Macchiatos and Murder (Cup of Jo 1)

by Kelly Hashway

His comment doesn’t completely surprise me. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  I hold my mug with both hands. “Does everyone think Cam and I like each other? You know, as more than friends?”

  “It’s pretty obvious. You two are always together, and there’s clearly chemistry between you. Do you not want people to know?”

  “I don’t think I knew until a couple days ago.”

  He starts laughing again. “That’s so like you, Jo. You really don’t see things that are right in front of your face.”

  “How can you say that? What else have I been oblivious to?”

  He shifts his weight from his right to left leg. “Well, I wasn’t here when you were dating that cop, but I’ve heard people talking. They all say the affair was common knowledge to everyone but you.”

  “Sometimes, I’m not sure why I came back to Bennett Falls. I’m always going to be known as the girl who was cheated on and betrayed by the two people she was closest to.”

  “That’s not right at all. You were never closer to Quentin than you are to Cam.”

  “How can you say that? You even admitted you weren’t here during all that.”

  “I didn’t need to be. You and Cam grew up together. Other than your sister, he knows you best, right?”

  I shrug.

  “What does Quentin know about you that Cam doesn’t?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What does Cam know about you that Quentin doesn’t?”

  “A whole lot.”

  “I rest my case.”

  I cock my head at him. “If you ever decide being a personal trainer isn’t what you want to do with your life, consider law school. You’d make a decent lawyer.”

  He flexes a bicep. “Like I’d ever cover these with a suit.”

  I laugh, but it’s cut short when Quentin appears in my open doorway.

  “Can I come in?” he asks.

  Jamar stands up straight. “Well, that’s my cue to leave. Thanks for the coffee, and I’ll let you know the exact date of the grand opening. It’s my treat by the way. Even though it’s not a date,” he adds with a smile before putting his mug in the sink.

  “Bye, Jamar.” I turn around and pour myself another cup of coffee.

  “None for me. Thanks,” Quentin says, even though I never offered him any.

  “Let me guess. You saw the will.”

  “How did you know?” he asks.

  “Because I’m assuming Samantha got a copy as well. She’s a local business owner in town, and she’s lived here all her life.” Plus, I saw her name on the will.

  Quentin rubs the back of his neck. “I’m at a loss here, Jo. You have no idea the grief I’m taking down at the station.”

  How is this case suddenly all about him? “I’m not following.”

  “How do you think it looks that my ex-girlfriend and my fiancée are the two prime suspects for this murder?”

  “How much of a suspect can Sam really be? She told me you never questioned her. It was just another lie you told me.”

  “You spoke to Sam?” He moves toward me. “You had no right to do that, Jo. You aren’t working this case. Let me make that crystal clear.” His jaw is clenched so tightly I wouldn’t be surprised if he chipped a tooth.

  “The way I see it, without my help, your fiancée might wind up wearing an orange jumpsuit down the aisle.”

  “That’s not the least bit funny.” He looks down at his feet. “A prosecutor would eat her alive on the stand.” His gaze meets mine, and his eyes are rimmed with tears. “I need your help.”

  Ten seconds ago, he told me I wasn’t working the case. Now he wants me to?

  “It’s clear you know more than you’re telling me. You’ve been investigating, and it seems like you’re always one step ahead of me. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but I need you to help me find the real killer. I need you to clear Sam’s name.”

  “And mine,” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you asking me to work with you?”

  He nods. “I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but please, Jo. If not for me or Sam, do it to clear your own name.”

  “That’s what I’ve been doing. If you want to tag along, so be it. But try to keep up because you’re correct in saying you have no right to ask me for anything.”

  Quentin does something I’ve never seen him do. He breaks down in a sobbing mess in the middle of my kitchen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Friday morning, I still haven’t recovered from Quentin’s breakdown. I wanted to call Samantha to come get him, but Quentin begged me not to. He didn’t want her to see him like that, and I don’t blame him because I didn’t want to see him that way either. He is one ugly crier.

  He finally left when Mo came by after work. She didn’t stay long because I wasn’t much company. I wound up going to bed at eight, which meant I was up at the crack of dawn.

  I still don’t know what to do about the money, but I plan to talk to Gwen about it at the memorial service. It starts at 10:00 a.m., and I’m assuming it will be very informal. Mr. Cromwell’s remains won’t even be there since his body is part of an ongoing murder investigation. I suppose it’s more for family and friends to gather and comfort one another.

  I put on black dress pants and a charcoal top. I haven’t had to attend many funerals or memorials in my life. I’ve been fortunate in that aspect, but that also means my proper attire for such events is pretty limited. I drink several cups of coffee to steel my nerves. Even though I know Quentin isn’t out to get me for this murder, I don’t exactly feel comforted by the fact that he’s a sniveling mess over it all.

  I blow out a deep breath and get ready to leave when Cam shows up, looking the perfect part in all-black attire.

  “Your car awaits,” he says. “Or rather your SUV.” He offers me his elbow as I lock my door.

  “Thank you for going with me.”

  “Mo says Quentin was here again last night.”

  “How often do you two talk about me behind my back?” I ask as I press the button for the elevator.

  “On a daily basis,” he admits with zero shame.

  I laugh. “I’ve never seen Quentin fall apart like that.” It makes me see just how much he loves Sam.

  “I get why he did.” Cam meets my gaze for a moment before clearing his throat and looking away.

  The elevator doors open, and we step inside.

  I press the button for the ground floor. “Do you think it’s possible to love someone and that person have no idea how you feel?” I ask.

  “Are you asking if I think Sam knew Quentin was in love with her before they got together?” he says, totally missing the point of my question. Or maybe he’s avoiding it on purpose.

  “Yeah,” I lie, tucking my hair behind my ear.

  “I think it’s entirely possible for two close friends to mistake their feelings for each other.”

  I meet his gaze, unsure if he’s trying to tell me he knows what I was really asking and I shouldn’t go there. That he and I are good friends, not to be mistaken for more. “Yeah, that makes complete sense.”

  The elevator stops, and I hurry off it, grabbing my keys. “I’ll drive.”

  He grabs my hand and spins me around. “Let me finish.”

  I’m not sure I can handle hearing more. “There’s nothing to finish. I completely agree with you.”

  “Then I don’t think you know what you’re agreeing with.” He’s still holding my hand, and I look around at the lobby. Thankfully, most people are at work, and we don’t have much of an audience.

  “We’re going to be late if we don’t get moving,” I say.

  “Are you still in love with him?” Cam asks, and the question actually makes my head jerk back.

  “With who? You can’t possibly mean Quentin.” I pull my hand from his and walk out of the building.

  He hurries to catch up. “I’m driving.” He unlocks his car and opens the pas
senger door for me.

  I don’t argue because I didn’t really want to drive anyway. I get in, and he shuts the door, looking very annoyed. I’m not sure what he has to be upset about after he just said that I was misreading whatever this is between him and me and insulted me by asking if I still love Quentin.

  He gets in but doesn’t start the car. “Jo, I need to know.”

  I face him, my arms crossed in a pathetic attempt to protect my heart. Cam has always been there for me. Always. And I let my current situation and everyone else’s opinions make me think he cared about me more than as my friend. It was stupid. “No, I don’t love Quentin. I don’t… I’m not in love with anyone.”

  He nods and starts the engine. I turn to look out the window as a tear treks down my right cheek. I quickly wipe it away. This is ridiculous. I can’t cry over something I never had to begin with. I’m just overly emotional because my life is falling apart. That’s all this is. Nothing more. I’m not losing Cam. He’s my friend, just like he’s always been.

  We don’t talk for the entire ride to the Cromwell residence. There are cars lining the driveway and the street. Sherman Cromwell really was loved, and that makes this case so much more difficult to solve. Yes, every business partner stood to get money, but he was already giving them money. The will essentially changes nothing. If anything, Mr. Cromwell’s death made things worse because there would be no more money after the will. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that yesterday when I was talking to Quentin. The only way anyone would benefit from the money that came with the will was if Sherman Cromwell decided to stop investing in that person’s business.

  “That’s it,” I say.

  “What’s it?” Cam asks as he finally manages to find a place to park.

  “The killer has to be someone who Sherman Cromwell planned to stop working with.”

  Cam’s eyes widen. “Because they weren’t going to get any more money out of him. But if they knew about the will, they’d know they were getting a final check when Sherman died.”

  “Right. Who was Sherman Cromwell severing contacts with, who also would know the contents of the will? If we find that out, we find out who the killer is.” I grab my phone. “I have to call Quentin.” I dial his number and rattle off my theory the second he answers.

  “That actually makes a lot of sense, Jo. Good work. I’m about two minutes away. I’ll meet you inside, and we’ll start questioning people.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait for you,” I say before hanging up.

  Cam gives me a look I can’t place before getting out of the car. I know he hates Quentin, but he has to understand why I’m working with him. This is my best chance of getting my life back to normal. “Are we waiting out here or going inside?” Cam asks as we walk up the long driveway to the door.

  “Going in. It’s too chilly to wait out here.” I’m not one for cold weather at all. It’s been a mild February so far, but there’s a bite in the air today.

  The sign on the front door prompts us to go inside without ringing the bell. I’m sure with people coming and going all day, they don’t want to be bothered having to let people in. The place is literally swarming with people. There doesn’t seem to be one central location to gather either, I guess because there’s no urn. The entryway has an easel with a portrait of Sherman Cromwell surrounded by a giant wreath of red roses, which I’m sure came from Bouquets of Love. On a table to the left of the portrait is a guest book to sign. I sign my name and hand the pen to Cam.

  “Oh, Jo, you’re here.” Mom rushes over to me and gives me a hug.

  “I wasn’t sure I’d run into you two,” I say, releasing Mom and giving Dad a hug as well. “Who’s running Time for Coffee?”

  “We hired a new manager. She’s fantastic. Your father and I have been able to take actual lunch breaks and everything.” Mom smiles.

  “That’s great.”

  “Hello, Cam. It’s always good to see you,” Mom says, giving him a hug, too.

  “Hello, Mrs. Coffee. Mr. Coffee.” He shakes Dad’s hand.

  “Thank you for taking care of our Jo. Mo tells us you’ve been by her side since the start of this unpleasantness.” Mom places a hand to her chest.

  “Of course. I’d do anything for Jo.” He meets my gaze for a moment before turning back to Mom and Dad.

  The door opens behind us, and Quentin walks in. Immediately, the temperature in the room drops several degrees. Not because Quentin let the cold air in but because Mom and Dad hate Quentin for hurting me.

  Quentin immediately looks down and scribbles his name in the guest book.

  “Come on, Jo,” Mom says, taking me by the arm. “Let’s go anywhere else.”

  “Actually, I have to talk to Quentin.” I remove my arm from Mom’s.

  “You most certainly do not have to talk to that…man.” I can tell it was a struggle for her to call him “man” and not some other choice word.

  “I do because I’m helping him with this case.”

  Mom’s eyes widen in disbelief.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Coffee, why don’t we go find Mrs. Cromwell and pay our condolences?” Cam says, gesturing toward the kitchen.

  Dad looks more than a little reluctant to leave me with Quentin, who is still hanging back at the guest book and causing a line to form behind him. The coward.

  I mouth “thank you” to Cam and then walk over to Quentin. “Would you get in here? You’re acting like a child.”

  “Did you see the look your parents gave me? If either was armed, I’m sure they would have shot me on the spot.”

  “I don’t doubt they would have,” I say, only partially joking. “We have work to do, so let’s do it.”

  He looks around the living room at the crowd of people, and for the first time, I realize Samantha isn’t here.

  “Where’s Sam?”

  “I told her to stay away from here.”

  “Don’t you think that makes her look guilty? And I know the floral arrangements were provided by her flower shop, so why not let her come?”

  He takes me by my elbow and pulls me to a secluded corner. “You know as well as I do that if anyone questioned her, they’d make her out to look bad, and she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.”

  I shake his hand off my arm. “I know for a fact that you’d be glued to her side, so I don’t see that happening.”

  “I can’t do my job and watch out for her at the same time.”

  “Got it. I’ll be sure to watch out for myself then, since it’s clear I can’t count on your support.”

  “You can count on my support,” Cam says from behind me.

  I turn to face him. “Where are my parents?”

  “With Mo. She was in the kitchen. She told me she’s got it under control so I can come help you.”

  “I didn’t agree to working with him,” Quentin says, his gaze only flitting to Cam for a second. “He’s as bad as your parents.”

  “Too bad. If you want my help, you get Cam, too. We’re a package deal.”

  “Believe me. I’m well aware of that fact. It’s always been that way with you two.”

  “And it’s never going to change,” Cam says, wrapping one arm around my waist. His words are screaming, “We’re friends for life,” but his gesture seems more intimate. I wonder if he knows he’s giving me mixed signals.

  I spot Elena Reede pushing Mary Ellen in her wheelchair. “There’s Elena and Mary Ellen,” I say. “Let’s start with them.” I maneuver through the crowd to the other side of the living room. “Mary Ellen, it’s so nice to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “Yes, me too, dear.” She brings the tissue clutched in her right hand to her eye.

  “Detective Perry, I’m glad you’re here,” Elena says. “I was planning to call you later today. We found Mother’s new bottle of fish oil. It was in the drawer of her nightstand. It turns out the empty bottle was the old bottle Mother had finished. One of the guests admitted to seeing it i
n the garbage can and put it on the drink tray in the dining room where she’d seen the cook put the recycling the day before. It was a simple mix-up.”

  “Then your mother wasn’t missing any fish oil capsules,” I say.

  “No. They’re all accounted for. Harper even remembered that she went into the nightstand drawer to get a fresh pillowcase for Mother’s bed. She said she must have knocked the pills into the drawer without noticing it.”

  “I’m happy to hear it all worked out,” I say. “If you’ll excuse us.” I turn and dip my head, motioning for Quentin and Cam to follow. Once we’re out of earshot, I say, “Between that and the fact that Alec Whitaker had already left town before Mr. Cromwell was killed, I’d say we can cross him off our list of suspects.”

  “Elena has an alibi as well. Several guests and workers confirmed she was at the B&B all day on Monday,” Quentin says.

  “That’s two names off the list.”

  “Four,” Quentin corrects me. “We know it’s not you or Sam either.”

  I nod. “Okay, four names. Who else is here?”

  “Am I still a suspect?” Gabe Cromwell asks, approaching us with a drink. He laughs, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

  It’s clear he plans to make a spectacle, so I say, “Gabe, why don’t we go get you another drink and talk in private?”

  He smiles, and not a friendly smile. It’s predatory. “Sure, I’ll go somewhere private with you.”

  Cam steps between us and shoves Gabe back. “You’re not going near her.”

  “Cam, don’t,” Quentin says. “I wouldn’t put it past this guy to press charges for assault.”

  Great. Way to put the idea in Gabe’s head, Quentin!

  “Cam tripped over my shoe,” I lie. “He fell into Gabe. No harm intended.”

  Gabe stares at me and then Cam, clearly having no idea what happened because he’s too drunk to make sense of it.

  “How about that drink, Gabe?” I ask.

  He points at me. “I saw the will. Why did my dad give you money? Were you sleeping with him?”

  Gwendolyn Cromwell chooses that moment to make her appearance in the room, and her eyes are pinned on me. “I’d like to hear the answer to that question as well, Ms. Coffee.”