Jessica’s hangover must have made her a better teaching assistant, or maybe it slowed down her brain to their speed, because after class, three students came up to say they finally understood modal logic. Maybe I should teach with a hangover every day. She’d been drinking all weekend, ever since Nick stood her up Friday night. Her head hurt so bad she wore her sunglasses in class.
Monday mornings were always tough. And this morning, Jessica needed something stronger than Witch’s Brew. She stopped at Starbucks for a double-caramel iced macchiato and then headed for Blind Faith to get back to work on her dissertation. Her head was pounding, and her stomach hurt. But her heart hurt worst of all. How could Nick have ghosted her like that? She’d thought he was “the one.” What a jerk!
The brutal sun was poaching her brain. It was way too hot for September, but there were only so many clothes she could take off. Give me the coldest Montana winter to this Midwestern humidity any day. She sipped her cool, sweet coffee and trudged up the sidewalk toward the café. It was only a fifteen-minute walk from campus, but today it seemed to take forever. She felt like she might pass out.
She stopped under the shade of an awning and leaned against the cool brick building. Slurping the last of her macchiato, she thought of Nick’s smooth forearms and soft lips. How could she have been such an idiot? She felt like barfing. Fighting tears, she forced herself to keep walking. She had to forget about Nick and get back to her dissertation.
The door to the café seemed heavier than usual. She strained to pull it open. Today, the smell of tamari and seaweed turned her stomach. To top it off, someone was sitting at her usual corner booth. She went to the counter and swiveled on a barstool. Pancakes. She needed pancakes. She ordered her usual short stack and bottomless cup of coffee. Maybe the sugar and extra caffeine would jump-start her brain.
She was just digging in to her pancakes when her phone buzzed. She savored the sweet cake and crunchy pecans for another second before picking up.
“Detective Cormier. What a surprise.” Of course. She’d never get to eat her damned pancakes in peace.
“Can you meet me at the Parker Hotel?” the detective asked. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”
“I guess so. Why? What’s happened?” Her heart leapt into her throat. She’d had enough of the snooty Parker Hotel and two-timing Nick Schilling.
“How soon can you get here?”
“It will take me at least forty-five minutes.” If I don’t eat my pancakes.
“Come to Room 817. I’ll be waiting.” He hung up.
Jessica scraped her pancakes into a to-go box and poured the coffee into a large paper cup, topping it with a good two inches of cream and a couple packets of sugar. She’d need all the help she could get to make it downtown. On her way out, she grabbed some plasticware and napkins. She’d have to eat her breakfast on the train.
The train’s crush of bodies and lack of air conditioning made Jessica woozy. She sat crammed between a muscular dude with dreadlocks and headphones who took up more than his share of the seats and an overweight woman wearing a headscarf. Jessica held the cardboard to-go box with both hands but couldn’t face the contents.
Crapulence! What could Detective Cormier want with her? Had he discovered she’d taken a picture at the crime scene? Or that she was carrying on her own investigation, as inconclusive as it was? She gulped her coffee, trying to jolt her brain awake. She didn’t want to face the detective in this hungover fog.
The pitching and lurching of the train increased her nausea. She had to get off. Even though she was only halfway to the Parker, she jumped off at the next stop. On the platform, she sucked in air and hunted for a trash can. She’d lost her appetite. She dropped her empty coffee cup and pancakes into the trash, then hurried down the stairs to the street. A few blocks of walking helped clear her head, but the heat and humidity were oppressive. She gave up and called a Lyft. She’d already maxed out her credit card, but Lyft didn’t know that yet. Her phone said her ride was two minutes away.
By the time she reached the Parker, she was exhausted. Between Nick ghosting her, the late-night poker game, her hangover, and her early morning class, she was completely undone. She longed to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head. She should have known better than to get involved with Nick again. A fist squeezed her heart and she nearly doubled over from the pain. She caught her breath, stumbled into the elevator, and pushed the button for the eighth floor. Panting, she leaned against the wall. Why does loving him hurt so much?
As she exited the elevator, she wondered if Nick was still here with Chrissy. She hoped she didn’t run into him. Why? Why had he done it? She never had understood men, and she probably never would. I should stick to horses. Maybe they were wild animals, but they were easier to tame. For a sugar cube or a piece of black licorice, Mayhem would do anything she asked. She smiled. She missed her black beauty. If she did have to go back to Montana with her tail between her legs, at least she’d have her horses . . . and the mountains . . . and a fifth of vodka in the freezer and a bottle of Xanax on the nightstand.
She blew at her bangs and knocked on the door of Room 817.
“Miss James.” Detective Cormier stepped out into the hallway. “Before you enter the room, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Jessica felt the blood drain from her face and her stomach lurched. “Nick,” she said under her breath. I should have known . . . when he didn’t show up—"
“Yes. I’m afraid Professor Schilling is dead.”
The words gutted her. “No, no, no.” Jessica fell back against the wall and slid to the floor. “It can’t be. I just . . .” She couldn’t believe it. She’d just gotten him back, only to lose him forever. She wanted to scream.
“I’m sorry.” Cormier reached down and pulled her to her feet.
Tears burst from her eyes. It felt like a team of Clydesdales had stomped on her chest. She leaned her head against the detective’s shoulder. He smelled of shaving cream and peppermint, so different from Nick’s citrus and juniper scent. Nick. How could he be dead? He’d been so young and alive the last time she’d seen him.
After crying a puddle onto the detective’s lapel, she wiped her nose on her shirtsleeve. He handed her a tissue from his pocket and she blew her nose.
“How did it happen?” she asked weakly, brushing tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands.
“Come sit down.” The detective opened the door to the room and gestured her inside.
The room had the same sweet lavender and patchouli smell as Nick’s father’s suite. Amber. WTF? Jessica quickly scanned the room. A tea tray sat on an end table in the small sitting area. She hightailed it across the room and stood staring at the tea cups. At the bottom of each cup sat one of Amber’s homemade linen tea bags, like desiccated flowers left too long without water. What did Amber do? How could she? Jessica shook her head. Her imagination was running away with her. No way Amber was capable of killing anyone. And even if she was, she had no reason to murder Nick or his dad.
“I suspect we will find digitalis in those cups,” Cormier said. “This looks to be the same perpetrator as the one who killed Richard Schilling.”
“Why?” Jessica asked. “Why would someone kill Nick or his dad?”
“If we knew the answer to that question, the case would be closed. He gestured toward the couch. “Please, have a seat. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re up to it.”
Jessica nodded.
“When was the last time you saw Nick Schilling?”
“Last night.” She twisted the fringe on her jacket. “I was waiting for him in a suite while he went to meet his father’s wife, Chrissy. But he never came back.” She choked on the words.
“The wife was here?” Detective Cormier took out his notepad and started writing.
“She had stopped by earlier at the Center and asked Nick to meet at seven. Nick and I had dinner and drinks beforehand. He said he wouldn’t be gone more than thirty minutes. I waited until almost midnight. I thought he’d stood me up . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“This room is registered to a ‘Nicholas Charis.’ It has been for the last week. That’s Nick, right? Do you know why he had a room at the Parker?” He gave her an apologetic look.
“What?” Jessica shook her head. “Then why would he get another room last night?” None of this made sense. Her teeth were chattering. She buttoned her jacket up to the collar. “How did you find him?”
“A maid found him slumped over a chair at the table. I didn’t want you to see that, so I waited to contact you until after we could move the body.” Detective Cormier tightened his lips.
Jessica buried her head in her hands, weeping.
“The coroner puts the time of death sometime between seven and nine last night. Again, it looks like a heart attack. But I suspect the autopsy will turn up an overdose of digoxin. You can’t think of anyone who might have wanted Professor Schilling dead?”
She shook her head. It sounded odd to hear Nick called “Professor Schilling.” At the university, he was “Professor Charis.” She remembered him in his office the first time she met him there . . . so animated and beautiful. She started crying again.
“I’m sorry to put you through this. But I need to know every detail of your movements yesterday.”
As Jessica recounted the wonderful afternoon and evening, her heart contracted. She couldn’t believe he was gone forever. What if he was the love of my life? She blew her nose.
“What did you do after he left to meet Mrs. Schilling?”
“I just waited in the suite. I watched a little television and had a whiskey from the minibar. When Nick wasn’t back at ten, I started to worry. I called reception looking for Chrissy Schilling’s room, but the operator told me she wasn’t registered at the hotel.” She dabbed at her eyes with the soggy tissue. “He sent flowers and champagne.”
“No one has seen Mrs. Schilling for the last three days. We checked with her modeling agency. We’ll find her.” The detective closed his notebook and slid it inside his jacket.
“Do you think she killed Nick?” Jessica felt like she might barf.
“The only lead we have at this point are those teacups and the same odd-looking tea bags.”
Jessica nodded. Amber’s tea bags were now the primary lead in two murder cases. The love of her life was dead, and her friend was a suspect. How did this happen? The burning in the pit of her stomach spread to her chest.
“Wait. Nick’s intern was here. She barged in and told me to stay away from Nick.” Jessica sniffed. “Maybe she did it. She was jealous . . .” She broke down, crying.
“Tell me more about this intern.” Detective Cormier held took his notebook back out of his pocket. “What’s her name?”
“Sally something.”
“We’ll find her.”
The detective removed two small red boxes from a sealed plastic bag. “Do you recognize these?”
Jessica shook her head.
He opened the boxes and sat them on the coffee table in front of her. “We found these in Nick’s pocket. Apparently, he just bought them yesterday at the jewelry store downstairs. Do you know who he might have bought them for?”
Speechless, she stared at the perfect pocket watch and the beautiful jade ring. Were those for me? Or for her?
“There must be a link between the professor’s death and his father’s. Let me know if anything occurs to you.” The detective stood up. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence he was drinking tea before his death, but we don’t have much else to go on at this point.”
No way Amber’s tea bags were a coincidence. She has something to do with all of this. But what?
“I was hoping you could give us more information,” Cormier sighed. “You’re free to go, but please let me know if you leave town.”
“Am I a suspect?”
“As far as we know, you were one of the last to see him alive.”
Her heart sank into her stomach. She wrapped her arms around herself and swayed back and forth. Forget about the dissertation. Forget about the degree. She had to find out who killed Nick and why.