by Jinty James
“I suggested to the pastor that we hire professionals, but he’s told me there isn’t enough money to do that,” Pamela continued. “It’s such a pity.”
Lauren escaped with their orders for chicken salad paninis, blueberry cupcakes, and a latte each, noting that Pamela had requested vanilla almond again.
It had been on the tip of her tongue to mention seeing Pamela at the casino two days ago, but perhaps she’d better not. It wasn’t any of her or Zoe’s business what Pamela did during her spare time. Although, apparently it did not include repainting the church.
“Did the two of them get together to gang up on us?” Zoe muttered out of the side of her mouth when Lauren returned to the counter.
“What?” Lauren scanned the room.
“Ms. Tobin at two o’clock.”
Annie ambled up to the tall, skinny woman and led her toward a small table in the rear.
“I’ll go.” Lauren groaned.
“I owe you.” Zoe flashed her a smile. “Seriously.”
“You’re making Annie a blanket, remember?”
“Uh-huh.” Zoe nodded. “And I’ll cook dinner tonight.”
“Thanks,” Lauren replied. She often didn’t feel like cooking after a day baking and serving customers. “Can you make two lattes for me while I take Ms. Tobin’s order? One’s a vanilla almond.”
“Sure. I’ll just take this tray over to table eight and then I’ll steam them up.” Zoe winked.
Lauren headed toward the back of the shop. Annie had already departed from Ms. Tobin’s table and was now greeting two new customers at the entrance.
“Hi, Ms. Tobin.” Lauren said, her pencil and notepad at the ready.
“I’ll have a large latte,” Ms. Tobin said. Her face looked a little drawn.
“Are you okay?” Lauren asked. “We haven’t seen you here the last few days.”
“I haven’t been well,” the older lady admitted reluctantly. “A touch of stomach flu. But I’m okay now.”
“That’s good.” Lauren smiled at her, realizing that Ms. Tobin hadn’t instructed her on how to make the latte. Perhaps she still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent.
“What do you recommend today?” Ms. Tobin asked.
“Cinnamon swirl cupcakes made with Ceylon cinnamon,” Lauren replied. She was proud of the fact that she used real cinnamon, and not the more common Cassia cinnamon.
Lauren hurried back to the counter, picking up the lattes for Pamela’s table from Zoe and dropping them off with the paninis and cupcakes, then busying herself making Ms. Tobin’s coffee.
Zoe disappeared into the kitchen after she and Lauren scanned the room – no one was trying to attract their attention. Annie sat in her cat bed, washing her paw. Snatches of conversation reached Lauren’s ears, but she was too intent on creating a perfect latte for Ms. Tobin to take any notice.
“Hey.” A deep, masculine voice.
Lauren froze, then finished placing the latte on a tray. She looked up.
Detective Denman – Mitch.
“Hi.” She cleared her throat.
“Are you busy?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her gaze flickered to the tray in front of her with Ms. Tobin’s order. “I’ll just take this over to the table.” She gestured toward the rear of the shop.
“Sure.”
Lauren picked up the tray holding the cupcake and latte, hoping her hands didn’t tremble. As if this day couldn’t get any worse! First Pamela, then Ms. Tobin, and now him. She just hoped he wasn’t here to interrogate her – again.
Lauren slowed her steps after delivering Ms. Tobin’s order. She’d rushed around for part of the morning, making sure her customers didn’t wait long. Since she doubted he would order anything, he could wait a few seconds. So why did she instantly feel guilty?
“Someone told me you serve the best coffee in town,” he said to her when she returned. “I’ll have a large latte—” he paused and eyed the baked goods in the glass case in front of him “—and a chocolate cupcake to go.”
Lauren raised her eyebrows a little in surprise, but started making his coffee. Now would be the perfect time to ask him how the investigation was coming along – if she dared.
“How’s the—”
“The repainting—”
They spoke at once. Lauren blushed.
Mitch gestured for her to speak first.
“How’s the investigation going?” she asked as she steamed the milk, a hissing sound from the machine punctuating her sentence.
“I can’t talk about it right now,” he replied.
“Oh?” She furrowed her brow. He’d been able to talk about it before – when he wanted information.
“It’s ongoing.”
“What about Mrs. Finch?”
“We’re still investigating.” His tone didn’t give away anything.
“What about the church accounts?” she pressed, wondering at herself for her persistence. “Pastor Mike says they haven’t been released yet.”
“I was going to ask you about the repainting of the church.” He dug out his wallet from his back pocket, and handed her some cash.
She rang up the sale, wondering what it was about him that caused those annoying butterflies to zoom around in her stomach.
“We’re having a painting bee to help Pastor Mike,” she told him, gesturing toward the posters in the window.
“Are you going?” he asked.
She slid the cardboard cup and a paper bag holding the cupcake across to him, careful her fingers didn’t touch his.
“Yes, once we close here at lunchtime on Saturday. Zoe’s coming, too.”
“So the church has enough money for repainting?” he asked.
“Just enough, apparently,” she replied.
Why was he asking her about it? Did that mean there was something shady going on with the church accounts, like Zoe suggested? Or was he just curious? Or nosy?
“Where’s your cat?” he asked, looking around the shop. “She didn’t greet me.” People ate, drank, and talked to each other at the tables. A hum of conversation acted as background music.
“She’s taking a break.” Lauren gestured to Annie’s bed. The Norwegian Forest Cat was curled up in a ball, her eyes closed. “Maybe she didn’t think you’d like her saying hello to you. She’s very attuned to things like that.”
“I don’t dislike cats. I’ve just never had much to do with them.”
“Maybe you should tell Annie that,” Lauren replied. “One day.”
After Mitch left, Lauren realized he hadn’t given her an answer about the church accounts. Had that been intentional? Or had he been caught up in their conversation as much as she had?
“BRRT!” ANNIE’S BREAK must have been over, because the silver tabby trotted up to Lauren after the lunch rush, looking concerned. “Brrt!”
“What is it?” Lauren bent down to speak to her.
“Brrt!” Annie scampered over to a table in the middle where Pamela and her friend had been seated.
The cat tapped the corner of a black leather bag that had been left under the table.
“It’s Pamela’s,” Lauren murmured, picking it up. She remembered the older lady carrying it when she’d entered the café earlier. “Thanks, Annie.” She stroked the tabby.
“Brrp,” Annie replied, nuzzling Lauren’s hand.
“I’ll put it behind the counter and return it to her later,” Lauren said.
“Brrt!” Annie sounded as if she approved.
The café was now half-full. Most of her cupcakes had sold out, which was very satisfying. She might even be able to close a few minutes early today.
“Do you need me out here?” Zoe came through the swinging kitchen doors.
“No, we’re good.” Lauren glanced down at Annie.
“What’s that?” Zoe pointed to Pamela’s black leather bag.
Lauren told her cousin what had just happened.
“You’re so clever, Annie.” Zoe stroked the silver tabby.<
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“Brrt.” Annie seemed to agree.
“I thought we could return it to Pamela after closing,” Lauren said, “since we don’t have her phone number.”
“Good idea.” Zoe looked at the bag thoughtfully. “I wonder what’s in it?”
“We’ll never know.” Lauren tapped the black leather. “Because a: it’s zipped up and b: that would be nosy.”
“And c: Lauren says we’re not allowed to.” Zoe pouted.
“A-ruff!” Annie chirped, which Lauren assumed meant, “D: “That’s right!” The feline didn’t make that sound often, but when she did, Lauren knew she was asserting something.
“I’ll come with you,” Zoe volunteered.
“Are you sure?” Lauren asked, knowing how her cousin felt about Pamela.
“Why not?” Zoe shrugged. “It will be good to go for a walk after working inside all day.”
Lauren looked out the window. The sun shone but she knew from popping outside before that it was chilly.
“Okay.” Lauren bent down to Annie. “Would you like to come with us to Pamela’s house later? Or would you like to relax at home?”
Annie closed her eyes for a moment as if pondering the question.
“Brrp, brrp.”
“I think that means she’d rather stay at home.” Lauren smiled.
“Brrt!” Annie looked at them in approval.
“I don’t blame you, Annie.” Zoe giggled. “Visiting Pamela isn’t top of my list for things to do after work, but it will be something a little different.”
Annie strolled back to her cat bed, while Lauren tended to the customers and Zoe returned to the kitchen.
Once their last customer had departed, Lauren turned the Open sign to Closed and locked the door.
“Nearly five.” Zoe flopped down at a table, kicked off her sneakers and wriggled her feet. “Ahhh. That’s better. Why did I agree to walk with you to Pamela’s house?”
“Because you wanted to get outside in the fresh air,” Lauren told her. “But I can go on my own if you’d rather.”
“No.” Zoe shook her head and jumped up. “Let’s go. And then I have a date with my knitting.”
“So do I,” Lauren replied.
After taking Annie home and feeding her, Lauren and Zoe set off. Pamela had special ordered a large selection of Ed’s pastries a while ago for one of her committee meetings, and Lauren had delivered them to her house.
“At least she doesn’t live far,” Zoe said, shivering a little in the late afternoon air as they passed Mrs. Finch’s street.
“It is convenient.” They turned into the road next to Mrs. Finch’s. The backyards here backed onto the rear gardens of Mrs. Finch’s street.
“Hey!” Zoe stopped as they reached Pamela’s house – a posh late Victorian painted dark green. A neatly kept garden with a regimented row of pink and yellow hollyhocks met their gaze. She narrowed her eyes. “Pamela lives behind Mrs. Finch!”
“Really?” Lauren stood on tiptoes to get a better look at the garden behind the house. “How can you tell?”
“See that tall oak tree at the back?” Zoe pointed. “Mrs. Finch has one just like it.”
Lauren craned her head and squinted at the large branches sporting green leaves. “Doesn’t that tree belong to the house to the left of Pamela’s backyard?”
“I think you’re right. So that must be Mrs. Finch’s house, one to the left of Pamela’s in the next street.” Zoe opened the green wooden gate and strode up the path, then stopped halfway and jumped up. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t know she was such a close neighbor,” Lauren remarked.
“Poor Mrs. Finch.”
“I wonder if she knows Pamela lives behind her,” Lauren mused.
“I’ll ask her at knitting club.”
They rang Pamela’s doorbell. A classical musical chime rang throughout the house. After a few seconds Pamela opened the door, looking surprised to see them.
“What can I do for you girls?” she asked.
Lauren held up the black leather bag. “Annie noticed you left this behind.”
“That’s right!” Chagrin flitted across Pamela’s face as she took the bag from Lauren. “I completely forgot I had it with me.”
Something clattered onto the doorstep. Small, black and white, and circular. Lauren caught a glimpse of three letters – C A S – before Pamela scooped up the item and shoved it in her bag.
“I knew this bag had a hole in the lining.” Her mouth pursed in annoyance, then she opened the door wider. “Won’t you come in for some refreshment? I’ve got coffee – or tea, if you prefer.”
Before Lauren could refuse, Zoe jumped in. “Thanks, Pamela.”
Lauren raised a surprised eyebrow at her cousin while they followed the older woman down the hall. Why would Zoe accept Pamela’s invitation? She guessed her cousin would fill her in once they left.
Pamela ushered them into a gleaming, modern kitchen that looked straight out of a magazine. Black and white dominated the space – and there was a fancy island with a sink in the middle of the room.
“Wow!” Zoe took it all in.
It was totally different to Mrs. Finch’s kitchen, Lauren had to admit, but while Pamela’s kitchen was stunning, Lauren preferred the hominess of Mrs. Finch’s.
“Isn’t it sophisticated?” Pamela smiled with pride. “Sometimes I entertain and I needed a kitchen that would allow me to make whatever quantities I needed.”
“Where do your guests eat?” Zoe asked curiously, ignoring Lauren’s frown.
“There’s a dining room next door.” Pamela waved a manicured hand toward the right. “The setup is perfect.”
“You could run a café in here.” Lauren spied a huge refrigerator and freezer, a six-burner stove, a double oven, and large microwave.
Pamela laughed, a tinkly sound that grated just the tiniest bit at the end.
“But I’m afraid I don’t have a cat. That was a genius idea of yours, Lauren, to have Annie help in the café. A lot of people have told me the reason they visit your coffee shop is because of Annie.”
Not because of my cupcakes or Ed’s pastries? What about our coffee? Lauren’s shoulders slumped a little.
“And I bet they keep coming back because of Lauren’s cakes and Ed’s pastries,” Zoe said in a cheery tone, as if reading her cousin’s mind. “I’d love a cup of coffee, please, Pamela.”
“Of course.” Pamela turned away from them and picked up a coffee press from the counter.
“Do you have a coffee machine?” Zoe asked.
“I’m afraid not, dear,” Pamela’s voice was muffled as she turned on the tap. “I can’t abide them. Real coffee to me is from a press or from an espresso machine like you have in the café.”
Lauren looked around, realizing there wasn’t a kitchen table they could sit at. Zoe must have reached the same conclusion, because she scrunched her nose at her cousin. Pamela still had her back turned to them so missed their silent interplay.
“I must thank Annie in person next time I’m there,” Pamela continued, “for discovering I left my bag behind.” She spooned ground coffee into the pot.
“I can’t believe Steve is dead.” Pamela sounded sad. “He was a very nice man.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what Pastor Mike is going to do about getting the church accounts audited.” She paused. “Have you two heard anything about the investigation?”
“Why would we?” Lauren frowned.
“Well,” Pamela tittered, “I have heard that a certain detective has visited your coffee shop more than once.”
“Because Steve was a customer,” Lauren said, hoping her face wasn’t flaming.
“That’s right,” Zoe added. “The café might have been the last place he stopped at, before ...” her voice trailed off.
“Oh dear.” Pamela sounded contrite. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
She handed them each a fine bone china cup decorated with flowers and gold edging. “Almond
milk and sugar?”
Lauren and Zoe looked at each other.
“Why not?” Lauren ventured. Although she served nut milk for customers who requested it, she’d only tried it once.
“Here we are.” Pamela opened the refrigerator and quickly poured the milk into a little jug before offering it to them. “I do like observing the social niceties.”
Lauren wondered what the older woman would think if she saw the type of mugs Lauren and Zoe drank out of at home – thick mugs with stars, witty sayings, or just plain colors. Somehow Lauren thought Pamela might shudder in distaste.
After they drank their coffee, which Lauren enjoyed, with notes of woody spices, and almond from the nut milk, she and Zoe said their goodbyes. Pamela hadn’t invited them to sit anywhere, so they’d stood the entire time, and now Lauren’s feet were begging to go home and lie down on the couch.
“So much for the social niceties.” Zoe trudged down the street. “Our house mightn’t be as fancy as hers but at least we’d offer her a seat – wouldn’t we?”
“I hope so,” Lauren replied. “Why did you accept her offer of coffee? I didn’t think you cared for Pamela.”
“I was curious and wanted to see what her house looked like.” A twinkle of mischief sparkled in Zoe’s eyes. “And she sounded like she was offering coffee to be polite, not because she particularly wanted to invite us in. So I thought, hey, why not?”
Lauren shook her head wryly as they turned the corner.
After a moment, Zoe spoke. “Did you see what dropped out of her bag?”
“It looked like a casino chip,” Lauren said slowly.
“Ha! I bet she was having fun at the casino the same day we were there,” Zoe remarked. “Because why would you drive all that way just for salad?”
“We don’t know that she went there to gamble,” Lauren cautioned. “That chip might have been stuck in the lining of her bag for years. Anyway, she could have lent that bag to someone – like her daughter.”
“Okay, Mom,” Zoe said good naturedly. After a moment, she added, “Do you think Pamela murdered Steve?”
“What?” Lauren nearly tripped over her feet as she spun around to face her cousin. “She doesn’t have a coffee machine. How could she know the poisoned pod would work if she didn’t experiment?”