Death Before Decaf

by Caroline Fardig

  “That’s unfortunate. And it could be seen as a motive.”

  “Exactly. So I decided to talk to a few people, and do a little poking around—”

  “Wait, wait. You’re telling me that you decided you should investigate a murder, like some amateur sleuth?” For some reason, Ryder thought this was awfully humorous.

  I sat up in the bed and huffed, “Someone had to do something.”

  “If you were worried about going to jail, why didn’t you hire a lawyer like a normal person?”

  “Look around!” I cried. “I don’t have enough money to buy a freaking nightstand, much less retain a lawyer!”

  He conceded, “I can see where that would force you to make certain choices. Go on. I’ll be quiet.” Running a hand up my back, he grasped my shoulder, guiding me down onto the bed beside him. He shifted onto his side, watching me intently as I spoke.

  “Good. The first thing I did was make Pete take Dave’s wife out for a drink.” Ryder raised his eyebrows. I continued, “Don’t ask. He was able to find out that Dave had had run-ins with a few seedy characters lately, so we started there. One guy we found had an alibi that Dave’s sister confirmed. We tracked another one down at The Dirty Duck, and that was Johnny. Then we went over and snooped around in his motel room. He caught us, and I’m sure it made him a little angry that Pete slugged him when he tried to rough me up. I assume that’s why he came back after me.”

  “Pete slugged Johnny?”

  “That’s your takeaway from the story I just told you?”

  He shrugged. “Your boyfriend Pete isn’t exactly the toughest guy in town, you know.”

  I glared at him and scooted away, only my bed was too small for me to be out of his reach.

  “Sorry, but you know it’s true,” he said, wrapping both arms around my waist and pulling me back toward him. “So did you piss off any other delinquents?”

  Returning my head to its place on his shoulder, I said, “We couldn’t find the last one, who unfortunately seems to be the most likely suspect. We hit a wall. And besides, I got sidetracked with busting a dangerous impostor.”

  His fingers rubbing smooth circles on my arm, he said, “Since I put such a cramp in your day, Scooby-Doo, let me help you track down the other guy. Who is he?”

  I had promised Pete that I would stay out of it, but with Ryder’s help, doing a little investigating wouldn’t be dangerous at all. Probably. “He’s Dave’s bookie, Ron Hatcher. Dave’s wife said he was always harassing Dave for money.”

  “That’s generally what bookies do.”

  “And last week at Java Jive, Pete overheard him telling Dave he was going to kill him.”

  Ryder seemed unimpressed. “Bookies sometimes do that, too. Did he hear anything else?”

  “Yeah, something about a deal blowing up in Dave’s face. And if he went back to jail, then Ron would be SOL for some reason.”

  He nodded absently. “Sounds like they had something illegal going on. I’ll find Hatcher, and we can talk to him later today.”

  I smiled, excited that I was going to get a little professional help with my snooping. “Thanks. That would be great.” I kissed his cheek, but he didn’t react. Staring at the ceiling with his jaw clenched, he seemed lost in thought. Staying clear of his new stitches, I lightly traced the dark lines of ink curling over his biceps and across his shoulder, hoping to lure him back into the moment.

  Unfazed, he said, “Tell me how Johnny and Dave are connected.”

  “They were in prison together, and Dave’s wife said Johnny was always trying to get Dave to run with him, but Dave refused. They had a big fight about something at The Dirty Duck last weekend.”

  Ryder sat up suddenly. “Did you say they were in prison together?”

  Unsure why this was groundbreaking news, I replied, “Yes, why?”

  “I have to go,” he said, abruptly leaving the bed and getting dressed.

  “Um…okay…” Was it something I said? I clutched the blankets under my chin, suddenly chilled without the warmth of him lying beside me.

  He came back to give me a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.” Flashing me a sweet smile, he added, “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I replied to his retreating back as he strode out of my room.

  —

  I was late to work that morning, and of course everyone noticed. I was sure it would only be a matter of time before one of them (Rhonda) tattled on me to Pete. Pete, in turn, was sure to put two and two together, knowing that I had left with Ryder last night. I felt it was inevitable that Pete was going to figure out I had slept with Ryder. And then the shit would really hit the fan. I couldn’t wait.

  Again, the crowd was a little leaner than the day before, but the line at the cash register was still unending. I helped Camille and Rhonda, usually getting stuck with the counter since Rhonda kept conveniently “forgetting” it was her task. It wasn’t too bad, though, because it gave me a chance to talk to Gertie.

  “How goes it this morning, Gertie?” I asked.

  “Shitty. My damn gout is flaring up again, and my neighbor’s stupid son of a bitch Chihuahua barked all night long. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.”

  Wow. Gertie was crotchety on a good day. Pissed off, insomniac Gertie in pain was out of the park. “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”

  “You got a gun?”

  “Um…no.” I looked at her warily. “What would you do with a gun?”

  “Shoot the damn dog, of course. That would shut his yap.”

  “Yes, and probably get you sued.”

  “Eh,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “My dipshit neighbor has his head too far up his ass. I’d never get caught.”

  I made a mental note to tell Pete that Gertie was never to own a gun. “I think it sounds like a ‘pie for breakfast’ kind of day. What do you say?”

  “Hell’s bells. You know what? That sounds fine.”

  “I’ll get you a big piece.”

  “Don’t forget the ice cream!” she called.

  I served Gertie her pie and freshened the coffee for all of the squatters at the counter. Ryder was usually here by this time, but not today. He had split pretty quickly after I told him that Dave and Johnny had been in prison together. I didn’t know why that was important, but it seemed like it had lit a fire under him. I thought back to last night and hid a smile. I hadn’t had that much fun in a long time.

  “Looking for someone?” Gertie asked, seeming much more cheerful.

  I shook myself out of my thoughts. “Nope.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “I know that look in your eye.”

  “What look? There’s no look.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I had that look. My cock pocket is so dusty—”

  “I’m going to have to stop you right there.” I couldn’t handle another Gertie-ism about sex.

  “What? Can’t an old woman live vicariously through her young friends?”

  “Gertie—”

  “You let Seth put his tool in your shed.”

  My eyes nearly bulged out of my head. “No.” How did she know?

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “Am not,” I said, fanning my red face with a stack of napkins.

  She smiled. “No need to get your panties in a twist. I was only going to congratulate you.”

  “Thanks, I guess. But you cannot under any circumstances tell Pete. Deal?”

  “I swear, you two. You and Pete belong together, and everyone knows it.”

  “I don’t think…We’re not…” I shook my head vigorously. “It’s complicated.”

  “Horse hockey. You’re making it too damn complicated. You’ve always been in love with him. I knew it from the first time I saw you look at him.”

  I felt my face involuntarily flushing. Hoping to change the subject, I said, “Did you hear he and Cecilia broke up?”

  “Hot damn! That’s good news. That uptight bitch had a stick up her ass.”
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  “Agreed.” I looked at the clock. It was nearly nine. “I have someone coming in to interview for Dave’s job in a few minutes. I’d better go.”

  “Bye, sweetie. You be careful with that stud Seth. He’s pretty to look at, but he seems a little dangerous to me.” So Gertie had a feeling about him, too. She may be old, but she was sharp as a tack.

  I headed back to the office to get ready for the interview. Technically, the person I hired would be a replacement for Brandon’s job. Brandon knew what he was doing, so I had decided to move him up to head cook and slide the outside hire into his job. I would take over Dave’s responsibilities of ordering food and supplies.

  As I was tidying up the mess that Pete had left on the desk yesterday, Camille came into the office and said, “There’s a man named Wayne Shepherd here to see you.”

  “Thanks, Camille. Send him back.”

  Camille let a little giggle slip out.

  Curious, I asked, “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” Camille murmured, blushing. “He’s very handsome. And charming.”

  Oh, hell. All I needed was an “office romance” between two of my staff.

  Wayne Shepherd appeared at the door. I could see the attraction for Camille. Wayne was midtwenties and cute as a button. The top of his head only came up to my nose, and I wasn’t a tall woman. Not my cup of tea, but to Camille, who was a teeny, tiny little thing, he was probably perfect.

  He smiled, and his grin covered his whole face. “Hey there, I’m Wayne Shepherd.”

  We shook hands. “Juliet Langley. Have a seat, Wayne.”

  “Thank you.” This interview was going well already. My first impression of Wayne was very positive. He was everything I was looking for in an employee. Polite, check. Friendly, check. Clean, check. If he had any experience at all, I had myself a winner.

  “This position is for daytime cook. As you may have heard, our cook passed away this week and we’re trying to fill his place.”

  “Yes, I heard about that. So sad,” Wayne said, his eyes genuinely sorry.

  “Yes, it’s been a difficult week for everyone here, and it’s going to be a little stressful in the beginning for anyone I hire. I want you to understand that going in.”

  “That’s not a problem. I’m pretty easygoing.” Another point for Wayne.

  “Tell me about your work experience in the restaurant industry.”

  “I’ve worked at several pizza chains, and my last job was at the Peachtree Café. I was one of the cooks there for three years.” The Peachtree Café was closer to downtown and was known for their fabulous food. And three years was an eternity in the food service industry—which showed he wasn’t a job hopper.

  “Why did you leave?” Every interview I had ever conducted always came down to the same question. If you screwed over your previous employer, you were going to screw me over, and I didn’t want you.

  Wayne smiled hesitantly. “You see…uh…” Shit. And I thought this guy was going to be good. “I’m a member of a…medieval reenactment society…” This was getting worse, not better. “We generally do our activities on Sundays. They changed my schedule at the Peachtree and had me working Sundays. I asked them to switch me back, but they refused, so I left. It was either that or give up my hobby.” Oh, well, that was a valid reason. A nerdy reason, but a valid one.

  “You’re in luck, Wayne. We’re closed on Sundays.”

  “I know. That’s one of the reasons why I thought this job would be perfect for me.”

  “Other than Sundays off, why do you want to work at Java Jive?” I hoped it wasn’t because of a morbid curiosity about the murder.

  “I grew up coming here with my dad. That, and it’s close to my house.” Good enough for me.

  “Well, Wayne, it looks like you’d be a pretty good fit around—”

  The phone rang. I smiled apologetically and answered it. “Java Jive, how may I help you?”

  “You helped me plenty last night.”

  Ryder. I excused myself from the office and took the phone’s handset into the hallway. “That was inappropriate!” I hissed. “I’m conducting an interview with a potential new employee. What do you want?”

  “You’re still grouchy. And cute.”

  “And hanging up.”

  “Wait, wait. I found Ron Hatcher, and he’s at home, alone. It will be a good chance to talk to him. I’ll be by to pick you up in five.”

  “You found him that quickly?”

  “I’m good.”

  He was good at lots of things. “I don’t know if I can get away right now.”

  “Find a way,” he ordered, and hung up.

  Chapter 17

  I went back into the office. Wayne was sitting patiently where I had left him. “Wayne, I’d like to offer you the job. When can you start?”

  “That’s fantastic! Thanks. I can start anytime.”

  “How about now?”

  Wayne looked at me like a deer in headlights. I gave him a three-minute tour, introduced him to everyone, got him a shirt and an apron, told Brandon to train him, changed my shirt, and still had a few seconds to spare before I spotted Ryder’s car outside.

  When I got in, Ryder grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in for a kiss. It was hot but quick, and then he hit the gas and zoomed into the street. After that, he was all business.

  He said, “Something’s up with Ron Hatcher. According to my source, he’s been under the radar lately, not hanging out at his usual haunts. Changes in behavior patterns point to trouble.”

  “Good. The sooner we find the bad guy, the better.”

  He gave me a condescending look. “The ‘bad guy’? I’m not sure that you’re street enough to do all of this sleuthing, Scooby. Maybe I should take you back to work.”

  “Are you dissing my game, Magnum?”

  “Yes. Frankly, I don’t see how you’ve made it through the week without getting yourself killed.”

  “Hey!” I griped indignantly. “I’ve never done this before. Not everyone comes out of the womb with the skill set of Rambo.”

  Ryder tried not to smile, and wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Ron Hatcher lived in a run-down neighborhood southeast of downtown. It was one of those neighborhoods where scary people were out during the day. If we didn’t get shot at, we’d be lucky. I wasn’t too thrilled about being there, but I was thankful that I had Ryder with me. If Pete and I had tried to come here by ourselves to find Ron, we both probably would have peed our panties and run away screaming.

  Giving me a sidelong glance, Ryder asked, “You okay? You look pale.”

  I cleared my throat. “No, I…I mean, yes. I’m fine.”

  “This is the plan: I’m going to do the talking, and you’re going to stand there and look pretty. Got it?”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “Now you’re just being hurtful.”

  Ignoring him, I asked, “Wait, what’s going to happen if this actually works and he incriminates himself? What then? If he’s under the radar already and thinks we’re on to him, he’s not going to hang out here and wait for the police to come and haul him in.”

  “Then I’ll take him in.”

  I scoffed, “You’re a PI. You can’t take people in.”

  He reached into his pocket, producing a pair of handcuffs. Dangling them in front of my face, he said, “I have handcuffs.” I rolled my eyes. He continued, “I know what you’re thinking—why didn’t he mention this last night? Am I right? Keep glaring at me if it’s a yes.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “Let’s just do this.”

  Ryder reached under his seat and came up with a large handgun. He shoved it in the back of his pants and covered it with his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” I cried, horrified. “Are you going to shoot him?”

  He looked at me strangely. “Yeah, if he shoots at me.”

  “Maybe I should stay in the car.”

  Nodding to a trio of tattooed, pierced hooligans
staring at us from a couple of houses down, he said, “You want to take your chances alone with those guys?”

  “Never mind.”

  We got out of the car and wasted no time getting to Ron’s front door. Ryder rapped on it, and after a few moments, Ron Hatcher appeared.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, smiling.

  That was odd. I didn’t expect a Harley-riding, tattooed, ZZ Top–bearded murderer to be polite to two strangers at his door.

  “Yeah,” Ryder said. “We’re friends of Dave’s.”

  “You’re friends of Dave’s? Well, come on in. Sit down.”

  All Ron had to sit on was a folding chair and a stained, grungy-looking couch. I did not want to think about what had happened on that couch to make it look the way it did, so I snagged the folding chair before Ryder could get to it. He glared at me as he sat down gingerly next to Ron on the couch.

  Ron took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes. “I sure do miss my old buddy Dave.”

  Ryder and I shared a look. What was up with this guy? I thought he was supposed to be tough and underhanded. He was coming off the exact opposite.

  “We do, too, Ron,” replied Ryder. “We wanted to come over and make sure that Dave had settled all of his accounts with you.”

  Seemingly confused, Ron asked, “What accounts?”

  Hesitating, Ryder said, “For any numbers he might owe you.”

  “Dave don’t owe me nothing. He’s not gambling anymore.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since last month.” Ron shook his head. “Dave was such a good friend. He gave up gambling to help me out.”

  I was completely baffled. I butted in, “How would it help you, as his bookie, for him to quit gambling?”

  Ryder shook his head at me. I knew I wasn’t supposed to interrupt while the manly men were talking, but I couldn’t help it.

  Chuckling, Ron replied, “Sounds strange, don’t it, ma’am? Truth is, I have a gambling problem, and I needed help. I got so far in over my head I was using my customers’ winnings to pay back my own debts. Dave helped me settle up with everyone and even joined Gamblers Anonymous with me. He was a lifesaver.”

  The more I learned about him, the less Dave seemed like the jerk I had assumed he was. He stayed married to Charlene even though she was bat-shit crazy. He got Logan a job and watched out for him. He protected his sister from her stupid boyfriend. He repeatedly refused to get involved with his ex-con friends from prison. And now we found out he helped his bookie beat a gambling addiction. Too bad I didn’t get to know him better. He actually seemed pretty cool.