Quentin stands up. “Mrs. Bishop, I’m going to need you to come down to the station with me now.”
“Why?”
“You were with Simon the night he was murdered. I have a witness who puts you as the last person who saw him. And you admitted you were angry enough to kill him.”
“You’re not seriously arresting me, are you?” She’s glaring at Quentin like he’s a complete moron.
Now’s a good time for her to request her lawyer, but she’s too angry to do it.
“I want to see this woman, talk to her face-to-face,” Carla says.
“Why?” I can’t imagine anything good coming from that conversation. The two women might try to kill each other.
“Because she’s a liar. Simon told me she’s crazy. He wasn’t with her anymore. He loved me. What reason did I have to kill him?”
“Mrs. Bishop, Simon and his wife were still married,” Quentin says. “The divorce was never finalized. I’ve checked for myself. Mrs. Porter wasn’t lying to you about that.”
She did lie about her and Simon staying together, though. Simon had no intention to remain married to Lisa. Not from what we’ve seen at least.
Carla leans forward in her chair and places her face in both hands. “This can’t be. Simon wouldn’t lie to me.”
He was a fifty-two-year-old man trying to convince a twenty-seven-year-old-woman to stay with him. He would have told her anything she wanted to hear.
“What drew you to Simon in the first place, Mrs. Bishop?” I ask. “You have a husband already, who appears to be very successful judging by this place.”
She scoffs and sits up straight again. “Yeah, he works seven days a week so we can have all this, and he’s never here to enjoy it with me. I’m alone.”
“How did you meet Simon?” Cam asks. He must be trying to see if the story Lisa Porter told us is true.
“I was bringing Marcus, my husband, his lunch at work. Simon was there in the elevator.”
So that much is true.
“What about your husband?” I ask.
“What about him?” Carla shrugs a shoulder. “Are you asking how Marcus and I met?”
“No, I’m curious how he felt about Simon. Your husband couldn’t have been too happy about the affair.”
Carla waves a hand in the air. “All he cares about is appearance. He married me because I’m young and pretty. I’m supposed to show up at his work events in expensive dresses and looking like the adoring wife. Other than that, he doesn’t care what I do.”
“Are you saying your marriage is a business arrangement?” Quentin asks.
It sounds like an acting role for Carla.
“Exactly. I get his money, and he gets to look good to all his colleagues.” Carla bobs a shoulder as if this is perfectly normal.
“Then he was aware of your affair?” Quentin asks.
“We didn’t discuss it.”
“Was that part of the arrangement, too?” I ask. “You could date other men as long as no one found out about it and you didn’t ever mention it to Marcus?”
Carla’s quiet for a moment. “Marcus never came out and said I could date other men, but come on. I’m sure he dates on the side. It only makes sense. Our marriage is for show.”
“Then you wouldn’t care if Marcus had a mistress?” Cam asks, shifting in his chair.
“Not at all, although with his work schedule, I’m not sure how he’d find the time to date.”
Unless his schedule is so crazy because it includes time to date. He might be with another woman when he tells Carla he fell asleep at his desk until three in the morning. It’s certainly an easy alibi for him. But why bother to lie about it if this is all a business arrangement?
“Tell us what happened when you went to the job site, Sunday night,” Quentin says.
Carla looks relieved that talk of going to the station has ceased.
“I got there after midnight. I called out Simon’s name since I figured he’d be patrolling the grounds. When I found him, he said his ex is crazy, and she showed up there unannounced.”
“And you believed him?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I? It was the truth.”
Except it wasn’t. Lisa wasn’t Simon’s ex. Not yet. I suppose it’s possible Simon viewed her that way and used the term with Carla, though.
“What happened next?” Quentin asks.
“I’d rather not get into details about Simon and me,” she says.
Quentin holds up a hand. “I mean, did you two argue at all? Did you see anyone else at the job site? What time did you leave?” He waves a hand in the air to say “and so on.”
“Oh.” Carla giggles. “Right. We were alone. I didn’t see anyone else. I left around one o’clock, I think. Maybe closer to one thirty.”
“You didn’t worry about sneaking back into your own home when you returned?” I ask. “What if your husband was back from work by then?”
“We have separate bedrooms. The only time I see him at night is when he comes home so tired he accidentally crawls into bed with me. I woke up to him spooning me one morning.” She shakes her head at the memory.
“Did you see your husband once you got home?” Quentin asks.
“No. I’m assuming he was asleep in his own room.”
“Mrs. Bishop, may I have a look at your kitchen?” Quentin asks.
“Why?” She cocks her head.
Quentin isn’t about to reveal that the murder weapon was a steak knife, and without a warrant, he can’t force her to let him look through her kitchen to find her knife set.
“I really think it’s time for you to go. I don’t have anything else to tell you. Simon was fine when I left him.” She looks down at her lap. “I’m just so happy I went to see him. If he had died after we fought, and we didn’t get the chance to make up…” She sniffles. “I never would have forgiven myself.”
“Mrs. Bishop, may I use your bathroom before we go?” I ask.
Quentin shoots me a look. He knows I want to snoop around in the kitchen. He also knows anything I find will be inadmissible in court without a warrant. “We really need to get going, Jo. You can wait.”
I stand up, and so does Cam. Quentin practically pushes us out the door.
“What do you think you were doing back there?” he asks me on the way back to our vehicles.
“You need to find out if she brought a knife to that job site. The only way to do that is to see if her knife set is one short.”
“She could have brought the knife back home, washed it, and put it away with the others. We need a light to detect traces of blood on the blade. Do you have one in your purse?” he asks, stopping at the driver’s side door of his patrol car.
“You don’t have to be a jerk, Quentin. The last time I checked, Cam and I don’t have to help you at all.”
Quentin rubs the back of his neck. “I tried to tell you to stay away from this case, but you wouldn’t listen. Now you’re threatening not to help? I can’t keep up with you, Jo.”
“Which is why I typically solve your cases for you,” I mumble as I walk past him to Cam’s SUV.
Quentin slams his car door. I doubt we’ll be hearing from him any more today.
Cam and I go back to Cup of Jo. I have no idea where Quentin will go next with this case, and for now, I really don’t care. I spend the rest of the day serving my customers.
Mrs. Marlow comes in for her afternoon caffeine fix. “I didn’t think I’d find you here, Jo. You aren’t leaving Quentin and the rest of the Bennett Falls Police Department to solve this case on their own, are you?” She says it like they’re completely incompetent.
“I’d much rather be here.”
“That means your ex got on your nerves again. What did he do this time?” She leans on the display case.
Quentin annoys me pretty much every time I see him. It’s nothing new. Sometimes it’s hard to believe there was a time when he and I were good friends. And don’t get me started on the fact that I dated him. I’m chalking that period in my life up to an early mid-life crisis.
“He’s just being his usual self,” I finally answer.
“Enough said.” She smirks. “You let me know if you want me to set him straight. I’ve got your back, Jo.”
“I know you do. Thank you. Now what can I get for you? I think Cam just pulled some cinnamon rolls out of the oven if you’re hungry.”
“I’d like another ristretto. I admit I’m sort of addicted to them. And I’ll gladly take a cinnamon roll to go with it.”
“Coming right up. You go find a seat, and I’ll bring it out to you.”
She pats my hand. “You’re a good girl, Jo.” She always tells me that, and I never tire of hearing it from her.
I make her drink and then go into the kitchen to grab a cinnamon roll from the cooling rack.
“Careful, they’re still hot. The icing hasn’t set yet either.” He walks over and puts one on a plate for me. “Who is this for?”
“Mrs. Marlow.”
“Oh, why don’t you let me bring it out in a minute or two. I’ll put it in the walk-in fridge to cool it faster. I don’t want her to burn her mouth.”
“Thank you.” I kiss his cheek before leaving the kitchen to deliver Mrs. Marlow’s drink. “Cam will be out with your cinnamon roll in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Mo comes in looking like she’s having a rough day. “Coffee. Lots. Now.” She slumps down at a table and puts her head on her arms, which are folded in front of her.
“I’ll get it,” Robin says. “I’m getting a refill for someone else anyway.”
“Thanks, Robin.” I take a seat at Mo’s table. “What happened?” I ask.
“We almost lost a huge account today. One of the interns sent the wrong files over, and I’ve been doing damage control ever since. It’s been phone call after phone call.”
“What’s the big deal about sending the wrong files? Couldn’t you just follow up and send the correct ones?”
“She sent a file meant for another client. When they saw it, they got upset because they didn’t think the campaign we created for them was as good. They’re rival companies.”
I hold up a hand. “Wait. Rival companies hired the same PR firm to represent them? How did that happen?”
“They used to be in business together. When they split up, and I mean split up both romantically and professionally, they couldn’t agree who would keep the account with my company, so they decided they’d both continue to work with us.”
“I see.”
“Yeah, and since they have the same last name, their emails are very similar. We have a new intern, and she didn’t realize she was sending the files to the wrong Mr. Sheridan.”
“They’re both Mr. Sheridan?”
Mo nods.
“I can see her confusion then.”
“I know. I feel bad for her. It’s only her fourth day on the job. I found her crying in the bathroom.”
“Aw, the poor girl.” I should send over a coffee and pastry for her. It sounds like she could use it. “Did you get everything straightened out?”
“Barely. Now I need coffee.” She reaches her hand out as Robin approaches with an extra-large to-go cup.”
Cam walks out with Mrs. Marlow’s cinnamon roll, and a few minutes later, he returns with a second one, which he brings to Mo. “You look like you could use this.”
“You have no idea. Thanks, Cam.” She offers a weak attempt at a smile.
Cam places his hand on my shoulder. “Uh-oh. Anything we can help with?”
“I wish. It’s all okay now. I think.”
“Cam, do you have any more coffee crumb muffins in the kitchen?” Jamar asks.
“Yeah, I’ll bring some out.” Cam squeezes my shoulder and then pats Mo’s before going back to get the muffins.
“How’s the case going?” she asks after taking a large sip of coffee.
“We found Simon’s mistress. She admits to seeing Simon the night he was murdered, but she said he was fine when she left him at the job site.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I’m not sure. I wanted to check her kitchen for a missing steak knife, but Quentin stopped me.”
“That man is a total pain in the butt.”
Wes comes into Cup of Jo and heads straight for Mo. “We’ve got another situation. The other Mr. Sheridan is now on the phone. He’s upset we showed his new logo and campaign to his competition, and he wants it redone.”
Mo groans. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night for me.” She stands up, taking her coffee and cinnamon roll. “Let’s go,” she tells Wes.
I wave goodbye. “Good luck!” I go back to the counter and wipe it down. When I’m not actively serving the customers, I’m cleaning something. The glass display case shows every fingerprint no matter how much I wipe it down.
A big man in his early fifties walks into Cup of Jo a few minutes later, and he immediately scans the place. His gaze lands on me, and he storms over to the counter. “Are you Joanna Coffee?”
“Yes. Who are you?”
“Marcus Bishop. I hear you paid my wife a visit today.” His tone is stern, letting me know this isn’t a friendly visit by any means.
“Along with the police, yes.” I’m trying to stand my ground, but this guy is seriously intimidating. “Why?”
The door to the kitchen opens, and Cam steps out. “Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, there’s a problem. A big one. This woman—”
Cam holds up a hand to stop him. “Happens to be my fiancée, so I’m going to warn you to choose your words carefully.” Cam is a tall guy, but Marcus Bishop still has a few inches on him, and Bishop looks like he spends his evenings at the gym lifting more than Cam and I weigh combined.
Marcus smirks. “I’ll say whatever I want to say. You people sure did.” He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out none other than a steak knife, which he points at me. “But I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”