Death by Tea by Alex Erickson

the coffee across the counter and took his money. He looked worried as he waited for his change.
    â€œThere you go, Mr. . . .” All these months in town and I had yet to learn the guy’s name. It wasn’t very sociable of me.
    â€œMelville. Todd Melville.” It came out nasally, as if he was holding back another sneeze.
    â€œWell, Mr. Melville, I hope we see you again.” I handed him his change.
    He took it with a quick nod before darting out the door. As soon as he was outside, his entire demeanor changed. He took a deep breath of fresh air, wiped his eyes, and then strode down the sidewalk as if he hadn’t just been gushing from the eyes and about to have the largest sneezing fit ever witnessed by man.
    Go figure.
    I spent the next two hours filling orders and pretending like my life hadn’t been turned on its ear. At least half of the customers paid me sidelong glances as they sat at their tables, and nearly everyone stared openly at me as I went to fetch their coffee. One woman actually had the audacity to ask me if someone had truly died upstairs and if I had anything to do with it. I’ll admit, the woman ended up with one less sugar in her coffee than she asked for. It was the only way I could get back at her without Buchannan all over me.
    My eyes strayed to the window. I half expected Officer Underwear Rifler to come striding through the door, badge waving in the air. I couldn’t see his cruiser, but that meant little if he was in his own personal car. Besides, the man had to sleep sometime, didn’t he? He couldn’t be watching me all of the time. He had Eleanor Winthrow for that, apparently.
    I sighed and leaned against the counter. A few tables needed to be wiped down, but I didn’t have the energy for it. I planted my chin in my palms and watched the world go by, doing my best to pretend that everything was peachy keen, though I did keep sneaking glances toward the door every few minutes in the hopes Will Foster would saunter in and proceed to make me feel better about myself again.
    Sadly, I waited in vain.
    At promptly noon, the door opened and Mike Green walked in. “Yo,” he said, striding past me. He went straight to the office, where he tied back his hair and slapped on a hat to keep the wild strands out of the coffee. He returned five minutes later, looking about as ready for work as he could manage.
    I frowned at a tear in his jeans that was high enough on the back of his leg to expose a portion of his faded blue boxer shorts. If it had been anyone else, I might have said something, but from what I gathered, Mike was living paycheck to paycheck and a good portion of what he earned was going out to his ex in child support. His tennis shoes were dirty, and the back end of one of them flapped at the heel where it was coming loose.
    Mike smiled at me as he leaned on the counter next to me. “Crazy week, right?”
    â€œRight.” I sighed. “I could use a little less crazy around here right about now.”
    â€œYou got that right, chica.” His smile slipped and his eyes grew haunted as he looked toward where the yellow tape could just be seen. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
    â€œSure is.” I paused and frowned. “Hey, weren’t you here the night he died?”
    Mike looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, I was.”
    â€œDid anything happen that might tell us who could have killed him? Were there any big fights or anything? Vicki said you closed up after she left.”
    â€œI did.” He wiped his hand over his mouth as if it had just gone sour. “There were some arguments, you know? About stupid stuff mostly. That Rita lady gets worked up pretty easily.”
    No kidding. “What about David?” When his eyebrows rose, I added, “The dead guy.”
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œDid he fight with anyone?”
    Mike’s face scrunched up as he thought. “He spent most of