“Dinner was great, Jo,” Wes says as he puts his plate in the dishwasher.
“I’m glad you liked it. I’ve been wanting to try out that new recipe for a while now, but it makes too much food for two people.”
“What did you expect with a name like triple layer enchilada casserole?” Mo asks with a laugh.
“Well, I loved it,” Wes says. “Feel free to let me know when you plan to make it again.”
“I’m sending you home with leftovers,” I tell him.
“Yes! My lunch tomorrow is going to be amazing.”
“All right, everyone is fed. I’m guessing you want us to get to work now,” Mo says.
“Only if you plan on eating dessert later,” I tease. “I made key lime pie.
Wes rubs his hands together as he sits on the couch. “This day keeps getting better and better.” He takes his laptop off the coffee table and puts it on his lap. “Where do you want us to start?”
“Well, we need two things right now. We need to find out if Simon Porter had a mistress and who she was. And second we need to find another connection between DeShawn Washington and Elliot Merkel.”
“I’ll take the mistress,” Mo says. “I’d love to catch the jerk cheating.”
“We don’t even know for sure that he was cheating, Mo. Try to calm down,” I say, sitting on the opposite side of the couch.
Cam takes the armchair. “The possibility of Jasmine Vitulli being Simon Porter’s mistress still seems the most likely to me. She was splitting up with Peter Holland at the time. She and Simon might have been consoling each other since Simon wasn’t happy in his marriage either.”
Mo snaps her fingers at Cam. “I like that theory. I’m on it.” Her fingers fly across her laptop.
Cam and I search on our phones, but we aren’t nearly as good at this as Mo or Wes. I feel like we’re here more to spout theories and offer moral support.
After about twenty minutes of silence, I say, “Coffee?”
Everyone bobs their heads, so I get up to brew a pot.
“Hey, hey,” Jamar says, walking into the apartment with Summer. “Mmm, it smells good in here. What did you make for dinner, Jo?”
“Enchilada casserole.”
“Oh, man, and I missed it.”
“There’s about seven pounds of it in the fridge,” Mo says.
“She’s not exaggerating by much. Help yourselves.”
Summer presses her hand to her stomach. “How can you possibly be hungry after the dinner we just ate?”
“Where did you go?” I ask.
“To S.C. Tunney’s. We doubled with Robin and Lance,” she says.
I’m so glad the four of them are hanging out together.
“I always have room for Jo’s cooking,” Jamar says, opening the fridge. He cuts himself a moderate-size portion and grabs a fork. He digs in without even heating it up.
“Jamar, you know where the microwave is,” I say.
“Yeah, but I couldn’t wait to try it.” He takes one more bite before putting what’s left in the microwave.
I shake my head at him as I get six coffee mugs out of the cabinet. “Will you stay for coffee and key lime pie?”
“Heck yeah, we will,” Jamar says.
Summer laughs. “I don’t know how he stays in such incredible shape with all he eats. I can’t keep up with him.”
Jamar flexes a bicep. “I have a good metabolism, and I spend an hour at the gym every morning before work.” He used to be a personal trainer, so he knows his way around the gym.
“Do you still go to the gym in this building?” I ask.
“Yeah, there were no hard feelings when I quit to come work for you and Cam. The owner knows he underpays his employees. That’s why most of the workers are college-age kids. They’re the only ones who will take the positions at that wage.”
“It’s a shame when employers won’t pay people decent wages,” Summer says.
“How’s your job at the law firm?” I ask her.
“It’s not bad, and it pays the bills, so I really can’t complain.”
“You haven’t been inside Cup of Jo much lately,” I say. “Is it because a certain employee spins you around until you want to vomit?” I smirk at Jamar.
Summer laughs. “No, although that last time did make me a little queasy if I’m being honest. I’m trying to save money, though. I bring coffee to work with me in the mornings, and we have a coffee maker in the office if I need a refill.”
“Well, if you change your mind, feel free to come in and use Jamar’s employee discount.”
“You didn’t tell me you get an employee discount.” Summer bumps her hip into Jamar’s.
“That’s because Jo doesn’t charge Robin and me at all.”
“Oh, well, I couldn’t take that kind of discount.” Summer holds up her hands. “You need to make a living, too, Jo.”
The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour six cups. Summer helps me distribute them to everyone.
“This is interesting,” Mo says. “I found a news article that states Simon Porter was involved in a fatal car accident twenty years ago on April third.”
“April third?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She narrows her eyes at me. “What’s special about that date?”
“Nothing. It’s not the date as much as the number.”
Mo furrows her brow. “You’re talking in riddles.”
“Okay, let me try to explain. I questioned if the three stab wounds had something to do with the number three. And now you’re telling me about this accident that occurred on the third of April.”
“You think it means something.”
“It’s possible.”
“It kind of seems like a coincidence to me,” Mo says.
“Does the article say what caused the accident?” Wes asks.
“It says Simon Porter was driving his vehicle late at night during a thunderstorm. The roads were slick, and visibility was severely limited. He was on his way to work. The only passenger in the car was his coworker, Gabe Underwood. He was killed when the vehicle slid going around a sharp turn and slammed into the rock wall on the side of the highway. The accident was ruled no fault.”
“Well, yeah, a bad storm makes for terrible driving conditions,” Summer says. “Why were they on the road in that anyway?”
“They were on their way to work, weren’t they?” I ask.
Mo nods.
“How did you know that?” Summer asks.
I bob one shoulder as I sit down on the arm of the chair Cam is seated in. “It was a good guess, but Mo said the passenger was referred to as Simon’s coworker, so I assumed it meant they were both on their way to work.”
“I can see why the BFPD asks you for help so often,” Summer says.
“Did Simon have any injuries from the accident?” I ask Mo since I don’t want to get into a conversation about how I wasn’t exactly invited to help out with this case.
“Yeah, he had several injuries and was in a coma for a week.”
“He’s lucky to have survived,” Summer says.
“Yeah, but not so lucky to get stabbed twenty years later,” Jamar says.
“Maybe this guy wound up in the wrong places at the wrong times,” Wes says. “It certainly seems that way.”
It does. I suppose this all could be coincidence. If the car accident was nothing more than bad weather, then it’s just as plausible that the murder wasn’t about Simon in particular. It could have been anyone else on security that night.
“You’re quiet,” Cam says to me.
“I’m wondering if there’s any connection there. The only thing we know for sure is that the killer used a steak knife on Simon Porter.”
“Whoa.” Mo holds up a hand. “A steak knife? Like the ones in all our kitchen drawers?”
I nod. “Which means they left their home with the knife and the intention of using it on someone or something.”
“You mean like maybe they brought the knife to break into something?” Cam asks.
“It would be pretty hard to pick a lock with a steak knife,” Mo says.
“Agreed, but maybe it was to pry something open instead. Like a cooler or trunk.”
“Okay,” Cam says. “So if the killer is using the knife to pry open one of those things, and Simon Porter came up behind them while doing his rounds—”
“The killer could have turned and stabbed him without warning,” I say.
“Then we’re dealing with someone who either has killed before or has no conscience,” Cam says. “Most people don’t think of murder as a first choice. It’s usually a last resort if they’re cornered into a situation they see no other way out of.”
“Or, Mrs. Porter finally confirmed her husband was having an affair, thought the empty job site was the perfect location for a late-night rendezvous for them, and decided to pay them both a visit to introduce them to the pointy end of her knife.”
We all turn to Mo.
“You’re scary. You know that, right?” Wes says.
Mo smiles. “Only when it comes to people who cheat.” She pats his leg. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Wes looks to me for help.
I hold up one hand and my coffee mug. “She’s my sister. I’m stuck with her. You’re dating her by choice.”
“Careful, Jo. I might get stabby with people who try to scare away my boyfriend, too.”
“Oh, there’s no need for me to do that. You’re doing a great job on your own.” I sip my coffee.
Mo looks to Wes. “Did I scare you?”
“A little, but I’m not the cheating type, so I feel I’m safe around you.”
She smiles and gives him a quick kiss.
While they continue to search, I get the pie out of the refrigerator and refill everyone’s coffee. “Do you want to sit at the kitchen table or stay where you are?” I ask.
“Stay where we are. I’m comfy,” Mo says, leaning against Wes’s arm.
“I’ll grab two chairs from the kitchen,” Jamar says.
Mo and Wes break to eat some dessert.
“You know what I think is crazy?” Summer asks.
“Sitting around eating key lime pie and discussing reasons to kill someone?” I ask, covering my mouth with my hand to avoid showing people my food.
She laughs. “Well, yes, that, but it’s not what I was thinking. I meant how they’re building that hotel on Ridgeway Court to begin with. There’s King’s Cabins one street over.”
King’s Cabins is a grouping of small cabin-like homes people can rent to avoid a hotel kind of atmosphere. There’s more privacy, yet the grounds still have a pool and other facilities you’d find at a hotel.
“I think they’re different things entirely,” Mo says. “Personally, I’d prefer to stay in a hotel with room service.”
“The cabins have room service, too,” Summer says.
“Huh, I didn’t know that.” Mo bobs a shoulder and takes another bite of pie.
“I wonder how the owner of King’s Cabins feels about the hotel construction,” I say.
Mo holds up a finger. “I like that train of thought.” She puts her pie on the coffee table and grabs her laptop again. “Jesse King is the owner.”
“Can you look into him for me? See if he has a connection to Simon Porter, DeShawn Washington, Elliot Merkel, Peter Holland—”
Mo holds up her hand to stop me. “So basically, see if he’s connected to anyone related to this case.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“That’s going to take some time.”
“I can help you,” Wes says. “I’ve found no connection between DeShawn Washington and Elliot Merkel other than the fact that Merkel built Washington’s house and is building the hotel now. That’s it. I think it’s a dead end.”
Then DeShawn Washington was being protective of his own reputation, not Elliot Merkel. I nod. “Okay, let’s follow the Jesse King lead.”
“How do you know it is a lead?” Summer asks. “I was just throwing that idea out there.”
“That sort of how we do this,” I say. “We come up with theories and then try to find evidence to prove one of them.”
“That seems really time-consuming.”
“It is,” Mo says, “but the pay—oh right, is nonexistent.”
“I can’t believe none of you get paid for this. How can the police not appreciate your help? Jamar’s told me you’ve solved a bunch of cases for them already.”
“That’s true, but the new chief, much like the old chief, seems to think having civilian help makes the department look bad. I’m supposed to report any leads to the detective or officer in charge, but that’s it.”
“Yeah, but they did cover for you and Cam when you were arrested,” Mo says. “I refuse to believe that was all Quentin. The chief must have had a hand in it to some extent.”
“You were arrested?” Summer asks, and I couldn’t love Jamar more—as a friend—for not sharing that bit of information with his new girlfriend who works in a law office.
“It’s hard to answer that. We were handcuffed, read our rights, and brought down to the station, but we were never booked. The charges were dropped.”
“Oh, the person dropped the charges against you,” Summer says.
“Not exactly. The claims they made weren’t technically valid. They said we broke into their office, but the administrative assistant gave us the key. And they also said we stole from them, but we didn’t take anything.”
“So the charges wouldn’t stick,” Summer says.
“You got it.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m assuming this all happened because you were investigating this murder.”
“Right again.”
“Ever think about letting the BFPD handle things on their own?” she asks.
Mo and I exchange a look and shudder.
“I’m afraid they’d still be looking into the first case I helped them solve,” I say.
Everyone laughs.
“It’s funny but also probably true,” Wes says.
“I don’t think we’re going to find out anything else tonight, Jo, and Wes and I have an early meeting tomorrow, so we’re going to say goodnight.” Mo stands up and grabs her laptop.
“I’ll get your dishes. Just leave them there. Thank you both for your help.” I get their plates and carry them to the kitchen to pack doggy bags for Wes and Mo. I hand one to each of them. “Your lunches are made.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Mo says, giving me a hug.
Wes hugs me, too. “You have no idea how excited I am to have this again tomorrow. Thanks for everything, Jo.”
“Bye, guys.”
“I should head out, too,” Cam says. “See you bright and early.” He kisses me goodbye.
“Summer, I’ll walk you down to your car,” Jamar says. “Night, Jo.”
“Goodnight.” I close the door behind them. There’s been no sign of Midnight this evening, which means someone made fish for dinner. I’ve been told salmon draws Midnight like nothing else, and it’s one of the fish dishes I really don’t care for, so I don’t ever make it. I shower and get ready for bed.
Just as I’m getting into bed there’s a knock on my door. I fear it’s Quentin and something awful happened, but when I look through the peephole I see Erica Daniels, an art teacher at Bennett Falls High School, who lives on the second floor of the building.
“Erica, hi,” I say after opening the door.
“Sorry to bother you so late, Jo, but I realized something in the shower this evening, and I think you’re going to want to hear this.”
“Do you want to come inside?”
She nods, and I back up to let her in. We all usually leave our doors open when we’re not asleep or out, but I can sense Erica wants to tell me this in confidence, so I shut the door behind her.
“You’re looking into the murder of Simon Porter, right?”
“Unofficially.”
She nods. “Well, he worked at the school for a bit, and one day I overheard him talking on the phone. He told someone he’d meet them at their spot at four o’clock. I thought it was his wife, but when I asked him about it—you know, in a casual way because I thought it was cute he and his wife had a place they referred to as their spot—he got all weird about it. Then he tried to play it off as he misunderstood me at first and yes, he and his wife did have a special place they liked to go, but I could tell he was lying.”
“His wife suspected he had a mistress.”
“And that’s exactly what I think, too.”
“Do you know where their spot was?” I ask.
She bobs her head. “It was the field on Ridgeway Court. He said they had picnics there.”
The field that’s now the site of the hotel. That’s a little too coincidental for me.