Dead In Red Read Free Page B

points!
    Richard followed, his gaze straight ahead as
he passed the barrel. I had a quick look inside and grimaced.
    Cyn ditched the glove.
    We entered the café, taking in the mingled
aromas of fresh-ground coffees, vanilla, and baking that filled the
upscale bakery’s storefront. Only one of the white-painted bistro
tables stood empty. At the rest, customers sat lingering over
conversations with cappuccinos, lattes, and decadent pastries. Not
a bad mid-morning weekday crowd. Had business been this good before
the dead man had been found on the property?
    Cyn sailed across the room to a door marked
“Private,” ushering us in. “Gene, bring us some coffee and strudel,
will you?” she called over her shoulder.
    “Sure thing, Cyn,” said a thin, balding,
enthusiastic young man behind the café’s main counter.
    “That’s not necessary,” Richard said.
    “Nonsense. It’s the least I can do for an
old friend.” Cyn closed the door behind her.
    Like the storefront, the brightly lit
office was immaculate. No stray papers marred the desktop or hung
out of the four-drawer file cabinet in the corner. Unlike the
country charm outside this small room, Southwest accents of hanging
ristras and a stenciled border of coyotes were cheerful against
pale turquoise walls. Behind the desk was a large-framed photograph
of a younger, happier Cyn arm-in-arm with a sandy-haired man—the
now deceased Dennis?—in front of a low adobe building with the
legend “Santa Fe Café au
lait . ”
    “Sit,” Cyn urged and took her own seat.
    We complied, taking the two upholstered
office chairs before her antique wooden table of a desk.
    Cyn folded her hands and leaned forward.
“It’s wonderful seeing you again, Richard, but what on Earth were
you doing behind my café?”
    “Curiosity,” he said with a touch of
embarrassment. “Murder isn’t an everyday occurrence in
Williamsville.”
    “Who found the dead man?” I asked.
    Cyn turned hard eyes on me, her mouth
tightening. “Our miller, Ted Hanson.”
    “Is he in today? Can I talk to him?”
    “No.” Her rebuke was adamant.
    “Excuse me?” I pushed.
    “No, Ted isn’t here today. In fact, he’s out
of town on a buying trip.”
    “When will he be back?”
    “In a few days. Why are you so
interested?”
    “Morbid curiosity,” I said, echoing
Richard’s words. “Last night I was hired to take Walt Kaplan’s job
at a bar down the street.”
    She gaped at me, unprepared for honesty;
sudden fear shadowed her eyes.
    A sharp knock preceded the door opening.
Gene held a loaded tray in one hand and bustled inside. He set
cardboard cups before Richard and me, placing frosted rectangles of
strudel on baker’s tissue next to them. His smile was genuine.
“Enjoy.” He eased the door closed behind him.
    The awkward silence lengthened.
    Richard cleared his throat. “Ever see any of
the old crowd, Cyn?”
    Cyn seemed grateful for a change of subject.
“Since I came back to the area nine months ago, I’ve only caught up
with Cathy Makarchuk. She married Barry Garner. They have five
children—can you believe it?”
    Nothing on Earth is more boring than
listening to old school chums reminisce. I reached for my coffee,
eager to rid my mouth of the lingering sour taste of vomit, and my
hand brushed the edge of the desk. The image of a smiling man burst
upon my mind. Heart pounding, I snatched up my cup with a shaking
hand and took a sloppy gulp.
    At some time before his death, Walt Kaplan
had sat on the edge of that desk.
     
    # # #
     
     

CHAPTER 2
     
    “Fill the beer cooler, and later we’ll talk,”
Tom said, and slapped me on the back, nearly knocking me off my
feet.
    “Sure thing,” I said and faked a smile.
    He left me standing by the bar’s back door,
where a Molson truck had just made its weekly delivery. Thirty
cases of beer sat stacked against the wall. I found a dolly behind
the door, so at least I wouldn’t have to kill myself dragging the
beer into the cooler.