Death by Espresso

by Alex Erickson

  A tall, scrawny kid I recognized was sweeping the floor when I entered. Well, at this point, I supposed I should call him a man since he was now past eighteen. His acne had cleared up and he was turning out to be a pretty good-looking guy, even if he still wore his hair long enough to cover much of his face.

  “Hi, Justin,” I said, approaching him.

  He glanced at me, and actually met my eye. The Justin I knew had always been gloomy, and a little nervous, yet now it appeared as if his confidence had grown right along with his appearance.

  “Hi, Ms. Hancock,” he said, smiling. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen him do that before.

  “You seem to be in a good mood.”

  He shrugged and seemed to shrink in on himself a little. “I guess.”

  “How’s your sister?” Justin used to steal from the guests of the bed-and-breakfast, which I couldn’t completely condemn him for since it had helped me solve a case. He’d apparently been doing it to help provide for his little sister, selling what he stole for some extra cash. I didn’t know what that said about his parents—if they were still alive, if they were too poor to help, or if they just didn’t care. Either way, he had been doing it for a good cause, though I was glad he’d stopped.

  “She’s good.” That smile returned. “Things have been looking up lately.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  His smile faltered, eyes darting toward the Bunfords’ office door. “You probably shouldn’t be here.”

  “Jo told me,” I said, moving to stand behind a tall indoor potted plant so that if Ted or Bett did look out, they wouldn’t see me. “I’m here to speak to Lyric Granderson. She’s staying in one of the rooms.”

  Justin nodded. “She is,” he said. “But she’s not here right now. Left about an hour ago.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “Yeah. But she was in a hurry. I think she was meeting someone.”

  “Any idea who?” I knew it was a longshot, but you never knew until you asked.

  Justin shook his head. “No, but I assume it’s the guy who’s been coming around visiting her.”

  “Do you know this guy’s name?”

  “Sorry. Just some dude.” He looked down at his Converse, as if embarrassed he couldn’t be of more help. “Didn’t even really look at him, so can’t really tell you more than he’s a guy and he’s not from around here.”

  Typical Justin. I sometimes wondered if he actually saw anyone, or if he spent so much time with his eyes lowered, he only caught general impressions of them. He might be coming out of his depressed shell more and more, but he wasn’t quite all the way there yet.

  I looked past Justin, toward the stairs. Lyric’s room was up there somewhere. She was gone now, but could be back at any moment. I doubted the Bunfords would let me sit around to wait for her, not that I wanted to. And if she didn’t come back until late tonight, there was no way I could wait. I had too much to do.

  An idea crept into my head then, one that had been forming ever since I’d started suspecting Lyric of stealing the necklace. I tried to resist it, I really did, but I desperately wanted to get to the bottom of Cathy’s murder before Vicki and Mason decided to postpone—or worse, cancel—their wedding.

  “Do you think I could have a look around Lyric’s room?” I asked, keeping my voice low, just in case someone was listening.

  Justin’s eyes widened. “I don’t know about that, Ms. Hancock. I can’t lose this job.”

  “Ted and Bett don’t need to know,” I said. “I could go up by myself, have a look around, and be out of there before anyone is the wiser. You could say you never saw me if someone does catch me. But they won’t,” I added when his eyes widened in alarm. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Her door will be locked,” Justin said. “She’s pretty particular about that. She even warned us against cleaning her room. I guess she values her privacy more than she cares about clean sheets.”

  Either that, or she was hiding something. Like a stolen necklace. I wanted to have a look around even more now.

  “Just a few minutes,” I pressed. “I promise I won’t get you into trouble.”

  Justin glanced toward the office door once more. He gnawed on his lower lip for a few seconds, before nodding. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

  I considered it. If I took his keys and was caught, Justin would get into trouble. They’d either think he’d helped me on purpose, or simply had been careless enough to leave his keys lying around where someone like me could snatch them up. Either way, it might get him fired, and I didn’t want that to happen on account of my nosiness.

  But if the door was unlocked when I went upstairs. . .

  I told Justin what to do and then found a dark corner to wait in. He went upstairs, looking as nervous as a cat dropped into the middle of a dog kennel. He’d told me which room was Lyric’s, and I was glad to note it wasn’t one of the ones in which a murder victim had already stayed. That would have been a little too creepy, even for me.

  I counted down the seconds, positive the Bunfords would come out and catch me at any moment, but after only twenty seconds or so, Justin returned. He flashed me a nod, and then went back to sweeping the floor, though now his back was stiff and he kept darting glances toward the stairs and the office.

  If I don’t hurry, he might accidentally give me away. The guy looked so guilty, he very well might confess without Ted or Bett asking him anything other than how he was doing.

  I’d better make this quick, then.

  I snuck up the stairs, taking them quickly, shoulders hunched, just in case. There were no sounds upstairs, which I took to mean there were currently no guests in house, though I supposed someone could have been reading or sleeping. I didn’t want to wake them if that was the case, lest they call down and complain.

  Lyric’s room was at the end of the hall. I tried the doorknob and was happy to note Justin had done his job and unlocked it for me. I slipped inside, and closed the door carefully so that it made only the faintest of clicks. Then, I turned to take in the room.

  The room was much like the others I’d been in at Ted and Bettfast. Simple. Wardrobe against the wall, a desk, a bed piled high with pillows. The TV here was small, attached to a wall that could use a new coat of paint. The smell of Lyric’s perfume dominated the space, though I could still smell the faint hint of moisture, as if there was a leak somewhere in the room. If there was, I couldn’t spot the source.

  My gaze immediately moved to the dresser, where a jewelry box sat. Heart hammering, I hurried across the room. Could it really be this easy? If I opened it and the necklace was right there, then I’d have my killer, or at least, one of the co-conspirators. If it wasn’t Lyric herself who’d done the deed, she would know who had, since they would have brought the necklace to her. I could hand the information off to the police and let them sort it out.

  With trembling hands, I reached out and tested the box. It was the kind that looked like a mini wardrobe, complete with a lock, and I was afraid Lyric might have locked it before leaving, but the jewelry box opened when I tugged at it.

  Diamonds, emeralds, even a few rubies glimmered from inside. Rings, and a few necklaces, were carefully hung from small hooks meant for that purpose. Many of the pieces had to be expensive.

  But Gina’s necklace wasn’t there.

  I closed the box and tried the desk drawers, but they were empty of all but blank stationery and a few pens. Moving to the bedside tables, I checked the drawers there and was likewise met with nothing but a ratty Bible and a balled-up tissue full of enough dust, I knew it had been there for the last couple of years.

  Lyric’s luggage wasn’t immediately evident, so I went to the wardrobe next. Inside, I found a few light dresses hung up on padded hangers, a couple pairs of shoes below. A carry-on bag lay next to the shoes. I opened it to find makeup, a couple of cheap, unopened toothbrushes, and other personal items. No necklace.

  “Where would she put you
?” I wondered aloud. The room had a closet that was too small to hang anything up without the shoulders rubbing the walls, hence the wardrobe. Inside, Lyric had stuffed her suitcases. There were three in total, and they were my last hope of finding the necklace before Lyric returned.

  She could have it on her. I doubted she’d wear it in public, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep it buried in her purse. It would probably be safer that way.

  Doubt filled me as I pulled the first suitcase from the closet. I opened it to find more clothing, including four bathing suits, each skimpier than the last. I checked all the pockets, and felt around the edges, but there were no telltale lumps telling me she’d hid the necklace inside a hidden pocket or in the lining.

  I zipped up the suitcase, and went through the final two suitcases, only to find more of the same. She’d packed as if she planned on staying for weeks. Odd, but it didn’t get me any closer to learning whether or not she’d had anything to do with Cathy’s death. Overpacking wasn’t a crime.

  I turned away from the closet and, for the first time, noticed something was lying on the bed, next to the pillow. In fact, I think I’d taken it for one of the white pillows when I’d first entered. The stack of pages was bound, and turned facedown, so I couldn’t see the print. It looked to be a couple hundred pages.

  I crossed the room and, curious, picked up the stack and turned it over to read what it said.

  Return of the Pirate Thief.

  I frowned at the title. Was this a movie script? The title sounded vaguely familiar—not that I’d heard it exactly, but it reminded me of something else I couldn’t quite place. Lyric’s name was scrawled on the title page, barely legible. Whoever had written it seriously needed to take a class on handwriting.

  I was about to open to the first page when the door to the room flew open.

  I spun around, denials already forming on my lips. When I saw it wasn’t Lyric Granderson standing just inside the doorway, however, but a very angry Bett Bunford, the denials died, unuttered.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked, voice low, dangerous. She wasn’t just angry; she was furious. I knew nothing I said was going to make her simply walk away and forget she’d seen me. Bett appeared far older than when I’d first met her, a product of everything that had happened around her property since people had started turning up dead in Pine Hills. Her hands, once strong, looked frail, but her voice was as firm as ever when she spoke.

  “The door was unlocked,” I said. “I was looking for Lyric and thought something might have happened to her.” The lie felt weak on my lips.

  Bett narrowed her eyes at me, and then shouted, “Ted! Call the police! We have an intruder.”

  I gasped and started forward, but she raised a hand toward me. I stopped, not wanting to agitate her any further. She was old and I probably could have shrugged her off if she tried to grab me, but that would only make things worse. She knew my name. If I fled the scene now, who knew what kind of charges Buchannan would try to nail me with.

  “There’s no reason to call the cops,” I said, hoping to reason with her. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Like I said, the door was unlocked and I came in to make sure everything was okay. After what happened before, I was worried about Lyric.” The last time I’d entered a room uninvited, I’d found a body, so I thought it was a believable lie.

  Bett’s mouth pressed into a fine line, nearly vanishing amid all the wrinkles. Obviously, she wasn’t falling for it. “We’ll let the police decide what your intentions might have been,” she said. “Come on out of there. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Knowing that this wasn’t going to end well for me, I lowered my head, muttered, “Yes, ma’am,” and followed Bett Bunford out of Lyric’s room, and down the stairs, to await my doom.

  19

  “You know, you didn’t need to put me in here,” I said from my cell. I was sitting on an uncomfortably thin cot mattress, trying my best not to get angry. It would help no one.

  Buchannan glanced at me and shook his head. He otherwise didn’t respond.

  “Fine, be that way,” I muttered, propping my elbows on my knees so I could plant my face in my hands. I didn’t want him to see my frustration.

  Buchannan, of course, had been the cop to come get me from Ted and Bettfast. He had taken inordinate delight in hauling me away at Bett Bunford’s behest. I’d tried to talk to him, to explain what I had been doing in Lyric’s room, but how could I do that and not make myself look guilty. There was no way around it; I was snooping. And unless I wanted to get Justin into trouble, they could easily add breaking and entering to my list of petty crimes.

  And what had I gotten out of it? I’d learned nothing. Lyric didn’t have the necklace secreted away in her room, nor did she have some sort of damning piece of evidence lying around in open view. There was the script, I guess, but what did that tell me? That she was an actress? I already knew that.

  I did wonder if it was the script to the movie Gina and Frederick were in. If so, how had she gotten it? Had one of them passed it on to her? The director? Or was it the script for another movie entirely?

  And did it even matter?

  I sighed dramatically, hoping Buchannan would take pity on me and at least let me sit somewhere that wasn’t behind bars. At least he’d thrown me in one of the nice cells upstairs, rather than the disused basement ones. While the cot wasn’t what I’d call comfortable, it was at least clean.

  “I met your wife,” I said, when he didn’t react to my sigh. “She’s nice. She told me you two have talked about me. From what I hear, you don’t hate me as much as you pretend to.”

  He glanced up and strode over to my cell. “It appears I might have to reevaluate my opinion in that regard.” He sounded mildly amused.

  “Come on.” I practically whined it. He was enjoying this way too much. “I didn’t do anything. The door was unlocked! All I wanted to do was talk to Lyric.”

  “And go through her things?”

  “There’s no evidence of that,” I said, face getting hot.

  “Uh-huh. Mrs. Bunford said she caught you red-handed, with one of Ms. Granderson’s belongings in hand. Are you calling her a liar?”

  “Well, no.” I rose and crossed over to the bars. “But I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble. I shouldn’t have gone in, but thought I should check on her, just in case the killer struck again. I saw the script, and was curious. There was no ill intent. It’s just a big misunderstanding.”

  “Right.” He drew out the word and rolled his eyes. “Chief will be here any minute. You can tell her that and see where it gets you.”

  Great. Patricia Dalton was already disappointed with me. At the rate I was going, she was going to flat-out disown me. She’d always taken my side before, usually letting me off with a warning to keep my nose out of police business whenever I ended up on the wrong side of the law. I was pretty sure I was running out of warnings.

  I returned to my cot and plopped down, dejected. It wasn’t like I’d murdered anyone. The police were wasting their time dragging me in here, simply because I had been found in an unlocked room without the resident present. I hadn’t stolen anything, so what could they really do to me?

  Buchannan left the room, leaving me alone to contemplate where exactly I went wrong. Pine Hills wasn’t normally a high-crime area, so the cells were usually empty, and other than me, they were now. In all the times I’d been locked up, I’d never seen another inmate. I thought I was the only repeat visitor, which said a lot about both me, and the town.

  The minutes ticked by. I tapped my foot, before rising and pacing. After only a few minutes of that, I was seated again, wondering how I was going to talk my way out of this one. I had snuck into Lyric’s room; there’d be no denying that. And since I’d found no incriminating evidence that proved she had been involved in Cathy’s death, I wouldn’t even be able to give the police a reason to look lightly upon my infraction.

  “What am I going
to do with you?” I looked up as Chief Dalton entered, shaking her head. She had her hat in hand, and was spinning it slowly, fingers running along the brim. “Every time I turn around, you’re here.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, going for contrite. “I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “You’re right; you shouldn’t have.” She walked over to my cell and unlocked it. She opened the door and stepped aside. “After you.”

  I darted out of the cell, thankful I wasn’t going to be spending the night there. I didn’t want to have to explain that to my dad.

  “We’re going to interrogation one,” she said, causing my heart to sink right back down to my stomach. Chief Dalton returned her hat to her head and leveled me with a stare. “We need to have a little chat.”

  “Sounds great.”

  She grunted an unamused laugh, and turned to lead the way.

  Head down, I trudged my way through the station, to interrogation room one. Buchannan was standing at the front desk with a young female cop I didn’t know. Behind him, Officer Becca Garrison looked on, frowning at me like I was a disobedient child.

  Maybe I was. It seemed like I was finding myself in this position more and more lately. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to make anyone here like me—other than the Daltons. Each time I came close to winning someone over, I did something stupid and got caught where I shouldn’t be.

  Chief Dalton followed me into the interrogation room, closing the door behind us. She gestured toward the far end of the table, waited for me to take a seat in the hard plastic chair, and then sat down herself. She removed her hat, set it aside, and then folded her hands in front of her. She stared at them for a long couple of seconds before meeting my eye.

  “Okay,” she said. “Explain yourself.”

  “I was there to talk to Lyric Granderson,” I said.

  “About?”

  I looked down at my own hands. “The necklace.”

  I could almost feel Chief Dalton’s frown. “The one found on the victim?”

  I nodded. “Lyric believes the necklace belongs to her.” I gave the chief a brief rundown of what I knew in regard to the necklace, leaving out my own personal speculation about what I thought it meant when it came to Cathy’s death. I’d leave that for her to decide.