Grounds for Murder

by Tara Lush

  I chewed on my inner cheek. Fine. I’d have to do more sleuthing on my own. “You’re probably right, Noah.”

  “We still on for Saturday at my house?”

  “Absolutely.” Although now I wasn’t exactly sure I wanted to spend time with someone who didn’t take my theories seriously. But he was a cop, and this was business for him. I understood he couldn’t drop everything to interview everyone simply because I had a hunch.

  Which definitely meant I’d double down on my efforts. I wasn’t letting this go. He’d have to read about my conclusions in the paper. All I needed was to make a few connections, and that required more interviews.

  After I hung up with Noah, I texted Brittany. I was certain she could fill in some gaps.

  Hey, want to hang out tonight at the café? I reconsidered the barista spot. Sorry about the last minute change of plans. We can talk about our strategy. And, I wanted to ask you more questions for my article!

  Sounds good? How about eight? I have an appointment with a client until about seven thirty.

  See you there!

  * * *

  In the hour before Brittany was supposed to show up, I drank three espressos, wiped down all the tables, and paced around the coffee shop. I had my entire speech planned out—I’d been rehearsing all day—and had even baked some mermaid-themed cupcakes, hoping that would help win her trust. Okay, they were from a mix, and I’d purchased mermaid tail gummies from a candy shop downtown and stuck them in the pre-made frosting.

  “I don’t know. Just because you had a dream about a sea creature, doesn’t mean she’s a suspect.” Erica leaned on the broom.

  “She knows more than she’s letting on. She knew Fab from New York. That counts for something, doesn’t it? She might not be a suspect but she could lead me to the information I need.”

  Erica hummed and hung the broom on a hook, near the stock room door. “Maybe. Maybe not. You want me to hang out while you interview her?”

  “I don’t think she’ll open up if you’re here, given the little dustup you two had.”

  “All I know is that she has terrible taste in coffee. You and I both know flax milk is not acceptable,” she sniffed.

  I bit back a smile. Erica was a coffee purist through and through. “I know.”

  “Maybe I should be nearby in case you need me. She had a wild look in her eye the day she demanded the flax milk. I don’t trust her. Why don’t I go down to the Blue Bottle and check in every fifteen minutes by text?”

  I thought about this for a few seconds. “Seems reasonable.”

  “Can you try to record the interview? Even secretly? In case she says something incriminating? Then hand the recording to Noah?”

  I pondered this for a moment. “No. Under Florida law, all parties have to be aware of the recording.”

  “So much for that idea. Text me so I know you’re alive.” Erica grabbed her messenger bag and paused. “You want me to take Stanley with me?”

  Dad had dropped Stanley off after the café closed. I glanced at the puppy, who was sacked out on the floor in the middle of the café. “Nah, he’s pretty exhausted after his dog yoga with Dad. Let’s let him sleep. I’ll text you and then come down to the bar for a debrief. Wait. I’ve got an idea.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll call you and leave the line open. That way you can listen in and know what’s going on. On the off chance she says anything sketchy, get Noah to come down to the café. I’ll text you his number now.” I went to my phone and sent Noah’s contact info.

  “Cool. See you later.” She strolled out.

  Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the glass café door. I jumped, and Stanley woofed softly. He padded after me as I went to unlock the door.

  “Hey girl,” Brittany said in a cheery voice. Or was it fake cheer? Everything she did and said would be under scrutiny now. She was dressed in pale pink today, yoga pants and matching crop top, like she’d just come from class.

  “Heyyy,” I tried to mimic her tone. “You do yoga?”

  “Sometimes. I usually like a more strenuous workout.”

  “Gotcha. Me too.” That was a bit of an exaggeration, but I was trying to find common ground.

  Brittany squatted to pet Stanley on the head. He turned and wandered away, which raised my suspicion about her even more. Stanley loved everyone.

  “Yeah, I’d been thinking about Raina’s retreat in Costa Rica. Actually, Fab and I had talked about going together.”

  I pulled open a Tupperware container, my skin prickling with awareness. “Oh yeah?”

  “When I first came to the island, Fab took me to a hot yoga class at her studio next door.”

  “Hm. Interesting. Mind if I include that in my article?”

  She stood. “I guess not.”

  “Have a seat.” I pointed to a table in the middle of the room. “I made some cupcakes inspired by you. Check these out.”

  “Mermaid tails!” She squealed over the blue-green frosting of the cupcakes and set her purse down on a table.

  “Latte?” I asked casually.

  “Absolutely. You want me to do it? So, I can show you my qualifications?”

  “Nah. Not now. Let’s sit and chat for a few. I have some questions for you. Hang on.”

  I went behind the counter and made the coffee. My hands trembled a little as I pulled the espresso and perfectly frothed the heart. I did a little fist pump. Perhaps like when I was a journalist, deadline pressure was good for creativity. I ducked below the counter, pretending to arrange the milk in the fridge. In reality, I dialed Erica’s number on my cell and slipped the phone in the pocket of my black barista apron.

  “Here you go,” I trilled.

  I set the mug with the aromatic espresso and frothed milk in front of her, and she blinked three times, her brow wrinkling. “You’re not having one?”

  “I’m drinking black coffee tonight.” I pointed to my mug that was already on the table.

  “Gotcha.” She took a sip. “Perfect.”

  I murmured a thanks.

  “So, about the contest,” she burbled, sweeping her long ponytail behind her.

  “Yes, about the contest. Before we talk about that, I wanted to ask you something else.”

  “Right! Of course. The article.” A grimace of annoyance crossed her face for a millisecond.

  “Yes. The article. I wanted to know more about your relationship with Fab. I’m curious. Were you two dating? Did you date in New York?”

  Her lip curled. “Why is that relevant?”

  “I like to get my facts straight.”

  “We did sleep together back in New York. And we went out a couple of times here on the island. Until I found out that his girlfriend was pregnant.” She snorted.

  I made a clicking noise with my tongue. “Men. Same thing happened to me with my ex in Miami. He dumped me for a younger woman.”

  “Men,” she muttered.

  “But what I can’t understand,” I paused as I tapped my fingernails on my coffee mug, “is why Fab would kill himself, or how he could accidentally fall from the roof. The police chief said it was either a suicide or an accident. I just can’t get behind that theory.”

  She swallowed.

  “He didn’t seem the type. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  She tapped her long, pink fingernails on the coffee cup.

  “What do you think happened to him?” she finally asked.

  Her blue eyes met mine, challenging. Mocking. There was no sadness in her expression tonight, which made me want to ask more pointed questions. “I think he was pushed. And I suspect you know more than you’re letting on.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What are you, a detective?”

  “No. But I do know that a mesh bra that looks similar to the one in your shop was found near his body. I’m planning on putting that in the article, and wanted to get comment from you.”

  She visibly blanched. “I don’t have to answer.”

  “You don�
��t. But we’re printing the facts, regardless.” Of course, I wasn’t sure what Mike would print, but for now, I’d bluff my way through that minor detail. “I know you were supposed to hang out with Fab that night. Why don’t you tell me what really happened?”

  She snorted and rose, reaching for her bag. Crap. I needed to get her to talk, not leave.

  “Okay, okay.” I held up my hands. “Don’t leave. Let’s keep chatting. What if you tell me all you know about Fab? Kill my curiosity.”

  I winced at my terrible choice of words.

  She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small pistol with a pink camouflage handle. It seemed almost comical, but the fury in her eyes told me it was a real, and deadly, weapon. And that I was in some deep doo-doo.

  “I’ll kill something else,” she said, glancing at the sleeping Stanley.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Stay away from the puppy.” I tried to sound menacing, but my voice quivered.

  Her gaze returned to me. We stared at each other for an excruciating few seconds, until the contents of my stomach curdled like spoiled milk in a latte.

  There were pluses and minuses to this situation. In the plus column: I’d definitely solved Fab’s death.

  In the minus column, it seemed that my own death was also a possibility. Not cool at all. I needed to diffuse this situation immediately. Which was difficult because I felt like vomiting all over her pristine white sneakers.

  “Let’s not get crazy, Brittany.” I stood up, shoving the chair back with such force that it clattered to the ground. Stanley skittered under the table, his fluffy tail between his legs. I couldn’t let her hurt him.

  “Want to see what I did the night Fab died? I’ll sate your curiosity. Let’s go to the roof.”

  A chill flowed through me. “I’d rather not, thanks.”

  She smirked. “You don’t have much choice, thanks.” Motioning with her free hand, she pointed at the back door leading to the stairs. “Get going. Now.”

  With dread flowing through my veins, I slowly took a few steps, hoping she’d at least forget about Stanley. Hoping Erica was listening to everything. Was the phone in my apron pocket still connected to hers? Had she heard everything? Did she know enough to call Noah?

  “You won’t get away with this,” I said in a loud voice. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I slipped my phone out of the apron pocket but stupidly fumbled because I was trembling so much. Brittany jabbed me in the kidney with the snub-nosed barrel of the ridiculous pink gun.

  Right before the cell hit the ground, I noticed the home screen—not the screen that was usually visible when a call was live.

  The call had somehow disconnected. But when? Crap.

  “What are you doing? Posting a social media update? Calling the cops? Let’s go. Move it,” she boomed.

  I went to the back door, the one that led to the stairs. She followed, and I noticed that she pushed the door all the way to the wall, so it would stay open. Clearly, she had a better thought out plan than I did, and somehow knew that if this door shut behind us, it would automatically lock.

  I snuck a glance at my watch. How long would it take Erica to get here? A cold sweat made my skin itchy with anxiety.

  “Up the stairs,” Brittany hissed.

  I began marching, desperately thinking of ways to get out of this situation.

  Erica would call Noah if the call was disconnected. They’d unlock the door and find the back door to the stairwell open. Would they know to come to the top of the building?

  I was out of breath by the time we got to the stairs leading to the roof. “I think it’s locked,” I lied.

  “Like hell. Fab said it’s always unlocked. Move.”

  I pushed open the door and the humid night air slapped me in the face. It was just after sunset, and the sky was still ablaze with orange hues that were fading to the dark night sky.

  It had been years since I’d been up here, and I’d forgotten how I could see the top of my own house, just a couple of streets over. My mouth grew moist, as if I was on the verge of vomiting. I moved to the middle of the roof. There was a table and chairs set up near the edge, just as Fab had described to me when we first started working together.

  While keeping the gun pointed at me, she walked through the door but didn’t shut it. I thought it had been on a spring; evidently not. Maybe I could make a run for it? She stalked up to me, her mouth in a hard slant.

  “That night, I came over to visit Fab. We slept together in his apartment. He was an amazing lover, you know.”

  “Actually, I didn’t know. Had no interest in him in that way.” I was shaking now, trying to ignore the waist-high wall that separated the roof from the abyss below.

  “Of course you didn’t. He wasn’t your type. And you weren’t his type.”

  “Had I been, he’d probably still be alive,” I muttered.

  “After we made love, we came up here to drink wine and stare at the moon. That’s when he told me that Paige was pregnant. He said that he wanted to keep me on the side. Said he was going to work for her father, but wanted to keep sleeping with me.”

  “Well, that was a jerk move on his part.” I was sincere about this.

  “Oh, there’s more. He wanted me to also go to these swingers’ parties with him. Apparently, he didn’t want his actual girlfriend going now that she was pregnant with his child. So, I was his slutty substitute.”

  I groaned, a genuine sound. “What a pig. Truly. It’s understandable why you were angry.”

  “I’ll show you where he was sitting. Get up.”

  I shook my head and clutched my stomach. “Can’t. I’m not feeling well.”

  She mimicked my speech. “I’m not feeling well. Get the hell over there.”

  I sucked in a breath and doubled over. My vision swam from dizziness. I shook my head again, and she came closer with the gun. “Move.”

  She prodded my neck with the gun, and I edged a few feet closer to the wall. Then she shoved me with one hand, and I almost lost my balance. My hand found the lip of the wall and I clutched at the stone.

  “He liked to sit up there. Made him feel all strong and sexy. He was drinking his wine and sitting there when he told me. I was wearing only a mesh bra that I’d made. And a pair of shorts, of course. When he tumbled off the ledge, he reached for me. Grabbed my top and it ripped right off.”

  Well, that solves the mystery of the mesh bra found near his body. Great. Too bad I probably wouldn’t get to tell Noah about that particular clue. “Listen, I’m really sorry. Let’s forget I asked about this, okay?”

  “Sorry. Can’t. I knew you were about to figure me out. Which is one reason why I tried to cut the gas lines at the café.”

  What a little witch. “You did that?”

  “Yeah. I’d stolen the keys to the café the night I pushed Fab. I figured you’d eventually figure out I was responsible for his death.”

  Stall. I needed to buy more time so Erica could save me. “You said one reason you cut the gas lines. Was there another?”

  “Fab took photos of me. Like he did with lots of women. That last night we were together, he said he stashed them somewhere. In some drawer. I didn’t find them in his apartment the night he died, and figured he might have left them in the café. He could be stupid like that. I didn’t have time to look that night, though, because I wanted to get out of here. I had to get behind the counter as a barista so I could find the photos. I didn’t want anyone seeing them.”

  “And when I didn’t add you to the competition team, you decided to try to blow up the entire building? Well, that makes sense. Not.”

  “It made perfect sense. To me. Never found the photos, though. Not that it matters now.”

  A spike of anger hit my gut. She could’ve hurt, even killed, so many innocent people. “So how did you do it, anyway? How did you push him? He was quite a bit bigger than you. And stronger.”

  Now she was trembling, an expression of pure fury on her face. �
��I didn’t mean to.” Her voice was almost a scream now. “He was sitting there with that arrogant smirk. He’d told me how excited he was to be a father, but he didn’t want it to interfere with his fun. Our fun. And then he said he wanted to share me.”

  A fat tear rolled down her pretty face, and I’d have had all the sympathy in the world had it not been for the gun—and the fact I was close to the edge of the four-story building.

  “But why kill him? Why not just leave him?” My back was against the ledge, pressing into the small of my spine.

  “I told you, I didn’t mean to. He was so smug that I ran and pushed him with all my strength. And he fell. Down there. Look over the edge so you can see.”

  “That’s okay, I get the visual.”

  “No. Do it.” She waved the gun. “In fact, sit on the ledge.”

  She stepped closer, and I seriously contemplated whether it would be better to be shot in the chest than sit on the ledge. If I sat, I might be able to ask more questions. If I didn’t, I might not survive a gunshot at close range. So, I gingerly lifted myself up, trying not to peer over. The ledge was about a foot and a half wide, but it felt like an inch.

  Rivers of sweat poured down the backs of my legs.

  “There. He was right there. And I pushed him.” She pantomimed a pushing motion with her hands, and I winced, still gripping the lip of the ledge. My entire body was taut, tense, at the thought of what was below.

  “Poof. He went over the edge.”

  “How did that feel?”

  “How do you think it felt? Powerful. He was using me for sex. Just like he used me back in New York. I got him back for hurting me.”

  “You didn’t run downstairs to check on him? To see if he was still alive?”

  “No. I was too angry. Angry at everything he’d put me through, both here and in New York. I wanted him dead.”

  “Tell me about that. Your relationship in New York.” I tried to press my bottom hard against the cold stone, as if that would somehow glue me to the ledge.

  “None of your business. Do you think I’m going to fall for this? You’re stalling.”

  “C’mon,” I pleaded. “The least you can do is satisfy my curiosity. Tell me how it all went down.”