Coffee & Crime (32 page)

In the backseat of the squad car Davis read me my rights, but the only thing on my mind was Peggy's warning about Jake. Was he behind my arrest? What evidence could they have? I had no reason to kill George. I was sure I had an alibi for that night. But I could've been home with Zelda. Would they believe her?

At the Pasadena station house, they pulled me out of the car and walked me into the building. I offered no resistance as people guided me from fingerprinting, to mug shots and finally to a holding cell. Sitting in the cell I remembered the foster home basement used for detention where I was locked in the cubby for behavioral problems. After the guard left, I lay on the cot and cried.

<<>>

In my dreams I stumbled in that long-ago basement. Zelda called out to me
—
her voice far away and coming from all directions. I scrambled across the floor in the darkness and put my ear to the door. On the other side someone breathed hard, and the utility sink faucet dripped, as if to count off the minutes of my punishment. I knew that Zelda couldn't save me this time
—
no one could.

Then I was out of the cubby and baking brownies on the backyard barbecue. George sat at the picnic table banging a knife and fork
—
telling me to hurry because he was so hungry that he could die. When I turned to answer him, Lily and Manny sat at the table

whispering.

"Why are you whispering?"

"Don't talk to them, you're in enough trouble as it is," Jake said in my ear. When I turned toward him, he said, "Smile."

A flash of light blinded me and blue dots danced in front of my face. "Don't take my picture."

Daniels’ face floated above me. "We have to."

"Have to what?"

"Talk to you." Davis snapped her fingers. "Are you awake?"

I scanned my surroundings. Not a dream
—
I lay on a jail cell cot looking up at the oddly concerned faces of Daniels and Davis. I bolted upright and ran a hand over my tangled hair. "I want my lawyer not you two clowns."

Daniels smiled like we were pals. "Come on Scotti, don't be like that."

I stared through him. "Now that you've got me in a jail cell, we're pals?" I smirked. "I've got nothing to say to you. Get out of here."

Davis sat on the edge of my cot. "Okay, then you listen."

I scooted back against the wall. "I don't have to listen to you."

"You need to realize how much trouble you're in here."

I glared at her. "Just some friendly advice from the woman who put me in here?"

Daniels pressed his back against the bars and scolded me with a finger. "No need to be a smart-ass."

I gaped at him. "I'm the smart-ass? This is total bullshit. I didn't kill anybody
—
least of all, George. So you can take your advice and shove it up your ass." I pointed to the cell door. "And on your way out send my lawyer in."

Davis stood. "Already en route."

I threw up my hands. "At last, something I want to hear."

Daniels banged on the bars and yelled, "Okay." A guard appeared and let the cops out of the cell, then locked it. Daniels lingered while Davis and the guard went through a door. "You take care, Scotti." He pointed his finger and clucked his tongue. "And pay attention."

My head jerked up. "Pay attention to what?” I rushed to the bars. "What do you mean, pay attention?"

The first thing I saw as I emerged from the Pasadena station house was Zelda and Joe crossing the courtyard toward me. Zelda broke into a run. "Scotti."

I waved and feigned a smile. She rushed up the steps and threw her arms around me. "Are you okay?"

In all the years I've known Zelda, she's never actually hugged me like that. Gasping for breath, I pried her off me and laughed. "How long was I in there?"

Her big dark eyes welled up with tears and I put my arm around her shoulder. "It's okay, Zee. I'm okay."

Joe stood at the bottom of the steps. "Twelve hours give or take." He looked me up and down. "You don't look none the worse for wear."

Zelda and I started down the steps. "Well, they didn't water board me, if that's what you mean. But I'll pass on any further hospitality from the Pasadena PD" I glanced back at the station house. "Get me out of here before they change their minds."

We hurried to the jeep then took a short ride to Dan Parker's law office.

Riding up in the elevator, I lay my head on Joe's shoulder and said, "Thanks for getting me a lawyer."

Joe gave my shoulders a quick squeeze. "Happy to oblige."

The elevator doors slid open and Peggy greeted us with a timid smile. "Are you okay?"

All the way to Dan's office door, I assured Peggy that I was fine. I wasn't fine, but sometimes the truth is more than people can take. She opened Dan's office door, gave me a final look of concern and closed it.

Dan Parker sat behind a big slab of a desk that looked like it was made of driftwood. His dark complexion and thick head of salt and pepper hair made me think he had a good dose of American Indian in his gene pool. He came around the desk with his hand outstretched. "Joe, you old dog how're you?"

Joe shook Dan's hand and grinned. "Right as rain old friend."

Dan turned his attention to me. "Miss Scotti Fitzgerald, I expect? " He put out his big hand and offered a firm handshake. His hands were rough, not soft and pampered like Jake's
—
I found that reassuring. "Pleasure."

"Nice to meet you and thanks for getting me out of jail."

Dan pointed to three tufted visitor chairs gathered in front of his desk. "Please." He returned to his seat behind the desk. "Truth is Scotti, I didn't do much."

That was the kind of admission I'd never expect from a lawyer. "Getting people out of jail may be ordinary to you, but to me it's worthy of considerable gratitude."

Dan and Joe exchanged a look. "She doesn't know that they dropped the charges?"

I sprung out of my chair. "What? How can they arrest me for murder one day and then drop the charges the next?"

Dan angled in his chair so he could sling an arm over the back of it. "First off, you were arrested for suspicion of murder. Which in plain English means they didn't have enough to hold you."

Zelda fumed. "So it was all bullshit then?"

"Could be," Dan said. "Though, you never want to take any arrest lightly. I suspect they wanted to scare you
—
give you cause to fret. But don't assume that was their plan. Assumptions in legal matters are usually dangerous."

Zelda looked ready to rumble. "Of course it was their plan. They didn't have any reason to arrest her."

Dan looked up from his notepad. "Don't be too sure of that. She made the murder weapon."

I groaned. "You mean the brownie?" I held out my arms as though offering them for handcuffing. "Guilty as charged
—
but I didn’t stuff it down George’s throat."

Dan raised his eyebrows. "D.A. claims motive."

Joe was calm but pensive. "What motive?"

"Money. Scotti stood to gain a lot of it when George Manston died."

My voice climbed a couple of octaves. "I didn't know George was leaving me that money. Besides, he'd already agreed to invest in the diner. Why would I kill him for money he was already going to invest?"

Dan nodded. "That's a very good question
—
why would you? But the D.A. would then ask, can you prove you had no awareness of the will?"

Welcome to the revolving door known as the justice system. "I have a signed agreement from George. Doesn't that prove that I didn't need to kill him to get the money?"

Zelda shook her fists in the air. "The cops don't even believe it's murder. Maggie Manston offered a reward because the cops wouldn't investigate. Now all of sudden everybody thinks it's murder?"

Dan scanned his notes. "The widow Manston claims Scotti threatened to sue if her agreement with George wasn't honored."

I tugged at my hair to keep from screaming. "I didn't threaten anybody. I only met with the lawyer about the agreement. He's the one who suggested I make a claim against the estate. He even told me to get a lawyer." I dropped into my seat. "But all of that happened after George died. So how could any of it be a motive?"

Dan listened politely but didn’t seem swayed. I looked directly into his gray eyes and said, "Do you believe me?"

"That isn't the point."

"It is to me." I bit my lip to stave off tears. "I'm sure all your clients tell you that they're innocent, but I actually am." I felt like I was pleading my case to a jury. "I was only trying to buy a restaurant. I never met Maggie Manston until a few weeks ago and didn’t know that George was a millionaire. To me, he was a customer who had allergies." Tears welled in my eyes. "And I'm a murder suspect because I tried to be nice by making desserts he could eat?" I held out my hands. "It was George's idea to invest, not mine. I never asked him. I never asked anybody for anything. Except a chance."

Dan leaned an arm on his desk. "I believe you, Scotti."

"But?" Joe asked.

Dan sighed and tossed his pen on the desk. "There's a witness."

Zelda furrowed her brow. "A witness to what?"

"A witness who says Scotti paid him to deliver the brownies to George's office."

The prosecution's witness, Nick Farmer, claimed I'd hired him to deliver a dozen brownies to George's office on the day he died. Dan showed me a copy of Farmer's driver's license photo
—
early thirties, scraggly beard, longish hair and even features. I shook my head. "He's got one of those blendable faces."

Dan cupped his ear. "Come again?"

I wrinkled my nose. "You know, nice looking but doesn't stand out? He just blends in with everybody else?" I stared at the photo. "I might've seen him around somewhere. Or somebody who looked like him. He could've been in the diner, but I don't know him."

Zelda frowned at the picture. "Crappy photo
—
he could be anybody."

Still not able to believe it, I asked Dan, "He said I paid him to deliver the brownies?"

Dan nodded. "Yes, ma’am. According to him, you paid him $50 to deliver the box of brownies on February 12
th
—
the day Manston died."

I scoffed. "Fifty bucks? Who'd pay somebody fifty bucks to deliver a twelve dollar box of brownies? That's nuts."

"That's his claim." Dan's gray eyes probed me. "You’re positive you don't know the man?"

I was sure that I didn't but thought about it for a few minutes. George died on a Wednesday, so I would've worked the swing shift that day. I could've sold a box of brownies to Farmer or anybody – but he didn't register at all. I shrugged. "It's possible I sold him the brownies. But I've never paid anybody to deliver anything." I slumped in my chair. "So it's his word against mine then." I shook my head. "I don't get it though
—
If they have Farmer as a witness, why'd they let me go?"

Dan shrugged. "Beats me. Could be his story was shaky. Or he changed his mind about testifying." He scribbled a note on his legal pad. "We'll track down Mr. Farmer and question him ourselves. I have a friendly relationship with the D.A. so maybe she'll enlighten me
—
off the record." He tapped his pen on the desk and looked up. "For now, you're free as a bird. Go home, get some rest and we'll touch base later on.

"That's it?"

Dan stood up and we followed his lead. "For now. Go back to your usual routine and we'll take care of things on this front."

I winced as I envisioned my bank account running down to zero. "Take care of it? Dan, I can't hire you. I don't have the money for legal fees."

Dan patted my shoulder. "Don't fret about it."

I reared back. "You don’t understand. I can't pay you."

Dan smiled down at me. "What I meant to say was, this one's on me. Pro bono. No charge."

Knowing there's no such thing as a free lunch I said, "Why?"

Joe put his hand on my shoulder and spoke softly. "Because he's doing a favor for an old friend. So hush up and say thank you."

I murmured a thank you then frowned at Joe.

Dan walked us to the elevator and assured me he'd be in touch after he looked into a few things. But his biggest concern was preventing a media circus.

"And no matter what you do, don't talk to any reporters," Dan said as we stepped into the elevator.

Yeah, like a reporter would give a hoot about me. "Why would a reporter want to talk to me?"

The elevator doors closed, and if Dan had an answer, I didn't hear it. Which was too bad because when the elevator doors opened again, we were greeted by a gang of reporters, yelling questions, shoving microphones in our faces and filming the ambush.

Joe used his heft to forge a path through the reporters, while keeping Zelda and I close. As we inched toward the jeep, they swarmed us like buzzing bees.

The questions ricocheted off the concrete walls of the parking structure, and it was impossible to know who asked what.