Macchiatos and Murder (Cup of Jo 1)

by Kelly Hashway

  “Mo, we could use your help finding out who Sherman Cromwell had invested in before he died.”

  “Sure. I can do that, but do you really think one of his business partners would kill him? I mean, he was the reason they had the money to open their businesses in the first place.”

  “True, but what if he used that money as leverage and controlled things more than the business owners liked?”

  She points her soup spoon at me. “That makes sense. I can see how that would upset some people. I have an easy afternoon. I’m supposed to be researching this new social media site to see if it’s worth the company’s time to advertise there. I can easily slip this research into my work under the pretense of seeing which businesses might already be using it.”

  “Good thinking,” Cam says. “So, Jo, where does that leave us?”

  He’s right. We can’t just sit around and wait for Mo to find something. I think about every murder mystery I’ve seen or read. “We need motive. Who stands to gain from Sherman Cromwell’s death?”

  “His wife and family,” Cam says.

  “What’s his wife like?” Mo asks.

  “She seems nice enough. She doesn’t think I killed her husband, and if you ask me, she wouldn’t be so quick to clear my name if she was the real killer.”

  “Right,” Mo says. “She’d jump at the chance to pin it on you.”

  “They have a son, don’t they?” Cam asks, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.

  I do remember there being a son. He’s around my age, but he didn’t go to public school, so I never really knew him.

  “Found it,” Cam says, reading from his phone. “Gabe Cromwell is thirty-three years old. He lives here in Bennett Falls. It doesn’t look like he’s ever had a job.”

  “Not surprising. He’s probably living off Daddy’s money,” Mo says.

  I reach out and grab her shoulder. “And that would mean he’d be very upset if Daddy wrote a large check to someone.”

  “Did he?” Mo asks.

  “I don’t know. He invested in businesses, so it’s a big possibility. And maybe Gabe sees that as his father wasting his inheritance.”

  “So he kills his dad to get the money before he can give it away!” Mo says. “It’s kind of fun figuring this stuff out.”

  “Yeah, once you get past the fact that we’re being forced to do it because a man is dead and the police think I killed him.”

  Chapter Six

  After lunch, Mo has to return to work but promises to find out what she can about who Sherman Cromwell was investing in. Cam and I decide to go pay a visit to Gabe Cromwell and see what his relationship with his father was like. Since Gabe doesn’t work, there’s a good chance he’s home on a Tuesday afternoon.

  Gabe lives in a house on his parents’ property. It’s not as large as the home he grew up in, but it’s still huge, especially considering Gabe lives alone. And the really odd thing is that the driveway is littered with cars. Cam manages to find a place to park, and we walk up to the front door. Cam rings the bell, and I’m surprised when a man opens the door and a crowd of people can be seen laughing and having a great time. Cam and I exchange a look. This is clearly a party. And who throws a party the day after their father dies?

  “Are you Gabe Cromwell?” I ask.

  “Nah. Gabe’s inside somewhere. I just happened to be closest to the door.”

  “May we come in?” Cam asks.

  The guy shrugs. “Not my house, not my rules.” He steps aside and takes another slug from his beer. The guy looks fresh out of college, which puts him about ten years Gabe’s junior. Why would Gabe be partying with a much younger crowd?

  Cam closes the door behind us, and we make our way through the house. I keep asking people if they know where Gabe is, but no one seems to know.

  “This is a little strange, don’t you think?” I whisper to Cam as we walk into a room that must be a study, only to find that Gabe isn’t on the first floor of the house.

  Cam wraps one arm around me and turns me toward the stairs. “Let’s try upstairs. Maybe he needed to take a break. It’s possible he planned this party before his father died and forgot to cancel it.”

  “I guess that could make sense. He might be hiding upstairs because he couldn’t handle entertaining at a time like this.” My gaze goes to Cam’s arm, which is still around me. Has he always done things like this and I’ve just never noticed?

  We walk upstairs and turn toward the open door at the end of the hallway. We stop in the doorway because there’s a man at the window, holding a glass with amber-colored liquid inside. He’s dressed in black slacks and a perfectly pressed gray shirt.

  I lightly knock on the open door. “Excuse me, but are you Gabe Cromwell?”

  He turns and looks us up and down. “Party’s downstairs only.” He finishes the contents of his glass and walks over to a beverage cart beside the dresser to pour another bourbon. Now that he’s closer, I can see he resembles his mother more than his father. They both have reddish-blonde hair and the same curve to the bridge of their noses.

  “We aren’t here for the party,” I say. “We want to speak with you.”

  “About?” He hasn’t even asked who we are. Maybe he’s too drunk to care.

  “Well, first we want to express our condolences,” I say.

  He raises his glass. “Yes, because my father was such a great man.” He scoffs and tips back the glass, drinking it all in one go.

  “Come again?” Cam asks.

  Gabe smirks. “Yeah, everyone loved good old Sherman. How could they not? He gave money to perfect strangers and helped launch careers.” He pours another drink. “It wasn’t selfless, you know. He made plenty from those investments.”

  “They were business arrangements,” Cam says. “We get that.”

  “You didn’t like the way your dad conducted business, did you?” I ask.

  “He was taking more risks lately. Always going on and on about the underdog.”

  “You mean small business owners?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Can you believe he went to check out a coffee place the day he died?” Gabe scoffs again. “I mean who thinks it’s a good idea to invest in a small-town coffee shop when there are giant chains of coffee places running the smaller ones out of business every day?”

  Ouch. I admit that comment stings a bit. “But this is a close-knit town. People here support local businesses.”

  “Now you sound like my dad. ‘People should support local businesses,’” he says, doing a pretty good impression of his father.

  “Yeah, well, I happen to own that coffee shop you just mentioned.”

  Gabe cocks his head, and his gaze roams over me, making me feel very self-conscious. “I get it now.”

  “You get what, exactly?” Cam asks, taking a step toward Gabe.

  Gabe extends his glass, one finger pointed at me. “Her. Dad had a thing for a pretty face.”

  “I highly doubt a smart businessman like your father would put his money on the line simply because he found someone attractive,” I say.

  “Have you seen my mother? She has her plastic surgeon on speed dial. One guess why that is.”

  “Was your father having an affair?” Cam asks.

  “Beats me. Probably. Who knows what he really did when he went out on his little ‘research excursions.’” He makes air quotes to show just how much he doubts his father was researching anything.

  “I take it you and your father didn’t have the best relationship,” I say.

  “Why are you here?” Gabe tilts his head to the side. “Are you his mistress? Did you come looking for money?”

  Cam’s jaw clenches, and I grab his arm before he does something stupid like punch Gabe in the face.

  “We’re trying to figure out who killed your father. That’s all. He was killed right after leaving my coffee shop.”

  Gabe laughs. “Don’t tell me the police think you killed him.”

  The family must be avoiding the news.
Considering how bogus the coverage of the murder has been, that’s probably a good idea.

  “They think someone might have poisoned the drink I made for him.”

  “What was it?” Gabe asks.

  “The poison? A fish oil capsule. Your dad had a severe fish allergy. That coupled with his asthma made the allergic reaction fatal.”

  “Wait. Someone put a vitamin in his drink?”

  “We aren’t sure if he took the fish oil thinking it was his multivitamin or if the capsule was dissolved in the macchiato.”

  “Macchiato? No wonder he liked you. That was his favorite drink.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt your father?” I ask.

  Gabe pours yet another bourbon and eyes the empty bottle before answering. “You know the worst part of being rich?” He puts the bottle up to his eye and looks at me through it. “Everyone pretends to like you, but no one bothers to really see you.”

  Deep thought for a drunk guy.

  “Is that why you’re avoiding your own party?” Cam asks.

  “Party.” He laughs. “When I was twenty-five, I started hosting these gatherings. People just showed up. No invites. Word of mouth got out. Half the people here couldn’t tell you what color hair I have.”

  “So you don’t even bother going downstairs,” I say. That’s sad. He’s surrounded by people but doesn’t have a single friend.

  “Nope. These people don’t even realize my dad is dead.”

  They probably don’t realize who Gabe actually is.

  “Why do you keep doing it then?” Cam asks.

  Gabe puts his glass and the empty bottle down on the beverage cart. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Thank you for your time,” I say. “We’ll see ourselves out.” I turn and step into the hallway.

  “Hey, Coffee Lady,” Gabe calls after me. “If you did kill my dad”—he picks up his glass of bourbon and raises it in the air—“I guess I owe you one.”

  “Come on,” Cam says.

  “Well, he’s clearly happy his father is gone,” I say as we walk back downstairs.

  “I’m thinking your theory about Gabe not wanting his dad to spend his inheritance money is spot-on.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not sure he’d kill him for it.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was trying to throw us off by thanking you for poisoning his father.”

  “After the amount of bourbon he consumed, I’m not sure he could think clearly enough to pull off a cover-up.”

  “You might be right about that.” He looks around at the party guests.

  “He’s got a whole Jay Gatsby thing going on here, throwing parties but hiding upstairs instead of attending them.”

  “What do you think that’s about?”

  “Well, if I’m remembering high school English correctly, Gatsby threw the parties in hopes that Daisy Buchanan would attend, but she never did.”

  “That was the woman he was in love with, right?”

  “Yeah, and she was married.”

  “So is Gabe in love with a married woman, too?” He opens the front door, and we step outside.

  “Most likely not, but he’s throwing the parties for some reason.”

  “He was looking out the window when we got to his room, so it’s possible he was watching to see who came to the party.” Cam unlocks the SUV, and we get in.

  “Or he was making sure the press didn’t show up,” I say.

  “That could be it, too.”

  “I could use a long hot bath after the day I’ve had.” I lean my head back on the head rest.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “Thanks. You want to stop by for dinner tonight? I’m planning to invite Mo so we can find out which businesses Sherman Cromwell invested in.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll drop you off, go home to shower, and be back in time for dinner.”

  “Great. I’m making chili. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Sounds fantastic. What can I bring?”

  “A clear head. We need to come up with a lead to follow before Quentin comes knocking on my door again.”

  “He might be afraid to talk to you about the case after you pointed the finger at his fiancée.” Cam smiles. “I really wish I’d been in that interrogation room so I could have seen his face.”

  “I’m not going to lie. It was priceless.”

  Cam drops me off at my apartment complex, and I take the elevator to the third floor. I’m expecting to see Midnight waiting for me, but instead I see the face of someone I wish would forget where I live.

  “Hi, Jo,” Quentin says. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Are you here to tell me I can open for business tomorrow?” I put the key in the lock.

  “Afraid not. Your coffee shop is a crime scene.”

  I step into the apartment and toss my key on the kitchen counter. “No, Sherman Cromwell died on the sidewalk. That’s your crime scene.”

  “The murder weapon was discovered in Cup of Jo. You’re closed until further notice.”

  “This is unbelievable.”

  “You know what else is unbelievable? I’m hearing rumors that you’re conducting your own investigation.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You need to stay out of this. You’re not a police detective.”

  “All I’ve done is talk to a few people. You can’t stop me from talking to people in my own town. That’s not a crime.”

  “I’m not going to let you get in the way of a police investigation.”

  “I’m not.” Is he worried I’ll solve this case before he does? “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

  “No.” Even though I’ve made no invitation to make himself at home, he takes a seat at the bar top in the kitchen. “We checked the vitamins Sherman Cromwell was carrying in a baggie in his jacket pocket. There were no fish oil capsules in there.”

  “But you definitely found traces of it in his drink?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think there was only one fish oil capsule, and he happened to take that instead of his multivitamin?”

  “It’s possible, but there are other alternatives.”

  I scowl at him. “For the last time, I did not put anything in his drink.”

  “Look, Jo, I don’t want to think you did. That’s why we’re having this conversation here and not down at the station.” He looks down at the bar top. “That and I feel like I owe you an apology.”

  “Really? Is this an apology for cheating, for never actually loving me, or for accusing me of murder?” I cross my arms in front of my chest.

  “Possibly all three.” He lifts his gaze to meet mine. “I should have apologized to you three years ago. It’s just that in some warped way I thought I was justified for what I did. I always loved Samantha, and I guess I thought you’d understand that.”

  I laugh. “Because you were such a great guy for pretending to love me? And by the way, this is the worst apology ever.”

  “I know. I’m not explaining myself well at all, and I guess it’s because you can’t explain the crazy things you do when you love someone. But I am sorry I hurt you.”

  I lower my arms and shake my head. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t forgive you for what you did, but I accept that you feel some shred of guilt for hurting me.”

  He sighs and places both hands flat on the bar top. “I’m going to do what I can to keep you from getting arrested. I owe you that much.”

  “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

  “I need you to tell me everything you remember. Who was in Cup of Jo when Sherman Cromwell was? Who interacted with him? Other than Samantha,” he adds. “Who left around the same time he did? I need every detail you can possibly give me.”

  I look at the clock on the stove. I like my chili to cook for a while before serving it, so I start grabbing the ingredients from the fridge. “Everything was
such a whirlwind. The place was full of customers. I really don’t remember who Sherman Cromwell talked to other than Samantha.” I prep the frying pan with olive oil and turn the heat on high. Then I get to work chopping the green pepper and red onion.

  “Are you making chili?” Quentin asks. It was always his favorite.

  “Yup, and no, you can’t stay for dinner. I’m expecting company.”

  “Cam?” he asks.

  “And Mo.”

  “So, it’s not a date?”

  I use the knife to scrape the pepper and onion into the frying pan and add some seasoned salt. “No. Why would you think I’m dating Cam?”

  “Can I be honest with you about something?”

  I stir the contents of the frying pan and then grab a pot to brown the ground beef. “Go ahead.”

  “When we were together, I always suspected you and Cam…”

  “Cam and I what?” I look at him over my shoulder when he doesn’t complete his thought.

  “Well, I guess I thought you two were into each other. You talked on the phone so much, and he was always coming to visit you. Whenever you were upset, he was the one you went to. I think in some way it made it okay for me to love Samantha.”

  “Hold on.” I raise my hand in the air and turn to face him. “You thought I was in love with Cam?”

  He nods. “Aren’t you?”

  “I…”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Don’t burn the meat.” He points to the pot, and I quickly turn around to stir the ground beef.

  Quentin gets up and removes the strainer from the bottom cabinet.

  “You never helped me cook when we were dating,” I say.

  He laughs. “Sam and I cook together all the time.”

  “You’re really happy with her, aren’t you?”

  His smile is answer enough.

  “God, how is it possible to be so angry with you yet happy for you at the same time?” Clearly, I’m insane. I grab the pot from the stove and carry it to the sink where the strainer is ready. I strain the beef and return the pot to the stove. I add the taco seasoning, chili powder, garlic powder, and seasoned salt to the meat and stir it before pouring the green peppers and onion into the pot. Then I add two jars of salsa.