Murder Over Mochas Read online

  Thankfully, there was a knock at the door that broke up our little moment. Pete and I took a step apart.

  Cole, one of our evening-shift baristas, stuck his head in the door. “Juliet, that dude you jacked up this afternoon is back. You want me to throw him out, or are you ready for round two? Oh man, Pete, you should have seen it. She was like POW, and that dude was down for the count. Everyone’s been talking about it all afternoon.”

  Pete snickered, and I hung my head. I could imagine how much of a field day my staff had had discussing and dissecting my poor decision. Why did things like this always happen to me?

  “I’ll be out there in a sec,” I murmured.

  After Cole left, Pete said kindly, “You’ll do fine. Get this over with, and you’ll never have to give that loser another thought.”

  I nodded and headed out of the office. Scott was seated at a table, looking nervous and fidgety again. He’d put a bandage over his nose, and bruises had begun to form around both of his eyes. I’d really socked it to him.

  I didn’t quite feel that “Hey, Scott” would be the appropriate greeting after I’d rearranged his face, so I sat down wordlessly across the table from him. His “satchel” was between us, and I had to suppress a grin when I recalled Ryder dissing it earlier.

  He sighed. “I know I have no right to ask you for anything. And I don’t blame you a bit for punching me.”

  I bit back a pithy response about him not blaming me for something he clearly had coming. Instead, I said, “Why did you come here?”

  He glanced around to make sure no one was listening in on our conversation. There were only a few people, seated at the other end of the room, well out of earshot. “I’m in big trouble, Juliet. I don’t know who to trust…but even though you hate my guts I know I can trust you. I have no one else to go to.”

  “What about Mandi?” I asked, referring to the waitress he’d left me for. Couldn’t hold back that one.

  I noticed he was sweating. A lot. And he was pale. His blond hair, which normally was (too) perfectly styled, hung lank around his face. His hands were even shaking. I could have written off the paleness as a side effect of the nose-breaking incident, but not the rest of it. I also happened to notice he was sporting a wedding band on his left hand, which irritated me, but I tried not to dwell on that at the moment.

  Scott’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s missing.”

  I wanted so badly to say, “Maybe she left you without so much as a goodbye,” but again I bit my tongue. When he’d left me, I’d thought for a brief but terrible moment that he’d gone missing, then when all of the other pieces started falling into place, I realized that wasn’t the case. Although I loathed the guy, I couldn’t bring myself to kick him when he was down. Instead, I asked, “Are you sure she’s missing? Could she have been suddenly called away by a family emergency or something?”

  Pete, who had been puttering around, cleaning off tables near us that were already clean in a not-so-veiled attempt to eavesdrop, finally brought us a couple of coffees so he could horn in on our conversation. “Hey, Scott. Long time no see,” he said fake-nicely. “You feeling okay, buddy? You look like you lost a fight.”

  Giving Pete a reproachful frown, I said, “Scott, you remember my friend Pete.”

  Scott nodded, his expression pained. This was not the same man I knew and unfortunately once loved. Scott O’Malley was a masterful salesman—everyone’s best bro, the life of the party, big man on campus. His constantly cheerful mood was infectious, which was why he was always the top sales rep for the food-service supplier he’d worked for. I’d honestly never seen him like this in all the years I’d known him.

  Pete wouldn’t shut up. “So what brings you to Nashville?” he asked as he sat our mugs down in front of us. He (purposely) sloshed some coffee onto Scott’s satchel. “Oh, I’m sorry, man. Let me get that cleaned up for you.” He took the towel off his shoulder and began wiping at the stain.

  Scott took a sip of his coffee and winced. “Don’t worry about it. Um…Pete, I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re kind of in the middle of something here…”

  I said meaningfully, “Pete, I think I hear Shane calling you from the kitchen.”

  Pete shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

  I gave him a hard stare and jerked my head toward the kitchen.

  He finally got the point. “Well, the coffee stain is not coming out, so I’ll take this in the back and see if I can do something with it.” As Scott feebly objected, Pete grabbed the messenger bag and hightailed it to the kitchen.

  I said apologetically, “It’ll be fine. Pete’s just being…Pete. He’ll bring your bag back.”

  Running a hand through his hair, Scott said, “He never did like me. I suspect it only got worse after I…”

  “After you left me and stole everything I had?”

  He hung his head. “Juliet, I’m sorry. I…I got scared. Everything was happening too fast. I got cold feet about us getting married.”

  So he’d had cold feet about marrying me after we’d been together for years, but it took him under a year to be ready to take the plunge with Mandi. Whatever.

  I snapped, “When that happens, most people just break up, Scott. They don’t bankrupt a person and her business in the process.”

  Scott took another gulp of coffee and clutched his gut. “Where’s the restroom?”

  I stifled a groan. Typical Scott, changing the subject when the conversation got a little too real for him. I pointed across the coffeehouse to the restrooms. “Over there.”

  He jumped up and shot across the front of the house, making me wonder if his sudden need for a restroom was legit, after all. I wandered over and plopped down on the stool across the counter from where Pete was standing.

  “You didn’t put Ex-Lax in his coffee, did you?” I asked him, hoping that wasn’t the reason for Scott’s emergency bathroom break.

  Pete snapped his fingers. “Darn it. Why didn’t I think of that? You know, a waffle taco would probably have the same effect even without any added laxative. Want me to whip one up for him?”

  Chuckling, I said, “No thanks. Maybe if we don’t have any more interruptions, this conversation will be over soon.”

  He shrugged. “I make no promises.”

  “Oh, and bring back his stupid satchel.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Scott came out of the restroom, his face much grayer than when he went in. Something was up with him.

  I met him back at the table. “Let’s get down to business so you can go somewhere and lie down. I think you need to rest.”

  He nodded. “Okay, Juliet. Here it is. Mandi’s not just missing. She’s been…abducted.”

  “What?” I cried. “Why?”

  Lowering his eyes, he continued, “I’ve had some…business dealings go wrong lately with some dangerous people. I’ve been threatened multiple times. And this time—” His breath caught on a sob. “This time they made good on their threats.”

  My jaw dropped. “Some ‘dangerous people’ have taken your wife and—what? Are they holding her for ransom? Are they going to hurt her? Why aren’t you talking to the police right now?”

  He grabbed his belly again and groaned. “They said no police. That if the police got involved, they’d kill her.”

  “Why did they take her? What do they want from you?”

  “I kind of…illegally obtained some sensitive information. I’ve got evidence that will ruin a lot of people’s lives.”

  “Really?” I griped. How had I not realized how much of a sleaze this guy was?

  “I need your help. You’re a PI, right?”

  I rubbed my temples, trying to wrap my head around what he was saying. “Scott, this is insane. You have to go to the cops. They can help you without calling attention to themselves. Plus, PIs don’t even do this kind of thing. We find out if people are cheating on their spouses or their business partners. We don’t do kidnapping or ransom stuff.”
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  Scott reached across the table and seized my hands. “The people I’m dealing with are wealthy and powerful. They have connections. If I go to the police and they find out, Mandi’s dead. I can’t trust anyone I know except you. Please, you have to help me. We have to find her.”

  He was asking the impossible. “Are you proposing that you and I go up against a bunch of powerful and dangerous kidnappers all by ourselves?” I demanded. “In what scenario could you imagine that not ending badly?” The last thing I needed in my life was to get tangled up with some more violent delinquents.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask. I’m sorry. But I need you,” he pleaded.

  “Look, I have some good friends who are cops. We can go to them—”

  “No!” he shouted, jumping up. His eyes glazed over, and he began to sway. “Is the room spinning?”

  I lunged toward him and guided him back down into his seat. Pete was already on his way over to help. Luckily, it was late on a Saturday night and the place was fairly empty. We didn’t need a bunch of prying eyes watching us. Pete and I got Scott settled, then Pete ran and got him a glass of water.

  Scott took a swig of the water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, I’m better. Please, will you help me save her?”

  I sank back down into my chair. “Scott…be rational. You and I do not have the skill set for hostage rescue. If you won’t go to the police, can’t you just give these people what they want? And who are they, anyway?”

  His eyes did not look right, and he wasn’t himself at all. “It’s complicated. Juliet, I’m begging you. Will you at least help me find out where my wife is being held?”

  I sighed. I could try, but I’d have to know a lot more than the cryptic bits and pieces he’d been giving me. There was something he wasn’t telling me, and if I had to guess, I’d bet he was holding back because the whole truth would incriminate him. This “illegally obtained” info of his had to be pretty huge.

  “If you’ll start giving me some actual information I can use.”

  “I think she may be here in town. She drove down here for a work trip yesterday afternoon, and then I got a call early this morning saying she’d been abducted.”

  “Who called you? Who took her?”

  His response was to lean over the side of the table and vomit on the floor.

  Pete, ever the adult, muttered, “Eww. I’m not cleaning that up.”

  I glanced down at the small puddle of dark brown liquid on the hardwood floor. “It’s not that much, Pete. And there aren’t any chunks. Sack up and go get the mop bucket. Scott, I think you need to see a doctor. Maybe we should take you to the ER.”

  “No, I—” Scott suddenly grabbed his chest and leaned back in his chair, making strangled grunting noises.

  “Pete, call an ambulance!” I cried, getting up to help Scott.

  Pete, who hadn’t yet gone to fetch the bucket, took out his phone and quickly dialed for help. Before I could get my hands on Scott, he lurched to the side, tumbling out of his chair and onto the floor. I rolled him onto his back and tilted his head to open his airway, then called his name a couple of times, but he was unresponsive. I checked his neck for a pulse and listened for breathing. I found neither.

  Chapter 3

  As I placed my hands over Scott’s heart and began chest compressions, the whole place got eerily silent. I could hear myself breathing and Pete finishing his 911 call, but there were no other sounds. Someone had even turned off the music we always played over the sound system.

  Pete was down on the floor at my side in an instant. “What can I do for you, Jules?”

  Near panic and trying to keep count of my chest compressions, I only stared at him dazedly in reply. I stopped to give Scott two rescue breaths and checked to see if he’d started breathing on his own again. He hadn’t.

  As my face crumpled, Pete said, “I’ll take over the compressions.”

  While Pete worked on Scott, tears slid down my cheeks. I barely heard Pete say, “Breaths, now!” but I managed to give Scott two more breaths. I listened for breathing, but again heard nothing. We continued this agonizing cycle until two EMTs burst in through the front door of the coffeehouse and pushed us aside.

  Pete held me as we watched the EMTs continue CPR until their defibrillator was ready and in place. The female EMT shocked Scott, waited, then shocked him again. She sat back on her heels and shook her head.

  I choked out a sob and buried my head in Pete’s chest so I didn’t have to look at Scott’s still body.

  Pete tightened his arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Jules. I’m so sorry,” he said, over and over again.

  I was in a fog. Pete sat me down at a table, facing the wall, and ran to get me some water. Other than that, he didn’t leave my side, even when I insisted on going out the back door, trying to run away and never come back. He managed to coax me back inside, and the police and medical examiner arrived several minutes later. I could hear them conferring, but was too out of it to focus on what they were saying. I wanted nothing more than to get out of here, but I knew that wouldn’t happen for hours. I had a long night ahead of me, as did Pete. Because of that, I used every ounce of energy I could muster to settle myself down and push my personal feelings about Scott aside. I had to have my head on straight when the police questioned me.

  All unattended deaths (“unattended” meaning not occurring under medical care, like in a hospital or something) had to be investigated by homicide. Having found several dead bodies, I’d been through this before. I’d never seen anyone die, though. And I never dreamed Scott would be the one I’d have to witness the life ebb out of.

  The police took Pete back to our office for questioning first, since he owned Java Jive. Then I wasn’t allowed to speak with him. I sat alone with my thoughts while the customers and the rest of the staff were questioned. I knew why I was left for last, and I would have used the same technique if I were the investigator on the case. From talking with Pete, the MNPD detective (who I didn’t happen to know) would find out my connection to Scott. Then, as he interviewed the other witnesses, he’d form a theory of what had happened.

  It was like putting together a mosaic. I was the jilted woman whom Scott had done wrong. I broke his nose earlier today, as witnessed by my staff and several dozen customers. The next time Scott got near me, he dropped dead. Unless he had some voracious, fast-acting disease, his sudden death was looking pretty fishy. That mosaic was coming together fast, and it formed a big, red arrow pointing straight at me.

  Finally, it was my turn. The police had excused the customers and the staff—except Pete. That got me worrying what their reasoning was for keeping him around.

  The detective approached me and stuck out a meaty hand. “Detective Tom Delaney, homicide.”

  I stood and shook his hand. “Juliet Langley.”

  He gestured to my chair. “Have a seat.”

  My stomach clenched. “I thought you were conducting interviews in the office.”

  The detective shrugged. “I’m fine with doing yours out here.”

  Clever touch, although cruel, making me sit in the same room with a dead body while I was questioned. I didn’t like this guy already. I lowered myself slowly back into my seat.

  “Ms. Langley, how did you know Mr. O’Malley?”

  Oh, here we go. “He and I were engaged once.”

  “Once? But not now, though. Did it end badly?”

  He already knew this, because all of my employees had heard stories about “Scott the Dickhead,” which was how I occasionally (okay, more than occasionally) referred to him. Detective Delaney knew the answer to his question. He just wanted to make me say it.

  “Yes. He left me.”

  He narrowed his beady, already too-close-together eyes at me. “And?”

  I sighed. “And stole my money and my belongings and caused my café to go under.”

  “Did you press charges against him for this or try to sue him?”

  “
With what money? He’d taken everything. Plus, I was stupid enough to have joint bank accounts with him, so he had every right to wipe out the money. And how could I prove it was my tax return money that paid for our couch or that the lamp by our bed was passed down to me from my great-grandmother? Impossible.”

  His mouth pulled up in the corner. “Sounds like you’re still angry about it.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “So maybe you decided to take matters into your own hands to get even with him.”

  Again, I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to. This was an interview, not an interrogation, although it seemed to be heading that way fast.

  “I hear you assaulted him this afternoon.”

  “I hit him in the nose.”

  The detective leaned back in his chair, which caused the buttons of his shirt to strain against his ample beer belly. “Why would a nice girl like you do something like that?”

  “It was the first time I’d seen him since he left.”

  “So you had a score to settle.”

  I paused for a moment to come up with the right spin. “I let my temper get the better of me and acted before I thought.”

  “And then you lured him back here so you could kill him.”

  There it was. This guy clearly wasn’t aware of my expertise in being on the wrong side of a police investigation. “Oh, so you’ve already classified this as a homicide? That was quick. I didn’t realize the ME was doing complete autopsies on-site these days.”

  Delaney’s whole head turned a reddish-purple. He spat out, “Don’t be a smart-ass. You’re the only one who wanted to see him dead.”

  I highly doubted that, but it seemed like I was fast becoming a prime suspect anyway. “Do I need a lawyer?” I hoped not, because although I’d crawled out of my aforementioned bankruptcy hole, I wasn’t exactly rolling in it after a year of having to play catch-up.

  After mulling over my threat to lawyer-up, he backed off slightly. “What do you know about the victim’s wife being missing? Mr. Bennett mentioned that in his interview.”