Death by French Roast

by Alex Erickson

  I must have dozed off with Misfit in my lap because it was a little over an hour later when there was a pounding on my door. I sat up, bleary-eyed, with fresh cat scratches—and a missing cat—on my legs.

  “Sec,” I managed through gummy lips. I made a pit stop in the kitchen to get a drink of water. My mouth felt full of cotton, and my head was spinning. I was pooped and ready for a good night’s sleep where I didn’t have to worry about a murderer coming to visit me.

  The pounding came again. I set my glass aside and feeling somewhat rejuvenated, I answered.

  As soon as I opened the door, a man barged in, shouldering me aside.

  “He didn’t do it,” Arthur Cantrell said, spinning on me. “I don’t know how you managed to convince him to confess, but Zachary Ross didn’t kill anyone.”

  “How did you find me?” I asked, suddenly wide awake.

  “How do you find anyone?” he asked, but he didn’t extrapolate.

  “Okay.” I realized I was still holding the door open, so I closed it. “Why are you here?”

  “You know why.” He paced back and forth twice, before coming to a stop. “You been hounding us for days now. You managed to get Cliff killed, and then you somehow get Zachary to confess to a pair of murders he didn’t commit? What do you have against us?”

  “Me? Nothing,” I said. “I talked to Candace and she called her dad. He confessed on his own.” All too easily, I realized. I’d had nothing on either of them, nothing of substance anyway. Sure, guilt could have gotten to him, but after all these years?

  Arthur narrowed his eyes at me like he didn’t believe me. “He wouldn’t do that. You must have tricked him somehow.”

  “Maybe he was tired of lying,” I said. “It happens all the time.” And then, because I was curious: “Why did you attack Jay Miller?”

  Arthur resumed his pacing. He rubbed at the back of his head, mussing his hair. He looked agitated, and I wondered if he’d gotten any sleep. He sure didn’t look like it. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn he’d just been released from police custody and he’d come straight to me.

  “Jay . . .” He trailed off, scowled as if the name offended him, and then he cursed under his breath.

  “Let me get you something to drink.” I slunk around him and put on a pot of coffee. I desperately needed it, and it looked as if Arthur did as well.

  Arthur continued pacing, muttering to himself as the coffee percolated. I waited by the pot, hand hovering near my knife block, just in case he came at me. Arthur was known to have violent tendencies, and while he might not have killed Wade or Cliff, he had attacked Jay Miller. No one was disputing that.

  The coffee finished and I poured us each a mug. I fished out some sugar, and since I didn’t have creamer in the house, I got out a half carton of milk, which was getting close to its expiration date. I set everything on the counter between us.

  Arthur muttered a thanks and filled his mug the rest of the way with milk, no sugar. Since I didn’t have a cookie on hand, I added a little milk and sugar of my own and took a blessed sip. Arthur gulped his down like it wasn’t scalding hot.

  “All right,” I said when he looked calmer. “Tell me.”

  He put both hands on the island counter as if bracing himself. “Jay killed Cliff.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Trust me, I know.” His eyes burned hot as he looked at me. “Jay Miller went to Cliff’s house that night and murdered him.”

  “Did you tell the police this?” I asked.

  “Of course I did,” he spat the words. “But do you think they believed me? They kept coming back to how I was the one who attacked him. They acted like I killed Cliff because of some vendetta I had against him, though they couldn’t come up with anything that backed their assumption.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t. Cliff was my friend. Think of me what you will, but I don’t hurt my friends like that. I might knock them around a bit if I think they’re being idiots, but I’d never kill one of them.”

  The funny thing was, I believed him. Despite his aggressive behavior, despite the way he treated everyone around him, I didn’t think Arthur Cantrell killed Cliff Watson, nor did I believe he killed Wade Fink. There was simply too much raw emotion in his voice.

  “Why did Jay kill Cliff?” I asked.

  Arthur’s hands went back behind his head and locked there. The muscles in his arms bunched, veins popped out. He was wrestling with something, some internal battle that had to be killing him inside. And if I didn’t miss my guess, it had been digging at him for years.

  Thirty-three perhaps?

  “Jay was protecting someone,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides.

  “Zachary Ross?” I guessed.

  “No. Jay doesn’t care about him, never did.” Arthur sat down. “It’s taken me years to face the facts. I’ve always suspected, but after Cliff . . .” He shook his head. “I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

  “Ignore what?”

  A tear formed in the corner of Arthur’s eye. “Candace never loved Jay. Jay didn’t love her, either, but used her, hung their relationship over her father’s—Zachary’s—head. He knew.” His grin was feral. “He knew.”

  “Knew what?” I felt like I was becoming a broken record, asking the same type of question over and over.

  “Candace did it,” he said. This time, more than one tear fell down his cheek. “I believe Candace Ross killed Wade Fink, and Jay, Zachary, and Cliff covered it up.”

  * * *

  A horrible clanking sound came from the front of my car, but I didn’t take my foot off the gas. My phone was in hand. It rang twice, and blessedly, was answered.

  “Paul,” I said before he could so much as mutter a hello, “Zachary Ross didn’t do it. I mean, he kind of did, but he didn’t actually kill anyone. It’s his daughter, Candace. And Jay Miller. Get someone on him before he leaves the hospital.”

  “Krissy?” Paul sounded tired. “What’s going on?”

  I took a deep breath. Rambling madly wouldn’t get my point across. “Candace Miller killed Wade Fink. I believe her dad, Zachary, and her husband, Jay, covered it up. Candace was our waitress when I got the call from Cliff. She made a call, likely to Jay, and he killed Cliff to protect her.”

  “Where are you?” Paul asked. He still sounded confused.

  “On the way to Candace’s. She might run.”

  “Go home, Krissy. I can do this.”

  “She might get away.” And then, because I didn’t want Paul to find a way to convince me I was doing the wrong thing, I clicked off.

  My phone rang almost immediately, but instead of answering, I shoved it deep into my purse. I was almost to Candace’s place. Paul would take an extra ten minutes to get there. She could be long gone by then.

  Heck, she might be gone already.

  I knew what I was doing was dangerous, but I couldn’t help myself. Candace had to know her father’s story wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny for long. He could claim he killed both Wade and Cliff until he was red in the face, but without facts supporting his claim, and with people like Arthur contradicting him, his story would collapse within a day, maybe two.

  Chances were, Candace was already prepping to flee Pine Hills, maybe the country. If I was too late, and she’d already left, she would never face justice.

  Thankfully, the old Beetle was still parked in the driveway as I came to a stop. My car coughed, and then abruptly died. Something smelled hot and steam was pouring from under the hood. If it came down to a car chase, I was out of luck.

  I’d just opened my car door and was stepping out onto the driveway when Candace popped out the front door, a bulging suitcase in hand. Her eyes went wide when she saw me and my smoking vehicle.

  “I know what you did, Candace,” I said. “You can’t let your dad take the fall.” I waved a hand in front of my face to clear away some of the smoke.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She closed the front door.

  “Zachary didn’t kill anyone, did he?” I took a step toward her. “He’s too ill to have killed Cliff, and I have a feeling he didn’t kill Wade, either.”

  Candace eyed me, then my car, before looking toward her own vehicle. Another suitcase sat in the back seat. A scruffy teddy bear sat atop it, which caused my heart to go out to her a little. It looked like a childhood toy that she’d kept into her adulthood, likely a protection against what she’d done.

  “What happened?” I asked, moving forward another small step. “Why did you kill Wade?”

  “I . . .” She shifted the suitcase from one hand to the other. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “I know you killed him, Candace. The police are on their way.” I coughed as more smoke plumed from my car and washed over me. “Now’s your chance to set the record straight before they get to you. I’m not going to judge you.” Much.

  Candace eased the suitcase down, never taking her eyes off of me. “It was an accident,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was just so angry with him, I . . .” She bit her lower lip, as if suddenly realizing what she was confessing to.

  “He was your best friend’s boyfriend,” I said. “Why would you kill him when you knew what it would do to Rita?” And then it dawned on me. “He turned you down, didn’t he?”

  She closed her eyes, and after a long moment, nodded. “It wasn’t fair. She already had everything she could ever want. All I wanted was someone who cared for me like Wade did Rita.”

  “You could have found it elsewhere,” I said. “And eventually, you did.”

  Candace didn’t answer. Her hand rose to her cheek, rested there a moment, and then dropped. I didn’t know if she was remembering a kiss or a slap.

  Did it really matter?

  “What about Cliff Watson?” I asked. “Your dad didn’t kill him either, so why lie and say he did?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Candace said. “There was just so much going on, then and now. I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen to anyone.”

  Silence fell between us. Candace stood with her suitcase next to her, keys dangling from her pocket. I was closer to her car than she was, so it was unlikely she’d escape that way.

  “Turn yourself in,” I said. “Explain what happened. This doesn’t have to end like this. We can go to the police together, talk about it like adults.”

  Candance glanced at her car, and then back to me. I could see it in her eyes that she was about to give in.

  That was when my car decided to erupt in flames.

  Fire shot from beneath the hood, through the dash, and in seconds, my car was engulfed, as if someone had doused it in gasoline. It didn’t explode like in the movies, but the sudden rush of heat caused me to scream and scramble away from the inferno.

  Candace took the opportunity to run.

  Leaving her suitcase sitting on the stoop, she leapt down onto the driveway, legs briefly buckling beneath her, before she found her feet. She started for her car, but quickly realized it was a lost cause, considering my fireball was sitting right behind her vehicle. She veered off and rounded the side of the house.

  There was a moment where I was too stunned to react. My car! And then sense returned and I realized I couldn’t just stand there and let a killer escape. My car was lost—as was my phone and purse, which I’d left sitting in the front seat—but that was a worry for later.

  I took off after Candace, and a surge of energy, fueled by adrenaline, had me closing the distance in seconds. She saw me gaining and found her own reserves. She leapt over a small ditch, lowered her head, and put everything she had in running.

  My heart was thumping in my chest, and already, I was coated in sweat. My breath came in hitched gasps. I could still smell smoke, and my eyes burned from it, but I refused to take them off the fleeing woman.

  A copse of trees sat ahead. If Candace reached them, she might be able to lose me. She might not escape Pine Hills, but the short reprieve might give her time to concoct a story—or another way out of town.

  Clenching my teeth, I bore down and ran as hard as I’d ever run in my life. I might not be in the best shape, but I was younger than Candace. I cleared the ditch, and before she could reach the small copse of trees, I was on her. I threw my weight into a final leap and tackled Candace to the ground.

  We hit hard and rolled twice before we stopped. Candace fought me, of course, but I didn’t relent. I held her down until she finally collapsed, eyes squeezed shut against the tears that were spilling down her cheeks.

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she whimpered. In the distance, sirens rang out. With every breath, they grew nearer. They’d be there in minutes.

  “I know,” I told her. And then, because it felt like the right thing to say, “Everything will be okay.”

  By the time Paul Dalton and half the Pine Hills police force arrived on the scene, I was sitting on the ground, dirt and smoke staining my face and clothes, holding a sobbing Candace Miller in my arms.

  28

  “I still can’t believe it,” Rita said with a shake of her head. “Candace? It’s unfathomable!”

  “And her husband was in on it from the start, too?” Jane Winthrow asked.

  We were sitting around my table, cooling cups of coffee in front of us. Paul had given me much of the details, and everyone involved was currently behind bars. How long they’d remain there, I didn’t know. There was enough evidence to convict, I was sure, but sometimes, strange things happened, especially with so many years between the first murder and the last.

  “He was,” I said. “Candace killed Wade in a fit of jealousy. She panicked and called her dad, Zachary Ross, who in turn called a police officer he knew, Jay Miller. Together, they covered up the crime and did everything they could to smear Wade’s name.” Which included using Larry Ritchie, though I didn’t think he knew of Jay’s involvement of the crime at the time.

  “But what about Cliff?” Rita asked. I’d given her most of the story, but had left out big chunks of it early on since she’d taken the news pretty hard. Only now, a week after the case was solved, was she able to talk about it.

  “He was part of the cover-up,” I said. “He helped Zachary and Jay. He was there when Zachary received the panicked call from Candace, and followed his friend to the scene. He regretted helping them though, and when I started poking around in the murder, he decided it was time to tell someone what really happened.”

  “So, they killed him to silence him?” Jane asked.

  “Jay did.” I learned this afterward, as more of the story came out. “Candace overheard me talking to Paul about Cliff’s call, realized what it would mean for her, so she called her dad to see what he might want her to do. He was too weak to do anything about it, however, so he called Jay, who had just as much to lose as the rest of them. If Candace was accused of Wade’s murder, not only would he become a suspect in the cover-up, but he’d also lose his wife.”

  “I still can’t force myself to believe it,” Rita said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief she’d pulled from her purse. “She was my friend.”

  “I know.” I took her hand and squeezed. “And I do believe she regrets what happened.” It wasn’t much solace—Wade was still dead—but I thought it helped a little.

  Misfit sauntered into the room, saw the somber faces round the table, and then wound his way around our feet before leaving again.

  Rita rose from her chair. “Thank you, Krissy. It’s been a long time coming, but I finally think I can move on.”

  I stood as she rounded the table to give me a big hug.

  “My pleasure,” I said.

  “Now, I best get back home.” Rita cleared her throat and wiped away a tear. I imagined they wouldn’t fully dry for a few days yet. She might claim she could move on, but I knew it would take some more time. These new wounds were fresh, and were tied to the old ones that had yet to heal. You didn’t just get over that in
a day or two. “I have some thinking to do.”

  Rita left. Getting over Wade would be hard—she’d spent the last thirty-odd years mourning him—but I thought she’d manage. After a week or so, she’d be the same Rita I’d always known. Or maybe an improved version. She no longer had Wade’s mysterious death eating away at her.

  “I’d better go, too.” Jane rose and clasped my hand. “You’ve accomplished far more than I ever could have expected. You’ve done my mother proud.”

  “I’ll miss Eleanor.”

  “We all will.” She smiled fondly. “But she can rest now. I think after everything she’s gone through in her life, she deserves it.”

  That, she did.

  I walked Jane out the front door, careful not to catch my skirt in the door as I pulled it closed behind me. It felt strange to be dressed up, but tonight was an important one.

  “Will you be back to Pine Hills?” I asked her before she could get into her car. Eleanor’s house was dark and empty. Soon, a FOR SALE sign would sit in the front yard. I couldn’t imagine anyone else moving into the small house, but it would eventually happen. Change always does.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Without Mom here, there’s really nothing left for me in this town.” She looked to the sky, breathed in the evening air. “But who knows? It isn’t such a bad place to visit.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Jane gave me one last fond smile, and then got into her car. I waved as she backed out of my driveway. She honked once, and then was gone—likely for good.

  I rested a hand on the last remaining car in my driveway. The rental was an upgrade over my old Ford but would need to be replaced soon. I’d already started the process of finding a new car, but I wouldn’t rush into the decision. I wanted it to be done right.

  Just like tonight.

  Before I could return to my house, another car turned into my driveway. My heart hiccupped and I found myself far more nervous than I should be. There was a small scab on my knee from when I’d tackled Candace, and I had a bruise the size of a baseball on my left bicep. Suddenly, I felt self-conscious about the blemishes and was regretting my decision to wear a sleeveless blouse and skirt.