Death by Vanilla Latte

by Alex Erickson

  Paul tipped back his hat, revealing his sandy brown hair, and scratched at his head. “Was his door unlocked?”

  “It was.” Which should have been my first clue that not everything was okay, but at the time, it didn’t even cross my mind.

  “Did you see anyone before you went in to see him?”

  “Just Justin.” I nodded toward where he was talking to the cop I didn’t know, who’d apparently moved on from Ted and Bett. “He met me just inside the door. He works here.”

  Paul’s frown deepened. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Wiseman alive?”

  “Last night. He came to the writers’ group meeting at the church. We talked after it was over. He left shortly after and I believe his assistant drove him back here, but I can’t be sure they didn’t stop somewhere else first.”

  “What is this assistant’s name?”

  “Cameron.” I paused and frowned. “I can’t remember his last name.” My stomach did a little flip, and the entire world started to wobble. I staggered back a step and found myself leaning against the wall, with no idea how I’d gotten there.

  Paul was immediately at my side, hand on my upper arm. “Are you okay?” he asked. His cop voice was gone, replaced by concern. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “I think that might be a good idea.”

  He led me across the room to a chair. I sank down heavily and buried my head in my hands. Apparently, the shock hadn’t worn off quite yet.

  “Did you know him well?” Paul’s tone was soft, consoling.

  “Kind of, I guess.” I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He’s been my dad’s agent since forever. I never really liked him, but I knew him. I hadn’t seen him for years until yesterday when he arrived in town for the signing.”

  “You didn’t like him?” Some of the police officer was back in Paul’s voice.

  “I don’t know many people who did,” I said. I was too upset to take offense at what might not have been an actual accusation. My stomach had calmed somewhat, but I still felt sick. “He wasn’t a very nice man.”

  “I see.” Paul seemed to consider it a moment before he rested his hand on my knee. “Well, I’m sorry you had to find him.”

  “It’s terrible,” I said. “I might not have liked him, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him to die.” Tears threatened. I couldn’t believe I was actually about to cry over Rick Wiseman, but here I was, fighting back snuffles.

  “You should take some time to clear your head. Get some rest. I could call one of the paramedics over to check on you if you think it will help. They might be able to give you something to calm your nerves.”

  I shook my head. “I’ll be okay. I just need a few minutes.”

  “Officer Dalton.”

  Paul stood and turned to find Buchannan standing at the bottom of the stairs with an older woman fidgeting beside him. “You should hear this.”

  Paul nodded and then turned back to me. “I’ll be right back. Try to relax.”

  “Thanks.” What I really wanted to do was get up, get in my car, and drive home, but I knew it was unlikely I’d be allowed to leave until the police were done talking to me. I also should have called Death by Coffee to let Vicki know I was going to be out longer than I’d planned, yet I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone. I don’t think I could have talked to her about it without breaking down completely, and right then, I was trying my darndest to keep it together.

  So, I just sat there and watched as Buchannan introduced Paul to the woman next to him. She seemed excited about the prospect of talking to the police, because the moment Paul looked at her, she was off, gesturing and pointing and talking a million miles a minute.

  At first, I was happy. If she saw who killed Rick, then things would get back to normal far more quickly. Paul could chase him or her down, arrest them, and I wouldn’t have Buchannan giving me the stink-eye every five minutes.

  But then Paul glanced over at me, and my happiness fled. He was frowning as he listened to what the older woman said. Buchannan kept sneaking glances my way too, though he didn’t stare outright.

  “Who is that?” I asked, not expecting an answer, but Justin had moved to stand near me, possibly because I was one of the few familiar faces in a room full of strange people.

  “Iris McDonahue,” he said.

  The name meant nothing to me. “She staying here?”

  Justin nodded. “She usually stays for a week once every two months. She’s only been here for a few days now.”

  “She from out of town?”

  He shrugged, looked disinterested. “I suppose.”

  I wondered vaguely if she was from Cherry Valley since their book club stayed here when they were in town. Thinking of them made me wonder if Albert, Sara, and Vivian were staying, and if they might have seen something. I asked Justin about them.

  “No, I don’t think they’re staying here,” he said. “I haven’t seen them.”

  I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me. They’d only come to Pine Hills to see my dad. There was no reason to stick around afterward.

  Realizing I wasn’t going to get much in the way of conversation out of Justin, I turned my attention back to watching Iris talk to Paul and Officer Buchannan. The more she talked, and the more the two cops kept looking my way, the worse I felt. Dread pooled in my gut, and I wanted to be sick. Whatever she had to say wasn’t going to make me very happy.

  Finally, Paul thanked her and made the long walk back to where I sat. He had a look on his face like someone had just told him ghosts were real. He looked pale, worried, and I didn’t like it one bit.

  “Krissy,” he said, voice heavy with concern. He licked his lips and fell silent.

  “Paul?” I tried to keep the worry out of my voice, and failed miserably. “What did she say?”

  He glanced at Justin, who took the hint and slunk away without having to be told.

  “Paul?” My voice rose in pitch, and I just about rose from my seat with it. “What did she tell you?”

  “I just need to ask you a few more questions,” he said, obviously avoiding my own question. I didn’t think it was very fair, since his questions came about because of whatever Iris McDonahue had told him. I thought I deserved to know what she’d said so I knew how best to answer.

  But Paul wouldn’t relent. I knew him well enough to know that.

  “Fine,” I said, crossing my arms. If that woman had so much as hinted I had anything to do with Rick’s death, I was going to knock her a good one upside the head, even if it meant spending the night in jail.

  “You said Mr. Wiseman was at the meeting last night, correct?”

  “He was.”

  “And he came back here afterward?”

  “As far as I know, he did. He was anxious to get away. I don’t think he enjoyed himself very much.”

  “But you aren’t sure he came back here directly?”

  “No, I’m not. You’d have to ask Cameron to be sure.”

  Paul nodded. I could see the gears working behind his eyes. “You went home after this meeting too, correct?”

  “I did.” Spoken slowly, warningly. I was waiting for him to ask me if anyone saw me at home to verify my alibi. My elderly neighbor, Eleanor Winthrow, makes it a habit to sit by her window and watch me whenever I come and go. It has gotten me in trouble before, but this time, I was sure it would provide me with an ironclad alibi. I wasn’t even sure that woman ever slept, which would only serve to help my cause.

  But, apparently, my alibi wasn’t necessary.

  “Your father,” Paul said. “His name is James Hancock, correct?”

  “It is.” I paused, the dread in my stomach growing. “Why?”

  “Was he at the meeting with you last night?”

  I nodded slowly. “He was the guest of honor. Rita made a huge deal about it. It felt like half the town showed up.”

  “Did he leave at the same time as Mr. Wiseman?”

  “I don’t know when he
left. He was talking to Rita when I got in my car to go home. Why?”

  Paul didn’t answer, of course. “So, you didn’t see him leave?” And before I could answer, he asked another question. “Is he staying with you while he’s in town?”

  “I left before he did,” I said as a cold chill seeped through me. “I think Dad’s staying in a hotel, so no, he’s not staying with me.” Paul’s expression turned grave. “Did you have any contact with him after the meeting? Did he call you, or perhaps stop by last night?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Did he have a problem with Mr. Wiseman? Did they have a falling out or a fight with one another?”

  “Not that I know of.” My mind immediately shot back to when Dad had seen me standing with Rick outside the church. How much had he seen? I hadn’t told him exactly what Rick had said, not all of it, anyway. I knew he got the gist since he’d told me he’d smooth things over. And then that very morning, at Death by Coffee, he’d told me I wouldn’t have to worry about Rick anymore . . .

  The chill turned into an icy cold that very nearly paralyzed me where I sat. Paul watched me, his expression full of concern.

  There was no way Dad could have killed Rick. He would never have gone that far, no matter what they’d said to one another.

  “What did she say?” I asked, eyes moving toward where Iris was talking to Buchannan. He was writing everything down.

  Paul didn’t answer right away, which only served to bring back my anger.

  “Paul Dalton, you tell me what she said right now or else I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” There was nothing I could do but stamp my foot and pout, but I’d do it if he made me.

  “She saw what happened last night,” he said, keeping his voice low so no one else could hear.

  “And what was it she saw, exactly?” I asked.

  “There was an argument last night. Mrs. McDonahue claims it was loud enough that it woke her up. She went to her door and listened and said she heard someone shout, ‘You’re fired,’ before there was a thump, followed by what sounded like a scuffle. She peeked out the door just as a man wearing a hat stormed out of the room. She says she recognized him as James Hancock.”

  I swallowed, tried not to show my fear. “How does she know it was my dad? It could have been anyone.”

  Paul tried to comfort me with a smile, but I was having none of it and glared at him. He lowered his gaze when he answered. “She knows of him, says she’s read all his books. She recognized him from his author photo.”

  I wanted to argue that those pictures of him were old, and that he never wore a hat, but then I remembered the fedora he’d come out of the meeting wearing, the one obviously given to him by Joel Osborne. There were others wearing them by the end of the night as well, but I hadn’t paid attention to exactly who.

  “Oh,” I said in a small voice. And then I shook my head, my determination taking over. “He didn’t do it.”

  Paul winced, but nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be able to explain himself when I talk to him.”

  I started to rise. “Let me talk to her.” I started for Iris. “I’ll find out who she really saw.”

  Paul put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “I can’t have you talking to her.”

  “And why not?”

  All he had to do was look at me, and I knew. Chances were good that if I talked to Iris, I’d end up yelling at her and scaring her half to death. That wouldn’t look good for me, nor my dad. I had to play this smart. We both knew if I started investigating Rick’s death, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d get in the way, and would probably somehow make my dad look worse than he already did.

  “Can I at least let him know?” I asked, slumping. “Before you go talk to him, can I please tell Dad about Rick?”

  Paul gave me a sad smile. “Of course. I’ll give you about five minutes to fill him in. I know I shouldn’t, but I trust you won’t do something you shouldn’t.” He gave me a warning look before going on. “I’ll follow you over.”

  “Thank you.” Five minutes wasn’t much time, but it was more than he owed me.

  Paul backed up and let me pass. My legs were shaking, and my stomach was back to doing somersaults, but I refused to let it stop me. I wasn’t going to let Dad hear about Rick from anyone else but me.

  6

  I spent nearly the entire drive back to Death by Coffee trying to decide how to tell my dad that the man he’d worked closely with for at least thirty years was dead. Even if he had just fired him liked Iris claimed, there was a history there. You didn’t just turn that off. It was going to hurt, and it was going to be hard.

  I decided somber and delicate was the way to go. And it would be far better if it was only the two of us. I didn’t need the entire town listening in when I told him the bad news. It would be all over Pine Hills soon enough, I was sure. Rita and her gang of gossips would latch on to the news and have it whispered in every ear within ten minutes.

  But I refused to let that happen until Dad knew. This was going to be just as hard on me as it would be on him.

  I checked my rearview mirror as I neared Death by Coffee. Both officers, Buchannan and Dalton, were in their respective cruisers, following me. I wasn’t sure why they both needed to be present, and honestly, it bothered me that Buchannan had decided to come, but there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it, not unless I wanted to make a scene.

  Curious faces lined the sidewalk as I pulled to a stop. The cruiser sirens weren’t blaring, but it wasn’t every day two patrol cars escorted someone across town. Even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, I felt like a criminal when I got out of my car and joined Paul on the sidewalk.

  “Five minutes,” he said. “And then we’ll come in.”

  I nodded, hating every second of this. Just talking to my dad was going to be more than I could bear. Seeing him talking to the police after learning about Rick’s fate was going to be heartbreaking. I didn’t know if he’d cry, or if he’d put on a strong face, though I was guessing the latter. No man wanted others to see him cry.

  “Krissy,” Paul said as I started for the store. I paused, looked back at him, but couldn’t find it in myself to say anything. “It’ll all work out. I promise.”

  I gave him a weak smile. I wish I could believe that. I turned and silently headed inside.

  Dad was upstairs by the pair of tables he’d use for his signing. While I’d been gone, they’d been set up and Dad was working to place stacks of books on top. He was surrounded by quite a few people I’d seen at the meeting last night, including Rita. A few I’d recently met, like Joel Osborne and the Drummands, were there as well. They didn’t notice me as I entered the shop and slunk my way to the stairs, dragging my feet like I used to when I was little and was told to go upstairs and brush my teeth.

  “Is everything okay?” Vicki came to my side just as I reached the bottom of the stairs. “That man, Cameron, has been beside himself all day.”

  I glanced to where she pointed. Cameron was sitting at a corner table, head in his hands. His cell was sitting atop the table, his eyes affixed to it like he thought it might ring at any moment.

  Somehow, that made me feel even worse.

  “Not really,” I said, keeping my voice low. Dad was laughing at something Rita said, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t move it right away, which only served to make her beam around the room like she’d just been anointed queen. “I . . .” I shook my head. I couldn’t tell her. Dad first.

  Vicki seemed to understand. She could read me pretty easily, which was what made her such a good friend. Not everyone understood my quirks. “Lena and I will hold down the fort,” she said. “Do what you have to do.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced back toward the big plate glass window that looked out onto the street. Paul and Buchannan were leaning against Paul’s cruiser, watching me. A few of the customers inside had noticed them and were looking back and forth from me to the two officers, waiting for the excitement to start. Paul glanced at
his watch, a gentle reminder I was running out of time.

  With a sigh, I headed up the stairs, shoulders hunched. I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide until all of this blew over, yet here I was, right in the middle of it again. My life always seemed to revolve around someone dying, and my having to deal with it. This kind of thing didn’t happen to normal people, so why me?

  Guilt made me flush. This wasn’t about me. A man had died. It was sometimes hard to remember that just because it always happened around me, it didn’t mean I was responsible in any way.

  I stopped a good five feet from the small gathering. “Dad,” I said, voice coming out small and weak.

  Everyone turned my way, and my flush deepened.

  “Yeah, Buttercup?”

  I winced at my pet name becoming public knowledge, but plowed on. I didn’t have time to fuss over little things. “I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  He must have detected something in my voice or demeanor, because his face went suddenly serious. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll be right back.” He patted Rita on the shoulder and then slipped past everyone to join me. I led him to the far corner of the stacks, where no one could hear us, dreading every step. How was I going to do this without breaking down myself?

  “What is it, Buttercup?” he asked, thankfully keeping his voice low.

  I knew I should have led with the bad news, but I needed to make sure he couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with Rick’s death first. I didn’t believe for one second he murdered his agent, but accidents did happen.

  “Where did you go last night after the meeting?” I asked, heart pounding in my ears.

  “I went back to my hotel room.” He paused, frowned. “Why?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “The police think you went to Ted and Bettfast, the bed-and-breakfast where Rick was staying. I knew you didn’t have a reason to go there.”

  His frown deepened. “Well, I did stop by there later last night. I called Rick once I got to my room, wanting to talk to him about what happened in the parking lot. He was pretty upset about what I’d done, saying the local authors were harassing him. He wouldn’t listen to a thing I said, so I went over to confront him about what he said to you in person.”