Coffee & Crime (12 page)

I pointed to Debbie who sat at the counter, working on her second slab of pie. "That would be her."

Daniels patted the seat. "Aw, come on don't be pissy. Join us."

Like reluctant children, Zelda and I trudged to the booth. I slid in next to Daniels and Zelda plopped next to Davis.

"What's the matter, now?" I asked.

"Nothing's the matter," Daniels said.

Davis sighed loudly. "Look, we're sorry."

Zelda and I drew a blank.

"We weren't trying to hassle you," Daniels said.

Zelda slid out of the booth. "Okay, apology accepted."

Davis pointed at her. "Not so fast."

Zelda surrendered and sat again. "I knew it couldn’t be that easy."

Debbie brought coffees and two pieces of apple pie to the booth. "Scuse me." She set the coffee and pie in front of the cops then walked away.

Daniels beamed at the pie and forked off a bite. "It’s easy as pie, actually. We like you girls. I know it doesn't seem that way lately but we do. We're only looking out for you."

I smirked. "By threatening us?"

"And stalking us?" Zelda added.

The cops exchanged a look and Davis nodded to Daniels.

Daniels poured cream into his coffee and grabbed a couple of sugar packets. "Stalking you?" He laughed and emptied the sugar packets into his coffee. "No ma'am." His spoon clanged against the cup as he stirred the sugar into his coffee. "What we're trying to do is warn you not to get tangled up with that family."

Zelda snorted. "Why, are they crime lords or drug cartels?"

Davis wrinkled her nose. "No, what they are is prominent, wealthy people with connections to very powerful people."

I sighed and rested my head on my hands. "So?"

Daniels lowered his voice "So, people like that don't like outsiders poking into their business. This guy Manston had a lot of big clients. The kind of people who have the money to keep their secrets, secret if you get my meaning."

I frowned and shook my head. "George was a personal injury lawyer. He helped people who were victimized by the kind of people you're describing." Daniels and Davis said nothing. I frowned at their silence. "Right? I'm right, aren't I?"

"It doesn't matter what kind of lawyer he was, Scotti. We're under orders to keep a lid on this cockeyed thing." He shoveled a bite of pie into his mouth and talked around it. "And that's what we're going to do."

The conversation was more frustrating than asking Debbie about the mystery buyer. I shrugged. "And?"

Daniels waved his fork at me. "Maggie Manston is planning to make a big stink and that'll complicate things. You don't want to end up in the middle of that. You understand?"

I slid out of the booth. "Not at all. But I'm too tired to give a shit."

Zelda hesitated and whispered. "What do you mean, you've been ordered to keep a lid on things? Ordered by who?"

Daniels raised an eyebrow. "The powers that be."

Zelda snickered. "You mean like God?"

"The Police Commissioner." Davis's steely eyes said it was no bullshit.

"Whatever." I tugged on Zelda's sleeve and she slid out of the booth. We grabbed our jackets and headed for the door. "We're out of here."

"Just promise us you'll stay out of it," Davis called after us.

The heartbeat of our little guesthouse is the kitchen. It’s the largest room in the place and where we hang out. The rest of the house is unremarkable; a tiny living room, a corner for a dining room, and two small bedrooms with a bathroom jammed between them.

The kitchen has an open floor plan with a butcher-block island in the center that we use for food prep and dining. Early on I replaced the original fridge and range with an industrial refrigerator, and an O'Keefe & Merritt double-oven stove. Along the back wall, are more counters, cabinets, shelves and a walk-in pantry. I converted the bump-out breakfast nook into an office that houses an old desk, laptop, and a flat screen TV mounted on the wall.

Potted herbs grow in the greenhouse window above the sink and from the two mullioned windows in the nook and patio slider, we get lots of natural sunlight. If ever a room reflected who I was, my kitchen was it.

Friday morning was the start of a new pie day. In truth, pie day is a three-day baking frenzy that we performed twice a month to make the pies and deserts for the diner. But pie day sounds better than pie weekend, right?

Perched on a stool at the butcher-block, I sipped coffee while Boomer chomped his way through morning kibble. Baking soda biscuits browned in the oven and country gravy simmered on the stovetop.

When the oven timer dinged, I pulled the biscuits out and set the baking sheet on the counter. I went to the sink, rinsed a basket of blueberries, and dumped them onto a paper towel to dry. The pancake batter was ready. The fixings for kitchen sink eggs were ready. I was ready.

Zelda shuffled in, ponytail standing up like a dagger, and poured a mug of coffee. Still half asleep, she took her coffee to the butcher-block and plopped onto a stool.

I looked up from the stove. "Morning, sunshine."

Zelda poured half a pitcher of cream into her coffee. "What time is it?"

I removed the biscuits from the cookie sheet with a spatula and into a wire breadbasket. "A little after eight. You ready?"

Zelda stretched her arms and yawned. "Yep." She patted the counter top. "You get cooking and I'll get eating."

The first course was biscuits and gravy and Zelda left nothing for Boomer to lick from the plate. That was followed by kitchen sink eggs
—
scrambled soft with cheese, sausage, onions, and bell peppers. After Zelda cleaned her plate, I rewarded her with three fluffy blueberry pancakes smothered in warm syrup and lots of butter.

Zelda loved pie day, because for three days I cooked and fed her anything she wanted in exchange for doing the grunt work. She fetched from the pantry, rolled out dough, and stirred bubbling pots of fruit. She scrubbed, she wiped, she washed, she chopped, and she measured, without complaint.

By Sunday, we'd have thirty pies, eight dozen brownies, ten cheesecakes, and five fruit cobblers. Every available counter top would be lined with pies and pastries, and we'd be flour-doused and sweating sugar crystals from head to toe. It was a lot of work but I loved it. What chef wouldn't want to cook for three days straight without distractions?

Once Zelda couldn't force another bite, we went to work. By noon, we had seventeen pies and three cobblers cooling on the back counters. The kitchen smelled of fruit, spices and crisp pastry and my stomach growled.

"Lunch time." I ordered a pizza, while Zelda wrestled with stainless bowls and mixer attachments in a sink of sudsy water. Boomer alternately played blitz attack with Zelda's slipper and jumped up to see what she was doing. For fun, Zelda beaned him with suds balls, which fascinated and alarmed him.

When the pizza arrived, we slouched at the butcher-block and ate like hungry raccoons. Boomer, having a taste for dumpster food, was happy to dance for pieces of pizza crust. Even though I'd only had the little beast for a few days, it felt like he'd always been part of my life.

Stopping to eat gave my mind time to wander — thoughts of the diner, the mystery buyer, and George plagued me. For a distraction, I grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. I flipped through the channels looking for something to capture my attention. When Maggie Manston's face appeared on the screen I said, "What the hell?"

Zelda and I ducked into the nook to watch.

"Turn it up," Zelda said.

I jacked up the sound and we watched as Maggie tearfully told her story of losing George. And more importantly, her belief that George had been murdered.

Zelda smirked. "This is the stink Daniels was yammering about?" She squinted at the screen. "Those are totally fake tears."

I elbowed Zelda. "Quiet, I want to hear what she says."

Maggie's face filled the television screen and she said, "I'm offering a reward of $100,000 to anyone who finds evidence that leads to the apprehension and arrest of my husband's killer." The voice crack at the end was perfectly timed and she must’ve spent hours rehearsing it.

I gaped at Zelda. "Did she really just say she's offering a hundred grand to find George's killer?"

Zelda grinned and clapped me on the back. "Yes ma'am. And we're back in business."

I frowned and switched off the set. "In business for what?"

Zelda grabbed a couple of diet sodas out of the fridge, gave one to me, and popped the tab on hers. "For the money? For the diner?" She snapped her fingers. "Don't you get it? Maggie Manston just invited us to look into George's murder. And to pay us for our trouble."

"Get real. How do you figure that?" I wondered if Daniels and Davis had seen the interview. If so, they must’ve been freaking out. "And since when did we need or want an invitation to look into George's death?" I couldn't bring myself to use the word, murder.

Zelda hunched a shoulder. "You want to know what happened, don't you?"

I could already see the wheels turning in Zelda's mind and I didn't like the direction they were headed in. "So, in order to find that out, we need to personally investigate his death?" I shook my head. "That message wasn't for us."

Zelda went back to her pizza at the butcher-block. "Seems to me the message was for anybody who was interested."

I put my plate down on the floor for Boomer who attacked it with everything he had.

"You heard what Daniels and Davis said last night. They were all over us when we weren't doing anything. Imagine what they'd do if we got into this." I puckered my lips. "The message I'm getting is forget about it."

Zelda gnawed on her pizza. "Screw Daniels and Davis. They're full of shit."

"So, they're lying?"

Zelda shrugged. "I don't know. But everybody in town is going to take a run at this. Why should somebody else get that money? Especially since we have an inside track? And wouldn't it be fun to make that bitch pay a reward to people she treated like scum?"

I felt a headache coming on and rubbed my forehead. "She didn't treat us like scum. She thought we were the caterers. And she was nice at the wake."

Zelda stabbed a finger in the air. "Only because she didn't remember us." She slapped the countertop. "And that's another thing. She didn't recognize us."

I didn't say anything because no matter what I said Zelda wouldn't stop until I agreed with her. How had things gone from buying a diner to solving a murder?

"Scotti?"

I stared at my soda. "What?"

"Talk to me."

I looked up at this crazy, whacky girl who'd stuck with me through thick and thin and got weepy. I didn't want to disappoint her but investigating a murder wasn't a game. Or one of our stupid adventures. It was serious stuff. Dead serious. "I'm scared, Zee."

Zelda laughed. She laughed so hard that she pounded on the countertop. My tears disappeared and I glared at her. "What's so funny?"

"Of course you're scared. Who the hell wouldn't be? This is insane. It makes me want to pee my pants."

I gaped at her. "Then why are you pushing it? If you're half as scared as I am, we shouldn't go anywhere near this."

Zelda stopped laughing. "You want the diner don't you?"

My stomach clenched and I nodded.

She raised her eyebrows. "You don't have the money do you?"

I shook my head.

"Is it going to come from somewhere else? A rich uncle? The winning lottery ticket?"

I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. "No."

Zelda pulled my hands away from my face and looked me straight in the eyes. "Okay then. When opportunity knocks you've got to open the door, right?" She glanced around the demolished kitchen and rubbed the flour from her nose. "Anyway, don't we need a little more excitement in our lives? Pies only get you so far."

I blew out a sigh and my head spun. The idea of solving a murder to get investment money for a diner was ridiculous. There had to be another way. Except that there wasn't another way. It was an impossible solution. But I didn't have any other ideas and when you're desperate, you agree to almost anything. I swallowed hard and said, "Fine."

Zelda stared at me. "Fine?"

"Do I have to repeat myself?"

Zelda stared into my eyes like she was trying to mine my soul. "You're on board with this? Really, truly on board?"

I swallowed hard and nodded. "Yep, really, truly on board." And the fear pulsed through me until I hummed.

Zelda jumped into the air and whooped. She scooped up Boomer. "Did you hear that Booms? Mommy and Auntie Zelda are detectives and you're our mascot. Boomer Investigations!"

Boomer barked and wagged his stub.

I took Boomer out of Zelda's arms and set him back on the floor. "Not so fast, roomie."

"But..."

"Nope. Pies first, murder later."

Hopped up on endless pots of coffee and the prospect of adventure, we cut pie day in half. By Saturday afternoon the pies, cakes, and brownies were packed and ready to go. But after we cleaned up the mess and the last speck of flour was swept away, the only adventure I wanted was a shower and a nap.