A Cup of Murder

"Hello?"

"Ms. Wicker," a male voice said. "This is Detective Avery."

I suddenly had the urge to puke. "How can I help you?" I murmured.

"I'm very sorry, but your statement yesterday has raised some questions. I'd like to discuss it with you."

"Okay..."

"I can come to you. Is now convenient?"

"I suppose. I'm at Coffee with Cream."

"I'm on my way. Thank you, Ms. Wicker."

Ten minutes later, the door opened and Detective Avery walked in. He was dressed as he had been the last time I saw him, with only the color of his pants and jacket being different. He was carrying a thin folder, and he paused in the door.

I stepped from behind the counter. "What can I help you with?"

He laid the folder on the closest table, removed a couple of typed written pages with yellow highlighting scattered across the page, and then pulled out a chair and a small notebook. I sat across the table from him.

"I know this must be difficult for you, but in your own words, tell me again what happened that morning."

"Why? I gave you my statement, just as you asked."

"I know. That's why I'm here. You mentioned a man?"

"Yes."

"That makes this case... less clear."

I let out a sigh of relief as I brushed my hair from my face. "What do you want to know?"

"Start at the beginning and tell me about that morning."

I did, beginning with arriving at the shop that morning, and ending with my arriving at the door of the shop after returning from Grand Rapids. The only thing I left out was the panicked dream that woke me and my stopping on the side of the road to be sick, along with the reason that caused it.

"Did you argue about going?"

I was surprised by the question. "No... why would I?"

Mr. Jenner and Ms. Camp both said you arrived at the shop in an agitated state, far earlier than your normal arrival time. They further stated that you appeared reluctant to leave, and you inquired several times to your mother's wellbeing."

"Okay? So?"

"Care to explain?"

"Explain what?"

"Why did you arrive at Coffee with Cream so early, and why were you upset?"

I stared at him for a moment, fury building inside me. "Are you accusing me of killing my mother?" I asked, my voice as cold as the weather beyond the windows. "I thought we'd covered this the day she died."

"I'm sorry, but things don't seem to be as clear as they first appeared."

"That's what I told you then!"

He nodded slowly. "After your statement, we checked the deceased's bank account. Seems that--"

"The deceased," I interrupted, my voice deadly as I fought the urge to reach across the table and slap him, "is... was my mother."

He held my gaze a moment before he continued. "It seemed your mother had accumulated a nice balance, yet you took minimum wages... why is that? Did she hoard money--"

"How much?" I demanded.

He glanced at his notebook. "Seventy-eight, four eighty-two. You didn't know that?"

I sat back in the chair, trying to wrap my head around the number. "Seventy-eight thousand, or seventy-eight hundred?"

"Thousand."

I stared at him a moment. "I had no idea. She handled the finances."

"So you didn't resent her for the low pay?"

"Why would I? She was paying for my college, and I lived at home for free."

"Will you inherit the business?"

"How... dare... you..." I growled. "Get out!" I snarled as I stood and pointed at the door.

He didn't rise. "I'll leave," he said calmly, "but I told you that I wouldn't let this case drop if there was even a suggestion this was anything other than an accident."

"And you think I did it?" I yelled.

"I didn't say that. I'm just asking questions."

"Well, I don't like your questions."

"I'm sorry, but I have to follow every possible lead."

"How do you explain me being in Grand Rapids, or somewhere between here and there, when she died?"

"I understand you're studying to be a nurse?"

"That's right," I said, wondering where he was going with his questioning. "I'm attending classes at PCC."

"PCC?"

"Pokagon Community College."

He nodded. "Can you think of a drug that could cause dizziness? A drug that could cause a person to become disoriented? To black out?"

"Several... but how was I supposed to give them to her when I wasn't even here? Why are you questioning me and not looking for the real killer?"

"Would any of these drugs have a delayed reaction?"

"What? I don't know! I'd have to look at a PDR!"

"PDR?"

"Physician's Desk Reference. It's a reference for drugs. It lists side effects, interactions, stuff like that."

"Do you have one of those?"

"No. First off, it's all online now... second, a paper copy is really expensive, and thirdly, I don't need one. I don't understand why you're questioning me. If I'd actually done it, why would I have said anything, and just let everyone think it was an accident?"

"Maybe... speaking hypothetically of course, the killer was trying to cover all possible angles."

"You're crazy. I didn't kill my mother, and if you'd do your job, you'd know that."

"How?"

I waved my hand in frustration. "The receipt for the thermostat? Why don't you call the place and ask them if I was there?"

"I did."

"And?" I demanded.

"And they confirmed you were there."

"So, how then, exactly, Detective Avery, was I supposed have pulled off this wonder crime?"

He scratched at his cheek a moment. "To be honest, I don't see how you could."

"Then why are you in here busting my... chops?"

"Because you raised the issue of a man attacking Ms. Wicker. Kind of convenient, don't you think, that this mystery man that nobody saw, including you, threatened your mother only a few days before she turned up dead? If she was afraid for her safety, why didn't she reach out to the department? If she wasn't afraid, why did she mention it to you?" He paused as he held my gaze. "You see my predicament? All the pieces are here, but I can't figure out how they fit together."

I felt sick. I'd done this. My statement about the man had focused the police's attention on me. "I don't know... I just know what I know."

"And what do you know, Ms. Wicker."

"That what happened to Mom was no accident... that someone, probably a man, killed her."

"Probably? In your statement you said your mother stated it was a man."

Detective Hunter Avery was young, probably not much older than me, but he was smart, and quick, and he was backing me into a corner. "Okay, a man then." I sat down again. "Look, I'm still trying to process this, okay? I don't even know where I am or what I'm doing half the time, so cut me some slack."

He smiled gently. "I understand, and I'm sorry to have to subject you to this, but if someone murdered your mother as you think, then I want to make sure she... and you... get the justice you deserve."

"Sorry. I know you're just doing your job... but..."

"But?"

"But... nothing. I'm just tired." Tears threatened. "I haven't slept well the last couple of nights."

"I understand... and I'm sorry. Did Ms. Wicker have anyone she didn't get along with? Anyone she argued with, or who gave her a hard time?"

Finally, he was asking the right questions. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hands and sniffed. "No... not really. Mr. Griffin was sometimes grumpy, and we had the occasional disgruntled customer for one reason or another, but nobody who I'd think would do something like this."

"Did she gamble or owe anyone money? Drugs?"

I shook my head. "The other officer already asked me this. No. We paid our bills on time and everyone loved Mom." I loved her.

"Any relatives that might be jealous?"

"No. She had two sisters, Victoria and Elizabeth, but there was no reason for them to be jealous, or anything like that. They were close."

"Can you give me their names and numbers?"

"Victoria and Elizabeth Tramree," I said as I pulled my phone out of my apron pocket.

"Tramree? Like in Tramree Resort?"

"Yes. They own that. Ready?" I read off the two phone numbers. "I called them yesterday. They didn't answer and they haven't called back."

"Do you have their addresses?"

"They live at the resort, but they're out of the country at the moment."

"Interesting. Where?"

"The Bahama's. They go somewhere warm every year."

"When did they leave?"

"A couple of days before the..."

He scribbled in his book and then stared at it a moment. "Do you know where they're staying?"

"No. I never thought to ask. Never needed to know before."

He scribbled a bit more and then scratched his cheek again. "I guess that's all my questions."

"Do you still think I did it?"

He smiled at me. "No. I never did... but I have to be thorough."

"So, I'm not going to have you around here questioning me again?"

His smile spread slightly. "I might come around, and I might have some questions... but they won't be as... uncomfortable as today's were."

"Good. I didn't do it... and I don't like you suggesting I had."

"I know. Sorry. Forgive me?"

I couldn't stop the tiny smile that appeared. "Catch the guy who killed Mom and all is forgiven."

"I will if I can."

"So you believe me?"

He paused. "I don't know what I believe yet. I believe you believe it, and I have to admit, the whole accident thing is a bit of a stretch, but I have nothing else to work from other than your statement that Ms. Wicker mentioned a man arguing with her. That's not... helpful... without some more details."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "That's all I know."

"I stand by my statement," he said as he stood. I stood with him. "I won't let this rest until I'm sure there was no foul play... or I run out of leads to check."

"Thank you," I murmured.

He extended his hand and I took it. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said, holding my hand. "You still have my card?"

I slowly pulled my hand back. "Yes."

He nodded. "If you think of anything at all, give me a call." He placed the paper that appeared to be a transcript of my statement back into the folder and then picked it up. "I'll be in touch." He began zipping his winter coat.

"Wait! Can you answer a question for me?"

"If I can."

"What about Mom's... body?"

I had no idea how people dealt with stuff like this. Not only had grief raked its claws down my insides, but I had to deal with the funeral, the cops, the shop, and some murderer who may or may not return.

"The cause of death is known... trauma to the head... but because you suggested it might not have been an accident, the M.E. is going to do a full autopsy. He should be able to release the body to you in a couple of days."

"Okay," I said. "I guess I can figure this out."

"If I can help you, you have my card." He shrugged his shoulders, clearly fortifying himself to face the cold.

"Detective!" I called as his hand touched the door. "A coffee for the cold? On the house... to make up for my attitude earlier."

He turned and smiled at me. "Sure. Mind if I drink it in here?"

"Not at all. What'll you have?"

His smile spread. "Surprise me."

Suddenly I felt better, as if maybe I wasn't totally alone in the world. "One mocha caffe latte, on the house, coming up."

He approached the register. "Let me pay. I wouldn't want anyone suggesting you were bribing me."

"Cup of coffee is a cheap bribe," I said as I set to work.

"What can I say? I'm a cheap date."

For the first time in two days, I didn't have to force my smile.

I had been almost two weeks since my world turned upside down. The coroner had found nothing that suggested Mom had been murdered. There was no bruising that couldn't be explained by her fall. Neither could he find a reason that she would have blacked out and fell. Just as I'd told Detective Avery, she was a picture of good health.

The body had been released, tomorrow was the funeral, and I was starting to come to grips with my loss. I was still sad, but the seemingly constant weepiness I'd battled at first was gone. Now there was nothing but a constant dull ache of sadness and resignation.

Hunter... Detective Avery... had stopped by Coffee with Cream between ten and one every day, when the shop was deserted, or nearly so, for a coffee. Each day I sat with him for about a half-hour. He always gave me an update on what progress had been made on finding Mom's murderer, but after the first few days, that consisted of some variation of 'nothing new.' The rest of the time was spent talking about other, inconsequential, things. I was certain that he now believed Mom had died in a tragic accident, and he admitted that the case was officially closed, but he assured me that if even a scrap of new information presented itself, he wouldn't hesitate to reopen the investigation.

I couldn't blame him. I was starting to wonder if I'd imagined the whole thing myself, that I hadn't had a vision, that all I thought I knew was nothing but my mind trying to make sense of something it couldn't accept. That was the worst part, wondering if I was the crazy one, clinging to a false hope simply because I refused to accept the evidence right in front of me.

Keiko had arrived once, while we were talking, and had later called me to express her approval. I'd rolled my eyes at her enthusiastic, probing questions on if we were dating, were we going to start dating, what was he like, and a million more. I enjoyed his company, but we were just friends.

I'd made the decision I was going to drop out of school, at least for a while. I was having to close the shop three afternoons a week because neither Sam nor Karen could cover for me, as both had other jobs. I'd tough it out until the end of the semester, closing the shop for a few hours when I had classes, and then I'd decide what I was going to do. I knew I couldn't manage the shop and go to school. I was slowly coming apart, and something had to give before I exploded.

I looked out of the windows at the sleet and freezing rain. It was a miserable day, it was just before six, and I hadn't had a customer in two hours. Once nice thing about the slow afternoons was I could get a lot of studying done, but I'd been in the shop since five this morning, and I was sick of the place. I closed my book, deciding I was closing early. No sane person was going to want an ice cream today, and if someone wanted a coffee to warm up, they were going to have to get it somewhere else this evening.

I went through my closing routine, prepping the store for opening the next morning. It didn't take long. Cash secured in the safe, cups removed from the washer and stacked, and the floor quickly mopped, I began flipping off lights, leaving only the two safety lights illuminated. Taking my heavy coat and scarf off the rack, I bundled up to leave. I frowned. A man with a neat, close-trimmed dark beard, dressed in a business suit beneath an expensive looking long coat was standing at the door, looking around in confusion. In his black gloved hand he held an black leather briefcase. My heart seized at the sight of the gloves, but I forced the thought away. My own gloves were black, and just because it was a man wearing them didn't mean he was the man I'd seen, or rather not seen, in my vision.

I unlocked the door and stepped out. "Sorry, we're closed."

"I'm not here for coffee. I've a business opportunity I'd like to present to you."

I forced a smile. "Now's not a good time. We're closed tomorrow for a family emergency, but if you'd like to come back on Friday..." I said as I locked the door behind me.

"You're Camille Wicker, right?"

I turned to look at him. "Yes?"

"My condolences about your mother. I'm here to ease your burden, and you won't have to worry about this place anymore. Here's my card." He took a cream-colored business card from a pocket and extended it to me. I took it without looking at it. "I'd like to buy your store. My offer is higher than any other you'll get for this place."

"As I said, now's not a good time." I pocketed the card. "Now, if you'll excuse me," I said as I stepped around him.

He followed me to the parking lot at a respectable distance, angling toward a giant silver Mercedes parked close to the building. I'd just reached my truck when his car oozed to a stop beside me.

"Please don't delay considering my offer. I'll see you on Friday to discuss the details and for you to sign the contract."

Before I could answer, the window rolled up and the car pulled slowly away with barely a sound. I stood, hunched against the weather, staring after the car until it turned onto the street. Shaking myself, I opened my truck's door and started the engine before I set to work cleaning windows.

Because I always placed a weather cover over the windshield, all I had to scrape was the side and rear windows. After I had my windows mostly cleared, I climbed back into the truck. The heat hadn't started to work. After blowing on my hands to get some feeling back into them, I retrieved the card from my coat pocket.

Larson Figgette Enterprises was written across the card in bold, block letters. Below was what I assumed was the man's name, Larson Figgette. Below that was his title, Owner, and below that was his contact information. There was nothing on the card that indicated what Mr. Larson Figgette or Larson Figgette Enterprises did.

I stared at the card before looking up to make sure the strange man in the big car had actually left. Waiting for my truck to warm, I tried to work out why he'd want the shop. Did he own a chain of coffee or ice cream shops, and he wanted to add my little place to his properties? Maybe he wanted my space for some other business. Or maybe he sensed a potential bargain, thinking I'd sell quick and cheap in my grief.

I pondered for a moment. Had I been given a sign that I should unload the place? Maybe I should sell. I could take the money, along with the surprisingly large amount Mom had put back, pay off the loan, and use the rest to finish school.

I returned the card to my pocket and revved the engine a few times, trying to get some heat going.

"Hey Girlfriend! How's your hot cop boyfriend doing?" Keiko asked as I sat curled up in a blanket with arms on my couch. Mom had given me the snuggle for Christmas last year, and though I'd loved the thing before, it was one of my most treasured possessions now.

I rolled my eyes. "Would you stop. I have a question."

"What?"

"A guy stopped by the store today. He wants to buy the place."

"Really," Keiko said, her voice cool. "That didn't take long. Who was it?"

"What do you mean, 'That didn't take long'?"

"I mean, the vultures are circling, hoping to snap up a quick deal on the cheap while you're not thinking clearly. Who was it?" she asked again.

"Some guy named Larson Figgette. Ever hear of him?"

"No. He's not a local. What did you tell him? You didn't sign anything did you?"

"No. I barely spoke to him. He was waiting at the door as I was leaving."

"You're home?" she asked, and I could hear her surprise in her voice.

"Yeah. With the weather, the whole downtown was dead."

"Good for you! What did he offer?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I was leaving. He gave me his card, told me he would make me a better offer than anyone else, and to not take long deciding. I guess I'll see him again on Friday."

"You guess?"

"Yeah. In hindsight, I wish I hadn't said that, but I just wanted to go home, and told him he could come back on Friday."

"You want me there?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not a bit! I'd love to put the kibosh on this jerk." She paused. "Are you thinking of selling?"

"I hadn't been, no."

"Okay. That's good. If you'd said yes, I'd have advised you to sleep on it for a few months... to make sure you didn't do something you'd later regret."