When Samantha is too busy eating to notice me, I mouth, “Thank you,” to Quentin.
“What’s that about?” Cam asks behind his glass of iced tea.
“I know what the murder weapon is,” I whisper, gesturing to the steak knife that is now in Quentin’s hand.
Cam bobs his head. “Still want to talk to DeShawn Washington after lunch?”
“Yes, just because this is personal doesn’t mean it’s not connected to the hotel chain or the owner.”
Lance walks over to our table. “Hey, I heard you two were here.”
I stand up to give him a hug. “Hi, Lance. The food is delicious as usual.”
“Thanks. You know, Jo, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He motions for me to sit, and he takes a seat from a nearby table and pulls it over to join us. “You know how much I appreciate the money you gave me when I opened this restaurant.”
The money wasn’t really mine. It came from a wealthy local investor who left money to all the business owners in Bennett Falls when he died. Since Lance was working directly with Sherman Cromwell at the time and I barely knew the man, I wanted to give the money to Lance. Not to mention Lance was going through a really rough time. “I was happy to help, and I’m so grateful I did because this restaurant is a huge hit.”
“That’s sort of what I want to talk to you about. Now that things are going so well, I’d like to pay you back the money you gave me.”
I shake my head. “Not happening. I think Mr. Cromwell would be happy that I gave the money to you. He planned to give you more money and would have if he hadn’t died.” More like if he hadn’t been murdered.
“Are you sure? I can afford to return the money now.”
“I have no doubt you can, but I really don’t want it back. Consider it an investment in you because I believed in you. Seeing you succeed is worth more to me than that money ever was.”
“You really are amazing, Jo.”
“That she is,” Cam says, smiling at me.
“Well, if you ever change your mind, don’t hesitate to tell me.” Lance stands up and returns his chair to the other table. “I’m going to whip you up some chocolate mousse for dessert, on the house. In fact, your entire meal is on the house.”
Lance never charges me because I gave him that money, but Cam insisted that it shouldn’t apply to him as well. He wants to be a paying customer.
“There’s no need—”
“Cam, I’m not taking no for an answer this time,” Lance says.
Cam sighs, but he dips his head. “Okay, just this once.”
Lance smiles and walks away.
“Can we get chocolate mousse, too?” Samantha asks Quentin.
“Of course. Whatever you want.”
After finishing our meal, we drive to the address Mo gave me for DeShawn Washington. Something tells me he’s the money behind the operation but doesn’t necessarily do much actual work for the business. I hope I’m right.
The house Cam pulls up to is easily the biggest house I’ve ever seen. “This place is massive,” I say. “And I’m pretty sure I saw it in one of the photos on the walls of Merkel Construction.”
“Really? I wonder if there’s a connection between Merkel and Washington we don’t know about.”
“Are you thinking Merkel winning the bid for the construction job wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up?”
“It’s certainly a possibility. And that could explain why Peter Holland had a file on DeShawn Washington.”
That’s true. He might have been investigating him to try to prove the job bid was rigged. But why destroy the file then? Something still isn’t adding up.
We walk up the front walkway to a massive door. Cam rings the doorbell. The woman who answers must be DeShawn Washington’s wife. “Can I help you? she asks.
“Are you Mrs. Washington?” I ask.
“Yes, and you are?”
“I’m Joanna Coffee, and this is Camden Turner. We own Cup of Jo on Main Street.” My introduction only seems to confuse her. “We heard about the incident on the construction site of your husband’s new hotel.”
She still doesn’t say anything, and I realize she’s waiting for me to spell out exactly why we’re here. I decide it’s probably best to go with the same story we told Elliot Merkel since its possible Washington and Merkel have a deeper connection than just employer-employee.
“We’re thinking of hiring Merkel Construction, and we were hoping we could talk to your husband about his experience with them so far. They built this house, too, didn’t they? I recognize it from pictures in their office.”
“Yes, they did. I’m afraid my husband isn’t home at the moment.”
“Oh, well, do you know where we can find him?”
“He won’t want to be disturbed at work. Let me call him and see when would be a good time for him to talk to you.” She holds up a finger and then disappears inside the house again. She returns a few minutes later. “DeShawn said he can meet you at your coffee shop at five. Will that work for you?”
“That’s perfect. Thank you.”
“I’ll call him back and let him know,” she says, closing the door.
“Is it just me, or did she want to get rid of us?” I ask.
“It kind of did feel that way. But at least we have a meeting with DeShawn Washington at five.”
“Yeah, as long as he shows up, although I think he will since we know where he lives. I don’t think he or his wife will want us showing up here again.”
We get back into the SUV, and Cam turns to me. “I don’t know about you, but I plan to work the rest of the day and pretend I’m nothing more than a baker.”
“Camden Turner,” I say with mock reprimand, “don’t let me hear you say that ever again. You are so much more than a baker.”
“You’re right. I’m Joanna Coffee’s fiancé.” He smiles at me before backing out of the driveway.
We spend the afternoon like normal people, serving the customers and talking with the locals. I have to say it’s really nice. As it nears five o’clock, I tell Jamar and Robin to check out early.
“Don’t you want help cleaning up before closing?” Jamar asks.
“No, we’ve got it under control. Go do something fun. Take your significant others out for dinner.”
“I can meet mine at the restaurant, but he’s working tonight,” Robin says.
“We saw Lance at lunch,” I tell her.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you went to S.C. Tunney’s today.”
“Yeah, we wanted real food instead of pastries and other tasty things that don’t offer much nutritional value.”
“Cam, you let her talk about your baked goods that way?” Robin jokes.
“Maybe I’ll try to whip up some healthier options in the future,” he says.
Jamar looks at his phone screen before putting the phone in his back pocket. “I just texted Summer, and she’s available for dinner, so if you’re sure it’s okay, I’m going to head home to shower for my date.”
“We’re sure. Have fun.” I shoo him toward the door.
“I’ll walk out with you,” Robin tells him.
There aren’t many customers left since most people are heading home for dinner around this time. So Cam and I start cleaning all the tables. I have to get coffee for three people, but they’re all to-go orders.
At five o’clock, a tall man with a perfectly shaved head walks in. He’s wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. He must be DeShawn Washington. I put down the rag I was using to clean the top of the display case and step toward him. “Mr. Washington?” I ask.
He dips his head, and I’m taking that to mean yes.
“Hi, I’m Joanna Coffee. Could I get you something to drink or eat? Or both?”
“I’ll be honest, I’m not one for espresso. I find them to be too strong.”
“How about a ristretto then? It’s basically a milder version of it, slightly sweeter in taste.”
“I’ll give it a try. As for food, I think I’m good—” His gaze lowers to the display case. “On second thought, I do love blueberry cheesecake.”
“One big slice coming right up,” I say, moving behind the display case to get the cheesecake.
“Can I get one to go as well? If my wife finds out I ate cheesecake and didn’t bring her any, I may find myself being served divorce papers.” He laughs.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that to happen.” I slice off two pieces, placing one on a plate and the other in a pasty box. Then I make three ristrettos, one for each of us.
Cam comes out of the kitchen and introduces himself to Mr. Washington before he helps me carry the items to a table.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” I say. “We’re interested in hearing about your experience working with Merkel Construction. We heard the news about what happened at the site of your new hotel.” I sit down. “I admit it gave me a few reservations.”
“Why is that? Surely you don’t fault the construction company for the security guard’s death.” Mr. Washington takes a bite of the cheesecake. “Oh, wow. This is delicious.”
“Thank you,” Cam says.
“As for your question,” I say, “I’m curious why someone would murder a security guard like that. Nothing was stolen from the job site, right?”
“No. That’s why I don’t believe this has anything to do with Merkel Construction. It more likely is about the security guard himself.”
“Unless the killer got spooked after he murder the guard. It’s possible he went there to steal something but didn’t because he fought with the guard and wound up killing him,” I suggest.
“I suppose, but I’m not a detective. I’ll leave the police work to the actual police.”
“Merkel built your home as well, didn’t they?” Cam asks, and I get the sense he doesn’t want to make the entire conversation about the murder because that could cause Mr. Washington to get suspicious.
“Yes, my wife designed it along with Merkel’s team of architects. They did a phenomenal job, which is why we decided to go with them again for the hotel.”
“Did you check out other builders in the area? What’s the name of the other one we spoke with?” I ask Cam, snapping my fingers as if the name is just out of reach of my memory.
“Oh, um Holland Construction, I think,” Cam says, playing right along.
“Yes, that’s it. Holland. Did you look into them at all?” I sip my ristretto.
“I did. They put in a bid for the job, but to be honest, I don’t care much for the owner. He’s…a little squirrely. I don’t know, but something about his demeanor in his communications turned me off.”
I bob my head. “We noticed the same thing.”
“With a job of this size, I didn’t want to risk using a company run by someone who didn’t seem completely trustworthy, and since I already had a positive experience with Merkel, it seemed like the logical choice.”
“Of course,” I say. “It makes perfect sense. How has Merkel been since the murder happened?”
“I’m not sure I understand your question.” He takes another bite of cheesecake and studies my face.
“I’m just curious if they’re increasing their security to avoid having anything like this happen again.”
DeShawn Washington looks uncomfortable for the first time since we sat down. “The project is currently on hold while the police investigate the murder. Once that’s taken care of, we’ll decide on the best course of action for moving forward.”
His response sounds so scripted, like his PR person came up with it and told him to repeat the line whenever someone asked about the project.
“I see. Well, I hope they figure out who the guilty party is soon so you can get your hotel built.”
“It’s refreshing to find someone who isn’t upset I’m building a hotel there.” He sips his ristretto, holding it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “This is much better than an espresso. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it. Have you encountered a lot of protestors with this hotel project?” I ask. It’s possible this is the work of an extreme protestor trying to make a point. I haven’t considered that angle yet.
“Not protestors with picket signs or anything like that. I’ve owned the land for years, but some people get upset when large structures are erected on open land. It blocks views, and things like hotels mean there will be more traffic as well. We’re used to getting resistance from local residents.”
“Tourism can be good for an area, though,” Cam says with a smile. He’s clearly trying to keep Mr. Washington at ease with us.
“Yes, I try to stress that, but some people won’t listen. We get a lot of phone calls at the office with all sorts of people telling us countless reasons why we shouldn’t build more hotels. Luckily for me, Mindy is great with handling people.” He shakes his head. “There was this one woman, something Underwood. She called multiple times to protest the hotel. She’d get hysterical on the phone every time as well. You could barely understand what she was saying. I think it had something to do with her husband. I’m not sure, though. Mindy handled it for me in the end, and the woman stopped calling.”
“You can’t make everyone happy,” Cam says.
“No, you absolutely can’t. That’s for sure.” He finishes his cheesecake and washes it down with the rest of his drink. “Well, I really should head home. My wife probably has dinner in the oven.”
“I hope we won’t get you in trouble for already having eaten dessert,” I say, standing up.
Mr. Washington grabs the pastry box. “This is my get out of the doghouse free card.” He smiles as he picks up his briefcase. “Good evening to you both, and I hope you won’t hold this unfortunate incident against Merkel Construction. I’m certainly not.”
“We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us,” Cam says.
Mr. Washington walks out.
“What did you think?” Cam asks me.
“He seems strangely protective of Merkel. Either it’s his own reputation he’s trying to protect, or they’re linked in some other way we don’t know about.” The good news is we know two people who are great at finding out dirt on people. “I think we should invite Mo and Wes over to my place for dinner.”
“You mean for some research into Washington and Merkel,” Cam says.
“Like I said, you’re as smart as you are handsome.”