Death by French Roast

by Alex Erickson

  I knew what he wanted to say, even without him saying it, yet the mere idea made me feel both sick and faint. I wanted to do nothing more than to fall to my knees and weep, though I managed not to do either.

  I was too late, I thought as I returned to the car. I’d come here to learn what Cliff knew about Wade’s death, but instead, something far worse had happened.

  Cliff Watson had been murdered.

  16

  The next couple of hours were awful.

  I could only sit and watch as more cops arrived to secure the scene. Paramedics went in, and after everyone else was done, they carried poor Cliff Watson away in a body bag.

  Paul asked me to call someone to get me more than once, but I ended up waiting around instead. I might not have been allowed to poke around the scene, but I felt I owed it to Cliff to watch in the hopes of spotting something that would help me figure out who killed him.

  This is my fault.

  The thought kept zipping through my head as the hours passed. If I’d made Paul drive faster, or if I’d answered when he’d first called, then things might have been different. Perhaps if I hadn’t been looking into Wade’s murder at all, then Cliff might still be alive, sleeping soundly in his own bed.

  But I was, and now he was dead. And since I felt responsible for his death, I also felt the need to figure out who had killed him.

  I was sitting in Paul’s car, staring at the house, thinking through all the people I’d come into contact with since I started looking into Wade’s murder, when there was a knock at my window. I nearly jumped from my skin before I noticed who had come over to check on me.

  I rolled down the window, letting in a blast of chilled air. “Officer Garrison,” I said. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  “I’m staying out of the way.” I hugged myself. I hadn’t thought to bring a jacket, and the night would only get colder.

  Garrison walked around the car and got in beside me. I rolled up the window and turned up the heat.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Tears threatened, but I held them in check. “I feel like this is all my fault.”

  “You can’t think that way,” she said.

  “I can’t help it.” I turned in my seat to face her. “Cliff told me he had information on why Wade Fink was murdered and he wanted to talk to me about it. And now he’s dead. There has to be a connection, don’t you think? I mean, why else would someone want to kill him?”

  “Wade Fink?” Garrison asked, brow furrowing.

  Oh, right. She didn’t know I was looking into a thirty-year-old murder.

  I explained it as quickly and concisely as I could. As I spoke, a frown grew on Garrison’s face. By the time I was done speaking, she was shaking her head.

  “I can’t believe Chief Dalton was okay with this.”

  “It wasn’t an active police investigation at the time,” I said. “I talked to a few people, got an idea of what Wade was like, and that was about it. I didn’t go throwing accusations around, if that’s what you think.”

  Garrison’s frown eased. “It’s not that,” she said. “It just seems like a dangerous thing to have a civilian doing, cold case or not. She should have assigned someone to watch over you.” Her gaze traveled to the house, where Paul was still hard at work.

  “I was trying to help a friend.” What would Rita think now that someone else was dead? “I didn’t think it would come to this.”

  Officer Garrison laid a hand on my shoulder. “I know. That’s what you do.” There was a moment of silence before she went on. “Don’t let this get you down. There’s a good chance that even if your investigation led to that man’s death, it would have happened anyway. Emotions build up over time, as do resentments. You didn’t do this. The killer did. Remember that.”

  “I’ll try.”

  She squeezed my shoulder, and then started to get out of the car, before she paused. “I could always drive you home if you’d like. I’m done here.”

  “Thanks,” I said, touched. “But I’ll wait for Paul.”

  She nodded and then walked away.

  My little chat with Garrison had helped, but I still felt as if I’d caused Cliff’s death, even indirectly. There was no way to feel good about that.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to stew in my guilt for much longer. Paul strode from the house, head down. When he got into the car beside me, he groaned, leaned his head back, and rubbed at his eyes. He looked beat.

  “Were there any clues as to who killed him?” I asked.

  “The tech guys are looking into it now, but I’m doubtful. Whatever happened, happened quick. There wasn’t a struggle.”

  I felt oddly relieved. I didn’t want to think of Cliff struggling for his life. I kept seeing him sitting at the table at the Banyon Tree, looking down into his coffee like he was afraid to meet anyone’s eye. Who would kill someone like that?

  “Let me get you home.”

  Paul and I didn’t talk as he drove. Both of us had far too much on our minds, and I was afraid that if I spoke, I’d break down into heaving sobs. I didn’t know Cliff Watson, not really. As far as I knew, he was Wade’s killer and someone else had found out about it before me and killed him for it.

  But even if he was a killer, he didn’t deserve to be murdered; no one did.

  We pulled up in front of my house. It looked empty and cold from the outside. Paul left the engine running, but didn’t speak right away or make a move to get out.

  “Would you like to come in?” I asked him.

  He looked at me. I must have looked a wreck, because his eyes grew worried and he turned the key. “I think I’d better.”

  I led the way to the front door. I was happy to see my hand didn’t shake as I inserted the key in the lock and pushed my way inside. Thankfully, Misfit decided not to make a run for freedom, and both Paul and I were inside without having to fight with my cat.

  I went straight for the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. It was already past eleven, but I needed the comfort. Besides, it was decaf, so it shouldn’t keep me up. My brain would do that for me.

  Paul sat down at the island counter and watched as I set the coffee to percolating. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  “Not good,” I admitted. “I keep thinking that this is all my fault, that if I’d done things differently, then he’d still be alive.”

  “You can’t think like that.”

  I plopped down across from him. “I can’t help it. He calls me, and then he’s dead. You know it’s not a coincidence.”

  He looked grim when he said, “Yeah.”

  “I know you can’t give me details, but can you tell me anything about how he died? It might ease my mind.” How? I had no idea, but wondering wasn’t any better.

  Paul sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “He was stabbed. As I said, there was no sign of a struggle, and as far as I can tell, there was no sign of forced entry.”

  “So, he knew his killer.”

  “That would be my guess. There’s always a chance he’d left the door unlocked, but I doubt this was a random killing.”

  That narrowed the suspects considerably in my mind. If Cliff had let the killer in, that meant he must have known them well enough to feel comfortable alone with them. Since he’d just told me he was going to talk about Wade’s murder, I couldn’t help but think his own murder tied back to that original death.

  “Do you think the killer was there when he called me?” I asked, thinking it through.

  “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “It took us what? Twenty, twenty-five minutes to get there after his call?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So, Cliff calls me, tells me he’s got information about Wade’s death to tell me, and in that short window of time before we can get there, he’s murdered. How did the killer know he was going to talk?”

  “There’s a chan
ce that his death has nothing to do with Wade Fink’s murder,” Paul said.

  “Yes, true, but it’s likely it’s connected. I mean, what are the chances that a guy is about to tell me something that might break the case and then die to a random killing?”

  Paul nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it. “They’re not good. Did it sound like anyone else was with Mr. Watson when he called?”

  “No,” I said. “No one else spoke, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there.”

  “Why would he make that call in front of someone else?” Paul asked. “I have a hard time believing he would, especially if that someone was tied to the original murder.”

  “Maybe he told Wade’s killer what he was going to do,” I said. “Cliff seemed like a nice guy and might have wanted to give a friend a heads-up. Maybe the killer tried to talk him out of it, and when Cliff called me, he decided to silence him before he could talk.”

  Paul was shaking his head, even as I spoke. “Assuming this ties back to Wade’s murder at all, I don’t think Mr. Watson would tell the killer what he planned on doing ahead of time. I have an even harder time believing the killer would let him call you if he had.”

  “What about afterward? He calls me, then calls Wade’s killer to tell him what he’s doing. If they were friends, then he might have needed to admit what he was doing for his own conscience.”

  “That sounds more reasonable, but he had to know how dangerous making that call would be.”

  “If we assume he called his friend within a few minutes of hanging up from me, that leaves the killer ten to fifteen minutes to get to Cliff’s house, kill him, and then leave again. It’s not a lot of time.”

  “No, it’s not. But the killer didn’t need long. He or she shows up, stabs him, and then leaves. That would take five minutes, maybe less if he went straight for the kill.”

  While all that sounded plausible enough, something still bothered me. If one of my friends were a murderer, would I tell them I was about to tell someone about it?

  “What do we do now?” I asked. I felt lost, uncertain. Could I keep poking around an old murder if it ended up getting people killed? Paul had already told me to drop it, but I wasn’t so sure I could do that, not with Rita counting on me.

  Not to mention Eleanor’s spirit. She might not have lived to see justice for her brother, but darn it, I desperately wanted to solve the case for her.

  Paul gave me a stern look. “We? I think you’d better sit back and stay out of trouble.”

  I tried to look innocent, I really did, but something in my face must have betrayed my thoughts.

  “Krissy,” Paul said, placing a placating hand on my wrist. “I know you want to get to the bottom of Wade Fink’s death, but it’s now a police matter.”

  “His death isn’t,” I said.

  “Yes, it is. At least, indirectly.” Paul slipped his hand around so that he could grip my fingers and squeeze. “We’ll be investigating Mr. Watson’s death. If we’re right and it ties back to the cold case, then I can’t have you putting yourself at risk or stirring up more trouble.”

  “I don’t stir up trouble,” I said, but without force. It seemed like that’s all I ever did these days.

  “Not intentionally, you don’t, but I do think you’ve got the killer scared. If we’re right and the person who killed Cliff Watson also killed Wade Fink, how long do you think it will be before they come after you? The more you pry, the more frightened they’ll become.”

  I looked down at our joined hands. Oh, how I wished for different circumstances because I could really use his company right then.

  “I don’t want to let Rita down.” Or Eleanor.

  “You won’t,” Paul said. “You might not be the one to catch the killer, but as long as he or she is caught, you’ve done your part. You got the ball rolling again. That’s got to count for something.”

  A “Yeah, but” was on my lips but I swallowed it back. He knew what he was asking me was against my nature, but he was right. I wasn’t a cop, let alone a real detective. Someone had died and I needed to let the police deal with it.

  Unfortunately, knowing the right thing and actually doing it are two completely separate things.

  “Come here,” Paul said when I didn’t speak. He stood and, without releasing my hand, he stepped around the island counter to wrap me in a warm, comforting hug.

  I closed my eyes and pressed my face to his shoulder. I wanted to cry, wanted to hold him forever. Why couldn’t we have a good quiet moment together like this that wasn’t marred by murder?

  We hugged for what felt like an eternity before he released me and stepped back. A cold chill replaced him, causing me to shiver.

  “What a way to end a date,” Paul said, doing his best to lighten the mood with a smile. There was still concern in his eyes, but I chose to ignore it.

  “That makes two,” I said. “It’s starting to become a trend.”

  “Let’s hope the third date ends on a better note.”

  My heart just about stopped in my chest. “You want a third date?” I asked.

  Paul managed a laugh, though I wasn’t sure if he was laughing at himself, or my surprise. “Yeah,” he said. “We deserve to have an uninterrupted date for once, don’t you think?”

  “I do.” And then I remembered Vicki’s offer. “What are you doing next weekend?”

  Paul thought about it a moment before answering. “Nothing as far as I know.”

  “Vicki asked if you and I might like to go on a triple date with her and Mason. Charlie Yow and his wife will be there, too.”

  “Sounds great.” This time, when he smiled, it was all warmth.

  “Then you’ll come?” I asked, surprised how easy that was. “I mean, if you don’t want to tag along, I totally understand. I know you’re busy, and now with this new murder . . .”

  “I’ll be there,” Paul said. “Better yet, I’ll pick you up. Just let me know when and where.”

  “I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”

  The coffeepot beeped, but it was a distant distraction. I’d already forgotten I’d even put any on. My entire focus was on Paul and the prospects of actually seeing him again outside of his job.

  “I’d best go,” Paul said, glancing at his watch. “I still have to write up a report and get some sleep before tomorrow’s shift.”

  I hated to admit it, but he was right. “I open tomorrow morning,” I said, thinking back to my original plan of looking into Jay Miller and Wade’s death some more. It was going to be tough to squeeze it all in. “I should get some sleep, too.”

  We stood awkwardly staring at one another. We’d just been on a date, but we’d also just come from a murder scene. How in the world did you end a night like that?

  Finally, Paul stepped forward and leaned toward me. I had a moment of panic where I didn’t know if I should turn my cheek to him or go in for the kiss.

  Our lips met briefly. It was chaste. It was bliss.

  When he stepped back, he looked just as shocked as I felt.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Krissy,” he said.

  I think I managed a “Yeah,” but I was too busy memorizing the tingle of my lips to really hear what he was saying. I wish I could say I blamed it on the exhaustion, but darn it, I’d waited so dang long for this moment, I deserved a few minutes to savor it, however brief it might have been.

  Still, I had enough wits about me to walk with Paul to the door and hold it open for him. As he got into his car, I considered asking him to stay. A killer was on the loose, one who might have their targets set on me, so it wouldn’t be too strange of an ask.

  Paul closed the car door and waved from behind the wheel. I returned the wave. Now wasn’t the night to ask him to stay. I wanted that to happen when circumstances were better.

  He backed out of my driveway and vanished down the road. I watched him until his car was gone, and then, unable to stop myself, I looked toward Eleanor Winthrow’s old house. The lights w
ere off, the house quiet. Jane was likely asleep inside.

  I won’t let you down.

  I closed my front door, and not willing to let good coffee go to waste, I filled a mug part of the way full. I drank it slowly, mind turning over the murders and what to do about them, because one thing was for sure, there was no way I could back off now that someone else had died, especially since it might have happened because of me.

  17

  “You look beat.”

  I stood up straighter as if to prove I wasn’t as tired as I appeared, but quickly sagged back against the counter. “It was a long night.”

  Lena grinned and joined me where I stood. The lunch rush was over and we’d just finished cleaning up, so there wasn’t much else to do but chat.

  “I heard you had a date with Officer Dalton.”

  “I did.” I looked toward the books, where Jeff was helping a pair of teens. He was laughing at something they were saying. Even when there was a murder, life went on for those still living it. “But it wasn’t Paul that kept me up most of the night.”

  “Oh?” Then her eyes widened. “Wait. Someone died last night, didn’t they? I heard something about it on the radio this morning, but wasn’t paying much attention. Was it someone you knew?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. But Paul and I found him.”

  “Man, that sucks.” Lena tugged on an earlobe that was adorned with so many earrings, I could hardly see any skin. “Seems like no matter what you do, dead people find you.”

  “Yeah.” I turned to face her, determined to change the subject. “So, how about you and Zay? Anything new there?”

  Lena rolled her eyes and pushed away from the counter. “You wish. I’m going to get a few dishes done.” She hurried to the back, but not before I noted the pleased smile on her face.

  I was tempted to follow her to the back room and grill her about Zay some more, but decided to let her be for now. It was good Lena had found someone, even if nothing long-term came from it. Her punk rock skater girl image put a lot of people off before they even got to know her. She deserved to be happy, and if Zay could give that to her, even for a few months, I approved.