But what could Dad do? He could tell me not to worry about it, that it wasn’t my fault. I
knew
deep down I had nothing to do with Brendon’s death, but it was hard to keep believing it when the police had been in to question me. I was just lucky they’d chosen to do it at Death by Coffee rather than at the station.
“Calm yourself, Krissy,” I said. “There’s no reason to panic.”
Misfit came sauntering back into the room just then. He sat down on the floor next to me and swished his tail on the linoleum. He was watching me with keen interest, as if waiting for me to have that mental breakdown.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I asked him. “Well, sir, it isn’t going to happen.”
He gave a little kitty huff and then walked away. The last tail swish clearly stated he believed it was only a matter of time before I totally lost it.
I shook my head and picked up the mug. I studied it a moment, turning it slowly over in my hands. Finally I set it down, held it tight with my left hand, and then struck it right above the handle with the ball-peen hammer. The ceramic cracked, but didn’t break. I studied it again, checking it over to make sure I hadn’t damaged it too much, before striking it in the exact same spot.
A little sliver chipped off and fell onto the counter. I picked it up, tossed it into the trash, and then carried the mug over to the sink. I gave it a good scrubbing and then filled it with water to make sure there were no leaks. Once certain, I emptied it out and set it aside to dry. I’d take it with me to work in the morning.
From there I went into the laundry room to check on the mess I was positive Misfit had left for me. Sure enough, there was a puddle next to the empty laundry basket. Before long, I was going to have to line the room with pee pads, like I’d had to do at my last place. I think the cat didn’t like the feeling of litter between his toes, so he simply chose to avoid it altogether.
I cleaned up his mess, brought him into the room, and dropped him into the little box, which earned me an indignant snort before he bound away, spraying litter all over the room. I groaned and went in search of my broom, but couldn’t find it. I gave up and went to my bedroom, instead.
Boxes sat along the wall. The top ones were open. My clothes were folded inside by type: jeans in one box, sweaters in another. I looked from the boxes to the closet and decided that after the day I’d had, I deserved a day off from unpacking.
If only I’d waited to break it off with Robert until after I’d moved, he could have helped me unpack.
Then
I could have kicked his lying ass to the curb. It would have made this mess a whole hell of a lot easier to deal with.
Of course, that would have meant staying with him that much longer. Two years were enough. The guy couldn’t keep his hands—or lips—to himself back home. I could only imagine what he would do in a new town with a fresh batch of women to hit on.
I turned away from the boxes and plopped down on my bed. Thinking of Robert made me think of home, of my little apartment that had cost more than this entire house. People were always rushing from place to place there, too busy to pay much attention to anything other than themselves. It was always hectic, always tiring, and yet nobody had died on me there.
I fell back onto my bed and closed my eyes. I really needed a shower after my day at work, but I wasn’t so sure I had the energy for it. I was tired. More than that, I was completely exhausted, worked to the bone, on my last leg.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but right then, it sure felt like it.
Misfit hopped up next to me and curled up in the crook of my arm. I thought about pushing him away and finishing up a few chores around the house, but you know what? I was done. Sleep would do me some good.
I cuddled up close to the fluffball, careful not to put an arm over his snoozing body lest he turn my arm into a scratching post, and let myself drift off to sleep.
4
A scream tore through Death by Coffee. I dropped the cup of coffee I’d just been making and very nearly leapt out of my skin. Had someone else been struck dead by a coffee I’d just made and served? Was there a body tucked beneath a table, stashed there by the peanut murderer?
I spun, unsure what disaster I’d encounter, to find Rita Jablonski standing at the counter, hand over her heart.
“Your mug!” she wailed. “It’s ruined!”
I sagged against the wall, breathing hard. That woman was going to give me a heart attack someday, I was sure of it.
“It’s fine,” I managed. “I did it on purpose.”
Her eyes widened and she staggered back a step. “You broke the mug I gave you
on purpose
?” Her lower lip trembled. She was acting like I’d gone and slaughtered her family.
“Why?”
I swear to God, a tear actually rolled down her cheek.
“I did it because of my dad,” I said. I’d stopped trembling and was now getting irritated. Who cared what I did with my own property? She’d given me the mug, so I could do with it as I pleased.
Rita caught her breath and the hand over her heart fluttered in front of her face. “Is there something wrong with him?” she asked, panicked. “Is he sick? Should I get on a plane now? I’d never forgive myself if he passed away without me seeing him one last time.”
I stared at her dumbly for a moment before managing a weak “What?”
“Isn’t that why the mug broke?” she asked. “I can only assume you got a call about him being ill, which caused you to drop the mug, just like you did that coffee there.” She nodded toward the puddle I was standing in. “You know, you really should be more careful.”
The customer I’d been making the coffee for stood beside Rita with a vaguely amused look on his face. He cleared his throat and motioned toward the coffee machine behind me.
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”
I moved out of Rita’s view and put together another coffee—black with a shot of espresso—and carried it to the counter. I took the man’s money and then scurried back for the mop before Rita could say another word.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like the woman. I mean, she was one of the nicer people I’d met in Pine Hills. She was just too excitable and nosy for my tastes. It was as if she had to be involved in everything and know exactly what was going on in every corner of town.
When I returned to the counter, Rita was still there, looking worried. She was wringing her hands together and biting her lip incessantly.
I sighed, knowing I’d have to explain. “My dad’s fine,” I said. “He’s not sick or dying or anything.”
“Oh, thank the heavens!” Rita exclaimed, raising her hands above her head and looking to the sky. She took a deep breath and let it out in a relieved sigh. “Then why on earth would you destroy a perfectly good mug?”
“It’s something my dad does,” I said, resigned to have to spell it out for her. “He always drinks out of chipped mugs, saying that doing so reminds him that not everything that’s broken is useless. You can repair and mend almost anything and treat it as if it were new. I’ve decided to carry on the tradition.”
Of course, I was pretty sure Dad accidently chipped his mugs on the faucet while doing the dishes. He always did complain about how low the faucet hung over the sink and would often bang dishes on it when he was trying to scrub them. There was no way in the world I was going to tell Rita that.
Fresh tears filled her eyes, but these ones appeared to be happy tears. “That’s beautiful.” She sniffed and began fanning herself off.
I really struggled not to roll my eyes at her. I mean,
really?
“Thanks.” I forced a smile.
Rita leaned up against the counter and looked into my mug as if making sure it could actually hold coffee. As soon as she saw what was inside, she recoiled back as if she was afraid it would leap out and attack her.
“Something’s wrong with your coffee.”
I sighed. Again. It seemed to be a reoccurring theme around her.
“It’s a cookie,” I told her, wishing I didn’t have to explain every last element of my life to her.
“A cookie? Why on earth would you put a cookie in your coffee?”
“For flavor.”
Her face folded in disgust. “That sounds . . .” She shuddered, unable to go on.
“I like it,” I said, sounding a bit defensive. “The chocolate is better than any creamer you could add and the cookie itself is sugary enough to take away the bitterness. And afterward, I can scoop up the cookie with a spoon.”
Is there anything better than a soggy cookie soaked in coffee? I think not.
Apparently, Rita didn’t think so. She shook her head and took two quick steps back as if she thought the cookie might swell up and explode all over her sweater.
“I think I’ll skip my coffee today,” she said. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite for it.” She paused and looked thoughtfully at the mug. “Not everything broken is useless, huh?” She glanced at me and then turned and walked out of the store. I knew she was thinking about going and chipping all of her mugs. Chances were good she’d end up breaking them all beyond repair. I was pretty sure she’d be in blaming me for the mess in the morning.
I picked up my mug, looked inside at the cookie, and then took a long sip.
Ah, bliss.
Like it had been yesterday, Death by Coffee was relatively slow. I’d served a handful of customers and we sold a couple of books, but people didn’t seem all that interested in the place. I kept telling myself that once word spread about our little slice of Heaven, people would begin flocking to the store. If all went well, we’d finally be able to afford to hire someone. If that happened, we could stay open later. Right now, we closed at five, which was really too early; but with just the two of us, it had to be done.
Of course, Brendon Lawyer
had
come here before ingesting his lethal dose of peanuts. If any word of Death by Coffee was spreading through town now, it wouldn’t be the good kind.
I slumped onto the counter and sipped at my coffee. Even the chocolaty goodness couldn’t raise my spirits.
Vicki shouted from the bookstore and the sound of four fluffy feet hitting the hardwood followed. Trouble was being trouble again. I didn’t even bother to look to see what he’d done this time.
Instead, I focused on Lawyer’s Insurance. The building wasn’t large, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Pine Hills didn’t have very many big buildings at all. I’d driven around before coming in to work and the biggest place I saw was the church two blocks over. It was one of those old monstrosities that could hold the entire town in case of a disaster.
My eyes were drawn to a woman standing outside across the street. She kept looking at her watch and was pacing back and forth like she really didn’t want to be there. At first, I thought maybe she was waiting for them to open; however, as soon as the thought crossed my mind, someone walked past her and entered Lawyer’s Insurance. I decided she was waiting for someone to come out.
And then she happened to glance toward Death by Coffee.
I think I let out a little gasp of surprise. Some of my coffee sloshed out of my mug as I leaned forward to get a better look. Without taking my eyes off the woman, I grabbed the washcloth from beneath the counter and began wiping up my spill.
I recognized the woman immediately. I’d only seen her once before, on the television, but I was positive it was her. Why was Heidi Lawyer waiting so impatiently outside the building where her husband had died?
I knew there were a thousand reasons why she might be there. I mean, she could simply be waiting for her husband’s things to be brought out to her. But if she was there to pick something up, why hadn’t she gone in to get them herself? Wouldn’t she want to make sure nothing was left behind?
A moment later the doors to Lawyer’s Insurance opened and a man stepped out. I could tell he was angry, even as far away as I was, thanks to his red face and posture. He glanced back at the doors as they closed and I caught the sound of his angry voice as he yelled something at those inside. He turned back to Heidi, put a hand on her arm, and leaned in close to speak to her. She listened to him, nodding the entire time, and then responded. Whatever she said seemed to calm him down because he smiled and they turned to head across the street.
All at once, I realized it might be a good time to stop staring. I drained the rest of my coffee, looked longingly at the cookie inside, and then set the mug behind the counter in the hopes I’d get to it before it got cold.
The bell above the door jingled and Heidi Lawyer walked in, holding tight to the arm of the man with her. All it took was one up close look and I knew I was looking at Brendon’s brother, Mason. While Brendon had been all severe lines, Mason leaned toward softer edges, but they were otherwise similar in features.
Heidi waited by the door a moment, whispered something to him, and then walked to the back corner. She sat down and stared out the window, toward where her husband had worked, completely oblivious to the fact she was sitting in the same chair Brendon had sat in minutes before he’d died.
“Excuse me,” Mason said, startling me. I’d been staring at Heidi and had completely forgotten about him—despite the fact he was standing right there.
“Sorry,” I said, practiced smile falling into place. “Welcome to Death by Coffee. How can I help you?”
God, that sounds so rehearsed.
Mason smiled. Unlike Brendon, he apparently knew how. “Two black coffees, please.” He studied the case of cookies a moment before adding, “And two chocolate chip for here.”
I rang up his order and then headed back to get his coffee and cookies. My mind was racing, wondering why he was with Heidi so soon after his brother’s death. He could be consoling her, sure, but it appeared there was more to it than that. He’d been the one to go into Lawyer’s Insurance, not her. What was going on between them? When they’d touched earlier, it had looked a little too familiar for what you’d expect between a widow and her dead husband’s brother, especially only a day after his demise.
I set his order onto a tray, remembering at the last moment to smile. “Here you are,” I said.
“Thanks.” Mason paid in exact change and then carried the tray to where Heidi sat waiting. He leaned in close to say something before sitting across from her.
I couldn’t take my eyes off them, though I knew I should. As soon as Mason had sat down, Heidi’s red-rimmed eyes had softened. She gave him a weak smile before picking up her cookie and nibbling at it. They talked in low voices, each glancing across the street every few moments.
There was absolutely no way I was going to be able to stand there and
not
know what they were talking about.
I grabbed a washcloth and cleaner from beneath the counter, thankful there were no customers to interrupt my eavesdropping, and headed out to wipe down the tables. I started with ones farthest from the two, as not to appear as if I was trying to listen in. I hurriedly wiped the outer tables down before moving into hearing range.
“He never forgets it,” Heidi was saying. “Do you know how it looks that it came up missing on the very day he . . . ,” Heidi trailed off, shaking her head.
“I know,” Mason said, sighing. He glanced my way and frowned before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Accidents happen all the time.”
Heidi’s face hardened. “You and I both know this wasn’t an accident.”
I dropped my bottle of cleaner.
Both Heidi and Mason looked my way. A frown crept onto Mason’s face, while Heidi’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“Sorry,” I said. “It slipped.”
I scooped up the spray bottle, finished wiping down the table, and then hauled ass back behind the counter. I could feel the flush on my cheeks and knew I had to look ten shades of guilty.
Could I really have heard what I thought I’d heard? Were they actually talking about Brendon’s death as if it hadn’t been an accident? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they’d been talking about Brendon’s missing EpiPen.
The realization that I might be staring at two murderers hit me so hard, I very nearly yelped when I bumped into the coffee machine. I’d met Brendon Lawyer. He wasn’t a nice man. Could his brother have offed him because he was always treating people like they were beneath him? Could he have beat his wife to the point where she’d finally had enough and poisoned him with peanuts?
It made some sense. Brendon didn’t buy anything to eat here and I hadn’t seen him carrying a bag from somewhere else. Could his lunch have been in his briefcase, prepared by Heidi herself? How hard would it have been to slip some peanut shavings into his ham sandwich while removing his EpiPen at the same time?
Heidi noticed me staring again and leaned forward to whisper something to Mason. He turned, shot me an irritated look, and then rose. Heidi followed suit and they both stormed out of the store. I was guessing I wouldn’t be seeing them here again.
Mason glanced back as the doors swung closed. The look on his face caused my heart to skip a beat. There was an unspoken threat there, as if he was warning me to leave them alone. I got the distinct impression that if I didn’t, I very well might be the next one to die.