Chapter 15

Blake slept like the dead. Lately, that wasn’t really an analogy she liked to use, but no matter the comparison, she felt well rested, thankful that the dizziness of the previous day was gone.

After two mean shots of espresso and one cup of brewed coffee, she poured Ninja his breakfast and scratched him behind the ears. Checking the time on her phone, she saw it was just after five in the morning. She had time to get into Mystery Cup, get the coffee brewing, then run across the street to see Saffron before she had to open up for the day.

Blake shoved her phone into her big striped Fossil purse before strapping it over her shoulder. She reached down to nuzzle Ninja behind his ears with the backs of her fingers, enjoying his responsive purr. Straightening up, she picked up her coffee mug and headed to the back door.

When she opened it, her breath caught. Her heart seemed to stop beating, and then she heard the rush of blood in her head, and her heart kick-started in a rapid metallic drumbeat.

On the storm door, in large block letters, someone had painted STOP! in violent burnt-orange paint on the glass. Some part of her brain realized that since she was looking at it from the inside of the door, the letters were backward, but that didn’t make the message any less chilling. Drips of burnt orange had drizzled from the letters down the door, resembling droplets of blood.

Blake’s purse dropped to the floor, her knees buckling as she grabbed the doorknob for support. Once her brain finally managed to start firing, she realized she needed to call the police and dug her phone out of her purse. Clenching the cell phone hard, afraid she might drop it, she dialed 9-1-1 with trembling fingers.

“You’re sure it wasn’t there last night?” Blake hugged her arms around her middle as she stood on her back lawn, watching an officer swirl black dust over her screen door with a big, poufy brush.

“I’m sure.” Kyle chewed on her lower lip. “Jason and I circled the entire house before we left. It was not there.”

“So someone did it after I went to bed.” A tremor went through her body. Her bedroom was right over the back door. She could have looked out and seen the person. Her stomach twisted at the thought that she was that close to… “Was it the killer? Is that who did this?”

Kyle didn’t look surprised at her question, which was pretty much her answer. “Well…” She drew out the word, most likely trying to think of how to say what she wanted to say tactfully so she didn’t send Blake spiraling into freak-out mode.

“Just spill it, Kyle.”

Her sister’s gaze fixed on Blake’s face with laser-like precision. “What does ‘stop’ mean?”

Ignoring Kyle’s question, Blake focused on the dripping orange letters on her door. Burnt orange seemed like an odd choice of color. And why did that color poke at something in her brain?

Kyle snapped her fingers in front of Blake’s face. “Are you listening to me?”

“The paint.” Blake tilted her head, and she gasped as the memory cleared. “The paint!”

Kyle looked back at the door as if something might have changed. “What about the paint?”

“The mural!” When Kyle’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, Blake forced herself to slow down and explain. “At Café Muerte, they’re painting a Day of the Dead mural on the wall. They were using this shade of orange when I was in there a few days ago. That proves it!”

Kyle’s ponytail bounced from side to side as she shook her head. “That doesn’t prove anything.” But her eyes had lit up like they did when she latched on to a new piece of information.

Possibilities were running rampant through Blake’s mind. “It would have been easy enough for Todd or Sabrina to use paint from their own café. They’re also smart enough to know that wouldn’t necessarily implicate them since anyone could have snatched a can lying out by the mural.” She shook her finger in Kyle’s face. “What do you bet that when you confront them about it, they tell you that they wouldn’t be stupid enough to use their own paint? Like reverse psychology or something.”

“Okay, Columbo, we will look into it. Don’t worry. Now, can you go back to answering my question?” When Blake stared at her sister blankly, Kyle sighed. “What are you doing that the killer wants you to stop?”

Blake lifted her shoulders and dropped them in a slow shrug. “I’ve just been asking a few questions here and there. I told you I’m going to talk to Saffron this morning, remember?”

“No. No more.” Kyle lowered her voice, and her face pinched together in what Blake had always referred to as her “professional cop face.”

“What do you mean ‘no more’?” Blake had to tamp down her irritation. “Nothing has changed since I talked to you last night.”

“I know. But even though you told me you’d stay out of it, someone’s obviously worried.”

“Jeez, Kyle, I’ve just been asking a few questions around town. You’re doing the same thing.”

Kyle’s lips tightened into a thin line, and her hands rose to her head. Her fingers clenched in the air as if she were trying to keep herself from pulling at her own hair, and her voice rose in irritation. “I’m a freaking police detective, Blake. You own a coffee shop. I get to ask questions. You don’t!”

“Don’t yell at me! I’m just trying to figure this out. So I’ve been asking a few questions. Everyone in town is gossiping about the murder. How is me talking about it any different?” She raised her chin defiantly. “And you can’t tell me what to do,” she finished weakly.

“Jesus Christ, Blake, this isn’t a game. We’re not kids. And yes, I do get to tell you what to do. No more talking about the case. No more gossiping about the case. No more speculating. I don’t care if you think it’s just casual talk with friends, coworkers, customers, whatever. No. More. You are way too close to this. Nikki was killed in your café. You were attacked there. The target on your back is big enough. You don’t need to make it bigger. Don’t gossip with Saffron. Don’t talk to anyone.”

A growl of frustration erupted from Blake’s throat. “God, Kyle, I am sick of your attitude. Just because you’re a cop doesn’t mean you can talk down to me. You don’t always know best, you know.”

Kyle threw her hands up in the air and let out a huff. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not talking down to you.”

“Yes, you are.” Blake jabbed a finger in Kyle’s face. “You wear your tough-girl attitude around you like armor. You put it on after Dad left, and you’ve never taken it off.”

Kyle opened her mouth to throw back a retort, then she noticed the two officers by the back door looking over their shoulders at them with raised eyebrows. “I don’t want to do this right now,” she said in a low voice.

“Well, I do.” Blake’s frustration clouded her sense of reason. “I can be tough too, you know.”

A bark of sarcastic laughter came from Kyle. “Tough? You? Blake, you called me squealing last month when you saw a mouse in your kitchen. You’re literally scared of a mouse! You’re trying to tell me you’re not scared of a killer?”

Of course she was scared. But she wasn’t about to admit that to her sister. “You’re missing my point!”

“Which is what?” Kyle backed up a step and took a few deep breaths, looking as though she were trying to calm herself. “Look, can’t you understand I’m worried about you? Maybe I do play the tough girl, but you’re the one with Mom’s soft heart. Ryan’s the caregiver, I’m the protector, and you’re the people pleaser. I’m not trying to force us into those roles. That’s just the way it’s been for the last twenty-five years. I don’t see it changing anytime soon.”

Blake tried to tamp down her exasperation. “Just because I have a soft heart doesn’t mean I can’t be protective too. And it doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I’m not going to go running off half-cocked into danger. I do have some sense of self-preservation, you know. But if someone is targeting me—targeting The Mystery Cup—I am not just going to stand back and watch from the sidelines. I’m going to protect what’s mine!” She gestured to the paint on her back door. “Besides, it doesn’t seem to matter if I do nothing and try to mind my own business. Trouble seems to circle right back to me.”

“That’s exactly why you need to stop!” Kyle’s voice was shaking, and she stepped up so she was nose to nose with Blake. “I’m warning you—mind your own business.”

“This is my business.” She was too close to figuring something out. It was right there—right there!—on the tip of her brain.

“Blake…” Kyle growled her name through clenched teeth.

“What, Kyle? You gonna throw me in jail?”

Daggers shot out of her sister’s blue eyes as she jammed her hands on her hips, fuming. “Try me.”

Blake stepped back in surprise. She couldn’t be serious. “I have to get to work.”

“Dammit, Blake.”

Kyle started to follow her as she turned to walk to her car, but Blake turned and held up her hand. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

Blake trudged around her house and climbed behind the wheel of her blue Civic, which was parked in front of her house. Emotion stung her eyes as she made the short drive to work.

Only a handful of cars were scattered along the curb of Main Street as she made her way downtown. She perused the cars parked near Sliced, but she didn’t see Saffron’s bright-green VW bug—and that thing stood out. Saffron always parked right out front. Blake wondered briefly if Saffron even remembered that she’d asked Blake to meet her.

She glanced at the clock on her dash and saw that it was already six o’clock. Her arms felt heavy as she turned the wheel. After just one hour, she already felt as though she’d had a full day. Parking the car behind the café, she pulled in a breath. Then she leaned her head back against the headrest as she closed her eyes against the stress of the last few days. The problem was she completely understood Kyle’s point of view. She just wished her little sister would listen to her once in a while. It wasn’t the time to dwell on her sister, though. She had a busy day ahead, and she needed to focus.

Since Saffron wasn’t around, Blake still had some time to get the café opened first. Walking through the back door, Blake flipped the lights on and headed straight to the coffeepot. The rich smell of brewing coffee made her mouth water as she opened the fridge and pulled out the morning pastries to go in the display case. She’d just finished arranging the treats when Rachel walked in the back door.

“Wow, those look amazing!” Wiping imaginary drool from her chin, she ogled the banana-spice muffins, cinnamon-streusel coffee cake, chocolate chip scones, and espresso brownies. “I swear, Blake, you need to write a cookbook. Your pastries are out of this freaking world. By the way, you haven’t told me what’s in the mystery cup this month! I can’t wait to see what next month’s recipe is!”

Blake picked up a tray to carry out front. “I can’t tell you, Rach. You have to wait until the end of the month, like everyone else.” She gave her sister-in-law a wink. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Rachel’s eyes gleamed with humor as she picked up the other pastry tray. “You’re an evil wench, Blake. Evil, I say.”

The women filled the pastry case, filled the register with change, rebooted the credit card machine, and brewed the last carafe of coffee before Rachel flipped the Closed sign on the door to Open. “Hey, I thought you were supposed to meet Saffron.”

“I was, but she wasn’t there when I came in. I wondered if she might have forgotten.”

Rachel jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Well, she’s there now. Her car’s out front.”

Wiping her hands on the front of her apron, Blake glanced at the clock on the wall above the kitchen door. 6:28. Kyle’s concerns ran through Blake’s head then sprinted right back out. Talking to a friend—okay, acquaintance—certainly wasn’t reason for mutiny. “Okay, I’ll run over real quick before the breakfast rush.” Untying her apron, she whipped it off over her head and headed for the front door. “Be right back.”

A slight breeze ruffled her hair as she jogged across the street. The traffic along Main Street was beginning to pick up, and she wondered if Sliced was planning to open that morning. Even though Saffron’s car was out front, the lights in the restaurant were off. She figured Saffron would be getting things ready to open if that was the plan. Usually, the woman was there before Blake arrived at Mystery Cup each morning. She would turn up the thermostat—or air conditioner, depending on the time of year—make the coffee, put all the chairs down in the restaurant, and get everything ready to open before the chefs arrived. But when Blake tried the front door, she found it locked. She rapped on the glass with her knuckles but didn’t see any movement inside. Everything was dark and quiet. She hoped the break-in hadn’t caused more damage than she’d thought and that was why they weren’t opening.

Hmm, maybe she’s in the back.

Blake headed to the walkway that went around back to the alley. Paths snaked between the old buildings, and Blake had always liked that they weren’t smooshed up against each other.

She rounded the corner and saw that the alley was empty. Micah’s and Molly’s cars were nowhere to be found. Blake’s pulse started to thrum as she took slow, deliberate steps to the metal kitchen door. When she noticed it was partially open, a tingle started to form on the back of her neck, all the hairs standing on end, and she slowed as she approached the door.

The alley was a mirror image of the one behind her café, which caused memories of the other night to flash through her mind. She’d been standing at the back door of Mystery Cup just like that when a figure had burst through and knocked her to the ground. Her heart began to race, and she swallowed, trying to get some moisture in her dry mouth.

Sean’s and Kyle’s voices danced circles in her head, the memory of their words echoing loudly in her mind. Be careful, Blake. Stay out of it!

She raised a shaking hand and rapped her knuckles on the metal door. The sound echoed in the barren alleyway. “Saffron?” She listened intently for an answer or footsteps but was met with nothing but silence. “Saffron?” The door creaked as she gently pushed it open.

The lights in the kitchen were on, but she didn’t see a soul inside. Everything looked to be in its place, and she breathed a tiny bit easier. Nothing was ransacked or broken. The intruder hadn’t returned.

Blowing out a breath, she walked inside. Get a grip, Blake. Now you’re paranoid. “Saffron!” she called again, shutting the door behind her. She looked around the kitchen, but there was no sign of anyone. Deciding that Saffron must have left for some reason, she turned back to the door to leave. That was when she noticed Saffron’s purse on the counter by the door. She remembered the woman carrying the big purple bag when she’d come to the hospital.

Blake’s forehead crinkled. Her mind raced as she cast a glance toward the swinging kitchen door. The setup at Sliced was a bit different than at Mystery Cup. At the café, the kitchen door was at the front of the kitchen, and it led directly into the café, opening into the area behind the front counter. At Sliced, however, the swinging door was to the side of the kitchen, and it opened into a small hallway near the restrooms.

Oh, duh, Blake. She almost smacked herself in the forehead. She’s probably in the restroom. That thought evaporated as soon as she swung open the door.

The gasp left her lips as her heart stopped. Blake stood frozen in the doorway in between the kitchen and the hallway. On the floor by the women’s restroom lay Saffron. The woman wore her uniform of khaki pants and red shirt with the Sliced logo on the front. And she wasn’t moving. “Oh God.”

It took a couple of seconds for her heart to start beating again, then Blake heard a scream. She jumped, realizing a couple of moments later that the scream came from her.

“Saffron!” She fell to her knees by the woman, her fingertips searching Saffron’s neck for a pulse. But she knew before she even touched her that she was gone. Saffron lay there, and just like Nikki had, her glazed eyes stared at nothing. Blood pooled around her head and spread out in a puddle on the floor. To the side of the blood lay Sabrina’s imported Italian stovetop espresso maker, covered in blood.

Blake jumped up, backing away as if she’d received an electric shock. She looked around frantically, expecting a hooded figure to run from the shadows and attack her. She had to get help. But the shock was setting in, as was the fear. Instead of going to the nearest phone in Sliced and calling for help, she ran through the kitchen and out the back door as fast as her legs could carry her—back to Mystery Cup.