Death by Spiced Chai

Book 10: Bookstore Cafe Mystery

by Alex Erickson

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Mystery; Animal Cozy Mysteries; Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

This time the stakes are higher than ever, as bookstore owner Krissy Hancock becomes the target of escalating attacks. Smart and masterfully plotted, will appeal to fans of Leslie Meier and Cleo Coyle.



Since Krissy Hancock opened her bookstore-café in the charming small town of Pine Hills, Ohio, she's discovered that murders don't just happen between the pages. This time, she's both suspect and target . . .



In a small town like Pine Hills, reputation counts for a lot. And for reasons that Krissy Hancock can't figure out, someone is trashing hers. Cockroaches in the bookstore's coffee, spiteful reviews, vandalism—Krissy is being framed for every bit of bad news around. Her boyfriend, local cop Paul Dalton, is on the case, but before they can source the saboteur, Krissy is in the frame for murder, too.



The murder weapon was a teapot full of Krissy's favorite spiced chai, and all the local gossips are spilling the tea about her supposed involvement. But the real culprit has a grudge that's been simmering for years. And unless Krissy can uncover the truth before the killer's rage boils over again, it won't just be her business in hot water—her life will be on the line too . . .

Release date: October 25, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

The chalk outline held a still-smoking gun in its hand. There was no blood, no actual body to be seen. Just one of those little yellow triangles with a black “1” resting over the heart. The words, Victim of the Heart, were embossed at the top, just above the outline’s head. Beneath, was James Hancock’s name.

A sense of pride washed through me as I rang up the sale. My dad’s latest novel was a hit. I’d sold at least six in the last hour, which, for my bookstore café, Death by Coffee, was a lot. It probably helped that with the recent remodel, I was able to place two bookshelves near the stairs that led up into the bookstore portion of the store. One held only James Hancock novels. The store was named after one of his books, so it seemed only right. The other held books by local authors. Admittedly, that one was looking a bit spare at the moment, but I hoped to fill it up soon.

Death by Coffee had been busy for most of the day. I was working upstairs alone, leaving the café portion of the store to our only two employees, Beth Milner and Jeff Braun. Everyone else who worked at the bookstore café was part of the ownership, me included, and couldn’t be there all of the time.

“This is a series, right?” The woman took the book and flipped through the pages, pausing to read a passage near the end.

“It will be.” Scars of the Heart and Fear of the Heart were due to be the next two novels. Dad had called me to tell me how excited he was to be writing the new series, and had given me complete plot outlines and titles. “I can give you the names of the next two books, but book two won’t be out until next year.”

“Thank you.” She continued reading what appeared to be the final chapter. Why someone would do that before reading the rest of the book, I’ll never know.

I grabbed a pad of paper I kept near the register and scribbled the name of the books with a tentative publishing date for each. I couldn’t help but admire the stationery as I handed over the slip of paper. Death by Coffee’s stylized logo topped the page. The stationery, like the remodel of the upstairs, was new.

The woman tucked the page into her recently purchased book, thanked me once more, and then made for the door.

“A new series?” A man in corduroy pants and a button-up shirt approached the counter with Dad’s book in hand. “He hasn’t finished the last one.”

“He will,” I promised the man. “He needed a break from Alden Kaine.” The Kaine books were popular, but Dad was tired of the detective’s surly nature and wanted to do something less dour.

“I see.” The man paused at the counter. “It’s insulting to the reader.”

“Insulting? How?”

“Making us wait. What gives him the right to decide to work on something else when there’s a series he has yet to finish. He should be working on unfinished works, not starting something new.”

What gave Dad the right? How about the fact he’s the author of said books? I kept my smile in place, though it was growing strained. “He wants to make sure the books are the best they can be. He needed the break, and this particular series was calling to him. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“We’ll see about that.” He placed the book on the counter. “You don’t have a signed copy, do you?”

“Not on hand, no.”

“You’re his daughter, correct?”

No matter how many times it happened, someone recognizing me as the daughter of author James Hancock always caught me by surprise.

“I am. Krissy Hancock.” I held out a hand.

“Hamish Lauder.” He shook, and then wiped his hand on his corduroys. “Take the name down. If you would, pass it on to Mr. Hancock. I’ll stop by in a week or so and see if you have signed copies, preferably one with my name attached.”

The urge to tell him that Dad had more important things to do crossed my mind, but I merely nodded and said, “I’ll see what I can do,” as I rang up the sale.

“Let me give you my address.” Before I could say anything, Hamish grabbed the pad of stationery and scribbled out his home address. “Perhaps you could deliver the book when it comes in.”

“We’ll see.”

Hamish took the book and started to walk away. He paused by the stairs. “I hope your father learns to respect his readers more. No matter how he tries to justify it, his delay is an insult to us all.”

Eyes from all over the store locked on Hamish, and then turned to me, as if waiting for a biting response. Instead, I waved. “I’ll let him know.”

And with that, Hamish Lauder tucked his book under his arm and marched from the store.

I leaned back against the wall with a sigh. That sort of thing happened more often than I cared to admit. Having a famous father was nice and all, but sometimes, people forgot that he’s a person with an actual life with wants and needs.

Downstairs, nearly every table had someone sitting at it, but there was currently no one else in line at the drink counter. It appeared as if the busy day was starting to slow, which was a good thing. Beth and Jeff would need breaks, and if we remained hopping, I wasn’t sure two of us could handle both the upstairs and downstairs alone.

Mason Lawyer was the only one available to call in if it came to that. My best friend and co-owner of Death by Coffee—and Mason’s wife—Vicki Lawyer, was an actress in a local play, and couldn’t come in. And Lena Allison . . .

A wave of melancholy washed through me. Lena had worked for us since we’d opened the place but had recently left Pine Hills for college. I was glad she was chasing her dreams, but I did miss her and her dedication to her work.

I opened my mouth to say something somber, but the cat bed next to me was empty. Vicki had taken Trouble with her when she’d left earlier in the day, meaning there was no store cat to talk to when I got maudlin. I wasn’t keen on talking to myself, especially since half the town already believed I was crazy, so I left my thoughts unuttered.

The phone rang. I picked it up before the second ring, thankful to have someone to talk to, even if it might be someone calling to complain.

“Death by Coffee, this is Krissy speaking. How may I—”

“Krissy Hancock?” The man’s voice was quiet, as if he were whispering into the receiver.

“Yes?”

There was a pause where all I could hear was the man’s breathing. The pause went on. And on. And on.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

The breathing continued. It wasn’t heavy breathing, like he was trying to weird me out or anything; just normal, through the nose breathing. I glanced downstairs, but neither Jeff nor Beth was paying me any mind. Neither were any of the customers. The only other person upstairs with me was an elderly gentleman sitting in one of the chairs we kept for people who wanted to read. He had his head back, eyes closed, and a war novel lying open on his chest.

“If there’s—”

I was cut off by a click, and the line went dead.

I looked at the receiver as if it were somehow responsible for the strange call. It had come in on the store line, not my personal cell. I didn’t know if that meant anything or not.

I hung up the phone and then waited to see if the man would call back. It was entirely possible he’d been trying to speak, but something had gotten messed up and muted him. Of course, since I could still hear him breathing, it wasn’t very likely. Maybe he’d forgotten what he’d wanted to say and he’d get back to me later.

The door opened downstairs and a man wearing a police uniform and hat walked through the door. He scanned the store, eyes going first behind the counter where Beth and Jeff worked, before passing over the three steps that led up to the bookstore, and finally, onto me.

A wide smile split his face, which showed off a pair of to-die-for dimples, before he headed my way.

My heart fluttered, but I did my best to keep the pleasure off my face as Paul Dalton ascended the steps to join me at the counter.

“I thought you were supposed to be working,” I said, resisting the urge to throw myself at him. I still couldn’t believe I’d gotten so lucky, yet here he was, the man of my dreams, standing before me, blue eyes sparkling as he took me in.

“I am,” he said, taking off his hat. He ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair, which was just shy of too long. I wondered if it would turn into a sandy blond if we were to run off to a beach somewhere and spend a few weeks under the sun. “But not much is happening that needs my attention at the moment.”

“Considering your job, that’s a good thing.”

He nodded. “It is. Have you been busy?”

“Some, but it’s died down. Have you seen Dad’s new book?”

Paul glanced over his shoulder, toward the bookshelf with all of Dad’s books. “I haven’t.”

“I think you’ll like it. It’s about a cop working a small town that is ravaged by a series of murders. He’s assisted by a local woman, who can’t seem to keep her nose out of his business, and well . . .” I was practically beaming by then. “And then the sparks fly.”

Paul chuckled. “Sounds kind of familiar.”

I felt a blush coming on, much to my annoyance. “He might have been inspired by my experiences since coming to Pine Hills.” Experiences which included far too many murders, but hey, at least something good was coming out of them.

Paul took in the rest of the bookstore, nodding as he did. “You know, I haven’t been up here since you remodeled the place. I like the new layout.”

“So do I.” The bookshelves were taller, and the layout itself was far more customer friendly than the old one. “The top shelf can be a pain to reach when it’s busy, but no one’s complained as of yet.”

“That’s good.” Paul turned his hat over in his hand, a nervous gesture I’d seen him make before. “I’d like to stay and chat, but really should get going. Are we still on for tonight?”

A swell of joy surged from somewhere deep inside me and it took all my self-control not to squeal when I said, “Of course.” Ever since Paul and I had started dating, I’d felt like a teenager with her first serious boyfriend.

“Good, good.”

“Are you ready to tell me where we’re going?”

He plopped his hat back onto his head, tapping the top of it to secure it into place. “Nope.”

“Not even a hint?”

“Not one.” He paused. “Well, maybe one.”

I leaned against the counter, chin in my hands. “I’m all ears.”

“Dress comfortably. We won’t be sitting still.”

A dozen ideas shot through my head. Is he taking me dancing? For a long, romantic walk?

And then, a mischievous voice. Back to his place?

“I’ll pick you up at your house tonight at around seven,” Paul said.

“I’ll be waiting.”

I watched him head down the stairs and out of the store, mentally cataloging which parts of him I’d like to see moving the most.

All of him, I decided.

I went back to work, but my mind wasn’t on it. I had hours yet before our date, and the wait was going to be hard. Paul and I had been dating for a few months now, and had known each other for years longer than that. So far, the shine hadn’t worn off of the relationship. I hoped that it never would.

There wasn’t much to do upstairs, and since Jeff and Beth had it under control downstairs, I began straightening the bookshelves. Most people were considerate when they went through a bookstore. They’d pick up a book, check to see if it might be something they’d enjoy, and then they’d put it back where they’d found it if not.

Others, however, were not so considerate. They’d set books down on their side, put them in backward, or on a completely random shelf. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d found a steamy romance shoved in with the latest Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I knew that sometimes these misplaced books were left there on purpose. You know, a big joke, adult book in the children’s section. Ha-ha.

Kids.

I’d just finished straightening a few shelves of the ever-popular mysteries when a scream ripped through the store. I think my spirit briefly left my body from the shock of it, before I spun to find a woman standing, pointing at her coffee. Nearly everyone was on their feet—the only exception being the sleeping man with the war novel. His snores were interrupted for a heartbeat before he continued his late afternoon nap.

No one was lying on the floor, and no one seemed hurt, so I hurried down the stairs, joining Beth, who’d come running at the same time I had.

“What happened?” I asked. My first thought was that the woman had burned herself on the coffee and we’d be looking at one of those lawsuits that would be splashed all over the news. She appeared unharmed, however.

But she was most definitely not all right.

The woman was pointing toward her coffee cup. Nothing seemed wrong with it from the outside. I wondered if she’d ended up with a café mocha when she’d wanted a French vanilla, but her reaction was far more violent than getting the wrong flavor merited.

“What’s wrong?” I approached the table, and her cup. Beth stood nearby, as if uncertain if she should approach too closely.

“I can’t believe . . . You . . . This place!” The woman sputtered. She appeared to be in her midthirties, with short cropped, brown hair. Her glasses were frameless, and went well with her features, which were soft and inviting, despite her apparent shock.

I leaned over to get a good look in the coffee cup, which was still half full of coffee that had turned a light brown from what had to be a whole lot of creamer.

Floating inside, was a cockroach.

“There are roaches in the coffee!” The woman shouted it loud enough to be heard three blocks away. There were gasps all around and a dozen lids hit the tables as customers checked their own coffees.

“There has to be some mistake,” I said, though how, I didn’t know. The evidence was floating right there in front of me.

“A mistake?” the woman laughed. It sounded half-crazed, like she might burst into tears at any moment. Honestly, I didn’t blame her. To think she’d drunk half of her coffee before realizing what was inside. “That’s more than a mistake. What if I get sick?”

“We’ll make it up to you. Free coffee. A refund.” My mind raced. I was concerned about the well-being of the customer, of course, but I was also worried about what this meant for Death by Coffee. What if she does sue?

“I . . .” The woman spun on her heel and ran to the women’s restroom.

“Beth?” I wasn’t sure what I was asking. Panic was starting to set in. Nothing like this had ever happened at Death by Coffee before.

“No one else has found bugs in their drinks,” Beth said, keeping her voice low. “And I’m positive I haven’t seen any all—”

The bathroom door banged open and the woman staggered back out. “There’s more in there! What kind of place is this?”

“What?” I rushed across the room and entered the women’s restroom. Thankfully, no one else was inside because, quite frankly, I needed a few moments alone to gather my thoughts.

At first, I didn’t see anything. Someone had left one of the sinks running at a trickle. I turned it off absently as I scanned the floor, but didn’t see any bugs—roaches or other wise—anywhere.

And then, one skittered out from beneath the farthest stall from the door.

“No, no, no.” I could feel myself pale as I opened the door to find a half dozen of the critters scurrying around the toilet. The restroom was otherwise clean, which struck me as odd. We took pride in keeping Death by Coffee shipshape, yet, here was evidence we’d failed.

I stood over the bugs, wondering what to do. I wasn’t about to pick them up with my bare hands. Even gloves wouldn’t help. And what if there were more? What if the entire store were infested? They could close us down!

Calm down, Krissy. I took a deep breath, and then closed the stall door, as if I thought it might keep the roaches contained inside. I can handle this.

I left the women’s restroom and brought out the big yellow cone that warned the room was being cleaned. Instead of leaving the door open like we normally would, I closed it. From there, I knocked to make sure no one was in the men’s room, and then checked for bugs there. Blessedly, there were none.

When I returned to the front, nearly every customer had left, including the woman. Half-drank cups of coffee sat on tables, and in one case, someone had smashed a donut onto a chair. As if that would help us with our roach problem.

“Did you get her name?” I asked Beth. The words came out almost mechanically. I wasn’t quite in shock, but I felt a lot like I did any time I came across a body. This sort of thing wasn’t something I was used to, or expected to ever find. Not in my place, anyway.

Beth shook her head, and then glanced at Jeff, who did likewise. “She took off as soon as you went in to check. I tried to stop her, but . . .”

“It’s all right.” One deep breath. Two. “Check the backroom. Look for any signs of an infestation.” I glanced at the door. Should I close up Death by Coffee altogether? Or should I keep the women’s room closed and set the men’s room as unisex until the roaches were under control?

“I haven’t seen anything,” Jeff said, eyes darting around the store like he was afraid bugs would start seeping from the walls. “But I’ll give the back a good look.”

“I’ll clean up out here.” Beth blew out a breath, causing her lower lip to flutter. “I can’t believe this.”

Neither could I, but it had happened. “All right. I’m going to call an exterminator.” And then . . .

My gaze drifted toward the restroom where the roaches waited. My stomach churned at the thought of going back in there, but I had to do something. If we let it get too far out of hand, the bugs, as well as the stigma they brought with them, could spell the end of Death by Coffee.

Despite not finding any further infestations, I decided to close Death by Coffee early. It wasn’t as if we were getting many customers anyway. Word had already spread, and it was keeping people away. I had a feeling that by tomorrow, everyone in Pine Hills would know about our little roach problem. I hoped that when it was cleaned up, the good news spread just as fast.

“What’s this I hear about cockroaches?”

I glanced up from closing out the register to find Vicki coming in through the door. She was dressed casually, yet she looked like a movie star. If she’d wanted to, she could have landed any role in any movie she chose, but had instead taken to the stage, albeit casually. She was happy to be the owner of a bookstore café, though her parents still blamed me for her decision not to become Hollywood’s next big star.

“I called an exterminator. Someone is coming in the morning to check it out,” I said. Beth and Jeff were already gone, and the lights were out upstairs. “I’m hoping it’s an isolated incident.”

“How is it even possible?” Vicki scoured the floor, but there were no bugs. “We’re careful.”

“These things happen, I guess.” I rounded the counter with the money bag in hand. “People were freaked out when it first happened, but they’ll be back.”

Vicki rubbed at her temples and sighed. “I suppose. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Great.” Of course, they were. Nothing happened in Pine Hills without the rest of the town knowing about it within minutes.

“Rita caught wind of it and she and her buddies are hitting the phones pretty hard.”

Rita Jablonski was the resident gossip of Pine Hills. Between her, Andi Caldwell, and Georgina McCully, nothing escaped notice.

“Once we make sure there are no more bugs, I’ll be sure to have a word with her,” I said. “Get her to spread some positive rumors.”

“Is there such a thing?” A smile found Vicki’s face, though I could see the exhaustion behind it. “Seems to me, people only want to talk about something when it’s bad.”

“It could happen.” I paused. “How are you doing? You look tired.”

“I am.” She leaned against the wall. “We’ve been pushing pretty hard with the play, and with Death by Coffee, and a kitchen remodel, I feel pulled in a thousand directions.”

“You’re remodeling your kitchen?”

“Mason’s idea.” This time, her smile was fond. “Ever since we remodeled the upstairs here, he’s gotten the bug.” A pause. “No pun intended. He plans on fixing up the kitchen before moving on to the backyard. He’s got all these plans, and I fear he’s going to run us both into the ground.”

“You could tell him no,” I said.

Vicki laughed. “I could. But I kind of like it. He gets so excited, and well . . .” She trailed off, eyes glimmering with thoughts that were most definitely of the private kind. “Anyway, I’m done for the night, and since you obviously are done here, I was wondering if you’d want to go get something to eat. Mason’s already eaten, so it won’t hurt his feelings if I don’t get home until late.”

“I wish I could.” I glanced at the clock. I still had time, but I wouldn’t for long. “Paul and I are going out tonight.. . .