Death Before Decaf

by Caroline Fardig

  He laughed, then grabbed his side. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh. This one is going to require a little more attention than that tiny knife wound.”

  “Want me to take you to the hospital?”

  “No, you’ll be bored, sitting there waiting for me to get X-rays and shit. If you want to do something for me, make some more of those bacon biscuit things.”

  I smiled. “They’re scones. There’s a difference.”

  He gave me a sexy grin. “Whatever they are, I want you serving them to me tonight, wearing nothing but this apron, waitress.”

  “If you hadn’t just literally taken a bullet for me, I might be offended by that. But you get a free pass today.”

  “A free pass? For anything?”

  “Let’s not get too carried away.”

  Chapter 24

  I hadn’t been so relieved in a long time. I wanted to tell Pete the whole story, but he didn’t show up at his normal time for lunch. Gertie said, among a tirade of curses, that he was having lunch with Cecilia today, so he wouldn’t be here. Gertie was no more pleased than I was that Pete and Cecilia had gotten back together. I decided to wait until I saw him in person to tell him about Johnny Brewer, thinking it would be too difficult to properly express all of the gory details over the phone.

  I was so happy that my troubles were over that I didn’t even mind when Detective Cromwell came into Java Jive and asked me to go with him to the station to make a statement.

  “Ms. Langley. We meet again,” he said sternly, looking at me with his bushy eyebrows furrowed.

  “Hello, Detective. It’s nice to see you, too. Can I get you anything? On the house, of course.”

  “No, thank you. All I need from you is your statement. I’m afraid I need to take you to the station.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Rhonda smirking and chuckling, but I didn’t care. I was done with all of the bullshit, and the only thing that stood between me and total freedom was this one little interview. Nothing could ruin my mood.

  Removing my apron, I said to Detective Cromwell, “Lead the way.”

  He let me ride in the front seat this time, so I didn’t feel like a common criminal. We went back to the same little interrogation room that I had been in after Ron was shot, but this time it didn’t seem so small and lonely.

  Detective Cromwell began, “Let’s not prolong this, shall we? What was Jonathan Brewer doing in your apartment this morning?”

  “I assume he was waiting for me. I didn’t stay at my place last night.”

  “Where did you stay?”

  Thankful that I could at least tell him Ryder’s last name this time, I said, “At Ryder Hamilton’s home.”

  “Why?”

  Without going into too much indiscreet detail, I said, “For my safety. Johnny Brewer has been stalking me.”

  “Bet you’re glad you used your head on that one. Why would Brewer be waiting for you in your apartment with a gun, ready to shoot the first person who walked in the door?”

  “Johnny Brewer had a beef with me.”

  “Over what?”

  “It started because I tricked him while I was trying to come up with suspects for you for Dave’s murder. He didn’t take kindly to a stunt I pulled to get information out of him, and he decided to retaliate. He threatened me to my face twice, and had also been caught lurking outside my apartment. My friends Pete and Ryder both, on separate occasions, made it clear to him that he wasn’t to accost me again, but I guess it didn’t sink in. I think he may have been the one who shot Ron Hatcher, and I’m not convinced I wasn’t a target as well. Maybe this morning he was coming back to finish what he started.”

  Cromwell nodded. “So you feel that he came after you because you were poking around in David Hill’s murder?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Do you think he killed David Hill?”

  “I think he’s a strong possibility. He threatened Dave and beat him up a couple of days before he was killed. Dave had damning information on Johnny and his buddy that could send them back to prison. That’s a pretty decent motive, in my opinion.”

  “You’re just a regular Nancy Drew, aren’t you?” the detective asked dryly.

  “You asked.”

  “And you’re aware that your friend Ryder Hamilton shot and killed Johnny Brewer in your apartment.”

  “Yes,” I said quietly. Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then I asked hesitantly, “Detective?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is Ryder going to go to jail for killing Johnny Brewer?”

  He looked at me strangely. “No, why would you think that?”

  “Well, because you’re generally not supposed to kill people, or so I’ve heard.”

  “Brewer fired on him. Of course he fired back.”

  “And that’s okay? He’s not in danger of being charged with anything?”

  “The only thing he’s in danger of is a mountain of paperwork. I don’t envy him that.” He chuckled. The gears in my brain started turning as I thought about what the detective had just said—that he wouldn’t envy the paperwork Ryder had to do.

  “Paperwork? Is that because he’s a PI? Because I thought civilians didn’t do paperwork—they get interrogated, kind of like we’re doing here.” As I was speaking, I noticed the detective’s expression. Something flickered in his eyes, and his face, which had been sort of smiling (as much as crotchety Cromwell could), turned into his stony cop face.

  Something was off. I thought back to all the times that Ryder had said something about being a PI. He always either hesitated or looked away or seemed uncomfortable when he talked about it. He wouldn’t ever tell me his last name. According to Cromwell, he wasn’t going to even get a talking-to for killing Johnny Brewer, just some paperwork. There was a cop looking for him yesterday who didn’t seem particularly on-duty—to be honest, it almost seemed like it could have been a social call. Ryder had the connections to run license plates and get private information, and he always seemed to know what the police thought about a situation.

  My eyes grew wide as I realized how badly I had been played this whole time. How blind could I have been? “HE’S A COP!” I screamed, exploding on poor, unsuspecting Detective Cromwell.

  “Now, calm down, Ms. Langley. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but I thought since you knew his real name, that you knew the rest.”

  “No, I didn’t know! He lied to me this whole time!” I was dangerously close to tears. It’s not like I was in love with him, but being lied to again by someone I had been intimate with was damn near likely to kill me this time.

  “He had to. He was undercover. And, in fact, he still is. You can’t let on that you know. He still has work to do on his investigation.”

  “What investigation? Is he not working on the murder? I mean, that’s why he got close to me, right? Because I was your lead suspect?”

  “No, his investigation started long before the murder.”

  I thought back to my first day at Java Jive. I met him the morning of the murder, and he was already a regular. This whole situation had addled my brain. “So what’s the case, then? Why did he pretend to…be interested in me?” Those words hurt to say out loud.

  “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you. I don’t want to know. But it wasn’t part his mission to become your boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking. And I can’t tell you what he’s investigating. That would compromise his investigation even further than it already is.”

  I thunked my head down onto the table between us. “I give up. Just put me in jail, where I can’t get hurt.”

  “Oh, buck up. It’s over. Well…almost. Getting the brains scraped off the wall of your apartment is your problem.”

  “What? There are brains on a wall in my apartment? Wait, of course there are brains on a wall in my apartment. My life needed a little more shit thrown on it. I’ll just go home and get to cleaning. I’m not certifiable yet—I need more emotional
trauma to tell the therapist at the funny farm!” I wailed.

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a card. “We have people for that. Here’s the number for a private trauma-cleaning service. You won’t have to clean up a single dollop of brain. If you have renters insurance, it might even cover it.”

  I sighed. I did have renters insurance, thank goodness, not so much to cover my belongings (that I didn’t have), but because it was cheaper to buy it and get the discount from combining it with my car insurance. “Thanks.”

  “Obviously you’ll have to find another place to stay, at least for a couple of days.” He chuckled to himself as he stood up. “I take it that won’t be with Hamilton.”

  “You got that right.”

  Detective Cromwell extended his hand, and I shook it. “Ms. Langley, it’s been a pleasure. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope this is the last time we see each other.”

  “Back at ya, Detective,” I agreed.

  —

  Cromwell had a uniformed officer drop me off at Java Jive. It was still afternoon, but I was exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into the office and hide, but with Brianna gone, I had to do her job. So I freshened up my makeup in the bathroom and put on a brave face. I just hoped that the moment I saw Pete I wouldn’t burst into tears, even though what I really needed was a good cry on his shoulder.

  Jamie didn’t buy my fake face for a second. “What happened to you?”

  “I don’t even know where to begin, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Don’t you live in that shitty apartment building a couple of blocks from here? The one with the rusty stairs?”

  She didn’t have to rub it in. “Yes,” I answered tightly.

  “Somebody died there this morning. Who was it? Did you see anything?”

  Between clenched teeth, I said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Damn. Cranky much?” She flipped her silky hair as she turned to go fill someone’s coffee at the end of the counter. I hated college kids. I may have mentioned that before.

  Working helped take my mind off of my emotional state. It stayed busy all afternoon, so I didn’t have time to sit around and feel sorry for myself. I volunteered to collect trash, thinking a few moments of fresh air would do me some good. On my way, I cleaned off several tables, still finding cups left that people hadn’t bothered to throw away on their way out. With all of the new customers flooding in, maybe I needed to post a sign to the effect of CLEAN YOUR SHIT OFF YOUR TABLE BEFORE YOU LEAVE so that people would understand that we didn’t bus tables. The trash had overflowed yet again, so I set two of the cups down on top of the trash bin while I made more room in the trash bag.

  The sleeves slipped down off of those cups, and damned if one of them didn’t have writing under the sleeve again! Seriously? After I had made it perfectly clear that this was not to happen? No way it was Brianna, because the leftover coffee in the cup was still warm, and she hadn’t worked here in days. The message said, Garage next door, 8:30. I’d had it. With the mood I was in, someone was likely to get fired over this little stunt. This time I wasn’t even going to waste my breath asking who wrote it—I would catch them in the act. At 8:30, I would be waiting in that garage, and whoever came through the door was going to be so busted.

  —

  Having somewhere else to channel my anger did wonders for my mood. That was, until Pete came in an hour earlier than usual, concern etched all over his face. He came straight for me and swept me up in a crushing hug.

  “I just heard what happened at your apartment building. Were you there? Are you okay? Who got shot?”

  I knew that once I started spilling my guts to Pete, the tears would start and never stop, so I’d tried to delay the conversation. “I’m fine, but I need to tell you a few things you’re not going to like, and this is not the place to do it.”

  “You’re coming to my house, then. Now.” He whisked me away to his car. We drove the few minutes to his house in a nervous silence. He ushered me quickly inside, sat us both on his couch, and ordered, “Let’s hear it.”

  I sighed, hardly knowing how to begin a story like this. “Johnny Brewer is dead. He’s the one who got shot in my apartment.”

  “No way!” Pete exclaimed. “What was he doing hanging around your apartment building?”

  “Not ‘around my apartment building.’ In my apartment.”

  “What? What in the hell was that guy doing in your apartment?”

  I looked down. “We think he was waiting for me.”

  “Jules, no,” Pete breathed as he grabbed me and held me to him. Right on cue, my tears started. Pete let me lean on him and cry and cry, stroking my hair and holding me close.

  I finally quit blubbering and lifted my head. Glancing down at his shoulder, I said apologetically, “I think I ruined your shirt.”

  “You know I don’t care about that. I only care about you.” His words made me feel all warm inside, even though I was pretty sure he meant them platonically, especially since he was back with the bitch Cecilia. I didn’t care, though. I’d take what I could get. “Were you there when it happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “You were busy today, and I didn’t think I could tell you all of this over the phone.”

  “You know I would have dropped everything if you needed me.”

  “I know. I handled it. Anyway, I was at work when it happened. Um…Ryder was the one who shot him.”

  He grimaced. “That doesn’t surprise me. Is he locked up now, I hope?”

  “No. Johnny fired on him first. Ryder got hit, but luckily he was wearing a bulletproof vest. He’s got a nasty-looking wound, but otherwise he’s fine. The police said Ryder wouldn’t be charged.” I neglected to tell Pete why. I knew I should keep Ryder’s identity a secret, but I didn’t know if Pete would buy our parting ways without an explanation. More likely, he’d probably be so happy I was done with Ryder that he wouldn’t care about the reason.

  “Why? Because it was self-defense?”

  “Um, yeah. That’s why.” Close enough for me.

  Pete’s eyes got shiny. “Jules, that could have been you.” He wrapped his arms around me again, more tightly this time.

  “I know.” I had been trying all day not to think about that little fact, and had succeeded until now. “But with Johnny Brewer dead, the police think it’s over.”

  He pulled away and asked worriedly, “Aren’t they forgetting about Rob Carmichael?”

  “No. According to Ryder, Rob has been out of town for over a week, so he couldn’t have killed Dave or shot Ron Hatcher. That doesn’t mean he didn’t mastermind it, though. The cops know where he is, and they’re bringing him in for questioning. It was supposed to have happened this morning, so technically we should be done with the drama. Except for my poor apartment.”

  “What about it?”

  “Detective Cromwell says there’s brain on the wall.”

  “Sick. Didn’t the police collect it all as evidence?”

  “Not everything, I guess. He said my renters insurance would probably cover the cost to have a trauma cleaner come in and get all of the goo off.”

  “I take it you don’t want to stay there until that happens.”

  “Not really.”

  He hesitated. “Do you…already have a place to stay? Are you and Ryder a thing?”

  “No. We’re finished.”

  Brightening, he asked, “Will you stay with me, then? I have an extra room, you know.”

  “I’d love to stay with you. Thanks, Pete. You always take good care of me.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders. “That’s what I’m here for. I’m suddenly starving. Want to order a pizza?”

  “Don’t we need to get back to work?”

  “No, you’re on a mandatory break. Deal with it, Langley.”

  Our pizza arrived shortly after that, and we ate while we watched a VH1 Behind the Music special on Mea
tloaf. Despite his musical snobbery, Pete loved Meatloaf.

  I asked, “So, roomie, is this how living together is going to be? Pizza, beer, and TV watching? If so, I’m totally in.”

  “Yes, unless Cecilia comes over. Then we have to serve wine and cheese and listen to jazz.”

  Giggling, I said, “If she comes over, I’m probably going to have to vacate the premises.”

  “That would probably be best.”

  “Seriously, Pete. Why did you get back with her? You don’t even like wine and cheese, or ‘boring chicks with no sense of humor.’ You called her that once. Remember?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s okay…I guess I just don’t want to be alone.”

  I understood. I wouldn’t allow myself to give it a go with Pete, but I didn’t want to be alone, either. I would have enjoyed being with Ryder—I truly liked him. But there was no way I could handle the lying. Being an undercover cop, he basically lied for a living, and I didn’t feel like I could ever be sure whether he was telling me the truth or not. There was no reason to put myself through that, so why bother? I would cut my losses and move on. Eventually.

  “I get that,” I said quietly.

  “But now you’re going to be alone.”

  Glancing over at him, I said, “Does that make a difference in your decision?”

  He hesitated. “No?”

  “That didn’t sound convincing, Pete.” But I realized it did make me happy.

  “So what do we do, Jules?”

  I held up my hands. “Don’t look at me. I’ve been traumatized, and now I’m temporarily homeless. I am making no major life decisions right now.”

  He smiled and put his arm around me again. “I can handle that.”

  Chapter 25

  Pete and I walked in the door of Java Jive, laughing over Pete’s impersonation of some new little country starlet who threw a hissy fit at her recording session today. He nailed her fake Southern drawl and dead-eyed expression. His girly, falsetto voice wasn’t terribly attractive, but hilarious all the same. I sobered up quickly when I spied Ryder, sitting uncomfortably at a table by himself, eating dinner.