Page 89 of Half Baked

I didn’t have time to dwell on the possibility as I hurried to the coffee shop and clocked in a few minutes early. I was working with Troy, a high school kid who had recently started at Déjà Brew, and he made me feel positively ancient.

Friday nights could be hit or miss with busyness, and this Friday was a bust. Troy kept whining about missing the high school basketball game, and since Petra was gone and I was the one with the keys, I told him to leave at seven-thirty. There was a chance I’d get a rush of customers before we closed at nine, but I was used to working with a crowd. I could handle it.

I had enough customers over the next hour to keep me from being bored, including a group of fourteen-year-old girls who were giggly and sweet. They were having a sleepover, apparently, and a parent would be picking them up from the coffee shop right before closing. I chatted with them while I made their drinks, and they settled in at a table by the windows, discussing their crushes with a seriousness that made me smile.

At eight-thirty, they were the only customers in the room—until a man walked through the entrance. He hung back, sticking close to the door, and studied me with an intensity that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He was under six feet with a stocky build. His black leather jacket and jeans were worn. He looked to be in his mid to late forties, and he had an air about him that suggested he didn’t take shit and had no trouble starting it. He had dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a dangerous look.

“Welcome to Déjà Brew,” I called out, hoping to either send him on his way or draw him away from the girls, who had stopped chatting to watch him.

He approached the counter, and I tried to keep my anxiety under control. The guy looked even more dangerous up close.

He stopped in front of me, and I could see the deep crow’s feet around his eyes and the tattoos at the base of his neck, which were faded and looked like he’d had them a while. “I want a coffee,” he grunted. He was jumpy, and his eyes kept darting behind me.

Sweet Jesus. Was he here to rob us?

I nearly asked him what kind of coffee, but he seemed like a black coffee kind of guy, coffee grounds included just to make him look tougher. I poured some into a medium size cup, finishing off the pot. After putting on a lid, I placed it on the counter before him.

“On the house,” I said, hoping my smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. “It’s the last of the pot, so I can’t guarantee it’s as good as usual.”

He’d made no move to reach for his wallet—or a weapon—so I wasn’t sure he’d planned to pay anyway. He picked it up, his gaze still on me. “You usually work nights?”

My smile froze as I tried to figure out how to answer. I decided to go with the truth. “Not usually.”

He gave a short nod and continued to stare at me for a moment. My gaze dropped to his neck. I figured I might as well get an inventory of his ink in case I needed to give a police report for what he was possibly about to do. And then I noticed them—wings in the mix of lines and color. “Nice tats,” I said, hoping it didn’t sound as lame to him as it did to me. “What is it?”

His brow rose slightly, and he smirked as he pulled down the collar of his T-shirt, showing me an eagle sitting on a branch, wings spread out.

Could it be a coincidence?

Noah had told me before that he didn’t believe in them.

“Why an eagle?” I asked. “I’m always curious why people get permanently inked with designs. Tattoos are personal. That must have some special meaning for you.”

I was crazy if I thought he was about to tell me why he’d marked himself with an eagle identical to the pendent my mother had ripped off her attacker. But Ifeltcrazy.

Hadthis manmurdered my mother?

His eyes were dark and cold as he released the collar of his shirt and grunted, “Personal reasons.” Then he spun around and walked out the door.

The girls watched him leave, then turned to face me, terror on their faces. Suddenly, they all started talking at once.

“He was scary!”

“I thought he was going to rob you, Miss Maddie!”

“He looked like a serial killer!”

I glanced at my phone on the counter and saw it was eight-forty. I considered closing early, but the girls’ ride wouldn’t be here for twenty more minutes. I couldn’t kick them out, so I settled for walking over to the door and turning the deadbolt, locking us inside and any potential threats out.

They watched my every move, a couple of them with fear in their eyes, while the others seemed more curious.

“Might as well be safe,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “If someone shows up, I can let them in. Or tell them we’re closed.”

They nodded their approval and started to talk all at once again as I headed behind the counter and picked up my phone to call Noah.

“Hey,” he answered cheerfully. “I’m surprised to hear from you already. Did you close early?”

“I considered it.” Then I told him what had just happened.

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