by Susan Harper
“Brandon Jones?” Felicity questioned, and the man looked up. For a moment he was startled, which made sense since no one really knew him here, but then he peered closer at her. His shoulders relaxed, and he took a few small steps toward her and Jefferson.
He smiled slightly at her. “Felicity…um…” He glanced up at the shop where her last name was proudly displayed. “Felicity Overton, right?”
She reached her hand out to shake, which he took weakly. “I’m so sorry about what happened,” she said and dropped her hand. “How are you doing?”
“As good as I could be, I suppose,” he said and avoided eye contact with her. “I just want to go home, to be honest with you. I just came by to get some coffee. Do you need me to move the car or something? There just wasn’t any parking in front of the coffee shop. I’ve got to drive up to Atlanta here in a bit to pick up my mom from the airport; she’s flying in from Florida. I told her not to come because the police aren’t going to release my dad’s body yet, but she’s convinced she can get it released sooner.”
“Goodness, no, you don’t need to move your car. I know how parking can be around here, believe me. I’m guessing your family wants to get your father to Florida, right?” Felicity asked.
“Not exactly,” he said. “We’re from Georgia originally, up north near Blue Ridge. We have a family burial plot out there. My folks moved to Florida for retirement, and I just sort of tagged along. I’m the kid who’s always between jobs, you know? I figured why not spend some time in Florida with the folks and enjoy a little bit of the beach scene.” Brandon looked her in the eye for the first time. He sulked a bit when he said, “Dad had just bought a boat with some of his retirement fund. He was so excited. We weren’t real close when I was a kid, and he was just so thrilled I came to Florida with him and Mom. He bought that stupid boat because I said something about how he never took me fishing as a kid, and we never got a chance to go because of this stupid trip up here to sell his stupid car. Now that jerk Adam doesn’t even want the thing, and I’m going to have to figure out how to get this hunk of junk nine hours down to Clearwater.” Brandon suddenly blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw all of that on you. I’m stuck up here in a hotel, and I haven’t really spoken to anyone about all this except to my Mom over the phone.”
“I can’t imagine why Adam wouldn’t want a 1966 Shelby Cobra,” Jefferson said and took a step off the curb toward it. He rounded the car smoothly, taking her all in as he did so. “It’s a nice car. Not to be a bother, but would you mind if I took a look under the hood?” Jefferson went to slap his hand on the hood.
“Don’t!” Brandon yelled, but not quickly enough.
Jefferson’s palm touched the car, and a loud stream of swears erupted from his throat that Felicity didn’t even know were part of his vocabulary. He jolted back up onto the sidewalk and shook his hand violently. He held up a bright pink palm. “Geeze, man, you should put a sign on that thing!”
“Sorry!” Brandon shrieked slightly. “You’re right, I should! Dad takes the insulator out of the hood for car shows so you hear the engine more, and the engine gets crazy hot after I’ve been driving it around for a while. Between that and the oil leak, that’s why Adam doesn’t want the thing.”
Felicity grabbed Jefferson’s wrist and looked at his palm. “We should put some ice on that. Why don’t you go to the coffee shop and get Brandon and I some coffee and grab a cup of ice for yourself?”
Jefferson nodded. “Sure,” he spoke through gritted teeth.
Felicity handed Jefferson her credit card, and he headed down the sidewalk. “You don’t have to buy me coffee,” Brandon said.
“It’s pretty obvious you’re dealing with a lot right now by yourself,” Felicity said. “I think I can get you some coffee.” She smiled warmly and patted his shoulder.
He smiled. “Thanks.” He nodded toward her shop. “Mind if we go inside, though? I’m used to Florida weather, and this whole fall thing is something that’s been lost on me for a while now.”
“Of course,” she said and led him inside. “So tell me about your dad,” she said while leading him to the small couch and chairs in the corner that was set up for her clients to relax and view their sample books.
Brandon shrugged slightly. “Not a whole lot to tell. I mean, he was my dad, so I love him and all, but he was kind of a creep. Adam told you what he did to Monica and Jesse, right?”
“He flirted a bit online with them, right?” Felicity asked.
“Yeah, he did,” Brandon huffed. “I hate it. I cussed him out at the car show. I got so mad at him… We got into this crazy fight, and now he’s just gone. Just like that. I hate that that was the last conversation we had. I told him I was going to tell Mom, and I told him that I hoped she left him over it because this isn’t exactly the first time he’s tried to cheat on her. I’m still mad at him, but I can’t be mad at him now. I shouldn’t be, at least.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “You just never know when you’re going to lose someone. You can’t beat yourself up, though, for how you two ended things.”
Brandon grumbled slightly. “You have no idea.” Jefferson entered the shop, two coffees and a sandwich bag full of ice in hand. Brandon thanked him and took his coffee. “I gotta go. Thanks for the coffee,” he said and hurried out the door.
Felicity took her coffee and sighed slightly as Brandon left. “Sorry you didn’t get a chance to look at the car… I know you were asking for me, and now you burnt your hand trying to help me.”
“If it helps, I think I could venture a guess as to what’s wrong with the car,” Jefferson said. “I bet you the belts aren’t right, but for some reason, it’s still able to crank.”
“Belts?” Felicity repeated. She was a country girl for sure, but she had zero experience with cars. Every vehicle she ever had she took to her dad for everything from burnt out headlights to oil changes. She’d even let Jack work on a few while they were dating.
“The fan keeps the engine cool. Everything is normally connected by a belt,” Jefferson replied. “Without it the fan doesn’t turn, the engine gets hot like that, and usually, the car goes kaput. Somehow, that baby’s still chugging—barely. My guess is they put the wrong belt in there. It would keep the car rolling, but it’s a crap job from the feel of it because the engine’s still clearly old school. It’s like someone used whatever they had laying around so the car would still run, just without something to keep the fan going to keep the engine cool.”
“So someone messed with the car, but they still left it where it would run? Why would they do that?” Felicity questioned. “It’s like someone didn’t want Charles to sell the car.”
“Or someone wanted it to be worth less so they wouldn’t have to pay as much for it,” Jefferson suggested.
“Are you accusing Adam Fao?” she asked.
“Just leaving the options open is all,” he said.
“A fan belt…” Felicity thought for a moment. “It’s almost like a rope. And, if the car had been leaking oil, it would have gotten coated, right?”
“Makes sense,” he said. “You think that the fan belt could be the murder weapon?”
“I’m going to call Autumn and see what she thinks,” Felicity said and hurried behind the counter to grab her cell phone. She called Autumn, and was quick to inform her of her suspicions after explaining what she and Jefferson had found.
There was a pause on the other line before Autumn responded. “Felicity, you might be onto something. The markings on Charles’s neck seem to be consistent with the suggested murder weapon.”
“I’m actually putting the puzzle pieces together,” Felicity said proudly.
“We’ll see if you’re right. I need to check for rubber residue. I’m looking at the Cobra’s fan belt online, and it’s pretty big—big enough that I may have to reevaluate how the attacker killed Charles,” Autumn said. “I’ll let the police know what you found,”
Felicity frowned
. “Yeah, I suppose you have to. It’s not exactly my case.”
“Sorry, Felicity, but I have to keep the law informed; I don’t need to lose my job over my best friend playing detective. Good job, though. I’ll talk to you later,” Autumn said and hung up the phone.
Playing detective, Felicity pondered with a slight scowl. She’d just made a major break in the case from the way Autumn had sounded. She might’ve even handed the police a proper suspect, so how was she playing detective? She shook off the annoyance and turned around to offer a smile at Jefferson, who still had his hand submerged in the bag of ice. “How is your hand feeling?”
“Stings a little, but I’ll be fine.” He held it up so she could see that the redness was going down.
The doors opened; the dead hour was over, and the window shoppers had arrived. She smiled, ready to try to book them another party to plan.
Chapter 7
Felicity swayed her broom back and forth, cleaning up an abundant amount of flower petals that had been left behind. She and Jefferson had just returned to home base after throwing a rather lavish wedding party for a young local couple; the shop had been filled with flowers that morning, and they had had to rush out the door and hadn’t had time to clean up the mess. It was six at night, and that meant a number of local businesses would be closing for the evening, apart from the local restaurants and cafes.
“It’s hard to believe that we’ve only been open for a little over a week, and we’re showing a profit,” Jefferson said from behind the counter as he tallied up their losses and gains for the week. “That wedding booking we got put us ahead for the next month.”
“To be fair, that wedding was booked before we opened the shop,” Felicity said.
“True, but we’ve been booked solid since we opened last week,” Jefferson responded, looking up from his books with a grin. “We’re actually making a profit!”
“That is incredible!” Felicity agreed, her voice full of enthusiasm. The business venture had been a total shot in the dark. Felicity knew when she dropped out of college to start her own party planning business that it was risky, and despite everyone assuring her that she had nothing to worry about, she knew she’d let a lot of people down by not graduating. For her, every success the store had was affirmation that she’d made the right choice, and apparently Senoia agreed.
They spent the next half-hour cleaning up the glitter and flower petals, and at last they were ready to close shop after a long, exhausting day. She turned out the lights and headed out as Jefferson locked the door behind her. As they were getting ready to walk to their vehicles, they heard a group of men shouting across the street by the elevator entrance to the office complex. Two patrol cars were parked out in the middle of the street, blocking what little traffic there was, as Bobby was led out of the complex in cuffs.
“Bobby?” Felicity questioned and looked at Jefferson for confirmation.
“No way,” Jefferson muttered under his breath.
“No way indeed,” Felicity said and ignored the crosswalk, walking out into the middle of the street to reach Bobby and the officers as soon as possible.
“You’re making a mistake,” Bobby said curtly as he was shoved toward the patrol cars. The large black man was stoic, but he made the trip to the patrol car just a bit unsavory.
Felicity put her hands on her hips and grimaced slightly when she saw that Jack was the one who had cuffed Bobby and was escorting him out of his office building. After all that garbage about apologizing, here he was bullying one of the sweetest guys in town. She stomped her foot and drew his attention. “Jack, what is going on?” Felicity snapped.
Bobby looked at her with pleading eyes. “They think I killed that old man.”
“Jack, you must be joking!” Felicity shouted.
“Back off, Felicity,” Jack warned. “Motor oil was found in his office. And I know you paid Autumn a little visit, so I know you know that there was motor oil around Charles’s throat. Plus the man’s wallet was found in the hallway on the same floor as this man’s business.” He kept pushing Bobby forward, shaking his hand angrily now that his ex-girlfriend had joined the peanut gallery behind him.
Kirk, a young man who worked for Bobby, was exiting the elevator and was incredibly irate. “You guys are a bunch of pigs,” Kirk hissed as he came up behind the three officers who had arrived to arrest Bobby. “Man, besides Bobby and I, there are five other agents who work there, and we have clients in and out all the time.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder toward Kirk. “The oil was found on Bobby’s desk.”
“So?” Kirk snapped. “You and I both know you jerks are only arresting him because he’s the only black guy who works in that office.” He eyed Jack, daring him to say otherwise, but the burly officer kept his lips pressed in a thin line. He knew a minefield when he saw one.
“Kirk, that’s enough,” Bobby said in a hushed tone. “You’re only making it worse.”
“Jack, there’s no way Bobby killed Charles,” Felicity said. “He’s way too tall, and Autumn said—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Jack said as he encouraged Bobby into the backseat of his patrol car and slammed the door shut. He pointed a finger in Felicity’s face. “Autumn is good. She’s a professional. But she can only assume so much about a suspect from the angle of a bruise. And now that I know she’s been releasing information to the public about an open case, you better believe she’s going to be hearing from me!”
“Jack, that’s not fair, and you know it. You know Bobby, you can’t just—”
“Back off,” Jack said. “You’re just a party planner. Stay away from this case.” Jack and the other officers loaded into their vehicles and headed down the street to the police station.
Felicity watched them drive off, practically fuming. How could Jack do this? It didn’t make any sense. That wasn’t true. It made some sense if what he had said about the motor oil wasn’t a lie, but she was with Kirk—just because the oil was on Bobby’s desk didn’t make him the killer. Jack was trying to shove the puzzle together because he wanted it to be done. Felicity wanted the same thing; she just wanted it done right.
Jefferson, who had taken the long way around to avoid jaywalking in front of the local police, arrived beside Felicity just as Jack was pulling out. “They really think your friend Bobby killed that man?”
Felicity scowled. “Jack is out of his mind.” She turned to look at Kirk. “I’m sorry about Bobby,” Felicity said. “There is no way he hurt Charles. They don’t have any real evidence. No one is going to convict him just because there was motor oil on his desk.”
“They better not. That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. You’re Felicity Overton, right? Bobby talks about you. That Officer Jack Tool, or whatever his name was, he was your fling in high school, right?”
Felicity frowned. “Don’t remind me.”
“Well, hopefully he’ll come to his senses. No one in that office murdered that old man. I work with those people every day!” Kirk gritted his teeth. “Especially not Bobby!” He stormed back inside, taking the now opened elevator back up to the office.
Felicity shook her head. “I’m not putting up with this. I haven’t checked out Main Street for any evidence yet. I am not about to let Jack ruin Bobby’s life over a hunch.”
“It’s been over a week since the murder,” Jefferson said. “What do you think you’re going to find?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not going home yet,” she said.
“Then neither am I,” Jefferson said, and the two of them began searching Main Street. Once they started looking around though, Felicity realized how daunting an aimless search could be. Without any real clue what to be looking for, they sort of devised a plan to look everywhere. They checked the elevator, and they walked around the second floor of the office building, scouring the halls and empty rooms for anything they could consider out of the ordinary. For the time being, they stayed out of the office where Kirk a
nd a few other employees were all stewing over their boss’s arrest. It didn’t make much sense to imply the murder happened in there when Kirk had just vehemently declared that they had nothing to do with Charles’s death. When they didn’t find anything worth noting, they began exploring the surrounding buildings that were still open. They walked up the street that ran up beside the complex and walked around the back of the buildings where they saw that the Irish pub’s private dumpster was over-flowing. “Yikes,” Jefferson grumbled. “The dump truck must not have come last week.”
Felicity raised an eyebrow. “That means it still has trash from the car show in there.”
“No,” Jefferson said. “I’m sorry, but there is no way we are digging through a dumpster. The pub uses that. There’s old food and drinks and possibly puke in their trash.”
“It’s for Bobby,” Felicity said.
“I don’t know Bobby,” Jefferson protested.
“Yes, you do. You met him on opening day of our shop. He brought us flowers.”
“He brought you flowers,” Jefferson argued. The young man eyed the dumpster warily. If what Felicity was saying was true then there had to be days old garbage still packed down in there. He could even see a puddle of something leaking out from the side. There was no way he would be jumping into that monstrosity; it would take him weeks…months…to clean that smell off of him—a fact he was about to tell Felicity when he saw her fixing her big doe eyes on him. He tried desperately to resist until finally he sighed. “All right, all right. Fine.” Jefferson rolled up his sleeves. “You owe me big time for this one.” He climbed up into the dumpster. He pinched his nose and stuck out his tongue to express his disgust with what he was doing. “Aren’t you climbing in?” he asked.