Murder to Go

This is book two of a three book series. While I endeavored to make it possible to enjoy each book on its own merits, I believe the books will be most enjoyed by reading them in the following order.

"Thank you, and come back," I said with my best smile as I handed back the man's credit card. Two milkshakes, a banana split sundae, a fudge brownie a-la-mode, and single scoop of chocolate peppermint in a bowl made this the biggest sale in the last hour.

"Thanks. We will," the man said as he dropped a dollar into the tip jar before turning away as he and his wife began shepherding their brood out.

It was nearly eleven, two hours past my normal summer closing time, and the crowds had dwindled to a trickle. I'd keep the doors open another half-hour or so, to pick up any stragglers, but then I was locking up for the evening.

Summers were a hopping time for Coffee w/ Cream, especially when there was a kid-friendly event at the convention center, like tonight. The morning coffee rush was always frantic, no matter the season, but during the summer, I sold a lot of ice cream too. I was working my second shift today to help cover the rush and because my usual help went home at nine. Frozen was in town for six performances, three today and three tomorrow, and business had been booming since three. Coffee w/ Cream had been in business long enough now that people knew where I was located, and since I was only four blocks from the PCC--Pokagon Convention Center--and most traffic had to drive right past the shop to get there, I got a lot of traffic after an event.

I sighed with relief that I had a couple of minutes to think. I picked up the moist towel and began to wipe the ice cream counter. I was a stickler about keeping things spotless. Not only did it enhance the appearance of the place, and also made closing and opening quicker and easier, but more importantly, it allowed us to maintain our coveted double zero... zero critical and zero non-critical inspection violations.

Mom opened Coffee w/ Cream nearly five years ago. The first few years had been tough, and she'd almost gone under more than once. I'd been fourteen when Mom had first suggested the idea, and by the time I was fifteen, Mom had taken a lone and poured every nickel she had or could borrow into the place.

Mom had bought the space on the cheap, purchasing the end unit of a set of old buildings in downtown Pokagon, Michigan. With plenty of sweat equity, and a little luck, she'd managed to hold on until Coffee w/ Cream began to turn a profit. I paused in my wiping as I remembered Mom. I still missed her, but the pain had faded so now I mostly remembered our good times. Mom had lived long enough to see the shop become successful, but I wished she could be here now.

About a year ago, a real estate developer tried to buy our space, and the houses behind it, along with the building and houses in the next block, as part of a plan to demolish the buildings and create a new, expanded shopping area. He'd approached Mom to purchase her section, but she'd refused to sell since Coffee w/ Cream was finally successful and she didn't want to start over.

Our little shop was the last unit he had to purchase, along with a few houses in the two blocks behind us. I'd seen for myself that Figgette had a violent temper, and after her continued refusal to sell, in a moment of rage, he'd knocked Mom down, causing a fracture in her skull that had driven bone shards into her brain when she fell against the corner of the ice cream case. He claimed it was an accident, but Larson Figgette had been found guilty of second-degree murder and was going to spend years behind bars.

It was true that time healed all wounds, and once I was over the shock of losing Mom, I'd made some major plans that I hoped Mom would have approved of. With Larson Figgette facing a long stint behind bars, the owners of the other buildings had been left hanging. Some had already made plans to retire, others had leased new spaces, but none had been paid for their building. Taking Mom's life insurance money, I'd bought the building that connected to mine, and Ms. Gleaner's consignment shop next to that, outright. Work was nearly complete on Cathy's, a sandwich shop named in Mom's honor I was opening to fill in the afternoon lull. In a few weeks, the contractors would open a wide doorway between the two businesses to connect Cathy's to Coffee w/ Cream.

Keiko Johnson, my best friend, confidant, and a realtor, had assisted me with the purchase of the buildings and was helping me find contractors to convert the space. Once I had the fitting out of Cathy's well underway, I'd made a huge leap of faith, and borrowed heavily against Coffee w/ Cream and Cathy's, along with selling forty-eight percent of the newly created Wicker Restaurant Group, LLC. to my Aunts Liz and Vicki. With nearly three million dollars in my account, Keiko had helped me buy the rest of the building, and the houses that backed up to the building's parking lot.

Because Larson Figgette Enterprises was in turmoil, and I'd scrapped his plans by purchasing the building, I'd been able to purchase the eight small, rundown houses from his company for less than a half-million dollars. Soon, the next phase of my plan would begin, and if I was successful, I was going to need the space the houses occupied for additional parking.

I was going to take the four shops on the opposite end of the building from Coffee w/ Cream and open them up to form a single large space to become a Mexican restaurant. Two of the three shops in the middle I planned to combined into another rental space. The lady who had been baking Coffee w/ Cream's pastries in her home for the past few years was considering leasing the space and opening a bakery. She'd told me about her ideas for Pie Caramba, and I'd be delighted to have her as a tenant. If she decided to go forward with her plan, I'd start the renovation and build out the space to her specifications. The third, and smallest building, I was going to convert into a small office and then use the rest of the space as a lobby with steps and an elevator leading to the second floor. My intention was to open up and convert the building's second floor into divided office space that I could also rent.

I was stretched to my limit financially at the moment with the restaurants, expanding the parking lot, and potentially combining buildings for Pie Caramba, so my upstairs plans would have to wait until Cathy's, and later, ¡Picante!, opened and started generating revenue. I began wiping again. I hoped Mom would be proud of what I was doing. She might not be among the living anymore, but she was still very much part of WRG in spirit. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have the foundation of Coffee w/ Cream to build from, nor the courage to try.

I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes to go. I picked up the broom and began sweeping. It was relaxing, mindless work that allowed me to think. I'd given up on returning to nursing school, at least for the time being. I'd had to think long and hard on that decision, but with everything going on, I simply didn't have the time. Further, if the restaurants were successful, I was going to have my hands full running them and managing the leasing of the building. The little office I was creating to share with the second-floor lobby was the one I intended to occupy if I became successful enough to need one. If I decided to return to school later, I hoped to have enough income to hire someone to manage my restaurants, and still have enough left over to pay for my school.

After I'd finished sweeping and mopping, I locked the door, flipped the sign to Closed, and started my closing routine. Another day was done and in the books. I loved the place, but running a business was hard work, and it was only going to get worse when Cathy's opened.

I was unloading the dishwasher and stacking the coffee cups for tomorrow when a crippling pain hit me. I staggered against the prep table, moaning as my head felt like it was going to explode. The heavy cups in my hand clattered against the stainless steel as I braced to stop myself from falling. I heaved, a small pool of thick bile splattering onto the table. Without rational thought, I knew what was happening, and I moaned again.

I was no longer in the prep area of Coffee w/ Cream. In front of me, a woman was lying on the floor, a cell phone just beyond her hand. I could smell the blood as I whirled as if I were still a little girl and was twirling about in the yard with my arms outstretched. Unlike during my last vision, the images weren't vague and ethereal. The images were as sharp and defined as if I were there. I didn't know where I was other than in an ornate room that seemed oddly old, yet modern. The body came into view again, and I could see the young woman lying face down, the cell phone and a credit card lying near her, the hardwood floors darkening as the blood slowly oozed away from her body, a blood-soaked slash in the back of her blouse clearly visible. I continued to turn and saw movement, a shadow cast on the floor in the other room before it disappeared. I appeared to be in a huge old home with ornate moldings and a grand staircase just visible in the other room.

Just as quickly as it'd arrived, the vision was gone. I staggered slightly but then recovered, though my stomach was still doing summersaults. This vision had something new... scents. I'd smelled the blood and the faint mustiness of the house, something else I hadn't experienced the last time this happened to me.

"No... no... no..." I whimpered as I braced, my shaking arms straight and locked against the table as I waited to regain my equilibrium. It had been nearly nine months since I'd had my previous vision, the one where I'd seem Mom die.

Breathing hard, I slowly straightened. I'd been born into a gifted family. I didn't understand 'the gift,' and apparently nobody else did either. Both my aunts were gifted, but Mom hadn't been. Aunt Vicki could manipulate objects without touching them and Aunt Liz could sense, and to some degree, control other people's emotions. When I'd told my aunts about my vision of Mom dying, they'd wondered if I was finally displaying a gift, the ability to see things that had happened, or were going to happen... or something.

Because I'd had no visions before or since the one that nearly felled me beside the road, I'd decided my previous vision was a fluke, a coincidence, an imagining from the dread resulting from the bad dream I'd had the night before, and not the gift.

As before, this new vision had arrived with no warning, and like before, it left me confused, disorientated, and sick. Last time, when I'd seen Mom's death, it was like I was watching a silent movie through a gauzy curtain, but this time it was like I was there... especially now that smells had been added... along with something else. I wasn't sure what the something else was, but this vision had felt far more... real... than my previous one.

I chewed my lip, unsure of what to do. I debated calling my aunts, as I'd promised I would if I had another vision, but decided not to. It was late, Tramree Resort was in full operation, and I didn't want to bother them so late. I decided it could wait until morning. Unlike with Mom, I had no sense of impending doom, nor did I recognize the house I was in. For all I knew, what I'd seen could have happened years ago, or wouldn't happen for years to come... if it was even real. Thank God the vision had been short-lived. This one had made me just as sick as the vision of Mom had, and I didn't want to endure that any longer than I had to.

Blowing out a cleansing breath, I picked up the cups I'd scattered, cleaned and disinfected the spot on the table where I'd puked, and finished putting away the remainder of the cups. Finished with that, I counted out the register and locked the money in the safe. I glanced around. I still felt out of sorts, my head hurt and I was slightly nauseous, but everything looked ready for tomorrow. If not... I'd deal with it in the morning.

It was just after midnight when I dragged myself into my trailer. I wanted to move into a nicer place, maybe an apartment like Keiko had, but my finances wouldn't allow it. I'd even sold Mom's newish Camry because it brought more than my ancient, rusted-out pickup would. Once Cathy's was operating, I could reevaluate, but until then, I was staying in the small, two-bedroom mobile home Mom and I had shared because the payment was dirt cheap, far less than the rent for any apartment I'd want to live in.

I had to be up early to open tomorrow, but I needed a few minutes to switch off my brain so I could sleep. I considered calling Hunter, but he was probably already in bed too. I smiled to myself, wishing I could join him. He was very good at helping me relax, unwind, and sleep.

I was brushing my teeth when my cell phone began ringing. I quickly spat and rinsed before stomping into the bedroom. I snatched the phone up and looked at the unknown number. If this was a telemarketer so late at night, someone was going to get an ear full.

"Hello," I snapped, my voice and tone more abrupt than I intended.

"Cam! Thank God you answered! It's Ken. Kendal Mazerin. I'm in trouble. I need help and I didn't know who else to call."

"Ken?"

"Don't talk. Just listen. I'm in Gardner and I'm in big trouble. I tried calling my parents, but they didn't answer. I've--"

I could tell something was off with Ken. He was normally the most logical and laid-back dude you'd ever want to meet, but he sounded totally stressed out and positively frantic. "Ken? What's wrong?" I interrupted.

"I've been arrested for murder!"

"What?" I cried. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"I wish it were. I--"

"Time's up," a gruff voice said, speaking over him.

"Wait!" Ken cried. "No! Wait! Just a minute more! Gardner, Michigan! Help me, Cam! I--" he cried before the line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a long moment before pressing the button to return the call, my stomach clenched as Ken's words echoed in my mind. Murder, my mind whispered. He couldn't have said murder. I must have misunderstood him. Ken wouldn't hurt a soul. The phone rang several times before someone answered.

"Gardner PD, Sergeant Mathews speaking. How may I direct your call?" a bored and gravelly sounding voice asked.

"I'd like to speak to Ken... uh... Kendal Mazerin, please."

"Nobody here by that name."

"I just spoke to him at this number!" I cried as I began pacing back and forth at the end of my bed.

"Is he in lockup or an officer?"

I paused my pacing. "Uh... he's not an officer."

"Sorry. We don't allow inmates to receive outside calls."

"But--"

"Inmates are housed in the Gardner Detention Center at 102 East Widdamaker Road, until they are transferred to the Houghton County Sherriff's Department."

"But--"

"The Gardner Detention Center visiting hours are nine to three Monday through Friday, and ten to two Saturday and Sunday."

"Yes, but--"

"All personal items are subject to search upon entering and leaving the Gardner Detention Center facility," Mathews droned on.

"Okay, but--"

"Contact the Houghton County Sherriff's Department for locations and visiting times. Thank you for contacting the Gardner City Police Department," Mathews said before the line went dead.

I stared at my phone for a long moment, trying to decide if it was worth calling the Gardner police back. I decided it probably wasn't, not at this late hour, and I didn't want to have to listen to Mathews' spiel again.

I didn't even know where Gardner was. It certainly wasn't anywhere close, that's for sure. Sick with dread, I finished getting ready for bed. Dressed in my favorite PJ's, the ones with the elephants plastered all over them, I sat down at my laptop.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I exclaimed after Google Maps found what I was looking for.

Gardner, Michigan, was in the Upper Peninsula, on Portage Lake, seven hours away. Gardner might not be the end of the earth, but you could probably see it from there. I knew I hadn't seen much of Ken this summer, and now I knew why. I stared at the laptop's monitor, wondering what Ken was doing at the back end of nowhere.

I slumped in my chair, trying to decide what to do. Ken needed me. I had to go, but I didn't know how. With a huge yawn, I stretched until I thought my bones would creak. I was too tired to think right now, and I'd try to figure out something in the morning. Rising from my desk, I snapped the laptop closed and walked down the hall from my old bedroom, the room that now served as an office, to tumble into bed. I flopped to my back and stared at the ceiling. My mind began to spin in ever tighter circles, wondering what had happened to Ken, and why he'd called me. Why hadn't his parents answered? I knew Mr. and Mrs. Mazerin well, and I considered trying to call them, but changed my mind. If they didn't answer for their own son, they probably wouldn't answer for me.

I tried to switch off my mind so I could get some sleep, but it was impossible. Yawning again, I decided that the first thing I was going to do was talk to Hunter. Being a police officer himself, if anyone could help me, it was probably him. My mind was still at work, turning over possible scenarios that had led to Ken's arrest, and why he thought to call me, as sleep finally took me.

The morning rush was over, and I waited as my phone rang in my ear. "Good morning, beautiful," Hunter said.

I smiled. It wasn't the most professional way for a police detective to answer his phone, but then, he was more than just a professional acquaintance. I'd come up with a plan while in the shower this morning, and now that the rush was slowing, it was time to call in some favors.

"Morning. Listen, can you stop by the shop as soon as you're able? It's important."

"Sure. Why? Not that I need a reason."

I smiled. He was such a flirt. "I got a call from Ken last night. He said he was in Gardner and had been arrested on a murder charge."

"Ken, who?"

"Ken... Kendal... Mazerin. You met him a couple of times. Tall, blond, wears glasses? He and I used to--"

"Oh! That guy. Murder charges?"

"That's what he said."

Hunter paused a moment. "That's some serious stuff. What did he say?"

"Nothing. He just said he was in trouble and needed my help."

"Why'd he call you?"

"I have no idea."

"Did he do it?"

"No!" I cried. Hunter didn't know Ken like I did, but there was no way Ken would hurt, much less kill, anyone.

"How do you know?"

"I know, okay? Ken wouldn't do something like that."

"Who's he accused of killing?"

"I don't know that either. They cut him off before he could tell me much." There was a lot I didn't know about what was going on, but I was going to find out.

"You need to let the police handle this, Cam. Seriously. You don't want to get involved with a murder investigation. That's some bad shit, and you could end up in jail right beside him."

"I have to do something!" I said, struggling to keep my voice low. There's no way I could ignore Ken's plea for help. I knew he'd help me if I were in trouble.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, but I have to try!"

"Okay," Hunter said slowly. "What little I know of him, he seemed like a decent guy, but what has this got to do with me?"