Death by French Roast

by Alex Erickson

  Paul didn’t sound happy about it when he said, “If you change your mind, let me know. You don’t want guys like this to think they can do whatever they want and get away with it.”

  “I will.” I leaned down and petted my cat, who was winding around my legs. “It just startled me. I’ll be okay.”

  “Be careful, Krissy. No more investigating, all right? Leave it to the police. With Cliff Watson’s murder, it’s up to us to find the killer now, not you.”

  “I know.” I closed my eyes and hoped Paul didn’t hear the intent in my voice. There was no way I could drop it now, not with people showing up to my place of business and my home, threatening me. I had a feeling that even if I stopped looking into Wade’s death, it was already too late to stop the ball from rolling. I might as well see it through.

  “I mean it, Krissy. Leave it to us.”

  “I’d better go take care of Misfit,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  Paul sighed. “All right. Let me know if Miller comes back.”

  We hung up and I sank to the floor. Misfit leaned against me, purring. He looked okay, but I knew he was probably just as rattled by Jay Miller’s presence as I was.

  “He won’t come back,” I promised him, stroking his fur. “You’re safe now.”

  Misfit rubbed against me and then sauntered down the hall, toward the kitchen and his food dish.

  I remained seated, forcing myself to calm down before I did something stupid. I was getting close to something; I was sure of it. Cliff died, likely because he was going to tell me who killed Wade, or at least, who he suspected of the crime. The killer found out and then silenced Cliff for it. And then, after my confrontation with an angry Lester Musgrave, the cop on the case, Jay Miller, shows up and warns me off.

  So how did it all connect?

  I rose on shaky legs and looked up a number. Paul might want me to drop it, but that simply wasn’t happening. I found the name I was looking for and then, after a handful of calming breaths, I dialed.

  “Hello?” It was a female voice.

  “Hi, can I speak to Zachary Ross please?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Krissy Hancock. He and I met at the Banyon Tree.”

  “One moment.”

  I waited, forcing myself not to pace. It took nearly five minutes before he picked up.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi, Zachary, it’s Krissy. Do you remember me?”

  “Of course I do.” Not exactly said kindly, but I was undeterred.

  “I was hoping I could ask you a quick question about your statement. You said you left the Banyon Tree at the same time as Lester on the day Wade Fink died, correct?”

  “I did.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you parted ways almost immediately?”

  There was a moment of silence. “Why should that matter?”

  “The way you two talked, it sounded like you both left for work.” No response, so I pushed on. “But that day, you didn’t. You went the opposite direction, and were soon followed by Cliff Watson.”

  This time, I waited him out.

  “And?” Zachary said. “There’s no crime in taking a day off.”

  “No, there isn’t, but a man died that day. And now, Cliff’s dead. It all connects somehow, and I have a feeling you know what that connection might be.”

  “Cliff was my friend.” There was genuine pain in his voice. “I don’t like the implication that I might have had anything to do with his death.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out what happened, and I can’t do that if I don’t have the whole story. Where did you go after you left the Banyon Tree that day? Did you and Cliff meet up?”

  “I’m tired, Ms. Hancock. Good-bye.”

  The line went dead.

  My first instinct was to dial him again and demand he answer the question, but I held off. If I called him back right away, I’d just anger him. I could let him stew on it for a little while, and hopefully, he’d decide to come clean on his own.

  I called Roger next, but his line was busy. I gave it five minutes and tried again to the same result.

  “Well, fine,” I muttered, looking up Hue Lewis next. I found his number and dialed. This time, there was an answer.

  “Hue speaking.”

  “Hi, Hue, it’s Krissy Hancock from the Banyon Tree. We talked the other day.”

  “Ah, yes, Krissy. How are you?”

  “I’m good,” I said, keeping my voice chipper and friendly. I was still shaken by my unwanted visit, but it was fading fast.

  “Good, good. It’s funny you should call—I was just thinking about you.”

  Really? I thought, none too kindly. Could he have sent Jay Miller after me? “Good thoughts?”

  He laughed. “Shall we call them neutral thoughts? You brought up some old wounds the last time we spoke. And now that Cliff has died, those wounds have been ripped right open.” He sounded genuinely sad about the loss of his friend.

  “I’m sorry about Cliff,” I said. “But I do want to talk to you more about what happened to Wade.”

  “Okay, but I’m not sure what else I can tell you. It was a long time ago and while I would like the culprit to be caught, I’m beginning to wonder if that will ever happen in my lifetime.”

  “If the same person who killed Wade, killed Cliff, then I’m sure they will be.”

  “I hope so.” There didn’t appear to be deceit in his voice, but it was hard to tell over the phone.

  I debated on how best to hit him with what I was going to ask him, and then decided it best to come right out and ask it. “Why didn’t you tell me you were interested in Rita Jablonski?”

  Hue erupted into a coughing fit on the other end of the line. It was so violent, I had a sudden fear that I’d shocked him so badly, he was choking on his tongue.

  Before I could fully panic and break down and call 911, the fit abated and Hue was able to speak. “Where did you hear this?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Did you ask her out while she was still dating Wade?”

  There was a hesitation before he spoke. “We should talk about this, but not over the phone. Can you meet me at the Banyon Tree in twenty minutes?”

  I was sure my appearance at the diner wouldn’t go over well, but I didn’t want to miss this chance to hear Hue’s side of the story.

  “I can.”

  “See you there, Ms. Hancock. I want to make it clear that I had nothing to do with either of my friends’ deaths.”

  He hung up.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” I told Misfit as I put my phone away. The deeper I got into this, the more convoluted everything became.

  I took a moment to replace Misfit’s water with fresh, and gave him a handful of treats to make up for his fright and unlawful incarceration, before I left my house. I triple-checked to make sure the door was locked, and then I got into my car, determined to finally get to the bottom of Wade Fink’s murder before someone else ended up dead.

  20

  Hue was sitting alone at a corner table, hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee. When he saw me enter the Banyon Tree, he stood and motioned me over. While he was smiling, I could tell he was nervous. His eyes darted around the room, even as he pulled out a chair for me.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the proffered seat.

  “I was surprised by your call,” Hue said, settling back in. He spun his coffee cup slowly in front of him. “I know how it must have sounded, learning I was . . . smitten with young Rita. I admit it now, and would have done so then if you’d asked me when we’d first met. But it never came up, and honestly, it never amounted to anything, so I didn’t think it was important.”

  The waitress headed our way, but I waved her off. “You must be able to see how it looks, right? Rita and Wade were dating and you go and ask her out. And then, after she turns you down, Wade is murdered.”

  “It wasn’t connected,” Hue said. His eyes found mine and held them. “I was stupi
d and yeah, I admit it, I was a little jealous. Wade had this wonderful, beautiful young woman on his arm who could light up a room with her laugh and smile. I was married to a woman who wasn’t interested in me any longer, who preferred to sleep alone than next to me. It was hard on me, to say the least.”

  “But Wade was your friend.”

  “I know.” Hue’s expression turned somber. “If I could take it back, I would. I spent years wondering if my bad judgment caused Wade’s death somehow. For a time, a fanciful part of me thought that maybe Rita killed Wade with an intent to get with me afterward, but had chickened out after the deed was done.”

  I didn’t know if the idea was romantic or creepy, so I left it alone. “You fought with Wade over Rita, didn’t you?”

  “I did. A part of me hoped if I broke them up, she’d give me a chance. I could get out of my marriage and start anew. Maybe this time I’d be the one everyone looked at with envy.”

  “It didn’t sound like anyone was very envious of the relationship,” I said. “From what I gather, nearly the entire town was against Rita and Wade dating.”

  “That’s true to a point,” Hue said. “And quite a lot of people were indeed against their relationship because of the age difference.”

  “But not all?”

  Hue shook his head. “Jealousy is a strong motivator. Do you know how many men wished they were in Wade’s shoes? I wasn’t the only person who gave it a shot with Rita. Some waited until Wade was dead, but there were quite a lot of men who tried to coax her into leaving Wade, long before his death.”

  I wondered how many of the Coffee Drinkers were included in that. It sounded like most, if not all of them, wanted Wade to leave Rita. If they’d succeeded, would they have fought over who earned the right to date her next?

  But if that was the case, why not court her after Wade’s murder? Guilt? Shame? Or had one of them come on to her and Rita had turned them down? And was it possible she might have consented, and had chosen to keep it a secret? I prayed that wasn’t the case.

  Hue shoved his coffee mug aside and leaned forward. “I don’t want to give you the impression that Wade’s relationship with Rita Jablonski defined my life. I tried some underhanded tricks to make them break up, but it never worked, and now, I’m glad of it. I never would have hurt either of them—and that includes murdering Wade.”

  “What about the rest of the group?” I asked. “Did Arthur or Zachary feel the same way?”

  Hue shrugged. “You’d have to ask them, but I’d say neither would have harmed Wade. Arthur is very stuck in his ways. Like Lester, he believes everyone should follow strict rules, often devised to benefit him. He never would have gone after a woman as young as Rita because, quite frankly, she wouldn’t have been mature enough to deal with his radical ideas. He’d want someone who would be able to handle his venom, and amplify it.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you have a high opinion of Arthur. Why remain friends with him?”

  Hue’s smile was sad. “Arthur’s not all bad. I don’t believe in the same things he does, but when he’s not on one of his rants, he’s a pretty decent guy. You just sometimes have to look deep for it.”

  It seemed like a lot of work to remain friends with someone, but what did I know? I thought all my friends were angels.

  “And what about Zachary?” I asked.

  “As far as I know, he wasn’t interested in Rita, either. He had his own troubles to work through, so he wouldn’t have wanted to add another.”

  “Troubles? Such as?”

  “That’s for him to tell you, not me.” Hue folded his hands in front of him. “I don’t believe Wade’s death was tied to his relationship. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if money was the cause.”

  “It often is,” I said, though I didn’t really believe it. Nothing in any of the conversations I’d had about Wade hinted that money had anything to do with his death. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there, though. “Do you know if Wade had any debts he refused to pay?”

  “If you’re asking if he was a gambler, I’d say no,” Hue said. “But it’s always possible he was into something the rest of us weren’t aware of.”

  “What about Jay Miller?”

  Hue’s face went carefully blank. “What about him?”

  “Could he have had something to do with Wade’s death? Or know who did?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “He came to see me today,” I said, watching Hue carefully for some indication he knew about my unwelcome visitor. “I found him sitting in my living room when I got home from work. He threatened me, Hue. He doesn’t want me looking into Wade’s death, and now that Cliff is dead too . . .” I left the rest hanging, not quite sure how best to finish the sentence.

  Hue paled and rocked back in his chair like I’d gut-punched him. He opened his mouth once, closed it, and then looked out the window.

  “What does Jay have to do with any of this?” I pressed. “I know he was friends with the group. I know he was the cop who responded to the call. Now, he’s threatening me.”

  “He’s not my friend,” Hue said, voice hushed. “He hasn’t been for a very long time.”

  “Why?”

  “Jay Miller is not a good person,” he said. “He never was. Arthur could be trouble when he wants to be, but Jay . . . He isn’t someone you want to hang around for any length of time. He’s poison. It took me far too long to realize that.”

  “Do you think he’s capable of murder?”

  “Isn’t everyone?” Hue asked. “Could I see Jay killing someone?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe. Could I see him helping someone commit a crime? Most definitely.”

  “Would he have killed Cliff if Cliff was about to talk about Wade’s death?”

  Hue actually flinched. “I honestly can’t say. I wish I could help you there, because Cliff was my friend. He didn’t deserve to die.”

  A thump somewhere behind me caused me to jump, thinking Judith Banyon had seen me, but when I glanced back, no one was paying me any mind. A kid was sitting at a table, a smug grin on his face as he smacked the saltshaker against the table. Neither of his parents cared enough to stop him.

  “What can you tell me about Madeline Watson?” I asked, turning back to Hue.

  “What about her?” He seemed surprised by the question.

  “I’m just curious,” I said. “She’s Cliff’s sister, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you think she might know why her brother was killed?”

  “I don’t see why she would,” he said. “She hasn’t lived in Pine Hills for years now.”

  “Did she get married?” I asked. “Find a new job? Why leave?”

  “I don’t know why she left,” Hue said. He sounded oddly hurt by not knowing. “She never married, had no interest in dating when I knew her. When she left, Cliff was heartbroken. The two of them were close for the longest time, but right before she left, I sensed things weren’t right between them.”

  “Do you know where she is now?” I asked. “Does she know about Cliff?”

  “I’m sure someone has informed her by now.” He sighed. “I suppose I should call her and send her my condolences.”

  “You have her number?”

  He nodded, a frown slowly creeping across his features. “I do, but I haven’t called her in years.”

  “Would you mind giving it to me?” When he looked like he might object, I talked over him. “I won’t harass her. Cliff called me and told me he knew something about Wade’s death. He didn’t specify what that might be, and was murdered before we could meet. If Madeline knows or even suspects what he knew, it might help solve both murders.”

  I keep my gaze level with Hue’s own. If he wavered, or outright refused, did that mean he knew something too? Or worse, that he was the killer?

  After a long moment, he nodded and sighed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll give it to you.”

  I fished a pen from my purse and grab
bed a napkin. I slid them both across the table and watched as Hue checked his phone and then scrawled Madeline’s name and number down. I carefully folded the napkin and pocketed it before he could change his mind.

  “Take it easy on her,” Hue said. “This must be a very trying time for her. She might have drifted apart from her brother, but I know she still loved him dearly.”

  “I will,” I said. “I only want to get to the bottom of the murders and make sure the culprit gets put behind bars.”

  “Me too,” Hue said, lowering his head. “Me too.”

  I left him to play with the dregs of his coffee, thankful I’d managed to have an entire conversation in the Banyon Tree without Judith chasing me out. I wasn’t sure if my chat with Hue helped anything, or if I’d only confirmed more of my suspicions.

  Someone in the group knew who killed Wade, and then later, they killed, or had someone kill, Cliff. I didn’t think it was Hue, but that could be wishful thinking. He was a nice man, seemed genuine, but some killers often did.

  As soon as I was in my car, I pulled out my phone and Madeline’s number. I didn’t know what role Jay Miller played in all of this, but I wasn’t about to give him a chance to intimidate Cliff’s sister before she had an opportunity to talk to me.

  I dialed.

  “Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line was strong, feminine.

  “Madeline Watson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hi, my name is Krissy Hancock. I knew your brother.”

  “Oh.” The strength slipped on that one word, but was back when she spoke again. “What is this regarding?”

  I wondered how many calls she’d received about Cliff, and decided to make my own call as quick and painless as I could.

  “I’m so sorry about Cliff,” I said. “He called me right before he died.”

  “I see.”

  “He wanted to talk to me. I was neighbors with Eleanor Winthrow, who also recently passed away.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Madeline said. She sounded genuine.

  “I promised her daughter, Jane, I’d look into Wade Fink’s death. I’ve solved a few murders in my time, and figured I could see if I could solve this one.”

  I paused, but Madeline didn’t respond. I couldn’t even hear her breathe.