Free Death Before Decaf by Caroline Fardig

meeting to get to in a few minutes.” I could hear the terror in Pete’s voice. I snuck another look. Charlene was draped across the table, her face inches from Pete’s.
    She whispered, “Skip it,” and grabbed hold of the front of his shirt.
    Oh, shit. If I didn’t do something soon, this fiasco was going to end in a lap dance. Thinking fast, I grabbed my drink and got up. As I passed their table, I “tripped” and emptied my drink all over Charlene’s head. I sprinted to the door without looking back. I could hear Charlene cussing me every step of the way, and once outside I made a mad dash for my car. Peeling out of the parking lot, I zipped over to Java Jive.
    Once more in the safety of the coffeehouse, I was finally able to catch my breath. My crazy plan of having Pete flirt the information out of Charlene had worked like a charm. We learned that Ron Hatcher (Dave’s sleazy bookie), Billy McClintock (Dave’s sister’s unstable baby daddy), and an unidentified prison buddy had all had recent run-ins with Dave. It shouldn’t be difficult to return to The Dirty Duck and bribe a bartender to give me the prison pal’s name. That made three suspects who weren’t me! I was so relieved that I happily went back to cleaning the kitchen, whistling as I worked.
    A few minutes later, I got a call from Pete. “I hope you got what you wanted, because I’m
never
going to do anything like that again.”
    Imagining him pouting on the other end of the line, I smiled. “I did. And I can’t thank you enough. You were a spectacular prostitute.”
    “You take that back!”
    I laughed, but sobered quickly, suddenly remembering something. “Hey, you know that guy on the Harley, the bookie Ron Hatcher, who you said argued with Dave? Did that really happen, or were you trying to get Charlene to talk?”
    “It really happened. Last week I heard some arguing out the office window. Dave was out back with that scary guy, Ron. I only heard bits and pieces, but one thing I remember Ron saying was, ‘If you let this shit get out of hand, I’m gonna kill you. If it blows up in your face, you’re back in jail, and I’m left high and dry.’ ”
    “Whoa! No way! Why didn’t you tell me before?”
    “I guess I had kind of forgotten about it in all of the craziness.”
    “Did you tell the cops?”
    “Yeah, I mentioned it when they questioned me.”
    “And?”
    “And they said they’d look into it.”
    A lightbulb suddenly flicked on in my head. “You said he was on a Harley, in the alley?”
    “Yeah, why?”
    I gasped, “He was there!”
    “Huh? Where?”
    “In the alley the night Dave was killed! Someone on a motorcycle nearly ran me over!” Ron Hatcher had to be our guy!
    “Did he look like the guy Charlene described—bald, bearded, with sleeve tattoos?”
    “I don’t know. It was dark. All I saw was a person on a speeding motorcycle.”
    “Then how do you know it was him?”
    I whined, “I don’t know. It’s a good theory.”
    “Good as any. Are you going to call the police and tell them your theory?”
    “Um…sure.” Not until I had more facts. I changed the subject. “So did you make another date with Charlene?”
    “Hell no! Are you nuts? I’m just glad you threw that drink when you did. That cooled her off, but only a little. She had the nerve to grab my junk as we were leaving.”
    I erupted into laughter. “I am so sorry. I really owe you one.”
    “Yes, you do. Now I’m going to take several showers, drink several beers, and take a nap.”
    “That should help.”
    “Jules?”
    “Yeah?”
    I could practically hear him gritting his teeth as he said, “We will never speak of this again.”
    “Roger that.”
    I went back to my cleaning, and after not too much longer, I was finished. The place was spotless and smelled clean. After my day, I figured I could treat myself to some dinner, or at least a giant tub of ice cream. As I was putting my cleaning supplies away, I heard a knock at the