A Game of Murder (14 page)

“Can I get a refill here?” A woman at a nearby table waved her cup in the air.

“I’ll be right with you,” Faith said.

“How many more tables?” Hope asked, grabbing another mug and pumping flavored syrup into it.

“One food order,” Faith said, “but I better take the coffee pot around the others or we’ll have an insurrection on our hands.”

“Okay. After you get their order, if you’ll relieve me here and make the drinks, I’ll go back to the kitchen and start cooking.”

Faith nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

She hurried back to the tables, put the cups of coffee at the first, then proceeded to the second and quickly wrote down what they wanted for breakfast. Dashing back behind the counter, she took the first order slip from under the clip and handed both orders to Hope, who grabbed them and flew toward the kitchen.

Faith picked up a full coffee pot, threw an “I’ll be back in a minute” at the young man clutching a briefcase at the head of the line, and made a mad dash around the tables, filling up cups as fast as she could. Trying not to blow like a racehorse after the Kentucky Derby as she headed back behind the counter, she slapped on her smile again and asked the next customer, “What can I start for you?”

The aroma of eggs and chorizo sausage drifted through the service window as Faith poured coffee and espresso and foamed milk into cups. Finally the line stopped growing as the clock ticked past the rush hour and commuters continued on their way to work. Faith took a short break to deliver the first order, then went back to serving the counter. A short time later, Hope emerged from the kitchen carrying the second order and delivered it to the other table before joining Faith.

Between the two of them, they quickly finished serving the remaining customers, most of whom hurried out the door, coffee containers in hand. The last two, a pair of gray-haired women, took their coffee to one of the small tables, where they lingered in conversation.

“Well, that wasn’t quite what I expected.” Faith took a deep breath as she pushed a strand of hair off her forehead.

“Me, either.” Hope laughed. “I never dreamed I’d be this busy when I told Lorna she could come in late. But I thought she deserved the time off after the weekend.”

“Seeing your son’s teacher doesn’t exactly sound like time off to me.” Faith had a new respect for the responsibilities of a parent after the time she’d spent with Luke.

Hope laughed again. “I guess not. But it might be better than what we just went through.”

“What happened over the weekend?” Faith asked. “A concert I missed?” As far as she could remember, there was no concert on the schedule she’d posted to the Prickly Pear website, but that didn’t mean Hope hadn’t booked one at the last minute.

Hope shook her head. “No concert. I needed to get the house ready for the social worker who’s coming this afternoon to interview me and Walt about the adoption. I left early Saturday and Lorna closed up. And then yesterday was Lorna’s regular turn to work Sunday morning.”

Lorna and Hope alternated working on Sundays so neither of them needed to miss church on a regular basis. At one time Hope kept the Prickly Pear closed on Sundays, but that meant missing one of the more profitable times of the week. Unlike weekdays and Saturday, they served no cooked breakfasts, just muffins and Danishes, which filled a Plexiglas display case on top of the counter, and meant, unlike this morning, one person could handle the café by herself.

“So what brings you to the Prickly Pear Café this morning?” Hope asked. “Other than your addiction to vanilla lattes?”

Faith thought back to the pity party she’d been indulging herself in since Saturday and, amazingly, the feeling had been purged in the purifying fire of hard work. “You know, it’s not important any more.”

“Good! I’m sure we can find something else to talk about. Why don’t we sit down? You can enjoy your vanilla latte, and I’ll grab a glass of iced tea.” Hope scanned the restaurant. Most of the diners had gone, leaving behind empty cups, plates with bits of egg and muffin crumbs, and crumpled paper napkins and straw papers. “But first, would you mind taking out the trash in the kitchen? It’s about to overflow. Meanwhile, I’ll clear the tables.”

“No problem. Meet you in the kitchen with an empty trash can in a minute.”

Faith hurried back to the kitchen to retrieve the offending vessel, hefted it off the floor, and waddled toward the back door, trying not to bang the trash can into her shins. It took both hands to carry, so, when she got to the outside door, she turned and pushed against the bar with her back to force it open. Fortunately, the Dumpster was directly across the alleyway, so she didn’t have to carry the garbage far, but she grunted and strained with the effort to lift the container up high enough to empty inside.

As she watched eggshells and paper towels and the remains of dozens of meals tumble to the bottom, Faith took note of the assorted detritus from the various businesses in the strip mall. Bent hangers from the dry cleaners, packaging and literature from the vapor shop, those paper bands that held batches of envelopes from the card store.

There was something else inside the dumpster. Faith’s observations turned from casual perusal to razor-sharp inspection. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart stopped for a moment.

Peeking out from the trash was an ear. An ear attached to the side of a face. A face framed in the white-blonde hair of Ashley.

Faith was punching 9-1-1 on her cell phone before she got to the back door of the restaurant.

“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

Faith told the operator about the body as she walked down the hall. The operator asked a million questions, which Faith answered to the best of her ability, but the sandpaper of her jittery nerves wore away her patience. “Can’t you just send the police?” she finally said in frustration.

“An officer is on the way.” The 9-1-1 operator’s voice was calm, patient, as if finding bodies in a Dumpster happened every day. Which, Faith realized upon reflection, for the operator might be true. Faith shuddered.

She paused at the end of the hall facing the dining room while she finished up the call, then stuffed her phone in her pocket. Lorna, who must have arrived while Faith was taking out the trash, looked up from where she was replenishing supplies—paper cups, napkins, and stirrers—and started to greet her.

“Hi Fai… What’s wrong?”

Hope stopped clearing a table at the sound of the last two words. “You’re white as a ghost. What happened out there?”

Faith squeezed the words past the tightness in her throat. “There’s a body in the Dumpster. I think it’s Ashley.”

“What?” Hope’s voice rose in a cry of disbelief.

“Ashley?” Lorna asked. “How did she get there?”

Odd question, thought Faith. “I have no idea.”

“Of course you don’t,” Hope said. She hurried over and guided Faith to the table just outside the hallway. A vanilla latte and glass of iced tea awaited their planned break and conversation. “Sit down.”

Faith collapsed in the chair, her legs suddenly unsteady now that she’d done her civic duty. Hope sat down with her while Lorna hovered a few steps away. Hope reached out and put her hand over Faith’s. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was emptying the trash in the Dumpster when I saw her.” Icicles pricked her spine, sent a wave of cold fingers dancing across her shoulders and down her arms. “I don’t know anything else. Who could have killed her?”

Hope shook her head. “And why put her in the Dumpster behind my café?”

Faith picked up the cooling latte and took several swallows. Hope must have made it before starting on the cleanup. Braced by caffeine and sugar, the icicles retreated, and her brain started to work. She remembered something Hope had said earlier. “Lorna, you worked Saturday night, right?”

Lorna grasped the edge of the counter with white-knuckled fingers. “That’s right. Sunday morning, too.”

“Did you go out to the Dumpster on either day?” Faith asked.

“Well, of course I emptied the trash before locking up Saturday. Hope insists on keeping the Prickly Pear as clean as possible.”

“That’s right.” Hope nodded. “It’s hard enough keeping a restaurant vermin-free without letting garbage accumulate.”

“Did you see anything in the Dumpster when you took out the trash?” Faith asked.

Lorna’s eyes widened. “No. If I had, I would have called the police.”

“What about Sunday?”

Lorna shook her head, a sheepish expression on her face as glanced at Hope, then looked away. “I didn’t take the garbage out on Sunday. I was in a hurry to get to Scott Junior’s soccer game. It was mostly paper.”

Faith turned toward Hope, who pressed her lips together in disapproval.

The sound of sirens keened in the background. Faith only had a few seconds before the police rushed in and took charge. “So sometime between Saturday night and today, someone murdered Ashley and put her body in the Dumpster.” She stopped to envision the scenarios, then asked the first question that came to mind. “Why pick this spot?”

Even as Faith posed the question, she wondered if Lorna could be the killer, if the location was simply a matter of convenience because Lorna was already there. But what about Ashley? She was on the verge of asking, when Lorna spoke up.

“You should know Ashley came to the café Saturday. She was so alive and happy.” Lorna’s chin trembled as she took a breath. “She was with Derek and Paul. The three of them stopped by for a late lunch. Paul seemed annoyed about something, but I couldn’t tell what it was.”

Faith wondered if Paul had been forced to delay his trip to the junkyard because of the stop for lunch. Before Faith could ask any follow-up questions, two uniformed police officers burst through the door. The older one, who looked as if he had no qualms about references to cops and donuts, said, “We got a report of a body in a trash bin. Where is it?”

Hope and Lorna kept silent. Apparently they decided since Faith discovered the body, she would be the one to deal with the police. Faith rose to her feet. “In the back. Follow me.”

The second officer, a woman capable of playing the part of Wonder Woman had she been wearing tights and a bustier instead of the blue uniform of the Tucson Police Department, took a step forward. Faith led the way down the hall. The clack of the female officer’s heels on the hard tile floor followed her. While she didn’t hear a second set of footsteps, she assumed the rotund one was tailing behind.

She pushed the back door open and strode across the parking lot. Although the cops should be able to figure it out for themselves at this point, she pointed down into the bin. Faith carefully avoided looking inside, focused on the door to the rear entrance of the Prickly Pear, pondering the scrapes in the paint and the worn spot around the handle. The woman officer stepped up beside her and turned her gaze in the direction of Faith’s extended finger. The male, arriving a second later, did the same, giving the situation only a cursory glance before he started speaking into his radio.

After identifying himself as Officer Brooks and stating his location, he said, “I confirm the D.B. at this location. Requesting the M.E. and a homicide detective respond.” After some garbled back and forth, he clicked off the radio. “Simpson. Stop gawking and get some crime scene tape out of the car.”

Simpson’s cheeks took on a rosy hue and the muscles of her face grew tight as her lips formed a white line. Without a word, she went back through the door into the restaurant.

Brooks turned his attention to Faith. “You discovered the body?”

Faith nodded.

He pulled a notebook and pen out of his pocket. “What is your name?”

“Faith Andersen.” Without being prompted, she rattled off her address and phone number. This wasn’t her first rodeo. Or her first murder.

“About what time was this?”

“Maybe fifteen-twenty minutes ago. I was taking out the garbage from the Prickly Pear.”

“Was there anyone else in the alley at that time?”

“I didn’t see anyone.” Of course, she hadn’t been looking, either. But she was pretty sure Ashley had been dumped at night when the stores were closed and the little strip mall deserted.

“Were either of the other two women with you at the time?”

“No.” Did he think it took more than one person to take out the trash? Probably not. But it might have taken two people to carry the body.

“Anything else you want to tell me about this?”

A lizard crawled up the back wall of the café.

“I think I know her.”

“What? When were you going to disclose that little bit of information?” he bellowed.

Faith didn’t think she’d actually heard anyone bellow before, but if anyone could bellow, Officer Brooks could. “As soon as you asked me.” She wondered if he detected the testiness in her voice. If he did, she was probably in trouble.

“What is the victim’s name?” Brooks scowled at her, pen poised above paper.

“Ashley.”

“Ashley what?”

“I don’t know her last name,” Faith said. “I was only introduced to her as Ashley. Maybe Lorna can tell you.”

“Who’s Lorna?”

“Lorna is one of the two women I was sitting with inside. Lorna Ferguson.”

By this time Wonder Woman had pulled her patrol car to the north end of the alley. She got out and started stringing tape across the entrance.

“Who is the other woman?” Brooks asked.

“Hope Eberhardt. She owns the Prickly Pear Café.”

“Has anyone else been in the café this morning?”

A laugh tinged with hysteria escaped Faith’s throat. She slapped a hand over her mouth.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sorry.” Faith made an effort to appear apologetic. “Hope serves coffee and breakfast. The café was mobbed this morning. I came in to get a latte, but when I saw how busy it was, I offered to help out.”

“Do you know any of their names?”

“The customers?” Faith shook her head. “Maybe Hope does. Of the regulars. But I’m sure there were lots of customers whose names she never asked.”

The sound of a car starting made Faith glance toward the end of the alley. It looked as if Officer Simpson had finished putting up tape and was going to drive to the other end. The alley extended not more than a hundred feet from one end to the other. If Simpson kept up that behavior, Faith thought, she’d wind up looking like Officer Brooks in a few years.