Chicken Soup & Homicide (16 page)

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Amy stood still for a few moments to get her bearings and let her eyes adjust. The interior of the bar was darker than the sidewalk, lit by streetlamps, outside. The door behind her opened, so she stepped to the side to let the man dressed in a disheveled business suit pass by. She pulled her coat tighter around her stomach as she scanned the room. Hanging out in bars wasn't her thing. Never had been, even when she was single. Finally, she spotted Carla sitting at a corner of the bar.

The completely out of character call from Carla had spurred Amy into the late-night trip into unfamiliar territory. Her best friend was drunk and warning that she was about to do something even more stupid than the idiotic thing she had already done. Amy had no idea what either thing was, so she rushed out of the house dressed in her sweatpants and T-shirt pajamas topped off with a long coat to try to hide the unflattering ensemble.

"Hey there," Amy said as she tapped Carla on the shoulder. "Amy's Taxi Service here for a pick up."

Carla turned. Her expression made Amy gasp. She was used to her friend's smooth, emotionless mask that she had perfected by working in the high-pressure emergency room. To see obvious sadness and pain etched on her face was more than a bit disconcerting. Carla slowly shook her head. "I broke up with Bruce. Pitts got him put on desk duty for interfering in the investigation, and he's miserable. I can't ruin his career. It sucks that Chet was the worst boyfriend ever, and now he's torturing me from beyond the grave. Because of him, the best relationship I've ever been in is over."

After Carla finished her slurred explanation, the man sitting on the stool next to her snorted. Carla didn't seem to notice the reaction, but Amy stared at the back of the man wearing the worn leather jacket. He seemed familiar. She had seen the crazy, swirly hair somewhere before but couldn't place him from behind. Then he turned around to look at her. It was Preston Neale.

He leaned closer to Carla and said, "I guess we have more in common than being drunk and lonely on a Thursday night."

Carla slowly turned on the barstool to look at him but didn't respond. Amy stepped closer. She didn't want the whole bar to hear the conversation she would hopefully spur. Then again, if Preston confessed to the murder, it would be a good thing to have more witnesses than drunken Carla. "Your mom told me what Chet did, backing out of the contract with you. Nobody would blame you for wanting revenge on him."

His smile could've easily gotten him a movie role as a deranged serial killer. "Yeah, it sucked losing my job and the lawsuit, but life is good now. I can't complain. Mom is easier to live with than my ex-girlfriend. I don't have to fund her expensive shopping trips to Macy's, and Mom washes my laundry without complaining. I'm glad to see the bastard got what he deserved, but I don't have any reason to risk giving up the easy life I've got going now for prison." He took a long swig of beer from the brown bottle he was holding. He nudged Carla's arm with his elbow. "That idiot cop is bugging me too. Guess he doesn't have anything better to do than being a pain in the ass."

Carla wobbled a bit on her stool, like Preston's touch had knocked her off balance. She grabbed her martini glass, half full of a green liquid that almost glowed in the dark, and held it up in a shaky toast to Preston. "Here's to both of us getting cleared soon so Pitts will leave us the hell alone."

"Amen." Preston clinked the neck of his bottle on the rim of her glass.

As both of them took a drink, Amy took the chance to locate Carla's bright greenish-yellow coat hanging on a wall hook nearby. She held it up. "This is yours, isn't it?"

Carla nodded. Amy helped her into it. Once Carla was bundled up and settled up with the bartender, Amy hustled her out the door before she could bond any more with Preston. Fortunately, he was so busy bonding with his newest bottle of beer he didn't pay much attention to their exit.

The journey to the public parking lot where Amy's Mini was parked, at the other end of the block, had more slips and stumbles than a drunken pairs figure-skating routine. Five seconds after Amy helped fasten her seat belt, Carla fell asleep with her head resting on the door window.

The martini-induced nap left Amy free to think about the night's dizzying turn of events. First off, she needed to get Carla back together with Bruce. Or at least find out if the split was a mutual decision. If it was, then maybe a reconciliation wasn't in the near future. Nevertheless, she needed to talk with Shepler about Preston. Maybe it was just the cheap beer affecting him, but his spiel about not wanting to risk his life of leisure by committing murder was about as convincing as a Coach purse bought from a flea market.

The drive home was quiet other than a few random snores. Amy felt like she was looking at life through a fun-house mirror. Two friends involved with two detectives…a breakup that shouldn't have happened…and a hookup that seemed too odd to be real. Alex's Jeep was in the garage, but the house was quiet as Amy helped Carla take off her boots and coat in the kitchen. Alex's office door was closed as Amy steered her sleepy friend toward the guest room. Thank god there was one extra room on the first floor. It would've taken half an hour to get Carla up the flight of stairs. How many martinis did she have? She would probably never know, since as soon as Carla's head hit the pillow, she was fast asleep. Most likely she hadn't kept count anyway.

Amy shut off the lamp, and Carla's phone began ringing in her purse. Amy turned the light back on. What if it was Shepler calling? He might panic if someone didn't answer. Better her answering than letting it go to voice mail. She found the phone in the jumble of crumpled receipts and ink pens inside the purse. It was Shepler.

"Hello, Bruce. It's Amy." That fact needed to be established immediately, just in case Shepler was in the same state as Carla. If he thought she was his newly ex-girlfriend, he could say some things that would make both of them not be able to look each other in the eye.

"Umm, hi, Amy. Is Carla there?"

"She is, but she's sound asleep. Had a few too many martinis."

The phone hissed as Shepler sighed. "I've had a few drinks myself tonight. Did she tell you what's going on?"

"She said she broke up with you. I can't believe it. I'm hoping she's just too drunk to explain things correctly."

"She did break up with me, supposedly to save my career." The anguish in his voice was clear even over the phone line. "I begged her not to. I'm a big boy. I can handle Pitts, but she left me anyway. You're her best friend. What can I do? I can't lose her now. I love Carla."

The declaration made Amy's heart twist. How could a murder do so much damage after it was committed? Britton was a land mine, hitting everybody with damaging shrapnel even though he was buried. "I'll talk to her when she sobers up. I'm guessing she's superstressed and made a rash decision to leave you because she thought it would help."

"What should I do?"

"Just give her some space to think. I'm sure she'll realize she made a mistake soon." Hopefully. Carla was smart, but she was also stubborn. Once she made up her mind, it was hard to change it. If she truly thought breaking up with Shepler would help keep his career from being damaged, it might not be easy to convince her it was the wrong decision. "In the meantime, I have something you can look into about the murder. Preston Neale was at the bar tonight too. He said his life living with his mama is too cushy to risk getting sent to jail for murder, but that excuse was so full of hot air, it could've floated to Cleveland. I know Pitts is looking into Preston, but it might be worthwhile for you to do a little digging on your own."

"I can do that. Please tell Carla I love her when she wakes up."

Amy looked at her friend, who was curled up into a ball under the covers. "I will."

"You really don't have to do this. I'm more than happy to make breakfast for us so you can suffer in private at my house. Sorry, but you look like you feel like crap," Amy said as she made a beeline for a table in the darkest corner of Riverbend Coffee. Carla had the skin tone of a piece of chalk. Considering the state she had been in only eight hours earlier, Amy was surprised she was even awake let alone insisting on going to a coffee shop as a thank you for saving her from the bar and Preston. "If you insist on staying, tell me what you want so you can sit down while I go get it."

"Triple-shot gingerbread latte and a candied ginger scone," Carla answered. She collapsed onto the wooden chair with a bone-rattling thud. She pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of her jeans pocket and shoved it into the pocket on the outside of Amy's purse. "I'm paying for your order too. Maybe the ginger will help settle my stomach."

"Coming right up." Ginger was good for settling upset stomachs, but she had a feeling even the ginger-overload breakfast wouldn't help Carla much. Amy was getting a headache by osmosis, just from watching her friend struggle with the hangover. She pointed to a door on the wall nearby. "That's the bathroom, in case you need it."

"Thanks." Carla folded her arms on the oval-shaped table and rested her head on them.

Amy hurried to the order counter. She'd already loaded Carla up with a travel mug of coffee from her house, but it didn't seem to be helping much. Maybe upping the order to a quadruple-shot latte would perk her up a bit. She told the barista Carla's order and then decided on a salted caramel latte for herself, along with a coconut and chocolate scone. She paid for both orders with her own money. It would be easy to transfer Carla's money back into her purse since she looked like she wasn't paying attention to much, other than her pounding headache. As she waited for the drinks to be prepared, Sophie and another woman walked through the kitchen doors next to the espresso machine.

"Amy. I wasn't expecting to see you today," Sophie said as she transferred brownies from a sheet pan to one of the many covered cake stands on the counter. "But I'm glad you're here. This is Mariah. She was my successor at Cornerstone. I'm trying to lure her here, but it sounds like the atmosphere is a lot more congenial now that Chet is gone."

Mariah nodded in agreement. Her super short hair gleamed like a raven's wing from the spotlights recessed in the ceiling. "Chet's only goals seemed to be trying to get into waitresses' pants and yelling as loud as he could. Now that he's gone, may he rest in peace"—she touched her fingertips to her forehead, chest, and each shoulder to make the sign of the cross—"it's like Disneyland at Cornerstone. Everybody is happy."

"That's wonderful," Amy said. "I bet that makes life a whole lot easier for everybody. Is the restaurant going to stay open?"

"Oh yeah." Mariah nodded her head enthusiastically. "The investors are pleased with how well the place is running without Chet tromping around harassing everybody. They've put Michael in the head chef position, and things couldn't be running smoother."

The new head chef probably got a nice pay raise along with the new title. He definitely benefited from Britton's death. Hello, new suspect. Then again, it sounded like all of the staff was happy he was gone. Maybe a bunch of new suspects.

"But now she doesn't want to get away to come work for me. I thought I had her convinced to join my coffee-fueled team a few weeks ago." Sophie grinned at the other pastry chef. "Although, Mariah is a night owl, so she might not like working the early morning shift again. With Cornerstone only doing dinner, she's gotten into the habit of sleeping in."

"True. I don't do mornings well at all." Mariah rolled her eyes. "Not sure why I became a pastry chef, since most bakeries require you to come in long before the sun comes up."

Amy glanced to the back of the shop to check on Carla. She was gone. Amy looked closer to make sure her friend wasn't curled up into a ball under the table. As the barista set the second latte in the cardboard drink carrier, Amy saw the bathroom door open. Carla emerged looking even worse than when they had arrived. How was that possible?

"I need to get these to Carla," Amy said as she stacked the white paper bags containing the scones on top of each other in the middle of the carrier. She'd ordered everything to go in case Carla decided acting like she was fine was overrated. "She had a rough night and needs some sugar and caffeine. It was nice meeting you, Mariah."

So the Cornerstone employees were reveling in the absence of their not-so-dearly departed boss. Could someone there, other than the new head chef, have gotten tired of Chet's abuse of power and permanently removed him from the head tormentor position? It could be worth poking around…on a date with her husband. A nice dinner out could be just what they both needed. Bonus that the restaurant was at least a fifteen minute drive away from Alex's business and the home office. Amy set the loaded drink carrier down on the small table. "You look like you're feeling really bad. Do you want to go home or back to my house? Then you could sip your latte from the comfort of a bed."

Carla stared at the paper coffee cups. "Nothing can help me now. Pitts just called. He has a witness who says they saw me backstage at the Chicken Soup Showdown, right about the time the coroner thinks Chet was killed."

Amy plunked down in the chair across from Carla. "That's a lie, either his or somebody else's. You know he's going to get caught in one of his own traps eventually."

"Do you think the truth really matters to him, considering how everything has played out so far?" Carla slouched backward and stared at the ceiling. "He could be bluffing, hoping to get me to confess to a murder that I didn't commit. Or someone else is lying, and he's more than willing to believe them if it means sending me to prison. Either way, I lose."

Amy sucked air in through her teeth. "You're not going to lose. I am going to figure out who really killed Britton. I promise. In the meantime, you didn't have to lose Shepler."

"Yes I did." Carla slouched farther down in her chair when several customers turned to look at her after the loud outburst. "I'm poison to his career. I wish there was some way to shield him from this mess, but there isn't."