A Whole Latte Murder

by Caroline Fardig

  “It was nice to meet you, Maya,” I said, genuinely meaning it. I hadn’t needed to worry so much about having lunch with these two.

  She slung her bag over her shoulder. “You as well. We’ll have to do this again sometime, only with cocktails.”

  Brooke nodded, her mouth full. “I’m all for cocktails,” she mumbled, waving as Maya weaved through the tables and to the door. She swallowed. “So, Juliet, I take it you know the owner here pretty well?”

  “Pete? Yeah, I know him pretty well. Why?”

  “Is he single?”

  “Um, yes…”

  A blush crept up her cheeks. “Well, it’s just that he’s so sweet to me every time I come in here, and…he’s so cute.”

  I suppressed a chuckle. That was Pete, all right. “I’ll be happy to put in a good word for you if you like.”

  “Oh, would you? It would be nice to find out if he’s even interested before I go and make a fool of myself. I’d hate to be too embarrassed to come in here anymore. I’d miss the cookies!” She got up, grabbing her purse. “I have to get to work, but it was so lovely to meet you, Juliet. Like Maya said, let’s get together again soon.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, I’d like that very much.”

  After Brooke left, I cleaned up our dishes, wondering whether Pete would be ready for another relationship just yet. It wasn’t my call, though. I’d give him the information, and he’d have to decide for himself.

  —

  Exhaustion began to hit me as the afternoon wore on. Between worrying and losing sleep, I could barely keep my eyes open. I’d drunk so much coffee my stomach was boiling with acid, so ingesting any more was out of the question. Since spring break began at the end of classes today, Tiffany had taken tonight off to get a jump start on her travel plans, so we were down a barista and would be until she got back. Kira and Cole had elected to stay and work through the break. Business would be way down with all the kids gone, so we wouldn’t need a full crew. Tonight, though, we were still rather busy, so I had to stay awake enough to help out front.

  I was making a new pot of coffee, in too much of a daze to notice that Pete was standing next to me. “How long have you been there?” I asked, yawning.

  “Long enough to know that you need a nap. Let me take over for you, and you get some dinner and sleep it off in the office. Rest up, because one of my new artists is singing at a bar downtown tonight and I want you to go with me.”

  I hadn’t been out for an evening of music and drinking with Pete in a while. I remembered wistfully back to the first time we’d gone out on the town together.

  —

  With my newly minted driver’s license decreeing that I was finally over twenty-one and therefore welcome at any establishment on Broadway, Pete took me downtown for my first official bar crawl the Saturday after my birthday. The sidewalks swelled with people, and nearly every bar was packed to the gills.

  A year older than me, Pete knew the ropes and already had an itinerary planned of the least expensive and most fun bars for us to hit. After we’d been to a few bars and seen a couple of acts perform, I was convinced more than I’d ever been that I wanted nothing more than to be onstage performing for the rest of my life.

  I pointed to the female singer we’d been listening to for the last half hour. “Pete, that’s who I want to be when I grow up.”

  Pete snickered. “Word in the biz is that she snorts up her nose every penny she makes. Aim a little higher, please.”

  “You know what I mean. She’s doing what I want to do….” I sighed. “Performing.”

  “Well, genius, I think you’ve kind of already made that life decision since you’re more than halfway to getting your performance degree. This shouldn’t be an earth-shattering revelation you’ve got going on here.”

  I shook my head. “You’re not getting me. Can’t you feel the electricity radiating from her? It’s like you can see inside her soul. She makes her music come alive. I want to be able to do that.”

  Pete regarded me quizzically for a moment. “But you do. When you perform it’s like a lightbulb goes on inside you and you…glow.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “No. Well, not entirely. I’m just saying if you’re striving to be as good a performer as she is, you’re already there.”

  I studied the woman up onstage. “I’m that good? Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. You’ve got a major career ahead of you. Just promise you’ll remember me when you make it big, okay?”

  —

  Coming back to the present, I replied, “I would love to go with you. Will we be done by ten?”

  Pushing me out of the way, he got behind the counter and found an apron to wear and a clean towel to throw over his shoulder. “Ten? I said we’re going downtown, not to the old folks home.”

  “Says the guy who turns into a pumpkin after nine.”

  “Only on work nights,” he said defensively. “What do you have going that it’s so important we be done by ten?”

  “Between our work schedules lately, I haven’t had a lot of quality time with Ryder. Plus, he used what little time he had off this week to go rock climbing with you.”

  Pete grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous of my man date with your boyfriend.”

  “Am not,” I muttered.

  He yanked on my apron string hard enough to untie it. “Take a break. I can do this job with one hand tied behind my back. Get it? Because I’ve got one hand—”

  I smiled in spite of myself, but still managed a sarcastic, “You’re so funny.”

  —

  After a quick dinner, I settled down for a long nap on the couch in the office. I was having the nicest dream about being on vacation at a secluded tropical beach, lying in the sand in the arms of a man. He had his hat pulled down over his face, so I didn’t know who he was, but that didn’t seem to matter to me in dreamland. I was content with the fact that I felt happy and in love. My mystery man and I were both wearing shiny new wedding rings and not much else. We lay there for a while, watching the waves crash. He started kissing me, and even though I wasn’t sure who he was, it felt right. Once the guy pulled away from me, I looked up into his eyes, and it was…Pete!

  “Jules,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder and giving me a little shake.

  “Pete, we’re…married?” I asked, both confused and completely happy at the same time.

  “You need to wake up.”

  I never wanted to wake up. “But this is perfect.”

  “Jules.”

  Suddenly, the sand and the warmth evaporated, leaving me cold and stiff on the uncomfortable office couch. I jumped. Pete was still there, though…but standing over me. I could feel a blush warming my cheeks.

  “I think you were dreaming,” he said, his brow furrowed.

  Frigid goosebumps popped out over my entire body at the thought of Pete witnessing me dreaming about kissing him. After clearing my throat, I asked, “Why? Did I…say something?”

  “No,” he said way too quickly, turning away from me. Shit. He’d heard me.

  I was mortified, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I didn’t want the entire evening to be awkward, but I could tell we were both there at the moment. There had always been somewhat of a spark between Pete and me, but with him being my boss, me dating Ryder, and his girlfriend having just passed away, the spark had all but died out…or so I’d thought.

  A little self-deprecation was never a bad thing. “At least it wasn’t a sex dream, if it makes you feel any better.” Luckily he’d woken me up before it got to that point.

  He snorted. “Are you saying you have sex dreams about me sometimes?”

  “No.” Occasionally.

  “That’s too bad. Since I’m not getting any in real life, I would have hoped I’d at least be getting some in someone’s dreams.”

  “TMI, Pete.”

  He grinned at me. “Then we’re even.”

 
; More than ready to change the subject, I said, “Speaking of getting some, I know of a girl who’s interested in you.”

  His smile evaporated and his face went a little pale. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. She wanted me to find out if you’d be willing to go out with her before she made her move. Her name’s Brooke Nussbaum. She’s in here probably once a week or so. She said she’s talked to you before. Strawberry blond, thirty-ish, very pretty.”

  He looked away, and the corner of his mouth pulled up just a bit. I could tell he was flattered, but I could also sense the struggle going on inside him.

  I added, “I probably should have been a little more subtle than to lay it out there like that, but since you and I never pull any punches with each other, I figured I’d just say it.”

  “So am I supposed to ask her out…or is she going to ask me?” Pete’s eyes were as large as saucers, and I could actually see him breathing. “How long do I have before she wants an answer?”

  I said gently, “Pete, you don’t have to decide right now.”

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “Right. I’ll…I’ll think about it. Now get your lazy butt moving. We’re going out on the town.”

  Chapter 8

  Pete called a cab for us, partially because he wasn’t supposed to drive with one arm in a sling (even though he’d been driving the short distance from his house to Java Jive and to work) and partially because he wanted us not to have to worry about driving back. He’d told me he’d even skipped his evening pain pill in preparation. I realized why when the cab pulled up in front of Big Shotz, a bar on Second Avenue, just off the main drag of Broadway. Every time Pete and I went there, we got hammered. It was probably the “big shotz” they served.

  The place was packed when we got inside, but we managed to find a table fairly close to the stage. Pete immediately ordered us two Dirty Pirate Hookers each. I shook my head, but didn’t make a snide remark. No wonder we always got trashed here.

  The music had just started, and Pete gestured toward the young woman performing onstage. “That’s Carina McCloud. She’s who we’re here to see.”

  I listened for a moment. “I like her.” Her voice sounded a lot like mine. So much so it was a little eerie, actually.

  He nodded, not taking his eyes off me. “She’s good, but you’re better.”

  I gave him a good-natured punch on his not-broken arm. “Pete, stop.”

  “I’m serious.” He stabbed a finger in the direction of the stage. “You could be doing that right now if you wanted to. Full-time.”

  I smiled. “I already have a job—a cushy one, with a boss who takes me out for drinks and lets me nap when I’m supposed to be working.”

  “Damn it, Jules, don’t make light of this. It’s time you realize what you’re missing out on.”

  “I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything. I like my life.” I added, “Other than the finding-dead-bodies thing.”

  His face was completely serious. He took my hand. “Jules, I’ve been worried for a while that…I’m holding you back.”

  “You? How?”

  “By having you run Java Jive.”

  “Are you kidding? You giving me that job saved me in more ways than one. Otherwise I’d be hopeless, penniless, and living with my parents.” I shuddered at the thought.

  “I was kind of hoping that getting you to move back to town would make you want to start performing again.” He let go of my hand and slumped back in his chair. “But with you working twenty-four-seven, you have no time to do anything else. And that’s my fault.”

  I shook my head, dumbfounded. I had no idea Pete felt this way. It was my choice not to perform, not because I was busy with work. I gulped down my first Dirty Pirate Hooker and put my hand on his good arm. “I won’t let you blame yourself because I’m a chickenshit. Even if I had all the time in the world to perform, my stage fright would always be in the way. I’ve accepted it. You should, too.”

  “You’ll sing in front of me now. That’s a start. Who’s to say you can’t work up to singing in front of more and more people? Start small and go from there.”

  “Singing in front of you is totally different. And it’s not like I can control what goes on in my head. I have a phobia, and by definition it’s irrational and ridiculous, and I’m painfully aware of that. But it doesn’t make it any less real for me.”

  He wasn’t letting this go. “Let’s send you to my shrink, then. See if he can do something for you.”

  I knocked back my second shot. “I have an idea. Why don’t we enjoy the evening instead of talking about something that can’t be solved right now?” I waved over a server and ordered another double round.

  Pete gave me a disappointed frown and downed his first shot. “Fine. But the subject is not closed for discussion.”

  “Whatever, Naggy Mc…McNaggypants,” I replied, my head starting to swim. Ooh. Those shots were working already.

  Thankfully, Pete dropped the subject and instead began to regale me with a story about how a has-been musician went ballistic in the studio today because Pete told him he needed to retune his guitar before he’d record any more tracks. Pete mocked the man’s trademark Southern drawl, and before I knew it, I was laughing so hard I was gasping for breath. My cellphone rang just then, and it was Ryder.

  “Hey,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the music and the crowd.

  “Hey, I have some bad news,” he said. I could barely hear him.

  “Can you speak up?”

  “I said I have some bad news,” he said louder.

  “What is it?”

  “I caught a break on the case. I’m not going to be able to make it home tonight.”

  “Oh,” I said flatly. Even though I’d hoped tonight would be different, in the back of my mind I had expected this.

  “Where are you, anyway? It’s loud.”

  “At a bar with Pete. I guess we don’t have to cut our evening short if I won’t be seeing you.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Yes.” How could he tell?

  “Be safe, please.” He seemed a little perturbed as he ended the call.

  As I threw my phone into my purse, Pete asked, “Who was that?”

  “Ryder. He’s not coming home again tonight.”

  He grinned devilishly. “That means you and I can stay out as late as we want.”

  —

  When Carina finished her performance, Pete introduced me to her. By that time I’d had enough shots I would be lucky to be able to remember her if I ran into her again. Pete and I decided to hop to another bar, so we left Big Shotz, staggering arm in arm down Second toward Broadway.

  “Pete,” I complained. “Walk faster. I hate walking down this street.”

  He laughed. “Just because you got shat on one time. Big freaking deal. Isn’t it supposed to be good luck or something?”

  I shuddered as the horror of “The Bird Incident,” as it came to be known, replayed in my mind.

  —

  My senior year, I had managed to get a gig performing at a small bar on Second Avenue. It wasn’t exactly like playing a gig at one of the big honky-tonks on Broadway, but it was my first big-time experience, so I was pumped. I was way too nervous to drive, so Pete offered to give me and my roommate at the time, Karen, a ride downtown. We had to park in a lot a few blocks away and hoof it to the venue. Once we’d walked several blocks down Broadway and turned on Second, we began to notice an eerie noise coming from the trees above us, blotting out the loud music from the open doors up and down the street.

  It was the sound of birds. A lot of them.

  Karen, a pre-vet major and avid birdwatcher, was mesmerized. “Would you look at all of those pigeons? I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many all in one place.”

  “I hate birds. I’m out of here!” I cried, ducking my head and hurrying to get to our destination.

  Pete laughed. “It looks to me like you’re afraid of birds, Jules. What,
do you think one’s going to swoop down and peck your eyes out?”

  I didn’t have a bird phobia, exactly. It was more of a deep-seated hatred. When I was a kid, our backyard was filled with trees. Great for shade, but not so great otherwise. For some reason, our backyard was the central gathering place for what seemed like every bird in town. My swing set was always covered in bird poop, which I was forever getting all over my clothes and my hands, and there were a few particularly mean birds that would dive-bomb me anytime I set foot outside. Hence, my issue with the entire species.

  Karen was staring up at the trees in awe. “There are starlings up there, too. Oh, and look! It’s a long-eared owl.”

  Pete stopped to look with her. “An owl. Really? Where?”

  Turning around to complain at them, I said, “It doesn’t matter what kind of birds they are. They all crap the same. Come on before one of us becomes a victim!”

  No sooner had I uttered those words, than I felt something hit my shirt, front and center on the top of my left breast. My mouth dropped open, and I looked down in disbelief at a quarter-sized, disgusting white splotch on the beautiful midnight-blue shirt I’d picked out especially for my gig. A torrent of curses rained from my mouth, causing passersby to stop and stare. Of course my “friends” had dissolved into laughter, doubling over with tears streaming down their faces.

  Tears were threatening to stream down my face, too, but for a totally different reason. Once Karen and Pete noticed my distress, they sobered up immediately and steered me under a nearby awning and out of the line of fire. Karen found a pack of tissues in her purse and worked to get the worst of it off my shirt. Pete told me no one would notice because the crowd would all be too into my performance to worry about what I was wearing.

  I’d never gone down Second Avenue again without thinking about that night…and of course without trying to avoid as many trees as humanly possible.

  —

  A gruff voice broke me out of my thoughts. “Ms. Langley. Mr. Bennett. Fancy meeting you here.”

  I could literally feel my buzz being killed in the presence of Detective Cromwell. He was the last person I’d have expected to bump into here. And he was with a woman. Weird. “Hello, Detective. I thought you’d be hard at work tonight.”