2 Grounds for Murder

by Sandra Balzo

  Barbara raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t think we want to start talking about sleeping arrangements, do you, Priscilla?’ She looked pointedly from Priscilla to one of the technical judges.

  Priscilla turned red. The tech judge just glared at Barbara and pushed his glasses up on his nose, using what Eric would have called his ‘swear finger’.

  Geez, what next? Spin the bottle? Short-sheeting beds? And these were the judges I was dealing with. This really did have ‘reality show’ written all over it.

  I cleared my throat. ‘The competitors will practice today and get acquainted with the equipment. Then the competition starts tomorrow afternoon at one. The finals are Saturday morning at ten. Everybody got it?’

  I took the muted muttering as acquiescence. ‘One other thing, there will be television coverage –’ the judges perked up – ‘by the local cable station.’ Oops, lost them again. They filed out before I could go any further.

  Just as well. I didn’t want any of them stealing my idea. As I stacked up my papers, there was a muffled knock on the temporary wall that separated the competition room from the exhibit hall. The wall was padded – something that might come in handy by the time this was all over.

  ‘Knock, knock.’ Marvin LaRoche stuck his head in.

  I thought about giving him a dressing down for not being in time for the judges’ briefing, but, intent on not being Sarah’s dark reflection, I settled for: ‘How’s our chief judge this morning?’

  ‘Fantastic, thank you.’ LaRoche swept into the room and sat on a corner of the table. He was wearing a suit and tie, but then LaRoche always wore a suit and tie. Even at HotWired. ‘We’re going to have a fabulous function. And are plans proceeding for the coming competition?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘What about your opening address? A spellbinding speech, I suspect?’ Hey, I could be alliteratively effusive, too.

  Not that LaRoche noticed. ‘I truly believe so,’ he said, growing serious. ‘The subject of my keynote is cultivating creativity in coffee.’

  ‘Compelling,’ I offered.

  ‘Crucial,’ he agreed.

  Enough of these games. ‘All alliteration aside, Marvin . . .’ He looked at me blankly, so I didn’t bother to explain. ‘As I told the rest of the judges, the competition starts at one tomorrow, with the finals at ten on Saturday. I’ve confirmed with them that we can do it in two stages instead of three.’ I’d also confirmed that the judges were a bunch of loonies.

  ‘Perfect,’ he said, standing up and preparing to leave. ‘I’ll put it on my calendar.’

  ‘Oh, wait,’ I said, pawing through the folders in front of me. ‘Janalee accidentally gave me one of her personal files, could you give it back to her?’

  LaRoche looked momentarily put-out at being asked to be an errand boy. Then he must have remembered he was both fantastic and fabulous.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, beaming broadly. ‘Happy to have an excuse to see my lovely bride.’

  As he left, I had to wonder: if Sarah was my dark reflection, whose dark side was LaRoche?

  The next arrivals to the competition room were The Milkman and L’Cafe in that order. This was a problem because The Milkman had all the perishable milk, cream and dairy products for the event, and L’Cafe had all the equipment. Including the refrigerators – big ones for backstage and three minis for the workstations on stage.

  We finally got it straightened out and by the time the entrants arrived, the three competition stations were set up. Each work area had an identical espresso machine, grinder and blender, plus staples like a knock box for the grounds, trash can and the mini-refrigerator, of course. Everything else had to be provided by the participants, from mood music for their fifteen-minute presentation, right down to the espresso itself.

  Janalee had arranged for the entrants to arrive in shifts of three to prepare, and I was surprised to see Amy in the first group.

  ‘Are you going to be able to compete?’ I asked her.

  She raised her bandaged right hand. ‘Luckily, I’m a lefty.’

  ‘Still, frothing takes two hands, and even holding back the foam when you’re pouring the milk for a cappuccino . . .?’

  ‘I know it’s a long shot.’ She put down the basket of china she was carrying on her arm. ‘But I’ll do my best. That will have to be enough.’

  I liked this woman. ‘It’s all anyone could ask – more, given the circumstances. Any word yet on the cause of the fire?’

  I had asked Pavlik the same question via cellphone message, but hadn’t gotten an answer. I suspected he was ducking the subject, but hadn’t a clue why. The most logical reason, of course, was that he didn’t know. Maybe the fire chief had kicked him out after I left and Pavlik didn’t want to admit it. Maybe there was some sort of turf war going on between the fire department and the sheriff’s office. Maybe I watched too much TV.

  Amy shrugged. ‘Not that I’ve heard. The place is a total loss, though.’

  ‘Do you think Marvin and Janalee will rebuild?’ Evil thoughts, unbidden, were starting to run through my mind. Even if they did rebuild, Amy could be displaced for months.

  ‘If they do, Marvin says it will be a HotWired,’ Amy said. ‘Not Janalee’s Place.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said, helping her unpack her supplies. ‘Janalee’s Place had too much personality for . . .’ I slapped my mouth closed. Depending on how much of a cynic you are, you could say I shut up because I didn’t want to bad-mouth my competition. You could also say it was because I didn’t want to offend my prospective barista, Amy.

  Either way, I had the sense to shut my mouth.

  Still, Amy’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. Watching, I was afraid her lip piercings were going to lock up like car fenders in a crash. And if that happened, who would I call for help? A doctor? A dentist? A jeweler?

  Amy said, ‘Your partner talked to me a while back about coming to work for you.’

  ‘Yesss.’ Uh-oh, the woman had seen right through me. She knew that I was nosing around.

  ‘Are you still interested?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said, perhaps a little too eagerly. I tried to soften it a bit. ‘But I wouldn’t ask you to leave HotWired when Janalee is already dealing with the fire.’ Way to go, Maggy. Make the woman feel guilty for jumping ship. That’s going to win you a barista.

  But Amy looked like she had come to a decision. ‘Don’t worry about that. I need to leave. It was over before the fire ever began.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. When do you think you could start?’ Maybe I could hire Amy on the spot and she could compete for Uncommon Grounds – win one for the home team. Of course, then I would need to step down from my position so I couldn’t be accused of favoritism or fixing the competition. Talk about a win-win situation.

  Amy opened up her mouth to answer my question, but all I could hear was screaming baby. Probably wet, screaming baby.

  Janalee had arrived. And not only did she have Davy, but she was pushing a wheeled cart.

  Surprised, I glanced down at my list of competitors. ‘Are you participating, Janalee? I don’t see you on my list.’

  Janalee unslung Davy and set him down on the floor. ‘We had a last minute dropout, and I thought, why not?’

  Why not? The more the merrier. Her husband was the head judge and she was competing against her best barista. Yet another reason Amy should come to work for Caron and me. ‘Will we have a conflict with Marvin judging?’

  Janalee waved it off. ‘The head judge doesn’t actually do any scoring, as you no doubt saw in the information I gave you.’

  ‘I did, but I think I also saw that he could be called on to break a tie.’

  ‘Davy, sweetie, I’m sure they don’t have your soy milk in there. We have to keep the door shut or the other milk will curdle.’ She looked at us from the floor, where she’d settled. ‘He’s just fascinated with the light in the refrigerator.’

  ‘Aren’t we all,’ I muttered.

  I must have
sounded a wee bit too flippant for Davy’s taste. The baby threw me a dirty look and crawled back to his mother.

  I shivered. It was like there was a tiny adult hiding behind those too-wise brown eyes. Pull back the curtain, and the Wizard of Oz is working the ropes.

  ‘But back to the judging,’ Janalee was saying. ‘Marvin would only be called upon in the event of a tie in the finals. I’m sure that I won’t make the finals, though I do wonder what we will do if our star barista does.’ She smiled over at Amy.

  Amy smiled back and held up her bandaged hand. ‘Not much chance of that, I think.’

  A crash out in the exhibit hall made us all turn. It was followed by a string of expletives that could come from only one source: Sarah.

  Janalee put her hands over Davy’s ears, as the ruckus in the next room continued. I looked at Amy, my new – almost – employee. What a perfect opportunity for her to show some initiative.

  ‘I suppose someone should see what’s going on,’ I said leadingly.

  Amy just held up her gauze-covered paw.

  Janalee looked up from where she was still forming a protective barrier over Davy’s ears. ‘I would, but . . .’

  Another crash, and then another, and another. Each one getting a little faster. ‘It sounds like a giant game of dominoes,’ I said.

  The thought struck all three of us at the same time. ‘The booth dividers.’

  We ran out in time to see the final five go down. The last one fell with a gigantic ‘thwopp’ followed by silence. In the convention hall, people stood motionless, frozen where they were when the walls came tumbling down. EarthBean’s Levitt Fredericks was holding a poster he’d been about to pin to a wall that was no longer there. A union workman who had been taping down the carpet was now partly covered by that wall. A hapless smoothie machine vendor was sprawled over the first of the giant dominoes. The point of origin, no doubt.

  And then there was Sarah. She stood about a foot away from the top of the last wall that had fallen. A foot away from being snuffed out.

  Like she had read my mind, Sarah reached in her pocket and pulled out a bent cigarette. Picking the lint off it, she stuck it in her mouth and looked around for a light.

  I found one for her.

  Better she smoke it than shove it down someone’s throat.

  Chapter Ten

  By the time the bars opened for the welcoming cocktail party, there was a line a block long at each. The people at the very front of each line looked like exhibitors.

  In other words, Sarah’s people.

  She and I stood behind one of the bars. She was vodka neat. I had a glass of Pinot Noir.

  ‘Enjoying your Java Ho experience so far?’ I asked pleasantly. ‘Glad you volunteered?’

  The noise she made was somewhere between a plaintive cry and a snarl.

  ‘I have to admit,’ I continued, ‘I’m having a grand time. Hey, there’s Caron.’

  I waved my partner over and had the bartender get her a Scotch. The guy in the front of the line – the smoothie vender who had caused the catastrophe in the exhibit hall – started to give me a dirty look and then saw Sarah next to me. He slunk off without his drink.

  ‘A toast,’ I said, holding up my glass. ‘To Sarah, who admittedly had one day from hell, but only had half a cigarette in response.’

  We clanged glasses.

  Sarah pulled the unsmoked part of the cigarette out of her pocket. ‘I’m keeping it. God knows, with this band of idiots I may need it.’

  ‘Thanks for sending the photo, Maggy,’ Caron said.

  Sarah looked at me.

  I shrugged. ‘I sent her a picture via cellphone. Why should she miss all the fun?’

  Sarah started to say something, but then gave it up. The poor thing seemed exhausted.

  Not me, though. I was psyched. ‘I have another toast. Raise those glasses.’

  They did, and I said, ‘To Amy, whose last name is Caprese. Our new barista.’

  Caron gasped. ‘You did it!’

  Sarah was considerably less effusive. ‘Did what? Burn down their store, so you could steal their barista?’

  She said it so loud that two older women in the bar line looked at us and started to whisper.

  I elbowed Sarah. ‘Shh. Rumors spread like crazy at one of these things.’

  ‘Rumors? You mean like the one about the giant domino game in the exhibit hall?’

  ‘That is not a rumor, it’s fact.’

  ‘Yeah, and because you mentioned dominoes, some smartass cut big black dots out of construction paper,’ Sarah said. ‘They were taping them on the dividers so they looked like domino tiles when I caught them.’

  Actually, I thought that was pretty funny. I didn’t think the vendors had it in them. ‘Mutiny,’ I declared. ‘Did you have them keelhauled?’

  ‘I would have if I’d known what the hell it was,’ Sarah muttered.

  ‘The original meaning is exactly what it sounds like,’ Caron told her. ‘Being hauled or towed under the keel of a boat. It was used as a punishment before―’

  Sarah interrupted. ‘Let’s cut to the chase. Did it drown them? Or just waterlog them?’ She sounded like she preferred Door Number One.

  Caron just shook her head and turned to me. ‘Now, tell me the truth, is Amy really going to work for us?’

  ‘Did Maggy really go over to the dark side?’ Sarah parroted into her drink.

  I elbowed her again. ‘I did not offer Amy a job.’

  Caron looked crushed. ‘But you just said . . .’

  ‘Amy asked me if we still wanted her, and I said yes.’

  Caron hugged me so enthusiastically she spilled her drink down my back.

  As I extricated myself, I said, ‘So I didn’t have to go over to “the dark side”, as you put it, Sarah. I just had to be there.’

  ‘Ingratiate yourself, you mean.’ Sarah said. ‘Suck up. Be her new best friend. Whatever you want to call it, it’s still manipulation.’

  ‘It is not manipulation―’

  I was interrupted by Caron. ‘There’s Amy now, with Janalee. Does Janalee know?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Sarah. ‘They’re looking pretty tight.’

  I turned to see. Amy was holding Davy and Janalee appeared to be teasing her about something. Maybe I had jumped the gun in announcing it to Caron. ‘I’m sure Amy hasn’t said a word to anyone and neither should we. She and I were just starting to discuss it when we were interrupted.’

  Caron was looking worried. ‘Well, will you firm it up with her tomorrow?’

  ‘Firm up what?’ Kate McNamara had just sidled in. With the four of us and the bartender behind the bar it was starting to get a tad cozy.

  ‘Where’s your camera man?’ I asked her to change the subject. ‘LaRoche is going to start speaking in about fifteen minutes.’

  Elementary convention-planning: give everyone a chance to get well-lubricated before you subject them to a keynote address.

  ‘My crew is bringing the equipment in,’ Kate said loftily. ‘You don’t need to worry about a thing except getting me a drink.’

  I worried about many things. Getting Kate a drink was not one of them. Nonetheless, I tapped the bartender on the shoulder.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, when he swiveled around, ‘the people at the front of the line –’ he poked his thumb over his shoulder – ‘are about to climb over the bar and kill us all with their bare hands. I’ll get you one more, and then you have to get out from behind here.’

  ‘Deal,’ I said. ‘I’ll have another Pinot Noir, and we’ll need another Scotch, a vodka, neat, and . . . what are you drinking, Kate?’

  ‘Captain Morgan Private and Diet Coke.’

  The bartender looked heavenward and turned back to his customers, the two old ladies who had overheard Sarah accuse me of burning down Janalee’s Place.

  ‘Oh, but get the ladies their drinks first,’ I called over to him. ‘On our tab.’

  I smiled at the two women, and they smiled
back. I turned to Caron and Sarah. ‘Listen, once the drinks come, Kate and I are going to go set up.’

  ‘We are?’ Kate said, taking the drink the bartender held out to her. ‘Did I say I needed your help?’

  ‘You do know Marvin LaRoche, right?’ I asked her dryly.

  ‘Yes, as you’re well aware. You were there in his office―.’

  ‘Then you also know you need all the help you can get,’ Caron interrupted, nodding wisely. ‘Maybe I should come, too.’

  ‘Don’t even think about it, Egan,’ Sarah said. ‘The three of you are not going to take off and stick me with the drink tab.’

  ‘Of course not.’ I waved at the bartender. ‘Can you put this on Marvin LaRoche’s tab?’ I asked him. When he hesitated, I added, ‘And give yourself a thirty percent tip?’

  He perked right up. ‘Done.’

  Caron was shaking her head. ‘You get vindictive when you get liquored-up.’

  ‘Liquored-up on one glass of wine?’ Kate asked in a disparaging tone. ‘What would you do if you had a real drink?’

  ‘Burn down the Place?’ Sarah suggested.

  ‘Will you all shut up about fire,’ I said, glancing around for the two old ladies. ‘And I don’t think someone who has been drinking rum and cokes since she was fifteen, Kate, should talk about real drinks.’

  Kate took a slug of her drink and nearly spit it out. ‘What in the world is this?’

  ‘House brand. You ordered spiced rum – premium, no less – at a porta-bar in a convention center. Did you really think they’d have it?’

  ‘I didn’t mean the rum, I meant the coke. This is Diet Pepsi!’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Caron demanded. ‘I like Pepsi. Coca Cola is―’

  ‘Forgive me for interrupting the Pepsi challenge,’ Sarah said, ‘but is that your camera man – and I use the term advisedly – Kate?’

  We followed where she was pointing. At the entrance of the hall stood a boy who looked to be fourteen.

  ‘That camera is bigger than he is,’ Caron said. ‘Someone help him before it crushes the poor boy.’