“Girl, you look like you need a triple latte!” she exclaimed in a voice far too chipper for such an early hour. “Sit yourself down and I’ll bring you one.”
Gratefully, I lowered myself into the closest chair, dropping my bag full of unread queries onto the floor. I had intended to tackle them when we got back to my mother’s last night, but by that point I couldn’t find the energy to even take them out of the bag. Besides, I was far more interested in Marlette’s journal, which I took to bed with me. I’d been just about to delve into it when my mother quietly opened my door. Jamming it under my pillow, I pretended to be snuggling in to sleep.
“I made you an infusion of lemon balm and chamomile, honey. I reckoned you needed somethin’ to help you relax after your long and crazy day,” she said and then plunked herself down at the foot of the bed. I sat up and took the cup she offered. I sipped while she chatted. Later, I had a vague sense of her weight leaving the bed, and then, nothing. The next thing I knew, my alarm was buzzing.
“Here you go, sugar,” Makayla said as she handed me my coffee, and I realized that I was lucky to have two women plying me with drinks and comfort within the space of a few hours. “This’ll put some sparkle in your step. What’s up? Too much partying?”
I proceeded to give her a synopsis of my weekend. It was hard to believe all that had happened over the last three days.
“Girl, you are living some kind of exciting life!” She shook her head. “What’s that boy of yours think about living in Inspiration Valley with his grandma?”
“He’ll adjust.” I shrugged. “It’s only temporary until I find our own place here in town. He made a friend at the Red Fox Co-op last night, so that should help.”
“You mean the coop?” Makayla laughed. “That’s what we call it here. The hippie coop. All that hemp—there’s a rumor they grow the kind you smoke, too.”
My heart sank. I was trying to get Trey away from such temptations. “They seemed legit to me.” I took a sip of my latte. It was delightfully strong. “I found Marlette’s place just outside the co-op.”
“Marlette? The homeless guy you think was murdered?”
I nodded. “He wasn’t homeless. He had a house of his own…so to speak.”
“With the way he looked and smelled, he might as well have been.” Makayla’s lovely face turned somber. “It’s sad, but there are way too many folks just like him. The other day I read an article that said there are over twelve thousand homeless people in North Carolina alone. People tend to think that they’re degenerates, but many of them are mentally ill or victims of abuse. And most people don’t care what their story is. They just want them off the streets.” She turned as a customer came through the door.
“But I care about Marlette.” I stood. It was time to get to work. “I found a notebook of his…a journal of some sort…Hey! Do you want to get together for lunch so I can show it to you? We can examine it together to see if it contains anything that could help the police figure out why someone might have had reason to murder him.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Sure, I’ll meet you for a quick lunch, but the police aren’t going to invest too much manpower in Marlette. Not after that big fire in Dunston last night.”
“What fire?” I hadn’t listened to the news since yesterday afternoon. For a brief second I missed being at the Dunston Herald.
“It was all over the TV and radio this morning.” Makayla stepped behind the counter at which a short, stout man in a suit was patiently waiting to place an order. “Hold on a minute while I get Mr. Cahill his macchiato.”
The man pulled out his wallet. “Thank you, Makayla,” he said in a surprisingly deep voice, and then he turned to me. “I couldn’t help overhearing, but I believe our beautiful barista was referring to the fire at Dover Import Warehouse where two night watchmen died of smoke inhalation.” He put some bills on the counter. “WRAL News reported that the warehouse was insured with a multimillion-dollar policy, and since my firm insures that warehouse, I expect to have a very stressful day.”
Makayla was right. The police weren’t going to bother with the death of an insignificant someone like Marlette when big money was at stake. It would be up to me to solve his murder.
WHEN I REACHED the stairs leading to Novel Idea just after eight o’clock, Bentley Burlington-Duke was already on her way up, her heels tapping out a staccato on the marble steps. At the top she turned, her eyes widening at the sight of me.
“You decided to return, I see.”
“Of course. I’m committed to this job.” Careful not to spill my second cup of coffee, I hoisted my bag as I entered the reception area after her.
“It’s good to know that you’re dedicated.” She waved her hand at the stack of papers sticking out of my bag. “Did you manage to get through all those queries?”
“For the most part.” A little white lie couldn’t hurt, could it? “I still have a few more to get through.”