| |
Lydia stared at her favorite Barista, Tamas, as she nibbled the white plastic lid of her coffee cup. She wasn’t sure where to begin the conversation. Her visit to 3 Alarm Coffee wasn’t solely for caffeine replenishment.
Tamas greeted her with a grin. He paused and waited for Lydia’s order.
“I’m on breakfast duty for the Sheriff,” she said.
“Gotcha.” Tamas winked, but his eyes stayed solemn. Hobo Joe was a fixture at 3 Alarm. “Should I get you his favorites?”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll prep a bagel and croissant platter. Want a coffee while you wait?” Tamas filled a large cup before Lydia answered.
“Hey, Tamas, how well do you know Joe?” Lydia scooted a stool closer to where Tamas worked. Other employees helped the trickle of Honey Pot commuters with their orders.
Tamas clicked stainless steel tongs in one hand and passed Lydia the coffee with the other. “Well, he’s here every day. Even more often than you.”
“Yes. But, how well do you really know him?” Steam plumed from Lydia’s cup.
“Do I think he’s a crazed child beater?” Lydia liked Tamas. He wasn’t slow with the truth. “No and neither do you, and neither does your husband.”
Tamas bent to collect pastries and sort them onto a plastic platter. He paused now and then to talk more with Lydia. “What about his past,” she asked. “Did he know Mario Muggs?”
“Why? Are they going to arrest him for Mario’s murder too?”
“No. Cordelia mentioned...”
“Mario came here often. Especially in the summer. He’d pick up a coffee before his You Pick inspection runs. Sometimes Joe went with him. So yes, they were friends. Good friends.” Tamas added a few muffins to his dish. “Joe’s past is a mystery. Except...” Tamas leaned against the coffee counter. He crossed his arms and rested his jaw in one hand. His eyes trailed above Lydia’s head as he searched for information.
“Except?” Lydia scalded her tongue after taking a distracted drink of her coffee.
Tamas took the towel he wore at his hip and wiped at water droplets next to the cappuccino machine. “I think I remember meeting his daughter.”
Lydia choked on her coffee and quickly brought a paper napkin to her mouth. “Daughter?”
“Yeah, I was shocked, too. It’s been a year or two now. She was about thirty, I’d guess. She told me she’d tracked him to Honey Pot but didn’t have a home address for him. Of course, she wouldn’t, would she? He doesn’t have a formal address. All trails led here. If I recall, they sat over there in that booth for hours talking.”
Lydia pulled a pen out of her bag and scribbled on a clean napkin. “Did you catch her name?”
Tamas cast a look of disappointment toward Lydia. “Normally, I’d tell you to back off and mind your own business. However, I think I’m safe trusting you.”
“I’m only trying to help Joe. He asked me to.”
“Tabatha. Her name was Tabatha Potter.” Tamas tucked his towel back into his apron and snapped a clear plastic lid over the plate of treats. “I suppose you’d like a phone number.”
“You have her phone number?” Lydia couldn’t believe her luck or Tamas’ memory.
“I’ll get it and a box of coffee.” Tamas disappeared into the back.
✽✽✽
Ethan paced the station with his cell phone smashed between his shoulder and his ear. Lydia watched him from his office. Breakfast for the Sheriff was growing colder and colder. Hobo Joe ate his bagel with thankfulness.
Lydia stared at Joe. She could barely chew. Joe stiffened under her gaze. Lydia cared for Hobo Joe. However, didn’t know if she loved the legend or the man. After chatting with Tabitha, she wasn’t sure she knew Hobo Joe.
Ethan crossed through the room several times. He grabbed files and pens and sticky notes with his phone lodged on his shoulders. Once he reached out and rested a hand on Lydia’s back.
Go ahead,” Joe probed.
“What?” Lydia watched for Ethan’s return.
“Ask.”
“I talked with Tabatha.”
Joe set his coffee down and patted away crumbs with his napkin. When he replied, his voice showed no emotion. “So you know the worst of me.”
“Do I?” Lydia wished she could force Joe’s coolness into her words. Her voice trembled with each sentence.
Joe closed his eyes and whispered. Lydia guessed he was praying. He needed prayer. “I was in more battles than I could count. More scars than one sack of skin could show. But I made it back. Home.” Joe shook his head. “Home? I was back and willing to leave the past where it was. But the past wouldn’t let go of me. I drank and worse. I tried everything to escape my memories.” Lydia was angry and confused. She wanted to slap the man who dared beg her for help. “Everything Tabatha told you is true. And worse. The beatings. The abandonment. Everything. And any minute your husband will discover my past. The leap from wife-beater to attempted murderer won’t be difficult to make. And he’ll be right to make it.”
✽✽✽
Kat’s kids were at Lydia’s with Ivy. Kat imagined them fast asleep and snoring. She wished she was still in bed, too.
Instead, she was cleaning a crime scene. Kat Miller scrubbed blood from the wooden porch. Miss Jacqui pointed out missed splotches. Flora offered her non-toxic cleaning supplies. Usually, Kat would welcome them, but blood was different. Blood wanted heavy cleansers and more substantial scrubbing. The burning scent of bleach softened the iron aroma and stopped Kat from ralphing over each new stain.
Cordelia needed to go back home. She was very vocal about it. She paced. Muffin followed her every step. Her behavior worried Flora, but Dr. Lawrence had a nurse arriving to watch Cordelia, any minute. She didn’t need the ladies anymore.
Jacqui insisted on cleansing Cordelia’s house before letting her move back in. Of course, Jacqui didn’t mean she would do the literal scrubbing. She called Kat, and now Kat held back dry heaves and scraped at the crusty blood.
“Hey, is there anything I can do to help?” Victor Cotton waved from his front porch. Cradling a coffee cup, he ventured over to his neighbor’s yard.
Miss Jacqui answered first. “I think we’ve got it!”
“Who is this we you speak of?” Kat turned to Victor with pleading eyes. “I’d love some help.”
Victor laughed. “Let me set down my coffee, and I’ll be right back.” He hurried inside, still snickering.
“We don’t need him here.” Jacqui placed a defiant hand on her hip. Her scowl once sent shivers throughout Kat’s self-esteem. Now, she knew Jacqui was all fangs and no venom. She shrugged it off.
“Unless you’re going to get in the goo with me, you don’t get a say in what I need,” Kat smirked as she spoke. Jacqui’s granite façade softened, but she turned away before Kat caught its full glow.
Victor returned carrying an empty bucket, rags, and a jug of green liquid. “I’ve got something I think may work better than what you’re using. You’ll need these.” He tossed rubber gloves at Kat’s knees and handed her a paper surgical mask. She eyed him, hesitant to don the new accessories. “Seriously, this stuff is potent.”
Victor unscrewed the top to the jug. The fumes stung Kat’s throat. She hurried to secure the mask and snapped herself with the elastic earpiece. Miss Jacqui waved her good hand in front of her face, trying to dilute the smell.
After filling his pail with water from the hose, Victor took to his work. He scrubbed faster and harder than Kat. In an hour, most of the porch was gore-free. Kat’s face trickled with sweat, as she tried to keep pace with Victor. “I’ve tried to figure out what flipped inside Hobo Joe to make him react this way?” Kat lifted her head from her work and stared at Victor. His face set in a solemn grimace he kept working as he spoke.
Miss Jacqui applauded the efforts of her volunteers by directing them to missed splotches of blood. She flapped an ornate wicker fan before her face all while shivering under a light shawl. The morning sun blasted heat on the cleaner causing chemical rainbows to steam from the porch and walkway. However, the sun was no match for the fresh air and slow chilly breeze. Jacqui stopped fanning. “I don’t think Mr. Joe did this,” she said.
Now it was Victor’s turn to cast curious eyes at the women. “Well, who else could have? Cordelia? Me? You?” He snipped but did not stop cleaning. “He’s a drifter. Just because he makes excellent fudge doesn’t mean he’s a pillar of the community. How many of us really know the man? I mean, he chooses to sleep on a park bench all summer long. That and he was beaten by a couple of teenagers. He might have been docile, once, but he flipped. Like Mario Muggs. You think these guys are stable, dependable, safe and then BLAM! They sneak up on you and clobber you with a baseball bat.” Victor animated the attack.
“I think the cleaner’s getting to you, Victor. Maybe you should sit out for a spell.” Jacqui suggested in her usual pointed manner.
Victor was about to speak when the hum of an oncoming car overshadowed the conversation. He excused himself, taking Jacqui’s advice. “Yes, I think I’ll go in and wash my face. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Ethan’s squad car pulled to the curb. Kat’s spine lurched with foreboding. “Please tell me you got Ethan’s approval before making me scratch bodily fluids off a crime scene.” Kat put gloved hands on her hips.
“Oh, hush. Ethan would have cleared it for us if he ever picked up his phone.” Kat wanted to throttle Miss Jacqui, but she sat calmly, awaiting her punishment.
✽✽✽
Mr. Mike’s voice deepened with a heavy edge. Emily strained to hear his words. His door remained open, ever so slightly. His tone and voice were clear, but distance smeared his syllables.
Without her phone and without clearance to visit, Emily waited for news of Lucas. Kat’s report was less favorable. Braden was awake and aware. Emily was glad. She didn’t want the guy around, but she didn’t want him dead, either. She couldn’t scrounge up more feelings than that for Braden.
Emily dressed and left her room as early as was allowed. She made her way to the kitchen and volunteered with breakfast prep. There had to be news soon. Mr. Mike’s door opened. Emily spun expectant and hopeful. When her counselor’s eyes landed on hers, the ground turned to jelly under her feet. She crashed, happy to have the blackness overwhelm her.