The Coffee Shop Murder, David & Stacey Doss [best inspirational books TXT] 📗

The Coffee Shop Murder

Clouds rolled and thunder crashed as the sky opened into a drenching downpour. People on the glistening streets scattered to escape the deluge. A man trotted across the pavement, holding a newspaper over his head and pushed through the door to a cozy coffee shop on the corner.

He shook his trench coat and dropped the paper on a nearby table. The smell of freshly ground gourmet coffee beans wafted across the room, giving him a comfortable, homey feeling. He grabbed his sodden paper and plopped into a cushioned seat in the corner. A young waitress, probably in her early twenties, bustled up to him with pad and pen in hand.

"Good'ay! What can I get you today?"

"Just a plain coffee, please, Beth," he responded, reading her name tag.

"Sure. Straight away." She tucked her pen into her pocket and turned away. The stranger admired her slender form and long, dark brown hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail which swished as she walked.

While he waited for his drink, he looked around at his fellow customers. There were only a few; an older couple sat two tables away to his left, engaged in a subdued, yet heated discussion. The woman was fashionably dressed, with hair chiseled against her head. The man had reddish hair peppered with gray and wore a blue knitted sweater. They learned toward each other, eyes snapping and mouths biting in a muted argument.

To his right, the newcomer saw a gentleman in a tweed coat with brown leather patches on his elbows, scribbling furiously on a note pad. The writer pushed his black-framed glasses up his nose and smoothed his chocolate brown hair off his ear.

Beth returned to his table with a steaming cup of java in her hand. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, this is my first time in Australia. I'm here on vacation. Name's Jim." He reached out a hand.

Shaking his hand, she responded, "Well, welcome! Hope you enjoy your visit." She sauntered away and he continued watching the other coffee-drinkers.

Beth approached the table of the couple, and the visitor overheard, "Okay, you two. Quit your arguing. It's bad enough you do it online; this is our first time meeting, and you don't need to do it here."

The woman chuckled. "You're right, Beth. Sorry, Rick."

"Sure, Val. No problem. I'm going to chat with Laz. He's too involved with that story of his." Rick scooted his chair back and grabbed his non-descript coffee mug. He limped slightly as he crossed the shop, glancing at the visitor as he passed. Rick plopped in the chair across from the writer, who set his pen down and began to chat animatedly. Rick spun Laz's mug until Laz moved it out of reach.

In a darker corner, almost behind the counter, sat a middle-aged man; at least that's what Jim guessed based on the almost gray hair that glowed slightly from the dim lighting. He was alone, sipping from a foam cup and fiddling with a sugar packet.

Jim jumped at the screech of the chair being shoved across the tile floor and his head jerked back to Rick and Laz. Rick had stood suddenly and stalked away. Val jumped up and dashed over, a concerned look on her face.

Jim flagged Beth down and asked, "So, what's up with those three?"

"Oh, see, we're all members of this writing site called Bookrix, and we decided to meet. Val and Rick are from America, although Val was originally from England, and Laz is Canadian. David over there in the corner is also from America. I'm surprised he's here since his wife's in the hospital. Both he and Stacey are on Bookrix. I would've loved to meet her. Maybe next time. Anyway, we're waiting for one more, Patrick. There was supposed to be more, but they couldn't come to Australia, so I'm hoping we can meet with them next year in New York."

She is sure chatty

, Jim thought as he watched David saunter over to Laz's table and sit. He saw David tear open a sugar and dump it into his cup. Laz must've asked for sugar, too, because David slid a packet across the table. "Thank you," Jim read Laz's lips.

Val came over and laid a hand on David's shoulder as she reached to pick up Laz's cup. Jim saw bright colors and marks which looked like words and knew it wasn't one of the shop's mugs. Hmm, strange sort likes his own cup

, he ruminated.

Val set the mug back down and chatted for a moment, then wandered off. David followed shortly after, meandering around the shop, looking at the bags of coffee beans for sale. The door opened, and all eyes turned to see a tall, distinguished older gentleman with snow white hair enter. "Patrick! You made it!" Jim heard Val exclaim.

A choke and gurgle, then a loud thump drew everyone back toward Laz's table. Laz lay sprawled on the floor. Patrick rushed to his side, checked his pulse, then shouted, "Someone call the police!" He worked to resuscitate the prone man, but it was too late. Two police officers burst into the door and found everyone sitting in various stages of shock, watching Patrick examine Laz's notebook, pen, and drink.

Patrick took command of the room, ordering the officers to consider all customers as suspects.

"Patrick, what are you doing?" Val squeaked.

"I'm investigating a murder."

"Murder?! Laz was murdered?" Beth covered her mouth, tears beading in her eyes.

"Yes, Laz was murdered, and the culprit is in this room."

All the Bookrix friends' eyes looked toward Jim.

"Val, I'd like to talk to you first. Please follow me. Jim?" They walked to the back corner where David had been sitting, far from the rest of the group.

"Val," Patrick began as they slid into the booth, "please tell me what happened tonight."

Val just stared at him. "I thought you were a writer," she stammered.

"I am, but I'm also an investigator. Do you know any reason why anyone in this room would want to kill Laz?"

"Well, Rick has been upset with him lately, you know. You've seen his posts on Bookrix. Rick's been bumped from the top ten at the last moment by Laz's books in the last three contests, two of which Laz won. Rick is obviously jealous."

"Jealous enough to kill?"

"What do you think? You've commented on his rants."

"Actually, I've commented on both of your posts." He bumped a pen against his lip, deep in thought, then scribbled some notes. "Okay, what about Beth?"

"Did you know that Laz charged her so much for the cover art for her last book that she had to take this waitressing job to pay for it?"

"Really? How do you know?"

"She told me last week when we were finalizing these plans."

"Okay. And David?"

She looked toward the man in question, then back to Patrick. "I have no idea. He hasn't really been participating much on Bookrix lately, but I thought it was just because Stacey was sick."

Patrick leaned back. "Interesting. Thanks, Val. Please send Beth to me." Val shook as she walked away.

Beth sat nervously before Patrick, smoothing the fabric of her slacks. She glanced at Jim, who leaned his chair against the wall and looked at her with eyes closed almost to bored slits. Tears were running from her eyes and dripping off her chin.

"Beth, please tell me what you know."

"What I know? What do you mean?"

"What would drive Val to kill Laz?"

"Val? Well, we've been talking, you know, since we planned this meeting. She's been very frustrated because it seems he's been a little hard on some of her latest stories."

"That's a killing offense?" Patrick smirked.

"No, no, it isn't. But she's been very hurt because it seems that whenever one of her friends on Bookrix befriends Laz, it's not long before they start becoming too critical towards her work. And she thinks that Melanie's account is really his secret account, where he can attack at will and no one would know the difference. You know how she feels about account abuse!"

"Right. And Rick?"

"I don't know. They seem to get along okay for the most part, but did get into an argument tonight, just before..." she sobbed.

"Okay, Beth. One other question. Do you know of any reason why David would want Laz dead?"

"No, I don't. I know they've been in a little competition lately with book covers, but I haven't heard a cross word from either of them about the other."

"Thank you, Beth. Please send Rick over."

Patrick watched as Rick limped across the room. "I know you probably think I killed Laz," he prefaced as he sat. "Everyone things the worst of me, but I didn't. I don't have a problem with him. He was a pretty decent guy."

"Who do you think did, then?"

"I don't think anyone here would've. Yeah, Beth's having to work two jobs to pay for the cover he designed, but that's her own fault. She should've gone to David instead."

"Why David?"

"He does covers, too, or he used to, but then Laz was getting all the business. Don't you remember reading that a few months ago? David posted in several groups that he was offering websites and graphic designs."

"No, I don't recall that. So, why should Beth get her covers from David?"

"He was cheaper, for one. And he did a lot of similar designs. I think they worked together on a number of them."

"Hmm. Thanks for the info. Please join the others."

"Do you want me to send David?"

"No, not at this time."

Rick left and Patrick leaned back against the vinyl. "What do you think, Jim? Do you think we can make an arrest?"

"Yes, I do."

They rose and walked to the group. "David, you're under arrest for the murder of Laz." Everyone gasped as David was handcuffed and led away. Beth, Val and Rick were allowed to leave.

The police chief came up to Patrick. "How did you solve the case so quickly?"

"Well, first, everyone was quick to accuse everyone else but David. Two, David, according to Jim here, had the means to transport the poison and deliver it without suspicion in a sugar packet. Three, David was the only one who did not touch Laz's cup, keeping his fingerprints from the murder weapon, so to speak."

"But that could all be coincidence."

"Yes. However, four, David's designs have been stolen by Laz recently. Similar designs have been popping up lately, and since Laz has been knee deep in packing to move across the country, he hasn't had time to do many from scratch. A random comment by David on Bookrix caught my eye a week ago, and I had hoped it was just a joke. Obviously not."

"What comment was that?"

"Laz was writing a mystery about a murder in a coffee shop for a contest in the Coffee Shop group, and asked David for some input on who to use for the characters. David suggested jokingly that he could be the killer, and 'do the