Coffee is Murder Read online

  “Would you like a cup of coffee or a glass of water?” Sara asked her.

  Sophie shook her head. “Your assistant did ask me, but I’m good. I’m off coffee right now.”

  “All right, well, we’ve read a good portion of your file and application, but it’s much better to hear things straight from the person. First of all, you have our sympathies for your loss,” Sean said.

  Sophie’s lips quivered and she nodded.

  “You don’t believe it was related to her age.”

  She slid her bottom lip through her teeth. “Not at all. My mother was in good physical shape. She might not have been very active, but she was sixty-nine. Still, considering her age and all she had gone through in life, she had many more years left.” Her voice fractured on the last sentence.

  “You’re saying that she was murdered?” Sara’s tone was soft.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  -

  Chapter 5

  SPECIAL MEMORIES

  SOPHIE’S RESPONSE DIDN’T COME AS a surprise. After all, people didn’t seek them out when they felt their loved ones had passed away peacefully. They sought them out to get answers they weren’t getting elsewhere.

  Sara crossed her legs underneath the table and leaned forward. She considered taking another sip of her coffee, but decided against it. “Tell us about your mother.”

  “You mean, did she have anyone who didn’t like her?”

  Sara nodded. This woman was sharp. Despite Sara’s initial assessment that her loss had shaken her spirit, the truth couldn’t be further from that evaluation.

  “No, not that I knew. My mother was a kind woman, soft spoken, thoughtful. Half the time she’d be out in the neighborhood picking up people’s recycling boxes for them. She didn’t need to do that, but she said she wanted to do her part.”

  “She picked up their recycling boxes?” Sean queried further.

  “You know how you set it out on the curb and—well, maybe you don’t.”

  Sara felt her cheeks heat. “We do know.” She glanced at Sean, who appeared to be equally embarrassed by being categorized into the rich and naïve segment of society.

  “We weren’t always—” Sara rolled her hand, hoping that Sophie would pick up and save her from putting things bluntly.

  “That’s right. You’re weren’t always rich. I apologize.”

  Sara was wearing a blazer with a long-sleeve blouse, and this conversation was making her warm and uncomfortable. People who had limited means complained that judgment was unduly passed on them. Until now, Sara never realized how the reverse was also true. It didn’t matter who you were or what you had, people always had an opinion to offer. Typically it was fired from the other end of the spectrum based on nothing more than fabricated conjecture. It was a sad reality of mankind.

  Sophie continued. “On recycling day, after the boxes and garbage receptacles were emptied, my mother took them from the curb and put them in front of her neighbors’ doors.”

  “What a sweet woman.” Sara’s automatic reaction had Sean smiling at her.

  “Yes, she was, and I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her, let alone kill her.”

  The file held the answer to her next question, but Sara wanted to hear it from Sophie. “Your mother was found in her home?”

  “That’s right. She…” Sophie’s voice hitched and was gravelly, but she continued, “was found in her favorite chair by the window. She always loved watching the world go by. She was a real people watcher.”

  Sean shuffled some paperwork on the table and lifted a sheet. “The autopsy shows cause of death as respiratory failure.”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “You don’t believe that part to be true?”

  Sophie looked between them. “I’m not sure about that part, but if she did just stop breathing, it wasn’t because it was her time.” She pulled out a tissue from her purse and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “It wasn’t the flu either. I was going to take her to the doctor and have him tell her. I didn’t want to be the one to say what I thought it really was.”

  “And what’s that?” Sara asked.

  “I’m a nurse. You probably saw that in the file. Well, normal flu symptoms in an adult include fever, headache, fatigue, cough, sore throat, runny or stuffy nose, and body aches. Vomiting isn’t a symptom, despite popular belief. It is more likely in children, but my mother also had dizziness and winded easily.” She paused, and when she seemed certain she had their full attention, she said, “My mother was poisoned with cyanide.”

  With Sophie laying out her diagnosis so pointedly, Sara swallowed deeply. She couldn’t imagine stating the cause of her mother’s death so calmly. Maybe it had to do with Sophie’s medical background.

  “Cyanide? Why do you figure that specifically?” Sean asked.

  “The symptoms line up.”

  “But you said that no one would dislike your mother enough to kill her.”

  “Oh, I never said that she was targeted, but I do believe she was murdered.”

  Sara was certain her facial expression reflected her confusion.

  Sophie elaborated. “I don’t think she was necessarily targeted, per se, but the poisoning resulted in her death nonetheless. The doctor was always saying that all that coffee would kill her someday.”

  “Her coffee?” Sara pushed her mug down the table. The thought of dying as a result of drinking it took away any desire to finish it off.

  “Yeah, she drank five, six, cups a day. She found joy in it. That, reading, and watching her soaps.”

  Sara ignored the sideways glance Sean shot her.

  “You think someone poisoned her coffee?”

  “I do, but I don’t think it was someone she knew. I think it came to her poisoned.”

  -

  Chapter 6

  A BAGGIE OF BEANS

  SEAN FILLED A GLASS WITH water from the cooler and placed it in front of Sara. “Came to her poisoned?”

  “Yes, and this is where I feel remorse.” Sophie stopped talking as she sobbed for a few seconds.

  Sean hoped that after all of this, Sara might view the habit differently and opt for a lower caffeine beverage like tea, or skip the caffeine altogether.

  Sophie patted her nose with the tissue and then cleared her throat. “I got her a gift for Christ—” A hiccup. “I’m so—” Another hiccup. She held up her finger and her cheeks blew out.

  This wasn’t the time to find humor, but Sean couldn’t help it. Sophie was a pretty woman, but with her cheeks flared out like a chipmunk with its mouth full of nuts, well…

  She let out a rush of air. “Okay, I think they’re gone. I got my mother a coffee of the month membership.”

  Sara leaned farther across the table, and Sean put his hand on her shoulder to draw her back. She followed his prompting, but not without narrowing her eyes at him.

  “There’s a coffee club?” Despite the fact Sara had settled against the back of her chair, her tone held wonder and fascination.

  Maybe Sara wasn’t rethinking her coffee habit after all.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing. It sounds like the perfect gift for the coffee lover.”

  He turned away when Sara tried to meet his eyes.

  Sophie didn’t seem to pick up on any of their nonverbal communication and continued. “The company is Tasty Beans. They specialize in flavored coffee. For a fee, they will even make one to order.”

  “You mentioned a coffee of the month,” Sean prompted her to expound.

  “Members are allowed a pound per month, in whatever flavor they wish. My mother activated her membership on January first, and the only reason she waited that long was because they had shut down for the holidays. But ever since she activated, she ordered their specialty flavor, which was dark cherry almond.”


  Sean expected a moan, or some sort of reaction from his java-addicted wife, but instead, she crossed her arms.

  “You think the beans were poisoned?” she asked.

  “I do. Now, I don’t know if they were shipped that way from the company, or something happened along the way.”

  Sean interjected. “But you don’t think someone did it on this end?”

  Sophie shook her head.

  “So that leaves either the coffee company or the shipping company.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “Have you had the coffee tested?”

  Sophie pulled her purse from the floor and produced a baggie of beans. “I have no idea where to get something like that done. I was hoping you could help with that.”

  “I’m sure we could.”

  “So, that’s pretty much all I know. Are you able to help me find out exactly what happened to my mother? The police don’t want to hear from me anymore. Every time I follow up with Detective Griffith, he sighs deeply into the phone. It’s heartbreaking and exasperating.”

  Griffith was a tool when Sean worked with him. He was the type of person that only saw the negative in life and refused to allow room for the positive. “I’m sure it’s not personal. Everyone has things going on in their life.” He was quick to add, “Not that it’s professional behavior by any means.”

  “Are you going to take my case?” Sophie’s eyes brimmed with tears, making it nearly impossible to say no.

  “Why do you believe someone poisoned the coffee?” Sara asked.

  “It’s a feeling, but my mother’s diet didn’t change. She was always eating organic and whole foods. The only thing that was different was the coffee.”

  Until they had the coffee tested, poisoning couldn’t be confirmed. If the results were negative, there wasn’t much of anything to investigate. Although Sophie seemed adamant that her mother was murdered, Sean was about to answer from the standpoint of logic—they’d get the beans tested and go from there, but Sara responded first.

  “We’d love to help you. You just hang in there, all right?”

  “Thank you. If you need anything, night or day, call me. I am back to work, so you might have to leave a message, but I will return your call as soon as I can.” Sophie stood and clutched the strap of her purse, which now hung over her shoulder. “Do I give the deposit check to Helen?”

  “That works.”

  -

  Chapter 7

  DISCUSSING THE FORENSICS

  AFTER SOPHIE HAD LEFT, SARA dumped her coffee down the kitchenette’s sink. Sean had followed her. It was just a basic break room—a sink, a fridge, a small counter, and a round table with seating for four. There was a toaster, a microwave, and a coffee maker on the counter.

  “We don’t even know if there is a case, darling.” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  She spun to face him, staying in his embrace. “I trust her when she says her mother was murdered.”

  “Maybe she knows for certain because—”

  “Because she did it? Is that what you were going to say?” Sara laughed.

  “We need to get those beans tested and go from there. We should have waited until the results came back on that before we gave her false hope.”

  Sara put her hand on Sean’s cheek and peered into his eyes. His logic periodically blinded him to the benefits of emotion. While some might argue whether or not it was given to humans for a reason, it served as a sort of inborn guidance system. “You did see the pictures of her mother?”

  The question seemed to catch him off guard. “Her picture?”

  “Yes.” Sara slipped from Sean’s arms and took a seat at the table.

  He sat across from her, not seeming to follow her line of thought.

  “Beverly Sparks may have been sixty-nine, but there wasn’t a touch of gray in her hair. She was a redhead.”

  “She dyed it?”

  “Nope. According to the detailed autopsy report she didn’t.”

  “Wow. I hope I still have a full head of brown hair when I’m that age.”

  She angled her head to peek at his sideburns. “I think it might be a little late to make that wish, sweetheart.”

  “Hmm.” He glanced away briefly. “It still doesn’t mean that her death wasn’t the result of natural causes. Young people die of heart attacks these days.”

  “She didn’t die of a heart attack though. She simply stopped breathing. It’s just Sophie’s conviction. She feels it in her soul that her mother was killed. She came to us for help, and I think we can offer that.”

  His eyes softened but the tender glaze was gone when he spoke. “I noticed that Albert Needham conducted the autopsy. It’s someone we know anyway, but wouldn’t he be able to detect cyanide if it had been present? I never worked a case like this before. Did you?”

  She nodded. It was from before she came to Albany, but her memory was nearly flawless, so she remembered the case clearly. The victim was a mother of three children—all under the age of six. She was on subsidy and barely scraping by. While, at first, the cause of death pointed to murder by her ex, it turned out she had poisoned herself. An exact year and a day before she died, she had taken out an insurance policy that covered suicide. She must have felt like a failure to her children and figured they’d be better off without her. Such a sad, tragic situation.

  “Sara?”

  “Yes. I have come across this before.”

  “And?”

  She recollected the autopsy, being in the room, watching it play out, but primarily she remembered the smell. “It is possible that, during autopsy, there is a bitter-almond odor, but this isn’t always detected. Other ways of telling are the color of the blood and the skin color. But if she was poisoned over a period of time, it might not show in either.”

  “Then we are back to the daughter’s feeling.”

  “And don’t forget the beans.” Sara held up the baggie.

  “Speaking of coffee—”

  “Don’t you even say it, Sean. These are flavored beans. I would never touch flavored. Why ruin coffee like that?”

  -

  Chapter 8

  AN UNFAVORABLE REQUEST

  JIMMY WOKE UP AND A huge yawn ate his face. Even though he was living a dream, he found it hard to pull himself out of bed some mornings. He blamed it on his age.

  It was a good thing that Meredith didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t at his peak—and if she had, she didn’t give any impression that it bothered her. They had been dating for over five months now, and he couldn’t believe how fast the time was passing. But they had decided to take things slow. Both had been hurt before and both had gone through a divorce. Jimmy had assumed the role of victim for years, but with this spark of love back in his life, he viewed it as a blessing, an awakening of sorts. He’d always love Clara, but it was time to let her go from his heart.

  His cell rang on his nightstand and he grabbed it. “Hey-lo.”

  “Jimmy?”

  “You called his number.” It was Sean and he always derived pleasure from giving the kid a hard time. The fact that he was a big kid was irrelevant. When one was young enough to be your son, you earned the right to think of them that way.

  “You’re pretty sharp considering you probably just woke up.”

  “Hey, I resemble that remark.”

  Sean laughed. “I thought so. Listen, we’ve got ourselves a case.”

  “I’m listening.” He willed the foggy haze of just waking up to go away but it wasn’t happening quickly. He put a hand to his forehead to fend off the inevitable headache that came with rushing to his feet. Life was always so kindly reminding him he wasn’t in his twenties anymore, or his forties for that matter.

  He listened as Sean explained about Sophie Hogan and her mother, Beverly Spar
ks.

  “Poor girl, losing one’s parent is one of the hardest things to go through in life.”

  The line fell silent and Jimmy could have hit himself—hard. Sean was aware of that grief all too well. His mom died when he was nine, and his father when he was twenty-two.

  “I’m sorry, Sean.”

  “No, no, don’t mention it. But, yes, I’d have to agree. Anyway, we need you to work today, if you can.”

  “I’d be happy to.” Another stupid thing to say considering the circumstances. Maybe he should keep his mouth shut today.

  “Good. We need you to talk to Albert Needham.”

  The name settled in the pit of his stomach. He wished he had heard wrong. Albert Needham was a medical examiner in Albany. He was crass and, from that standpoint, was in the right profession. It wasn’t possible to insult the dead. Unfortunately, those who needed answers from him about the dead, well, that was a different story. They were subjected to his gruff and apathetic nature.

  Sean continued. “We need you to ask him about the findings on Beverly Sparks.”

  “You don’t have a copy of the autopsy report?” He didn’t want to be difficult, but if there was any possible way to weasel out of talking to the old coot, he was going to take advantage of it.

  “We do, but we need you to speak with him. Specifically, in regards to smell.”

  “Smell?”

  “Sophie believes her mother was poisoned with cyanide.”

  “You want to know if he picked up on a bitter-almond odor.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I’ve run into it before. Remember how long I was a cop before you stole me away.”

  “Stole you? You didn’t run?”

  “Well, maybe a bit of that too.” Jimmy chuckled. The sleepy haze was finally lifting.

  “So, can you do that for us?”

  “I’m all over it.”

  He ended the call, recalling the way most conversations with Sean used to conclude when Jimmy was the sergeant and Sean and Sara were his detectives. Most of the time Jimmy added No one dies today. It was the mantra he subscribed to and tried to pass on to those under him.