Caffeine & Killers (A Roasted Love Cozy Mystery Book 3) by Cam Larson Page A
Authors: Cam Larson
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the
sidewalks. But it's noisy all night long. Hard to sleep there, too.
Sometimes I stay there. Sometimes I don't."
He shuffled his feet. "If I don't stay at the
shelter, I get moved all night by the police. A person can’t sleep
when the cops come around every hour or so. I think they get a big
kick out of harassing us."
I kept my arms folded across my chest. "I
have to tell you, Billy – I don't think you'll be able to stay here
every night unless you clear out before daylight. Having someone
sleep outside of the coffee house doesn’t go over well with the
customers."
He glared at me, and I saw his lip curl. "No
one seemed to mind when John was here," he said. He finished his
breakfast bagel and wiped the crumbs from his mouth with the back of
his stained stubby hand. Then he reached in his pocket for a stick of
the black licorice and jammed it between his chipped and yellowed
teeth.
"Billy, the cops always made John move along,
too. Now – let me ask you something. Did John say anything to you
before he died?"
Several customers walked towards the door of
Roasted Love, and they all stared at me and the shabby little man I
was talking to. I saw them frown at us and then whisper to each
other.
Licorice Billy threw them an obscene gesture, and
then got back to me and my question. "Naw. All he ever talked
about was his brother, Steven. He hammered away about how much he
wanted to help him. I think his brother was into drugs."
He tried to grin, but black liquid dribbled from
his mouth. I had to look away.
In a moment, Billy's gaze returned to the early
morning bustle on the street. I wondered what he thought about
ordinary people who had real purpose in their lives. I knew I was
looking at night and day when I compared Billy to the people heading
to work.
I tried to ask him more questions, but he chose to
clam up. I was persistent, but he started getting agitated and
talking louder and louder to the voices that only he could hear.
At that point, I thanked him for his help and
quickly returned to Roasted Love.
# # #
I headed for Jacob, who was in the kitchen pulling
bagels and cream cheese from the refrigerator.
"Jacob – you're right. He's not like John,
who I think was just down on his luck. Billy is – well, crazy. He
talks to people who aren't there. And he flipped off a group of
customers as they walked up to our door."
That last one got him to look up at me. "Okay.
That's it. I’m going to have to get the cops on this. I can't let
somebody run off the customers and destroy our business."
"Yeah. I understand." I knew Jacob was
right. I stood by and waited while he dialed the precinct house.
While he waited for someone to answer, he called
to me over his shoulder. "Laila – as bad as I sound, please
don’t hand out any more food to him. Okay?"
I nodded. "Okay."
This was difficult. I didn't want to sweep
homelessness under the rug and ignore it like so many tried to do,
but at the same time – when it came to Billy’s threats and
possible genuine mental illness, there was just no other answer. We
all depended on income from Roasted Love, Jacob most of all.
Then I began to wonder why that scruffy dealer
Ricky Thomas had sent me to find Licorice Billy. Crazy old Billy
wasn't any help at all when it came to the mystery of John’s death,
but there was a small nagging thought at the back of my brain.
Had Billy killed John over the sleeping spot in
front of Roasted Love? I hoped not, but stranger things had
happened, I was sure. I wished Daniel was on board with me. It would
be sure help to talk this over with him and figure it out.
I looked out the window as the cop on the beat
arrived. He pulled Billy up from the sidewalk and made him stand
there. The exchange was not pleasant, but Licorice Billy finally
shuffled off down the street and the cop got in his car and left.
I grabbed a broom from the kitchen and went out to
sweep the whole front sidewalk. Working away with the broom, I kept
my eyes on
sidewalks. But it's noisy all night long. Hard to sleep there, too.
Sometimes I stay there. Sometimes I don't."
He shuffled his feet. "If I don't stay at the
shelter, I get moved all night by the police. A person can’t sleep
when the cops come around every hour or so. I think they get a big
kick out of harassing us."
I kept my arms folded across my chest. "I
have to tell you, Billy – I don't think you'll be able to stay here
every night unless you clear out before daylight. Having someone
sleep outside of the coffee house doesn’t go over well with the
customers."
He glared at me, and I saw his lip curl. "No
one seemed to mind when John was here," he said. He finished his
breakfast bagel and wiped the crumbs from his mouth with the back of
his stained stubby hand. Then he reached in his pocket for a stick of
the black licorice and jammed it between his chipped and yellowed
teeth.
"Billy, the cops always made John move along,
too. Now – let me ask you something. Did John say anything to you
before he died?"
Several customers walked towards the door of
Roasted Love, and they all stared at me and the shabby little man I
was talking to. I saw them frown at us and then whisper to each
other.
Licorice Billy threw them an obscene gesture, and
then got back to me and my question. "Naw. All he ever talked
about was his brother, Steven. He hammered away about how much he
wanted to help him. I think his brother was into drugs."
He tried to grin, but black liquid dribbled from
his mouth. I had to look away.
In a moment, Billy's gaze returned to the early
morning bustle on the street. I wondered what he thought about
ordinary people who had real purpose in their lives. I knew I was
looking at night and day when I compared Billy to the people heading
to work.
I tried to ask him more questions, but he chose to
clam up. I was persistent, but he started getting agitated and
talking louder and louder to the voices that only he could hear.
At that point, I thanked him for his help and
quickly returned to Roasted Love.
# # #
I headed for Jacob, who was in the kitchen pulling
bagels and cream cheese from the refrigerator.
"Jacob – you're right. He's not like John,
who I think was just down on his luck. Billy is – well, crazy. He
talks to people who aren't there. And he flipped off a group of
customers as they walked up to our door."
That last one got him to look up at me. "Okay.
That's it. I’m going to have to get the cops on this. I can't let
somebody run off the customers and destroy our business."
"Yeah. I understand." I knew Jacob was
right. I stood by and waited while he dialed the precinct house.
While he waited for someone to answer, he called
to me over his shoulder. "Laila – as bad as I sound, please
don’t hand out any more food to him. Okay?"
I nodded. "Okay."
This was difficult. I didn't want to sweep
homelessness under the rug and ignore it like so many tried to do,
but at the same time – when it came to Billy’s threats and
possible genuine mental illness, there was just no other answer. We
all depended on income from Roasted Love, Jacob most of all.
Then I began to wonder why that scruffy dealer
Ricky Thomas had sent me to find Licorice Billy. Crazy old Billy
wasn't any help at all when it came to the mystery of John’s death,
but there was a small nagging thought at the back of my brain.
Had Billy killed John over the sleeping spot in
front of Roasted Love? I hoped not, but stranger things had
happened, I was sure. I wished Daniel was on board with me. It would
be sure help to talk this over with him and figure it out.
I looked out the window as the cop on the beat
arrived. He pulled Billy up from the sidewalk and made him stand
there. The exchange was not pleasant, but Licorice Billy finally
shuffled off down the street and the cop got in his car and left.
I grabbed a broom from the kitchen and went out to
sweep the whole front sidewalk. Working away with the broom, I kept
my eyes on
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