Peppermint Mocha Murder (A Molly Brewster Mystery Book 1)

by Pam Moll

  I did a U-turn and drove past the purple cart. I waved at Connie, who now chatted with an elderly man standing at the curb with a cane.

  Coffee, the most important meal of the day.

  ~ Anonymous

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Once I crossed over the Ten-Cent bridge I yanked off the brown wig and placed it and my ball cap with the Dolphin patch into my backpack. The disguise might come in handy later. The trek around the garage sale neighborhood had turned my curly red hair into a fuzz ball under the wig. I removed the inside-out floral shirt which left me wearing my brown T-shirt.

  I returned to Bay Isles, starving. Sleuthing made me ravenous.

  There would be a free, amazingly delicious late lunch available at Granny’s, but I didn’t want to have to deal with her yet. Instead, I stopped at Island Grille. I planned to grab a quick bite and ask around about Jim. And I wanted to see if Erica had shown up at her part-time waitress job.

  The Island Grille was a quaint standalone building, painted turquoise and white with a huge Marlin mounted above the front door. It was the last building situated in the town’s marina. It was a popular spot for fishermen, and I had heard that Jim ate there often.

  The patio table I chose sat out back with views of the Grand Canal. There were only a few other patrons in the restaurant enjoying a late lunch al fresco. A large chalkboard showed the catch of the day and other specials.

  Within a few minutes, a tiny blonde-haired, blue-eyed waitress with a ponytail approached the table. “Hi, I’m Amy. You’re the coffee shop lady, right?” She chewed and snapped her gum, bobbing her head like a pigeon with an attitude.

  “Yes, hi. I’m Molly.” I smiled.

  “Nice to make your acquaintance. I’ve seen you at the Bean a few times, and my bestie told me she works for you part-time.”

  “Erica?”

  “Yes. Can I bring you something to drink?”

  “Sweet tea.”

  “Do you know yet what you’re having to eat? The house salad with grilled shrimp is great. Not that you need it. If I had your body, I wouldn’t be covering it up in a baggie t-shirt.”

  “Um, thanks,” I said. “Shrimp salad it is.”

  “I’ll get the kitchen started on the salad. By the way I love your hair,” Amy gushed. “I’ve been thinking about dyeing my own hair a fun color.”

  “I think blonde is the perfect color for you.”

  “Thanks,” Amy gave me a nod and scurried off.

  I was thrilled at my luck to be sitting at the table waitressed by none other than Erica’s bestie! I tried to contain my obvious excitement.

  Amy returned with a tall glass of iced tea with a lemon wedge.

  “Thanks,” I said, squeezing the lemon into the tea. “Your friend Erica is amazing. Did you know her mom works at the Bean part time too?” I wanted to strike up a conversation and ask questions without sounding like a detective. I took a sip of the tea.

  “I did know Fiona worked there too. They both make killer lattes. Did you know, they own an espresso machine?”

  I nodded, as if I knew about their kitchen appliances. I did know they lived together. What else should I have known about Erica?

  “Isn’t it just crazy what happened to Jim?” I stirred my tea.

  Amy’s blue eyes betrayed a sort of smoldering bitterness I wouldn’t have thought possible in this lovely young waitress with a wide smile.

  “That worm was always in here picking on Erica. Her first day on the job, he didn’t waste any time trying to get to her.”

  “Did they date?”

  “That whack job. He flirted with everyone and anybody. I heard he used to work here years ago.” She shrugged. “No matter. He’s gone and I’m not sorry about that.” Her expression darkened even more. A blush filled her cheeks.

  “That swine took advantage of my good friend,” she whispered angrily. “Jim’s death couldn’t have happened to a more deserving man.”

  I started to ask her another question, but stopped when an elderly couple walked in, and caught Amy’s eye. They sat a few tables from me.

  Amy waved at the couple. “Be with you all in a minute. Coffee?”

  The woman with yellowed gray hair pulled tightly back from her weathered face into a ponytail yelled back to Amy. “Bob likes his black.”

  Amy nodded.

  Before I lost Amy to the couple, I wanted to find out more about Jim and Erica’s relationship.

  “What reasons could you think that someone would want him knocked off?” I said very reasonably, without emotion.

  The blonde waitress counted them off on her fingers. “Scumbag. Deadbeat. Cheat. Liar. Fraud.”

  She smiled and went in search of two cups of coffee. Before she was out of earshot, she turned back to me and said loudly, “Oh, and he never tipped, so add cheapskate to that list.”

  Sorry I asked.

  I finished my salad, not leaving even a shred of lettuce or crouton on the plate. Amy had been right—it was amazing! I couldn’t get over how many restaurants served shrimp and seafood. Even with my rabbit diet and fresh seafood, I had gained weight since moving to Bay Isles. My mom was always worried about it, while Granny said I looked healthy. It felt good to put on a few extra pounds. My ex-boyfriend had been a little too worried about waistlines and appearances. I guess that’s one of the many reasons he was my ex.

  Amy brought me the check and lingered at my table long enough for me to ask a few more questions.

  When the conversation got back to Erica and Jim, I said, “I’m curious about their relationship. Were they close?”

  When Amy hesitated, I added, “I know they were an item.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad it’s over. He owes her money, and that’s why she lives with her mom. It’s crazy. She has to work two jobs, live at home, and he wins a big prize at the fishing tournament. And he won’t share a dime of it. Such a loser.”

  I grimaced. Had Erica tried to get money from Jim? Would that be enough of a motive? My mouth was dry.

  “Have you seen Erica lately? Do you know where she’s at? Did she see him, I mean, before he died?” Where was Erica now? Why hadn’t she showed up for work? And where was she the night of the murder?

  Amy shook her head. “She’s been sick, or she says she is. I think she’s hiding from the press. Me, I’d be out celebrating.”

  Why hadn’t Erica called in when she missed her shift? I would have understood why she didn’t want to work.

  “The news people are saying he was dead before he was dumped in the water.” Amy’s icy blue eyes stared at me.

  I nodded. “I heard that.” It was true. The latest news mentioned the police were now calling the fisherman’s death a homicide.

  Amy tugged on her ponytail and tilted her head. “Hey, you don’t think they would suspect Erica in any wrongdoings?”

  “At this point, I’m sure they’re considering everyone that knew him a suspect.”

  “Wow. I need to call her after my shift. We need a serious girl’s night out.” She looked worried.

  “Do you know others he dated? Or anyone else that may have wanted him …,” I stopped, and chose my words carefully, “…um, wanted him out of the way?”

  She thought hard. “Like I said, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who did like him.” She grinned. “But there was this one lady he had a drink with. I wasn’t here, but Missy saw them together. I remember, because she told me about it the next day.”

  “Missy?”

  “The bartender.”

  “Did Missy describe her to you?”

  “All I remember is she had called her an older lady.”

  “Older? As in his mother type old? Or his grandmother?”

  “No, not that. Just she didn’t look his age. Jim always preyed on younger women. She just wasn’t his normal type.”

  “I see. Is Missy working today?” I’d like to talk to her.

  “No, she doesn’t work lunch. She might work later tonight. She’
ll be bartending at the Tiki bar for sure on Friday night.” Amy gestured toward the thatched roof structure closer to the water.

  I nodded. The Island Grille’s Tiki Bar sat at the end of the patio with views of all the boats moored at the marina. The boats ranged from sixty-foot yachts to a small dinghy that looked pretty much like a bathtub with an outboard motor attached to it. The Tiki Bar was recently added to accommodate the overflow on weekends when the restaurant’s tables were full. It was a boisterous watering hole, and locals bellied up to it every night.

  I paid my check, leaving Amy an extra-large tip. I was digging in my backpack when I heard footsteps come up to the table.

  “Hello Mo.”

  I looked up and found Deputy Lucky’s compelling blue eyes staring at me. He was in uniform; his face was flushed, and he looked alarmingly handsome.

  “Hello,” I said, sounding foolishly nervous. “Are you following me?”

  He grinned. “No. I thought I’d come here to ask around about Jim.” His smile vanished, and he cocked his head as if a thought just occurred to him. “Hey, you aren’t doing the same, are you? You wouldn’t be interfering in a police investigation, would you?”

  A wave of guilt washed over me. I had been so focused on proving my innocence and trying to find the murderer, I’d never stopped to think of what it might seem like from Drew’s standpoint.

  “I’m just here eating lunch,” I finally managed, but couldn’t look him in the eyes.

  “Un, huh,” he said eyeing me suspiciously.

  Amy returned for the check and cash. She eyed Drew when she picked up the money. “Thank you,” Amy said.

  I exhaled when she turned to walk away without even a word to me about our previous conversation. Then she stopped, turned and said, “I confirmed that Missy works tonight and tomorrow night if you want to stop by and talk to her about− “

  “− thank you. I will ask her about that drink recipe,” I said, cutting her off. Amy shrugged and walked away.

  Lucky narrowed his eyes at me and I saw the shift in his expression from Lucky the man whom I hoped would ask me out to dinner to Deputy Lucky that suspected me meddling in his case. “Mo, I do realize that your asking questions around town, you only mean to help your friends, but I need to remind you to leave the detective work to the law enforcement.”

  “Of course,” I said, praying I sounded convincing considering I had my fingers crossed and I had zero intention of complying.

  “Okay then. Have a nice day,” Drew said eyeing me.

  “You too, deputy.” I twisted my hair nervously.

  He turned and before taking one step, he turned back around. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “One question, why would you need a drink recipe from a bartender? You’re not thinking of serving alcoholic coffee drinks at your café, are you? Because that’s a crime in this state. “

  “Like the leash laws?”

  He blushed.

  “The drink recipe is for Granny’s party,” I said, as I struggled to maintain a blank expression. “Last I checked it was still legal to serve alcohol in your home.”

  He gave me an amused smile. “Is that the best you can do?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You wouldn’t be hanging out with the bartender to find out who the deceased patronized with?”

  Crap! I shook my head.

  He winked and then sauntered off to the busboy station to talk to a couple of waiters.

  Before stopping by Granny’s house, I sat in the Olds and retrieved my red moleskin notebook from my backpack. I wrote on my list, Mystery date, and then underneath it added, Talk to Missy tomorrow.

  I circled Erica’s name at the top of my list. Next to it I had written: motive and a question mark. I crossed out the question mark and wrote: money, divorce.

  My heart sank. I just knew that it wasn’t Erica. I had so many questions for her. Even as I drove back to Granny’s house, I tried to convince myself that Erica had nothing to do with the death.

  But I had a problem with the theory. Several problems, actually.

  I desperately wanted to talk to Erica, but she wasn’t returning my texts or calls. And she didn’t show up for work. Normally that could be an employment-ending move, but I felt there had to be a reason behind it.

  I managed to swing by Granny’s house and sneak in while she and Henrietta were in their rooms. I changed into a pair of jogging shorts, running shoes, and a tank top. I grabbed Snickers’ leash.

  “Come on, boy,” I whispered. “Let’s go for a walk.” I had deposited the Olds in the garage, and in turn grabbed the golf cart. The plan would be to get close to Erica’s house, leave the cart, and walk Snickers to nonchalantly “stumble” on her residence. From there, well, I would have to wing it.

  Like all my employees, Erica and her mom lived in the patchwork of our tiny community. I drove slowly down the crisscrossed streets that on a map resembled a fishtail’s bones with each splinter leading to water. The houses on the main spine of the tail didn’t have water access. However, many of the homes were situated on canals and had boat access.

  The sun was hiding behind dark clouds, making it appear dusk outside. While I looked for a place to park the cart, I thought of Deputy Drew.

  What would he think of me investigating the murder? It hadn’t been 48 hours, and I managed to hide from Drew in disguise, possibly commit two potential misdemeanor crimes, sicced a raccoon on him, and stumbled upon a murder scene. For the first time since I left Oregon, I felt I might never be a potential date for the handsome Deputy Lucky Drew Powell.

  I parked the golf cart a few blocks from Erica’s street, and Snickers and I walked toward 4th Avenue. When I got to her house, I noticed there were several lights on. Good, someone was home.

  House number seven was a one-story bungalow in the cul-de-sac. Two-foot-high plastic candy canes lined the sidewalk leading to the front door. A deflated Santa and reindeer lay in heaps on the grassy lawn. The gardens were colorful and perfect. With the manicured landscape and trimmed bushes, I wondered if this attention to detail meant that Erica or her mom had a garden out back. A garden with mint? Chocolate Peppermint?

  I tried to recall if Erica had ever expressed an interest in the fresh herbs at the café. But she never had. I hated to think Erica would be a suspect in the fisherman’s death, but if Aunt Tammera found out that Erica and Jim were married, then there could be a motive. What could have gotten into her? Jealousy? Money? Divorces can be nasty, but murder?

  I shivered.

  Snickers and I walked up the neatly trimmed path to her house. I rang the doorbell but couldn’t hear the chimes inside the house. I waited a few minutes and rang it again.

  “Maybe her doorbell is broken,” I said to Snickers. I knocked on the red painted door, and then looked at Snickers. “Or maybe she’s in the shower or stepped out.”

  When she still hadn’t answered. I rapped a little harder and the door gave a little. It creaked open.

  Startled that Erica would leave her door open, I stuck my head in and yelled out, “Erica, it’s Molly.” I pushed the door completely open and stepped in.

  “Stay,” I said to Snickers. He obediently sat on the rubber welcome mat.

  The minute I stepped into the foyer, I could smell coffee brewing and Erica’s perfume.

  “Hello Erica,” I yelled. “Your front door was open.”

  I walked into the foyer and hesitated. I felt a pang of homesickness when I noticed some of the Christmas decorations were similar to the ones my mom had used while growing up in the Northeast. A carved wooden nativity scene and delicate pastel angel figurines lined an antique Bombay chest, and a large Santa sat next to it.

  “Hello,” I said again. “I tried calling you.”

  Suddenly I heard a crash coming from what must be the kitchen. I turned left toward the noise and I heard movement, followed by silence.

  “Erica, it’s Molly. Snickers and I were out walking, an
d I wanted to drop in to see how you’re feeling.”

  There wasn’t a response. So, I took a few steps toward the kitchen. I screamed out when a grey Siamese cat darted in front of me. I whirled around, my eyes following the cat. Snickers nudged his nose through the front door, leaped in the foyer, and chased and barked at the cat.

  “Stop, both of you.” I scolded at him and Erica’s cat. Both immediately calmed down and the eerie silence filled the house again. I was concerned when Erica hadn’t come out after hearing all the ruckus.

  “Erica, are you okay?”

  I walked into the kitchen, and she wasn’t there. I smiled when I noticed a shiny espresso maker on the counter. Since owning the Bean, the hissing and sputtering of the espresso machines were music to my ears.

  A decorated tree, at least 8-foot high, filled a corner of the family room situated off the kitchen. I turned toward the tree and felt relief when I saw Erica sleeping. I could see her legs hanging loosely off the side of the couch from the back. Not wanting to startle her awake, I said loudly, “Hi, it’s me Molly.”

  The complete silence and the strong odor of over-brewed coffee sent a little flutter in my gut. As I stepped around to the front of the couch, I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  Erica’s fair skin was pale white and there was blood dripping down her face. Her auburn hair a tangled mess and her eyes closed.

  Get a grip, I said to myself. Erica needs help.

  “Erica, oh my. Wake up.” Please don’t be dead. Please.

  I knelt down on the thick carpet in front of the couch and took Erica’s wrist. There was a pulse, thank God.

  Get help, my shocked mind told me. Get help!

  You can do hard things. Love, Coffee.

  ~ Anonymous

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I pulled out my cell phone, and with shaky hands I dialed 911. The operator was calm as I yelled fragmented sentences into the phone. “My employee, ah, my friend, she’s been hurt. She fell and hit her head.” As I said the words, I wondered how could Erica have fallen so perfectly on the couch with that gash? And then there was the matter of the front door left opened. “Please send help. She’s unconscious, but she’s breathing. Hurry, please!”