Death by Irish Coffee

Book 0: Bookstore Cafe Mystery

by Alex Erickson

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Animal Cozy Mysteries; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

In Pine Hills, Ohio, the bars are hopping—and bodies are dropping—as bookstore-café owner Krissy Hancock gets drawn into a deadly St. Patrick’s Day mystery . . .

Krissy is ready to provide one of the essential ingredients for Irish coffee this St. Patrick’s Day—though without a liquor license, she’ll have to team up with a local bar owner to complete the recipe. It’s a perfect chance to distract herself from her upcoming wedding . . . and her worries about how her beloved cat will get along with his new canine stepsiblings.

As she doles out some much-needed caffeine the day after the festivities, she learns that the town is dealing with something worse than a hangover: homicide. Like many a reveler before him, the bar owner ended up green around the gills, but after he passed out, he never woke up. Now, between brewing, bookselling, and house-hunting, Krissy is reviewing a whole parade of suspects . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

A sharp pain shot through the back of my arm, causing me to yelp and nearly spill the coffee I was holding.

“Careful, Krissy,” Robert Dunhill said from behind, “or else the leprechauns will get you.”

I rubbed at my arm and turned to glare at him. “I’m wearing green, Robert.”

He looked me up and down. Not only did I have a big green shamrock in the middle of my shirt, the rest of it was a darker shade of green as well. “Oops. Sorry.” The twinkle in his eye told me that he really wasn’t.

Death by Coffee was hopping. It was St. Patrick’s Day, and it seemed like everyone in town was there to get their morning jolt before taking part in the day’s festivities. Our little town of Pine Hills was going all out this year. The streets were decorated for the occasion, full of green and gold, and a parade was planned for later that day. Afterward, the local bars would be hosting various events that would last deep into the night.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I asked as the throb in my arm faded to a dull ache. He’d gotten me pretty good, and I expected to wake up with a bruise the size of a grapefruit in the morning. “Like, with your family or something?”

“I suppose you’re right.” Robert adjusted his golden bow tie. He was wearing a sparkling green hat and coat, complete with buckled shoes. I didn’t know if he was taking part in the parade or if he’d simply chosen to dress like a leprechaun for the fun of it. “Trisha and RJ are waiting at home.” RJ—short for Robert Jr.—was his baby son. “I only popped in to grab us some caffeine before we head out. I heard something about Irish coffee?” He looked at me hopefully.

“Not here,” I said. “We don’t have a liquor license.”

“Oh.” He frowned.

“But come to Bucky’s later. That’s where I’m off to now.” I raised my coffee, as if the to-go cup should have made that obvious.

“That’s the new place on Eucalyptus, right?”

I nodded. “Just opened last month. I’m working with the owner on a special Irish coffee brew for today’s event. My coffee, his whiskey.”

“Cool.” A handful of customers entered and queued up in line. Robert frowned at them. “I’d best get moving,” he said, before pointing at me. “And keep that green on. Wouldn’t want you to get pinched.”

Again, I thought somewhat unkindly as Robert slipped into line. While I’d been looking forward to the St. Patrick’s Day parade all week, the tradition of pinching those not wearing green was something I could do without. Especially with people like Robert around, who took the opportunity to pinch you no matter what you were wearing.

“You’re still here?” my best friend and co-owner of Death by Coffee, Vicki Lawyer, asked as she rounded the counter and entered the dining area, wet washcloth in hand, looking like a movie star, as she always did. “I thought you only stopped in to grab some coffee?”

“I was just leaving,” I said, raising one hand in surrender. “I ran into Robert.” I nodded toward his back. “He pinched me.”

Vicki laughed. “I’ll be sure to steer well clear of him, then.”

The door jangled, and Rita Jablonski walked in. She was short, with round features, and an overly excited manner. She gave the long line a disapproving scowl before she noted Vicki and me standing off to the side. She headed our way.

“I’d best get back to work before I get dragged into a long conversation,” Vicki said, nudging me with her shoulder. “You might want to hurry off too.”

“You might be right.” But it was already too late. As Vicki started wiping down tables, Rita approached, already talking.

“Oh my Lordy Lou,” she declared, rubbing her hands together. “It’s downright nippy out there this morning. You’d best make sure that jacket of yours is bundled up tight, Krissy Hancock, or else you’re liable to freeze your tuchus off.”

“I will,” I said, taking in Rita’s red cheeks and windblown hair. Strangely, I didn’t think her appearance had anything to do with the weather, so I asked, “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, this and that.” She waved me off. “Nothing for you to worry yourself over.” She peered at my coffee. “Is that the Irish coffee I’ve been hearing about?”

“Yes, but that’s not until later. At Bucky’s Tavern. You know the place?”

“Of course I do, dear.” She all but rolled her eyes at me. “Make sure they use Jameson with it, not any of the cheaper stuff. I’ll know if they do.”

I suppressed a smile. “I’ll tell Bucky.”

“See that you do.” Rita nodded to herself and then looked toward the plate-glass window that fronted Death by Coffee. Shamrocks and redheaded leprechauns were pasted to the glass. She got a faraway look in her eye, and a faint smile graced her lips before she turned suddenly back to me. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you. They’re closing the library.”

“What?” My eyes widened in shock. “Why?”

“They got funding. Well, not funding exactly, but a donation. The way I hear it, it’s a big one. Not some piddly couple of bucks that might buy them a new bookshelf or two, but the real deal.”

“Hold up. If they got a big donation, why are they closing?”

“You know that empty stretch of land out near the park?”

I nodded.

“Well, the town is developing it and is going to turn it into … honestly, I don’t know what they’re thinking. I like having everything here downtown. It’s nice to be able to walk anywhere I need to be, you know? If you start putting businesses all the way out there, I’m going to have to drive all over town to do my shopping.”

“Pine Hills is growing,” I pointed out.

“Yes, well, I don’t much care for it.” Rita bristled a moment longer before her face brightened. “But I can’t be unhappy about the fact that they are building a new library. It’ll take a year or so to complete since they’re starting from scratch, but I hear it’s going to be a big one. Cindy told me that the plan is to have the building serve as a community hub. They’ll host events and small groups and everything.”

“That sounds good,” I said, though I wondered why I hadn’t heard about it yet. Death by Coffee often donated books to the library, so I’d worked with Cindy Carlton and her husband, Jimmy, quite a lot over the years.

“It is, dear. It is.” Rita nodded sagely, and then, noting the line was mostly gone, clapped her hands together. “I’d best grab my coffee now, while there’s a break. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around. That is, unless you plan on having a bit too much to drink later this evening.” There was a strange twinkle in her eye that made me realize I shouldn’t pursue that line of thought any further.

“Check out the books before you go,” I said, gesturing toward the stairs that led up to the bookstore portion of Death by Coffee. “There’s a St. Patrick’s Day display just up the steps. We’ve stocked one of Dad’s old Irish Detective titles.”

“I might do that,” Rita said, eyeing the display, before she turned and joined the line for coffee. She had a thing for my dad, James Hancock, who just so happened to be her favorite author.

“See ya later, Kris,” Robert said, two coffees in hand, before he used his backside to push his way out the door.

Mildly annoyed at him using a shortened version of my name—and because of the earlier pinch—I decided not to follow him out, just in case he wanted to continue our conversation.

So, instead, I wandered briefly around the dining area, adjusting the St. Patrick’s Day decorations we’d hung up. Nearly everything was green, with bits of gold speckled in. One of our employees, Eugene Dohmer, had handled the decorations, and I thought he’d done a pretty good job of it. If it had been me, I wasn’t so sure we’d have had much more than a single window clinger. I wasn’t much of a decorator.

Upstairs, Vicki’s black-and-white cat, Trouble, watched me from atop a table often used by a local board game group. I vaguely wondered if Yolanda and her crew would keep playing here, or if they’d move on to this new library Rita had mentioned once it was built. While a bigger space would be nice for them, I’d miss having them around.

Once I was certain Robert was long gone, I headed for the door, feeling mildly guilty for leaving the inevitable rush to everyone else. Today was an all-hands-on-deck situation, though I wasn’t planning on helping out until after the parade.

The morning was, as Rita had pointed out, on the chilly side, though it was supposed to warm up later. I held my coffee close as I hurried to my car. Eucalyptus Street was within long walking distance, but with the parade coming through downtown later, there was a strict no-parking rule being enforced along the route, which I’d kind of, sort of ignored when I’d stopped in at Death by Coffee. I might be engaged to the son of the police chief—who was a police officer himself, to boot—but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t earn myself a ticket if one of the other cops were to spot my vehicle parked where it shouldn’t be.

Apparently, none had, because there was no ticket pinned beneath my windshield. Not wanting to tempt fate, I hurriedly climbed in behind the wheel and headed for Bucky’s Tavern.

I drove slowly, taking in the sights, even though I’d seen them hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Pine Hills was beautiful and had a charm I had yet to find anywhere else. Eucalyptus Street had once been a mostly empty stretch of fields and a smattering of small, independently owned businesses that didn’t fit in anywhere else. But now, brand-new buildings speckled the landscape, many of which were still empty, but soon wouldn’t be as their occupants finally moved in.

Bucky’s Tavern was smack-dab in the center of the new stretch of businesses, which would eventually make it a great location, though, right now there was very little in the way of traffic. The owner, Bucky Sweeny, had big plans for his little place once more shops and restaurants started opening around him, and he hoped to get things kick-started by making a splash with our Irish coffee.

I was nervous since I wasn’t much of a drinker and had little knowledge when it came to alcohol, even alcohol mixed with coffee. But I’d tried it, and it seemed like it was good to my unrefined palate, so I trusted that people would be pouring in to try it. Bucky claimed he’d added something a little special to the mix that would make it our own, though he hadn’t said what that something might be.

I parked out front and carried my coffee inside Bucky’s. The wooden exterior of the tavern gave the impression of a cozy log cabin. The interior mirrored that, with rustic tables and chairs in the center of the room. There was a wood-paneled bar to the left of the entrance, and a warm fireplace surrounded by small, two-person tables on the right. A door behind the counter led to the kitchen, while a hallway near the fireplace led to the restrooms. Patrons could order food with their beverage of choice, and the menu included meals for kids. Bucky’s might be a bar, but it was of the family sort.

No one was occupying any of the tables now since Bucky’s was closed, but that didn’t mean the place was empty. Bucky was standing at the bar, talking to three of his employees. I knew all three by sight, though I hadn’t yet had the chance to get to know any of them beyond putting names to faces.

“Don’t let anyone or anything distract you from what we’re doing here tonight,” Bucky was saying as I approached. He was a man of average size, with a trimmed beard and short-cropped brown hair that matched his eyes. “Make sure everyone knows where we get our coffee from.” He tipped his head my way. “But don’t tell anyone what we’re putting in it. Same goes for the green beer.”

“It’s just—” Grant Price, a thirty-something former musician with a shaggy haircut that hinted that he wasn’t quite done with the music scene, started to say before Bucky cut him off with a raised finger.

“Don’t matter what it is. Just don’t talk about it. The mystique is part of the appeal.” He turned to me. “Hey, Krissy. You ready for this?”

“Me? Of course.” I smiled. “But once I’m done at Death by Coffee later, I’m going to get to enjoy the rest of my evening. I’m not working my tail off like you.”

“Lucky you,” he said, matching my smile. “I truly hope that we can pull this thing off right. There’s been some rumblings that …” He trailed off with a frown, hand going to his belly. “Never mind that. I just want to see people come in and have a good time. If they enjoy themselves, I’m hoping they’ll be back.”

I glanced around. Bucky hadn’t gone all out with the St. Patrick’s Day decorations, but I did spot a few shamrock window clingers. And there was the green beer and Irish coffee, of course. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“What he’s not saying is how the other bar owners around town want to shut him down.” One of his bartenders, Kandice Vaughn, leaned on the counter, hand brushing briefly against Bucky’s forearm, as she spoke. She had long, worn features that spoke of a lifetime of hard work and little rest. “Dwayne was in last night and made his thoughts rather clear on the matter.”

Bucky frowned as he massaged his stomach, as if the topic was turning it sour. “It was nothing, really.”

“Oh?” From her tone, I could tell they’d already had this discussion, and like now, had differing opinions. “I don’t call Dwayne threatening to break your nose ‘nothing.’ I thought I was going to have to call the police.”

“It’s that bad?” I asked.

Bucky shook his head, while Kandice nodded. “Ruth put him up to it, I’m sure,” he said. Ruth Camden was the owner of a place simply called, Bar, while Dwayne Morris owned the Whistling Wet Weasel. I only knew them by name, mostly from conversations with Bucky. I’d met neither.

“Don’t forget about Ivan,” the oldest employee of Bucky’s, Jazz Day, said. His gray hair was slicked back from a sloping forehead, dimpled with acne scars. When he smiled, it caused his dark blue eyes to light up.

“I wish I could,” Bucky said with a grimace. Ivan McGraw owned what many considered the skeeviest bar in town, Beers and Rears. The name said everything you needed to know about the place—and the man who owned it.

“What did Ivan do?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

“Nothing,” Bucky said, shooting Jazz a warning look. The older man raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t you three have work to do? I need some coffee, or else my head’s going to explode.”

“I can get that for you,” Grant said.

“Me too?” I asked, lifting my half-empty to-go cup. “I could use a top off.”

Grant smiled, took my cup. “Sure.”

As Jazz and Kandice started setting up, and Grant turned to pour our coffees, Bucky and I leaned against the bar to chat.

“Cooks are coming in in an hour,” he said. “When they get here, I doubt I’ll have a moment to spare. This is going to be as stressful of a day as I’ve ever had.”

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked, noting how his hand went to his stomach again.

He glanced down, dropped his hand with a grimace. “Nerves. It’s nothing. When I get worked up, I tend to feel it in my guts.”

“I don’t think you need to be nervous,” I said, tamping down my own nervousness. “People are going to love this place.”

“I hope so.” He glanced toward where Grant was finishing up the coffees. A trio of coffeemakers was set up along the back counter. In a cupboard beneath the bar, bags of the coffee we served at Death by Coffee were stacked and ready to go. “I’m afraid … No, ignore me. You’re right. It’ll be fine.”

I considered pressing him, but it was clear that his worries were upsetting his stomach more than he was letting on.

Grant returned, sliding a mug over to Bucky and handing me my to-go cup. “Was that a cookie I saw in your drink?”

“Sure was,” I said, taking a sip. “Chocolate chip.”

His nose scrunched up in disgust.

“It’s an acquired taste.” And was something I’d done since forever. I loved the gooey bits left over after the coffee was gone.

“I think I’m okay not acquiring it, if it’s all the same to you,” Grant said, before heading to the back to help with setup.

Bucky chuckled, then pushed away from the bar, coffee in hand. “I should get back there and make sure I’m not forgetting something. You plan on stopping by later tonight?”

“I am. I’ll bring Paul.”

“I look forward to meeting him.” His eyes flickered to the engagement ring on my finger, before returning to my face. “He’s a lucky guy.” Bucky saluted me with his coffee, then turned and headed for the back.

I’m the lucky one, I thought.

And then, with that happy thought firmly in mind, I left Bucky’s Tavern to get ready for the St. Patrick’s Day celebration.

I shivered as I took a bite from my Irish cream and chocolate-chip ice cream. Out of the green-colored choices offered by Scream for Ice Cream, it sounded the most, well, St. Patrick’s Day adjacent. Mint chocolate chip was usually a favorite, and pistachio was a flat no for me, so I’d opted out of those two. I could have also ordered plain old vanilla with green food coloring, but that was boring.

So, Irish cream it was.

I left the ice cream shop and started down the sidewalk, disposable bowl and plastic spoon in hand. It felt like the entirety of Pine Hills was out and enjoying the day. The sidewalks were packed, and since the road was closed for the upcoming parade, just as many people were walking down the street as well. The sun had come out from behind the fluffy white clouds it had been hiding behind earlier. Its warmth counteracted the chilly breeze, though my ice cream kept me huddled in my jacket.

My pace was leisurely as I ate. I didn’t think I’d ever seen the town get so excited for a holiday before. And while green wasn’t my favorite color, it was fun to see how everyone included it into their getups. Not everyone had gone all out like Robert, but there were a few leprechauns and a handful of women in what I took for Celtic outfits, with knots and very nature-centric themes dominating their attire. Mostly, I spotted green undershirts, ties, and more green ribbons than I could count.

“Hey, Krissy!” A woman who looked too young to be wearing a police uniform trotted over to me and gave me a hug. “This is nuts.”

“Lena!” I returned the hug one-armed, as not to spill my ice cream. “It’s hard to believe there’s so many people living in Pine Hills.”

“Tell me about it.” She stepped back with a grin. Lena Allison had once been an employee at Death by Coffee, but had recently joined the police force. It was still odd to see her dressed without her skateboard and all the scrapes and bruises that came along with it. I was glad to see purple hair poking out from beneath her cap. It meant the department wasn’t forcing her to change too much, though I’m sure some people didn’t like it.

“I see they have you working,” I said.

“Everyone is.” Lena made a face, but brightened. “I get off early, so I’ll be able to have a little fun tonight.” Her eyes drifted to my finger, which was a common occurrence with people I knew these days. “You and Paul have plans for later?”

I smiled. “Now, what kind of lady would I be if I told you that?”

Lena snorted. “Well, he seemed like he was excited when I saw him earlier. He’s around here somewhere.” She glanced around as if she expected to spot him in the crowd. “Chief Dalton is wandering around here too. Maybe you can sweet-talk her into letting Paul off early.”

I laughed. “Right. I don’t think anyone has ever been able to sweet-talk her into anything.”

“You’re probably right.” Lena shoved her hands into her pockets and hunched her shoulders. It made her look even younger than she had before. “I should get back to it. I doubt anything’s going to happen this early in the day, but you never know. I’ve already spotted a group of guys carrying around water bottles I’m ninety percent sure aren’t filled with water.”

“Sounds like you’ll have your hands full later.”

“I hope I’m off before they get too tipsy.” She leaned in close. “We can leave the drunks to Buchannan.”

John Buchannan, my former nemesis–turned–police detective. He still sometimes liked to hound me whenever I got involved in one of his investigations, but he’d mellowed out on me over the years.

“I’m sure he’ll love that,” I said.

“I bet—hey! Stop that!” Lena gave me an exasperated look before she rushed over to where a group of teenage boys were trying to climb a light pole in a vain attempt to reach the shamrock hanging from it.

I chuckled as I left her to it. As the day went on, it would only get crazier.

By the time I reached Lawyer’s Insurance, I’d finished my ice cream. I dumped the disposable cup into one of the many trash cans placed along the parade route and considered crossing the street to Death by Coffee for a warmup. Grant’s refill was already gone, cookie goop included. Between the crowd and the window decorations, I could hardly see through the front window of the bookstore café. And what I could see showed me a nearly full dining area.

I opted against the coffee and instead picked my way through the growing crowd until I reached Phantastic Candies. An army of small leprechauns poured out just as I opened the door. They were followed by a harried woman dressed in a green nun’s outfit. I stepped aside and held the door open for them as the kids scurried past, chattering about their sugar-infused finds. The woman thanked. . .