Death by Latte

by Linda Gerber

  It took such concentration to keep the emotion from my face that I had gone a couple of blocks before I noticed a man on the other side of the street who seemed to be matching my stride, mirroring my movements. I probably wouldn’t have noticed him at all except that I caught a reflection of him in a store window. He seemed to be staring straight at me. I paused and pretended to admire something inside the store so that I could get a better look at him, but he bent his blond head away from me and stooped to tie his shoelace.

  He was definitely following me. Why? And then I thought about it. I had interrupted Joe’s murder. I had touched him, spoken to him. Whoever killed him might think Joe had told me something I shouldn’t know. Something worth killing for. The idea brought with it a cold panic that coiled around my throat so tightly I could hardly breathe.

  What should I do? I couldn’t lead the guy to the car. I couldn’t go back to the café, either. I wanted to yell, to scream, but instead I made myself stroll casually past the next shop, a vacant smile plastered on my face. Meanwhile, my mind raced. Mom would have been more aware of her surroundings. She would have already mapped out an escape route. I would have to improvise.

  I took quick note of the people around me: a couple of guys in shirtsleeves, a cluster of touristy-looking types talking in loud voices, a lady walking a big black dog. It wasn’t likely that the guy would do anything in front of all those people, so maybe he was just watching me.

  I stood at the crosswalk next to the shirtsleeve guys, waiting for the light to change. From the corner of my eye, I watched as the man waited at the crosswalk on his side of the road. The light turned green. I stepped down from the curb. Across the street, he did the same. I took a couple of steps forward, but as soon as the cars started moving through the intersection, I spun, jumped back onto the sidewalk, and ran for the nearest store.

  I didn’t stop to see if he was coming after me. I just hoped that he wouldn’t try to cut through the traffic, and that I’d have a minute-or-so head start.

  A hanging bell jangled when I yanked open the door, and I dashed into what looked like some kind of New Age gift boutique. Inside, a cloying smell of incense weighted the stagnant air. Racks of crystal jewelry, dream catchers, and bottles of essential oils lined one wall and a wrought-iron staircase ascended along the other. Breathy flute music played softly in the background. My footsteps creaked across the aged wooden floor, but the lady behind the counter didn’t even look up. She licked her thumb and turned a page in the magazine she was reading.

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me. Do you have a restroom?”

  She gave me a brief, bored glance and pointed to the stairs. “Captain Nemo’s. Up the stairs on the left.”

  I thanked her and took the stairs two at a time. On the second floor, the glass front of Captain Nemo’s pub dominated the left-hand wall. Through the soles of my feet, I could feel the vibration of the heavy bass music inside. The bar was crowded with what looked like an after-work crowd. I could probably lose myself in there.

  But then I saw something better. At the end of the hallway stood an emergency exit. I ran for the door and slipped through it just as I heard the bell downstairs jangle again.

  I cringed at every footfall as I rushed down the stairs, every movement echoing through the bare cement stairwell. Because of the way the building was situated at the bottom of a steep hill, the exterior exit was only half a flight down. I set my sights on the door and tried to tread as lightly as I could. I had nearly reached it when the door on the first floor burst open.

  “Hey!” a man’s voice yelled. “Stop!”

  I didn’t care about noise anymore. I crashed out the metal exterior door and into the alleyway behind the building. Garbage bins and empty boxes filled the alley. Something sour leaked from one of the bins and snaked along the downward slope toward the building. I recoiled from the stench and ran the other way.

  I didn’t have to turn around to know he was behind me. I heard the exterior door bang open before I even reached the end of the block. I turned and pounded down a faded wooden staircase and tore through a narrow alleyway between two tall buildings. Back on the sidewalk again, I wiped the expression from my face and jogged to the corner. From there, I cut up the street to a path that wound through a miniature park.

  As I tore down the path, I caught the flash of red lights through the trees to my left. My feet slowed and then stumbled to a stop as I realized that the café lay just below the park. Through the branches, I could see the round tables with their crisp white tablecloths. An ambulance idled at the curb as two paramedics draped a sheet over a figure lying on the gurney. The waiter was talking to a policeman, who was writing things down in a notebook. There was no sign of Mom.

  She must have slipped away. Which meant she was probably heading back to the car. Where she would look for me. And I wouldn’t be there.

  I needed to get back to the parking lot, but I needed to be sure I lost my tail first. How, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t have time to think about it. From behind me came the sound of running feet. I spun and bolted up the park’s grassy hill to the street above. When I reached the sidewalk, I banked right. At the bottom of the hill ran the raised freeway—my only familiar landmark. As long as I made sure I could see the freeway, I would be able to find my way back to the parking lot.

  I ducked into the first doorway I came to and pressed my back against the wall, praying that the man hadn’t seen which way I had gone. I held my breath, waiting, hoping, resisting a quick peek around the corner to see if he was coming. One moment passed, then another and another. It seemed logical that if he had seen where I’d gone, he would have passed the doorway by then. I made myself wait a little longer just to be sure. Nothing.

  Cautiously, I pulled myself away from the wall and peered down the sidewalk. It was empty. I didn’t celebrate too much, though. If he had followed the path through the park instead of cutting through the trees, it wouldn’t take him long to discover I hadn’t gone that way, and he might come looking for me.

  At one end of the block, I saw a whole group of people crossing the street, laughing, talking. More than the usual neighborhood foot traffic. I figured it would be easier to lose myself in a crowd, so I chased after them. Once I was sure he wasn’t following me anymore, I’d find my way back to the car. I just hoped my mom would still be there.

  By the time I reached the corner, they were halfway up the hill. I ran to join them—which turned out to be much harder than I had imagined it would be because of the angle of the hill. By the time I reached the tail end of their group, I was wheezing like a smoker with asthma.

  I watched the hill below me. Nothing. Perfect. Mingling with the other pedestrians, I crossed the street. I had no idea where they all were going, but I did know there was safety in numbers. As long as I was surrounded by people, my pursuer would likely keep his distance.

  Faint strains of reggae music drifted down the sidewalk and grew louder as I walked. Bright banners in green, yellow, and red stretched above the road ahead. A lone balloon drifted up into the sky. Suddenly I understood why so many people were headed in one direction and why the prevailing mood was so light. There must be some kind of concert or festival going on. That meant lots of people. Perfect for getting lost.

  It turned out that the “festival” was just an evening concert in another rather small park. It wasn’t exactly packed with people, as I had hoped, but at least the concert had drawn a decent crowd. Dozens of people lay about on the grass, sleeping, picnicking, and soaking up the festive mood. Others danced to the music close to where the band was playing. At the far end of the park, two tall, carved totem poles framed a spectacular view of the sound.

  I turned and scanned the streets behind me. Still no sign of the mysterious blond-haired man. I wanted to believe that I had ditched him, but that seemed too easy. More likely, he was hiding somewhere. Watching. A sense of dread rose up like a glacier wave, threatening to crash down on my head.

 
I turned in a circle, suddenly feeling very alone in the midst of all those people.

  And then it began to register that the area I was in had a familiar feel to it. I looked back toward the sound. I could see the rise of the freeway, just beyond the edge of the hill. The parking area where we left the car was down there, which meant . . . I stepped up onto a low retaining wall and looked down the street. With a rush of relief, I recognized the vendor stalls on the street in front of Pike Place Market.

  I jumped down onto the sidewalk and ran for the Market. I could lose myself much better in the larger crowd there. And once I knew for sure I wasn’t being followed, I could find my way to the parking lot. For the first time that entire day, I actually felt optimistic.

  My optimism crumbled just a little as I neared the market. Instead of the crowd I had hoped for, just a handful of shoppers and tourists lingered. Most of the stalls were closed and a lot of the merchants were already disassembling them and sweeping the bricks around them. The long shadows that stretched between the buildings gave the scene a forlorn air.

  Head low and radar high, I wandered past the remaining stalls, peering into storefronts and alleyways, behind booths, and down the shadowed street. And then I stumbled to a stop.

  I blinked and rubbed my eyes. Just ahead, near a red-and-gold popcorn cart . . . I must’ve been seeing things, and yet there he stood. Instead of board shorts and sandals, he wore jeans and a T-shirt. He turned his head and his dark glasses caught the last rays of the sun. I couldn’t breathe.

  Seth.

  Bit by bit, everything else faded away, like in one of those old movies where all the action stops and the camera focuses in on just one person. All I could do was stare at him. It had only been weeks, but already my memory of him paled in comparison with the real thing. I hadn’t forgotten the sharp curve of his jaw or the way his dark hair fell around his face, but I was delighted all over again by the way my stomach went all bubbly just from seeing him.

  I called out his name, but I don’t think he heard me. My first impulse was to run to him, but I thought better of it. What if I was still being followed? The last thing I wanted to do was drag Seth into whatever was going on.

  It wasn’t easy, but I let him walk right past me and managed not to reach out to touch him. He had stopped once again, and scanned the remaining booths like he was looking for something. Or someone. Had he come to the Market to find my mom and Joe? Was he the contact Joe had spoken of? I was still in such shock from seeing him that I didn’t even wonder why he was in Seattle or how he had gotten there. That would come later. All that mattered at that moment was figuring out how I was going to alert Seth without drawing attention to him.

  I followed him through the Market at a distance, watching him but being careful not to fully look in his direction. The way he strolled from one booth to the next, you’d think he was just any other tourist. I didn’t miss the tension in his shoulders, though, or how his hands dug deep into his pockets the way they did whenever he was nervous or upset.

  Finally, he moved from the outside stalls toward the arcade. If I was going to catch him, that would be the place to do it, before anyone looking on from outside could catch up to us. I quickened my pace, sidestepping merchants and their carts and managing to reach the entrance to the building about the same time as Seth.

  I gripped his arm just long enough to get his attention and then walked ahead of him, hoping he would get the message and follow me. He did. I felt him at my elbow as I rushed toward the stairs that led to the lower-level shops. His footsteps echoed close behind mine.

  The hallway below was deserted. The “DownUnder” shops apparently closed earlier than the booths on the arcade level. Still, I didn’t like the idea of standing out in the open, just in case. I paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking for somewhere secluded that we could talk. The place was disappointingly lacking in hideaway nooks. Seth took the lead then, grabbing my hand without a word and pulling me down the hall until we reached an empty side hallway with a bolted door at the end of it.

  He turned to face me and I couldn’t help myself; I literally jumped at him and threw my arms around his neck. He didn’t return the hug. I pulled away, embarrassed and confused.

  “Seth,” I said in a small voice, “what is it?”

  He wouldn’t meet my eyes, but looked down the hall. “I’m glad I found you,” he said without feeling. “You know that ring I gave you at the resort? I need it back.” His voice was cold. Detached.

  Was he kidding? I stared at him. “That’s it? You’re not even going to say hello?”

  “I’m serious.”

  And he was, too. I could tell by the hardness of his face. The icy glint to his blue eyes. My heart fell. “I . . . don’t understand.”

  Seth dug his hands into his pockets again. “It’s simple. I. Need. The. Ring.”

  My head spun. First my mom and then Seth. How could this be happening? My hand instinctively went to the spot on my chest where the ring usually rested. It wasn’t there. I’m sure my panic must have shown on my face because his frown deepened.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s gone! I always wear it on a chain. Right here.” I splayed my hand over my chest. “I never take it off.” Then my eyes grew wide as I remembered. “Except . . .”

  “Except what?” I didn’t like the urgency in Seth’s voice.

  “Except when I shower. I put it in my backpack this afternoon and—”

  “Where is it now?”

  “The ring or the backpack?”

  He clenched his jaw. “Both.”

  I groaned as I remembered. My backpack was locked in the car. The car was in the parking lot. Where my mom might be waiting. I stepped back. “We need to go.”

  Seth grabbed my arm. His nostrils flared as he took a deliberate, deep breath. “I need the ring.”

  I shook him off. “Look, you can’t just waltz in here and start making demands. I don’t know what you’re doing here, or how you got here or—”

  He blew out a breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

  My eyes stung and I blinked hard so that I wouldn’t cry in front of him. “It does matter! I thought I’d never see you again, and here you show up with no hello and no explanation and the only thing you can say is give you back your ring? How can you be so obtuse? You have no idea what this day has been like. I just saw a man die, Seth. I don’t even know if my mom is all right . . .” The words trailed off as my throat grew too tight to talk.

  Seth’s face softened—genuine sorrow flickering in his eyes—but just as quickly, they went blank again. “Look, I’m sorry for whatever you’ve been through, Aphra, and my week’s been hell, too. The thing is, that ring belongs to my dad. I should never have given it to you.”

  “Oh.” I stared at my feet. Maybe he was trying to make it easier, but it wasn’t working. On the island, Seth told me that his dad had given him the ring when he was young. Seth had worn it for years. Maybe his dad got upset when he found out Seth had given the ring away, but I doubted it. Not upset enough to send him all the way to Seattle to retrieve it, anyway. Besides, something else was bothering Seth. I could feel it. “Why did you really come here?”

  “To find you . . .” he said. I looked up, hopeful, until he continued “. . . so I could get the ring back.”

  “Oh.”

  “Where is it?”

  I told him quickly how I had left the ring in my backpack, how I had locked the backpack in my mom’s car, and all the events that had transpired since. Even though he managed to keep his expression blasé and impassive, his eyes told another story. They looked genuinely sad about Joe’s death, but hardened again when I mentioned the man who had been following me.

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know.” I glanced back toward the main hallway. “I lost sight of him just before I reached the Market.”

  “Do you know where the car is from here?”

  “Yes.” At least I hope
d I did.

  Seth followed me back up the stairs to the main level. By that time, most of the booths on the arcade level were either closed or shutting down. A few people still clustered around the restaurants and the remaining produce stalls, but other than that, the hall was clearing out.

  I noticed with a pang that the stall Mom and Joe had occupied that morning was still set up with all of their pottery. A knot rose painfully in my throat and I swallowed hard against it. “This way,” I managed to choke out. I pointed to the wide arcade doors.

  We hadn’t taken more than two steps before I saw a familiar blond head among the stragglers outside. My stalker stood on the cobbled street, casually scanning the crowd—for my face, I realized.

  I grabbed Seth’s arm to stop him and drew back behind the frame of an empty booth. The blond turned his head and an icy fist closed over my heart.

  He was no random bad guy. He was a nightmare who had been haunting my dreams ever since he came to our island.

  CHAPTER 5

  I stood like a deer in the woods, afraid to move for fear it would attract a hunter’s attention. Not that I could have moved if I’d wanted to. For several long, dreadful seconds, I was literally frozen in place. I couldn’t even make myself speak, though I knew I should warn Seth.

  All I could do was stare. How could it be? And yet there he was. The blond hair was new, but there was no mistaking the cold, dead eyes. The man outside was none other than Agent Watts of the CIA. But what was he doing there? Before my mind even formed the question, I knew the answer.

  Earlier that summer, Watts had come to our island, chasing Seth and his family. I had no doubt that he was after Seth still . . . and I had led him right to his quarry. My head spun and fear roared in my ears. The whole day was like a bad dream that kept getting worse and worse.

  As I looked at his predatory stance outside, it was hard to imagine that Watts had once been my mom’s partner. Especially since their partnership had not engendered any loyalty as far as he was concerned. Where Mom had given up everything to protect the Mulos, Watts made it his mission to hunt them down. That I had stood in his way on the island had not helped matters. In fact, I’d made myself his sworn enemy when the herbs I had given him to make him sleep had some unpleasant side effects. He swore I had tried to poison him. At that moment I almost wished I had.