by Molly Fitz
The next morning, I went to a local diner for breakfast. One I’d seen on TV on the Wanderlust Network that boasted two-hour wait times to snag a seat. I had to check it out, and it was worth all the standing around.
With extra time on my hands because breakfast had turned into brunch, making me way too full come lunchtime, I spent what would have been my lunch money in a slot machine. Being a baker, I was drawn to the cupcake-themed machine. Then all but one of the squares on the screen showed the same cupcake. I let out an excited squeal as the machine played its payout music. The five hundred dollars was more than what I had spent on the trip, so I was heading home with a profit. How often did that happen on vacation?
As I got onto the bus, I thought about how the overnight had been everything I hoped it would be. I’d eaten well and had a lot of fun. Plus, with everything I’d done, I had several blog posts’ worth of material ready to go.
And then someone had to die on the bus ride back home, and based on the circumstances, it didn’t seem natural to me.
So who on the bus was the killer?
Chapter Two
Someone dying changes one’s perspective about the success of a trip, especially when everyone else on the bus became a suspect.
Because, of course, the person who died was the most annoying person on the bus, Mr. Thumbs-up.
Five minutes before his demise, he’d patted me on the shoulder.
“Hey, hey, hey.” When I turned around and looked up at him, he motioned to my headphones.
In one hand, he held a twenty-ounce bottle of soda. In the other, the one slightly lifted so I could see it better, was a box of candy in his hands. It had been a while since we’d climbed onto the bus to head home, but—I checked the clock on my laptop—we would be stopping for dinner soon. Assuming he was offering me candy, I held up my hand to let him know I was all set.
He tapped his ear. Had I been wrong? I took off one side of my headphones.
“You want any?” he asked, holding the candy up a bit higher and confirming my suspicions. “I picked them up at the old-timey general store down the street from the hotel.”
“I bought some myself, but thank you.” They were a regional specialty, and I had to get some to talk about on my blog.
He took a long sip of his soda. “Suit yourself.”
I gave him a polite smile as he flopped back into his seat with a loud smack. He was undeterred, however. “You want any?” he asked the person behind him. Then the person across the aisle. And on both diagonals. Only Robin Clark, a woman I knew from town and who was sitting diagonally behind him, said yes.
A few moments later, once Mr. Thumbs-up was back in his seat, he started coughing. It was loud enough I heard it even with my headphones on.
Someone nearby shouted, “Have a drink of water for goodness’ sake.”
I’d assumed he’d listened. The coughing stopped.
The next thing I knew, the gentleman sitting across the aisle from the annoying man hopped behind me, jostling my seat as he tripped on an empty soda bottle, sending the bottle across the aisle. I lifted off my headphones and peered between the seats behind me. The gentleman was shaking Mr. Thumbs-up. “This isn’t funny. You’re taking your shenanigans too far this time.” Then more urgently, he said, “Seriously, are you okay?”
“I don’t think he is,” Robin said, standing to assess the scene.
The woman in front of me turned around. “What’s going on?”
I shrugged. “He was asking if we wanted candy one minute, the next he started coughing, and now this.”
She rolled her eyes and faced forward once more, likely believing it was another one of his “shenanigans” as the older man had called them.
After another minute, the gentleman whispered, “I think he’s dead.” He’d said it so quietly, I believed only the few of us around him had heard him. It would be no good to start a panic.
But then Robin shrieked. “I had one of those candies!” She grabbed her throat as if she were choking, then felt all around it in what looked like her checking for anything swollen. “What if I’m next?”
“Robin, you’re fine,” her husband, Ben, seated next to her, said.
She grabbed on to his arm, her knuckles white. “How do you know? What if I only have minutes left?”
He patted her arm with his free hand. “Dear, you’ve been poisoning yourself for years with your terrible cooking, and we’re both still here.”
Robin’s mouth dropped open as he cracked a toothy grin and shielded his face with his free hand as if waiting for her to hit him. Instead, she laughed. “Oh, you. You’re just horrible.”
“Dead!” the woman in front of me gasped when she realized what was going on.
There was no use in denying it now. The whole bus had erupted in a flurry of whispers after Robin shrieked, heads popping up and speculation over what had caused the commotion flew from person to person.
With everyone watching, a tense hush having fallen upon them, I turned back to the woman and nodded.
The speakers on the bus crackled to life, breaking the silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been directed to leave the highway at the next exit. My apologies that this will delay our arrival in Blueberry Bay. I request that you all get back to your seats and remain quiet until we can be met by the police.”
Chapter Three
Without the usual bus chatter, I could hear the bus driver radio dispatch back in Blueberry Bay to inform them we’d be late because of a dead passenger. The reality of it hit home at that moment, and I pulled out my cell phone to text my parents to tell them not to wait up for me and say I was fine. With the way small towns worked, the whole region would know about this man’s death before we resumed our journey from, well, wherever it was we were. I’d missed the exit sign as I was looking down at my phone.
The town appeared to be a good size from. I recognized the typical big box stores of a commercial area as we drove past. Then the bus turned toward a more downtown-like area. Scattered brick or wood buildings, no taller than two stories. Various stores were either smaller chains or completely local. The bus pulled into a spot against a sidewalk. Glancing out the front of the bus, I saw we’d come to a bus stop, which made sense. I doubted the police station was equipped to have busses pull into their lot.
The bus driver pulled his mic from the dash. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been asked to remain on the bus until we can be escorted off by officers.”
Robin stood. “I refuse to be on this bus a moment longer! I had one of those candies. What if it’s just a matter of time before I die too?”
“I’d be happy to call an ambulance for you,” the driver said through the speakers, “and if they arrive sooner than the police, you can get off the bus then.”
“Robin, honey, I’m sure you’re fine,” Ben soothed. “The candy may have nothing to do with this man’s untimely passing.”
“I want off this bus!” she repeated.
I couldn’t blame her. Even without having had the candy they’d had, who would want to stay on the bus with a dead guy?
At that moment, there was a knock at the bus doors. Our driver pulled the handle, springing the doors open. An officer climbed the three stairs and talked in hushed tones with the driver for a moment.
The officer grabbed the mic off the dash, bringing it up to his mouth. “Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Officer Duvall. I’m sorry for the interruption to the end of your trip home, but let’s hope we can get you back on the road as quickly as we can. We’re going to unload you starting with the back of the bus first, one seat at a time. Please only take what you absolutely need so we can streamline this process. As you come off the bus, I or one of my fellow officers will be taking your name, contact information, and a quick statement from you. Anything you can tell us about the deceased or what you saw leading up to the time of his death can help us.”
“And then what?” a woman from my town asked. “Are we just s
upposed to stand on the sidewalk until goodness knows when?”
Officer Duvall held up his hand. “We’ve already spoken with the neighboring businesses. They’ve agreed to let you go inside. We ask that you tell us which establishment you will be going to when you come off the bus. That way we can find you if we have more questions.”
“More questions?” the man sitting behind Mr. Thumbs-up asked.
“What more could you possibly need from us?” the gentleman who had proclaimed Mr. Thumbs-up dead asked. “He died from a heart attack, didn’t he?”
“At this time, we can’t rule anything out,” Officer Duvall replied.
“Are you saying it’s possible someone killed the poor man?” Robin asked, her head darting around to those closest to her on the bus. “That one of us killed him?”
“I want off this bus!” the woman in front of me demanded.
Again, Officer Duvall raised his hand. “All I’m saying is we haven’t been able to examine the body yet. People die all the time. I’m not going to speculate with you, but I am here to get you off the bus so that we and our medical examiner can do our jobs. Hopefully we can get you on your way again soon.”
The bus driver signaled for the mic, and Officer Duvall passed it to him. “That being said, this will now be our stopover for food in an effort to save time once we’re back on the road. So please, eat.”
“I don’t think I’m very hungry,” someone mumbled nearby.
Over the next several minutes, we filed off the bus, seat by seat, waiting only a few minutes in the aisle as we were told not to crowd the space. But of course, everyone in the back of the bus wanted to be as far away as they could from the dead man.
Finally, it was my turn. I found myself staring at a handsome officer, clean-shaven, grayish eyes, brown hair. Physically, he reminded me of a guy I’d dated a bit in college. Although he’d wanted to run a food truck, not be a police officer.
“Name,” Officer Duvall said in a way that made me think it wasn’t the first time he’d asked me.
“Oh, sorry.” I blinked for what felt like the first time in a bit too long. “Meredith. Meredith Duffy.” I followed that up with my contact information. Why the police would need to contact me later, I didn’t know. It wasn’t like I was going to run away from the bus that was carrying all my stuff on it.
“And where were you sitting in relation to the deceased?”
“In front of him.”
“Do you know him?”
I shook my head. “Guess he was from one of the nearby towns. I probably only know about ten people on the bus.”
He eyed me. “And you came alone? This doesn’t seem much like a trip for people your age.” He wasn’t wrong. I was easily one of the youngest on the trip. The others were with people who seemed to be with older relatives.
“Yeah. Allows me a better opportunity to get behind-the-scenes tours for my travel blog.”
He asked several more questions about the man, if I’d seen anything weird, and what had happened before he died. I answered to the best of my abilities.
“All right,” he finally said. “Where will I be able to find you if I have more questions?”
I stood on the sidewalk looking at my options. To the far right was a place called the Barkade, some sort of retro-looking adult arcade that wasn’t open right now. Too bad, I was sure some people on the bus would want a drink. I wouldn’t mind getting lost in an old arcade game myself. Next to that was Dawg Pound, which from the pictures in the window looked like a place that served specialty hotdogs in addition to fries and other sides. It sounded appealing. But next to that was an alley cat café, Feline Familiar. I’d heard about these, but I had yet to go to one. It was a café with the typical coffees, teas, sandwiches, and baked goods, but the best part about it was the cats. Businesses like these had an entire room where people could go have their coffee with the cats, and all the cats are looking for homes. And if someone fell in love with a cat while they were there, they could adopt it through the local animal shelter. Elsewhere in Blueberry Bay, there was a place similar to the café I stood outside of now, only it was known for its milkshakes. It had been on my list of places to visit, but I hadn’t made it there yet.
Much of the time with these cat cafés, people went to sit with the cats as much as they did for the food, even if they couldn’t take one home. Doing so provided the cats with socialization and kept them out of cages. It was a win-win for everyone, human and feline alike.
“I’ll be in there,” I said, pointing to Feline Familiar. Given how the end of this trip was turning out, I needed some kitty cuddles.
Chapter Four
I walked into Feline Familiar, pausing just inside the doorway. The scent of fresh coffee tickled my nose as I realized Feline Familiar was more than a cat café. It was also a gaming café with its back wall full of board games, card games, and dice of all kinds. I bet it and the Barkade two doors down were a popular destination with gamers of all kinds.
Another step inside the café gave me a clear view of the cats in the catio, separated from the café by a wall of glass with a door at one end. One of the cats immediately caught my eye. A silver tabby with a round, little head. I’d wanted a cat like that since I was a kid, but none had been available at the shelter when my parents finally caved and let me adopt one.
The cat and I made eye contact, and that was all it took. The tabby scrambled down from the perch it had been on, tipping the entire cat tree over in the process, and ran toward the window. After banging into it as if the glass wasn’t even there, the cat stood up on its hind legs and put its front paws against the window to stare at me.
If we hadn’t already made eye contact, I would have thought the kitty’s antics were because it had difficulty seeing with the way that it smashed into the window. But there was no denying the tabby had seen me.
Pushed along by two more people coming in and making a beeline to the counter, I moved further into the café to the growing line, the cat’s gaze following me the entire time.
Standing there in single file, my thoughts drifted back to Mr. Thumbs-up. Although it was likely still early in their investigation—there were still several people still waiting to get off the bus—it was hard for me to think of the man’s death as anything but a murder. Someone had mentioned him having a heart attack as a possibility, but he’d been fine moments before. I wasn’t a doctor, but if he had been that close to dying from a heart attack, wouldn’t he have felt off before then? If so, he could have asked for help, and maybe the outcome would have been different.
Something about it all didn’t seem right to me. Murder was still high up on my list. I wasn’t looking forward to getting back on the bus with a murderer, and with the police currently focused on the scene, maybe I could figure out. I could easily rule myself out, the thought making me chuckle softly despite the circumstances. Besides, for as annoying as I thought Mr. Thumbs-up was, I’d managed to mostly ignore him thanks to my headphones. But had he been annoying enough for someone to want to kill him?
Glancing around the café as I remained in line, I studied the other possible suspects. I was confident the mayor of my town wasn’t a killer. Mayor wasn’t actually Mrs. Hopkins’ title, she was the town manager, but everyone called her the mayor anyway. She wouldn’t even run a negative campaign ad against her opponent during the last election cycle. I could also rule out the crazy aunts. Whose aunts they were, I didn’t know, but that was what everyone in Wisteria Falls called them. Aunt Bertha and Aunt Betty. They may have seemed weird to some, even crazy, but they wouldn’t hurt a fly. The two tended to their herb garden and were always keen on fancying their front yard with the latest sculpture Aunt Bertha had created out of random things she’d found. The things that woman made with spoons. She’d taken a pink flamingo and covered it in spoon scales, turning him into a dragon by the time she was done. He was awesome. The sisters put on one amazing Halloween display every year for the entire town too.
&nbs
p; So no, it wasn’t them. Nor did I think it was Robin or her husband. In reality, I didn’t believe anyone from my town was a killer. Sure, Wisteria Falls had its issues. What small town didn’t? But murder? No, not possible. However, as I’d told the officer, I only knew about ten people on the bus. There were people from all over Blueberry Bay on the trip. Still, few seemed the type, not that I knew what type that was. Overall, everyone had seemed so excited to be on the trip. I’m not sure how often we all got out of our small towns, but heading to Saltair Shores, even if only for an overnight trip, was probably a big event for many of us.
It was for me. Although I was a few years out of school, I still lived like I was going to college. Pinching pennies by eating ramen, helping everyone and anyone move in exchange for some pizza, or taking home whatever my boss said he was no longer able to sell in the bakery. I could turn a loaf of baguette into a great meal with some discounted cheese and whatever fruit happened to be on sale at the store. Full-price foods were a delicacy.
All my saving and penny pinching was worth it so I could afford to go on trips like this. The cheap travel, which sometimes included an extra perk like a discount coupon for food wherever we were going or maybe a show ticket, allowed me to splurge a bit while still feeling budget conscious. And it also meant that unplanned stops to a cat café wouldn’t break the bank and would enable me to leave a couple extra dollars in the tip jar that didn’t go to the employees but to food for the cats and any surprise medical care they might need.
“Next,” the barista called. I stepped up to the counter, and she gave me a comforting smile. Given the location, the café probably got regular foot traffic from the bus stop, but a lot of her usual small-talk topics had probably flown out the window when she saw the cops pull up and found out why we were all here.