Death by French Roast

by Alex Erickson

  When my phone rang, I screamed so loud the entire neighborhood must have heard it. Misfit shot from my lap—leaving five shallow cuts in my thigh as he went—and vanished into the bedroom where he’d likely hide for the next hour.

  I snatched up my phone, and without checking the ID, I answered.

  “Hello? Paul.”

  “Hey, Krissy.”

  All the air shot from my lungs, and I was struck completely speechless for a long couple of seconds. It’s him! He’s okay. Paul sounded exhausted, but alive.

  “Where were you?” I finally managed.

  “I took Jay to the hospital in Levington.”

  Wait. My mind tried to figure out how to process that information. Did Paul beat Jay up? “What happened?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “When I arrived at Jay’s place, the door was open. When he didn’t answer my call, I went inside and found him on the floor, bleeding. He was just coming to and when I tried to help him and ask him what happened, he reacted violently. I lost my phone and hat before I was able to subdue him. Earned myself a good shot to the eye as well. When I tried his phone, it was dead. Someone cut the line, apparently.”

  “He was attacked?” I thought back to Cliff’s murder and wondered if it was connected to Jay being assaulted.

  Who was I kidding? Of course it was.

  “Seems so. Once I calmed him down, I took him to the hospital. He has a pretty bad head wound and his left hand is broken. It wasn’t until I got here that I realized I hadn’t grabbed my phone on the way out. I should have called as soon as I realized that, but I wanted to get the story from Jay as soon as possible.”

  “Did you call your mom yet?” I asked. “She’s looking for you.”

  “I did.” He laughed. “She ripped into me pretty good for giving her a scare, but was better when I told her what happened.”

  “You should have called us,” I said, unable to keep the reprimand out of my voice.

  “I know. I’m sorry about that, I really am. It all happened so fast, I wasn’t thinking clearly. Maybe I can blame it on the knock I took to my head. Still have a headache, if it’s any consolation.”

  I smiled. “Maybe a little.”

  He laughed. “I’ll make it right by telling you what Jay told me, if you’re interested.”

  I sat up, all ears. Misfit peeked around the corner in the hall, and then, once certain I wasn’t going to scream again, he meandered toward me. He didn’t jump up on my lap again, but he lay down near enough that I could pet him if I wanted.

  “All right,” I said. “Tell me.”

  “Arthur Cantrell was the one who attacked him.”

  “What?” My voice rose, not quite to shouting volume, but loud enough that Misfit gave me a good glare before settling back down. “Arthur? Wade and Cliff’s friend?”

  “The same,” Paul said. “Chief is picking him up now. The way Jay tells it, Arthur showed up roaring mad and came at him. They fought, but Arthur had caught him by surprise and just about knocked him out on the first blow. He beat on Jay, broke his hand, and then bloodied him up real good before Arthur left him for dead. I’m thinking Arthur might be behind Cliff’s murder.”

  “And Wade’s,” I said. I knew Arthur was a violent man but didn’t think he’d resort to attacking his friends.

  Then again, he had gotten into a fight with Wade all those years ago.

  “Once I hang up here, I’m going to the station. Hopefully, Arthur will confess and we can put this whole murder business behind us.”

  “Yeah, that’d be great.” I frowned. “Why would Arthur attack Jay? Jay came here to warn me off investigating, so it wasn’t like he was running around telling everyone who killed Wade or Cliff. If Arthur was the one who killed them, what did Jay have to do with it?”

  “I don’t know,” Paul admitted. “Jay wasn’t exactly forthcoming in that regard. He claims Arthur just showed up and attacked him. Didn’t give a reason as to why, and when I tried to press him, he clammed up, claiming his head hurt too much for him to think clearly.”

  “Seems fishy to me,” I said.

  “Krissy, it doesn’t have to be complicated. Maybe Jay Miller knew Arthur killed Wade, as had Cliff Watson. Since there’s been renewed interest in the old case, Arthur decided to silence anyone who might rat him out. He started with Cliff, and then moved on to Jay. It could be that simple.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” But what? Just because I didn’t solve it myself didn’t mean Paul was wrong.

  “If Arthur confesses, you’ll be the first to know,” Paul said. “I only hope he didn’t go after someone else after attacking Jay.”

  I thought of Roger and his diminished mental state, of Zachary and his physical ailment. If Arthur decided to silence all his friends, they wouldn’t be too hard to remove from the equation.

  “Is someone checking in on his other friends?” I asked, halfway off the couch like I might do it myself.

  “Of course. Chief will have someone check on Rita as well. No one else is going to get hurt tonight, I promise you.”

  I wished I could believe him, but something still wasn’t ringing true for me. Why attack Jay like that? Cliff had been killed quickly and without a struggle. Jay’s house looked like they’d had an all-out brawl. Cliff had been willing to talk. Jay was trying to keep people from talking.

  “I’d better get going,” Paul said, breaking into my thoughts. “I just wanted to call and let you know I’m okay. And to say thank you for worrying about me.” He cleared his throat. “Mom told me you were concerned.”

  “Don’t ever do this to me again, okay?”

  “I’ll try.” He laughed again, but it died quickly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Stay safe, Krissy.”

  “You too, Paul.” I paused, considered what to say, but everything sounded lame in my head. I left him with a “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  He disconnected, but I held the phone to my ear just a few moments longer. Paul was safe; he was really safe.

  But why wasn’t I comforted?

  I rose and found a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote out all the Coffee Drinkers’ names, included Wade’s, and then added Larry Ritchie and Jay Miller beneath that.

  I stared at my list, tried to piece everything together as a puzzle, but not all the pieces went together as cleanly as I’d like. Jay might have been a violent person and a bad cop, but that didn’t mean he was a killer.

  Maybe Paul was right and Arthur was our man. Maybe he thought Jay knew more than he actually did, or perhaps Jay had put it all together and had shown up to threaten Arthur, just like he had me. Arthur panics, tracks Jay down, and then tries to kill him. End of story.

  “Maybe Eleanor can rest now,” I told Misfit. Across the way, all the lights were off in Eleanor Winthrow’s old place. Jane wasn’t there, and I wondered if I’d ever see her again. Nothing said she’d have to tell me good-bye, though it did hurt to think she might have left town without visiting me one last time.

  It appeared as if my role in the murders of Wade Fink and Cliff Watson was done. If anyone could get the truth out of Arthur and Jay, it was Chief Dalton and her son.

  I tossed my list into the trash. And then, with a yawn that nearly knocked me off my feet, I carried Misfit to bed, where I promptly fell into an exhausted slumber.

  25

  Morning came and I was up, showered, and on the phone within thirty minutes of my eyes cracking open.

  “Hi, Rita, it’s Krissy. Would you mind if I stopped by?”

  “Krissy?” Rita sounded groggy, but in good spirits. “Why, I suppose that would be all right. Why? Has something happened?”

  “I’ll fill you in when I get there,” I said. “But I think we might have figured out who killed Wade.”

  “Oh, dear.” I could almost see her fluttering her hand over her chest. “I’ll get the coffee on.”

  I hung up and then called Paul. It went to voicemail, and my heart did a little hiccup but calme
d quickly. Paul was fine. If he’d spent all night dealing with Arthur Cantrell, he was likely still asleep. I could get the details from him later.

  I tossed some bread into the toaster, fed Misfit, and then once my toast was done, I carried it—and a cookie in preparation for Rita’s coffee—to my car. I turned the key.

  Nothing happened.

  “Not now,” I muttered, trying the key again. This time, there was a sputter, and then the car roared to life. “Thank you.” I patted the dash, while making a mental note to finally look into getting a new car. I’d needed to replace my old Ford for months, but whenever I thought it was time, it would work fine for a few weeks, before something like this would happen. The heat no longer worked, nor did the air conditioner, but I still loved the thing.

  I drove to Rita’s, mentally prepping myself for everything I needed to say, and how I was going to say it. As far as I knew, Arthur had yet to confess to anything. And despite my doubts, he was very likely both Wade’s and Cliff’s killer. Why else attack Jay?

  My mind tried to answer that question in ways that didn’t connect to the murder, but I refused to let it. Things were going to be difficult enough already without my brain convoluting everything.

  Even though it was light out, Rita had turned on her porch light. I parked beside her car, gathered my meager breakfast, and approached the front door. It opened before I could knock.

  Rita looked normal, but her eyes were haunted, worried. She ushered me into her house without a word and then peered outside like she expected someone to be watching us, before closing the door.

  “Coffee is in the kitchen, dear,” she said. “I made myself a cup already. Help yourself.”

  It took only a minute or two to arrange my morning caffeine and breakfast to my liking. I carried them to a chair opposite where Rita sat. She held her coffee mug in both hands. I noted she was trembling, and when she’d glance up, she’d look quickly away, like she was afraid of what I had to say.

  “Are you all right?” I asked her, concerned. Rita had never shown signs of any illnesses, but she was overweight and middle-aged. I feared too much of a shock might send her in a downward spiral that she might never recover from.

  Then again, maybe I was just projecting. I was worried how she might react to me once I started accusing people she knew of murder. Would she be angry? Would she storm out of here looking for Arthur, to exact her own form of vengeance? Or would she throw me out on my ear, vowing never to speak to me again?

  “I’m fine, dear.” Rita set her mug aside. “It’s strange. I’ve wondered all these years about what happened back then, and now that I might finally discover who killed my Wade . . .” She took a shuddering breath. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

  “We don’t have a confession or proof or anything,” I said. “If you don’t want me to tell you what we think until we have something, I understand.” Now that I was here, a part of me would almost welcome holding off until sometime later.

  “It’s not that,” Rita said. “I do want to know. But I’m afraid I’m not going to like what you have to say.” She laughed. “Of course, why would I like it? Wade was murdered and his killer has spent the last thirty-plus years a free man. At this point, whatever punishment he receives will never be enough.”

  I leaned forward and took her hand. Rita squeezed, before releasing me. “Now, dear, tell me what you’ve learned.”

  I took a bite of my toast and then chased it down with a long drink of coffee to organize my thoughts before speaking.

  “Arthur Cantrell attacked Jay Miller last night,” I said, deciding to start with something I knew for a fact. “The police are currently working on the theory he did so in order to shut Jay up. They believe he might have done the same to Cliff Watson.”

  Rita’s hand covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “Arthur attacked Jay?”

  “Paul had to take Jay to the hospital,” I said. “The assumption is that Jay found out that Arthur killed both Wade and Cliff, and then confronted him about it. He might have tried to blackmail Arthur, or threatened him somehow, but instead of getting whatever he wanted, he ended up in the hospital for his trouble.”

  “Jay said this?” Rita asked.

  “Well, no, not as far as I know.”

  “Then Arthur admitted to it?”

  I could feel myself blush. “No.”

  Her brow furrowed. “So, the attack could have been about something else.”

  A sinking feeling formed in my gut. “I suppose so. But it would be a pretty big coincidence, wouldn’t it? Cliff Watson is murdered after calling me to confess something about the crime. Then, Jay is attacked and left for dead not too long after.”

  Rita tapped her chin. She didn’t look like she bought it. I couldn’t say I blamed her. I was still struggling to make all the pieces fit.

  Which should tell me something, shouldn’t it?

  I pushed the thought away, knowing that if I let myself think too hard about it, I’d find even bigger holes in the narrative, and then what? I’d end up on someone else’s doorstep, asking them about a murder they may or may not have committed.

  “I know you don’t want to think one of Wade’s friends killed him,” I said, “but it looks like that might be the case. The more I talked to them, the more it seemed as if the Coffee Drinkers had something to hide.”

  “But Arthur?” Rita asked. “I know he’s had his troubles, and I can’t say he was my favorite person in the world, but I never believed he could be responsible for Wade’s death. I . . . I just can’t believe it!”

  “The police should have him in custody by now.” That was, unless he ran after attacking Jay. I really should have called Patricia to find out if she’d caught him. He could be on his way to Rita’s house by now, if not making his way out of the country.

  Stop it, Krissy. Already, I could feel my resolve dwindling, and new questions began popping up. What about Zachary’s story? Or Hue’s infatuation with Rita?

  Rita sat back in her chair and shook her head. “Lordy Lou, I’m absolutely shocked by all of this. I can’t believe Arthur would have done such a thing.” She abruptly stood and went into the kitchen. She poured herself a water from the tap and drained it in one go.

  I gave her time to work it through. These were people she knew. Even though they’d treated her badly over the years, it still had to hurt to find out one of them might have been responsible for her boyfriend’s death.

  Key word: might.

  Rita returned to the living room and sat down heavily. She picked up her coffee, looked at it a moment, and then set it aside again.

  “Now what do we do?” she asked.

  “We wait,” I said. “The police will get Arthur to talk. I’m sure Jay will have a lot to say as well. Even if Arthur denies everything, there’s a good chance they’ll get a warrant to go through his house. There’s probably evidence of some kind there for Cliff’s murder. From there, they’ll connect the dots.”

  “Arthur Cantrell a killer.” She tsked. “I suppose I should have known.” She sucked in a breath. “Did he attack Candace, too? Is she all right?”

  “Candace?” I asked. Why do I know that name?

  “Jay’s wife.” She frowned at me like I should have known all along. “She used to be my best friend, you know? We used to do everything together, but after Wade died, we drifted apart. I still kept tabs on her over the years. I suppose I was hoping that eventually we’d become friends again, but it just never happened.”

  “Jay’s married?” I thought back to the disaster of his house but didn’t recall seeing anything that hinted that a woman lived there.

  Then again, I’d been pretty distracted at the time. She could have been sitting in the next room and I doubted I would have noticed.

  “He is. Candace married Jay Miller a few years after Wade’s death, which came as a surprise to me, let me tell you. I didn’t even think she liked him, let alone cared about him enough to marry him.”

  “Hold up
,” I said, still struggling to piece it all together. “Jay married your best friend?”

  “He did. Was she there when he was attacked?”

  “I . . . I don’t think so.” Candace. Where had I heard that name before? It bothered me I couldn’t figure it out. “When I was at Jay’s, I didn’t see anything that indicated she was there at the time of the attack. And Paul never mentioned her when he called me.”

  “Oh, good.” Rita relaxed into the couch. “We might have lost touch, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. You know how it is—you and your friends move on, take different paths, yet you still think back fondly on the good times.”

  Rita continued talking, but I hardly heard her. Candace’s name kept playing over and over in my mind. Had Jay mentioned her? I was pretty sure he hadn’t.

  But if not Jay, who else would have talked about his wife to me?

  “I think someone mentioned a Candace once,” I said, cutting off whatever Rita was saying. “But I can’t figure out who.”

  “I might have mentioned her once or twice,” Rita said. “Though I don’t recall doing so. Gosh, I haven’t thought about her all that much in recent years, honestly. Just in passing. I’d see her and think, ‘I should go over and talk to her,’ and then the moment would pass and life would go on.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it was someone else.” Or was it? The more I thought about it, the more I kept thinking I’d heard it from a woman, who very well might have been Rita. “How did Jay and Candace meet?”

  Rita sat up, the concern returning. “Why? Do you think she’s in danger?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. But there was something there, something important. I just couldn’t seem to grasp it.

  “Well, she used to come with me when I’d go to meet Wade at the Banyon Tree, back when, well, Wade was alive.” She took a huge gulp of coffee, like she needed the jolt to press on. “Jay was there a few times, lurking about like he was wont to do. Candace never really talked to him, or anyone else really. She was embarrassed, I suppose.”