Mo is pacing the floor, waving her arms wildly in the air as she rants. “This is insane. How could he possibly think you poisoned Sherman Cromwell? Quentin was with you for five years! He has to know you’d never do that.” She stops and faces me. “It has to be Samantha. She must have put this idea in his head. I knew it was all an act. The way she pretends you two are still friends. No one is that stupid. She’s setting you up.”
“I don’t think Samantha put this thought in Quentin’s head.” She says and does stupid things, but she’s never been malicious. “Or if she did, it wasn’t intentional.”
“I hate them both so much.”
“Same here.”
“So what now?”
“We wait until the autopsy to confirm the cause of death.”
“And then what? Quentin arrests you?”
“I don’t know. He’ll definitely question me again. I’m sure of that much. But once they test the macchiato, they’ll know I didn’t kill Mr. Cromwell. Practically everyone here drank a macchiato.”
“Yeah, but they’re all made individually, so that doesn’t prove anything. Besides, if it was a food allergy, it wouldn’t have affected anyone else.”
I glare at her.
“Not that I mean you did poison him. I’m just saying he could use that argument. Now if Mr. Cromwell ate a mini muffin, you’d be off the hook for those because there were multiple and they were from the same batch. You’d have a lot more dead bodies if they were the cause.”
“I’ll let Cam know he’s off the hook.”
“Off the hook for what?” Cam asks, walking into the coffee shop.
“Murder. Haven’t you heard? I’m the prime suspect.”
“Murder? I thought it was a heart attack.”
“Nope. Detective Perry thinks it was a food allergy or something compacted by Mr. Cromwell’s asthma.”
“Wouldn’t that make it an accident?”
“Possibly.”
Cam cocks his head. “Quentin didn’t accuse you of purposely putting something in Mr. Cromwell’s drink, did he?”
“Not in so many words, but he did ask if I knew what Mr. Cromwell was allergic to. And by the way, I don’t.”
“I know you don’t. I’d never ask you an absurd question like that.” Cam runs a hand through his hair. “I knew I should have been here.”
“To do what?” It’s not like Cam could have stopped Quentin from questioning me.
“Are they still out there?” Mo asks Cam.
“The body’s been removed. There are still a few officers out there, though. And a news crew.”
“Oh, great. That’s just what I need, reporters asking if I poisoned a customer at my grand opening.”
“They wouldn’t ask you that. Would they?” Mo’s gaze flits between Cam and me.
Quentin knocks on the door. At least he had the decency not to come back inside after I kicked him out.
“I’ll handle it,” Cam says.
“No. I’ve got it.” I march over to Quentin and only open the door enough to stick my head out. “What do you want, Detective Perry?”
He sighs at my formality. “I’m here to advise you to close for the rest of the day.”
“So I don’t accidentally—or otherwise—poison any more people?” I ask.
“Jo, please don’t do this.”
“Your fiancée drank two of those macchiatos. If I was going to poison anyone—”
“Okay, Jo,” Cam says, pulling me back inside. “I think that’s enough. Why don’t you close like he asked? It will show you’re cooperating with the investigation, and since you didn’t do anything wrong, this will all be cleared up soon enough.”
“He’s right. It’s your best bet at this point.” Mo comes over and wraps her arm around me.
“I need to shut everything down for the day.”
“You do that. We’ll get rid of the unwanted intruder.” Mo hitches a thumb at the door.
“Thanks.”
I get started on shutting down the machines and cleaning them, and I can’t help smiling when I hear Mo say, “Hi, Cheater, I mean Quentin. Accidentally sleep with someone who’s not your girlfriend today?”
I just wish I could see the look on Quentin’s face, but I keep working because I can’t let all this ruin my business.
“Wait. You can’t go in there,” Mo yells.
“Jo, I need you to stop cleaning. Leave everything as it is,” Quentin says.
I turn and stare at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid not. If it turns out Mr. Cromwell was poisoned, I’m going to need to check all your machines and inventory.”
“Poisoned? So now you’re going with I poisoned him? I thought it was a food allergy.”
“It probably was, but until we know for sure, this is evidence.” He gestures to the machines behind me.
I remove my apron and toss it on the counter. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? You hate that I came back here, and you see this as the perfect opportunity to run me out of town again so you and Samantha can live happily ever after.”
“Hey, I don’t have a problem with you living here. You broke up with me, remember?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did it hurt your feelings when I dumped you after you cheated on me? How callous of me. I’ll try to do a better job of treating you with the respect you deserve, but you see the problem I’m having is finding a single reason why you deserve even a shred of my respect at this point.”
Cam reaches for my arm. “Come on, Jo. Let’s go.”
“After you, Detective Perry. And don’t expect to be let back in here without a search warrant.” I know that last comment probably makes me look guilty, but I’m so angry I can’t stop myself.
Quentin turns on his heel and walks out.
“Wow,” Mo says. “I’m not sure you could have hurt him any more if you’d kicked him square between the legs. That was amazing.”
Amazingly stupid, but it was also a long time coming.
I lock up and let out a deep breath when we step onto the sidewalk. I see the Channel Seven News Crew over by the section roped off with police tape. Monica Cabrera has the microphone to her mouth and is speaking to the camera. Her gaze raises to me, and she rushes over.
“Ladies and gentleman, we have Joanna Coffee, long time resident of Bennett Falls and new owner of Cup of Jo. Joanna, I hear the victim was last seen in your new coffee shop. Can you confirm that?”
“Actually, he was last seen on the sidewalk,” Cam says.
Monica gives a forced laugh. “Of course, but that was after leaving Cup of Jo where you served him. Is that correct, Joanna?” She stresses my name so there’s no mistake she’s speaking to me and not Cam.
“I served a lot of people this morning. It was the grand opening.”
“Joanna, are you worried for your business after a man died from drinking one of your macchiatos?” She thrusts the microphone in front of my face.
“I think you have your facts wrong, Monica. A lot of people drank my macchiatos. That’s not what killed Sherman Cromwell.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’m sure because no one else is sick or dead.”
“The police could be overheard talking about a food allergy. Do you suspect you inadvertently poisoned the victim?” She thrusts the microphone at me again.
“No. Some of the baked goods contain nuts, but there’s a clear sign on my door expressing that. I don’t see what Mr. Cromwell could have been allergic to in my macchiato. It’s not like I put shellfish or something in there.”
“I should hope not,” Monica says. “Shellfish macchiatos do not sound appetizing in the least.”
“No more questions,” Cam says, pushing past Monica.
“Joanna, will you be open tomorrow, or are the police shutting you down while they work on this investigation?”
“No comment,” Cam tosses back over his shoulder as he walks me to my car. “Don’t talk to her. You know she’ll spin everything you say to make you look bad.”
“He’s not wrong, Jo.” Mo squeezes my arm. “Do you want to stay at my place tonight?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Okay, well, I have to get back to work. I’ll call you later, though.”
I nod, and she gives me a quick hug before hurrying back across the street to her second-floor office. “You should get back to work, too,” I tell Cam. “But I wouldn’t bake anything for Cup of Jo if I were you. I doubt I’ll be allowed to open for a while.”
“This will all blow over soon. Hang in there.” He squeezes my elbow and then starts his walk back to work.
I get in my Accord and head to my apartment complex on Drexel Road. It’s only about a mile from Main Street, making my commute extremely short. I love it because it used to be an old resort that shut down and was converted into apartments. That means we have a lot of amenities like tennis courts, swimming pools, and an indoor gym.
My apartment is on the third floor. It’s a two-bedroom even though it’s just me and sometimes the resident cat that likes to come hang out with me. Her name is Midnight because she’s all black. She was here when I moved in. As in she was literally inside my apartment in the second bedroom. The landlord says everyone takes care of her. Most of the residents leave their doors wide open when they’re home so Midnight can meander in and out of the apartments.
She’s sitting in front of my door when I get there. “Hey, Midnight. I hope you’re having a better day than I am,” I say.
She meows in response.
“You don’t say? Well, how about some tuna? I could go for a nice tuna BLT wrap.” I open the door, and Midnight goes right inside.
“Hey, Jo,” Jamar calls from his doorway right next to mine. “Did I hear you say something about a tuna BLT?”
“You did. Care to join Midnight and me?” Jamar is the perfect neighbor. He’s only twenty-five and always invites himself for dinner, but he also brings either drinks, dessert, or hors d’oeuvres.
He rubs his hands together. “I have bananas, Neapolitan ice cream, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream. You up for a banana split after those tuna BLTs?”
“You know I am. Bring it over.”
“Be there in two minutes.” He ducks back into his apartment.
I leave my door open and head right for the kitchen, where I get the tuna, mayonnaise, celery, mustard, red onion, lemon juice, and black pepper. I put them on the counter and get the bacon from the fridge. Once I have that cooking in the frying pan, I prepare the tuna.
“What can I help with?” Jamar asks as he steps into the kitchen and puts the container of ice cream in my freezer.
“You can pull the wraps out of the fridge and put them on plates to warm them up.”
“Done. So, how did the big opening go? I meant to get down there, but I had the morning shift at the gym.” Jamar works in the gym right here in the apartment complex. He’s the only person I know with a shorter commute to work than I have.
“I guess you haven’t watched the news,” I say, finishing up with the tuna.
“No. What did I miss?”
I fill him in as I cook the bacon and put the BLT wraps together. By the time we’re seated at the kitchen table and ready to take the first bites, Jamar is up-to-date and shaking his head.
“Man, nothing ever happens in this town, and the day you open your business, a guy drops dead after leaving your coffee shop.”
“Just my luck, right? I mean, Sherman Cromwell’s luck is much worse, so I can’t complain too much, but still.”
“That guy was loaded. If he really was poisoned, I’d be looking into his wife.”
Gwendolyn Cromwell keeps to herself most of the time. She attends all the major town events with Sherman. Or rather, she did. I don’t know much about her, though.
“I’m still betting on a heart attack,” I say before taking a bite of my wrap.
“You’re probably right. That cheating ex of yours most likely just wants to make you sweat. I don’t like him, you know.”
I laugh. “I do know. You’ve told me no less than thirty times since I moved into this apartment.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a good judge of character. If I’d known you when you were dating the guy, I could have warned you so you wouldn’t have gotten your heart broken.”
I tip my wrap in his direction. “True. From now on, you can make all the decisions about my love life, okay?”
“Seriously?”
“No.” I laugh and take another bite. “Right now, I’m a murder suspect. I highly doubt I’ll have any eligible bachelors banging on my door.”
“Don’t worry about it. Everyone knows you. No one is going to think you could have killed someone.”
“Except for Quentin.”
“You want to know my theory on why he cheated?”
It’s something I’ve contemplated multiple times, but Jamar doesn’t know Quentin well at all, so I’m curious to hear what he thinks from his limited perspective. “Sure. Why not?”
“You challenged him too much. Samantha’s dumb as dirt. She’s not going to question him about anything.”
“You know, I became her friend in fourth grade because people picked on her for being dumb. She’s not dumb. She’s naïve. There’s a difference.”
He swallows the food in his mouth before commenting. “I bet those kids stopped picking on her after you became her friend.”
“They did.”
“And she repaid you by ruining the longest relationship you’ve ever had.”
I nod and take another large bite.
“If you ask me, you should thank her. She did more for you than any of your other friends. I mean you might be the one engaged to that jerk right now if it weren’t for Samantha. Can you just imagine the headlines? ‘Police Detective arrests his own fiancée in connection to murder.’” He shakes his tuna BLT wrap at me. “Now that’s some publicity for your coffee shop right there.”
“You’re insane,” I say with a laugh.
“And that’s why you keep inviting me over.”
“To be fair, you invite yourself over, but I don’t exactly object.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks in a serious tone.
“I have big plans to finish this wrap and eat my weight in banana splits. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”
“You know a friend of mine is in a bad spot thanks to this, too.”
“Who’s that?”
“Lance Tunney. Sherman Cromwell was investing in Lance’s upscale restaurant. A real snooty kind of place with sushi and those French appetizers that are the size of your fingertip but cost as much as your rent.”
“I wonder what made Sherman Cromwell think that would be a good investment. I mean, no offense to your friend, but I just don’t see a place like that doing well here.”
“It wasn’t going to be in Bennett Falls. They decided on putting it in Highland Hills.”
“Now that’s a rich area,” I say. It’s only about twenty minutes north of Bennett Falls.
“Yeah, but I don’t think the location is what convinced Cromwell to invest. Lance has had a rough life. His dad walked out on him and his mom when Lance was five. His mom wasn’t working at the time because she was staying home to raise Lance. Suddenly, she had to find a job, and Lance was tossed around from cheap babysitter to cheap babysitter. His dad took all the savings before he left, so Lance and his mom had nothing. Sad story, but they’re survivors. Lance met Cromwell at the bank one day when he was there to see his mom. That’s where she works. They sort of hit it off, and the next thing I know, Lance is telling me his dream of opening that restaurant is going to become a reality.”
“Poor Lance. He finally thought he was catching a break.”
“Yeah.”
Midnight jumps up onto the couch, right onto the remote, and the TV comes on. Monica Cabrera’s face fills the screen. She’s just finishing her report, which happens to be on Sherman Cromwell’s death.
“…ambitious new business owner desperate to get some press for her grand opening, or is this the sinister plot of a young woman looking to get revenge on a wealthy man who wouldn’t fund her start-up company? Only time will tell.”
Jamar gets up and turns off the television. “How about I get to work on those banana splits?”
“Make mine a double, please.”