I laugh as I grab my phone from under the counter and bring it up to my ear, my smile slowly falling when I hear the sharp, southern twang on the other end of the line. As the woman speaks and my mouth drops open in shock at what she says, I silently wonder if Bettie cursed me by mentioning that podunk town, when I realize I might be setting foot back in that place a lot sooner than “never again.”
CHAPTER 2
Recorded Interview
June 2, 2016
Bald Knob, KY Police Department
Deputy Lloyd: We have a witness who gave us a written statement that they heard you say, and I quote, “Let’s kill him. I know people who can make it look like an accident.” Are you telling me you never threatened someone’s life before?
Bettie Lake: I threaten people’s lives every day when they don’t know how to order a simple cup of coffee. That doesn’t mean I’d really kill anyone.
Deputy Lloyd: We’re not accusing you of killing anyone, Miss Lake, but it’s a little too coincidental that the day before the victim was murdered, you were overheard by a witness in Chicago talking to our prime suspect about knowing people who can kill someone and make it look like an accident.
Bettie Lake: It was a joke. And we weren’t even talking about killing this guy, we were talking about killing another one. Shit! I didn’t mean that. Strike that from the record!
Deputy Lloyd: Miss Lake, this isn’t a courtroom. You can’t strike things from the record. And I’ll remind you one last time, this interview is being recorded.
Bettie Lake: I just want to state on record that if Benjamin Montgomery winds up dead tomorrow, I had nothing to do with it. As a matter of fact, if anyone I know or have ever spoken to gets murdered, I had nothing to do with it.
Deputy Lloyd: According to our prime suspect-
Bettie Lake: Payton didn’t kill anyone either, stop calling her that. If she’s your prime suspect, maybe you people should stop rubbing the knob on that stone statue and get to work trying to find the real killer.
Deputy Lloyd: That’s the second time you’ve referenced a stone statue. Do you know anything about the murder weapon that was used?
Bettie Lake: I thought he was poisoned? Oh, my God. I can’t do this without coffee. Someone get me some coffee before I ki-ick this table over.
Deputy Lloyd: Were you going to say kill?
Bettie Lake: No. STRIKE THAT FROM THE RECORD! And get me some coffee.
*Recording stopped for ten minutes to get interviewee coffee*
Deputy Lloyd: Miss Lake, I’d like to talk a little bit more about-
*Coughing, choking, spitting*
Bettie Lake: Alright. I confess. I know who the killer is. IT’S THIS CRAP YOU CALL COFFEE AND WHOEVER MADE IT. YOU SHOULD ARREST THEM IMMEDIATELY!
Deputy Lloyd: Miss Lake, I need you to be serious about this.
Bettie Lake: I am ALWAYS serious about coffee. Do I need a lawyer?
CHAPTER 3
Instant human. Just add coffee.
—Coffee Mug
“Holy shit!” I shout, jerking awake with a start and jumping up ungracefully from my chair when I feel something touch my shoulder.
With my arms flailing to stop myself from face planting to the ground, they smack into something in the dimly lit room and warm liquid splashes against the front of me.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, looking down at my wrinkled, and now soaked, silk blouse, then glancing quickly over my shoulder to make sure all the commotion didn’t wake the person in the hospital bed. When I see her eyes are still closed and her chest is moving up and down in the deep, steady rhythm of sleep, I wish I could say it calms me down, but it just makes me think about the phone call I got from the hospital yesterday.
“Your friend Emma Jo Jackson has you listed as her emergency contact and we need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible. She has a black eye, a shattered cheekbone, and a cracked rib.”
Rubbing the sleep and the memory of that phone call from my eyes with my fists, I try not to cringe when lifting my arms makes the wet blouse slide against my stomach and chest.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
At the sound of a deep, masculine voice speaking in a low whisper, I jump with a squeak of fear and remember that someone touching my shoulder is what woke me up in the first place. Turning my head away from the hospital bed, I come face-to-face with a chest. A very broad, muscular chest covered in a light blue t-shirt clinging to the muscles. It takes me a second to remember I’m in Kentucky and not Chicago, and a strange man waltzing into a hospital room before dawn and touching you doesn’t require you to pull a shiv out of your purse or scream for help.
“I hope I didn’t ruin your shirt.”
When he speaks again, the southern twang in his voice gives me another reminder that I’m indeed in Kentucky and I didn’t dream everything that happened since yesterday afternoon when I got that phone call.
Before my eyes can move up beyond the wall of chest and get a better look at who’s talking to me, my nose takes over. I catch a whiff of what spilled all down the front of my shirt and notice the chest also has arms and is holding a cup of coffee between us. It smells so delicious that I’m not sure if I should pull my shirt up and start sucking the liquid off the silk, or grab the cup out of the chest’s hand and guzzle it.
“Coffee,” I mumble in a daze, staring as the chest with arms brings the cup up to his mouth and takes a sip.
I lick my lips, not entirely sure if it’s because of the coffee tease happening a few inches in front of me or the freshly-shaven chiseled jaw, full lips, and dimples that are attached to the chest with arms. He’s got dark blonde hair, cut close on the sides with a messy spike on top, and my eyes lock onto the bluest set of eyes I’ve ever seen as they stare down at me in amusement when he pulls the cup away from those perfect lips that I’m sure now taste like coffee.