shirt hurried out of the kitchen. He only needed a white beard to look exactly like an off-duty Santa Claus. “Have a seat anywhere,” he said, wiping his hands on the bottom of his flannel plaid shirt.
“I just need five coffees to go, Carl.” The Santa named Carl looked surprised to hear his name until Jake pointed at his dangling nameplate stuck on his sleeve. “Don’t lose that in someone’s breakfast.”
The woman in the corner laughed, barely, but it was a sweet sound compared to the silent razing he’d been taking for wrecking the murder scene. Sweet, and it brought a smile to his frozen face.
“I was wonderin’ how you knew.” Carl reached for the cups and coffeepot. “You want cream or sugar?”
“Blacks all round. Thanks.”
“Hey, you with the cops at the lake? A guy came in earlier and said you found a body by the dam.”
“Detective Jake Craig, Dallas P.D.,” Jake acknowledged, trying to dissuade him from asking more questions. It didn’t work.
“So was it a woman, like they say? Was she really all in white? Murdered? Froze to death?”
Everyone, including himself, wanted those answers.
“How long have you been at work today?” he asked. If the counter guy wanted to be chatty, might as well point him in the right direction.
“Been here since ’bout midnight, I think. Took a while in this weather with the roads the way they were. I skidded through two different red lights. Glad you weren’t around then.”
“How about her?” Jake asked about the woman in the corner.
“Bree? She’s been here since I came on board.”
“That’s a long time to nurse a cup of java.”
“Nah, happens all the time. And I think that’s her fourth or fifth hot chocolate. She nods off every once in a while.”
There was a rolling suitcase against the wall next to her. “She homeless?”
“Naw, nothin’ like that. Lost her car, broke down a couple of months back, and she walks everywhere. Does jobs for people in Lakewood, picks up an extra shift around here sometimes. Manager don’t mind her sitting there when we ain’t busy.”
“You said she’s been here since midnight?” His victim had already been killed by then.
“Yeah, let me get you a carrier for these. I got a new box of ’em in the back,” Carl said, putting the last lid on a large cup.
“How much do I owe you?”
“On the house for cops.”
After leaving a five, Jake put his wallet away and leaned against the counter, watching the busy intersection. Predawn joggers, walkers with dogs, people driving by and going about their ordinary day. Busy, yet not a single witness. He took the lid off one cup and poured a good amount of sugar in. He’d need the extra calories today.
While he sipped, he watched, honing his skills, making mental notes. Passing the time like he had for so many years.
The woman Carl called Bree shifted in her seat, looking nervous. She’d obviously overheard the conversation with Carl. Most people were more curious for details. When he came across someone who turned away, covered their face and tried to act casual about doing so...it normally meant they were hiding something.
Or was he just being overly suspicious again, wanting to investigate a murder instead of paying his dues by getting coffee?
Stick it out. They’ll come around soon enough.
Carl loaded the coffees into the cardboard.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problemo. Come back when there’s not a murder. Gotta get ready for my breakfast regulars.” Carl waved and returned to the kitchen.
“I’ll do that.” Jake leaned his shoulder against the door, pushing it open for a fraction of a second. Hit by a blast of frigid air, the coffee carrier tipped toward his filthy coat. He let the door slam, successfully catching the coffees and balancing them against his chest. A tiny giggle from the corner. He looked up and locked eyes with Bree. The woman had a beautiful smile. No matter how brief or even if she was laughing at his near disaster.
She quickly hid her eyes by resting her forehead on her hand. Her reaction made him more than a little curious. He set the container down on the first booth’s table and deliberately meandered past the booth that separated them.
Speak. He stood there, waiting. Expecting...he didn’t know what. Anticipation took over his vocal cords, refusing to let them work. He didn’t want to ask her why she looked suspicious. He didn’t want her to be a suspect or a witness. What he wanted was her phone number.
Naw, he couldn’t do that. At least not as a police officer. He hadn’t asked for any phone numbers or called any that had been offered to him in the year since his divorce. Dang it. She was a potential witness. He should ask for her information, since she’d been here all night. Man, that is so weak. Just say something. His hand had reached inside his coat for his notebook before he realized he needed a pen.
Then her spine straightened, her hands dropped to her lap and she tilted her face up at him. Strikingly magnificent amethyst eyes. He’d never seen that color before.
“Do you need something, Detective?”
“I was...” The pen had been with the notepad earlier. He patted every pocket on his coat. “Can I borrow your pen?”
She didn’t turn away, just slid her larger spiral notebook in front of her and handed over the pen from between its pages.
“Thanks.”
“If you need one for the crime scene, I’m sure Carl has an extra. That ink’s actually pink.”
The old saying of a smile lighting up a room popped into his head. He would swear the entire diner had brightened when the corners of her mouth rose, silently amused that he’d be writing with her girlie-colored pen. He shook himself and wrote Carl’s name and then Bree.
“Ma’am, sorry to disturb you. Carl mentioned you walked here. Did you come through the park?”
“No, not last night. Was someone really murdered?” She visibly relaxed when she answered.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Sort of an odd physical reaction to the word murder. Don’t read anything into it.
“That’s so sad.”
“Yes, ma’am. Did you see anything unusual? Anyone running from the park or a car speeding away?”
“No. But I slept some after midnight.”
“I’d like your name and phone number, just in case we have new information and need to pursue it with you. You never know what detail might help.”
“It’s really hard to see out of these windows at night, Detective.
