn’t full. “And happy birthday.”

  She flashed me a smile that faded almost the second it appeared. “Have you made any progress on Wade’s murder?”

  With some regret, I set the cake aside. I’d finish it before I left, but I didn’t want it to distract me during the conversation.

  “Some,” I said, feeling strangely like a real cop at that moment. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to fill in a few blanks for me.”

  She nodded, as if she expected as much. “Shoot.”

  I decided to start with the most recent revelation first. “Do you remember anything about one of Wade Fink’s friends getting arrested?”

  “Which one?”

  “Arthur Cantrell. All I was told was that it was a violent crime of some sort and that it didn’t have anything to do with Wade.”

  Patricia nodded as I spoke. “It happened a few years after Wade’s death,” she said. “I can’t tell you the details without looking it up, but I do remember it being a big deal. He nearly killed a man, if I’m remembering correctly. There was more to it than that, but I’d have to check the records to know what it was.”

  “I doubt it’s important to Wade’s murder,” I said, though I was curious. If Arthur almost killed someone, that meant he was most definitely capable of murdering his friend.

  “I agree,” she said. “Arthur Cantrell isn’t anyone’s idea of a model citizen. He’s had a few more brushes with the law over the years, but nothing like what happened when he’d gotten arrested. He has a temper. I’m sure if you’ve talked to him, you’ve noticed.”

  An image of Arthur’s scowls flashed through my mind. “I have. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend talking to him alone if you can help it. Avoid him entirely if you can. You won’t get anything from him.”

  “Do you think he knows who killed Wade?”

  Chief Dalton shrugged. “Hard to say. I do know that if he does, and if it was one of his friends who did the deed, he’d never speak of it. He’s protective of his friends, and even if that wasn’t the case, he’s downright contrary. He’d keep it to himself just to spite us.”

  I wondered if Wade had still been Arthur’s friend at the time of his death. Could Arthur have attacked Wade, thinking he was doing it for his own good? Or had their fight ended their friendship, meaning Wade no longer belonged within Arthur’s protections, which in turn, led to Wade’s murder somehow?

  “I was told Arthur and Wade got into a fight a week or two before Wade’s death. Do you remember anything about that?”

  Patricia’s face clouded over. “Like when Arthur was arrested, I don’t have the details, but I remember the fight. I could have answered that call, was on my way to do so when I got told to leave it to one of the men. It didn’t seem right, but I did as I was commanded and backed off.”

  “Did Albie Bruce make the call to pull you off it?” I asked.

  She surprised me by shaking her head. “He wouldn’t have liked me going anywhere near an act of violence since I was a woman, but he would have allowed it since I was on duty and only a few blocks away at the time.”

  “Who took the call then?”

  “Jay Miller.”

  I stared at her. There was that name again.

  “That’s the officer I asked you about earlier,” I said.

  “He was.” She sat back in her chair. “Back then, he was pompous, egotistical, and as arrogant as you can imagine. That might sound like I’m reiterating the same description of the man, but he honestly encompassed all three.”

  “You speak of him in the past tense,” I said. “Is he dead?”

  “No, he’s not dead. He still lives in Pine Hills and occasionally stops by here to make a nuisance of himself, but he’s no longer on the force. He was in his late thirties when Wade was killed, and quit the force soon after, well before retirement. He hasn’t been involved with police work since, yet he insists he knows how to handle things better than I do. He always believed he should have become police chief after Chief Bruce retired.”

  “But you got it instead.”

  Her smile was savage. “Damn right, I did.”

  I could only imagine the hurdles she’d have had to leap to earn the job. It probably cost her some friendships within the force, and likely in her personal life.

  Come to think of it, almost everyone in the Pine Hills police force was my age or younger. There might be a few older police officers around, but no one near Chief Dalton’s age. Did that mean everyone she’d worked with back then had quit? Could it have been because of Wade’s murder? Or was I looking too much into it?

  “Jay Miller is a dangerous man, Krissy,” Patricia said. “He’s not a killer, so don’t get that idea, but if he puts his mind to ruining you, he’ll find a way to do it. He’d ended a few promising careers in his time.”

  “He was the cop who answered the call when Wade Fink was murdered,” I said, thinking it through.

  “He was. He was also friends with those men—Wade’s friends.”

  “Wait,” I said, sitting up. “He was friends with them? Was he friends with Wade, too? And if so, wasn’t having him on the scene a conflict of interest or something?”

  Chief Dalton spread her hands. “This is a small town. It was even smaller back then. Everyone knew everyone else, so it wasn’t like we had someone we could call that could go in with fresh eyes and a clear head.”

  “But if he was friends with them . . .”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “Honestly, I’ve considered it, too. Jay was vocal about what he thought about Wade Fink. I always suspected him of giving inside information to the press whenever it suited him. There was a reporter who always knew more than he should, who would use that information to attack Wade and anyone else he didn’t like.”

  My head was spinning. “A reporter?” I asked. “Do you know his name?”

  Imagine my total lack of surprise when she said, “Larry Ritchie.”

  Larry had said Jay used to give him a call whenever something happened in Pine Hills worth reporting, but hadn’t mentioned Jay slipping him inside information.

  He also hadn’t mentioned Jay and the Coffee
Drinkers were friends.

  Could Arthur and his friends have gone to Jay to tell him something unflattering about Wade, something that might have even been a lie? Could Jay have taken that information, embellished it, and passed it on to Larry Ritchie? And if so, could whatever was said have led to Wade’s murder?

  That was a lot of assumptions, but I found it plausible. Some people were perfectly content believing whatever they are told, even if it is a pack of lies, just as long as it coincides with their worldview.

  I was so lost in thought, it took me a moment to realize Chief Dalton was still speaking.

  “I want you to be careful,” she said. “Jay Miller didn’t want anyone looking into Wade Fink’s murder but himself when it happened. He claimed it was because he was far more determined to find the killer because they were closer than the rest of us. I imagine he wouldn’t want anyone looking into it today, even though he’s not involved in the force anymore. I don’t want you talking to him, do you hear? He will find a way to make your life miserable if you try.”

  There was more to it than that, I could hear it in her voice. I wasn’t sure if it was guilt, or if she was afraid that Jay had covered up the murder to protect one of his friends. The only way to find out was to ask.

  “Do you think he had something to do with Wade’s death? Or know who killed him?”

  “Keep clear of Jay Miller, Ms. Hancock,” she said. “You know the way out.”

  I rose slowly. I wanted to press her, to force her to tell me every last suspicion she had, but knew I’d be wasting my time if I tried. She wasn’t hiding anything that she thought was important to my little side investigation. If she suspected Jay Miller had anything to do with Wade’s death, she would have done something about it.

  Then again, had she tried, and failed? It was entirely possible she’d brought her concerns up with Albie Bruce when the murder originally happened. Could he have shot her down?

  Or was there indeed a cover-up here, one that originated from the Pine Hills police station?

  I left Chief Dalton’s office without finishing off the cake like I’d promised myself I would; I’d lost the taste for it. I waited until I was outside the station before I took out my phone and dialed.

  I got voicemail, which I’d expected.

  “Paul, it’s Krissy. Can you meet me at Death by Coffee as soon as you get this? Or call me if you can’t so I’m not waiting forever. There’s someone I want to talk to, and I don’t want to do it alone. It might help solve an old, unsolved murder case. Thanks. Bye.”

  I clicked off and took a deep breath. When I’d first set out to solve Wade’s murder, I hadn’t expected to find much after all this time.

  But now, it appeared as if I was uncovering a dark underbelly to the town I loved. I was afraid that if I dug too deep, I might never be able to look at Pine Hills—or the people who lived here—the same ever again.

  12

  The afternoon rush at Death by Coffee was over by the time I walked through the door. Vicki was behind the counter, busily cleaning, while both Lena and Beth were upstairs, rearranging some books. The dining room was clean, with only a couple of regulars sitting in their usual spots. They waved to me as I entered, before going back to their conversations.

  “You’re not working today, are you?” Vicki asked, when she saw me. “I thought today was your day off.”

  “It is,” I said. “I’m meeting Paul here.” Hopefully. He had yet to text or call, so as far as I knew, he hadn’t gotten my voicemail.

  “Really?” Vicki leaned against the counter with a smirk. “Big plans?”

  “It’s about the murder,” I said. And then, because I couldn’t resist, “The big plans are for tonight.”

  “Oh?” The smirk widened to a full-on grin. “And what plans might that be?”

  “We’re going out.” I might be in my forties, yet I could feel my face flush like I was a teenager talking about her first date. “Paul asked if I wanted to go to dinner and I said yes.”

  “Finally!” Vicki said loud enough that everyone in the store looked our way. She lowered her voice. “Really, Krissy, it’s about time you two stopped pretending.”

  “We weren’t pretending.”

  “Uh-huh. You’ve been mooning after him ever since you two met, and he’s been the same way about you. It sometimes felt like you two were the only ones who didn’t realize you had it bad for one another.”

  I almost argued that I didn’t have it all that bad, but realized I’d be lying to not just Vicki, but to myself. Every time I even talked to a good-looking guy, Paul would drift through my head and I’d immediately feel guilty, like I was betraying him somehow. Even when I was dating Will Foster, I couldn’t help but think of Paul every now and again.

  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” I said. “Paul’s not that interested in me. He would have made a move by now if he was.”

  She gave me a flat look.

  “What?”

  “Do you really think you’d get away with as much as you do if Paul didn’t have the hots for you?”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Right. You just bully your way in on murder investigations without much more than a slap on the wrist when you do something wrong, but, no, you don’t get special treatment.” Vicki shook her head and turned away with a grin. “I’ve got to get some more coffee on. You think about it for a little bit, and I’m sure you’ll see that I’m right.”

  I stood there, not sure if I should be offended, or if I should feel like an idiot. Okay, maybe I did notice how Paul looked at me, and how we both tiptoed around each other, as if we were afraid that if one of us did or said the wrong thing, we’d be tearing each other’s clothes off.

  Or does that make it the right thing?

  Either way, Vicki was right; without Paul bailing me out of trouble every time I made a mistake, or him letting me in on things I shouldn’t be party to, I’d never have helped solve so many crimes. Heck, I’d probably be in jail by now. If John Buchannan had his way, I would be sitting in a cell with my name on it. He’d locked me up a few times already, albeit temporarily.

  I slid behind the counter, snatched a cookie from the display, and dropped it into a cup, which I then filled with coffee. I carried my prize to a table near the door to sit and wait for Paul.

  As much as I wanted to focus on where my relationship with Paul Dalton might be headed, I forced myself to shift gears and focus on Wade Fink’s murder instead. I could worry about my feelings—and emotions—later.

  While I waited, I searched for Arthur Cantrell’s address on my phone, and was surprised by how easily I found it. I typed a note into my phone so I wouldn’t lose it and then sat back to wait.

  I was halfway through my coffee when the door opened and Paul walked through. He was dressed in his uniform, complete with his wide-brimmed police hat. He paused just inside the door and glanced around until he saw me sitting right there. A smile immediately lit up his face.

  “There you are,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. He removed his hat and set it on the table between us. “I got your message.” The smile slipped somewhat. “What murder are you talking about?”

  I spent the next ten minutes telling Paul about Wade Fink’s life and death. I’d already mentioned it to him once, but it had been in passing. He listened attentively, though his smile had faded completely by the time I was finished.

  “Should you be looking into this?” he asked.

  “It’s for Rita and Eleanor,” I said. “Rita deserves to know the truth, and I think it would be a good way to honor Eleanor’s memory. Besides, Chief Dalton signed off on it.”

  Paul winced at mention of his mother’s name, but nodded. “I suppose you realize how dangerous it can be poking around in people’s lives?”

  “I know.” Boy, did I ever. “But this is an old case. The killer might already be dead or have moved out of Pine Hills long ago. If someone knows something, I have to ask.” And
then, because I really wanted him to help me willingly, “Your mom really does think it’s a good idea. I’ve gotten quite a bit of information from her.” I left out the bit about her warning me to be careful and to avoid a certain former police officer. No sense causing him undue worry.

  Paul ran his fingers through his hair and sat back with a sigh. “Okay, tell me about this guy you want to talk to who you think can help solve a murder that the professionals couldn’t crack.” I might have been offended if his eyes weren’t sparkling in mild amusement.

  “His name is Arthur Cantrell. He’s a member of that group, the Coffee Drinkers, I told you about. He was one of Wade’s friends.”

  “I see. And you think he had something to do with the murder?”

  “I’m not sure. He and Wade got into a big fight a week or so before Wade’s death, and I wonder if it led to either Arthur killing him directly, or being a part of it somehow. Arthur got into trouble a few years later for a violent crime of some kind, but I don’t have the details on that yet.”

  “And you think talking to this guy is a good idea?”

  “I do,” I said. “I’ve talked to him before, but he was with his friends at the time and didn’t do much more than grouch at me the entire conversation. I’m hoping if we catch him alone, he’d be more willing to talk. And with you at my side, I figure it might cause him to worry or let something slip if he did have something to do with the murder. If he did kill Wade, you’d be there to keep me from getting myself into too much trouble.”

  The smile finally returned. “It’s about time you started thinking about your safety.”

  I returned his smile. “I have my moments.”

  We grinned at each other for a long couple of seconds. My heart fluttered in my chest and something in the pit of my stomach started churning. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be sick, or if I was going to faint dead away.

  Paul broke the moment by looking away. “Let me hit the bathroom real quick and I’ll drive you over. I have some time, so we can visit this Arthur guy now if you want?”