9
The doorbell looked like a piece of peppermint candy, which was appropriate not for just whose house I was at, but for the season as well. As soon as I pressed the bell, the sound of claws and barking came from inside, overriding the chime. A moment later and the door opened, revealing a concerned looking Lance Darby with an overexcited Maestro at his feet.
“Oh, Krissy.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Hi.”
“Hi, Lance. How are you doing?”
He picked up the white Maltese before the little dog could escape. “As good as can be, I suppose.” He stepped aside. “Come on in. Jules is in the kitchen.”
I followed Lance through a meticulously clean house that put my own home to shame. I mean, I’m not a total slob or anything, but somehow, despite having a dog, Jules and Lance managed to keep their place pristine without a tuft of stray fur in sight. I assumed magic of some sort must be involved because if Misfit so much as walks through a room, he leaves a trail of orange fur behind.
Jules was leaning against the kitchen counter, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. His brow was furrowed, and a faint frown lined a face that was more accustomed to smiling. When he saw me, he tried to revert to his more cheerful self, but the smile never quite formed.
“Want one?” he asked, lifting his mug. “It’s fresh. Mine has a splash of a pick-me-up, but I could make yours without it.”
“No, thank you. I’ll have some tea when I get home.” I’d taken to drinking spiced chai tea during the evenings instead of coffee in an attempt to ween myself off nighttime caffeine. Yes, I know that tea has caffeine, but not as much as coffee. The smell of Jules’s coffee, however, was weakening my resolve. “How did it go with Detective Buchannan?”
Jules took a sip of his spiked coffee before setting the mug aside. “All right, I guess. When I first got there, it was like something straight out of a cop show. Everyone was running around, acting like the world was about to end. And then . . .” He shrugged. “It was pretty anticlimactic, to be honest.”
“The police wouldn’t let him into the room while they opened the box.” Lance sounded annoyed. He set Maestro down, who immediately ran over to Jules.
“They had me wait in a room with a table and uncomfortable plastic chairs.” Jules patted the Maltese on the head before straightening. The dog looked at him a moment longer before he padded over to me and flopped onto his back, exposing his belly for rubs.
I obliged as I asked, “And a dartboard and a couch?”
Jules’s smile finally managed to break through. “I take it you know the place?”
“All too well.” Let’s just say I was a frequent visitor to the Pine Hills police station interrogation room. Or did they call it an interview room? Either way, it wasn’t one of my favorite places.
“Well, they had me wait there for what felt like forever,” Jules said.
“I just about closed up shop and went looking for him,” Lance added. “The wait was awful.”
“For the both of us.” Jules and Lance shared a look before Jules went on. “Eventually, they came in and told me that nothing exploded and that there was nothing life threatening in the box. Detective Buchannan acted like I’d wasted his time.”
A part of me was relieved, but at the same time, I felt bad for getting the police involved. “I’m sorry,” I said, giving Maestro one last belly rub before rising from my crouch. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Don’t apologize,” Jules said. “I’m glad you warned me. Just because the box didn’t explode or wasn’t rigged like some booby trap out of a movie, doesn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous.”
When Jules didn’t immediately continue, I looked to Lance for an explanation, but only got a frown as a response, which made me even more curious. Was the gift something intimately personal? Something that only Lance and Jules would understand? It would make sense, considering how Andrew hadn’t told his wife what was in his own gift before running off to Andrew’s Gifts to be murdered. It might also explain why the contents of the box were missing.
Which reminded me . . .
“Do you know if there was packaging in the box? Bubble Wrap, newspaper, anything at all?”
Jules shook his head. “I don’t know. Detective Buchannan never said, and I didn’t take the box back. I didn’t want it.”
Because he knew what was inside and it scared or embarrassed him? Or because it was threatening?
“Do you think your gift was tied to Andrew Carver’s murder?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he repeated, glancing at Lance. “The police aren’t sure what it means.”
“Do you have an idea?”
The two men stared at one another. I might not have been able to hear it, but I was positive something important passed between them.
“She should know,” Lance said.
“Know what?” Slight panic crept into my voice.
Neither man answered. Jules picked up his mug and held it under his nose, eyes never leaving Lance’s own.
“Jules? Lance? What should I know?”
Jules took a large gulp from his mug. Sweat immediately beaded his brow. He wiped it away with the back of his hand before answering. “I don’t want to worry you.”
“Too late,” I said. “What was in the box?”
“A bag of coffee.”
I opened my mouth to say something profound, but all I managed was a confused, “Coffee?”
Jules nodded. “And a note.” A pause before, “From you.”
“What do you mean ‘from me?’ I didn’t leave you that gift.”
“We know you didn’t,” Lance said. “But it was made to appear as if you had.” Maestro barked once, and then left the room, apparently unhappy with the cessation of attention.
“You can expect a visit from Detective Buchannan sometime soon, I imagine,” Jules said. “He doesn’t believe you had anything to do with the package or what happened to Andrew Carver, but he thinks there’s a chance you might know why this is happening.”
“Me? Why?” There was a tone of desperation in my voice. “I didn’t do anything!” I took a deep breath. Buchannan coming to talk to me wasn’t the end of the world. In fact, I should have expected it. “What did the note say?”
“Not much, really,” Jules said, setting aside his mug again and pushing it away as if he wanted nothing else to do with coffee ever again. “Only that I’m to try out the coffee and then meet you later tonight to talk about it.”
A sinking filling caused my next words to come out as a whisper. “Meet me where?”
“At Death by Coffee. And I’m to come alone.”
* * *
Misfit snoozed next to me as I stared at the TV, not really seeing it. The weather report stated it was looking good for snow sometime later in the week, but it wasn’t a guarantee.
And . . .
And I remembered nothing else. I couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that the mysterious blue-wrapped gift was a lure for Jules to go to Death by Coffee after closing. For what? To be murdered? Was I supposed to have received a gift as well, but it had somehow gotten delayed or stolen from my front door?
Or was I to be framed for Jules’s death?
Anxiety tugged at me, made me want to jump into my car and rush to Death by Coffee to make sure no one was there. Jules had assured me that Detective Buchannan had everything under control, that he’d told him not to tell me about the threat. Apparently, Buchannan had a plan.
A cheery, holiday commercial starring a reworked version of the old Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer movie came on. I snapped the TV off just as Rudolph exclaimed how great the seasonal sale at the car dealership was going to be.
Doris Appleton would have just loved that commercial.
A car pulled into my driveway, lighting up the living room briefly as the headlights passed by the windows. I patted Misfit, who’d raised his head at the sound, and then went to the door. I opened it just as Paul stepped out of his car.
As always, a flare of warmth shot through me. It happened every time I saw Paul Dalton, even when things were at their most dire. Like now.
He stepped up and immediately wrapped me in a hug. “Are you all right?”
I nodded and stepped back long enough to let him in. As soon as he was through the door and had removed his hat, I snuggled up close to him.
“As good as I can be, I suppose,” I said. “I’ve been sitting here worrying my head off.”
“I talked to John before coming over.” Paul put his arm around me and escorted me to the island counter. “Do you know what was in the box Jules received?”
I nodded. “I talked to Jules a little while ago.”
“Well, John’s setting up an operation at Death by Coffee that will hopefully catch whoever sent the gift.” And killed Andrew Carver was implied.
“Good.” I frowned. “He’s not going to break the windows or anything, is he?”
Paul smiled. “No. But he and a few other cops are watching the doors. If anyone tries to get in, they’ll catch them.”
I wasn’t reassured, not with John Buchannan in charge. “Shouldn’t you be there?”
“John has everyone he needs.” Paul hugged me close before releasing me. “I’m needed here.”
There was that flare of warmth again. This time, it was accompanied by a toe curl.
“Do you still have the gift box?” Paul asked, glancing around the room. “The one you said came from Andrew’s Gifts?”
“Yeah. One sec.” I hurried to the spare room and retrieved the blue-paper wrapped box. Misfit watched me with interest as I handed it over to Paul. “I can’t believe someone would target Jules like this.”
“We’ll hopefully know more soon,” Paul said as he examined the box I’d given him. “There’s not much to it, is there?”
“Andrew’s wife, Erin, didn’t know what was inside it. I doubt it was a bag of coffee, though.”
“Probably not.” I’d hoped Paul might speculate, but he simply tucked the box under his arm. “Did Mrs. Carver say anything that might be important when you talked to her?”
“Not really. She mentioned Andrew might have had a problem with another business called Heavenly Gate. I’m not sure how that would involve Jules.” Or me, for that matter. “Do you think someone is targeting businesses in town? Has anyone else received a present like this?” I motioned toward the box under Paul’s arm.
“Not that I’m aware,” he said. “And if all goes well tonight, not one else will.” His brow furrowed. “How sure are you that the gift is tied to Mr. Carver’s murder?”
“It almost has to be, doesn’t it? I can’t imagine it not being connected. I didn’t send it to Jules, which means someone else was trying to lure him to Death by Coffee in the middle of the night, when no one would be there.”
Paul patted the air. I hadn’t realized my voice was rising to a shout.
“I’m not dismissing your theory,” Paul said. “We have to consider all of the possibilities or else we might miss something important. The gifts could be a joke, one done in bad taste. Mr. Carver could have walked in on a theft and the thief panicked and killed him.”
“And what? The thief just so happened to steal whatever was in the box?”
“I know, it’s unlikely, but it could have happened.” Paul sighed, squeezed my shoulder. “I don’t want to fight. I believe you. And I believe that all of this does tie together. I’m just telling you what John might be thinking, and that we’re looking at all angles here. You have nothing to worry about.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Paul was right. There was no reason to get angry with him. No, I didn’t believe that it was all just one big coincidence, but if the gifts really didn’t have anything to do with the murder, then a killer might go free because Buchannan was focused on the wrong thing.
“Have you had any unwanted guests recently?” Paul asked. “Seen anyone prowling around the neighborhood? Both here or at Death by Coffee?”
“I haven’t seen anyone,” I said. “At least, no one has come to my door. And if they did show up at some point, I’ve been over at Jules’s and Cait—” My eyes widened. “Jacob!”
Paul frowned. “Who’s Jacob?”
“Jacob . . . I don’t think he ever said his last name. He’s Caitlin’s friend. He’s next door right now.”
“And?”
“And I saw him fight with Andrew Carver the day of his death. Andrew’s death, not Jacob’s.” I took a breath to calm myself. Babbling madly wouldn’t help anyone. “Andrew accused Jacob of being a thief or something like that and then kicked him out of his store.”
“That doesn’t mean he killed him.”
“No, but when I talked to Caitlin, she mentioned that Jacob was late for a meeting with another friend of theirs; a guy named Teek.”
Paul’s eyebrows rose. “Teek?”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t know if that’s his real name or a nickname. But he was supposed to meet with Jacob last night and Jacob was late.”
“Once again—”
I finished for him. “That doesn’t mean he killed him; I know.” Still, it was starting to look bad for Jacob. “Caitlin said that Jacob was acting strange, like he was nervous about something. She thought he’d stopped by because of Boo . . .”
“Do I want to know?”
“His girlfriend. I don’t know her.”
“I see.” Paul shifted the box from one arm to the other, handling it gingerly. “Go on.”
“That’s kind of it,” I said. Now that I’d said it out loud, doubts were starting to creep in. “I know being late for a meeting and acting nervous doesn’t really mean much.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Paul agreed.
“But add to that the argument with Andrew, and that Jacob is now next door . . .” I gave him a meaningful look.
Paul caught on quickly. “Where he could keep an eye on both you and Jules to see if you took the bait.”
I pointed at him and nodded. “What if Jacob is angry about how everyone treats him. Caitlin said he’s always getting harassed by people because of how he looks and how he dresses.”
“But neither you nor Jules would treat him like that.”
I paused. Paul was right. Jules and Lance treated everyone with respect. And I’d never harass someone for how they looked. I mean, I wasn’t winning any fashion awards. Who was I to judge how anyone dressed?
But could someone else at Death by Coffee have said something Jacob took the wrong way? I didn’t think anyone would, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And if not a worker, a customer, perhaps? That made more sense, but why would Jacob target the store for something a customer said? Could he be angry that no one stepped in to stop it?
“If Jacob was the one who’d sent the gift and is watching Jules and me, then he won’t end up at Death by Coffee for Buchannan to catch.”
Paul glanced toward the window facing Caitlin’s house. The curtain was drawn, so there was nothing to see. “I’ll look into him,” he said. “But without a last name . . .”
“I know. It won’t be easy.”
Paul leaned forward and kissed me on the corner of the mouth. “Lock up good and tight tonight, all right? And if you hear anything at all suspicious, call me. I don’t care if it’s coming from inside or outside your house, don’t investigate on your own, okay?”
“Okay.” And then, because I couldn’t resist. “If you want, you could always stay here.”
Paul smiled. “I wish I could, but I’ve got to get this box to the station and fill John in on what you told me. It might affect his plans tonight.”
I didn’t like it, but I understood. “You’re still coming to dinner tomorrow at Geraldo’s, right?”
“I am.” Paul sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “I think I’m going to need the break.”
That went doubly for me.
“All right,” he said, hefting the lightweight box. “I’d better get this back to the station. Be safe tonight, Krissy. If you hear anything—”
“I know. I’ll call.” I leaned in for another kiss. With how I was feeling, I needed it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Paul placed his hat on his head, touched the brim with a crooked smile that was reminiscent of a sheriff in an old cowboy movie, and then he headed for the door.
As soon as he was gone, I made sure to lock the door and then went around to all the windows to check that they were secure. When I reached the living room window, I parted the curtain and peeked outside, toward Caitlin’s house. Jacob’s car was still in the driveway, and the lights were on in her house, but I couldn’t see anyone.
Be careful, Caitlin.
I checked the lock on the window one last time, and then I let the curtain fall.