Michael poured the first pot of coffee into a carafe and then set about brewing another pot. He could hear Janis Jets on the phone behind him. Since the interview rooms were not fully equipped, she'd created a makeshift worktable in the break room.
"Are you done yet?" she snapped. "I need coffee. Rounding up these suspects is like pulling teeth. I wish one of them would just say, 'Sure, what time?' But oh no. They have to start the interview on the phone, nattering on about the dead woman, when I'm not ready."
“That must be a pain,” Michael said. He brought over two mugs of coffee, putting them on the table. Then he returned with the carafe. "I don't even like coffee," he admitted. "I just say I do because people expect it from a construction guy. I stopped by the market and picked up some fake cream and sugar to add to mine. Makes it palatable. Just in case I'm making some for other people. Should anyone stop by." His voice dropped at the end.
Jets looked at him over the brim of her mug. "We'd certainly not have become friends had I known your distaste right in the beginning. A guy who puts cream and sugar in his coffee is a deal breaker."
He returned with the carton of cream and a sugar bowl. "So does this mean the friendship is off? I should have known." He shrugged, pouring more cream than usual into his mug. He looked up. "I hope that made you squirm. Wait, I'll put in lots of sugar too. If you get queasy, feel free to leave." Without even a smirk, he put four heaping teaspoons of sugar into his mug and began to stir.
"You still drink beer, right?" she said, sounding serious.
"Still do." He smiled at her.
"All right then, I will turn a blind eye to your unfortunate coffee habits."
Michael took the first sip from his mug and put it back on the table. "So tell me, how long is your list of suspects?"
Jets opened her iPad. I've got everyone who worked at Old Toy Trains lined up. I figured I could begin there and see if it led to someone else. I'm also waiting for confirmation from the coroner. I may be able to call this an unfortunate accident and close the books. It depends on what they find."
"So there are ways to tell if the nutcracker just toppled over by accident?"
"They can tell a lot of things by looking at Betty's body."
He took another sip. "It does seem to be the worst sort of luck for Betty to be walking past that nutcracker right when he fell over. I mean, that just feels like some kind of otherworldly redemption."
"Makes me want to live it up more," Jets admitted. "You never know how much time you have."
"Speaking of time," Michael said. "Before I look at your list, how are things going with the new job?"
"Been here a couple of months. This is my first case. Don't know yet."
The short sentences made Michael curious. Is she happy here? Janis shoved her iPad across the table for him to read her list.
"So you've got the two elves, Logan and Avery. Then Mr. and Mrs. Santa, Thornton and Robyn." Michael was surprised at the next two names. "And you included Skye and Doc Callahan."
Jets reached over to take her iPad. "Yep, they aren't employees, but they had a beef with Betty King. Skye's been at me for weeks to get involved. And now I don't seem to have any choice."
Jets's phone pinged a message. She looked over at the screen. "Looks like the coroner has a preliminary report. I'll talk to her and get back to you."
Michael pushed back the chair to stand. "I'll go get my toolbox and start with the punch list. Do you want me to work in here first, just so I'm hanging around?"
Jets held the phone to her ear. She nodded to him as she said, "Janis Jets here. What do you have for me?"
By the time he returned with his toolbox, Jets had cleared the table of coffee mugs. There were the same two chairs but this time spaced farther apart. She looked up. "So Betty died on impact. The damned nutcracker struck her on the head and killed her instantly. What are the chances of that?"
Michael put down the toolbox to seriously consider. I didn't like Betty that much, but she didn't deserve to go that way. I wonder if there was something seriously inadequate about how the nutcracker had been secured. It seemed solid enough when I took a look, but I may have missed something. He shook his head, feeling a lingering sense of guilt.
"I had a close look at that monster a couple of days ago," he told Jets. "I thought it was pretty secure. Huge wood screws driven into the planking from the top of the boot. Very professional. Whoever installed the thing had painted over the heads on the screws so that they didn't show. I gave it a test shove and it didn't budge."
"And in answer to your question, why don't you get to work in the other room and then I'll text you to wander in looking all nonchalant. You can pretend to hammer stuff over there." She pointed to shelving that had been stacked on the wall. "Remember that's where I wanted the storage to be?"
Michael nodded. "Oh I remember. You know that's not in my job description. I'm the construction engineer, ready for the big installations. I'm not a finish carpenter."
"Who cares. I'm not an administrative assistant either, but here I am taking my own notes, sitting in a break room without a decent place to interview a potential murder suspect."
That's what's been bothering her. I knew it was something. She's impatient with the constabulary facility. I can get on that. Michael turned away from Janis, looking for a place to put his toolbox. He set it on the floor next to the kitchen counter when he heard someone calling from the hallway.
"Hello, anyone here?" Skye Jones appeared in the doorway. She wore her blonde hair back in a ponytail, along with a bright red form-fitting sweater. Her jeans fit her snugly, emphasized by knee-high black leather boots. Her lipstick matched the sweater, as did the red scrunchy she'd used to wrap around her ponytail.
Michael sniffed. The essence of strawberry, like added apparel, wafted in with Skye. Not a perfume as he surmised when he'd first met her, but her favorite flavor of vape. "Hey, Skye." He pocketed his tape measure when she wasn't looking his way. "I lost my tape measure," he called out, "have to search the truck."
Jets eyed him and nodded. "Happy you're finally finishing up that shelving unit." She glared at him for effect. Then she turned to Skye.
"Come have a sit down," she said. "I want to catch up on your concerns regarding Betty King and find out if there's any connection with her death."
As Michael walked down the hall he wondered, Does she think Skye may have something to do with this murder? That would be surprising. She's an Old Rocker and would have other ways of getting Betty out of town. Not renewing her business license for one. That's the usual way.
He pivoted in the hallway and took out his tape measure. Stepping back into the room, he held it up high just in case Skye wanted to know why he was there. When she didn't turn around he raised an eyebrow in Jets's direction. When she blinked in response, he walked quietly to the other side of the room.
Jets cleared her throat. "So tell me more about Betty and Doc."
Good acoustics. I didn't deliberately plan for the break room to be good for eavesdropping, but I can hear them talk just fine. Michael strapped a tool belt around his waist, listening carefully for Skye's response.