The Devil Drinks Coffee Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Angela Corbett

  Thank you, From Angela Corbett

  About the Author

  The Devil Drinks Coffee

  Copyright © 2013 by Angela Corbett

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  Cover design by Kat Tallon

  Interior design by Novel Ninjutsu

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  ISBN 978-0-9892836-0-1

  Published in the United States of America by Midnight Sands Publishing, Utah

  Printed in the United States of America

  For my mom, a constant source of inspiration . . . in so many ways!

  If it wasn’t for the damn pig . . .

  I shook my head as I looked out the window at mirror-like waves rising off the road. It was one hundred and two degrees—the hottest day of the year so far—and I was roasting.

  Branson Falls, Utah, has a total of two stoplights. Since catching jaywalkers and light runners is one of the only things for Branson cops to do, Officer Bob had been hiding out between The Snow Cone Hut and Movie Mayhem like a turtle in a Crown Victoria shell. I didn’t see him until after I zoomed through a mostly yellow light on the way to cover my next big story: the birth of a bright purple pig.

  It had taken Bob a mile to catch up, and me another mile to realize Bob had purposely turned his lights and siren on—I was surprised he knew where the buttons were located. I finally pulled over in front of the Branson convenience store, also known as the den of iniquity that sells beer, condoms, and coffee.

  Like me, my Jeep Grand Cherokee doesn’t handle heat waves well, so I’d turned the engine off when Officer Bob stopped me. But I could see him relaxing in his idling, air-conditioned squad car, and I was getting angrier by the minute. There sat Bob, comfortable as could be, while the hair on my arms started to singe and the back of my legs glued themselves to my sticky leather seat. I was hot, cranky, and late for an important appointment with a pig. It was time to get proactive.

  I got out of my Jeep as a jacked-up black Ford truck with tinted windows roared past me at breakneck-speed and careened down the road. I scowled at the truck, angry that I’d been pulled over when, clearly, the truck driver needed a speeding ticket. Officer Bob seemed unconcerned, however, so I went back to my original plan. I pulled my v-neck sky blue shirt down and crossed my arms under my chest, propping my boobs up. If college taught me one thing, it was how to use boob manipulation. With the girls at their perkiest, I walked up to Officer Bob’s door and pasted on my most charming smile before bending down to look at Bob. His round cheeks and gradually receding hairline made him seem older than he was. He was taking great effort to ignore me so I knocked on his window to the tune of shave-and-a-haircut.

  Unable to overlook me any longer, Bob pressed the automatic window button. As the glass rolled down, a merciful wave of cool air hit me from inside his car. “I could arrest you for gettin’ out of your car, you know.” He said it like he thought he was Eric Cartman from South Park. I half expected him to flash his badge and tell me to “respect his authoritah.”

  “Arrest me for what?”

  “Standin’ there. You’re threatenin’ me. I could Taser you.”

  “I’m threatening you?” I held my palms out to show him I wasn’t holding anything. “With what?”

  “It doesn’t matter what you’re usin’,” he said, trying to pull his eyes away from my chest. “I just have to feel like you’re a threat.” He started fiddling with a black leather pouch on his belt, which he seemed to be having a problem opening because he had to detour around his stomach to get the pouch unlatched.

  I put my hands on the window seal and leaned into the squad car. “Bobby Burns,” I said with a warning glare, “if you even think about using a stun gun on me, you’ll be the star of a front page news story about police misconduct.”

  Bobby pointed at me with a pudgy finger. “That’s another threat.”

  “No, it’s a promise. I’m the editor of the Tribune, Bobby. You probably shouldn’t get on my bad side.” I couldn’t tell if the sweat on his upper lip was the result of fear, or the heat seeping into his squad car now that the window was down. I decided to appeal to his sense of nostalgia. “Look, Bobby. We grew up together. You’re a nice guy. I only moved back to Branson a few weeks ago and I’m late for a story. I need to get to the Crandall farm before their pig turns back to a normal color. What do I have to do to get out of here without a ticket?” Since the manager at McDonald’s makes more money than me, I really couldn’t afford a ticket and was willing to listen to any alternatives.

  Bobby pulled his aviator sunglasses down slightly, looking at me over the top of the frame. “Are you tryin’ to bribe me?”

  “No! I’m trying to do my job.”

  “Too bad. Bribin’ might’ve worked.”

  At that moment, a static voice crackled from Bobby’s police radio, “All units needed immediately at Emerald Lake. A body—” Bobby reached over faster than any turtle should be able to move and turned the radio volume down.

  He glanced at me while he fastened his seat belt. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Kate. I gotta go.”

  I looked from Officer Bob to the radio, tightening my hands on his open window. “What’s going on, Bobby?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t tell ya, just thank your stars ya didn’t get a ticket.”

  With that, he hit the button to roll up the window. I stepped back as he shifted the car into gear and his tires squealed as he sped away.

  I wasn’t about to let him leave without me though. I’d heard enough to know there was a body at Emerald Lake, and I was going to find out why. The pig would have to wait. I jumped in my Jeep and followed Officer Bob.

  Emerald Lake is usually a popular recreation spot for Branson residents, but today, police cars, ambulances, and the coroner’s car were scattered across the park.

  A body had been pulled from the lake and was now lying on the ground covered by a stark white sheet. Water slowly seeped through the colorless fabric. I moved in closer, trying to get a better look before police erected a tent to shield the scene from onlookers. Officer Bob stepped in front of me putting his hand up, palm out, to stop me before I cou
ld get around the police tape.

  “Hey, Bobby. Long time no see,” I said. “If you’re here, who’s on light duty?”

  “Dagnabbit, Kate! You weren’t supposed to follow me.”

  “Yeah. Bad timing that you were pulling me over when you got that call. Want to tell me what happened and let me take a look around?” I held up my camera trying to appeal to his sense of importance. “I’ll quote you in the paper and take your photo.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t do it. We’re conductin’ a serious investigation.”

  “Bobby,” I said, trying to reason with him. “This is probably the biggest news story in Branson history! I need to know what happened and I need to get some photos.”

  “You can get photos after the body’s taken away.”

  “I wasn’t going to take photos of the body! Geez, what kind of person do you think I am?”

  Bobby wrinkled his nose. “You’re part of the liberal media. Can’t be trusted.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m a reporter for the Branson Tribune, Bobby. I don’t have an agenda. Come on, there has to be something I can do to get past the police tape.”

  “Sorry, Kate,” he said, rubbing his thumb over his badge like he was trying to shine it. “Can’t do it.”

  We each held our ground, glaring at each other in some sort of staring standoff until I heard a deep voice say, “That’s fine, officer, she’s with me.”

  Bobby glanced behind me and seemed to wither before my eyes. I turned around to see a tall, broad shouldered man with sandy brown hair, tan skin, and hard green eyes stroll up next to me. Bobby took an immediate step back, clearly intimidated.

  I was a little unsettled myself, but mostly confused. “I am?”

  He cocked his head, giving me a half smile. “You are,” he confirmed.

  He flashed some sort of badge at Bobby. Bobby clenched his jaw and then relented. “All right, you can go.” He pointed at me. “But if I get in trouble for this from the chief, you’re gonna owe me a favor.”

  I nodded as I passed through the barrier, smiling at the back of the man who could easily be a model—or the leader of a Black Ops team. The guy was dressed in gray cargo pants, black combat boots, and a dark blue tee shirt, which he filled out nicely. I could see the bottom half of a black tattoo on his bicep and kept mentally reminding myself to breathe as I caught up with him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “but, I’m not sure who you are.”

  He stopped, turned, and looked at me in a way that demanded all of my attention. “I’m Ryker Hawkins. People call me Hawke.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell—and he was definitely someone I would have remembered. “I’m Kate Saxee,” I said, holding out my hand. He shook it firmly at first, but then softened his grip, letting his hand linger.

  “I know,” he said.

  I stared at him, wondering what else he knew. He gently slid his hand out of mine.

  “And why did you decide to help me get into the crime scene, Mr. Hawkins?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “It’s just Hawke,” he said. “And I helped you because I think we both have skills that could be mutually beneficial to each other.” His gaze slid up and down my body as he said it.

  I narrowed my eyes. It didn’t seem like he was talking about work skills at all. “Professional skills, right?”

  He glanced down and gave me a smile that could only be described as naughty. I folded my arms across my chest in an attempt to hide my boobs. It was obvious he was well-aware of my assets and I wouldn’t need them for any manipulation. “What do you do?”

  “Today I’m a P.I.,” he answered.

  “You’re a private investigator?” I asked. “And what do you mean by “today”?”

  His lips lifted in a slow smile. “I can be anything you want me to be,” he said as his eyes darkened and my mouth fell open, “but these days I do a lot of contract work.”

  I picked my jaw up. “Contract work like you own a business, right? Not contract work like you kill people?”

  He didn’t answer, but leaned into me and smiled again instead. Hawke was only inches away and he smelled like a combination of salt, soap, and the beach. I closed my eyes as I took in the sexy scent that had overpowered all of my common sense. When I opened them again, he was watching me with an amused expression. It was obvious he’d noticed me trying to inhale him so it seemed like I should say something. “You smell really good,” I murmured weakly.

  “It’s called Swagger.”

  I lifted my brow. “I bet it is.”

  He looked past me before settling his gaze on my face again. “You want to find out whose body is under that sheet or what?”

  “Yes!”

  “Stay here for a minute. I’ll be back.”

  I’m not in the habit of letting people tell me what to do, but Hawke seemed to have more connections than me, and I didn’t want to get kicked out of the crime scene.

  Hawke talked to a few cops and the guy in the coroner’s shirt, and disappeared behind the tent for a few minutes before coming back. “The coroner is going to take the body soon. Once they’re gone, you can get photos.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Whose body is it?”

  “Can I trust you not to release the name or harass the family?”

  “What a silly question.”

  He gave me a level stare. “Is that a yes, or no?”

  “Yes, you can tell me.”

  “It’s a teenage girl. Her name was Chelsea Bradford.”

  I gasped as soon as I heard the name. The Bradfords lived in the same neighborhood as my parents. They moved in after I left for college, but I’d seen them around town when I was home during school breaks. Chelsea’s mom was a housewife and her dad owned a few successful businesses.

  “Did you know her?” Hawke asked.

  I shook my head. “Not personally. They live near my parents though.”

  He nodded like that wasn’t a surprise. “The coroner thinks Chelsea’s been dead for about ten hours,” he said. “The police will most likely rule her death an accidental drowning, but I think there’s more to the story. I think someone might have wanted to hurt Chelsea.”

  I studied his face for a moment. “Why would you think that?”

  He caught my gaze and held it. “Call it a hunch.”

  “A hunch?” I widened my eyes. “You expect me to just trust the hunch of some life-size G.I. Joe figurine?”

  He grinned. “I’m trusting a woman who seems to think she’s Lois Lane, so yeah.”

  Since Lois and I were both damn good reporters, I wasn’t insulted by the reference. “Seriously, you’ve got to give me more than “call it a hunch.” What do you know that I don’t?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. I could tell he was trying to decide exactly how much he wanted to say. “There are things that don’t add up.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, since her time of death puts her here at two in the morning, I’d like to know what a seventeen-year-old girl was doing at Emerald Lake in the middle of the night. I’m also curious why her parents didn’t know she was here.” He paused, glancing around the park before settling his eyes back on me and deciding to continue. “Also—and this is just between you and me—when I saw her body—”

  “You saw the body?” I interrupted. The police had put up a tent to shield the scene from onlookers since I’d arrived. “How did that happen?”

  “I’m kind of—“

  “Intimidating?” I offered.

  “I was going to say persuasive.”

  I tilted my head to the right in agreement.

  “Some of her wounds look like they were defensive. That means she wasn’t out here alone, and her death wasn’t accidental.”

  I watched Hawke steadily as I thought about his concerns. The defensive wounds were disturbing. And the possibility of a murder in Branson Falls? People here rarely die of anything except old age and boredom. A murdered teenage girl would be even mo
re shocking. Not to mention that if news about a potential murderer on the loose got out, pandemonium would strike and people would barricade themselves in their basements. “That seems like a lot of evidence. So why are the police ruling it an accidental drowning?”

  “That’s what I’d like to find out.”

  Hawke seemed to know what he was talking about. Everything he mentioned definitely warranted further research. “Okay,” I conceded. “You have some good points.”

  He looked around at the scene. The crowd of Branson residents was getting bigger as news spread that a body had been found. “I can help you investigate this story.”

  I was surprised and a little bewildered at the offer. “How?”

  “I have resources that give me access to information.”

  “Then why not just investigate by yourself? What do you need me for?”

  “You have resources I don’t,” he said, looking me over again, his eyes lingering on my curves. I should have been offended, but I was actually a little flattered. I’d never had a guy like Hawke pay attention to me before. “You’re also well-known and respected in Branson Falls. In a small town like this, respect and personal history is important.”

  I snorted. “I don’t know about the respected part, but I’m definitely well-known. I haven’t been to church in years.” I looked at him and he looked back. It occurred to me he probably hadn’t been to church—any church—ever, which made him even more of a reprobate than me. “What’s in this for you?”

  “I told you, I do contract work. My clients are private but suffice it to say, you and I both have an interest in this particular case.”