Page 16 of Autopsy of a Fairytale

“Come on, buddy.” Garrett released her and grabbed the cooled cubed chicken off the counter. Cerberus raced across the floor, his muscular body lumbering for the kitchen like a dog possessed. The meat disappeared in seconds, the pitbull grunting and snorting like a little pig as he ate while Garrett chuckled in amusement.

“Does he always sound like that when he eats?” he asked, still watching Cerberus’ wagging tail.

“Especially when it’s something he likes.” Bel nodded.

Cerberus licked the bowl within an inch of its life and then looked expectantly at Garrett.

“Sorry, buddy, that’s all there is.” He scratched behind one of the dog’s cropped ears. “Convince your mom to visit again, and I’ll make you some more.”

“He’ll definitely want to return, now.” Bel slid off the stool and settled beside Garrett, his hand instinctively wrapping around her waist before either of them realized what he was doing. Bel felt his body stiffen against hers as if bracing for rejection, but she slipped her arm around him in reassurance. “I want to come back too.”

Garrett looked down at her with hope falling from his eyes, and the expression never vacated his gaze as they ate. Bel prayed that the peace dinner had brought her would fill her dreams with curly brown hair and laughter. Instead, those dangerous black eyes haunted her nightmares, waking her with their teeth, always the teeth, and while no dark irises hunted her through her windows, Bel could not shake the feeling that someone was watching her. That the shadow hovering among the trees was not foliage, but something human. Something predatory.

Despite drowningherself in coffee after sleep abandoned her, Bel found her autopilot steering her car toward The Espresso Shot. She should call her father. She should accept that she wasn’t ready for a case this severe, for the lack of blood to remind her how much had spilled from her own veins, but she was afraid to admit her weakness. So instead, she would exist on caffeine and sheer determination of will. She would force her body and mind into submission because she understood the devastation of an unsolved crime. Her attacker had vanished without a trace. Brett Lumen’s murderer would not be granted the same lenience.

Bel parked, only half aware of her surroundings as she exited the vehicle until she collided with an immobile Abel. The surprise firmly deposited her into the present, and only then did she realize a crowd hovered before the coffee shop’s front door.

“Good morning, Detective,” Abel said, trying to capture Bel’s attention, but it was of little use. The unopened shop had already claimed it.

“What’s going on?” Bel asked, checking her phone for the time. It was early, but Emily was always open at this hour, catering to the half-awake on their commutes. “Why isn’t she open?”

“Don’t know,” Abel said. “Perhaps she’s running late?”

“Emily never runs late.” Bel unlocked her phone and searched the internet for The Espresso Shot’s number. Finding it quickly, she dialed, raising her cell to her ear as she chewed on her lip. The phone rang, but no one answered, so she hung up and opened her text thread with Garrett.

Bel

Do you have Emily Kaffe’s personal number?

Garrett

Yeah, why?

Call her. Let me know if you’re able to reach her.

Okay… 2 seconds.

Bel shoved her cell in her back pocket and walked to the front door. In the short time she had lived here, The Espresso Shot had always opened before the sun’s rays graced the earth, and Emily thrived on surprising her patrons with different, freshly baked pastries. From the stories Bel heard, the woman rarely took vacations. Not that she didn’t trust the shop with her employees. She was simply obsessed with everything coffee and sugar. She was usually the first to arrive so she could bake, and then her daughters or another employee would show up for the morning rush. Emily claimed she was a reverse night owl. She would get up so early that it was still night. Apparently, as a teen, she had horrible insomnia, but baking helped calm her. The schedule stuck, and she figured if she was awake at that god-awful hour, there was no need to force a college student to come and unlock the doors for the few early birds.

Bel peered in through the glass door, but the shop’s eclectic design hid the counter from the street’s view. Mismatched furniture sprawled about the floor. Bookshelves lined the walls. The Espresso Shot’s unofficial library was something Bel had taken advantage of herself. People left their old books on the shelves for patrons to read. Bel had borrowed a few, donated others, and kept three because they spoke to her soul. She loved Emily’s shop. Everyone did. The coffee, the food, the atmosphere, but at the moment, Bel cursed the crowded decor obscuring her view. She tested the door as her phone vibrated, but it didn’t budge.

She didn’t answer me. Want to tell me what’s up?

Bel stared at Garrett’s text, hoping she wasn’t being paranoid.

The Espresso Shot isn’t open. No one knows why.

That’s not like Emily.

I know.

“Should I call her husband?”

I don’t want to alarm him… hold on. There is a window in the back. Let me check it first.

Bel returned the phone to her pocket and walked around the side of the building. She stared through the glass, but every angle obscured the counter. She tested the door, but it, too, stood locked. Bel sighed, hands on her hips as she scanned the alley. She didn’t like this. She prayed there was a simple explanation. That Emily would race out any second in an embarrassed flash of flour to confess that she had fallen asleep while the muffins baked, but Bel knew that wouldn’t happen. The air surrounding the Espresso Shot normally curled with fragrance, but all she smelled was the dumpster. Nothing was baking within these walls.

Bel’s eyes landed on the SUV parked behind the shop, and her heart wrenched free of its arteries and plummeted through her chest cavity. Emily’s car.

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