“Sherman Cromwell thought so, too, but I guess Gabe felt his father should have been more supportive of his son’s business venture.”
“He would have failed for sure. Sherman actually did him a favor.”
“Tell that to Gabe. Still, I can’t see it being a motive for murder since Gabe doesn’t stand to gain anything from his father’s death. All he got was the house and car, which he essentially already had when his father was alive.”
“So we still can’t find anyone other than the investors who stood to gain from Sherman’s death,” Cam says.
“Nope. It has to be one of them.”
“You’re probably right. Any idea what Quentin thinks?”
“No, and now that I know he lied to me about questioning Sam, I don’t plan on sharing any of my theories with him until I know who the killer is for certain.” My muffin is nearly gone now, and even though I’m full, I’d force down another because they’re that good. “When are you going to open your own bakery? Cam’s Kitchen has a nice ring to it.”
He finishes stacking boxes on the handcart and leans on the island in front of me. “It’s a nice thought, but then where would you get your baked goods for Cup of Jo?”
I fidget with the muffin wrappers in front of me. “Who knows if I’ll be opening Cup of Jo again? All this negative publicity might run my business into the ground before it even has a chance.”
He reaches forward and places a hand on mine. “That’s not going to happen. People in this town love you. They’ll support you and make sure you get back on your feet. You’ll see.”
I take a deep breath and nod. “Ready to make some deliveries?”
He smiles and stands up tall. “Let’s do this.”
It doesn’t take too long to drop off Cam’s baked goods to the different stores around town, and we’re at Rachel’s sandwich shop before I know it.
“Good morning, Cam,” Rachel says as we walk in the door. Her order mostly consists of individually wrapped muffins, apple turnovers, and other pastries that can be purchased one at a time. Since I’m here to help, Cam doesn’t need the handcart to bring in the boxes. “Let me help you with those.” She takes a box from me and asks, “Any word on when your coffee shop can reopen?”
“Not yet. The police don’t seem to have any suspects.” Other than me.
Rachel opens the box and begins putting the baked goods in the display case. “I can imagine it’s tough to find someone in town who didn’t like Mr. Cromwell. Is it possible his death was an accident? I mean, I heard it was a vitamin or something he took. What if he accidentally took his wife’s pill by mistake?” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m no detective. That’s for sure.”
“I guess it could have been an accident. The police found a fish oil pill on the floor of my shop. Someone could have dropped their vitamins at the same time Mr. Cromwell dropped his.”
“So the person responsible was definitely in your coffee shop with Mr. Cromwell?” she asks me.
“It looks that way.”
“Do you have cameras in your place?”
I shake my head. They were way too expensive. I used all my loan money to purchase my coffee machines, furniture, and other supplies.
“Rachel, if you don’t mind us asking, when did your dad leave on Monday?” Cam asks. “We know he checked out of the B&B that morning, but did he go straight home from there, or did you see him, maybe for breakfast?”
“Is my dad still a person of interest in the case?” she asks.
“I really don’t know. I haven’t talked to the police about him,” I say. “But if he had already left town or he was with you, then he’d have a solid alibi.”
I can practically see the wheels turning in Rachel’s mind. Would she lie to us to protect her father?
I hold up a hand. “You know, I shouldn’t put you in this position. He’s your father. I’m sure you want to protect him. I don’t want you to get in the middle of this when you don’t need to be.”
“No, if it involves my dad, I want to help. I did see him Monday morning, but it was here. He stopped in the shop on his way out of town.”
“What time was that?” Cam asks.
“I think around eleven thirty. He had breakfast at the B&B, packed his things, and left.”
So he was gone before Mr. Cromwell died.
“That’s good, right?” Rachel asks. “He would have been on the road heading back to Delaware when the murder happened.”
If someone saw him on the road, sure. But unless he was pulled over for speeding or stopped to buy gas, no one can verify the story. Still, I don’t want to worry Rachel, so I say, “Yeah, it’s a good thing. Thanks, Rachel.”
“No problem. Happy to help.”
We leave her sandwich shop and head back to Main Street. “Where to now?” Cam asks.
“I wish I knew. We need to find out who stood to gain from Sherman Cromwell’s death. What about the reading of the will?” I turn to face him, and he glances at me briefly.
“I don’t know. I’m sure Mrs. Cromwell knows, though. Should we pay her another visit?”
She wasn’t in a good place the last time we left her. I’m a little afraid to go back there. “No. Let’s go see Mo at her office. Maybe she can do some digging online for us.”
“You got it.”
Mo’s office is tiny but nice considering the one wall is all windows, giving her a view of Main Street. It would be nicer if that view wasn’t of crime scene tape at the moment, though.
“Hey, guys. I wasn’t expecting you,” she says, looking up from her computer.
“We need your help. We’re at another dead end. We need to find out when the reading of Sherman Cromwell’s will is taking place.” My phone rings, and I don’t recognize the name on the screen. “Hang on a second.” I hold up a finger to Mo. “Hello?” I answer the call.
“Is this Joanna Coffee?” the male voice asks.
“Yes, this is Joanna.”
“My name is Edward Cummings. I was Sherman Cromwell’s attorney. I need to verify your home address.”
“May I ask for what reason?” I couldn’t possibly be getting sued, could I?
“I need to send you a copy of Mr. Cromwell’s will.”
“His will? Why would I need a copy?”
Mo’s and Cam’s eyes widen.
“He’s left you a nice sum of money for your new business.”
“He left money to me? But why? I didn’t even know him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t speak for Mr. Cromwell. Could I get your address, or would you rather come to my office and pick it up in person?”
“I’ll come to you. Where’s your office located?” He gives me the address, and I scribble it on a pad on Mo’s desk. I hang up and look at Mo and Cam. “I have no idea why, but Sherman Cromwell left money to me.”
“That means you’re someone who stood to gain from his death,” Mo says, looking very concerned.
“But I didn’t know about it until right now.”
“True, but the police don’t know that,” Cam says. “When they find out, you’re going to move even higher up on their list of suspects.”
Chapter Twelve
I’m in a complete fog on the way to the law office. There’s no possible reason why Sherman Cromwell would leave money to me. None. He didn’t invest in my business. He didn’t even really know me. And it can’t be because of his connection to Mom and Dad either because he didn’t leave anything to Mo.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” Cam says as we walk into the law office.
I’m not so sure. If someone knew Mr. Cromwell was leaving me money, would they use that to try to frame me for murder? And why me of all people? None of this is making any sense to me.
We approach the receptionist, who greets us. “May I help you?” she asks, pushing her wire-framed glasses up her slender nose.
“My name is Joanna Coffee. I’m here to see Edward Cummings.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“Ye
s. I just spoke with him on the phone a few minutes ago.”
“One moment, please.” She picks up her phone and presses a button. “Mr. Cummings, there’s a Joanna Coffee to see you.” After a brief pause, she says, “Yes, sir,” and then hangs up. “Mr. Cummings office is through that door there.” She points to the door behind her. “Go straight down the hallway to the last door on your left.”
“Thank you,” Cam says. He places his hand on the small of my back to guide me, and I’m thankful for the support because I’m not sure I could make my feet move of their own accord right now.
The hallway is narrow with offices on both sides. We walk to the end, and I knock on the closed door to my left.
“Come in,” calls the deep voice I recognize from the phone.
I open the door and step inside. The office is small, not much more than a desk in the middle, with two chairs on one side for clients, and a filing cabinet in the corner.
“Please have a seat.” Mr. Cummings gestures to the two empty chairs across from him. “I’ll need to see some form of identification before I turn over the will.”
“Of course.” I pull my wallet from my purse and hand him my license.
He looks at the photo and then at my face before handing it back to me. “Very well, Ms. Coffee.”
Cam and I both sit.
Mr. Cummings hands me a copy of the will. “As you can see here, Mr. Cromwell left you the sum of forty thousand dollars under the stipulation that the money be invested in your business, hereby named, Cup of Jo. He has arranged for a check to be issued from his account to your business.”
Forty thousand dollars? I’ve never had that much money in my life. “But why?”
“As I stated on the phone, Ms. Coffee, I can’t speak as to Mr. Cromwell’s reasoning. I only know what it states here in his will.”
“But this doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t know him.”
Mr. Cummings laces his fingers in front of him on the desk. “It’s not all that unusual for wealthy individuals to leave their money to local business owners in their hometowns when they don’t have many living family members.”
“But Mr. Cromwell had a wife and son.”
“It’s all in the will, Ms. Coffee.”
I scan the document. Just like Mrs. Cromwell said, she gets the house and the cars. Gabe also gets his house and car. Neither is getting money outright, though. Instead, they are getting shares in the companies Sherman invested in. And then there are the investors. They’re each getting a sizable amount of money.
“I will need you to confirm the name on your business account,” Mr. Cummings says.
What if I don’t take the money? Would it clear me as a suspect? I could give it back to his family. Or even to Mary Ellen Reede, who was like a mother to Sherman. I swallow hard, unsure of what to do.
“Jo?” Cam says, most likely because I haven’t spoken or moved in several seconds.
“Can I deny the money?” I ask.
Mr. Cummings leans back in his chair. “You don’t want the money?”
“No. I don’t feel right taking it.” But if I give it to the family, am I essentially paying Sherman’s killer? I still don’t know who killed him. If it was Gabe or Gwen and they really did try to pin the murder on me, I’d be rewarding the same person who tried to frame me. I rub my forehead. “Can we just postpone the check for now until I’ve had time to process all of this? Please?” I add.
“I’m in touch with Mr. Cromwell’s financial adviser. I’ll let him know your request. Is the number where I called you the one you’d like me to pass along to him?”
I nod. “Yes, thank you.” I try to hand the copy of the will back to him, but he holds up his hands to stop me.
“That’s yours, Ms. Coffee.”
We leave the law office, the will clutched in my hand. I don’t know what to do, so I call my parents. Maybe they can make sense of this.
“Time for Coffee, this is Pamela speaking.”
“Mom, it’s Jo.”
“Oh, hello, sweetie. How are you holding up? Mo’s been keeping us updated.”
I knew she would. “Not well, actually. I just found out Sherman Cromwell left me forty thousand dollars. Any idea why he’d do that?”
“Oh, dear. Liam, get over here,” she calls to my dad.
“What’s going on?” he asks, and I can picture them standing head-to-head with the phone between them.
“Sherman Cromwell left me forty thousand dollars in his will.”
“That might be my fault,” dad says. “You see, I saw Sherman two months ago. I told him how you were starting your own business and had to take out a loan. I also mentioned I was worried about how you’d pay all your bills until your business got up and running. It takes a while before you start turning a profit.”
“So, Mr. Cromwell was under the impression that I was pressed for cash.”
“I believe he was, but that wasn’t my intention when I told him. It was completely innocent. He asked how you girls were, and I just told him the truth.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Mom says. “He was such a generous soul.”
“I can’t take his money.”
“Oh, now, Jo, don’t be silly. Besides,” Mom says, “you can’t deny a dying man’s last wish.”
“It wasn’t his dying wish, Mom. He wasn’t sick. He didn’t know he was going to die.” Or did he? Why would he put me in his will if he thought he’d live for another twenty years or so? He wouldn’t have. My business would have succeeded or failed long before that. I look at the date on the will. It was last amended one month ago. I have to be missing something. I flip through the will and notice that several other small business owners in the area were also getting money. “He gave money to all the local business owners who were raised in Bennett Falls,” I say. “Every single one of us.”
“That man,” Mom says, and the quiver in her voice lets me know she’s on the verge of tears.
This is good. It means I’m not the only one who had something to gain from his death. Though my need for this money is definitely greater than most of the other’s considering I have a loan to pay off.
“I’ve got to go, guys. Love you both.”
“Love you, too,” they say in unison.
I pocket my phone and turn to face Cam in the driver’s seat. “There are too many suspects. By the time the police go through them all, whoever did this could have spent the money they killed to get.”
“The memorial service is tomorrow,” Cam says. “My guess is all the business partners will be there. We need to be there as well.”
“Agreed.” I want to see them all for myself and try to determine who isn’t sad to see their business partner is dead.
Cam drives me home because I need to drink my weight in coffee and lie down to clear my head after all this. I’m just drifting off to sleep when there’s a knock on my door. I sit up, expecting it to be Quentin coming to arrest me after learning I inherited so much money from Mr. Cromwell, but when I open the door, it’s Jamar standing there.
“Hey,” I say.
“You got a minute?” he asks.
“Of course. Come in.” I step aside to let him in. “Want some coffee? I’m on pot number two.”
“Uh-oh. Drowning your sorrows in caffeine is never a good idea. But you look like you just woke up. How is that possible if you drank a pot of coffee?”
I grab a mug from the cabinet and pour him a cup. “Easy. I’m not a newbie. Caffeine doesn’t wake me up at all anymore.”
He laughs. “I believe that.” He opens the refrigerator and grabs the milk before taking the mug from me. “Is this hazelnut?” he asks, sniffing the coffee.
I tap my nose. “You got it. So, what’s going on?”
“I was talking to my buddy Lance. Remember I mentioned him?”
“Yeah, Mr. Cromwell was investing in his restaurant.” I pour myself another cup of coffee.
“That’s right. Well, as it turns out, Mr.
Cromwell wrote out a check to Lance’s business account before he died. Lance didn’t think it would go through, but it did.”
“That’s great news for Lance,” I say. “Oh, and I actually have a copy of the will. Lance’s name is on it. He should be getting more money.”
“Yeah, he knows. He got a copy of the will today as well. He’s very excited about it, but of course, he’s also sad. He really liked Mr. Cromwell, and Lance isn’t sure how he’ll pull off opening the restaurant without Mr. Cromwell’s guidance.” Jamar takes another sip. “He’s going to the memorial tomorrow.”
“I am, too. Turns out Mr. Cromwell left money to all the local business owners who grew up here.”
“Wow. Who would have thought something good would have come out of all this?”
“I don’t think I’m going to accept the money. It just doesn’t feel right.” I lean back against the counter.
“Maybe you should pay it forward. You know, invest in another person’s business, like Mr. Cromwell did.”
That’s not a bad idea. “Maybe.”
“Well, I wanted to let you know Lance’s restaurant won’t be open for another four months or so, but when he has his grand opening, I want you to come with me.”
Is he asking me out on a date? “Go to dinner with you?” Jamar is a great guy, but he’s also only twenty-six. A four-year difference isn’t huge, but I think I’d feel old dating someone younger than I am.
“Yeah, me and a bunch of other people. We need to get as many people there on opening night as possible. Lance wants the place to be packed.”
“Oh, so a group thing.” I breathe a little easier.
Jamar laughs. “You thought I was asking you out.”
“No, I…”
“Yeah, you did. And you were petrified.” He keeps laughing. “I like you, Jo, but I’m not doing anything to mess this up.” He gestures between us. “You’re my only female friend, and honestly, I like having you to talk to about things.”
“Same here. I mean you’re not my only male friend, but I value our friendship. I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”
“And you’re into Cam.” He takes another sip of coffee.
Macchiatos and Murder (Cup of Jo 1) Page 9