Dark Roasted to Death

by Nikolett Strachan

  “Great. Anything I should bring?” Like a garbage bag to hide in?

  “I don’t think so. Just yourself. I was thinking around six?”

  “Yes. I’ll see you at six,” I said and nearly ran out of the coffee shop, feeling the heat of mortification spreading through my face completely killed me.

  ✽✽✽

  Six o’clock was coming around way too soon. I rushed around the house, ironing clothes, putting them on and abandoning them on my bedroom floor. Finally, I settled for jeans and the one cashmere sweater I owned—the one article of clothing I kept from living in Vancouver. It was cashmere, after all.

  Besides, cashmere was exactly the kind of fabric to wear to a dinner with the Sawyers. Come to think of it, cashmere was probably dressing down. I briefly wondered if maybe I should have splurged and rented a ball gown or something.

  “You’re looking lovely this evening. Big date?” Grandma Gertie said from my doorway. She leaned her small frame against the door and smiled as she watched me brush through my dark hair.

  “I’m having dinner with the Sawyers,” I said.

  “Wow, meeting the parents already?” I knew she was teasing, but my heart thumbed around all the same. I hadn’t thought of it like that.

  “It’s not a date,” I said, a slight warning in my tone.

  “Well, it should be. I like Dylan. I think you two would be cute together,” she said. She came through the doorway and sat on the edge of my bed.

  “I’m not sure he sees me that way,” I confessed.

  “Well, you never know until you try,” she said.

  “Make a move? Me?” The thought of telling Dylan how I felt brought me to a whole new level of anxiety.

  “You’re a strong, independent woman. You need to go out there and get what’s yours.”

  I didn’t think living with a grandmother who could outpace me while power walking could be considered strong or independent, but I appreciated what she was trying to do. She was there for me through one of the toughest times of my life. But she was trying to push me back out into dating world—whether I was ready or not.

  “Thanks, Grandma. I’m not sure that tonight will be that night, though. It’s… sort of a work thing,” I said.

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up and disappeared into her snow-white bangs. “Does this have something to do with Lockwood?”

  She leaned forward, expecting juicy gossip. I wasn’t ready to give it to her just yet. If we end up being wrong about Esther, I didn’t want the whole town to know that we suspected her. “I’ll let you know the details when we get them. Otherwise, I’m not sure how much I should say.”

  Her face fell in disappointment. “I understand.”

  “You’ll be the first to know if I find anything, though.” Besides the cops.

  I headed downstairs and out of the house with new anxiety. How was I supposed to casually get a confession out of Esther Sawyer? With Dylan’s parents around. Without making a fool of myself.

  I could feel the sweat rising to the surface of my skin and pooling around my hairline already and I had barely made it to my car. I let the cool evening breeze brush against my skin for a moment before I opened the door. Come on, Lainey. You can do this.

  I parked in front of the Cozy Cat Cafe and made my way to the back of building. Dylan had left the door unlocked, so I made my way in and up the stairs that led to his apartment. I paused at the top, hearing what sounded like soft jazz music playing on the other side of the door. Dylan opened the door when I knocked.

  “You made it. Come on in,” he said. His bright smile and shining eyes sparkled at me. He looked amazing in his dark sweater and jeans. Grandma Gertie’s advice about going for what I wanted rang in my head. Not now, Lainey.

  “Thanks,” I said. I stepped through the doorway, the heat of cooking hitting me. It smelled warm and savory and felt like a blanket was thrown on me. Fur Ball swiveled between my feet as I stood in the living room. I picked him up and gave him a scratch. My cashmere sweater was instantly enveloped in his gray fur, but his purring made it worthwhile. “It smells wonderful in here,” I said.

  “I’m making a chicken stew. Would you like some tea or coffee?” Dylan seemed extra attentive, as if someone had flipped a switch that said, ‘waiter mode.’ I brushed it off as nerves. If everything went according to my non-existent plan, he would be hearing his grandmother confess to murder. That would make anyone nervous.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” I said.

  “Dylan, where do you keep your wine?” I heard a woman’s voice float out from the kitchen.

  “I’ll get it for you, Mom. Just come and sit in the living room.” He rushed off to the kitchen as I took a seat on his couch. Fur Ball made himself at home on my lap.

  “Oh, hello, Dylan’s friend,” a male voice said. A taller, older version of Dylan sauntered into the room. He oozed confidence and wealth; his energy giving it off like he was sprinkling it all around the room.

  “Hi,” I said, hopping up from the couch. Fur Ball gave a startled meow as he leapt from me. Oops. “I’m Lainey. Lainey Boggins.”

  “Oh, yes. Little Lainey Boggins,” the woman’s voice said. She came in carrying two glasses of wine, handing one to her husband. She was tall and thin with perfect blond hair pinned to her head. “You were in Daisy’s class, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, Missus Sawyer. Good memory,” I said.

  “Elephants never forget,” Mr. Sawyer said. He let out a hearty chuckle at his own joke while his wife gave him a swat on the shoulder.

  “Ignore George. He thinks he has a sense of humor,” she said with a half-hearted eye roll.

  We sat on the couch and I listened to Dylan’s parents talk about people I didn’t know, visiting places I had never been to. It all sounded so glamorous. His parents were funny and charming and made me feel so welcomed—and wore simple jeans and sweaters and not ball gowns, thankfully. I wondered how they could be so different from Esther.

  “Well, the stew is done. I guess we’re just waiting for Grandma,” Dylan said as he made his way into the room. He took a seat in the soft chair by the window. Fur Ball hopped into his lap and curled up on him.

  “Honestly, dear, I don’t know why you didn’t make the baked chicken recipe I sent you. Stew isn’t a springtime meal. Don’t you agree, Lainey?” Mrs. Sawyer said. She eyed me over her wineglass as she took a deep sip.

  “I… I don’t really have an opinion on stew,” I said, suddenly feeling myself clamp up.

  “Well, I’m looking forward to it,” Mr. Sawyer bellowed. “I haven’t had a good, hearty meal in ages. This one’s got me eating salads and something called queenie? Quino? Oh, how do you say it?”

  “Quinoa?” I asked.

  “Yes, that’s the one. Supposed to be good for you. Life is too short to eat that healthy in my opinion,” he said.

  I laughed an awkward laugh. I hoped it didn’t sound like I’d rather be anywhere else. Knowing me, that probably wasn’t the case.

  A loud banging at the door broke our silence. “Hello?” A voice called from behind it. Its tone was sharp and sounded on edge. Dylan opened the door and in came Esther Sawyer, wearing a black pants suit and looking clean and businesslike.

  “All right,” she said as she crossed the living room and went straight into the kitchen. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter 20

  The air was sucked out of the room. The soft jazz music was turned off—at Esther’s request—and everyone sat around Dylan’s small dining room table, spooning at his stew. No one dared to make a sound. At least, not me. How was I supposed to get her to talk, let alone confess?

  “Great stew, Dylan,” I finally said. It really was great. The spices lingered together with the vegetables in a perfect symphony of flavors. Man, this guy can cook.

  “Yes, very good,” his father said. “Then again, Dylan was always a good cook. We should have sent him off to culinary school.”

  “But you insisted I
go to business school,” Dylan said. There was an edge to his voice that I hadn’t heard before.

  “And look how great that turned out,” Mrs. Sawyer said, the sarcasm not lost on anyone.

  “You’re right, Mom. It turned out great. I am a business owner, after all,” Dylan shot back.

  “Running a coffee shop wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Mrs. Sawyer said. Tension filled the air like an elephant in the room. Maybe being a Sawyer wasn’t all glitz and glamour like I had thought. “Anyway,” she perked up with a sweet smile plastered on her face. “I heard from your brother, Dalton. He’s heading off to Prague tomorrow. The symphony is touring Europe.”

  “Well, good for him,” Esther said, approvingly. It was the first thing she had said since we sat down to eat. “And how’s Daisy doing?”

  “She’s fine. She’s accepted a position at a very prestigious hospital. She’ll be heading their neurological research department.” Pride oozed from Mrs. Sawyer as she talked about her other children. I glanced at Dylan, who was slumped in his chair, poking at his stew. My heart ached for him. “And what about you, Lainey? What are you doing with yourself these days? Apart from keeping Dylan company?” That smile on Mrs. Sawyer’s face suddenly didn’t seem so sweet. Is she taunting me?

  “I’m a reporter at the newspaper,” I said, proudly as I straightened my posture just a bit.

  “The Aurora Heights Chronicle is hardly Pulitzer prize winning journalism, but it’s work, I suppose,” she said. Her words dripped with judgment. “And how long has this been going on?” She pointed a finger at me, then pointed at Dylan almost accusingly.

  “Oh. Um...” Words stuck in my throat and I had no idea how to get them out.

  “Lainey and I are just friends, Mom,” Dylan said for me. I suddenly felt defensive. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. Mrs. Sawyer’s icy words seemed paralyzing. This must be how Dylan felt. Besides, I needed to play nice if I had any hope in steering the conversation to Mayor Lockwood’s death. Dylan gave me an apologetic look. “Lainey is doing very well at the paper. She just had her first front-page story printed. About Mayor Lockwood’s death,” he said.

  “Oh, thank heavens that man is gone,” Dylan’s mom said.

  “Yes, we finally have a real mayor in this town. Isn’t that right, Mom?” His dad beamed at Esther with pride.

  Esther carefully placed her spoon on the table. She folded her hands neatly in front of her and she sat up straight, as if she was about to give a very important speech. I wondered if she ever took a break from the pageantry. At least it gave me enough time to slip my phone from my pocket and hit record on the voice recorder app.

  “I may have underestimated Brian Lockwood,” she said. Her voice sounded low and grave and tired. “I used to think I would make a better mayor. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. Oh my god, is she about to confess?

  “What I mean is that Brian Lockwood was a buffoon. He bumbled and stumbled around while putting all the paperwork on my desk. I thought since I was doing all the paper pushing, I would make a better mayor. Apparently, Lockwood had something I didn’t. People skills.” Silence filled the room as Esther Sawyer searched for her next words. No one dared to move a muscle, let alone say anything. “Brian could connect with people in a way I just can’t. All my facts and figures don’t make up for a joke from Lockwood. I guess I understand why I lost the election to him.”

  I couldn’t help the look of disbelief I felt on my face. Hearing Esther Sawyer talk about her shortcomings was odd, to say the least. “Do you know what I think is weird? He had an allergy attack just a week before he died at the cafe,” I said, trying my hand at being coy.

  Esther already looked vulnerable, and I hoped my comment would push her over the edge to confession. Instead, her face contorted in anger. “I blame that silly donut shop girl for that one. I specifically told her to place my Peanut Perfect donuts in another box, but she didn’t listen. She placed them right in the same box as all the others. Luckily, Sarah was there to save the day.”

  “She told me that your instructions were to place your donuts in with the others,” I said. I didn’t care if that sounded too forward. Someone was lying.

  “She must have misheard me because I specified mine to be in a separate box. Lockwood didn’t discriminate when it came to donuts, even if the ingredients tried to kill him. It’s a strange coincidence that peanuts were what did him in, but I’m not surprised. That man would eat anything.” A strange, nostalgic smile crept across her lips suddenly. Mist like tears appeared in the corner of her eyes. Was she crying? “That man got on my nerves. Always asking for money like a panhandler. I didn’t want the man death, though.”

  “Why was he asking for money?” I asked. This was the third person he owed money to. Something was definitely up.

  “Oh, who knows. Gambling, I assume. Always wanting to stay late at poker nights to win more money.” She let out a shudder of a sigh and wiped tears from her eyes.

  “Mother, you eat donuts? And play poker?” Mr. Sawyer asked.

  “Of course. I have to allow myself some whimsy.”

  Esther’s story made sense. Janelle admitted that she was bad at her job. It was possible she got confused about Esther’s instructions and the boxes.

  And the crying? I did not see that coming.

  ✽✽✽

  The evening ended with a chorus of “so nice to see you” and “let’s do it again sometime” while Dylan’s parents and grandmother made their way out of the apartment. Once they were gone, Dylan flopped against his door, exhaling like a balloon deflating. The tension was finally gone, and he seemed to return to his cheery self.

  “That was quite the dinner,” he said. “I’m sorry about my parents. They can be… well you met them.”

  “You don’t need to apologize,” I said. Families have their dysfunctions, but I didn’t realize what it was like for Dylan. Now that I had a front-row seat to it, I wanted to say something that would console, but didn’t know how to start. “I’m not sure we got anywhere in terms of evidence for the murder.”

  “I know. But I don’t think she did it. Did you see the tears? Those weren’t fake. I’ve only ever seen that woman cry once, and that was at my grandfather’s funeral. Anyway, let’s take a break from the murder talk for a minute. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? I have something to show you,” he said and disappeared down the hallway into what I assumed was his bedroom.

  I felt almost giddy as I settled into the couch. Fur Ball had the residency at the cat tree by the window. He sat casually looking down on Main Street.

  I still couldn’t get over the fact I was in Dylan Sawyer’s apartment. I wished that I could go back in time and tell my dorky high school self that one day I would be sitting here, waiting for him to show me something. I would watch that high school girl squeak with delight and do a silly little victory dance.

  “Check this out,” Dylan said when he came back. He was holding a large, hardcover book with gold lettering on the front. I felt the blood rush from my face. I knew that book. And it was not one I wanted to look at right now.

  “Please, no,” I said.

  “Oh, yes.” He sat down beside me on the couch. I tried to grab it out of his hands, but he snatched the book away. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “For you, maybe,” I said in protest. He laid the book out on the coffee table. There, in front of us, was the awkward time capsule that was our high school yearbook.

  “So, when I was a senior, you were a sophomore if I remember correctly?” I was banking on him forgetting that bit, but apparently his father was right—elephants never forgot. He opened the book and scanned the pages of my sophomore class. Aurora Heights was a small school, and it didn’t take him long to find my picture. “There you are,” he said, pointing at my mug shot.

  A gangly, awkward face stared back at us through time. She had the same dark hair as I had, but hers frizzed all around
like she had stuck her finger in a light socket. I hadn’t learned to properly tame my hair until my second year of college. “I can’t believe I used to look like that,” I said in disgust.

  “What are you talking about? You looked great,” he said.

  “Yes. That’s why everyone called me Plainy Lainey,” I reminded him.

  “I know we were jerks. We only called you that because you were one of the few girls who didn’t cake on makeup,” he sounded apologetic.

  “I didn’t wear any makeup,” I admitted.

  “You didn’t need to,” he said. My heart hammered as I gazed into his eyes. My face felt hot, and I knew that I had just turned a million shades of red. Something passed between us and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. He quickly looked away and flipped through the pages of the yearbook again. I’m not sure what I would have done if he had kissed me. A part of me was relieved, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.

  We sat looking through the yearbook, giggling at old pictures and reminiscing. We told stories of our favorite and not-so-favorite teachers. He told me stories of all the crazy antics he got up to with his friends, like jumping from the cliffs into Ghost Lake in the next town over on hot summer days or graffitiing the bridge out of town. The craziest thing I ever did with my friends was stay out past curfew at the (now closed) arcade.

  “And there’s me,” he said, finally pointing at his graduation picture.

  Staring back was a picture of him looking almost exactly the same. Same bright, movie star smile. Same brilliant, sparkling eyes. “You haven’t changed,” I said.

  “That’s not very nice,” he said, but his smile told me he was joking.

  “Come on, you know you were good-looking even then,” I said and immediately regretted it. “I mean…”

  “You thought I was good looking?”

  “Everyone thought you were good looking.” That wasn’t much of a save.

  “Well, looks aren’t everything, are they?” His face fell slightly.