Margaritas, Marzipan, and Murder (Cape Bay Cafe 3) Page 2

  “Oh yeah,” Dawn said.

  I could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to think of another reason for us to visit the crime scene. I finished my drink as I waited for her to land on another idea.

  “Do you think Mary Ellen needs us?” Sammy asked.

  I immediately realized I wasn’t going to win. If Sammy was on Dawn’s side, there was no getting out of it, especially since I thought Sammy had a good point. If somebody had been found dead next to Mary Ellen’s shop, she’d probably be pretty freaked out.

  In a small town like Cape Bay, we all supported each other, especially the shopkeepers. I knew if a body was found next to my café, Mary Ellen would be right there to help me in any way she could. Still, I couldn’t concede my point that easily.

  “Sammy and I haven’t even started our second drinks, and you already ordered a third round,” I pointed out. “We can’t let all that money and perfectly good alcohol go to waste.”

  Dawn didn’t miss a beat. She stood and picked up the two untouched glasses from the table. She turned around and placed them on the table she’d been eavesdropping on. “Here you go, ladies! We’ve been unexpectedly called away and won’t be able to finish our drinking. Here are two delicious, untouched margaritas for you to enjoy. This one is your classic margarita on the rocks, and this pretty pink frozen one here is strawberry.”

  One of the women looked as if she wanted to speak. Before she could, Dawn spotted the waiter coming with our third round perched on his tray and bellowed, “And just in time, here’s the rest of them! Put them right here, Alberto.” She gestured for him to place them on the strangers’ table. “We have another classic on the rocks, another frozen strawberry, and this one here”—she picked up the drink she’d ordered for herself—“is top-shelf and mango. Who wants it?” She glanced around the table, her gaze landing on the woman closest to the window. “You? You look like a girl who appreciates fine liquor.” She set the drink down in front of the woman and immediately reached in her own jeans pocket, pulling out a few bills. She handed them to Alberto. “Keep the change, my friend.” She turned back to us. “You ready to go?”

  “Guess so,” I said, standing up. Dawn had made my one solid objection disappear in the blink of an eye and had managed to convince a group of women that drinks from a stranger’s table were suitable for consumption. It was kind of impressive and, I suspected, evidence of how good Dawn was at her bartending job.

  Sammy swallowed the last of her drink, grabbed her purse, and stood up. “All right, let’s go.”

  Even though it was Sammy’s comment about Mary Ellen that convinced us to head to the crime scene, I couldn’t tell whether she was actually happy about going or not. I had a feeling she wasn’t exactly enjoying herself and was just ready to leave.

  We headed out of the restaurant and made our way into the heart of town. Fiesta Mexicana was situated at the end of the mile-long boardwalk that ran the length of Cape Bay’s beachfront. Main Street ran perpendicular to the beach at the middle of the boardwalk. Mary Ellen’s shop was a couple of blocks up from the beach, and my café was a little beyond that. It wasn’t a long walk, especially on such a nice night.

  If I’d had my way, I would have gone down and sat on the beach to watch the waves crash under the moon. But between Sammy and Mary Ellen, I knew I was needed elsewhere.

  Soon, we could see the flashing red and blue lights of the police cars and an ambulance parked outside Mary Ellen’s shop. It looked like the entirety of Cape Bay’s police force—all nine of them—was out to aid in the investigation. To be fair, it was still tourist season, so the police department had an extra handful of officers on staff as seasonal help, but the group was still only a fraction of the size of what would have been assembled in New York City for the discovery of a body. The ambulance wasn’t even ours—it was from the county EMS station in the next town over.

  From what I could see, the police also had a spotlight shining into the alley next to Mary Ellen’s store. The light actually belonged to the town. I remembered seeing it set up during Cape Bay’s annual Founders’ Day celebration.

  A big crowd of people was gathered around the group of police cars blocking the road.

  Dawn was shameless and walked right past the police cars up to the crime scene tape, which was strung from the corners of the buildings on either side of the alley and around parking meters at the road. A swarm of blue uniforms blocked our view, but Dawn angled and craned her neck to see between them.

  “I can see him!” she hissed back at us.

  “And?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

  “Pretty sure he’s dead.”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. The phrase “a body” didn’t typically refer to a living body.

  “Would you idiots stop standing there and try doing some police work?” someone shouted from behind the police tape. The voice was familiar, but between my years in Cape Bay and my work at the café, I knew just about everyone on the police force.

  “What do you want us to do, Detective?” one of the officers asked.

  The detective sighed heavily. “Oh, for the love of…” Heavy footsteps moved toward us. “You,” the detective said. “Get a camera. Take pictures. Get everything from every angle. Use a ruler so we know how big things are. You, go with him. You, call the medical examiner’s office and find out when somebody’s going to be here. I want this body off my street.”

  The officers gradually dispersed to their different tasks, revealing the scene in the alley. Just as Dawn had said, there was a body, presumably dead as evidenced by both the fact that the paramedics weren’t attending to it and that it was covered by a sheet. I was grateful for that.

  There were little yellow tents scattered around, marking bits of evidence that mostly seemed to be rocks and bits of trash you’d expect to find in an alley. I remembered seeing on one of those police procedurals with the hot older man lead detective that the police had to consider all trash important until they could be sure it didn’t have any blood or footprints on it. I was glad I didn’t have that job.

  On one side of the sheet-draped body—a man’s body, I guessed, from the size and shape of it—was a plastic bag full of…something I couldn’t identify. A chill went up my spine when I saw what was on the other side of the body—a gun.

  Sammy must have spotted it at the same time. “Was he shot?” she whispered.

  I instinctively reached one hand back toward her. Judging by how tight she gripped it, I knew the sight bothered her as much as it did me.

  Dawn, however, seemed mostly unaffected. “Yeah, I think so.” She got up on her tiptoes and leaned to her right. “I think that’s blood over there.” She pointed toward the body.

  “Okay, that’s it, let’s go,” I said. Still holding Sammy’s hand, I turned and pulled her along with me back through the police cars and over to the grassy median a block away, near where the ambulance was parked. Sammy’s face looked pale in the yellow-orange streetlight,

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, just…” She stopped and shuddered. “Another murder.”

  “Actually, it looks like a suicide,” a man’s voice said. The dark-haired police officer had been standing just around the corner of the ambulance out of our view but apparently well within earshot. He stepped toward us. “So nothing for you to worry about,” he said with a smile at Sammy and me. As he looked at each of us, his eyes lingered for just a second longer on Sammy. “You all right, miss?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” His brow furrowed. “You need to sit down? Here, let me help.” He popped open the handle on the back of the ambulance door. “Sit down here.”

  “I’m fine, really. I—”

  “Sit down,” he repeated firmly. “Don’t want to have another body on the ground.”

  Sammy and I both looked at him, startled by his comment.

  “No, I-I mean… sorry, cop humor. I just meant that you looked l
ike you might pass out. And then you’d be…” He gestured toward the ground then shook his head. “Sorry, bad joke.”

  Sammy sat down on the back of the ambulance. “It’s okay. I make coffee jokes sometimes when I’m stressed at work.”

  The cop chuckled and ran his fingers across his close-cropped hair. “Yeah? You work at a coffee shop?”

  “Just up the street,” she said, pointing in the direction of the café. “Antonia’s Italian Café. I work with Fran here. She owns the place.” She motioned to me.

  “Oh yeah?” he replied with a smile. “I haven’t been there yet. I’ll have to come by sometime and see you.”

  Sammy looked at him curiously, and I knew she was wondering the same thing I was: how had a Cape Bay police officer not been into Antonia’s?

  The officer must have read her expression, too, a handy skill for someone who had to suss out criminals for a living. “I’m new,” he said. “Just moved here from Buffalo.”

  “What brings you to town?” I asked.

  “Family. I grew up in Plymouth. I’ve been out in New York for a while and just wanted to get back home.”

  “Well, welcome to Cape Bay! Come into the café any time. Between me and Sammy, one of us is almost always there. We’ll get you a cup of coffee on the house.”

  “Don’t let her fool you,” Sammy said before he could reply. “Police and firefighters always get free coffee.”

  I gave her a dirty look for blowing my secret.

  The cop laughed. “Well, thank you… Fran, was it?”

  “Francesca Amaro,” I said, extending my hand. “And we’re happy to do it. It’s a long-standing family tradition.” Back when my grandparents started the café nearly seventy years ago, they gave free food and coffee to the police and firefighters who protected the town as a way of not just thanking them for what they did but also to establish Antonia’s as part of the community.

  “I’m Ryan Leary,” he said, shaking my hand. His hand was huge and strong, and his handshake was just on this side of uncomfortable. I suspected it was a carefully practiced technique. He gave Sammy a questioning look.

  “Samantha Eriksen,” she said, reaching her hand up to him from where she was still sitting on the back of the ambulance. “Sammy.”

  “Sammy,” he repeated with a smile. “You look like your color’s coming back a little.”

  I wasn’t sure whether it was that or if she was blushing, but she did seem to be getting some pink back in her skin.

  “Leary!” someone bellowed.

  “Right here, Detective,” Ryan called, turning and raising one hand in the air.

  Detective Mike Stanton stalked into view, and the second he saw me, I knew I was in trouble.

  Chapter 3

  Mike’s stare probably only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed like almost an eternity before his eyes shifted to Sammy. Ryan stood by uneasily, obviously confused about why his boss had gone from urgently demanding his presence to silently staring at Sammy and me.

  “You okay, Sam?” Mike finally asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, standing up quickly from her seat on the ambulance. She dusted her hands off on her jeans. “Just, uh, just needed to sit down for a minute.” She managed to flash him a weak smile.

  Mike studied her for another few seconds and then turned to me.

  “So you two were just walking by when Sammy—what?—started to feel lightheaded and needed to sit down?”

  “Sort of. We’re actually here with Dawn. We were having a girls’ night out—” I started to explain.

  “Dawn?” Mike interrupted. Based on his tone, I was almost surprised he didn’t pull his little investigator’s notebook out of his breast pocket and start taking notes.

  “Dawn…” I tried to pull her last name from the dredges of my memory.

  “There you are!” Dawn shouted, bounding over to us. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you guys. You just took off, and I was standing there talking to myself like a weirdo!”

  “Oh, Dawn,” Mike said, clearly realizing which Dawn I was referring to and, I guessed, putting together how our girls’ night out had turned into a girls’ night at a crime scene.

  “Yes, Dawn,” she repeated. “How are you doin’, Mikey?” She punched his arm affectionately, and I wondered if it was legal to hit a police officer in uniform, even if it was playful. I also wondered when someone had last called him “Mikey.” He and I had gone to school together from kindergarten all the way through high school, and I couldn’t remember anyone calling him “Mikey” after about second grade.

  “I’d rather be home with my wife and kids, but other than that, I’m good, Dawn. How are you?” Mike replied, ignoring both her punch and her nickname for him.

  “Good! You know, girls’ night out tonight. Celebrating Sammy’s breakup!” Dawn bounced as she spoke, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she took off to run a lap or two around the ambulance. I wondered if alcohol always made her so energetic.

  Sammy flushed at the mention of her breakup. Ryan looked at her as if he thought she was going to need to sit back down.

  “Well, if that’s cause for celebration, then congratulations, Sammy,” Mike said hesitantly. As a Cape Bay native and a longtime regular at Antonia’s, Mike should have known Sammy had been seeing Jared practically forever and that the breakup wasn’t the easiest thing for her.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  Mike kept his eyes on her as he nodded. For a second, I thought he was going to walk away without asking me any more questions, but then he looked right at me. “So you were just walking by?”

  “Actually,” Dawn interrupted, oblivious to the fact that Mike was talking to me instead of her, “we were down at the Mexican place.” She waved her arm wildly in the general direction of Fiesta Mexicana and almost smacked Mike in the face. “I overheard the table next to us talking about how somebody found a body down here, so I thought we should come and check it out.”

  “You heard there was a body, and your first thought was to come and investigate?” Mike asked Dawn, even though he was looking at me. I tried to keep my face perfectly neutral, even though I knew what he was getting at.

  “Yeah, basically,” Dawn replied. “Why not?”

  “Fran?” Mike said, ignoring Dawn.

  “It was Dawn’s idea,” I said, hearing how childish I sounded.

  Mike stared at me stoically.

  “I didn’t want to come down here. I would have been perfectly happy keeping up with my margarita drinking. I’ve had enough dead bodies for a few decades.”

  “Have you now?”

  Before I could respond, Sammy interrupted. “It was my fault. Dawn said they found the body next to Mary Ellen’s, and I thought she might need some moral support. Fran really didn’t want to come.”

  Mike looked from me to Sammy and back again. Then he lifted one hand and made a beckoning motion. “Come here a minute, Fran.”

  I followed him around to the front of the ambulance. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at me without saying anything.

  I tried to wait him out, but I finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Really, I just wanted to stay at the restaurant and hang out. We were supposed to be celebrating Sammy. I don’t want anything to do with another body.” It was true, but I couldn’t blame him for being suspicious.

  After each of Cape Bay’s two recent murders, I’d done a little bit more investigating than Mike would have liked. Which was to say, he wanted me to stay out of it completely and leave all the investigating to the police. But it was hard when each of the cases directly affected friends of mine. To my credit, I’d found the key evidence that led to the murderers’ arrests in both cases. Mike didn’t like to admit it, but if pressed, or if under the influence of a beer or two, he’d begrudgingly give me credit. I knew because his wife Sandra had told me.

  Mike stared at me a few more seconds and then sighed heavily. “Just…try to stay out of it this time, okay?”

>   I nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  He eyed me and shook his head. “It’s a suicide anyway. There’s not much that needs investigating.”

  “That’s good. For you, I mean. It’s not good that someone’s dead.”

  “Never is,” Mike said and turned to walk away. He’d made it a few steps when I thought of something.

  “Hey, Mike?”

  He turned around, looking weary already. “Yeah?”

  “Who was it?”

  Mike paused for a second, and I felt tension grow in the pit of my stomach. Cape Bay was a small town, the kind of place where everybody knew everybody, if not by sight then by name. Everybody in this town was somebody’s mother, son, girlfriend, husband, sibling, or best friend. Whoever’s body was in the alley, somebody would be walking into my café tomorrow brokenhearted over it. I just didn’t know if that person would be me.

  “We don’t know,” he said finally.

  I gasped. My mind went straight to the worst—that the body was unidentifiable.

  “He’s not a local,” Mike said.

  I almost burst into tears from relief.

  “Nobody recognizes him. We’re waiting for the ME’s office to get here so we can move the body and check for a wallet.”

  “So he was a tourist?” I asked. My initial reaction of relief quickly shifted to concern as I realized that a vacationer getting shot in our town would be extremely bad for our tourism business. Not that that compared to how awful it would be for whoever he was vacationing with.

  “Depends on whether you consider everyone from out of town to be a tourist. If you do, then yes. If you mean a vacationer, well, I don’t know yet.”

  I looked at Mike curiously.

  “He—” he started, then stopped and seemed to debate how much he wanted to tell me. I knew he thought giving me too much information would get me interested in the case, but I wasn’t going near this one. I was done involving myself in police investigations. Finally, he gave in. “He wasn’t dressed like a vacationer.”

  “No Hawaiian shirt and camera around his neck?” I asked, thinking of the most stereotypical tourist outfit I could. Of course, the last time I’d thought that, I’d been wrong, but it was still an outfit that screamed “Tourist!”