Brian had agreed to meet us in a public place, namely, the Java Nother Day in Paradise coffee shop off Main Street. He’d been alarmed by how insistent I’d been but had caved when I’d said it was about Kayla’s car.
Apparently, it wasn’t working as well as it should have.
Gamma cruised down the street, her tires splashing through the water that had gathered from a busted pipe. “When are they going to fix this?” she asked. “It’s been over a week, for heaven’s sake. Look at this waste of water.”
The entire street was wet, and the center divider was muddy from being splashed by passing cars. I frowned, something pinging in the back of my mind, but dismissed it as Gamma navigated to an empty parking space across from the coffee shop.
She switched off the car’s engine then turned to me. “So, any idea what Brian looks like?”
“You mean apart from short and ugly, according to Mr. Wren?” Another ping in the back of my mind. A memory. Someone else had told me a man was short and ugly, recently. But who?
My brow furrowed.
“What is it, Charlotte?”
“I’m not sure. But something about this… something.” I shook my head. “Anyway, Brian said he’d be wearing a red collared shirt, and he’d meet us outside the coffee shop in five minutes.”
“Early is always better. If he’s the one who drives the white Kia, it might’ve been Brian outside Brenda’s house on the morning of her murder. Better to observe from afar at first.”
Gamma was right, and again, there was something about what she’d said.
I scanned the street and spotted a short, squat guy wearing a red collared shirt across the road. He was outside the coffee shop, as planned. “That must be him,” I said.
Another man emerged from Java Nother Day In Paradise and strode over to meet him. They put their heads together and talked, the second man gesturing down the street.
The second man was Colton Harrison, the baker who lived in the trailer park, and who worked a lot of jobs. Including one at the coffee shop.
A series of revelations slapped me right between the eyes, so sharp and fast, that I sucked in a rattling breath.
“Good heavens, Charlotte, what is it?”
“It’s them,” I said. “Look. Colton the baker. He was one of the finalists at the contest, remember? One of our suspects.” The words poured out of me. “When I went to the trailer park to talk to him, I encountered his neighbor. She told me that he lived with a short, ugly guy. I’d bet anything that the short, ugly man in question was Brian. Brian who bought a white Kia from Kayla! The same white Kia that was seen outside Brenda’s house.”
Gamma whipped her phone out and started typing into her internet browser.
“And the water! The mud. Look!” I couldn’t stop now that I’d started. “Look at the mud, Georgina. You said this pipe has been busted for over a week?”
“Yes.” Gamma was still furiously typing away.
“That water has flooded the center divider where there’s grass. And mud! No wonder the killer’s boots were muddy. The sludge from here must’ve stuck to his boots. He entered the yard, not from the road, but from one of the neighbor’s yards to avoid leaving muddy prints on the sidewalk, but he still left them on the porch. And the flowerbeds were dry at Brenda’s house. The mud didn’t come from there. It came from here. From outside the coffee shop! I bet the inside of that Kia is covered with the stuff. It’s got to be them. One of them. Both of them. I bet this is a trap! They thought they could lure us here and… but how did they get the cyanide? That’s the only question.”
“I know how,” Gamma said, and showed me her screen. Brian’s professional profile, including his image, job description, and place of work were listed. “Lab technician at Park Labs in Crapapple. The only place for miles where someone could get their hands on say, potassium cyanide salts?”
I balled up my fist and struck the dashboard. “It was them. Together. Oh my word, that neighbor lady of there’s said that Colton was weird. That his house smelled of burnt sugar at odd hours of the night. I wonder if she meant bitter almonds? Or if she mistook the smell? Maybe they were experimenting with something.”
“They’re looking around,” Gamma said. “Duck down.”
We lowered ourselves in our seats. “This is a trap,” I whispered. “They were going to talk to us here. Maybe poison us?”
“Maybe. Broad daylight in the coffee shop, though? Messy.”
“I don’t get it. What’s in it for them? The money? Is that it?”
“I believe so,” Gamma replied. “Think about it, Charlotte. Colton has taken out his main competition. Last year’s runner-up and winner of the Tri-State Baking Competition. He likely banked on there being a lack of qualified entrants this year.”
“For five grand? He killed two people for five grand? It seems unbelievable.”
“Desperate men and women have killed for far less than that,” Gamma said. “To them, it probably seems like the perfect crime.”
Brian, complete with collared red shirt, lingered outside the coffee shop for another fifteen minutes, pacing back and forth, checking his watch, clearly frustrated by the situation. Colton watched from within, occasionally popping out to check on his friend and stroke his ridiculous goatee.
“Amateurs,” Gamma said.
“Murderers,” I put in. “I wonder if Goode has any idea.”
“If they’re this disorganized, this obvious about their intentions, then I’d like to think that he has some clue as to what they’re up to. He’s likely still gathering evidence. Investigations take time, Charlotte, especially when you’re bound by the confines of the law.”
“I see what you’re saying.” A sharkish grin parted my lips.
These young men had no idea what they’d done or who they were dealing with.
“Tonight?” I asked.
“It’s not even a question, Charlotte.” My grandmother matched my smile with one of her own.
Gamma waited until Brian had left before starting the Mini-Cooper and driving us back to the inn to prepare for this evening's “festivities.”