Strange Brew

by N C Patterson

  However, in this instance, I couldn’t wait for the doctor to leave so I could finally figure out what was going on from this detective.

  He had mentioned murder, after all.

  Who had been murdered? More importantly, how did it involve me?

  “All right, Detective. He can answer a few questions now,” the doctor said, finally stepping away from my bedside. “But try and keep it as short as possible. I want him to rest up before we give him another check over in the morning.”

  “Not a problem. Thank you, Doctor,” the towering trench coat wearing cop said, his cold eyes tracking the white-haired man as he made his way off to check on other patients.

  Once it was clear he was long gone, the detective turned to me.

  Just as he opened his mouth to speak, I interrupted him. “If you don’t mind me asking, Detective, what exactly in heaven is going on?”

  He tightened his lips, scowling at being cut off before he could even begin. Grabbing a nearby stool, he slid it near the head of my bed and sat down. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be asking the questions.”

  “Well, if this is a murder investigation--and I gather that it is by your very presence--wouldn’t it stand that I should at least be told what is going on? Who was killed? How did I end up here? How am I involved?”

  He folded his arms. “That’s exactly what we’re going to find out.”

  His tone didn’t exactly engender trust in me. Somehow, I got the feeling he suspected I was involved in this mess--whatever that may be.

  At the same time, I could sense he was trying his hardest to be polite and sympathetic, something I guessed wasn’t natural for him. Could it be because I was wounded and in a hospital bed that he was attempting to not over excite me? Or perhaps because I was dating his newest trainee?

  Still, beneath it was a man who wanted to get down to business, to catch a killer.

  “What were you doing this evening between the hours of nine and ten o’clock?”

  “As you may well already know, I was at my coffee shop. Coven Coffee. I finished closing up around nine-thirty and then sat down to wait for Nathaniel Brown to show up.”

  He cocked one eyebrow up at me. “Nathaniel Brown?”

  “A regular customer of mine. He and his friend Ryan often come in for a cup of coffee and a game of chess or cards.”

  “What was the purpose of your meeting this evening?”

  “Nathaniel had won the grand prize at our drawing today. We had a whole big event to raise money for the local library, literacy programs, and after-school activities for kids and teens, that sort of thing.”

  “I see,” he grunted.

  I couldn’t help but wonder for a second if he was much of a reader or if he even cared about the library. As a public servant, you would hope so.

  “Why so late?”

  “The grand prize was a fairly expensive item, you see. Nathaniel didn’t want to chance losing it or getting it stolen by keeping it on his person the rest of the day. He wanted to come back that night, after the shop closed, to pick it up and take it directly home.”

  “He was sincerely worried about someone trying to rob him of it?” he questioned.

  I hesitated, chewing my lower lip. “There were some people at the shop who were very much attached to the idea of getting that comic for themselves.”

  “People? Such as?”

  My heart beat in my chest, up into my throat. Did I dare suspect Ryan, a young and rather kind young man, of stealing . . . Or murder?

  Puzzle pieces were coming together in my mind. I vaguely remembered the moments just before everything went black. Someone had been there in the shop with us and hit me over the head. I also deduced that it could only mean one thing.

  Nathaniel was murdered. Either that or the intruder who’d hit me was.

  “Mr. Eliphas?”

  “S-sorry. I don’t think it’s possible that he stole anything or would even think of stealing anything, but Ryan Progan is Nathaniel’s best friend.”

  At this, the detective whipped out a notepad and quickly scribbled the information down. “How do you spell that last name?”

  I didn’t know exactly, but I spelled it as best I could.

  “And he wanted it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But his friend won it instead.”

  “Yes, sir, but like I said. I don’t think the young man is capable.”

  The detective’s cold eyes lingered on me for a second before moving on. I could almost read what he said inside his mind as if he were thinking, “anyone is capable.”

  “When did Nathaniel show up?”

  “This evening? Just a little before ten.” I instantly turned to the little table next to the hospital bed, looking for my phone. “I just remembered. Becca sent me a text while he was there.” Finding my phone in a pile with my keys and wallet, I lit up the screen. “Here it is, at nine-fifty-six.” I turned it toward the detective so he could see.

  He squinted at the screen and then scribbled it down. “That narrows things down a bit. You won’t mind if I run your history through with the phone service?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Good. Now, what do you remember after Nathaniel arrived?”

  I shrugged a little. “That’s where things start to get fuzzy. He came in. I got the comic. I handed it to him.” I paused while I struggled to try and remember the person who stood behind me, the one I had spun around to look at before everything went black. “I think he had the comic in his hands when I noticed he was looking behind me.”

  “Behind you?”

  “Yes. I was facing the front door. He had his back to it. He looked over my shoulder and saw someone.”

  “Did you see who it was?” he asked, getting to the main question he’d clearly wanted to ask the entire interview.

  “I spun around to face them, but before I could register,” I made a knocking motion with my fist toward my head. “I think I got hit with something.”

  “I see.” He scribbled it down. “Was there anyone else at the cafe with you this evening?”

  I opened my mouth and let it slip. “Tamsin.” Whoops.

  “Is that one of your employees?”

  “No. My cat. Sorry.”

  The cop glared at me. “Anyone who is not an animal?”

  “No, sir. It was just me waiting to finally lock up the last door and leave.”

  “And which door needed to be locked last?”

  I instantly froze, realizing what might have happened. “The back door from the kitchen. I leave it unlocked during business hours. Fire code policy for escape routes. I live in the townhomes just across the alley, so I always lock it up last.”

  “And it was unlocked this evening?”

  I sighed. “That’s right. Anyone who bothered trying could have just walked in off the street.” Which meant whoever attacked me could be practically anyone.

  “Very well,” he said, folding his notepad back closed and putting it in his pocket. “I’ll likely have more questions for you in the next few days, so keep yourself available.”

  “Will do.”

  “And I’m sorry to say your shop will be closed up tomorrow for investigation, maybe a few days even. You won’t be able to get in or open for business.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  He turned to go.

  “Hold on, detective.”

  “What?” he grunted, looking over his shoulder.

  “Who was murdered?”

  His eye squinted slightly at me. “As you likely already guessed, Nathaniel Brown was killed. Beaten over the head with something.” With that, he disappeared from the ER.

  Chapter Nine

  “How are you feeling?” a friendly voice greeted me as I walked in through the front door of my brick townhome. Blinking into the dimly lit room, I spotted Becca sitting on my dark red couch, Tamsin in her lap purring away.

  I couldn’t help but let my eyes fall to half-li
dded at my familiar’s enjoyment of my girlfriend. He could complain all he wanted about mortals, about having to hide his true self, about me dating this woman--but he sure didn’t hesitate to take advantage of an affectionate hand willing to pet his cute little head.

  “Hey,” I said, stepping down from the black tiled entryway into the sunken front room. Putting the plastic bag that the hospital had given me with all my personal belongings in it on the oak coffee table, I smiled at her. “I feel just fine.”

  It was the absolute truth. Whatever minor wounds I had incurred had all but vanished by morning, much to the surprise of the doctor. That was why I tried to stay away from the doctor and especially hospitals. I couldn’t have people getting suspicious of my quick healing abilities.

  “I’m glad,” she beamed, stroking Tamsin.

  She wasn’t wearing her uniform anymore. It wasn’t a surprise. After all, the previous day was the last time she was going to wear that outfit.

  Today marked the moment she became a plainclothes officer, working with the homicide division--even if it was in a temporary training capacity before she could get Detective Miner’s approval for a permanent position.

  However, that brought up the question, why wasn’t she at the police station? “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Well, I called the hospital and found out when you were leaving so that I could pick you up and drive you home. When they said you’d already left, I came here to see you, but you weren’t here,” she announced, closing her eyes and tilting her head to one side. A quiet laugh left her lips.

  “I walked from the hospital,” I admitted.

  “You walked?”

  “It’s a nice day out, and it only took about thirty-minutes.”

  She folded her arms. “You should have called me. I would have given you a ride home.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to start work in your new position today?” I took a seat in the matching red slipper chair across from her. I was surprised about how dim the room was--despite being a sunny morning outside. My house’s windows all had thick blackout curtains with maroon trim.

  In fact, most everything in my home was in a theme of red, black, or gold.

  In any case, all the curtains were closed. The only light came from a side table lamp with a dark shade which kept too much illumination from creeping out.

  I liked things dim and dark, but only when it was supposed to be--in the evenings.

  I had picked this old Adrian style townhome partly because it had large bay windows on both the first and upper floors.

  “I wanted to see you after last night. I was worried,” she admitted.

  “Is that all that’s really going on?” I asked. I didn’t doubt her worry for me, but I could tell there was something else.

  Letting Tamsin down, she sighed, folding her arms and leaning forward to rest them on her knees. “Well, it’s not like I’m swamped with things to do,” she whispered. Tamsin came over and brushed against me. I let him up into my lap.

  “I thought you’d be crazy busy. You said we’d have to see less of each other.”

  Balling up a fist, she brought it down on the table. My stack of glass coasters rattled in their holder. “They’ve got me practically sitting on my hands right now. I’m just supposed to sit there and pretend to do paperwork while this whole murder investigation is going on? The one where my own boyfriend was attacked?” She gritted her teeth and shook her head. “This is not how I imagined my first day as a plainclothes officer.”

  Standing up, I placed Tamsin on my chair and walked around the coffee table. Sitting close, I wrapped my arms around her and felt her small frame press up against my chest. “I’m sorry about that. I sort of feel responsible.”

  Relaxing into me, she put her arms around my chest. “How could it be your fault? If anything, I should just be grateful the killer didn’t murder you, too, out of fear you could identify them.”

  “Yeah, I guess I got lucky,” I admitted.

  While warlocks could heal themselves more quickly and could live an incredibly long time, we could still die. Stab us, shoot us, or beat us in the head enough and, eventually, we die as well.

  She looked up into my eyes, blinking away the tears. “I was really scared last night. After I got your last text, I waited at the station for you to call. When time kept on passing, I got worried and decided to go to the coffee shop to see what was going on.” She paused, swallowing hard. “I came in the back door like I always do . . . And I found you on the floor along with the other guy. There was some blood, and I couldn’t immediately tell who it belonged to.”

  I gave her a tight squeeze. “That must have been horrible.”

  She pushed back slightly, looking me in the eye and wiping away any semblance of tears. “Oh, listen to me just going on and on when you were the one who got attacked.”

  I smiled. “I'm fine. I got knocked out and wasn’t even awake to be scared,” I joked, standing up from the couch. “Now, we’ve both had a long night. How about I make us some coffee?”

  She smiled. “That sounds great.”

  Chapter Ten

  Walking into the back end of the townhome where the kitchen was located, tiled in black and red to match, I pushed open the curtains over the sink, letting in sunlight. I heard Tamsin hiss like a vampire from the front room and rolled my eyes.

  Most of my kitchen space was mostly dedicated to different forms of coffee making. The percolator, the traditional drip style, the French press--but my personal favorite was the glass pour-over method.

  I did also enjoy cooking on occasion but more often than not found myself eating out with Becca.

  I filled the brass kettle with water and set it on the gas range, turning on the fire to boil, and placing a filter into the glass pour-over dripper I owned. It looked a little like an hourglass.

  Walking to the wall beside the pantry door, I faced my mounted coffee bean dispenser which I kept filled with whatever variety of roasts I was most into at the moment. That morning I chose a Sumatran dark roast.

  Measuring out the beans, I deposited them into the grinder on my counter and set it to medium. Choosing the right grind for the type of coffee and the type of coffee making method is essential. Having freshly ground beans that are used right away and drunk right away was the best way to get the fresh and rich taste.

  At the cafe, I tried my hardest to make sure each cup was a work of art. It wasn’t easy and didn’t always work out, but it was something I strived for.

  As I worked, I remembered to check the bread box. Opening it, I saw that I had a few of Pam’s donuts left over. They weren’t hot and fresh like the ones I got in the mornings for the shop, but that didn’t stop them from tasting amazing.

  Pulling them out, I realized that Becca was standing in the kitchen doorway, my blanket around her shoulders. “I found some donuts. Strawberry frosting with sprinkles,” I informed her, holding up the paper bag they were in.

  “Sounds like something I really need this morning,” she said with a smile.

  I set them on the counter as the water began to whistle. I poured a little over the filter before adding the grounds. This helped to keep the paper taste out of the coffee. “So, what can you tell me about last night? I’m still a little fuzzy on things. That detective friend of yours sure didn’t give much away,” I admitted.

  Her pink lips twisted up to one side of her mouth, frustration showing in her eyes. “That man. It’s your shop. You were attacked.” She put up both hands defensively. “I understand this is a police investigation and, as a cop myself, I know full well the sensitivity of handling a case like this. Still, why didn’t he at least tell you a little bit about what was happening?”

  I poured off the excess water from the filter. “Probably just trying to do his job without giving too much away.” I paused, leaning on the counter. “Likely because he thinks I’m his number one suspect.”

  There was only silence from Becca, which affirmed my thoug
ht process.

  “And why not? I was there at the scene of the crime with the body. For all he knows, I got hit in the head during a scuffle. Better yet, maybe I somehow did it to myself to pass the suspicion to someone else.”

  “But you would never hurt a fly,” she yelled in my defense as if the detective were actually there.

  I gave her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him pin it on me.” I added the grounds to the filter and began pouring the hot water over it slowly, circling the grounds to let the gasses escape and allow for the best taste to come through.

  “How can you always stay so calm about everything?”

  I glanced toward her and smiled. “I don’t always stay calm.”

  “Look at you now! There was a murder at the cafe, you were assaulted, and you may even be the main suspect in the case,” she pointed out.

  She was right. While those were all things that warranted worry, I simply tried to keep the negative thoughts out of my mind. It helped that, as a warlock, I felt empowered in these types of situation. While only the darkest and most dangerous magic allowed you to control mortals, I still had some persuasive powers up my sleeve.

  No, the only time I could see myself scared or worried about something would be if Auntie Theo found out about Becca or I somehow got into trouble with more powerful magic users or the coven.

  While I no longer participated in the coven and preferred going it alone as a hedge warlock (the equivalent of a solitary practitioner) if I did something that they all felt was a danger to witch-kind, I could find myself in some seriously dangerous hot water.

  I shrugged. “I would be lying if I didn’t admit I was a little nervous and scared about this murder investigation, but if I spend all day thinking about it, I will have accomplished nothing but making myself ill.”

  Becca was stoic for a moment, but then the slightest smile touched her lips. “I guess you’re right. I still don’t know how you do it.”