Morning Cup of Murder Read online

  For a few years in New York jogging hadn’t been necessary. Walking everywhere was enough to keep the excess calories at bay. And then her life fell apart and she moved back home to her grandmother’s waiting arms and busy kitchen. And now her pants didn’t seem to want to zip all the way. So it was time to start jogging again. As much as she loathed it she would do it. Maybe she was a failure, but she didn’t have to be a fat failure.

  She ran for what she hoped was three miles but was probably more like two. At any rate spots were starting to pop before her eyes like sunbursts and she took that as a cue to end her jog before she passed out on the sidewalk. With her luck someone would call the cops and Jason would be the one to find her sprawled on the cement in a puddle of her own sweat like a melted ice cream cone.

  “Grandma, is supper ready?” She hoped her tone didn’t sound impatient. She wanted to grab a shower before they sat down to eat.

  Her grandmother looked up distractedly and Lacy wasn’t sure she had heard the question, but at last she waved her hand in front of her face. “Things are going slowly, dear. Go take your shower.”

  Lacy nodded and paused in the doorway a moment. Were the older woman’s eyes red-rimmed, or was Lacy projecting her own blue mood? Her grandmother had always been a happy woman. In fact, Lacy had never seen her sad. But as she ambled to the bathroom she wondered if that was because her grandma kept her emotions hidden. If that was the case, why would she do that? Lacy poured out her heart on an almost constant basis. Why wouldn’t her grandmother reciprocate? Was it because she wanted to project a “grown up” image? Maybe that had been necessary when Lacy was a child, but she was an adult now. They were roommates. Surely they should be able to share their delights and concerns in equal measure.

  She resolved to say as much to her grandmother while they were eating, but when she sat down to supper she lost her nerve. After all, this was her grandmother they were talking about. The woman was and had always been larger than life to Lacy. Her sweetness, patience, tolerance and good humor were almost supernatural. And Lacy wasn’t the only one to feel that way. She once asked her mother if Grandma had ever raised her voice to her growing up and her mother smiled and shook her head.

  “No, Lacy. There’s no one sweeter or more genuine than your grandma. She has all the love and patience of a saint.” And then her mom had rolled her eyes. “You have no idea how annoying that was when I wanted to be a rebellious teenager. I could never goad her into an argument, no matter how hard I tried.”

  The exchange had stuck in Lacy’s head because it was one of her first grown-up insights into her mother’s relationship with her grandmother; the first time she realized her mother had once been somebody’s little girl, just like her.

  Now she studied her grandmother surreptitiously from across the table. There were definite signs of distress on her face. For one thing she was quiet. Usually they talked about little things and big things while they ate. But so far her grandmother had been mute. And her features were pulled tight in a way Lacy had never seen before.

  “Grandma, is something wrong?” she asked at last.

  Her grandmother looked up in surprise and pasted on a smile. “Why, no, Lacy. Everything is fine.”

  Lacy took a breath to question her further, but the front doorbell rang and interrupted her query. “I’ll get it,” she said. She dabbed at her lips with her napkin and deposited it on the table before rising to push out her chair. They weren’t prone to many visitors and she thought that might account for the way her heart was pounding in her chest. Her lashes fluttered in surprise when she opened the door and saw Jason standing on the other side. He held up a piece of paper and spoke before she could gather her wits enough to talk.

  “Lacy, I have a warrant…”

  He would have continued but she cut him off. “You’re here to arrest me?” Her voice was a faint squeak.

  “Not you. Her.” Lacy didn’t notice the other officer until he spoke and pointed behind her to her grandmother. “Lucinda Craig you’re under arrest for the murder of Barbara Blake.”

  Chapter 3

  The plainclothes detective beside Jason grew impatient with Lacy’s shocked silence. He stalked past her, knocking her aside. She would have fallen except Jason put his hand to the small of her back to keep her upright.

  “Jason,” she began but didn’t know how to continue. His hand left her back and eased up to touch her cheek.

  “Lacy,” he said in a whisper, but the detective interrupted him.

  “Cantor, I need your cuffs,” he called.

  Jason shot Lacy a regretful look and left her standing in the entryway. Lacy watched while he pulled his handcuffs off his belt and finally her tongue unfroze from the roof of her mouth.

  “What are you doing? You can’t arrest my grandmother,” she said, but they both ignored her. Her grandmother was strangely silent and subdued, but maybe she was in shock as much as Lacy was. “This is crazy.” Her fear and confusion turned to anger when they continued to ignore her. “Don’t you dare put handcuffs on her.”

  Jason’s hands paused in mid-air, the cuffs dangling listlessly as he appeared to be looking into her grandmother’s sweet, drawn face.

  “It’s policy,” the detective reminded him in a crisp tone.

  Jason gave one, curt nod and resumed cuffing the old woman. Lacy watched her grandmother stare dejectedly at her feet. She had always been a sweet, unassuming woman, but her lack of protest was disturbing for a reason Lacy couldn’t pinpoint.

  “Grandma,” she tried. “Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to contact the rest of the family and we’ll get this figured out.” She would have kept going but her grandmother interrupted her.

  “No,” she said. Her voice was faint because she was staring at her feet. She raised her head and when Lacy saw her eyes she sucked a breath and stumbled backwards a step. Her grandmother looked angry, angrier than Lacy had ever seen her. “I don’t want the rest of the family to know a word about this, Lacy. Promise me you won’t call anyone.”

  “I,” Lacy started, but before she could agree to the promise the detective grasped her grandmother’s arm and led her from the house. “Grandma,” she cried. To her annoyance and embarrassment her voice broke; tears threatened to spill over. Jason hung back, waiting until the detective left the house, and then he spoke.

  “Follow us to the jail. Once the booking is done we’ll have more information for you.” He took a step toward the door, then paused and turned back to her. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, and he exited the house, leaving the door standing open in his wake.

  A fly buzzed in through the open door, and that small action was the catalyst needed to propel Lacy forward. She walked out of the house in a stunned, zombie-like way and went back inside when she realized she lacked purse and keys. It took a moment of mindless rummaging in her room until she located them and then she exited the house again, making sure to close the door behind her this time. The quiet hum of her grandmother’s car felt jarring to her overwrought nerves.

  The next thing she knew she was at the county jail with no memory of having driven there. She sat in her car a moment, gathering her senses and feeling dazed. Never in a million years did she imagine she would be at the jail trying to fix the mix-up that landed her grandmother in handcuffs. That thought gave her the anger she needed to burst from her car. Someone was going to pay for this colossal mistake.

  Slamming her car door felt good. She wanted to repeat the process with the entry door, but it was too heavy. It closed behind her with an unsatisfyingly gentle swish.

  “Who’s in charge?” she demanded before quickly realizing no one was there. Her frustration inched up another notch. If she was going to take out her frustration on random strangers, the least they could do was have the courtesy to be present.

  Looking around she noted a glassed-in area in the far corner with what looked like a doorbell in front of it. She used the hem of her shirt to cover her finger before touchin
g the button, imagining the sort of people who usually came to the jail. Her nose was still wrinkled in disgust when a tired-looking young man in a uniform stepped in front of the glass.

  “I’m here for my grandmother,” she said, still not believing the words coming out of her mouth.

  “Name,” he said. His bored tone told her he couldn’t care less who she was there for, or why.

  “Lucinda Craig.” Her voice choked embarrassingly on her grandmother’s name. Hold it together; be strong. Always before her grandmother had been the stalwart protector. Having the shoe on the other foot was a disconcerting change of pace. Lacy suddenly felt very young and vulnerable.

  The officer turned and left the window without a word. Lacy leaned forward with a scowl, trying to see where he was going, but the heavy metal door he entered impeded her vision. She jumped when the door clanged. How did anyone ever get used to that chilling sound?

  The officer returned a few minutes later, looking slightly less bored and harassed. “You’ll have to come back during visiting hours tomorrow,” he said.

  “Why?” Lacy asked.

  “Because visiting hours are over for the day,” he said.

  “But I want to see my grandmother,” Lacy said. “Please.”

  The guy, who looked disconcertingly younger than her twenty-five years, softened slightly and leaned forward. “Look, it’s not up to me. They’re questioning her right now, and that will probably go on for awhile. The detective in charge said she is absolutely not allowed to have visitors tonight, but you can come tomorrow during regular hours from ten to noon.”

  She wasn’t sure which she wanted to do more---scream or cry. Right now crying had a slight advantage. Embarrassing tears started to well behind her eyes, and she turned away, staring at a door marked “omen.” Her imagination ran away with her, telling her the inability to see her grandmother tonight was a bad omen. Then she realized it was a bathroom and someone had peeled the “W” off the women’s sign.

  I have to get out of here before I lose it completely, she thought. She muttered her thanks to the jailer without turning around and then bolted for the exit, pushing hard against the heavy outer door. As soon as she stepped through the door, large droplets of rain pelted her face. She looked up, allowing the fat plops of water to take the place of the tears she hadn’t let fall.

  “You know it’s raining.”

  Lacy had no idea how long she had been standing with her eyes closed, head tipped toward the sky, but Jason now stood in front of her, his cruiser parked a few feet away across the sidewalk. Wiping the moisture off her face while scowling at him wasn’t easy, but somehow she succeeded. The rain petered out as the small cloudburst moved on.

  Jason held up his hands in surrender. “Lacy, I’m not the enemy here.”

  Her rational mind told her that was true, but she still had no desire to talk to him or anyone else. Especially someone who was wearing a uniform. She needed to be alone to think, to process what had just happened, and to plan her next move. Pivoting on her right foot, she tried to sidestep him, but he stepped in front of her. “Hey, ease up. Let’s go somewhere and grab some supper. We’ll talk about it.”

  She stopped short, realizing he might have information she wanted. Still, she remained sullen and stubborn. “I already ate.”

  “Then get something to drink. Come on; you look like you’re in shock. I can’t send you home like this.”

  “I don’t want to ride in that.” She pointed behind him.

  He turned to glance at his cruiser. “I have my car. Just give me a second to park this.” He started to walk toward his cruiser but paused. “Don’t leave.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight from one foot to another. At any other time she might have worried about her hair and makeup--which were nonexistent after her run and shower. But not now. Now she was too worried and shocked to think of anything other than how to fix her grandmother’s situation. At the very least Jason might be able to offer her some advice about what her next move should be.

  She had no idea how long it took him to park his car and return to her; time had lost meaning for her. Everything felt hazy, as if she were looking through a fog. A part of her brain realized she was in shock. She could only hope the fog would fade enough for her to be able to think clearly about what needed to be done.

  “Come on,” Jason said, prompting her to fall into line beside him. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Don’t care,” she muttered. “Whatever sounds good to you.”

  They stopped short in front of his car--a sporty-looking Jeep. The sight of the convertible vehicle without its top worked to jog her out of her stupor. “This is not going to go well for my hair,” she muttered. She noted with surprise that he was standing beside her. He opened her door and took her hand to help her into the tall car. “Thanks,” she said, blinking rapidly to try and clear her head a little more. Who knew Jason was the type of guy who opened car doors?

  Since the inside of the car was dry, she guessed the car must have been parked in the covered garage behind the jail. Glancing around the interior of the car, she noticed a pencil in the console between them. “Can I use this?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said. He darted her a curious glance that turned into a stare. He watched, entranced, while she wound up her long hair and fastened it with the pencil. “I’ve only seen that done on television,” he said.

  He sounded so awed that she laughed. He smiled at her and started the car. “You’re not up for a crowd, are you?” he guessed.

  “Not really,” she said.

  He nodded. “I have an idea.” He pulled out of the jail parking lot without another word, heading she knew not where.

  Conversation was impossible while he drove. Without the top on the Jeep, the wind whistled and slashed around them, roaring in her ears. Though it was summer, the sun was setting, and the night air was beginning to turn cool. Goosebumps rose on her arms, but she did nothing to try and chafe the warmth back into them. The cold air helped clear her head so that by the time they arrived at the fast food restaurant, she was almost feeling normal.

  “What do you want?” Jason asked as he turned into the drive-thru.

  “Nothing,” she replied. “I already ate.”

  “Drink something,” he commanded. Turning toward the speaker, he ordered a soda for her along with a burger meal for himself. They remained silent while he paid for the food, and then they were driving again. Their small town thinned out, giving way to the rolling countryside. Seeing the dusky pastures through the open Jeep was somehow soothing. Lacy had never considered herself a convertible type person, but she was rethinking things. Maybe when she could afford a car she would invest in something with a pop-top. Then she would move somewhere warm. Somewhere sane, where old ladies weren’t arrested for nothing.

  Renewed thoughts of her grandmother’s predicament meant she was frowning when they pulled off the road and parked. Absently, she noted a few other cars parked several feet away. She looked around, trying to see what the attraction was that drew people here, but there was nothing but the last vestiges of the sun setting behind a hill.

  “Thank you,” she replied automatically when Jason handed her a soda. She sipped in silence and watched while he downed his burger in record time.

  He gave her a sheepish smile as he wiped his fingers with a napkin. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning. I was starving,” he explained.

  “It’s not good for you to go so long without eating,” she said.

  “Duly noted,” he replied. “You want to talk about it?” He aimed the napkin toward the open food bag, lobbing it like a basketball and smiling smugly when it easily bounced in.

  Lacy set her soda in the cup holder.

  “You going to finish that?” Jason asked.

  “Help yourself.” She passed it into his open hand, waiting to speak until he took a sip and set it aside. “I don’t understand how anyone in his right
mind could think my grandmother is a murderer. She’s the sweetest person in the entire world.”

  “Murderers don’t have a type,” Jason said.

  “Jason,” Lacy exclaimed. “This is my grandmother we’re talking about. She’s the epitome of innocence. She thinks it’s a sin to say ‘heck’ and ‘darn.’ Someone would have to be a sociopath to murder whoever they said she murdered and then come home and bake her granddaughter a prune cake. It’s just not possible.”

  “We wouldn’t have arrested her if the evidence wasn’t compelling,” Jason said. By his calm, neutral tone she couldn’t tell if he was arguing with her or simply playing devil’s advocate.

  “What is the evidence?”

  “I can’t tell you,” he said.

  She threw up her hands in frustration. “Then why did you bring me here?”

  “Because you looked like you were going to drive off a cliff if I let you go home alone.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “The woman who was murdered was named Barbara Blake.”

  “I already knew that,” Lacy said. “That rude detective said it when he arrested my grandmother. Who was she? How was she murdered? When was she murdered?” Her mind turned somersaults, trying to think up an alibi for her grandmother. If the murder happened during the night, there was no way her grandmother would have been able to sneak out unnoticed. Lacy’s room was right next to the garage.

  Jason’s blank expression infuriated her further. “Let me guess: you can’t tell me,” she said. He shook his head. “I think you’re on a power trip like that detective,” she accused.

  His lips pressed into a grim line. “Don’t ever compare me to Detective Brenner. I’m not a detective; I’m not even a sergeant. I’m a peon who does what I’m told, regardless of how I feel about it. The law is the law, and I’m sworn to follow it.”