She gave Gambit one last awkward pat on his head, and she was out of the shop. My heart hammered in my chest for a while after that.
Every new customer startled me out of a daze. My head spun with questions. Was Robin being honest? Or was it all an act? Maybe she somehow knew Felicia and I were friends, and she was trying to send me, but really Felicia, off on a wild goose chase.
It had to be her or Scott, I thought. Either individually or together, they had something to do with this. I was convinced—or at least that’s what I told myself for a little while.
22
“Are you okay?” Sarah waved her hand in front of my face.
“I’m all right. Why?”
“Because you look out of it. In fact, you’ve been out of it all day. You messed up two drinks, rung up the wrong order for Karen—Karen, the Karen. She hasn’t had anything other triple cappuccino with light foam since the day I started. I could probably go on.”
“Please don’t,” I begged.
“I thought you’d be happy. They caught the killer. That’s good news, right?”
“I’m not really sure,” I said, definitely unsure. I’d texted with Felicia throughout the day, or rather, I had sent her texts. She still hadn’t responded to a one of them.
Today 10:15 AM
Robin Snider didn’t happen to show up there, did she?
Today 10:32 AM
Cause she came by here…
Today 11:48 AM
Did you find anything out about the fingerprint?
What about my theory? Do you think they worked together?
Today 12:12 PM
Sorry if I’m bothering you…
Today 12:15 PM
But seriously, what’s going on? Anything?
“I think you need to take the rest of the night off,” Sarah said. “I can clean up around here before the big, uh, get together—what do you call it again? Just a game? Dungeons and Dragons, right? That’s what they play on that show on Netflix.”
“Stranger Things, yeah.” I nodded. “It’s just a game of D&D. Not a big deal.”
I thought about calling it off in light of the turnaround in the case. But to everyone else involved, the turnaround would probably be deemed a good thing. It was just that Robin Snider’s words were eating away at me.
“You’ve worked more than your fair share this week,” I told Sarah. “It’s not right. I know. I’ve been meaning to post a job online. I really don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave.”
“About that,” she said.
“About what?”
She leaned back up against the counter. “I don’t think I’m going back to school.”
“No,” I shook my head emphatically, “you can’t quit school to be an assistant manager at a coffee shop. That’s beyond ridiculous.”
She laughed. “That’s not why I’m quitting school. I mean, yeah, I’ll continue working here. But I realized that I don’t need a degree to write plays. I can just write plays. In fact, not only plays. I’ve got ideas for novels, a TV sitcom, a bunch of things. I’d even like to try my hand at a comic book script. And with schoolwork, the ideas just stagnate. I never have time to work on them. But when I’m here…”
Sarah rested her hand on a spiral notebook behind her.
“You’re sure you really want to stay here and do that?”
“Why not? It’s the perfect place to write. I don’t have to wait tables in LA to set my script under some producer’s coffee. They have email. Anyway, I have to write it all down first. No use trying to skip a step.”
“Right.” I nodded. “Well, if that’s how you feel, then the job’s yours. Title and all.”
“Assistant manager?” she asked for confirmation.
“Assistant manager,” I confirmed, laughing. “But I’m not sure you can fit it on that name tag.” It still read “ask me about Captain Marvel” above her name.
Above Sarah’s head was the display shelf with figures and toys. It reminded me of something, and I reached out above her head. She ducked coolly away.
“What’s that for?”
I set the Captain America statue on the counter beside the espresso machine.
“It’s for Corey—if he shows up tonight with Marc. I think he deserves this. You know, after everything.”
“You think Ryan would be okay with that?”
I shrugged. “Maybe not. But if Ryan wants me to continue selling comics then I have to do it my way.”
“Fair enough.” She smiled.
Today 5:16 PM
Still waiting…
Today 6:20 PM
Felicia Strong
Wow… I thought you were dating that girl from last night. Haven’t seen so many texts since I dumped Bud Miller in high school.
Really, I’m sorry. I left my personal cell in the car this morning. It’s been quite the day. You have my other number, you know?
Oh, so is it my turn to be ignored?
Today 6:26 PM
Felicia Strong
Kirby?
Today 6:30 PM
Felicia Strong
To answer your questions, yes Robin came in this morning (with her lawyer). She “corrected” her previous statements. And Scott withdrew his confession. That’s all I can say for now. I’ll stop by later - if I’m allowed? You got another big date lined up? ;)
Gambit needed a walk, so we headed to the park. He was a little less resistant this time. We got to the fenced in area, and I threw a tennis ball for him to chase. Being late afternoon on a hot summer day, we were the only two around.
I kept tapping the phone’s home button, checking for missed messages. In fact, I’d been doing so all day. The battery had drained down to almost nothing. Then finally on the way back to the shop, it died completely.
“Figures,” I said, stowing it in my back pocket. “She’ll probably text back any minute.”
Gambit tilted his head in reply.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled. “I don’t even think it’s weird anymore either.”
“You don’t think what’s weird?” Sarah was just making her way out of the shop.
“Talking to him.” I pointed to the dachshund.
“Of course it’s not.” Sarah’s voice took on the high pitched tone of speaking to a child. She bent down to pet him. “Talking to animals is an age old tradition. It’s when someone thinks they talk back… That’s where there’s a problem.”
“Agreed,” I said, grinning. I led Gambit on past the door and towards the Golf.
“Wait, you aren’t going in?” she asked. But she pulled her keys to the store out.
“Nah, we’re eating dinner with Memaw tonight. The usual Friday. I’ll be back with plenty of time before the guys get here.”
“Have fun.” She grinned and locked up.
“Wait!” I stopped her. “You don’t want to join us, do you?” I felt guilty for not thinking to ask her before.
“Oh, no. Definitely not. Comics I can do. I don’t think I’m ready for role playing games.”
“Suit yourself,” I said. But I couldn’t blame her. It’d been years since I’d played, and I was afraid I might have forgotten how to enjoy myself.
I just had to keep reminding myself it was a game and meant to be fun. What could possibly go wrong?
23
The lights were turned down. It was about quarter till nine. I expected the other guys to show up any minute. The shop had that late night coffee shop feel—like there could be an open mic night.
In fact, that was a pretty good idea. I put that on my ever-growing list of things to do.
Tonight, however, wasn’t about poetry or songs. It was to honor Ryan—to honor him in a way he’d like to be honored.
Gambit curled up in his dog bed, still exhausted from our play at the park earlier. He was a sort of dungeon master in his own regard. Funny how I’d only truly gotten to know him after Ryan’s death. Now he was as much a part of my life as Ryan had been—maybe even a bett
er friend.
I had a couple lattes ready. One for me, one for Damian. My plan was win him over with a new drink—granted, almost any latte is better than plain black coffee. I knew Tim and Marc would probably opt for beer—you can’t change some habits.
Tim rushed through the door excitedly, followed by Damian, who carried most of the supplies. It was only a little disappointing that neither dressed the part. Tim wore the same blue shirt while Damian was wearing something from Game of Thrones. Tyrion Lannister’s quote: That’s what I do. I drink, and I know things.
But Damian definitely wasn’t of age. He was drinking a latte along with me. I handed it to him, and while his expression wasn’t really a warm one, there were no longer eye daggers being propelled in my direction.
Marc arrived. I half expected or maybe hoped Corey would tag along. But Marc was alone. He held a six pack aloft for Tim’s approval.
“The good stuff,” Tim acknowledged.
We gathered around the booth, ready to play D&D. Miniatures and character sheets were laid out on the table. The twenty-sided die sat at the table’s center.
The campaign was underway.
During it, Tim disallowed breaking character. He was worse than Ryan as a strict dungeon master. He was into it. He’d even written a ghost of Ryan’s character into the plot. We all approved. It seemed Ryan would live on in multiple ways.
We took a break halfway through the campaign for the bathroom and more coffee. I thought it was a good time to check my phone and see if Felicia ever texted me back. I patted down my front pockets but nothing was there. Then I scoured the countertops and tables. Nothing.
“Crap,” I whispered. I’d left it charging at Memaw’s. Now I’d be anxious for the rest of the game. Hell, the rest of the night. I couldn’t barge into Memaw’s house at this hour.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” Damian said. He didn’t even seem to have been put up to it by his father. The words were genuine.
“No problem. I understand.”
“I’m just glad they caught the guy. Why d’ya think he did it?”
“It’s complicated,” I answered, realizing it wasn’t an answer at all. “Jealousy, maybe. He saw Ryan with his ex and he just snapped.”
“People do go pretty crazy about girls,” Damian agreed. “Don’t know why he’d kill her then. To cover it up?”
I nodded. His guess was as good as mine. But Robin’s words rang in the back of my mind.
“I know,” Marc strode over, “it’s unimaginable. Who would shoot Jill in cold blood like that?” Marc shook his head disapprovingly.
And oddly enough, my eyes caught on an issue of Ultimate Spider-Man in the display case as my spidey senses tingled. Felicia hadn’t even told me how Jill died. So how does Marc know?
“Terrible, terrible world we live in,” Tim said. “Let’s talk about something else. Something good. How’s the repairs on that boat coming along? When are you setting sail?”
“It’s going,” Marc said. He looked at me, understanding I wasn’t tracking the conversation. “I bought Corey’s sailboat the other day. He gave me a great deal. I showed it to them the other night at the wake.”
“But you’ve been living in it for what, a month now?” Tim asked.
“Right,” Marc looked at me again. “I just moved it from the slip at Corey’s house. I felt like I was imposing. The plan is to sail around the Caribbean for a while. Get my mind right after all this mess.”
Or to get away.
It was all starting to make sense. Too much sense.
“If I had the resources,” Tim said, “I’d probably do the same.”
“Sure you would,” Damian interjected snidely.
“What? I would.”
“Dad, you haven’t been to the beach in five years. You really think you’d go sailing?”
“Well, I might.” Tim huffed. “You guys get what I mean, right? I just don’t have the resources you do, Marc.”
“We get it.” I nodded.
“All right, well, let’s finish up here.” Tim went back to his notes.
“Actually, Dad, I’m getting a little tired. You think we can continue next week?”
“I’m okay with it if Kirby is. I was thinking this might be a one time thing?”
All eyes went on me—including Marc’s. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead. A feeling of unease washed over my entire being.
“Yeah, I’d love to play again,” I answered. “I’m happy if we keep this tradition going.”
“You are?” Marc asked, surprised.
“Of course,” I said. “Anything to keep Ryan’s memory alive.”
This time I noticed it—the slight wince he made at the sound of Ryan’s name. How had I missed that before?
“Sounds good.” Tim began to clean things up. I did the same. Now wasn’t the time to play hero. I couldn’t let on that I knew anything. I would usher him out with the other two, and then go from there.
I’d seen enough episodes of Castle to understand never to put myself alone with the killer. Each episode needed a climax. But for me, a simple text to Felicia would suffice. A text… If only I actually had my phone to send one.
The shop’s landline would do. I still had her card in my wallet. I’d call her on her detective line—it was official police business after all.
I set the coffee cups down in the sink, emptied the beer bottles and put them in the trash. After Tim gathered up the figures and his notebook filled with both attached and loose paper, I walked with them to the door in a gaggle. I wanted all three to be out the door so I could lock up as swiftly as I was able.
Luckily, Marc wasn’t dragging his feet. He wasn’t trying to stay back—otherwise, I didn’t know what I would do to dissuade the others from leaving.
“Y’all have a good night,” I waved to them from the door.
I turned the lock and relief washed over me.
I made it behind the counter, pulled out my wallet and Felicia’s card, and searched for cordless receiver of the landline.
Where did Sarah have it last?
Her apron was hanging on the hook behind the wall. I felt inside the pocket and found the phone. A low growl pierced the silence of the store and the bell on the door jingled softly.
I poked my head around the wall and found myself staring into the barrel of a 9mm pistol—the same pistol I had used to qualify as a marksman in the Air Force.
“Put the phone down, Kirby,” Marc said in a hollow tone.
I put the phone down on the counter, right next to something else of value—something I’d forgotten about that afternoon.
Gambit had moved from growl to bark. He could feel the tension in the situation.
“Gambit,” I called, grabbed the object, and raced for the back room. The dog scampered after me. But cold and calculating Marc made no such effort.
He gave me the time to scoop Gambit up and lock him in the office by himself. I slammed the door with emphasis.
“There’s nowhere to hide back there,” Marc said. “I’ll make it quick.”
“Who are you framing this time?” I asked while attempting not to give away my position. I managed to wedge myself at an angle he’d only see when entering the hallway. And even then, I hoped his eyes were on the office door.
“Oh, this one will be self-inflicted. That’s why I’m not chasing after you like a madman.”
But you are a madman!
I slowed my breathing. Marc’s was a loud hiss through his nose as he crept behind the counter toward the office. I saw the gun before I saw him. It was trained on the closed office door.
“Be a man, Kirby. Come out and face me!”
I didn’t reply. I tried not to make a sound. I still needed him to move forward by about two feet.
“You want to know where you were wrong?” He spoke loudly at the door. “You thought only Corey and Ryan had crushes on Jill in high school. She was the prom queen, for God’s sake. Everyone loved Jill. And she loved me.
Or she did for a while.”
I knew I couldn’t just stand there any longer. Sooner or later, he’d turn. Or worse, he’d shoot the gun into the office with Gambit. I took the chance, brought the statue of Captain America up high, and struck the back of Marc’s head just as he had done to Ryan with that rock.
I don’t know what I expected—I wasn’t striking to kill. And it turned out I didn’t use enough force to knock him out either.
But what I did was enough. It knocked him to the ground, and the gun clattered to the floor, sliding toward the staircase to my apartment.
“You asshole,” he said as I pounced on top of him. He struggled, reaching for the gun, but only a second passed before we heard them.
The sound of sirens just outside the building.
“You already called them?” he asked me, still crawling toward the gun.
“No, I did.” We both turned to see Felicia standing behind the counter, her gun pointed down at both of us. “Kirby, why don’t you come wait behind me.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I scooted toward her like a crab, managing to keep the line of sight between her and Marc clear. And to Marc’s credit, he didn’t make another move. Nor did he speak another word after Felicia read him his Miranda rights.
Moments later, the store was again flooded with uniformed police officers. But this time, the true culprit was taken in the back of Felicia’s Impala.
24
“Oh my goodness. Kirby Jackson, you could’ve been killed,” Memaw scolded. “My heart can’t take another scare like that.”
“What do you even mean?” I asked. “I’m telling you about it after the fact. It’s not like you were there or I’m in mortal peril this minute.”
“But just the thought of you with a gun pointed in your direction.” She put her hand over her heart. “See, my heart’s just-a-racing.”
Marvels, Mochas, and Murder Page 11