Death Before Decaf Page 5

  We looked at each other apprehensively. Pete shouted back, “Charlene? It’s Pete Bennett, Dave’s boss.”

  “It’s open,” she replied unwelcomingly.

  We stepped inside. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, enough to make my eyes water. A skinny, middle-aged woman with enormous breasts, barely contained by her tank top, sat on the couch watching TV, chain-smoking, and drinking a beer.

  Pete approached the woman slowly. “Hey, Charlene. How are you doing?”

  She dragged her eyes away from the TV and took a look at Pete. Her demeanor immediately changed. She purred, “Better now, sweet thing.” She patted the seat next to her. “Why don’t you come sit next to me while we talk?”

  Eww. Pete wasn’t kidding about Charlene. I could see why coming to see her alone would have scared Pete. He walked closer to her but didn’t sit down. “I’m so sorry about Dave.”

  She shrugged. “Easy come, easy go, right?”

  Pete cleared his throat and turned to me, his eyes pleading.

  I ventured, “Hello, I’m Juliet. I work at Java Jive, too. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Charlene looked at me with what I took to be disgust. She took a long drag from her cigarette and blew a huge plume of smoke before answering. “I don’t know why everyone’s so sorry. He had it coming. The idiot was always poking his nose in everyone’s damn business. It was just a matter of time before someone got pissed off enough to kill him.”

  Before I could stop it, my jaw dropped. Hoping she hadn’t seen my reaction, I quickly snapped my mouth shut and tried not to stare. Maybe my impression of Dave wasn’t too far off if this was what his own wife thought of him. Pete was completely aghast. Poor guy. He had never been able to handle tough chicks very well.

  Pete didn’t look like he could form a sentence, so I jumped in for him. “Charlene, we came over here because Pete wanted to give you something.”

  Charlene perked up and leered at Pete. “What is it, honey?” she asked him.

  I raised my eyebrows at Pete and nodded encouragingly.

  “Oh, right,” he said. He took an envelope out of his pocket. “This is for you. It’s Dave’s last paycheck, plus some extra to help you out.”

  Charlene accepted the envelope and peered inside. A look of astonishment broke across her face, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She leaped off the couch and threw her arms around Pete, pressing his face into her bulging cleavage. “Aw, now, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”

  I tried desperately to choke back my laughter, but a little giggle escaped. I quickly covered it with a cough, but not before Pete heard it. He stared daggers at me, his face still smushed into her fleshy bosom. I had no doubt that Pete would need a stiff drink once he was done being violated.

  She let him go, and he jumped back from her reach. Taking what I assume was intended to be a sexy puff from her cigarette, Charlene batted her eyes at Pete and drawled, “You know, Pete, now that I’m single again, maybe you should come back sometime.” She shot a dirty look at me and added, “Alone.”

  Oh, I was going to lose it big-time if we didn’t get out of here! I had another “coughing fit,” and Pete choked out, “Well, Charlene, we need to get going. Take care.” He took two big strides and was out the door.

  I threw a quick “Nice to meet you” over my shoulder and hurried out behind him. Pete had the car running, and started backing out before I even had my door closed.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. Pete glared at me and fumed silently as he drove. Tears ran down my face, and the more I looked at Pete, the harder I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I deserved a little laughter therapy.

  Once I quieted, he snapped, “Are you finished?”

  That made me start laughing again, but I quickly stifled it and warbled, “Yes, mostly. I guess it’s true that no good deed goes unpunished, huh?”

  “No shit. I’m never doing anything nice ever again.” He shuddered. “Ugh! That was the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me! I mean, her husband isn’t even cold yet, and she tries to force me to motorboat her? Who does that?” His righteous indignation and the thought of forcible motorboating gave me the giggles again. “Knock it off, Langley.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You just should have seen your face all smushed up in her boobs. It was so, so sad. She turned every man’s fantasy into a nightmare for you.”

  “Yes, she did!” He shuddered again. “I need a drink. Let’s go back to my place.”

  “Drinking before noon, are we?”

  “I’m traumatized!”

  Pete had a lovely home near Music Row, where his studio was, so he also walked to work most days. His house was decorated in what I always called “manly rocker chic,” because everything was gray, black, or chrome, and there were all kinds of rock memorabilia on the walls. He ushered me inside and poured us both a rather large scotch on the rocks. He drained his fairly quickly, poor guy, while I sipped at mine.

  He turned to me and asked, “Did you have time to try out your guitar, with all the craziness last night?”

  I sighed happily. “Yes. I nearly ruined my fingers, I played so long.” I showed Pete my fingertips, which were still a little red and now were starting to peel.

  “Ouch. You really haven’t played in a while. I’m happy that you’re back with it again, though.”

  “Me, too. Pete, it is the nicest guitar I’ve ever played. You really shouldn’t have—”

  “I told you, that’s what I wanted to get you. And you know there’s no point in buying a cheap guitar.”

  “I know, but still.”

  He went over and grabbed his guitar off a stand in the corner. “I was going to ask you—I was thinking about doing ‘She’s a Mess’ for your birthday, but I couldn’t remember the second verse, and I can’t for the life of me find where we wrote it down. Can you remember?”

  I loved that song, nearly as much as “You Are Mine.” “She’s a Mess” was the first song we wrote together. I’d never forget that one. It was after finishing that song that Pete and I had kissed for the first (and only) time.

  “Wait, back up. You were seriously going to sing ‘She’s a Mess’ to me on my birthday? That’s harsh.” The song was about a crazy chick.

  Pete chuckled. “Yeah, didn’t really think that one through. I guess it was a good thing I couldn’t remember it.” He started playing the introduction and then broke into song:

  “I knew that girl was trouble from the moment that we met

  Her crazy eyes were as crazy as they get

  In her smile was a secret no one could know

  And instead of a heart, there was only a black hole.

  “She’s a mess. You don’t want her. She’s a mess. You don’t need her.

  She’ll break your heart right from the start

  She’ll get inside your brain

  She’s a mess. You don’t want her. She’s a mess. You don’t need her.

  She’ll break your heart right from the start

  She’s anything but sane.”

  He stopped abruptly and asked, “And then what?”

  “You really don’t remember?” I asked incredulously.

  “I’m getting old, Jules. The mind is the first thing to go.”

  I shook my head. “Sad. So should we commit you to the old folks’ home now?”

  “Please just put this old man out of his misery and help me with the damn song.”

  “Keep your pants on, Grandpa. The next line is ‘She says she loves you, but you can’t see that it’s a lie.’ Remember?”

  “Yeah, but what’s the melody?”

  “Same as the first verse.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “The rhythm is a little different, but the melody is the same.”

  Pete strummed through the line and absolutely massacred the melody.

  I stopped him. “No, no, no. That’s not it.”


  “Then show me how it goes.” He started through the second verse and began sucking again, so I reluctantly jumped in with him:

  “She says she loves you, but you can’t see that it’s a lie

  She’s gonna burn you, and then all you’ll do is cry

  I’ve warned you, man, but that’s all that I can do

  And now it looks like she just sank her claws in you.”

  It was intoxicating to sing with Pete again. It wasn’t until the second time through the chorus that I realized what I was doing. Holy crap, I was singing in front of someone. I stopped suddenly, my eyes wide.

  Pete quit playing and looked over at me with a mischievous grin. “You’re singing! I knew you could do it. I’ve waited so long to hear your beautiful voice again.”

  I nodded, way too freaked out to say anything. Old memories started swirling together, and I thought back to the day we wrote this song.

  —

  It wasn’t too long after I took the job at Java Jive that Pete and I started having our little jam sessions after closing time. It started out with us playing our favorite songs, but then one night we started improvising. Pete had been dating (to my dismay) a girl who turned out to be a little off her rocker. So as a celebration of him getting her out of his life, I strung a few lyrics together as a joke, even though the sentiment was completely serious. Pete then started playing a soulful chord progression on his guitar, and it all came together and morphed into an honest-to-goodness song. It shocked the crap out of us that we could actually come up with a real-sounding song together. In our excitement, an innocent hug and a peck on the cheek turned into a full-on kiss. I would never forget what he said to me after he pulled away.

  “Jules, I am so sorry,” Pete whispered, his face flushed.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” I said, thrilled beyond belief.

  “No, I shouldn’t have done that. We’re just friends.”

  “Oh…yeah. Right.” Funny how it only took an instant for your heart to break in two.

  “I mean, you’re my best friend. I don’t want anything getting in the way of that.”

  I nodded, struggling to hold in my tears. “Absolutely. Me, too.”

  —

  “Hello…earth to Jules,” Pete said, snapping his fingers in my face.

  I jumped, having been lost in thought.

  “Where were you just now?” he asked.

  I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him I was thinking about the time we kissed. That would be all kinds of awkward. I didn’t know where my crazy thoughts were coming from lately. I did know I was having some seriously disturbing emotional issues, though. But who wouldn’t after getting dumped by a fiancé, moving back to a city filled with reminders of a failed career, starting a new job managing a resistant staff, and finding a dead body? Maybe Pete should have serenaded me with “She’s a Mess.” The shoe definitely fit.

  Clearing my throat, I lied, “Um, I was wondering if we can get into Java Jive yet. I really want to get cracking on that kitchen.”

  Glancing at his watch, he said, “We should be fine by now. Want some help?”

  “You want to help clean the kitchen?”

  “No, I was just being nice.”

  I smiled. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s not a pretty sight when I go all OCD on a kitchen. It’s probably for the best that I go this one alone.” I headed out, looking forward to clearing my head with some mindless work.

  Chapter 5

  After surveying the kitchen at Java Jive, I started to think that it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing to have Pete here to help. The place was a freaking nightmare. There was grease and grime everywhere. Donning an apron, I decided to start at the top and work my way down. Armed with bleach (a lot of bleach), rags, sponges, buckets, mops, gloves, and a putty knife, I went to work. I scraped an eighth of an inch of black, greasy grime out from under the entire range hood. It obviously hadn’t been cleaned in over a year, probably right around the time that George started having health problems. I was pissed that his workers slacked off when they weren’t under his watchful eye.

  The phone rang. I took off my gloves and hurried to the office to answer it. “Java Jive, this is Juliet.”

  “Ah! Just the woman I wanted to speak to. Don Wolfe here, from the Nashville Gazette.” Uh-oh. A reporter was calling to speak to me? Maybe he wanted to do a story about Java Jive’s change in management. Yeah, right, that was what he’d want to talk about after a murder had occurred here yesterday.

  I took a breath to calm my nerves. “Hello, Don.”

  “You certainly had some excitement there yesterday, didn’t you?”

  He sounded so chipper, speaking so flippantly about a person’s tragic death, it angered me. “That’s a rude way to speak about someone passing away.”

  “Oh, now, don’t get hot under the collar, darlin’,” he said in a twangy, thick Southern accent. “I just want to tell your side of the story.”

  I was pretty sure that Detective Cromwell wouldn’t appreciate me blabbing to the media about Dave’s murder. “I don’t think I should. Thanks for calling.”

  “Oh, come on. You can tell little old me. I can give you your fifteen minutes of fame.” This guy was a total sleazeball.

  “I don’t want my fifteen minutes, especially over this!” I cried, horrified that he would say something so callous.

  “Now, Juliet, don’t be hasty. The Gazette might even be able to offer you some kind of incentive for giving us an exclusive.”

  “You’re a vulture. The answer is no.”

  He tried a different tactic. “You have to speak to me by law. It’s in the First Amendment.”

  I knew the First Amendment, and nowhere did it say that people had to speak to overbearing reporters. What an idiot. “No, it is not. Here, I’ll prove it.” I hung up on him.

  The phone rang and rang incessantly after that, so I turned the ringer off and let the calls go to voicemail.

  Moving on, I took my aggression out by scouring the countertops, food prep surfaces, and the grill. Nasty. I hated to think ill of the dead, but Dave really did a shitty job of keeping the kitchen maintained. There were a couple of burners out on the stove, and the small refrigerator where the sandwich toppings were kept (lettuce, tomato, pickle, et cetera) wouldn’t cool below forty-five degrees. Perishable foods that are not kept under forty degrees can and do breed bacteria. I was shocked that none of our customers had complained of getting food poisoning. I called a repair company and then cleaned out the fridge, tossing its contents. Luckily there was a food delivery tomorrow that would restock the waste.

  In the midst of my frenzied cleaning, I heard a knock at the entrance. I took off my gloves and made my way to the front of the house. I could see Detective Cromwell standing patiently at the door. What could he want?

  I opened the door. “Detective Cromwell. Come in.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Langley. We need to talk,” he said gruffly.

  The phrase “we need to talk” should be banned from the English language. It’s never a good start to a conversation. I showed him to a table, and we sat down.

  “I’ve spoken to some of your staff, and it seems that you left some key information out of your statement.”

  My entire body went cold. What could he mean? “What information?”

  “The nature of your relationship with David Hill.”

  This sounded like trouble. “I was his boss for a day. We didn’t see eye to eye, but I was going to work on that.”

  “All of the employees I interviewed said that you had two screaming matches with him yesterday, one of which happened shortly before he died. And right afterward, you disappeared for a while. Now, what am I supposed to think about that?”

  I couldn’t breathe. Was he insinuating that I was the killer? I choked out, “I didn’t kill him.”

  “Do you own a knife, Ms. Langley?”

  “No!” Scott the Dickhead had stolen all of my good knives. All I had for kitc
hen utensils was a half-empty package of plastic spoons. “And I didn’t kill him!”

  He pressed, “But you wanted to. You wanted him gone. You said so.”

  “What? When did I say I wanted him gone?”

  Detective Cromwell flipped through his little notebook. “Logan Carmichael stated that you threatened Mr. Hill and told him you didn’t want to see him again and that you were ‘in charge.’ You then whispered something in his ear. Care to elaborate on that?”

  Thanks a lot, Logan. I racked my brain to think of what I’d said to Dave. “Oh,” I exclaimed. “I remember exactly what was said. I told Dave that I didn’t want to see him sitting on the prep table again. Logan must have left out that part. And I did say that I was in charge, and if Dave didn’t like it, he could leave. The only thing I threatened Dave with was being fired.”

  “Hmm. And what did you whisper to him that no one else heard?”

  Ashamed, I hung my head. “I said…I doubt that anyone else would want to hire an ex-con. It was unprofessional of me to say it to him. I came back to apologize, but that was when the staff said he had already left.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to take your word on that one. Is it correct that Mr. Hill left the building during the time that you were on your walk and unaccounted for?”

  I had had enough. “Are you charging me with something?”

  The detective smiled and said easily, “Now, now. Don’t get your feathers ruffled, Ms. Langley. I’m just doing my job.”

  “So you’re harassing everyone that Dave had a conflict with? Because his wife wasn’t surprised that he had pissed someone off enough to kill him.”

  “Trust me, Ms. Langley, I’m exploring every possibility,” the detective growled.

  “And I’m a possibility?”

  “Yes, because you wanted to be rid of him.”

  Angered, I leaped out of my chair. “If I wanted to be rid of him, I would have fired him. Why would I kill someone when I could just show him the door?”

  The detective shrugged. “Maybe you have violent tendencies.”

  I was going to have a violent tendency in a minute if this guy didn’t quit badgering me. “I think we’re done here.”