I knew little about the pharmaceutical industry, but I knew assholes, and all three men in Mason Stewart’s office were major assholes. More than that, I didn’t trust them one bit. Something was going on at Reid Chemical. If I had to guess, I’d say Nick Sumner, the security consultant, had killed Aldon McKenzie and Laura Rojas. He hadn’t killed Jennifer McKenzie, though. Her death had surprised him. I didn’t know what that meant.
A security guard escorted me back to my SUV. Reid Chemical was about fifteen miles outside town, so I took out my cell phone on the way and called my boss.
“Harry, it’s Joe. I’ve had a busy morning. Want to hear about it?”
Harry warned me he was in an area with poor cell reception but told me to talk anyway. I filled him in on my search of Laura Rojas’s office and the meeting at Reid Chemical. Harry was quiet, but he asked questions where appropriate. When I finished, he paused for a few moments.
“What’s your plan?”
“Mason Stewart is dirty, Reid Chemical’s security consultant is dirty, and I don’t trust the kid, either,” I said. “The kid’s the weak link. I don’t know what’s going on at that plant, but I think Logan Reid does, and I think I can break him.”
“If you go after him, be careful,” said Harry. “Mason Stewart will have an army of lawyers, but I’ll do what I can to keep them from you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m on my way to the office to run a background check, so I’ll talk to you later.”
“Good luck, Detective.”
I thanked him and hung up. It was midday, so few cars crowded the roads. When I got to my station, I parked in the lot and walked inside, where Trisha flagged me down at the front desk. She had a plastic Tupperware container in front of her and a flimsy plastic fork in her hand.
“I was hoping to catch you,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Sheryl over at Rise and Grind called about half an hour ago. She’s got two guys there that are creeping her out.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Any reason they’re creeping her out?”
“They’ve been there since eight this morning. Sheryl said she doesn’t recognize them, and they’re not too interested in talking.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Have they acted inappropriately toward anybody?”
“No, but they’ve been there for almost four hours, and neither has said a word except to order more coffee,” she said, before lowering her voice. “We’ve had three murders this week. When two creepy strangers show up at the town coffee shop, I thought you might be interested. Sheryl said there’d be free coffee in it for you if you chase them off.”
With three bodies on the ground so far, any break from the normal routine was notable. I nodded and reached into my purse for my keys.
“You should have led with the free coffee. Call Sheryl and tell her I’m on my way. Put two or three uniformed officers on standby, too, in case these creepy strangers decide they don’t like me.”
“Will do, Detective,” she said, already calling up the patrol map on her computer. “Alicia Maycock is nearby. You want me to have her meet you?”
“No, but have her stay in the area,” I said. “I might need a hand.”
Trisha nodded and picked up her radio to call it in. I left the building and jogged to the SUV I had signed out. Rise and Grind was one of St. Augustine’s hidden gems. Their coffee was always good, but their house-made pecan rolls were better than anything I had ever eaten at any bakery in any big city. Sheryl, the lady who owned it, was an attorney who had decided the law wasn’t for her and had retired early to open a coffee shop. I’d never met her when she was practicing law, but every time I saw her now, she had a smile on her face. I’d say she had found her calling.
Rise and Grind took up the bottom floor of a brick three-story Italianate building downtown. There were antique stores, restaurants, and bars all around. An old-fashioned candy shop up the street made its own fudge, hard candy, and chocolates. Tourists loved this stretch of downtown. During our Spring Fair, the crowds became so thick you could hardly walk down the street. The area was lively in the summer, but I didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone. I liked that.
I parked about a block away and checked my firearm before climbing out of my SUV. A pair of squirrels chased one another down the sidewalk in front of me, while trees overhead provided a little relief from the hot midday sun.
From the street, Rise and Grind looked almost empty, but even if people had sat at every table, I would have known which guys had given Sheryl the creeps. They were sitting at the front window. One of them had a tattoo of a spider’s web on his neck, while abstract tattoos ran up and down the wrists and arms of the other man. Neither looked happy to see me.
I pulled the door open and walked to the counter. A teenager worked the register, but as soon as she saw me, she walked to the kitchen for Sheryl. She came out momentarily.
“Hi, Joe,” she said, smiling as she walked toward me. Sheryl was in her mid-forties, but she could have passed for thirty. She had black hair past her ears and bright green eyes that lit up every time she saw someone she liked. I didn’t know her well, but she was almost always jovial and happy. Today, though, she gave me a nervous grin as her eyes flicked toward the men near the front window.
“Trisha told me what was going on,” I said, leaning against the counter, my voice low. “They’re just drinking coffee, right?”
She nodded. “They bought two pecan rolls, too. The one on the right has a gun on his waistband on his lower back. I feel silly for calling the police, but I don’t like them in my shop. They’re scaring Molly. When my employees get nervous, I get nervous.”
I nodded again and smiled at her, hoping I looked confident. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to them and see what’s going on. You never know. Maybe they got a flat tire, and they’re waiting around for a tow.”
“Maybe,” she said. She hesitated. “Did you see a car with a flat tire outside?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You go back to work. I’ll talk to them.”
She nodded and walked to the kitchen but didn’t send Molly out front again. I crossed the room, pulled a chair from a table near the two men, and sat down. Up close, the two men were ugly, and at least one of them smelled like body odor. I didn’t want to talk to them, but I put a smile on my face anyway.
“Hi, guys,” I said, pulling on the lanyard around my neck so they could see my badge. “I’m Detective Joe Court with the St. Augustine County Sheriff’s Department. You two new in town?”
The man on the left raised his eyebrows as he checked me out. Cigarette smoke had stained his teeth a light brown, and his nose swept to the left—likely because he had broken it in a fight and left it to heal on its own. The other guy had straight teeth, shaggy hair, and a beard like a threadbare quilt on his chin. He smelled like he had recently left the gym. He seemed like a Stinky.
“Have we done something wrong, Officer?” asked the bar fighter.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m here to chat. We’re a tourist town, and we like to welcome newcomers. This time of the year, our bed and breakfasts are full of couples on romantic weekends. Are you guys having a good time?”
“We’re not a couple,” said Stinky. I couldn’t quite place his accent.
“Is that a Bosnian accent?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
The two looked at one another. Then the bar fighter sighed.
“He’s Ukrainian. What do you want?”
“How do you like the coffee?” I asked. Neither had made a move toward me, but both men had at least fifty pounds on me each. I wouldn’t win a fight if it came down to that, so I kept my hand near my firearm. “You must like it. You’ve been here for hours.”
The bar fighter locked his eyes on mine while Stinky looked toward the register.
“Don’t look over there,” I said. “We’re talking. It’s rude to look away.”
Stinky stood. He was bigger than me, but he was slow. I could get to my feet faster than him and use my chair as a club, but I couldn’t do much damage to a man his size. Not only that, I’d still have to deal with his friend. I put my hand on my firearm but didn’t pull it out yet.
“Have a seat,” I said. “And put your hands flat on the table. That goes for both of you.”
Stinky looked to his partner. The older guy nodded—having seen my firearm—so Stinky sat down.
“I’m here to talk, boys. I can’t ask you to leave town, but I can make you miserable. So why are you here?”
“Camping,” said the bar fighter.
“You’re going camping, great,” I said, nodding. “This is a good area for that. Where are you pitching your tent?”
The bar fighter shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“That’s unfortunate. Every campsite in town is booked right now. I think you boys might have better luck going home.”
The bar fighter smirked and turned his head. I followed his gaze to see Molly at the register again. She had blond hair with brown roots and freckles on her cheeks. She was seventeen or eighteen, and the lecherous look the bar fighter gave her made my stomach churn.
“We’d rather stay,” he said. “I like the view.”
I didn’t turn my head. “Molly, go back in the kitchen.”
A moment later, I heard a door open and close. My throat tightened, and my heart pounded in my chest. I should have brought backup.
“Now why’d you do that?” asked the bar fighter. “I think she liked me. What’s the age of consent in Missouri?”
“This is a private establishment,” I said. “It’s time you two moved on.”
“No,” said Stinky, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I like it here.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Then you won’t mind staying here a moment longer while I call for backup. I’ve asked you to leave on behalf of the establishment’s owner, but you’ve refused. You’re under arrest for trespassing. I plan to disarm you and call for backup. We will place you in custody and take you to my station. From there, we’ll work things out. That sound okay with you?”
“We’re not armed,” said Stinky.
“I saw your weapon when I walked in, dumbass. It’s tucked into the waistband of your pants,” I said. “I’m guessing your partner has one, too. One at a time, I want you both to unholster your firearms, unload them, and put them on the table. This need not escalate. If you cooperate, everyone will be fine.”
Though I tried to convey a sense of calm confidence, every muscle in my body felt tight. Neither man moved.
“You first,” I said, looking to Stinky. “Reach behind your back and remove your firearm from its holster. Remove the magazine and any round in the chamber and put it on the table. If you fail to comply, we’re all going to have a bad day.”
He stared into my eyes as he complied. I thought he would spit at me, but he did what I wanted. The older guy did likewise.
I picked up the firearms and moved them to another table.
“Both of you, keep your hands flat on the table,” I said, reaching to my purse for my phone. Trisha answered at the station and called in my backup. Officer Maycock was there within a minute. She wasn’t much bigger than me, but she was armed, and she wore a uniform. Sasquatch—Officer Preston Cain—arrived a minute or two after that, allowing me to breathe a little easier.
Sasquatch led the two men outside and put them in the back of two separate cruisers, while Alicia collected their firearms. Once we had everything secure, Sasquatch handed me their IDs. According to their driver’s licenses, both came from Chicago. The older guy was named Kurt Wilkinson, while the other guy was Stephan Kushnir. Neither had an open warrant against him, but Stephan Kushnir had had a felony conviction for felony assault.
In Missouri, trespassing in the first degree was a class-B misdemeanor. If I charged them, they’d pay a fine and go on with their lives. Meanwhile, I’d have an hour or two of paperwork and more headache than the arrest was worth. I didn’t plan to take them in. Now that I had seen their driver’s licenses, I had everything I needed.
Sasquatch let both men out of their respective squad cars and removed their handcuffs.
“Okay, gentlemen,” I said. “We’ve decided not to press charges. Mr. Wilkinson, we’ll be returning your firearm; however, we will keep Mr. Kushnir’s. Since Mr. Kushnir has a violent felony conviction, he’s ineligible to own a weapon in the state of Missouri. If you’ve got an attorney, he or she can contact my office. We’ll return the weapon to you once you’ve left the state. Does that sound good with you two?”
Kushnir grumbled, but Wilkinson nodded. Sasquatch gave Wilkinson his firearm back, and then the two of them climbed into a red sedan and drove off. I walked to Officer Maycock.
“Alicia, have you got the firearms we confiscated?”
She nodded.
“Good. Take them to Darlene and ask her to run ballistics on them. We’ll see whether they match the rounds pulled from Jennifer McKenzie or Laura Rojas,” I said. I turned to Sasquatch. “Preston, get in your cruiser. Follow our new friends. If they leave the county, great. If they don’t, keep on them. Don’t bother hiding. Let them see you.”
“On it, boss,” he said, hurrying back to his car.
I didn’t know who those guys were, but we needed to watch them all the same. I watched Sasquatch drive off before heading back to the coffee shop. Sheryl and Molly had returned from the kitchen. Both looked shaken, but they’d be okay.
“They’re gone,” I said. “I’ve got one of my officers following them, so they shouldn’t bother you anymore. If they come back, call us. We’ll send somebody to pick them up.”
“Thank you, Joe,” said Sheryl, drawing in a breath. “I feel silly for calling you, but they scared me.”
“Calling me wasn’t silly. They were scary dudes,” I said, nodding and looking around. I hesitated and smiled. “Before coming, I heard something about free coffee.”
Sheryl smiled. “For you, it’s on the house.”
“I knew there was a reason this is my favorite coffee shop in town,” I said, smiling.
“This is the only coffee shop in town,” said Molly.
“Just adds to the air of exclusivity,” I said. Sheryl came back a moment later with a tall paper cup full of steaming black coffee. I thanked her and put a dollar in the tip jar despite her protests. “You deserve a tip. Your coffee and pecan rolls are the only reason I get up in the morning.”
“I’m both glad and sad to hear that, Detective,” said Sheryl, winking.
I thanked them again and headed out. It was already midafternoon, and the work kept piling on. I yawned and sipped my coffee before heading to my car. No rest for the weary. I had a murder to solve.