Lattes, Ladyfingers, and Lies Page 9

  She thought briefly as she threw her dog’s ball. “No, I guess he finally gave up.”

  “On Georgina picking up her stuff?”

  “No, on them getting back together. That’s what I think he really wanted, even if he couldn’t stop acting like a jerk long enough for Georgina to stop being mad at him.”

  Dean had mentioned that Alex couldn’t stand Georgina not being with him, so Karen wasn’t the only one who thought that. “Did Alex ever get… violent?”

  Karen’s reaction was immediate. She shook her head vigorously. “No. Uh-uh. I mean, he’d yell, but I never even saw him slam his hand down on a table or anything.”

  “So you don’t think he would have hurt her?” I felt like I was grilling her with all my questions.

  “No, and I mean, like I said, a brick’s a crappy murder weapon.”

  “Maybe he just threw it through the window to scare her and got really unlucky?”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “So he decided to very specifically steal the most expensive thing in the store too? Just for the heck of it? Sure.”

  Maybe not. Her point about a brick being a poor choice of a murder weapon made sense. I started to think that the police might have been on the right track with the robbery angle. I wondered if they knew about Sean the Janitor. I threw Latte’s ball. “Have the police talked to you?”

  “Yup. Yesterday.”

  Of course they had. Like Mike had said, it wasn’t his first day on the job. “Did you tell them about Sean?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Did they seem like they believed you?”

  She shrugged. “I dunno. That guy’s hard to read. Really good looking but hard to read.” She bounced her dog’s ball in her hand. “You don’t know if he’s married, do you?” The setter took off as she threw the ball.

  I glanced at the naked third finger of her left hand. Apparently, she was in the market. “Which one was it?” There were only a couple of possibilities.

  “Bad with names, remember?” She cocked her thumb toward her chest. “Tall. Dark hair. Handsome. You know him?”

  “Suit?”

  “Yup,” she said, a little dreamily. A slight smile played at her lips. I felt a little weird about her making that face over him.

  “Mike Stanton. Married. Happily. Two kids. He’s very devoted to them.”

  She sighed. “Oh, well.”

  Latte, who had been slowing down over his last few fetches, dropped his ball at my feet instead of in my hand and lay down in the grass.

  “Looks like somebody’s tired,” Karen said.

  “Yeah. Yours is still going pretty strong, though.”

  “I don’t think he ever gets tired.”

  “Irish setter, right? They have a lot of energy, don’t they?”

  “Yup. And yours is a…” She squinted at Latte on the ground. I waited for her to declare him a mutt. “Berger Picard?”

  I was so shocked I stumbled back a little. “How did you know?” No one except the veterinarian had ever recognized Latte’s breed. On top of being incredibly rare, Picards are so shaggy and generic looking that they don’t seem like they could be purebreds. They look like some kind of mutt.

  “I used to work on movies out in LA. We liked to use Picards because they don’t look like anything special, but they look the same, so you could swap them out if you needed to.”

  I stared at her in surprise. Karen used to work in Hollywood? I had no idea. Maybe that explained her oddly ageless appearance. Looking at her more closely, I thought I could see some evidence of a few nips and tucks on her face. I’d seen enough nose jobs in New York to be practically an expert at spotting them. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Long story.” She smirked. “What’s his name?” She nodded back at Latte, still sprawled on the ground at my feet. Her dog walked over and looked at him then went back to Karen and waited for her to throw his ball again.

  “Latte,” I said as Karen threw the ball across the lawn. Latte lifted his head and looked at me to find out why I was saying his name. After a few seconds, he gave up and dropped his head back down. “Yours?”

  “Red.”

  Apparently, both of us got the inspiration for our dogs’ names from their colors since Red was red, and Latte was exactly the color of a perfectly poured latte.

  “How old is he?” she asked. “He, right?”

  “Yup, he’s a he. The vet said he thinks he’s about three. He was a stray, so we’re not really sure.”

  “A stray Picard? That’s unusual. Most people don’t give them up once they get their hands on one.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of a long story too.” I glanced down at Latte, who looked more than ready to get going. I was ready to go see if I could track down Sean the Janitor too. “Well,” I said, “I guess I’d better get going if I’m going to get anything done today. The café doesn’t run itself after all.”

  “Murders don’t solve themselves, you mean.”

  “That too.” I smiled at her. “It was nice to meet you. Formally, anyway.”

  I leaned down and hooked Latte’s leash back onto his collar. I think we both breathed a sigh of relief that we were safely back on the right side of the law. Either that or I sighed with relief, and he just panted.

  “Yup, you too. Lemme know if you have any other questions.”

  “Thanks. Um, how can I get in touch with you?” I started digging in my pocket for my phone so I could save her number in it.

  “I’m here most days, about this time. And I guess I’ll probably be working some extra hours at the jewelry shop whenever that reopens.”

  “Okay.” I pulled my hand back out of my pocket. It seemed Karen wasn’t interested in being all that available. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

  I waited for her to say something back, but all I got was a slight wave of her hand that could have just been her swatting a bug. I headed out of the park in the direction of Surfside Drive and the little white house with green shutters where Sean the Janitor was supposed to live.

  Chapter 12

  The houses along Surfside Drive were probably about the same age as the ones on my street—it seemed like everything in Cape Bay was either built in the Colonial or postwar era—but they were much more worn looking. Surfside was closer to the beach and had fewer trees dotting the landscape to protect its houses from the elements, leaving their wood and paint vulnerable to the brutal effects of salt and sand.

  The little white house with green shutters that Karen had directed me toward was about halfway down the street. The white paint on the siding was peeling, and the green on the shutters had faded from what I guessed used to be a dark forest color to more of a grayish green, still green enough to be green, but not really a color you’d actually want to paint your house.

  The grass in the yard managed to be overgrown even though it was October. Matt had given up mowing my yard—he’s such a good boyfriend—in early September, so I figured Sean the Janitor must have stopped sometime back in August before school started. I guessed it was the same principle as the joke about a mechanic’s car always being broken. The janitor’s house was run down because he was too busy keeping up the school to take care of his own house.

  The garden, however, was immaculate. There were asters, chrysanthemums, and other flowers I didn’t know the names of but that I was used to seeing in my green-thumbed neighbors’ gardens. They were mostly orange and yellow with a sprinkling of red and pink. Around the edge was a neat stone border. It had an almost casual, haphazard look to it, but when I looked closely, I saw that it was a little too perfectly arranged. It made the place look homey despite the less-maintained bits around it. Unless Sean the Janitor was a passionate gardener who couldn’t be brought to mow once in a while, I suspected it was the work of his girlfriend with the Frenchy name that ended in –een.

  I pushed open the gate of the white picket fence and headed up the short front walk, laid with decorative bricks. I wondered if the same p
erson who had done the garden border had done the front walk and how much they charged. Redoing the path from the sidewalk up to my house would be a nice way of putting my own stamp on the place.

  Latte followed politely at my side as I made my way toward the front door. He seemed interested in exploring the yard, but I kept the leash wrapped around my hand so he couldn’t wander too far away from me.

  I leaned toward the door as I pushed the doorbell to see if I could hear it ring inside. The little light was out on it, and I wasn’t sure if that meant the whole thing wasn’t working. I didn’t hear anything inside, but I wasn’t necessarily sure if that meant anything either. I waited a couple of seconds until I was sure I didn’t hear any movement in the house then rapped on the door. I stood back a little and rocked on my toes while I waited for someone to open the door.

  After a minute or so, I knocked again, harder this time. Almost immediately, the door swung open, and I blurted out the Frenchy name that ended in –een.

  “Sabine!”

  She gave me a look that was half scowl and half surprise. “You’re the lady from the coffee shop, right? Did I forget something or something?” She looked down at Latte and screwed up her face even more.

  “No, no, you didn’t forget anything. And yes, I’m from the coffee shop, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  She looked at my skeptically, and I plowed ahead.

  “I’m looking for Sean, actually. Is he home?”

  Sabine stepped back and put one hand on her hip. “Whaddaya wanna see Sean for?” Her Massachusetts accent came out in full force. It was the tone tough girls used to use in high school when they were ready to start punching somebody. Even though I’d been taking kickboxing classes at the local gym, I wasn’t eager to test my skills in a fight with Sabine.

  I took a step back while I scrambled to come up with a good excuse for why I was looking for Sean. I didn’t think Sabine would be too fond of hearing that I wanted to ask Sean if he’d killed Georgina. “Oh, um, it’s business, actually.”

  She raised one eyebrow and flexed the hand that wasn’t on her hip.

  “Did you hear about the jewelry store down on Main Street that got broken into? Where the girl got killed? Howard Jewelers?” I asked, realizing I wasn’t going to get away with being too vague. I saw her tough guy act falter the tiniest bit and thought I might be on the right track. “The owner, Dean, is a friend of mine.” Not a total lie. “And since he’s busy with the police and the insurance company and stuff, he asked me to follow up with some customers, let them know the status of their orders, the reopening schedule, stuff like that.”

  “Sean was a customer?”

  I shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “He was on Dean’s list. I guess he had his address but not his phone number for some reason.”

  “What was he buying there?”

  I saw an opportunity. I hadn’t planned on talking to Sean’s girlfriend, but if he was the murderer, she might be able to give me some useful information. “I think Dean said it was a—” I paused and put a thoughtful look on my face then gasped like I’d just remembered. I looked at her closely. “I’m not sure if I should tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you his girlfriend?” I let my slight Massachusetts accent thicken. It wasn’t as strong as hers, but it was enough to give away that I had grown up in the Bay State.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Oh, well, just that—” I looked at her again with the expression I hoped looked thoughtful. “I think it may be a gift. For you. I don’t want to ruin the surprise if it is.”

  “Oh, no, I know all about it,” she spat out without hesitation. She was a better liar than I was.

  “You do? About the engagement—” I cut myself off and tried to look horrified that I’d let the secret slip. I covered my mouth with the hand that wasn’t wrapped up in Latte’s leash.

  “Engagement ring?” she gasped, looking actually surprised. Maybe she wasn’t such a great liar after all. I wished I knew some of those fancy police techniques for detecting lies. I tried to subtly look for beads of perspiration breaking out on her forehead. “Uh, yeah, I know about it. I mean, I didn’t realize Sean had already bought it or anything. I thought he was still, uh, thinking about it.”

  “I’m not sure about all the details. I just know that Dean wanted me to let Sean know that there was a problem with the purchase.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “Don’t know. Dean didn’t say.” I glanced around then leaned closer as if I was going to let her in on a secret. “I don’t know this for sure, but I think it was probably stolen in the robbery.” I leaned back and shrugged like it was no big deal. “At least it shouldn’t be hard for you guys to pick a new one, right? I mean, a ring is a ring, isn’t it?” I watched Sabine closely for her reaction. She was definitely breathing harder than she had been. She swallowed hard.

  “No, not this one.”

  I made a face like I didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

  “The ring Sean was getting me was special. It was a real gorgeous ring. It had all these diamonds.” She waved her right hand in a general circle over her left hand. “It was so nice. An antique.”

  “Ohhh,” I said as if I was suddenly understanding. “You can’t really replace an antique, can you?”

  “No.” She was clearly upset, but I couldn’t tell if she looked more like she wanted to scream or cry. Whichever it was, I definitely had her convinced that Sean had worked out a way to buy her that ring. And now, since “Dean” had wanted to make sure that Sean knew there was a problem with the ring, if Sean tried to give it to Sabine, she’d know that he hadn’t bought it for her after all. He’d stolen it and killed a woman in the process. Unless, of course, she already knew that and was playing dumb to try to protect him.

  “So, um, is Sean here?” I asked after a few seconds of watching her and trying to figure out where she was on her emotional roller coaster.

  “No, he’s at football practice.”

  “Sean plays football?”

  “Not anymore. He did back in high school though. He was the quarterback.” She sounded exceptionally proud of Sean’s high school football prowess. “He coaches now, over at the high school. The kids like him ’cause he’s not an old fogey like some of the other coaches.”

  “How long will he be there?”

  She looked at me with an eyebrow raised and her lip curled. “Why?”

  “Because I need to tell him about the ring.” Didn’t I just explain that to her?

  “You just told me. I can tell him.”

  Time for some more quick thinking. “Oh, I’m sure you would. And I would let you, except Dean, well, he can be kind of a stickler for things. If he asks—and he will—if I talked to Sean, and I say I talked to you instead, he’d have a fit, especially since it’s about an engagement ring.” I rolled my eyes dramatically to make it seem like I thought the mandates I’d made up on Dean’s behalf were ridiculous.

  “So lie.”

  “Oh, I’m a terrible liar. He’d see right through me.”

  She stared at me for an uncomfortably long time then exhaled sharply with her own roll of the eyes. “He’ll be at the school until five or six, then he usually goes over to the Sand Bar for a drink with the guys.”

  “Okay, great, thanks!” I took a step backward to make my escape then paused. “By the way, I was wondering, who did all the stonework out here? It’s beautiful.”

  Sabine made another one of her faces. She looked uncomfortable for a second, and for some reason, I wondered if she didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want anyone else to have stonework that rivaled hers. Either that or she was confused by my sudden compliment in light of her fairly unpleasant treatment of me, which probably made more sense.

  “I dunno. It was here when I moved in.”

  It looked fairly new, so I wondered if she was telling the truth. Karen hadn’t said anything to indicate that Sean and Sabin
e had only recently moved into the little white and green house, but she hadn’t said that they’d lived there for years either, so maybe it didn’t matter.

  I turned to leave again then stopped. “One last thing. Do you know where Sean was Monday night? Around ten?”

  “What, are you the cops or something?” Sabine took a slightly threatening step toward me. I backed away even farther.

  “No.” I shook my head quickly. I still wanted to avoid that punch down. “I’m just asking. Since I’m friends with Dean and all.”

  “He was home all night. With me,” she said angrily before stepping back inside and slamming the door.

  I felt I’d hit a nerve. I didn’t think Sean had been home with Sabine all night Monday at all.

  I waited until I was off Surfside Drive to pull my phone out of my pocket. As much as I wanted to go straight to the high school to talk to Sean, Latte was starting to drag beside me, worn out first from the long game of fetch and then from our walk across town from the park. I had to take him home. I tapped at the screen of my phone to pull up the number I wanted and then hit the green call button.

  “Antonia’s Italian Café, this is Rhonda. How may I help you?”

  “Hey, it’s Fran.”

  “Fran! How’s it going? You catch a murderer yet?”

  I chuckled a little. “Nope, you?”

  “No, but Mike’s already been back for another cup of coffee. I don’t know how that man sleeps at night with as much as he drinks. I don’t think we’re his only supplier either.”

  “I’m pretty sure he gets some down at the station too.”

  “I’ve had the stuff they call coffee down there. I’m not sure the term applies.”

  “When have you had the coffee at the police station?” I suddenly wondered if the woman I’d left in charge of my café had been keeping some rather significant secrets from me.

  “I’d love to say I was there for something interesting, but my older boy did an internship last summer that required him to be fingerprinted, and the police department is the place to do it.”

  “Sounds like fun.”