Coffee Tea or Murder Me Read online

  Considering they’d been planning their first real vacation since their oldest son went to college… I hardly blamed them but didn’t say so to Ingrid. Not that I had time to interrupt, her jitters carrying her onward in conversation without needing any kind of prompting.

  “Here’s the new menu.” She whipped three out from inside her apron’s pocket, the long, slim laminated sheets landing with a slap on the sparkly table. “I’ll be bringing around a selection tonight, no orders, but you can at least see what will be available starting tomorrow.”

  She left then in a bustle while I smiled after her, happy for her but so very grateful it was her and not me. Looked up to see Thalia staring into Callie’s eyes and vice versa. Almost put my foot in my mouth because, quite frankly, they just had to come out and say it already before I did and ruined their moment.

  It comforted me, though, seeing them look at one another like that. Sure, the worry remained they’d outgrow one another someday, of course. But that was the nature of some relationships. Who knew? They might be the lucky ones who spent the rest of their lives together. No, my real worry had been more so the fact they chose to live in the family estate. Not that Vesterville House really had a cursed soul or anything. Maybe. Possibly. I knew better, of course. On the other hand, it was impossible to just set aside the fact the Vesterville family had seen their share of tragedy, more than their share, to be honest, and that the lingering darkness in that place felt like it had a life of its own.

  Still, it was lovely to see Thalia so relaxed and happy, far more than she’d been since her parents were murdered almost four years ago now. And Calliope, while always an exuberant and outgoing young woman, had a maturity to her I was only just noticing, without any limitations added to her zest for life.

  They must have felt me staring because they both looked at me suddenly, as one, forcing me to clear my throat and look away with a fake smile, handing out the menus like I wasn’t caught intruding on a private moment between them.

  Argh. Why wouldn’t they just tell me already?

  “Diner breakfast!” Calliope grinned at me. “She kept the diner breakfast.” It was our favorite and we split one every Sunday we could fit it in. Three eggs, tons of bacon, far more toast that was good for my hips, hash browns crisp from the fryer and endless coffee and homemade strawberry jam. Reading the listing, remembering the tastes, had me almost drooling.

  The rest of the breakfast and lunch menu seemed rather untouched, old favorites returning which would make the regulars happy. But her dinner menu with homemade pasta and a charcuterie board that sounded divine along with a licensed bar—the original never had alcohol—had me pondering inviting some girlfriends out for a gab session, snacks and too much gin.

  Just kidding. There was no such thing as too much gin. Speaking of which, I nodded to the attractive young woman who came toward us with a notepad in hand, anticipating one drink, at least, before the food came out.

  At the exact moment he turned on his favorite stool and scowled at her, sticking his long legs out far enough she almost tripped.

  “I hate all of it,” Big Dan Adams said so loudly the whole place went silent. “Way to go, Ingrid, for ruining the best diner in Wallace.”

  ***

  Chapter Three

  Honestly, I was so surprised to find Big Dan there I hadn’t even looked for him, the counter fixture and general pain in everyone’s butt usually slurping coffee and yelling out life advice to other patrons the most vocal of all who protested (okay, the only one who came out and said it) the renovations, swearing he’d never set foot in Margaret’s Kitchen again.

  Apparently, he’d decided ruining Ingrid’s night had far more impact attached to making himself scarce.

  “Dad.” Like clockwork, his son, Billy, spoke up, the leaner, shorter and less oppressive version of the towering, big-bellied and opinionated elder of the two did his best to try to silence his father, but with about the same success as he usually did. Which meant none bordering on inspiring Big Dan to make himself more of a nuisance if at all possible.

  “There was nothing wrong with the way things were,” he said, rumbling voice just this side of a bellow, the occupants of the diner studiously ignoring him almost to a fault, though I found my earlier irritation at Trent had transferred quite smoothly to the noisy, belligerent middle-aged cis white guy and his patriarchal privilege sitting almost across from me.

  The young waitress did her best to avoid him, dark cheeks tinted with a deep blush, nearly black eyes rimmed with moisture as she offered me a trembling smile in an attempt to push past the fact Big Dan had likely been at her more than just this once and she was nearing the edge of her patience.

  “Are you okay?” I smiled back, sympathy and support in my expression, both of my girls leaning in with their own concerned looks because they had huge hearts, that pair, and didn’t hesitate to support another woman in need.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she answered in a small voice. “Is he always so…?”

  I shot him a quelling look over her shoulder while he flipped me a rather rude hand gesture that was about to win him a tongue lashing from his (not so) friendly neighborhood holistic therapist. “Yes,” I said. “Unfortunately.” Rather than stoop to his level, I chose to focus on the young woman in front of me. “I’m Persephone Pringle. I don’t think I’ve seen you in Wallace before.”

  She seemed startled I introduced myself, glanced at the girls in turn before dimpling a lovely white smile against her warm brown cheeks. “Gabriella,” she said, with just a hint of a Latino accent. “Gabriella Torres. I’m here from… Portland.”

  Why the hesitation? Not that it mattered, but she seemed nervous all over again, swallowed while Calliope and Thalia both said hello, giving their names while she bobbed nods that had her high-tied ponytail of thick, black hair bouncing.

  I had to repeat my drink order twice—who knew gin and cranberry on ice in a short glass with no lime or straw was a complicated thing to remember?—though the girls had better luck with their milkshakes, vanilla for Thalia and chocolate for Calliope fairly straightforward. Which had me guessing part of Gabriella’s nervousness and upset likely had to do as much with Big Dan’s yelling as it did her inexperience at the job.

  As she turned, now smiling and much more at ease, I wasn’t fast enough to keep Dan from reaching out and snatching her order pad from her hands. Okay, dude, that was borderline assault and would get him more than a talking to once our fourth arrived, (you think I’d be out with two twentysomethings with no backup?) hopefully any second now.

  Gabriella stopped, eyes huge, clearly not knowing what to do. Before I could surge out of my seat and tear him a new one for tormenting the girl, the childish piece of work laughing as he tossed her notebook to the floor and put his foot on it, another new face intruded, this time from behind the counter.

  The short, stocky and yet incredibly muscular man with more tattoos than I had (that was saying something) didn’t seem to care he was covered in flour and other food remnants, nor did he appear reluctant to hide the fact if he reached Big Dan in the next two seconds, he was probably going to punch the loudmouth in the face.

  My money was on who had to be Ingrid’s cook, but I never got to make the bet. Gabriella stopped him with a touch on his truly impressive bicep.

  “It’s okay, Saucy,” she said in a small voice.

  “It’s not.” He bent and grabbed the notebook out from under Big Dan’s shoe with a hearty shove to the older man’s toes, Dan grunting at the contact, his stool turning him into the next patron before he could stop himself. When he righted his seat, he was scowling instead of that sickening smirk he always wore, but Saucy was still talking. “You don’t like The Blueberry Grill? Then get out.” His slurring and slightly accented words made him hard to make out at first. He gestured at the door while the diner again fell silent, even Ingrid staring open-mouthed from the cash register. “There are other joints in town where talkback rules, but this ain’t one of them.”

  Well now. Good for Saucy.

  Big Dan wasn’t to be outdone, however, bluster rising as he puffed up his chest, massive belly jiggling over his lap, florid cheeks flushing darker as his piggy eyes narrowed, sweat breaking out into the thinning front of his hairline.

  “I’m a paying customer,” he snapped. “You can’t kick me out. I’ve supported this diner for years. Margaret and Martin always welcomed me and I’m not leaving.”

  “You missed my point,” Saucy shot back, my mind getting used to his street-talk and translating some of the words, “Margaret and Martin ain’t here no more. This here is Ingrid’s place now.” She approached at a trot, her expression a mix of horror and amusement I could feel in the pit of my stomach. On the one hand, this was her first night and Dan’s level of conflict could mean people didn’t come back. On the other, I’d never seen anyone put the loudmouth complainer—oh, you bet he complained to everyone, all the time—in his place.

  Saucy looked like he had more to say, but Ingrid was faster, grabbing his arm and tugging on him, dragging him back behind the counter and to the kitchen door while someone laughed. It was a low and mocking sound, unexpected in the quiet, drawing my attention to the young, handsome man at the end of the counter, his suit jacket open, what looked like a silk shirt beneath black to match his two-piece, open to the third button. There was no way he was any kind of businessman, however, not with that excessively styled hair and one-day scruff and rakish attitude that screamed rich boy slumming. But I’d never seen him before and caught myself glancing at Thalia to see if she recognized him while he stopped his cynical chuckle and spoke.

  “I had no idea there would be entertainment,” he said. “Is this little tow
n always so amusing?”

  Big Dan spun toward him with a heavy scowl, jowls spreading out as he lowered his head in a bull-like show of aggression. “Mind your own business.”

  “No,” the young man said then, toying with a spoon that he set down suddenly, decisively, the rattling sound reaching everyone in the room. “I don’t think I will.” He gestured to the door. “As the rather succinct staff member said, there are other establishments in town. Perhaps you’d be happier at one of them. We’d all certainly be delighted if you decided to relocate.” He winked at me. “All in favor?”

  I almost applauded. Held off, only because, in the stillness that followed, the door bells jangled and the force of nature I’d been waiting to sweep in and bring order to this one-horse diner strode in.

  Sheriff Cherise King had perfect timing, as usual, towering and Amazonian physique out of uniform at the moment, though she looked far more dangerous in dark jeans and a dress jacket over a dark blue button-up with her cowboy boots thudding on the floor and that near buzz-cut of hers doing nothing to hide her stunning face, deep skin shining, black eyes taking in the scene as if she knew exactly what she was walking into.

  I had no idea what it was like to grow up in Chicago or to rise in ranks in that police department to become head of a homicide squad, but whatever was required for such a position, Cherise had it and so much more.

  Dan took one look at her and turned slowly toward the counter, sullen pout the kind of petulance I expected from a toddler who knew his tantrum wasn’t going to get him anything no matter how hard he tried.

  My shero to the rescue.

  ***

  Chapter Four

  There was no way the sheriff could have known Dan was making trouble. She’d entered during the looming and uncomfortable silence, without evidence of specific persons involved, her arrival triggering a shift in the feel of the place, from dread and anticipation of escalating conflict to a wash of relief and a rise in anticipation that sent goosebumps up my arms. As though, to a patron, we knew the calvary had arrived and we were safe at last.

  Did Cherise know the impact she had on people around her? There had been some pushback when she’d been hired rather than going through an election process, the sheriff’s position here in Wallace handled through town council instead. Not because of her race or skin tone or the fact she was from Chicago. Our last sheriff had been black, but he was local and, let’s be frank about the real reason for hesitation, a man. But Cherise had shown in the last year and a half since she’d taken over law enforcement in our town and surrounds just how lucky we were to have her, with the best crime-solving rate in the state, so impressive the state police even consulted with her from time to time, while her new programs and education for her deputies lowered the crime rate significantly.

  Aside from the two murders in the last year, that was. Not my fault, despite the fact I’d been involved in both to some degree. And since both had been solved, that meant even more accolades and trust for the equally impressive visually as she was intelligently sheriff of Wallace.

  Call it intuition or the fact she knew his penchant for stirring things up just for fun, Cherise paused next to Big Dan who stared down at his coffee mug, red-faced and refusing to look up while she smiled a pleasant, professional smile and tapped the counter next to him with one index finger.

  “Dan,” she said. “Hope you’re having a good evening. And that you’re letting these folks have one, too.”

  He grunted something I didn’t catch before Billy spoke up in a rush.

  “He’ll behave himself, Sheriff King,” he said, prodding his father. “We don’t want any trouble for Ingrid.”

  Cherise nodded, still smiling. “Let’s just be sure that’s the case, shall we? Gentlemen.” She pivoted on her boot, turning toward our booth, grin broadening into a greeting. I felt the tension snap, my shoulders loosening when the tall sheriff slipped in next to Thalia across from me. “I take it I missed out on some excitement?” She kept her voice low, but the chatter in the place had fired up again, so it was doubtful anyone would have heard her.

  I shrugged, grinned, Gabriella delivering our order, my glass of gin a welcome addition while the girls helped themselves to their shakes, old enough to drink but neither choosing to do so. Cherise, for her part, asked for a beer, the young waitress flashing me a smile that looked like gratitude as she hustled off again, this time without interference from Dan.

  “You could say that.” I tipped my glass to her. “Funny how trouble crawls into a hole and hides when Sheriff King shows up.”

  She chuckled at that. “I wish,” she said, shaking her head, thick lashes rimming her dark eyes making me jealous as always. But there was a troubled look there that bothered me, as though she had more to say.

  Ingrid appeared at our booth before I could respond or try to lure the details out of Cherise, the still-vibrating new owner almost in tears as she clasped the sheriff’s hand. “Thank you,” she said, just above a whisper. “I tried to tell him to leave earlier, but he’s such a bully.” She didn’t have to name names for us to know who she meant.

  “You have the right to ban him, Ingrid,” Cherise said, serious now, her protector of all things innocent persona like a shield wall around her and engulfing Ingrid at the same time. “If you need help doing so, let me know.” The sheriff’s gaze flickered sideways to where the man in question perched on his stool, son whispering hastily and what looked like with real anxiety to his father. Billy appeared worried enough as his own eyes landed on Cherise while he hissed whatever warning or coercion he used on Big Dan, so it was obvious to me the young man knew his father walked thin ice.

  Ingrid relaxed just a little, wiping quickly at her eyes when she released Cherise’s hand, nodding. “Thank you,” she said again. “I might take you up on that.” And scurried away once more, Gabriella delivering the sheriff’s beer at the same moment.

  “Some people,” Cherise said then in a low and angry voice that hummed between us like a threat, “should learn that stirring up mischief to satisfy their inner demons means they stop being welcome in this town.”

  “Dan’s been an issue lately?” I forced myself to focus on her rather than the pair at the counter, Billy still talking fast while Big Dan’s stool swished back and forth just a little, the lumbering irritant in plaid and a jean jacket clearly fighting the urge to blow up again.

  Cherise didn’t confirm or deny until after she’d had a long pull on her beer. “Let’s just say he hasn’t taken Little Dan’s passing very well.” Right, his namesake and Billy’s older brother. He’d died a year ago, in Bangor, murdered in a mugging or something. “Grief does things to people.” She’d softened somewhat, but I could tell if push came to standing up for Wallace, Cherise was the perfect woman for the job.

  I looked up when the other young waitress hurried toward us, laying out a tray of samples of food for us to try. The lightened atmosphere and delicious smells—not to mention the softening inside from the hit of gin—had me relaxing somewhat, though the sight of Saucy the cook peeking out of the kitchen, gaze directed at Cherise before he flinched and disappeared again had me wondering. Well, with a nickname like Saucy, maybe he had a few things in his past he’d rather the police didn’t know about.

  And, more likely, I’d imagined it and really needed to mind my business rather than stir up my own brand of trouble for my sheriff friend.

  The evening marched on, my second and last gin of the evening sending me to the ladies’ room, still thinking about the delicious treats Ingrid passed out with liberal generosity for us to try. I loved the idea of a sampler board, flat cost for a variety of items rather than having to settle for one particular dish, always a problem when I went out to eat. How was I supposed to choose? This way I didn’t have to, and I had a feeling Ingrid’s idea would draw in a lot of people for the same reason.