Death by Vanilla Latte Page 12

  “Do you believe he could have found out?” Paul asked. “Our witness claims she heard your father fire Mr. Wiseman before his death.”

  “If he fired him, then why bother killing him?” I asked, annoyed that Paul was back to suspecting my dad. “I doubt he saw the pictures. He went over there that night because he saw Rick hit on me and he wanted to confront him about it.”

  Paul shifted in his seat, eyes going hard. “Mr. Wiseman hit on you?”

  “Came right up and asked me to come back to his room at the bed-and-breakfast. He said he wanted to see if I had any novels he could look at, but I knew he meant something else.”

  “I see.”

  “I didn’t kill him, and neither did my dad.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared. “He would have been angry, sure, but James Hancock isn’t someone who goes and kills people he’s unhappy with.”

  I vaguely wondered what Dad had said when he’d given his statement. He’d told them he hit Rick, but did he say why? From what I could tell, Paul hadn’t known about Rick’s come-on, which meant Dad had left something out, or had lied. I was really hoping for the former.

  “I believe you,” Paul said. “But it is important you keep me in the loop.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a relieved sigh. “I’m glad,” I said. “I don’t think I could stand it if you came after my dad.”

  Paul reached out and put a hand on my knee. Warmth spread throughout my entire body, all from his comforting squeeze. “We’ll find out who did this,” he said. “I promise.”

  “Thank you.” I cleared my throat and stood. It was getting quite hot in there. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked. “I really should get back to work.”

  Paul followed my lead and stood. “Not at this time. If you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt Mr. Wiseman, please let me know.” In his tone, I detected a warning not to go asking around.

  Which reminded me . . .

  “There was something odd I noticed when I was in Rick’s room earlier.”

  “Okay?” Paul frowned, but he removed a notebook from his front pocket and flipped it open.

  “There were manuscripts written by local authors under the bed.”

  “Under the bed?”

  “I accidentally tripped over one.”

  He tapped his pen on the pad of paper, a slow frown forming. “I remember a stack of pages sitting on the desk,” he said, thoughtfully. “I don’t recall seeing anything under the bed, and I looked.” His eyes narrowed at me. “When did you see them?”

  Uh-oh. “I might have gone back and taken a quick peek,” I admitted. “The door was unlocked and Bett said it wasn’t supposed to be.”

  Paul’s frown deepened. “So, someone unlocked the door and shoved a bunch of manuscripts under the bed? Why would anyone do that?”

  “Maybe they were looking for something else and accidentally knocked them off the desk. Instead of stacking them up again, they kicked them under the bed, out of the way.” I still wasn’t sure it made sense, but it was all I had. “Justin said he saw a fat man leaving the bed-and-breakfast after you left.”

  “He never said anything to me.”

  “You were gone,” I said, wishing I’d left Justin’s name out of it. “He didn’t think anything of it until I mentioned that the door was unlocked.”

  Paul scribbled something down on his notepad. “Did he say what this man looked like, other than fat?”

  “No. He’d just come inside and didn’t get a good look at him. It might not mean anything.”

  Paul sighed and shoved the notepad back into his pocket. “Looks like I’m going to have to talk to this employee again. Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

  “That’s it,” I said. I actually felt proud of myself. I’d told the police everything I knew, and I’d done it before it could get me into trouble.

  “All right.” Paul put his hat back on. “Stay safe, Krissy. This one is hitting a little close to home and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I will.” I made an X over my heart. “I swear.”

  He nodded, though he looked resigned. I didn’t think he believed me.

  And then we both just stood there, looking at one another. A trickle of sweat ran down my back as the temperature seemed to rise, yet again. Paul opened his mouth and then snapped it closed before saying anything.

  “Well, I . . .” I coughed and looked at my feet.

  “I should get going,” Paul said. He cleared his throat and then spun on his heel so fast, he very nearly fell.

  I followed after him, trying hard not to think about those pictures he’d shown me or the way just looking at Paul Dalton caused me to break out in a sweat. Everything about that encounter had been uncomfortable in ways I couldn’t quite explain. I was supposed to be over him, yet moments like that reinforced how wrong I was.

  “Ah, there you are!”

  I jerked to a stop at the sound of Dad’s voice.

  “Officer Dalton,” he went on. “Is everything all right?”

  “Mr. Hancock.” Paul tipped his hat. “I was just checking in with Krissy. Everything is fine.” He glanced back at me, and I saw a hint of panic in his eye before he turned away. “I’ll see you later.” And then he was gone, practically running out the door.

  “They went on a date once,” Rita said, coming up behind my dad. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if they were trying to reignite that old flame.” She giggled.

  “Rita!” I just about died. “It wasn’t like that at all.” I stared daggers at her, which only seemed to tickle her funny bone that much more.

  “I never accused you of anything,” Dad said, though he was grinning like a fool. Ha, ha. Everyone laugh at my obvious embarrassment. “I hope everything is okay.”

  “It is.” Not content to be the only one interrogated, I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to stay at the house and get work done?”

  He shrugged. “I got bored. Thought I’d come in and see how you were doing. I didn’t realize you had company.”

  Rita snickered, and I thought I heard a snort of a laugh coming from where Vicki stood upstairs.

  I could argue that nothing happened until I was blue in the face, but I was pretty sure it would get me nowhere. Once the ribbing started, it wasn’t going to stop until I acted like it didn’t bother me anymore.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked, sweet as could be.

  “A coffee would be fine,” Dad said, doing little to hide his grin. “And maybe a cookie.”

  I quickly threw together his order and then handed it to him. “I’ll take care of it,” I said when he tried to hand me money. “You go ahead and eat so you can get back to the house and do some real work.”

  Dad chuckled as he took his food back to the table. Rita followed him over, talking a million miles a minute. I knew she had to be relaying every detail of Paul’s and my failed relationship, what little of it there was.

  I groaned and slouched against the counter as I watched them. Why did this kind of thing always happen to me?

  “It’s okay, Ms. Hancock,” Jeff said, coming around the counter, rag in hand, goofy smile on his lips. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  And then, with a wink and a smile, he turned and walked away.

  14

  “They’re talking about me; I know it!” Even as I spoke, Rita glanced my way, leaned forward, and whispered something to my dad with her hand covering her mouth.

  It had been like that ever since Dad sat down with his coffee and cookie, and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. I don’t think Rita even asked him if it was okay for her to join him. She just kept on talking like the world was on fire and she had to tell him about my entire life in Pine Hills before everything went up in flames. I tried to ignore it, but it was hard. They were right there.

  What would Dad think of me once he heard how I’d made such a mess out of my re
lationship with Paul? It was my fault that everything had fallen apart before it could really even get started. If I hadn’t been so nosy, perhaps things would have been different, but as they were, I was with Will now, Paul a not-so-distant memory. And it wasn’t like the two men had fought over me. By the time I’d met Will in that bowling alley, Paul and I were kaput.

  But somehow, I knew Rita would twist it all around and make it seem like I’d led Paul on while flirting with Will. It was the way she was. I mean, it was laughable to think any man would fight for me, let alone two of them. Dad had to know that.

  “She’s probably making things up,” I grumbled. “She’d do anything to get him to pay more attention to her, even if it makes my life that much harder. I should go over there and set them straight.”

  “Could you do it after you get my coffee?”

  I started, having completely forgotten who I’d been talking to. “Sure. One sec.”

  I hurried back and threw together the coffee, mind still on Rita and Dad. I supposed it was better than dwelling on Rick’s murder or the photos he’d had of me on his phone and computer. If Rita’s gossip was doing anything positive, it was keeping me from thinking too much about things I’d sworn to keep out of.

  Still, it didn’t mean I had to like it.

  I carried the coffee back to the counter. “Here you are.” I forced myself to tear my eyes from Rita and focus on the man in front of me. He was wearing a paper mask over his nose and mouth, yet his eyes were still watering like fountains. I didn’t realize anyone could produce so many tears.

  “Thanks.” He handed over exact change and made straight for the door. Todd Melville, despite his apparent allergy to cats, had become a regular. He came in almost every day, wearing that silly mask and acting like every second in Death by Coffee might be his last. I mean, Trouble hardly ever came downstairs, and when he did, he was usually chased right back up into the bookstore by Vicki or me. I had yet to see the feline today at all, but I guess if you have really bad allergies, even a little dander in the air is enough to set them off.

  I watched as Todd stepped outside the shop, removed his mask, and then strolled down the sidewalk, sipping his coffee as if nothing in the world could bother him. Either he was quick to recover, or he was something of a hypochondriac. Maybe it was a combination of both, though I don’t think he was doing it in order to scam us somehow. I’m not even sure how he’d do such a thing.

  Now that Todd was gone, I was left alone downstairs. Jeff was on break and had gone down the street to grab something to eat. Vicki was upstairs, working her magic with the books. Many of the prospective authors were nowhere in sight, leaving when Cameron had left, a stack of manuscripts in his arms. He was taking his new role seriously, though I feared he was going to struggle finding a gem here in Pine Hills. I’d heard readings from many of the locals, and to be honest, none of them seemed ready for the big time.

  With nothing else to do but scrub down a counter I’d already cleaned twice, I found my gaze lingering back on my Dad and Rita. They were both looking at me now. Rita was smiling, while Dad had a contemplative look on his face. He nodded once, smiled at me, and then turned back to whatever Rita was saying.

  I spun on my heel and went to the back, thinking I’d do some dishes, but after only a minute or two, I realized I wasn’t going to be able to focus on the job. For one, it left no one out front to keep an eye on the counter. And secondly, I couldn’t let them continue gossiping about me. Who knew how it would escalate? I should have put an end to it a long time ago.

  Determined, I left the back room, and once certain no one was about to order anything, I headed straight for the table where they sat. Rita patted Dad’s hand as I approached, and they both instantly clammed up, confirming my belief that I’d been the prime topic of conversation.

  “Is there anything I need to know?” I asked.

  “What do you mean, Buttercup?” Dad extracted his hand from Rita’s own. I’d been so focused on their faces, I hadn’t noticed she hadn’t removed it until that very moment.

  It doesn’t mean anything.

  Or, at least, I sure hoped it didn’t.

  “You two have been sitting here all day, gabbing away about me. I want to know exactly what was said, and I want to know it now!” I focused the last on Rita.

  “We weren’t talking about you, dear,” Rita said. “Well, not directly about you, anyway.”

  “We were just socializing,” Dad said, drawing my eye. “Nothing is wrong with that, is there?” He smiled sweetly at me, and I knew he wasn’t telling the full truth.

  I crossed my arms and glared at them both. Rita continued to smile at me, not a care in the world. Dad lasted all of fifteen seconds under my intense scrutiny before he broke.

  “We were talking about Rick’s murder,” he said.

  “Really?” I asked, not sure if I was relieved they hadn’t been talking about my dating life or not. “What about it?”

  Dad and Rita shared a look before they made room for me at the table. I glanced back at the counter, saw no one waiting, and sat down, positioning myself so I could keep an eye on the door, just in case someone came in. It was our usual slow hour, so I was hoping the customers would hold off until I got the whole story.

  “Okay. Spill.”

  Rita was all too happy to. “I was telling James here that I’d gone to see Mr. Wiseman after the meeting. He wouldn’t even open the door, the louse!” She sniffed disdainfully. “I have no idea why anyone would ever want to deal with that man.” She aimed the last at my dad.

  “Loyalty, in my case,” he said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. I didn’t really like him.” He shook his head sadly, as if his dislike was shameful because the man in question had so recently died. “I stayed with him because I was afraid of moving on. I guess I thought of him as something of a good luck charm. He was the one who gave me my start. Before Rick, all I had to show for my writing was a pile of rejections.” He paused, shrugged. “And I guess I’m afraid of change.”

  That sounded like Dad. Back when I was eight, he used to take me to the same sandwich shop a block from our house every day for lunch. Neither of us much cared for the place, but the owner was nice and always gave me a sucker afterward.

  “Who else went with you when you went to see Rick?” I asked Rita.

  “A few of us went,” she said. “I don’t remember who exactly. Andi came along, of course. As did Albert and a few others. I was elected spokeswoman, so none of the others came upstairs right away.”

  “And you said he wouldn’t open the door?”

  “Not even a crack!” She huffed. “He shouted at me to go away and then fell completely silent like he thought that if he ignored me, I’d comply. That nice man Cameron was in the room with him at the time and apologized to me as best as he could through the door. I think he got yelled at for it, too.”

  “So, Cameron was in Rick’s room with him?” I hadn’t known that, though I wasn’t sure if it was important or not. All of this happened before Dad got there, and Rick was still alive then.

  “He was,” Rita confirmed.

  “Was he there when you went to see him?” I asked Dad. If Cameron had been hanging around, then he could verify that Rick was alive when Dad left his room.

  “I never saw him,” Dad said. “Though I suppose he could have been in the bathroom at the time. If he was, he was pretty quiet about it.”

  “So, if Rick wouldn’t open the door, how did he get your manuscript?” I asked, turning back to Rita.

  She straightened her back, a smug look spread across her face. “Well, I wasn’t about to leave without doing what I set out to do. I decided to leave my book outside his door, figuring he’d have to take it in eventually. I told everyone what I did, and many of them followed suit.”

  “Were the manuscripts still outside the door when you got there?” I asked Dad.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t see them. But I wasn’t exactly looking for them
, either. I wasn’t quite thinking straight by the time I went to talk to him.” He reddened.

  So, Rita had gone to the bed-and-breakfast soon after the meeting had ended that night and left her manuscript behind, as did a few other authors. I would imagine that anyone else who might have come along would have seen the stack and added theirs to the pile, though I found it hard to believe there’d been a steady stream of writers hoping to annoy an agent into looking at their work. Cameron was with Rick at the time, and Rick was quite clearly alive while all of this was going on.

  At some point between the time Rita and her crew had left their manuscripts and when Dad got there, someone had collected them. Since I’d seen some of them in Rick’s room, that meant either Cameron carried them inside for him or Rick relented and took them in on his own.

  The big question was, how did it relate to Rick’s murder? And of the ones I’d seen hidden under the bed, how many of them had been on the desk when I’d found his body? All of them? None of them? Did it even matter?

  “Do you know someone named Tony A. Marshall?” I asked, thinking back to the names I’d seen. “I found one of his manuscripts with the others from Pine Hills. It was the only name in the stack I didn’t recognize.”

  Rita tapped her finger on her chin and then shook her head. “Not that I recall,” she said. “I know for a fact there was no one named Tony with us when we delivered our books. And he certainly hadn’t come to that night’s meeting. I would have known.”

  Now that I thought about it, Tony could very well be another of Rick’s out-of-town clients, much like my Dad. Why his manuscript was mixed with those from Pine Hills, I didn’t know. Maybe Rick had simply added it to the pile accidentally. Or perhaps it was the only one he’d brought from home. Maybe it was all some big coincidence, and it didn’t matter where it had come from.

  But still, none of it explained how they’d all ended up under the bed after the police had left. There had to be something to that.

  “After you left, Rita, did you go home right away?” I asked, trying to solidify the time line in my head. “Did anyone stay behind, someone who insisted on talking to Rick?”