“Juliet, I know. I—”
I sighed. “Look, you should probably just leave now, before one of us says something we can’t take back.”
“I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
Redheaded She-Devil was already too far in control for me to stop myself from replying, “Then don’t come over and start shit.”
His jaw clenched, and he wordlessly stalked out, not bothering to close the door after himself. I probably should have been happy he didn’t slam it. I closed and locked my door, then did my best to compose an elated-sounding social media announcement for the “Find Kira” campaign about finally locating her. After that chore, I went back to bed, hoping sleep would come.
—
It did not. I tossed and turned the rest of the night when I wasn’t up pacing the floor. Those two glorious hours I’d had before all hell broke loose were the only real sleep I had all night. Oddly enough, when I got up I didn’t feel incredibly tired. It was as though my body had gotten used to the new normal of no sleep. My mind, however, was a different story.
“Did you just ask me if I wanted to knead a dog with a beer?”
“What?” Pete stared at me like I’d sprouted a second head. “I knew you weren’t listening. I said, do you think we need to have a talk with Kira?”
“Yes, I do. And, Pete, I was listening to you. It’s just that the information got muddled somewhere between my ears and my brain. I only had two hours of sleep last night.”
“I think you should do Lucinda’s sleep study.”
“I don’t need anyone to study me to figure out why I don’t sleep. I know why. I can’t turn my brain off and quit worrying.”
“Yeah, but didn’t she say she had some good drugs she could give you? That alone could be worth it.”
I sighed. “That’s true. I suppose I have some free time now that the search is over and so is my relationship with Ryder.”
Gertie had just shuffled up to the counter and heard my remark. She cried, “Did I hear you right? You and Ryder are kaput?”
Pete smiled. “Yep. Best news I’ve heard all day.”
Gertie bristled. “You never did give that boy a chance.”
Glaring at both of us, Pete griped, “The only reason you two even give him the time of day is because of how he struts around and flexes his stupid muscles. Jules, he doesn’t treat you right, and Gertie, he flirts with you only because you’re old and you bake him cookies.”
Gertie scowled and stared her grandson down. I was honestly afraid she was going to bend him over her knee and spank him right in the middle of the coffeehouse, but thankfully she didn’t.
Instead, she gave him a verbal beatdown. “You know, we’ve all pussyfooted around your sad sack, sorry-for-yourself ass long enough. Peter James Bennett, clean up your act or else. We’re all tired of your ‘poor me’ horseshit and your smart mouth.”
I backed away from the counter and covered my open mouth with my hand to conceal my reaction. Gertie hadn’t seen Pete since he’d had his little epiphany yesterday and had decided to work on his attitude. He’d been a complete angel since then (except for his last comment, of course). Gertie was a sweet old lady, but you did not want to make the mistake of crossing her. She raised Pete, so he of all people should have known better.
Pete blew out a breath and took her gnarled hand in his. “I know.” He threw a smile at me and said, “Another very wise woman said something similar to me yesterday, and I promised her I’d work on not being such an ass. Obviously, I’m still a work in progress. Forgive me?”
Gertie’s face softened, and she patted his cheek. “Of course, dear. There’s the Pete we know and love. Now, all you need to do is get your rocks off and you’ll be good as new.”
Pete and I both groaned at the same time. He said, “You took it one step too far, Gert.”
She shrugged. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
—
After Gertie grilled me about my injured nose, she and Pete left. Pete went to work, and Gertie went off to do whatever it was Gertie did all day. Likely she was running home to bake a batch of her famous pineapple chocolate chip cookies for poor Ryder, who I was sure she believed I had heartlessly dumped for no reason. Generally Gertie was always on my side—unless Ryder was involved.
We were slow this morning, not surprisingly since many of our regulars were on spring break. I was happy to look up and find Dean Kingston coming in the door. He walked up and took a seat at the counter.
“I thought I might find you here,” he said, smiling. “How’s that schnoz of yours?”
“It feels nearly back to normal, but if it weren’t for my stunning makeup job, you’d be able to see the two black eyes I have to go with it.”
Dean winced. “If that’s the case, I’d like to examine it, if you don’t mind.”
I chuckled. “Isn’t it the wrong end for you to be examining, Doctor?”
He leaned his head back and laughed. “Oh, Juliet, you’re a hoot. And yes, technically, for me it would be the ‘wrong end’ as you put it, but I do know plenty about wound care and bruising. C-sections and episiotomies often get infected and need—”
I held up a hand. “Enough said. I get it—you’re good at wounds. I guess that means I have to wash off my lovely makeup so you can see me in all my glory?”
“Yes, please.”
I quickly did as instructed and took Dean back to the office with me so he could perform my “examination.” I wasn’t sure it was completely necessary, but maybe he was feeling guilty or something. He got up in my face and carefully looked at my nose and eyes. He gently pushed on a couple of places and asked me if it hurt. He cleaned my wound and redressed it with a new bandage from Java Jive’s first-aid kit.
“There. You should be as good as new in no time,” he said, stepping back to admire his work. “The bridge of your nose is a little wide. Did you know that? With a little work, your nose could be adorable.”
My nose was fine as it was. I ignored his comment. “Thanks for coming to check on me, Dean. I appreciate it. And I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping search for Kira this weekend. Good news—we found her safe and sound.”
“That’s great news. I’m sorry I wasn’t available yesterday to help. I was on call.”
“No problem. We had quite a few people early in the day. Lucinda brought Myles to help. It was nice to meet him.”
Dean snorted. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. My apologies. Myles is a tool and a gold digger. I don’t know what my sister sees in him.”
“Love is blind sometimes.”
“Very true.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “You know Stan pretty well, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is he protective of his sister Abigail…you know, after losing his other sister?”
I shrugged. “I guess, in a way. What are you asking?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve loved her from afar for years, but she was always married and unavailable. Now maybe I have a chance, but I’m not sure if Stan will approve. Sure, he and I are friends, but I have a bit of a reputation where the ladies are concerned.”
I burst out laughing. “You think Stan Hollingsworth has any room to judge in that department?”
“Well, no. But you know how guys are. They can spot a fellow Lothario a mile away, and they never want their sisters to date anyone remotely like themselves.”
“Abigail has been with her share of losers. I think you would be a great catch for her.”
“Would you mind mentioning that to Stan for me?”
Smiling, I said, “Sure.” Why was everyone choosing me to play matchmaker lately?
Dean picked up his coat to head out. When he got to the door, he spun around quickly. “I almost forgot—Stan and Lucinda said you asked about a pre-med professor having an affair with the girl who died recently? I have your answer, but you’re not going to believe it. And I know you’re not going to like it.”
I gasped. I’d
all but forgotten about that with everything that had gone on this weekend. “Who is it?”
“Your friend’s husband. Jack Beaumont.”
Chapter 18
My mouth hung open.
“Juliet? Are you okay?” Dean asked when I neglected to reply for a good thirty seconds.
I finally found my voice. “Jack? What? How…?”
“Well, the how of an affair isn’t much of a mystery,” he joked.
“This is serious!”
“Sorry. Ob-gyn humor isn’t the best.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine how it will affect Mallory. How many people know about this? Is it major gossip?”
“No. I asked around—discreetly, of course—and only heard it from one doctor I spoke with. He happened to see them together one night, and it was obvious to him that they were together. Fortunately, the doctor who told me is one of the least gossipy people I know.”
“So how did you get him to spill it to you?”
He couldn’t contain his smile. “I might have told him I was helping out the police with an investigation. After all, it’s true that I did help them with the search for Kira.”
“Close enough, right?”
“Right. And if this doctor gig doesn’t work out for me, who knows? I might join the boys in blue and use my gossiping skills for good instead of evil.”
I laughed. Stan had mentioned to me that Dean was quite a well-respected doctor, so I doubted he would ever have trouble with the “doctor gig” not working out. “Somehow I don’t picture you with a badge and a gun.”
“Good point. I guess I’ll stick with doctoring. Bringing babies into the world is quite a treat.” He hesitated for a moment, his jovial attitude turning serious. “Juliet, if you don’t mind, could you keep my name out of it when you give this information to your detective boyfriend? Jack and I have a bit of a…history.”
“What kind of a history?”
Dean sighed. “Years ago, Jack made an idiotic mistake, and I did what I could to ensure it didn’t end up costing him his career. I was only trying to help out a friend, but Jack was rather resentful of my ‘meddling,’ as he once put it. I think he was embarrassed and too proud to accept help, although he didn’t seem to mind not having to deal with the trouble he caused. Our friendship hasn’t been the same since.”
I thought back to the charity tennis tournament, which seemed like an age ago. Jack was nice and happy to see me at first, but then had slipped into a funk once Mallory mentioned going out with our team (which included Dean and his sister) after the tournament. Jack also didn’t join us to celebrate afterward. Maybe he really did have a beef with Dean.
Dean’s bright blue eyes clouded over. “I sincerely hope this is all a coincidence. I can’t see Jack as a cheater or a killer.” He shuffled out, leaving me alone with his horrible news.
I was absolutely devastated for Mallory. I wished desperately I could unhear this information, but I had a duty to tell Ryder. I had promised to get the name for him, not because we were dating at the time, but because I wanted to see Chelsea’s killer brought to justice. But Jack? He was no killer. It didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t imagine him cheating on Mallory. They always seemed so in love. And I really couldn’t imagine him killing Chelsea, or anyone for that matter. Maybe Dean’s doctor friend had misunderstood what he saw. Maybe Jack was being an understanding teacher and…giving her a sympathetic hug? In this day and age, professors couldn’t (and for the most part didn’t) touch students with a ten-foot pole, lest they be considered “too friendly.” Whatever the reason Jack and Chelsea were seen together, I wanted to know the full story before I went blabbing it to the police. The last thing I would want would be to cause trouble for Jack and Mallory for no reason.
—
In the wake of my newfound knowledge, I was antsy all morning. I dropped things, I burned food, and I spilled coffee left and right. I couldn’t stop shaking. Finally when Pete came in at eleven for an early lunch, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I dragged him into the office to get my worries off my chest.
“I am freaking out here, and I really need to talk to someone before I lose my mind.”
His face concerned, he asked, “What is it, Jules? Is everything okay?”
“I found out who Chelsea was having an affair with. Jack Beaumont.”
Pete’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Jack? Mr. Perfect? Where did you hear that?”
“From Dean Kingston.”
“Who?”
“The doctor guy who whacked me with the tennis racket. He’s Lucinda’s brother.”
Pete asked, “So did he see them together or what? Are you sure he got the right guy?”
“Dean told me another doctor saw Jack and Chelsea together.”
“That’s it?”
“Dean said this guy isn’t a gossip, so he thinks the information is credible.”
Shaking his head, Pete said, “I don’t know, Jules. I don’t know that I’d take thirdhand information to the cops. Especially the kind of information that could not only land Jack on the suspect list for Chelsea’s murder but could also land him on his wife’s shit list.”
“I had the same thought. That’s why I was hoping you’d go talk to Jack with me.”
Pete squinted at me. “You want to go accost Jack and ask him if he murdered Chelsea, or at the very least cheated on his wife? That’ll be an interesting conversation.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds awful. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and let him explain the situation before going to the police with it.”
“Jules, it’s just gossip.”
“Yes, gossip I was tasked by the MNPD with finding out.”
Frowning, he said, “Don’t try to make it sound more official than it really is. Your now ex-boyfriend asked you to coax some information out of Chelsea’s friends. You took the next step and started asking anyone you could find.”
I huffed, “So you won’t help me?”
His face softened. “I didn’t say that.”
“So you will help me.”
“Only because I don’t want you accusing Jack of some heinous crime you have no proof of. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it the right way.”
I scoffed, “There’s a right way to ask a guy if he’s been cheating on his wife?”
—
Pete was able to convince Jack to stop by Java Jive around dinnertime, so I had to wait until then. In my mind, I kept running through ways of bringing up the uncomfortable questions I needed to ask him, but never could figure out with a good way to do it. I hoped Pete would be able to think of something.
All my worries about Jack, however, were pushed out of my head when a tearful Maya Huxley came hurrying into the coffeehouse.
I went around the counter to meet her. “What’s wrong, Maya?” She had struck me as kind of a tough chick, so witnessing her cry was something I didn’t think would ever happen.
She sniffed. “It’s Brooke. She’s been…she’s been strangled.”
“What?” I hissed, hoping no one else in the room had heard any of this.
Nodding, she continued, “She’s alive, but only just. It will be touch-and-go, if she pulls through at all.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. “That’s awful. Maya, I’m so sorry.”
“We can’t even see her, it’s so bad. Family only.”
“Poor Brooke.”
She took my hands and held my gaze. “The reason why I wanted to tell you in person isn’t because of Brooke. It’s because of Ryder.” She took a deep breath. “Brooke was found in a supply closet at the hospital with a length of IV cord around her neck.”
I gasped. “Just like Amanda.” Ryder’s wife had been killed in exactly the same manner, ten years ago.
Maya nodded. “He’s a bloody mess about it. He mentioned what happened between the two of you, so I didn’t reckon he’d tell you himself. But I thought you should know.”
&
nbsp; I couldn’t imagine what Ryder was going through right now. “Thank you for coming to tell me. I don’t know if he’ll appreciate my presence, but I’m going to go see him. Is he at the hospital now?”
“No. He said he needed some space. To go somewhere to think. I think he was heading home.”
—
I knew I wouldn’t find him at home. Anytime Ryder needed “space” or “somewhere to think,” it meant only one thing—he was going to shoot stuff at his favorite gun range. I hadn’t known he was such a gun nut when we met, not that it was a bad thing, but I simply didn’t share his enthusiasm for firearms. He’d taken me to the range a few times to try to teach me how to shoot, but I wasn’t really that into it. He eventually figured it out and quit asking me to go.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I spotted his newly issued unmarked police sedan by the front door. I didn’t particularly want to go inside, mostly because it was always horrifically loud, even with those earmuff things they give you to wear. But I knew he wouldn’t answer my calls or texts after how we left things last night, and I didn’t have the time to wait around until he was finished, so ambushing him was my only option.
Of course you had to walk through the gun shop—which was creepy as hell, with guns from floor to ceiling—to get to the range. The guy at the counter recognized me, and after giving me a pair of earmuffs and some protective glasses (like the flimsy plastic lenses would protect my eyes from a stray bullet), let me into the range. There were two other men and a woman in the first few stalls; Ryder was in the last stall on the end.
He was in the middle of shooting, so I didn’t dare interrupt him. He rapidly emptied his clip into the head of the poor, unsuspecting paper silhouette at the far end of the range. He was a damn good shot, I’d give him that. When he finished and went to reload his gun, he noticed me standing behind him and frowned immediately.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he muttered, concentrating on preparing his gun to fire another barrage of shots.
A Whole Latte Murder Page 16