Caffeinated Murder

by Lynne Waite Chapman

  Gladys ambled over to help Rarity, saying as she went, “I don’t really recall, been working a lot of hours. A week or two. Maybe three.” She flapped a hand at me. “I don’t remember. All I know is there’s dishonest people in this world. Things like that happen often enough in Evelynton on ordinary days. We don’t need to be inviting outsiders in.”

  Gladys reached out and steadied Rarity’s ladder.

  I heard my boss quietly reciting, “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is…”

  Rarity was right. If I pursued this, I’d likely get myself into trouble. The phone rang and I spun my chair back to the desk to answer it.

  By the time my shift had ended, I’d all but forgotten Gladys’s revelation.

  Chapter Eighteen

  T he Rare Curl shone. Retail shelves dusted, floors cleaned, fresh flowers on the reception desk and next to them a stack of quotation cards-suitable for framing, completed the spiffy presentation. Stacey, with a handful of ribbons, could barely contain her excitement at the thought of greeting little girls who wanted a special braid. I stood at the door, handbag slung over my shoulder, admiring the salon. “Everything sparkles. The Rare Curl is ready for visitors.”

  “Thanks for helping us get set up. Now go and have a good time at the Marshmallow Festival. I’m sure we can handle everything, but I’ll give you a call in the unlikely event we get swamped.” Rarity pointed to the crowd passing on the sidewalk outside. “Just look at all the people on the street already this morning.”

  I had to admit being impressed by the interest. “The town council owes Gloria Belletrist a big thank you. She’s a marketing genius. I never thought anyone other than local residents would be interested in a festival for marshmallows.”

  Rarity waved a comb at me from her styling chair where her first client of the day sipped her coffee. I gave a quick flap of my hand and a “Have a good day” as I slipped out to the sidewalk.

  I felt as free as if I’d skipped school. Tampa had never had a festival in the twenty years I lived there. Or maybe they did and I’d never been interested. As this was the first Marshmallow Festival in Evelynton for several years, the whole town throbbed with excitement.

  I slid in among the horde of early arrivals. Vendors lined Main Street. Peddlers set up tables with every kind of jewelry, pottery, painting, and craft item. There were necklace and earring sets with marshmallow dangles, pottery with marshmallow etchings, and paintings of roasted marshmallows over campfires.

  On the far side of the barricades, a continuous stream of humanity filed in from streets lined with parked cars. As a people watcher, the men, women, and children, proved equally as fascinating as the arts, crafts, and sugary treats.

  I scanned the arrivals, searching for familiar faces. Clair would be among the festival goers distributing her business cards along with the quotation gift card.

  I remembered Anita had volunteered to assist Ava in serving samples of her brownie treats. Konrad would certainly have been put in charge of crowd control due to the recent notoriety of the Java.

  A block past The Rare Curl, a side street was reserved for edible concessions. Every food tent and truck was required to contain real marshmallows in some way. I’m sure they all complied, even if the corn-dog was served with a marshmallow on the side. I predicted a cloud of sugar buzz would soon settle over Evelynton.

  I found Anita leaving a truck advertising five kinds of smores. Who knew there were different kinds? “Smores already?”

  Anita licked each finger before answering. “I’m calling it breakfast. The festival doesn’t come around often, so I intend to experience as much as possible. I’m due at the Java in a bit, but I have time for coffee before checking in. Join me?”

  I watched melting chocolate seep over the graham cracker and onto her hand, thinking that was too much sugar for me to think about before lunch. “Absolutely.”

  At the counter, I ordered black coffee. Anita asked for the same. I scanned the room, looking for a seat while Anita added three sweeteners and cream to her cup.

  I tipped my head toward the counter. “I see Melanie is back to work.”

  “She is such a nice girl, and brave to come back here. She didn’t want to leave Ava in the lurch during the festival.”

  We nabbed a table only one row away from our favorite window seat. Anita pointed to the mass of festival goers on the sidewalk. ”There’s Clair.” She leaned across the unfortunate couple seated next to the window, and pounded on the pane until Clair caught sight of her. Our friend reversed direction, fighting the traffic flow back to the Ava’s Java entrance. After a stop at the coffee counter, Clair joined us.

  “Only have time for a quick cup. Along with passing out business cards, I’m on vendor patrol to confirm everything is marshmallow related.” She opened her cross-body purse. “Did you see my quotation card? Of course Rarity came up with the perfect text. ‘A house is made with walls and beams. A home is made with love and dreams.’ Isn’t it perfect? Makes me want to cry.” She wrapped her hands around the mug and sipped. “I think I’ll call Michael and ask him to come over for dinner tonight.”

  Michael Barry, the local veterinarian, had been seen escorting Clair to dinner, during the past year. Most of us agreed he seemed to be smitten with her. But our professional friend, tended to avoid commitment.

  Anita smiled. “When will you put the man out of his misery? I bet he would like to make your relationship official.”

  Clair avoided eye contact. “Yes, I think he would.”

  She chugged her coffee. “Gotta go.” With a wave, she strutted out to the street as fast as her four inch heels would carry her.

  Anita watched Clair merge with the festival goers on the street. “That was fast. I guess I shouldn’t have brought it up. You both think I’m always trying to get you to settle down.”

  “We know you want us to be happily married like you are. Clair seems to be moving closer to that blissful state, but don’t expect it of me.”

  “What’s going on with your handsome ex-FBI agent? I haven’t heard you talk about him for a while.

  “I won’t be talking about him, at least not to say anything nice. He’s much too busy with his consulting firm to think about me. I haven’t heard from him in weeks.”

  Anita shrugged. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be. Someday someone better will show up and we’ll understand why it didn’t work out with Jack.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Uh, huh.” I pointed at the coffee counter. “I think it’s time for you to go to work.”

  “Yikes.” She downed the last dregs in the cup. “You’re right. Look at the line. I’m supposed to be handing out samples of Ava’s Killer Fudge Marshmallow Brownies.”

  Killer Fudge? Was that a clever advertising ploy? Or an unfortunate choice of names?

  ~

  My next stop was Patricia’s dress shop. I was interested in how the left-over scarf gifts would be received. A glance through the front window made it clear her business would benefit from the festival. The racks were crowded with browsing women. I mingled with the shoppers and inched close to the counter. Moving forward, prodded and jostled, I finally found a spot within a few feet of the proprietress.

  Patricia stood behind a box piled high with multi-colored bandanas. Her voice carried above the din. “These are the latest fashion accessory, ladies. You’ll see them in all the magazines.” She held one up to the closest customer. This one’s perfect for you, dear. The shade makes your eyes sparkle.”

  Were they the latest thing? It couldn’t be proved by me. I hadn’t picked up a fashion magazine in years, or ever.

  The dress store proprietor caught sight of me, so I flashed a smile and a wave, hoping to signal that I understood she was too busy to chat. I reversed direction and fought my way out of the congested store.

  If it were possible, the street outside was more claustrophobic than the dress shop. The population of Evelynton must have tripled for the day. I wouldn
’t have guessed so many people would be interested in our little burg, with or without marshmallows.

  Moving along with the throng, taking short steps to avoid treading on heels, I looked for an escape route. My hope was that the mass would thin out by the time we reached the food alley. The spirit of the festival must have been seeping into me, because I found I was ready for breakfast. The sugary kind. Maybe I’d begin with Marshmallow Waffles. After that, possibly a sample of each variety of smores.

  My mouth, watering and hungering, pushed me forward, when my attention was diverted by blond hair, severely fastened in a chignon, above a pudgy woman’s body. Cravings pulled me back to the waffles until I noticed the woman’s companion. Portly man with a donut hair style. I pushed forward until I confirmed the identity of Rosemary and Sage Gold.

  Why had they returned to Evelynton? They certainly hadn’t been complimentary to our town. Were they festival fanatics, or just plain fanatics, that they would visit the place their father was killed? I followed as they fought their way to the head of every line, moving from food truck to food truck. Watching them eat became tedious, and I was about to return to my own breakfast search when things got interesting. Rosemary grabbed Sage’s ear and motioned into the crowd. I gazed in the direction of her pointing finger, but saw only strangers and the hot chocolate wagon. The two Golds walked determinedly in that direction. Maybe they were only thirsty, but I followed.

  Keeping them in my radar wasn’t easy while dodging ice cream cones, smores, and hot drinks. As I attempted to circumvent a little white-haired woman and a cluster of children, the Golds took a hard left. I’d missed the turn before I applied the brakes, but fought my way back. Where were they heading? I’d have been extremely disappointed if their destination was another food truck.

  Searching the crowd, trying to anticipate the route to their destination, I discovered the target. Clair Lane stood in their direct line of fire. Blissfully distributing business cards, and unaware of danger closing in.

  Like a small pack of wolves on the hunt, the two Golds stalked progressively closer. I yelled, but my warning faded into the hubbub of the crowd. I tried to send psychic messages of approaching peril, to no avail.

  At last, Clair glanced up and caught sight of Rosemary and Sage, and raised her eyebrows. Then she froze, undoubtedly staring into the demon eyes of her pursuers.

  Clair suddenly pivoted and dashed into the crush of bodies. The Gold kids plowed forward like a pair of land movers. My athletic friend should have easily outrun the two, but for her high heels and the clutch of festival fans.

  Clair made an error in judgment in her escape route and ran up against a brick wall. She cut to the left but was trapped by the Corn-Dog food truck.

  I stumbled my way through the crowd and got close enough to hear Rosemary screech. “Get her! She’s the one! She seduced my daddy.”

  Clair shook her head and shouted. “Noooo. I didn’t!”

  Rosemary shrieked. “You did! I found your pictures on Daddy’s computer. It’s your fault he died. If it wasn’t for you, my daddy would never have been in this horrible, forsaken place.”

  Peering through the throng, I concluded Clair had been overcome by a convulsion. Her head vibrated back and forth. Her face was a blur. Business cards flew in all directions, and her purse fell to the ground. I thought epileptic seizure, but with further scrutiny, decided that wasn’t it at all. Rosemary had latched on to Clair’s arm and was shaking her violently. “You will pay for what you did to our family.”

  As Clair’s head was being flung side to side, she let out a scream that rivaled the town fire alarm. Driven by the piercing cry for help, I pushed through the final few people obstructing my approach, and reached for my friend. After a failed attempt to obtain Clair’s release, I debated whether to jump on Rosemary’s back or continue the attempt to pry open the vise-like grip.

  Before I’d reached a decision, Officer Farlow lunged into the fight. He grabbed Rosemary in a valiant effort to unlatch her from Clair. The woman was a whirlwind and proved too much for Farlow. A swift backhand caught him off guard and sent him sprawling on the ground. This convinced her to let go of Clair, and with a guttural cry, she leapt on top of Farlow. “You’re supposed to be the law, and you should have helped us. When all the time you were protecting this woman.”

  The few bystanders who had noticed the scuffle, backed away, still eating their sweets.

  I waited for someone to come to Farlow’s aid, but decided I was the only one thinking along those lines, so I leapt into the fray, grabbing Rosemary’s arm and pulling as hard as I could. Farlow was no match for her, so obviously I was out-gunned as well. She tossed me aside like a used candy bar wrapper. Then Clair appeared beside me, and between the two of us, we hefted Rosemary from the flailing lawman. The woman had yet to run out of steam. Clair and I, still clutching her arms, were being thrown around like rag dolls.

  On one fling to the side, I thought to look for Sage. He stood on the sidelines munching on marshmallow nut bread. It seemed he wanted no part of the scuffle.

  At long last, the posse arrived. Officer Smith moved in with his handcuffs. Gloria, our librarian, stood behind him, wide eyed and gun drawn.

  Smith glanced at her. “Thanks Mrs. Belletrist. I’ve got it. Put away the weapon.” Grabbing one chubby arm at a time, he managed to restrain Rosemary. He lifted her, yellow blond hair askew, to her feet.

  I lay on the asphalt for a moment to catch my breath. Then I pushed my hair from my eyes and righted myself. Taking Clair’s elbow, I helped her up, impressed that her suit was only slightly dusty and her shoes were still on her feet, though scuffed.

  Gloria stood frozen in place still pointing her gun, so I whispered. “It’s okay Gloria. You can put that away.” She blinked at me. I thought she might be stunned from the excitement. But after a moment, she stowed her gun, backed up, and faded into a group of bystanders.

  Farlow had yet to move from where he lay, sprawled on the street. I attracted Clair’s attention, and together we helped him to his feet.

  Having finished his nut bread, Sage stepped in. “Don’t hurt her officer. She’s had way too much caffeine today. Happens every time. It makes her go berserk.”

  The Gold kids’ mother, Ophelia, had wandered up to find her children in the middle of the commotion. She seemed calm for someone whose daughter was in handcuffs. “Rosemary, dear, how many espressos did you drink today?”

  Rosemary shrugged. “Only four.”

  “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t set foot in that coffee shop.”

  Sage glanced at his mother. “She had them at the bed and breakfast before we left. And I counted six.”

  Rosemary shot him a look. “Tattle tale.”

  Meanwhile, Farlow had brushed himself off, straightened his shirt, and pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Name?”

  I couldn’t help myself. Still hadn’t caught on to keeping my thoughts to myself. “Really, Officer Farlow? You know her name. It’s Rosemary Gold. You talked to her when her father was found murdered in the alley beside Ava’s Java.”

  Farlow let out a loud, dramatic sigh. “Let her answer for herself. And keep out of this. You have nothing to do with it.”

  “Really? You call keeping you from being beat to a pulp nothing? You didn’t have a chance against….”

  Farlow shot a glare in my direction that did the trick to shut me up. Then he turned his attention to Sage Gold. “As I recall, you are this lady’s brother.”

  “Yes sir. I am. And this is our mother, Mrs. Ophelia Gold.”

  “What instigated the attack on Miss Lane?”

  “Caffeine, Officer.”

  Farlow’s notetaking paused. “What?”

  Ophelia stepped in, fluttering unnaturally long lashes. “It’s the espressos, Officer. The devil’s brew. I’m afraid it happens every time. My baby has some kind of allergic reaction, after four or five. You can see that it’s a medical condition. And now that she’s worked out th
e aggression, there’s no reason to arrest her.”

  “Of course there’s a reason. She assaulted this woman, and resisted an officer of the law. That’s a serious matter.” I was feeling sort of proud of Jimmy Farlow for standing up to the haughty woman.

  Sage took up the pleading. “What if we promise to limit her intake? I’m so sorry we let her get this far. Should have known. The same thing happened when we came to visit….”

  He pressed his lips together and stared at his sister before continuing. “The thing is we know it’s a problem, and I promise to personally keep an eye on her, going forward.”

  Farlow slapped his notebook shut. “Tell it to the judge. I’m booking her. Take her in, Amos.”

  He turned to Clair. “I witnessed the assault. Come down to the station to fill out a complaint. We’ll get this tied up in no time.”

  Although firmly held in Amos’s grip, Rosemary gave a threatening lurch at Clair. My friend stumbled backwards. “Officer Farlow, I’d rather wait until she’s locked up. Can’t I go home now, and file the complaint tomorrow?”

  “I said today!” Without waiting for a reply, and without thanking us for our heroic assistance, he followed Officer Smith and Rosemary from the food alley. Sage put an arm around his mother’s shoulders, and the two trailed after Farlow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  C lair slumped against the corn-dog truck, her red tipped fingers tracing slow circles at her temples. “That woman rattled my brains and gave me a headache. I know Farlow insisted I get down to the station to file a complaint, but I just want to go home and take a few aspirin. Then maybe I’ll spend the rest of the day on the sofa. I’d rather forget this whole ordeal.”

  I sure couldn’t blame Clair for wanting to put it behind her. But what benefit is a past like mine, if not to offer advice to a friend? “I understand your reluctance, but take it from me you don’t want Officer Farlow mad at you. Go in and get it over as soon as possible so it won’t be hanging over your head.”