Macchiatos and Murder (Cup of Jo 1)

by Kelly Hashway

  “Right. Okay. Keep me posted, though.” Her voice shakes. “Jo, this is kind of scary. How do you think he died?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like he was old.” If my memory serves me correctly, he’d be in his late fifties.

  “Should I call Mom and Dad? They knew him. Not well, but still.”

  “Yeah, call them. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

  “Okay. Bye, Jo.” She hangs up.

  Mo might only be two years younger than I am, but she never liked horror movies and still can’t watch the news because it scares her. Sometimes I forget my sister is twenty-eight. She’s still my baby sister in my mind. The little girl who’d hide her eyes behind her fingers whenever something remotely scary came on TV.

  No sooner do I pocket my phone when it rings again. This time it’s Cam.

  “Jo, can you see what’s going on out there?”

  The kitchen Cam works out of is on one of the side streets. I don’t doubt he hears the sirens but can’t tell where they’re coming from.

  “It’s Sherman Cromwell. Something happened to him after he left here. He’s dead.”

  “Don’t even tell me Quentin is out there.”

  I have no idea. Samantha’s got pull with the entire Bennett Falls Police Department because she’s engaged to Quentin. Any one of the officers would have spoken to her. “I’m not sure.”

  “Will you be okay if he comes to talk to you?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Nothing Quentin could say to me could possibly be worse than “I cheated on you with your best friend.”

  “Okay, but if you want me to walk over there, I will.”

  “It’s not necessary. Thank you, though. And your mini muffins have been a big hit. They’re a nice compliment to the macchiatos.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come there?”

  Growing up, Cam was always there when I needed a friend. If I fell off my bike, lost a tennis match, broke up with my boyfriend…Cam was my shoulder to cry on, but I’m an adult now. What happened to Sherman Cromwell is awful, but people have heart attacks and strokes all the time. It’s an unfortunate part of life.

  “I’m good, Cam. I promise. Go get back to baking. I’m sure you have something in the oven. Don’t let it burn.”

  “I’m here if you need me.”

  I try to keep everyone as calm as possible, not that coffee is known to be calming, but apparently there are a lot of stress drinkers in here because they keep ordering. If the police do want to question anyone in Cup of Jo, they’re going to get very animated, hyper responses, which I’m sure will be suspicious since we’re talking about a man’s death.

  Quentin walks in, and Samantha makes a big show of rushing over to him and throwing her arms around his neck. His gaze locks on me, and I do my best not to look away. When I came back here, I promised myself I wouldn’t let him know I was still hurt by his betrayal.

  Once Samantha removes herself from him, Quentin approaches me at the counter. “Sorry to have to do this, Jo, but I need to question your customers.”

  “I figured as much. I know at least one person witnessed Mr. Cromwell falling down out there.”

  Quentin nods. “We can’t be sure of the cause of death until the coroner examines the body, but Mr. Cromwell was found holding a to-go cup with your logo on it.”

  It’s my turn to nod. “He had just left here.”

  “Then I’m going to need to ask you some questions, too.” He looks around at the customers. “I’ll start with them so we can get everyone on their way before I question you in private.”

  In private? Why does he want to question me in private? Before I can ask, he moves to the group by the front window, probably figuring they were the ones to see Mr. Cromwell collapse.

  I grab a clean rag and move closer to the group Quentin is speaking with. Under the pretense of cleaning the table, I eavesdrop on their conversation.

  “He was just drinking his coffee.”

  “Yeah, and then he sort of staggered.”

  “Staggered how?” Quentin asks. “Did he clutch his chest or anything?”

  “I couldn’t see,” Mickey says. “He was standing by that trash can and facing the other side of the street.”

  “Okay, maybe someone on the other side of the street saw and can fill in that blank for us later,” Quentin says. “Did you notice if he was on the phone or anything? Maybe he got some upsetting news.”

  “I didn’t see his phone, but I suppose he could have had Bluetooth earbuds in.” Mickey shrugs. “I wouldn’t doubt he owns them.”

  “No earbuds,” Quentin says. “We would have found them on his body.”

  “Did the blow to the head kill him?” Samantha asks. “I saw all the blood.”

  Quentin rubs his hand up and down her arm. “You shouldn’t have gone out there.”

  “I know, but I get so worried when I know there’s a crime scene. Your job is so dangerous.”

  What did she think would happen to Quentin out there? It wasn’t like Sherman Cromwell was shot. There’s no danger to any of the police officers.

  “Jo, would you please get Samantha something to drink?” Quentin asks me.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, not at all happy I have to go make a drink when I want to hear what everyone is saying.

  As soon as I’m back at the espresso machine, several more people order macchiatos. I shouldn’t be upset because it’s good for business, but I’m still hung up on the fact that Quentin feels the need to question me in private. I want to know what he knows about this death, but Samantha ruined that for me, just like she ruined my life three years ago.

  Once everyone is served, including Samantha, Quentin tells them all to go home and stay off Main Street until the body and crime scene are cleared away. He kisses Samantha goodbye and then has the audacity to turn my open sign to closed.

  “Are you shutting me down?” I ask, gesturing to the sign.

  “No, but you won’t be getting customers while the police are still out there, and I want to make sure this conversation stays between us.”

  “Why is that?” I cross my arms in front of me and lean my back against the glass display case.

  “Jo, why don’t you sit down?”

  Truth is, I’d love to get off my feet, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting his way, so I say, “I’m fine here.”

  “Okay.” He pulls out a chair and sits. “Like I’m sure you heard, Sherman Cromwell did hit his head, but that’s not the likely cause of death.”

  “Then it was a heart attack or stroke,” I say.

  “We don’t think so.”

  I can tell he’s holding back. I always hated this particular trait of his. He’ll sit on something instead of coming right out with it. It’s like he’s always trying to catch people in lies. Except he’s a liar himself. He lied to me for almost a year.

  “Look, Quentin, either come out and say it, or move on and question someone else. I have a business to run here.”

  He presses a palm flat on the table. “Mr. Cromwell’s tongue was swollen. He liked to say he was in good health, but he suffered from asthma. He was carrying an inhaler.”

  “He died from asthma? That doesn’t seem plausible.”

  “We think it was a contributing factor to the cause of death.”

  “Which was what?” I’m starting to wonder how I ever dated him for so long. It’s been ten minutes, and I’m already sick of him.

  “Again, we won’t know for sure until the body is examined by the coroner, but the most likely cause of death is fatal food-induced anaphylaxis.”

  I shake my head at him. “Come again?”

  “A food allergy complicated by his asthma.”

  “What’s he allergic to?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  “Me? Why do you think I’d know?”

  “He was carrying a to-go cup with your coffee shop logo on it.”

  I stand up stra
ight. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You can’t possibly be saying you think I poisoned him.”

  “The cup is practically empty. We’re bringing it to the lab to have the contents tested. I thought you should know. And I have to ask that you don’t leave town. I’m going to have more questions for you as soon as the results come in.”

  I didn’t think he could ever hurt me more than he already had, but I was wrong. “You actually think I’m capable of poisoning someone.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying, Jo.”

  “Don’t call me Jo. You lost that right years ago. It’s Joanna or, better yet, Ms. Coffee. We aren’t friends, Detective Perry. Not when you have definite plans to bring me to the station in handcuffs.”

  “Jo, please—”

  “Get out.” I move to the door and fling it open. “How dare you come in here after all we’ve been through and accuse me of…”

  “I’m not saying you did it on purpose.” He gets up and walks over to me.

  “Oh, so you think it’s involuntary manslaughter. That makes it so much better.”

  Quentin lowers his voice. “I wouldn’t go yelling that into the streets. It’s not good for business.”

  “I’d like to exercise my right to refuse service to anyone, Detective.”

  “You’re treading on dangerous legal waters there, Jo. On what grounds are you refusing me entry to your business?”

  “On the grounds that you’re a cheater and complete jerk.” I inhale sharply to hold back the tears.

  Quentin must sense I’m about to lose it because he actually leaves without another word. And as soon as he’s outside, he runs into Mo. “You shouldn’t be out on the street, Maura.”

  “Then arrest me,” she says, pushing past him to me. She brings us both inside to sit down. “What happened? I saw you two from my office window. Things looked heated, so I rushed right over.”

  Now that I’m sitting, the tears pour freely from my eyes. “He accused me of involuntary manslaughter at the very least. I’m his prime suspect for murder.”

  Chapter Three

  Mo is pacing the floor, waving her arms wildly in the air as she rants. “This is insane. How could he possibly think you poisoned Sherman Cromwell? Quentin was with you for five years! He has to know you’d never do that.” She stops and faces me. “It has to be Samantha. She must have put this idea in his head. I knew it was all an act. The way she pretends you two are still friends. No one is that stupid. She’s setting you up.”

  “I don’t think Samantha put this thought in Quentin’s head.” She says and does stupid things, but she’s never been malicious. “Or if she did, it wasn’t intentional.”

  “I hate them both so much.”

  “Same here.”

  “So what now?”

  “We wait until the autopsy to confirm the cause of death.”

  “And then what? Quentin arrests you?”

  “I don’t know. He’ll definitely question me again. I’m sure of that much. But once they test the macchiato, they’ll know I didn’t kill Mr. Cromwell. Practically everyone here drank a macchiato.”

  “Yeah, but they’re all made individually, so that doesn’t prove anything. Besides, if it was a food allergy, it wouldn’t have affected anyone else.”

  I glare at her.

  “Not that I mean you did poison him. I’m just saying he could use that argument. Now if Mr. Cromwell ate a mini muffin, you’d be off the hook for those because there were multiple and they were from the same batch. You’d have a lot more dead bodies if they were the cause.”

  “I’ll let Cam know he’s off the hook.”

  “Off the hook for what?” Cam asks, walking into the coffee shop.

  “Murder. Haven’t you heard? I’m the prime suspect.”

  “Murder? I thought it was a heart attack.”

  “Nope. Detective Perry thinks it was a food allergy or something compacted by Mr. Cromwell’s asthma.”

  “Wouldn’t that make it an accident?”

  “Possibly.”

  Cam cocks his head. “Quentin didn’t accuse you of purposely putting something in Mr. Cromwell’s drink, did he?”

  “Not in so many words, but he did ask if I knew what Mr. Cromwell was allergic to. And by the way, I don’t.”

  “I know you don’t. I’d never ask you an absurd question like that.” Cam runs a hand through his hair. “I knew I should have been here.”

  “To do what?” It’s not like Cam could have stopped Quentin from questioning me.

  “Are they still out there?” Mo asks Cam.

  “The body’s been removed. There are still a few officers out there, though. And a news crew.”

  “Oh, great. That’s just what I need, reporters asking if I poisoned a customer at my grand opening.”

  “They wouldn’t ask you that. Would they?” Mo’s gaze flits between Cam and me.

  Quentin knocks on the door. At least he had the decency not to come back inside after I kicked him out.

  “I’ll handle it,” Cam says.

  “No. I’ve got it.” I march over to Quentin and only open the door enough to stick my head out. “What do you want, Detective Perry?”

  He sighs at my formality. “I’m here to advise you to close for the rest of the day.”

  “So I don’t accidentally—or otherwise—poison any more people?” I ask.

  “Jo, please don’t do this.”

  “Your fiancée drank two of those macchiatos. If I was going to poison anyone—”

  “Okay, Jo,” Cam says, pulling me back inside. “I think that’s enough. Why don’t you close like he asked? It will show you’re cooperating with the investigation, and since you didn’t do anything wrong, this will all be cleared up soon enough.”

  “He’s right. It’s your best bet at this point.” Mo comes over and wraps her arm around me.

  “I need to shut everything down for the day.”

  “You do that. We’ll get rid of the unwanted intruder.” Mo hitches a thumb at the door.

  “Thanks.”

  I get started on shutting down the machines and cleaning them, and I can’t help smiling when I hear Mo say, “Hi, Cheater, I mean Quentin. Accidentally sleep with someone who’s not your girlfriend today?”

  I just wish I could see the look on Quentin’s face, but I keep working because I can’t let all this ruin my business.

  “Wait. You can’t go in there,” Mo yells.

  “Jo, I need you to stop cleaning. Leave everything as it is,” Quentin says.

  I turn and stare at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m afraid not. If it turns out Mr. Cromwell was poisoned, I’m going to need to check all your machines and inventory.”

  “Poisoned? So now you’re going with I poisoned him? I thought it was a food allergy.”

  “It probably was, but until we know for sure, this is evidence.” He gestures to the machines behind me.

  I remove my apron and toss it on the counter. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? You hate that I came back here, and you see this as the perfect opportunity to run me out of town again so you and Samantha can live happily ever after.”

  “Hey, I don’t have a problem with you living here. You broke up with me, remember?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did it hurt your feelings when I dumped you after you cheated on me? How callous of me. I’ll try to do a better job of treating you with the respect you deserve, but you see the problem I’m having is finding a single reason why you deserve even a shred of my respect at this point.”

  Cam reaches for my arm. “Come on, Jo. Let’s go.”

  “After you, Detective Perry. And don’t expect to be let back in here without a search warrant.” I know that last comment probably makes me look guilty, but I’m so angry I can’t stop myself.

  Quentin turns on his heel and walks out.

  “Wow,” Mo says. “I’m not sure you could have hurt him any more if you’d kicked him square between the legs.
That was amazing.”

  Amazingly stupid, but it was also a long time coming.

  I lock up and let out a deep breath when we step onto the sidewalk. I see the Channel Seven News Crew over by the section roped off with police tape. Monica Cabrera has the microphone to her mouth and is speaking to the camera. Her gaze raises to me, and she rushes over.

  “Ladies and gentleman, we have Joanna Coffee, long time resident of Bennett Falls and new owner of Cup of Jo. Joanna, I hear the victim was last seen in your new coffee shop. Can you confirm that?”

  “Actually, he was last seen on the sidewalk,” Cam says.

  Monica gives a forced laugh. “Of course, but that was after leaving Cup of Jo where you served him. Is that correct, Joanna?” She stresses my name so there’s no mistake she’s speaking to me and not Cam.

  “I served a lot of people this morning. It was the grand opening.”

  “Joanna, are you worried for your business after a man died from drinking one of your macchiatos?” She thrusts the microphone in front of my face.

  “I think you have your facts wrong, Monica. A lot of people drank my macchiatos. That’s not what killed Sherman Cromwell.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I’m sure because no one else is sick or dead.”

  “The police could be overheard talking about a food allergy. Do you suspect you inadvertently poisoned the victim?” She thrusts the microphone at me again.

  “No. Some of the baked goods contain nuts, but there’s a clear sign on my door expressing that. I don’t see what Mr. Cromwell could have been allergic to in my macchiato. It’s not like I put shellfish or something in there.”

  “I should hope not,” Monica says. “Shellfish macchiatos do not sound appetizing in the least.”

  “No more questions,” Cam says, pushing past Monica.

  “Joanna, will you be open tomorrow, or are the police shutting you down while they work on this investigation?”

  “No comment,” Cam tosses back over his shoulder as he walks me to my car. “Don’t talk to her. You know she’ll spin everything you say to make you look bad.”