killer coffee 04 - cold blooded brew

by Tonya Kappes

  It would have been very picturesque. What was left of the various-colored daffodils that popped out around the park were entwined with red and white roses and the Kentucky wild flowers that bloomed with vibrancy this time of the year.

  I jerked my eyes away after I pictured Patrick and me standing up there. I was a little surprised at my own imagination, since I’d yet to think about what the wedding would look like. It was one of those things where I’d already been there and done that, so I didn’t see the hurry. It didn’t mean I wasn’t completely head over heels in love with Patrick. Oh, I was. I’d loved him since the day I saw him hammering away at Aunt Maxi’s when we were children. It was hard to explain, and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to hold him off much longer without setting a date.

  I put that in the back of my head and noticed the banners hanging from the carriage lights that dotted downtown had the banners had been switched out to the Lake Honey Springs logo with the boat and lake. The beautification committee took great pride in switching those out for the festivals and the seasons. It was just another added touch that made Honey Springs a very cozy small town that we all loved.

  The first building on Main Street was the Honey Springs Church. I couldn’t stop the memories of how Patrick and I used to slip out the back door before Sunday school would start. We weren’t doing anything bad, just acting like two teenagers who like to spend time down on the shore of Lake Honey Springs. Aunt Maxi said that if I didn’t watch it, I was gonna lose my religion on that lake. I didn’t know what she meant at the time.

  On either side of the church were the firehouse and sheriff’s department, where I’d gone to see Shepard earlier. Across the street from that was the Moose Lodge. All of these were right before the big circle in the middle, which was Central Park.

  Along Main Street were the Brandt’s Fill ’er Up; Klessinger Realty, where Mama’s office was; the courthouse and city hall; Donald’s Barber Shop; a medical building; and the local community college, which was where the library was located.

  It turned out to be a beautiful day for a late-afternoon bike ride, and the fresh air did me some good.

  “Hi, Ursula,” I greeted the secretary that Mama and the other realtors used. She sat at the desk with her cat-eye glasses pushed clear up on the bridge of her nose. Her beady green eyes seemed to snap at me. Her hair was pinned to her head in close curls. She looked as if she were stuck in the fifties and should be home in the kitchen making a pot roast for supper.

  “Roxy.” She appeared to have forced her lips into a tight smile. “Penny is in the courtyard.”

  “Good.” I set the Bean Hive to-go bag on her desk. “That means you can eat these all by yourself.”

  “Quiche?” Ursula’s smile turned into a genuine grin.

  “Bacon and spinach. Your favorite.” I clearly remembered how Mama had taken some of my extra quiche to the office then told me that Ursula had loved them.

  “You are a dear.” Her shoulders lifted to her ears in delight.

  I left another satisfied customer, one who was very hard to please, happy and smiling as I made my way down the hall toward the back door. Each of the businesses had its own fenced-in courtyard. Some were fancier than others, but the real estate offices had a retractable awning on the back as well as some nice patio furniture. They liked to work outside when they could, even hosting events once a month for customers who had purchased a house in that month.

  I looked out the window of the door before I pushed it open. Mama was pacing in the far-right corner of the fence. Her lips were moving a mile a minute, and she continued to put her fingers in her mouth. No doubt she was chewing on her nails because that was what she did when she was stressed.

  “Hey, Mama,” I called. Her head jerked up. She waved me over. “Are you okay?” I asked as I handed her a bag of mini-quiche. “I’d like to say these might help, but you look frazzled.”

  “Is that what you call it?” She chewed on the edge of her lip. “I’m more than frazzled. I’m just… just…” She shook her head and put her finger back in her mouth.

  “Stop that.” I tried to pull her arm down. “What’s wrong?”

  She stopped pacing in front of me and looked around, twisting her body to look over the privacy fence around the courtyard.

  “You aren’t going to believe it.” She looked me square in the eye. “Someone over at the bank is slicker than a boiled onion.” She tugged me closer. She whispered, “My client. The one I was telling you about.”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Well, I told you she was moving, and she needed to sell her house. It’s a cute house. Little.” She waved her hand around. “Maybe one hundred and ten thousand dollars, at the most. And it’s behind the courthouse. Not even on Lake Honey Springs or nothing. Well”—there was a glint of worry in Mama’s eyes—“she hired me to sell it, only she ain’t got a clear deed.”

  “You mean she has a second mortgage?” I asked.

  “That she didn’t take out. When I called the mortgage company, they told me that they haven’t gotten the payoff for the house. I told them that I sold it about nine months ago. Plenty of time to get the check from the closing company to them.”

  “Mama, that’s impossible.” I knew as a lawyer that these things rarely happened.

  “No, it’s not. There was a lien put on the house from Cane Contractors. When I called Patrick about it, he wouldn’t talk to me.” Her words shocked me.

  “He’s not said a word to me.” I wondered if that was what all the meetings he’d been going to were about. He’d seemed very preoccupied—not that a house of that size would put his company under.

  “The loan company won’t help me, either. They said they’d get back to me. In the meantime, I’ve got an upset client. And I think something fishy went on with the bank.” The lines between her eyes deepened.

  “What can I do?” I asked, knowing this was what she wanted me to look into.

  “I want you to use them God-given brains and the money I paid to get you through law school to get this mess straightened out.” She pointed at her chest. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a mix-up. Maybe an oversight in paperwork. A check got put into a different account by accident. Something.”

  As I gave her a voice of reason, she seemed to calm down a little. “And you’ll talk to Patrick?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I have to go to the bank today to talk to Evan Rich. Poor Emily’s business isn’t doing so well, and she had to close.” My tormented feelings started to creep in. “I feel somewhat responsible, since I practically talked him into letting her open the Bee’s Knees Bakery.”

  “Sometimes young people are just not mature enough. They see money coming in, and they spend it. Maybe she didn’t put the profits back into the business.”

  Mama was right. “That’s what I’m afraid of, and I want to help her get out of the business without having debts to pay.” I reached out and put my hand on Mama’s arm. “While I’m there, I see if he can pull up the initial loan for your client.”

  “That’d be great.” Mama took off toward the building. “I need to get you the paperwork with the original loan number and what the bank lending mortgage deed was going to be.”

  “Sounds good.” I followed her. “After that, I’m going to run some treats over to Patrick’s house. He’s babysitting Timmy for Debbie today.”

  “He’s not working?” Mama asked, opening the door to her office.

  Mama’s cute glass-top desk sat in front of a big window, surrounded by shiplap walls. The built-in bookcases were on one wall, and she had a little snack counter with a mini fridge on the opposite wall. She’d decorated it in a super-cozy style with a big brown leather couch laiden with fuzzy pillows. A brown rug covered the majority of the hardwood floor, and a glass coffee table sat in front of the couch.

  “I guess he took the day off because Debbie is in a little bit of a pickle,” I said, r
eally wondering what kind of pickle she was in.

  “Here you go.” Mama handed me the file. “This is a copy. It has my client’s name and address, all the information the bank should need to pull up the documents. I’ll come by your place later tonight.”

  “I won’t be home. I’ve got to go to the Southern Women’s Club, but I can call you after that,” I said.

  Ursula wasn’t at her desk on my way out, so I jotted down a quick note to leave for her. It said that I hoped she’d enjoyed the quiche, and it was nice to see her. I tried to go that little extra mile to make sure customers were happy. Not that she was a customer today, but she’d come to the coffeehouse before, and I’d found that the little extras were what meant the most to people.

  I hopped on my bike and headed the other direction toward the courthouse and past the medical building to where the Honey Springs National Bank was located. It was the most modern structure in Honey Springs, but that wasn’t saying much.

  No matter where you were in the bank, you could hear what everyone was saying even at a whisper due to the concrete floors and openness of the space. There were two large glass offices on the right and a teller line straight ahead. The office that had a sign that said Loan Officer belonged to Evan Rich, who was Emily’s dad and the main reason I was there.

  When I noticed he wasn’t in the office, I looked into the office next to his with the President sign on the closed door. Since it, too, was glass, I could see Evan in there with the man who was the bank’s president.

  Before I sat down in the fake-leather seat between the offices, I read the name plate on the president’s door.

  Mr. Canter. I blinked and blinked again.

  “Mr. Canter as in Hillary?” I asked myself as I looked into the glass office. I squinted when I noticed some photos on the credenza behind him, but I couldn’t make out who was in them.

  Quickly, I headed up to the teller’s window.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I never know which color to choose.” I fingered the bowl of tiny suckers on the counter. “But I think root beer is always a good choice.” I grabbed one with brown barrels on it.

  “No one ever picks the root beer.” She looked as if she smelled something terrible.

  “Lucky me.” I plucked the paper off and stuck the round ball of candy in my mouth. “Do you know how long Mr. Rich is going to be?” I asked, letting the sucker stick jerk up and down between my lips. I thought I was playing it casual.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know if you know Mr. Canter, but his niece was brutally murdered, and I’m sure he’s giving the reins over to Mr. Rich for a couple of weeks. They’ve been in there all morning.” The girl behind the counter sighed.

  “Brutally murdered?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. On the boardwalk.” Her chin slowly went up then down. “I don’t care how much they try to fix up that boardwalk, I told my friends that you never know who comes to Honey Springs during the tourist season. It could’ve been a serial killer.”

  “Or a disgruntled bank employee getting back at the president,” I suggested, making her draw back in sheer fright.

  “Roxy? Is that you?” My name echoed through the building.

  “Mr. Rich.” I tried to stay focused on him on my way over, but I couldn’t help but zero in on Mr. Canter, who was standing with his back to the bank, looking out the window. “I wanted to talk to you about Emily and the Bee’s Knees.”

  “Come on in.” He shut the door behind me after I walked in. “Here is probably not the place to talk about it.”

  “I feel a little responsible since she’s just a nineteen-year-old girl. She’s an amazing pastry chef, but that doesn’t mean she’s a good business woman. I really should’ve continued to mentor her.” I found myself looking at him to tell me it was okay. “I understand she wasn’t paying her loan. I feel awful. It’s about more than the baking or brewing coffee. There’s the business side.”

  “I’m sorry, Roxy. The truth is that the bank had to call her loan back.” He looked down at his hands. “I, too, may be out of a job because I’m not sure the bank itself is going to survive.”

  “This bank?” I questioned. My entire life savings was riding on this bank.

  “It’s in the early stages. But we’ve overextended our loans.” There were sweat beads on his bald head.

  “Does this have to do with mortgages?” Suddenly, the caring-about-his-daughter part of my brain switched to the lawyer side of my brain. “Because one of my mama’s clients—” I started to say before I was interrupted.

  “Evan, I need you in my office.” Mr. Canter didn’t bother knocking before he interrupted us. I could definitely see where Hillary had gotten her manners.

  “I’m sorry. We’ll have to talk later.” Mr. Rich jumped up out of his chair and headed toward the door. “Did the trustees call a meeting?”

  “Yes. We need to get—” was all I heard from Mr. Canter’s mouth before he slammed his door shut.

  “You know, I thought I recognized you.” The teller called me back over. “I’ve been in your shop after work. You’re usually running out the door, and the afternoon girls are there, but I do love your specialty brews.”

  “Thank you.” I wished I had more treats with me. “Why don’t you come down to the shop after you get off work, and I’ll have them give you one for free.”

  “You’d do that?” she asked.

  “Of course I would. I don’t want you to keep thinking the boardwalk is dangerous, because it’s really not.” I smiled.

  “It was your shop where Mr. Canter’s niece was found, right?” she asked with wide eyes, which I could tell was a smoke screen.

  If she wanted information, I would give it to her, but I also wanted information. “She was. Do you think it has anything to do with what’s going on here?” I asked.

  “No.” She dragged her chin from left to right. “I’d heard they fired that girl from the mortgage company. She was depositing the checks into a personal account.”

  “You mean she was depositing mortgage-closing checks that were supposed to go to the mortgage company into someone’s personal account?” I questioned.

  “That’s what I assume happened.” She looked around and leaned far over the teller counter. “There has to be someone who works at the bank that helped her.”

  “Huh?” I wasn’t following.

  “Think about it. How else did she get a check deposited into our bank if she couldn’t sign for it? It had to be someone on the inside who let it go through.” Her eyebrows rose. “The sheriff’s department has been on it all day. Even the newspaper lady came in here.” She looked off into the distance. “Strange little old woman.”

  Without having to ask, I knew she meant Aunt Maxi. “If you give you a name and some documents, do you think you could check on your little computer to see if her home mortgage has been affected by this recent turn of banking events?”

  Her face clouded with uneasiness.

  “Listen, I’m her attorney.” I was getting really good at this lying stuff. “She is going to go bankrupt because of this. Can you just put yourself in her shoes for a second?”

  Biting her lip, she looked away.

  “Please?” I was not above begging.

  There was a pensive shimmer in the shadow of her eyes. “Give it to me.”

  “Great.” I pulled the file out of my messenger bag and handed her the document Mama had prepared with the client’s information on it for quick reference. “That’s her name, social security number, and loan number.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She typed away with her eyes glued to the screen. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat and started to write something on a piece of paper. She slid the paper across the counter. “That’s your beginning balance and what you’ve got as of today in your checking, Ms. Bloom.”

  I looked down. She’d scribbled that the loan was taken out by the builder of Mama’s client’s house. The client’s check to the mortgage company, Bank
Lending Mortgage, was deposited into JJ Builder’s bank account.

  JJ Builder’s was the contractor who’d built Mama’s client’s house. I clearly remembered seeing the name in the file.

  “Excuse me.” Her eyes grazed the top of my shoulder. “Can I help you?” she asked the customer behind me.

  “You might want to withdraw your money,” I muttered to the customer on my way out. I thought about taking my own advice.

  The afternoon was quickly dwindling away. On my bike ride back to the coffeehouse, I couldn’t even enjoy the warmth of the fresh breeze because my mind was so jumbled with what might be going on at the bank—or even with the big mortgage company.

  When Pepper and I got back to the coffeehouse, the younger school crowd was already there. Not all the dog treats I made had been taken, so I decided to take them to Morgan.

  I told the afternoon staff goodnight and handed them the checklist to do before they left—simple things such as refilling all the condiments, cleaning all the tables and floors, and refilling the coffeepots so I just had to flip them on in the morning.

  Pepper and I headed down to Walk in the Bark with the fur treats in hand.

  “Hi, there,” I greeted Morgan when I walked into her shop. “It’s getting busy out there.”

  The boats were trolling in a single-file line in Lake Honey Springs, and the boardwalk had a lot of foot traffic.

  “Yes. So many boaters coming early this year.” Morgan was using the hand-tagger to tag new pieces of clothing. “I talked to Spencer after you left. I told him what I’d heard, and he took down a statement. I sure hope it helped.”

  Pepper ran toward her with his tail wagging. She bent down and picked him up to give him some kisses before I clipped his leash back on him.

  “Anything, no matter how big or small, will help.” My mind wasn’t on the murder. It was on the bank. “Do you own your shop or lease it?”