3. Emmie
3
EMMIE
E ven though the great room of the retirement community was warm, with a big fire in the oversize stone fireplace, I was shivering.
“I’m sorry, Gran,” I whispered as the police officers carted boxes of “evidence” out of Granny Edna’s flat. “I should never have moved in here. I should have moved in with Zoe.”
“Yeah.” Gran nodded. “She’s dating one of them Svensson brothers. They give money to the police. They would never have gotten their house searched. Hey! You get your hands off that dildo. That was a gift.” She raced after one horrified officer, who promptly dropped the box and ran, almost bowling over Cora, who sidestepped him, carrying a box of food for her daily visit with her grandmother.
Abbott from the newspaper snuck in behind Cora. I didn’t have the energy to chase away the reporter. I closed my eyes and leaned my throbbing head back against the couch armrest.
I was stuck in a nightmare.
I’d always secretly hoped Brooks would get what was coming to him—that karma would kick him in the teeth—but murder?
Maybe it was just an allergic reaction.
He was my husband—had been for years. He didn’t have any allergies.
Sometimes people can develop them late in life, I tried to assure myself.
I was so nauseous.
The only bright spot was Marius rescuing me out of that smelly, frigid jail cell.
Now he was talking with the police detective. I gazed at him.
The suit, the height, the brown hair with the crisp part—he was every part the big New York City lawyer.
Meanwhile, I was covered in cat hair and cupcake frosting.
“Oh, Emmie!”
Porcelain clattered as Cora set a steaming cup of tea down on the side table next to me.
“I brought cupcakes, but…” She looked anxiously over at the cops, who were finishing up their evidence collection.
“I need to wash all my clothes… vacuum.” The task weighed heavily on my chest. My shoulders ached.
“You should eat something first,” Cora fussed. “All the seniors are worried about you. I brought some perogies for the holiday snack table. You should have some.”
“Thank you, but I’m not even hungry. Who knew your worthless husband dropping dead in your café would kick-start that New Year’s diet?”
“They’re good, though!” Ava called from the snack table laden with holiday treats. She added a cupcake to her plate. Then her eyes widened. “Er… you didn’t make these, right, Emmie?”
I shook my pounding head. The room spun.
“Have some tea,” Cora murmured.
“Have a cold soda instead.” Abbott sat down on the couch next to me, jostling the teacup. He fanned himself. “Why do old people always need the room so hot?”
“Cora, I think your grandmother was looking for you!” Ava called. “Ida’s selling inflatable sex dolls, and she wants you to unlock her credit card so she can buy one.”
“Oh my God,” Cora muttered, hurrying away.
My stomach roiled when I saw the reporter had a wilting cupcake on a plate.
He took a messy bite.
“So,” the reporter said, chewing noisily, frosting dropping onto his wrinkled sports coat. “How much money did you make off of killing your husband?”
“ Make money? ” I screeched.
Abbott flinched, smearing the cupcake frosting on his mouth.
“You think I made money?” The tears were back. “You know, when he left me, he cleaned out the accounts. Everything. I lost everything. He kicked me out of my own house. I didn’t make any money off of Brooks because he didn’t have any money.”
“Ah, so you killed him because you wanted to get even.”
More frosting smeared as Abbott scribbled on the notepad.
“No, that’s not—”
“Cross that out. That’s not on the record. My client is not speaking with the press.”
Abbott jumped with a squeak.
A shadow fell over us.
“Do, ah, do you have a statement?” the reporter asked.
“No comment.”
Marius didn’t step back. He just stood there, crowding me and Abbott, until the reporter got the hint and slid sideways off the couch and around the taller man. With a “Bye, Marius,” he raced to the front door, grabbing another cupcake on the way out.
Marius leaned over me, resting one hand on the back of the couch. “What the hell are you doing, talking to the press? Maybe I should have just left you in jail.”
“No, thank you.” My chin quivered. I had sworn, after Brooks left me, that I wasn’t crying over him or any man ever again, yet here I was.
“Really? Because I cannot think of another way to impress upon you the gravity of your situation. There are police crawling all over your grandmother’s apartment, the town is calling for your head. All the circumstantial evidence and five thousand years of human history shows that you’re the one who killed Brooks,” he snarled, his deep voice a low rumble so only I could hear it. “Yet here you are, drinking tea and running your mouth to reporters. If you cannot cooperate, I’m going to leave you out to hang.”
I gulped, trying to avoid his hazel eyes.
“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry, I’m just—”
“Don’t apologize to me.” He stood up, smoothing his tie. “It’s your life you’re ruining.”
“And all my cats’ lives.” The waterworks started again.
Marius gave a long-suffering sigh.
“She’s not bringing all those cats here, is she, Edna?” Cora’s grandmother demanded.
“Lord, no,” Granny Edna said, fanning herself.
“Can we turn up the heat in here, Edna?” The old woman scowled.
“If you did more than watch HGTV all day, maybe you’d handle the cold a little better, crotchety old hag.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.” Zoe, my best friend since we were kids, rushed over to me through the lobby crowded with a house party of seniors watching my life fall apart. “Girl Meets Fig was crazy. Come on!” Zoe tugged me up. “Wash your face off. You can’t just sit around here. It’s not healthy.”
“I guess I should go feed the cats.”
“You need to stay away from the crime scene,” Marius warned.
“Are you going to feed the cats?” Zoe pinned him with a withering glare. With Zoe’s punk rock style and green hair for the holiday season, no one messed with her.
My friend adjusted her glasses. “Didn’t think so. Let’s go.”
“So, props to you,” Zoe said as we walked to my shop. It was late in the day and the winter sky, darkening.
“I didn’t do it.”
“You can tell me. I’m your bestie.”
“I swear,” I said. “No one believes me.”
Zoe sighed. “Maybe I was just hoping you finally grew a pair for Christmas. Bastard had it coming, if you ask me.”
“Who could have killed him?” I wondered anxiously.
“You can’t tell me you’re sad about that hemorrhoid.”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. We were married,” I said, pulling out my keys to go in the back way, since the front entry was wrapped in crime scene tape.
In the dark alley, there was a crash of garbage cans.
“What the hell was that?” Zoe hissed, grabbing me.
There was rustling, then a black figure raced down the alley, away from my building.
“I bet that was the killer. We need to chase them,” Zoe urged.
“No,” I hissed, dragging her into the shop. It was unlocked.
I’m sure I locked it.
“I’m not running anywhere. We should just call the police. They’ll see that I’m not the real killer, and this will all go away.”
The 911 operator sounded annoyed when I called about the break-in. “Probably just someone wanting to see the crime scene for themselves. The killer doesn’t return to the scene of the crime. This isn’t a movie.” The operator hung up.
“Maybe it’s an inside job,” Zoe said as I opened the door.
“Hi, babies!” I cooed to the cats that wound around my legs.
“This is a lot of cats,” Zoe said slowly, kicking the snow off her heavy black boots.
“Oh,” I said as all the yellow eyes stared at me in the dark. “I guess you don’t realize how many there are when the café is busy.” I bit back a sob.
“Don’t cry. Even if you might potentially be going to prison, it’s worth it now that bastard Brooks is dead. Not to mention you get all the money.”
“There is no money.”
Zoe raised an eyebrow. “There is always money. Somewhere.”
I started scooping cat food into the bowls, and Zoe distributed them around the kitchen.
“I’m not supposed to feed them in here, but now that does it matter,” I said sadly. “It’s all over. The death of the dream. This was all I had. I took out a loan for this café. I’m never going to pay it back. I’m going to go bankrupt.” I sounded hysterical. “This was all I ever wanted. I thought when Brooks left me that at least I could open up a café like I’d always dreamed of. Brooks always told me I would fail. He was right.”
“Don’t let that asshole ruin this for you from beyond the grave.” Zoe shook my shoulders roughly. “I’m about ready to book you a séance with Lilith so she can tell him to go to hell.”
I gazed mournfully at the cupcakes, frosting peaks tall and stiff since they were the green-and-red Grinch cupcakes with the Grinch Mountain in frosting. They’d never go out in the advent calendar.
I should have swept the cupcakes into the trash, but I couldn’t bear to throw away my hard work.
“It’s too bad they won’t let you reopen,” Zoe said, picking up one of the Grinch cupcakes and peeling off the paper wrapper. “Girl Meets Fig was doing a ton of business just because we’re down the street from the murder café.” She opened her mouth to take a bite.
“No!” I screamed. “Don’t eat that!”
Zoe gave me an odd look. “Did you actually poison him, Emmie?” she asked, peering at me in the dim light from the stove light. “I mean no shade. Props to you, just…”
“No,” I said. “I’m not like you. I’m weak. I could never. I couldn’t even leave Brooks years ago when I really should have. It’s just… What if the murderer poisoned all my cupcakes?”
“Tastes fine to me,” Zoe said, chewing. “You need to find a way to reopen immediately and take advantage of being the murder café. I bet you pay back your loan in, like, a week.”
“How? I can’t. I need to concentrate on staying out of jail.”
Zoe smirked. “You could ask your hot lawyer.”
“He’s not—”
“Hot? Uh, yeah, he is. And I say this as someone happily in a relationship. Dude is fine as hell. That suit? Chef’s kiss. And you know I am not one for a man in a suit.”
“Okay, fine, he’s cute,” I grumbled.
“Fine,” Zoe corrected. “Fuh- ine . With two syllables. The way he was standing over you? No wonder it was so hot in that room.”
“I can’t ask him for help.”
“Why not? I bet he can snap his fingers and have this place open.”
“I—I don’t know.” I rubbed my arm.
“You need to be more assertive. You’re a small-business owner and a mom to twenty-five-ish,” Zoe said as the cats all meowed in a mass around the food. “You’re a grown-up. You can ask for what you need. The worst he can say is no.”
“But I’m not paying him.”
“This is a small town. Barter and beg, baby!”
I should have worn something a little more attractive that wasn’t covered in cat hair if I was going to go beg Marius for help.
Especially since he looked like that.
I froze in the dark archway to the empty great room later that evening after playing with the cats and getting a pep talk from Zoe.
With one leg bent and the other outstretched, he was like a Victorian portrait in the wingback chair. His Bengal cat snoozed on the rug in front of the fire. He’d opened the windows, and the fresh winter air blew in, relieving the room of its stuffy heat.
The tall man was reading through legal papers written in tiny font, marking things with a red pen, and jotting down notes on a legal pad in a leather portfolio.
I shouldn’t interrupt him—it was a weekday. The man obviously had a real job that wasn’t helping me with problems caused by my terrible decisions.
But…
Zoe would yell at me if I didn’t at least try.
I squared my shoulders and marched into the great room before I could chicken out.
“I-I just,” I stammered, “forgot my book.”
Marius looked up, his hazel eyes almost gold in the firelight. “I didn’t see one.” He frowned.
I panicked. “Maybe the police took it.”
He set down his pen. “We need to talk about your case.”
“You don’t want to get more comfortable?”
The raising of his eyebrow let me know that comment might have been a little bit forward.
I chewed on my lip. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Too bad. I enjoy it when my clients proposition me in exchange for free work.”
“Oh well…” I was flustered. “I mean, I suppose you can’t be expected to work for free.”
“Seriously,” he said dryly. “I’m not going to sleep with you. I’d be disbarred.” He turned back to his paperwork, dismissing me. “Come find me tomorrow when you’re ready to be rational.”
His derision stuck in the back of my throat. I was done with men treating me like I was some weak little girl.
“So I think I have a lead on the case.” I stepped in front of him.
He made an annoyed sound. “We’ll speak tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to calm down.”
“I am calm. I can also pay you,” I said, taking out my wallet. “I respect your time and want to compensate you. I don’t need any favors.”
Marius looked up, incredulous. “You can’t afford me.”
“Yes, I can.” I was stubborn. “What’s your rate?”
“It’s eight hundred dollars an hour.”
“Oh.” I deflated.
“I charge in six-minute increments,” he added.
“Well, I can get a public defender. I know you have a real job.”
“Ms. Dawson, you will not get a public defender.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said, “my aunt will kill me if I back out. I owe her. She put me through law school and bought me a two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan—well, it was her husband’s money, but still. Like your ex, he also managed to die before he could divorce my aunt for his mistress. But now you’re the hottest widow in Harrogate.”
I was indignant. “You can’t believe I’m the killer.”
“Of course I think you’re the killer,” he scoffed.
“Then why are you helping me?” I cried.
“Because my aunt guilt-tripped me. Not because I like you. Certainly not because I think you’re innocent.” He turned back to his papers. “Don’t worry. I’ll put you under the pro bono hours. It’s just a matter of filing some paperwork.”
“I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with,” I snapped, “since apparently, the last man I was legally tied to decided he needed to die to get away from me.”
Marius was suddenly still, pinning me with his courtroom gaze. He stood up slowly, his face in shadow from the fire. “You didn’t actually kill him, right?” The deep voice dropped an octave, making me shiver.
“Of course not.”
With a sharp jerk of his hand, he flicked his pen onto the couch and advanced on me.
I scuttled back until my hip banged the corner of the sideboard. He was right up on me, backing me up against the wall, staring into my eyes.
“Do not lie to your lawyer.” He leaned in. “I’m going to ask you again. Did you kill Brooks, Ms. Dawson?”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t kill him. I swear.”
Marius stared at me for several excruciating moments then mercifully stepped back.
“It is really, really warm in here.” I gasped for breath.
“Maybe you should take off all that flannel.” The corner of his mouth quirked. He turned around.
Was he flirting with me? More likely, he was teasing me about my awkward statement.
No way would I want to be with him. He’s a prick, I decided as I climbed up the stairs to my grandmother’s apartment.
To avoid thinking about Marius, I considered the unlocked door and the person running from my café.
It wasn’t a tourist. It had to be someone involved in the murder. That was the only logical explanation—they were removing evidence.
The police were trying to gaslight me, but I was going to solve the mystery.
I logged into the web server for the cheap security camera I’d stuck with double-sided tape on the brick alley wall. It wasn’t anything like the fancy ones and only took a photo when there was motion, but there was a blurry black-and-white image on my screen.
“I knew I didn’t kill my husband!” Now everyone else was going to know it too. “And Marius is going to help me—bad attitude or not.”