We had a few gawkers peek through the edge of the windows where the blinds were cut slightly too short and thus allowed a glance inside. One even knocked despite the CLOSED sign. Drake pounded on our side of the door and screamed threats at the would-be customers.
I decided to focus on my work even though there was no one to make coffee for. I cleaned down all the tables and counters, praying help would arrive soon. There was something so creepy about being locked in with a dead body.
I think Drake felt it, too, because he continued to pace and prowl, all the while muttering something under his breath.
By the time the emergency workers arrived, Kelley had taken up a spot on one of the squishy club chairs, her knees drawn into her chest as she sobbed silently.
Since neither of my coffee colleagues were in shape to play host, I welcomed the paramedics and the policewoman inside, then relocked the door behind them.
“He’s right over here,” I announced, walking them toward the back area that housed Harold’s small office and gave the rest of us a place to stash our coats and scan our timecards.
Poor Harold lay on his back with his head slouched against the wall and his neck bent uncomfortably. One hand set atop his chest and the other lay splayed out at his side. His face had already started losing its color, giving him that waxen appearance that no amount of postmortem makeup could hide.
The paramedics bent to examine Harold while the policewoman remained standing at my side.“Is there a place we could go to have a chat?” she asked, her face giving nothing away.
“Sure.” I led her to the one booth we had in the back corner of the cafe, a relic from the shop’s previous life as an old pancake place. “Would you like a coffee or something?”
She shook her head and pointed to her shirt pocket.“I’m Officer Dash. And you are?”
“I’m Gracie. Gracie Springs.”
She took out a notebook, licked her finger, and flipped to a fresh page, then drew a small pen out of the binding and held it poised above the paper.“And you worked for the deceased?”
“Yes. For the past few months.”
Officer Dash scribbled away with a frown.
“Why is this important?” I asked, tapping my fingers against the tabletop.
“Just getting the facts down now in case we need to revisit them later.”
“But what do you mean?”
She raised an eyebrow at me.“Ever heard the phrase presumed innocent until proven guilty?”
I nodded.
“Well, in this case, our stiff is presumed murdered until proven dead by natural causes. We can’t just assume there’s no foul play involved here, because by the time we get the coroner’s report, we’ll have already lost the opportunity to investigate the crime scene.”
My head spun. There was no way Harold had been murdered. And yet…
“Wait,” I mumbled, a horrifying thought settling into my brain. “You don’t think I had something to do with this. Do you?”
Officer Dash smirked.“From what the dispatcher told us, you were having a heated exchange with the deceased right before he keeled over.”
“Yes, but you couldn’t possibly—”
“And were these fights a regular thing?”
“Yes, but I didn’t—”
“Well, Gracie Springs. You better hope that Harold died of a heart attack or an aneurysm or some other kind of commonplace medical tragedy. Otherwise you are definitely at the very top of my suspect list.”
3
I returned home physically exhausted and emotionally wrung out. Everything happened so fast after Harold collapsed. The severity of Officer Dash’s implication didn’t fully sink in until I finally escaped the coffeehouse and began my quiet drive home. Now that I had a moment to think, a few very important questions crowded into my mind. Why was she so sure that he had been murdered? And even more puzzling, why did she believe I’d doneit?
True, lots of people disliked Harold, but nobody had a reason to kill him—least of all me. I mean, why would I when I could have just quit my job and never seen him another day in my life?
The whole thing made me sick… and terrified. All I wanted to do was wake up from this horrible nightmare and go back to my normal, if a tad unexciting, life.
So I changed into my favorite matching flannel pajama set even though it was still the afternoon and the outside temperature was well over eighty degrees. Sometimes I missed my hometown in Northern Michigan where it was chilly more often than not, and my jammies—along with the added help of an overworked tabletop fan—helped allay the occasional bout of homesickness.
Right now, I wanted my mama. It didn’t matter that I was an independent twenty-something. I’d been hurt, and I was scared. And just because I’d grown up didn’t mean I couldn’t turn to my mother in times of great need…
The fact that she didn’t answer the phone when I called, however, meant precisely that. I hung up instead of leaving a voicemail, then fired off a quick text asking her to call me back whenever she got the chance.
Fluffy meowed and jumped up on the couch beside me. His whiskers twitched as he tried to discern whether I had anything worth eating. When he didn’t find any food, he sunk his teeth into the edge of my sleeve and growled softly.
“Good idea,” I said. “Today definitely calls for some ice cream.”
I scooped up some of our favorite flavor—plain vanilla bean—into one of my lesser used breakfast bowls, grabbed a spoon and the remainder of the gallon, and settled myself back on the couch. The bowl was for Fluffy. I needed the entire container.
As we ate together, I began to share the events of my day with my feline companion.“That cop was so mean,” I whined. “I mean, why would she just automatically assume I killed my boss? It was terrible. Just awful. To see the life leave his eyes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
Fluffy sat up straight and cocked his head to the side. Sometimes, in moments like this, it felt like he could actually understand me.
“Mew?” my Maine Coon asked.
“Oh, yeah. I guess I should start at the beginning, huh? Well, my boss at the coffee shop, Harold. He died today.”
“Harold is an awful name,” Fluffy rasped.
“I know. I never thought anyone in the—” I stopped suddenly and closed my mouth up tight, then just stared at Fluffy for a long moment. Was I really so worked up that I was now hearing things?
I laughed at myself.“Silly me,” I said with a deep breath out. “Thinking you’re talking to me, Fluffy.”
“My name’s not Fluffy,” the cat said, then hopped off the coffee table and onto the sofa beside me. “So don’t call me that anymore.”
“Wh-wh-what?” I sputtered, rubbing my eyes until I saw stars. “I’m seeing things. This isn’t real.”
Fluffy clucked his little sandpaper tongue.“You meant to say you’re hearing things, and no, you’re not. I’m talking to you, Gracie.”
I jumped off the couch and spun wildly around the living room.“Come out, come out wherever you are!” I shouted with a mad laugh, not really sure who I was confronting here. “The joke’s up. Haha, you actually had me convinced Fluffy was talking. Yup, I’m crazy! You win! Now come out and fess up!”
Fluffy let out an enormous yawn, then settled down with his paws tucked into himself.“You are most definitely acting crazy. Also I already told you my name’s not Fluffy, so will you please stop calling me that?”
I gasped, then sunk to the floor before I could pass out and crash down onto it.“This is not real. This is not real,” I murmured, acting quite similarly to how Kelley had when she was balled up and rocking in that club chair back at the coffee shop.
“What’s not real?” Fluffy asked, jumping off the sofa and striding over to me.
“You can’t talk.”
“I can talk, but it seems you’re not very good at listening.”
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“Of course I’m not going to hurt you. I need you to feed me, don’t I? Silly human.”