More Poison in Your Coffee?

Chapter 11

        "What are we doing here?" Johnny was sitting across from me in the shiny plastic covered booth with his hands around the giant mug of coffee I'd ordered him.

        "I'm sobering you up." I'd ordered a cup of hot tea for myself.

        "Why? Why don't you just take me home? You know where I live." He took a cautious sip of the coffee then frowned.

        "Because Mr. and Mrs. Gregson have a strict no drunken slobs rule in their house. If they see you like this they'll kick you out."

        "Why do you care? We aren't friends, you don't owe me anything."

        "That's right we aren't. And I don't know why, I'd just feel bad."

        "Oh." He thought for a moment. "Well, no wonder none of the kids from the college live there. What do the Gregsons care who's drunk or not?"

        "They didn't use to until Maggie was born. They really don't want the wrong influences around her."  He watched me as I drank my tea.

        "Why aren't you having the coffee, not up to your standards?"

        "I actually don't drink coffee."

        "But you run a coffee shop." He said matter-of-factly.

        "It started as a tea only shop, but a consultant told me I'd make a lot more money if I added coffee and smoothies to my menu." I took a sip of my tea. "There are actually few coffees that I can stand to drink. Don't like the taste."

        We sat sipping our drinks in awkward silence until I could barely stand it. I looked down into my teacup and tried to prepare myself for what I wanted to say next. I took a deep breath and looked up, noticing for the first time he had been staring at me. He looked away suddenly, trying to avoid my eyes.

        "Johnny?"

        "Hmm?"

        "I'm sorry." He looked at me then without breaking focus. His gaze so intense I wanted to turn away. Why does he look like that? Maybe it's an artist thing. Maybe the whole world is that intense in his eyes.

        "It's okay." He dumped a ton of sugar into his cup.

        "It's hard for me, you know. I have this friend and we've been friends forever so he just knows when I'm sorry without me having to say so. I mean with you I'm not sure how far is too far since with him I know my limits. I didn't mean to pry or nothing I was just looking around, kind of bored but I'm really really really sorry-"

         "Okay! Calm down, girlie. I said it's cool. God, do you always talk this much?"

        "Only when nervous, and don't call me 'girlie'."

       "I could call you by your name if you told me what it was." Thinking back, I realized with astonishment that all the times I'd bugged him, I'd never told him my name.

        "It's Evelyn. Call me Evie."

        "You’re giving me the special friend name?" He asked amused.

       "I only give my name to people I want to know." It was the first time I'd seen him truly smile. "So we're friends now?"

        He scoffed. "I wouldn't go that far." We fell back into a slightly more comfortable silence, I looked up at him again. "I'm sorry too...I didn't mean to frighten you. I lost my cool; went too far. I have a thing about personal space. Sorry."

         "It's okay. And I wasn't scared thank you very much." He took another sip of his brew, gracing me with another bemused grin.

         With his attention captured by the soft swirl of his coffee, I took the chance to steal a look at him. Always consistent, he was dressed in what I hoped was his sloppiest attire. He wore a wrinkled tee and tattered jeans, his hair a shaggy curtain haphazardly draped over his eyes as usual.

         I'd never noticed before, mostly because he spent his life hiding his face behind a mask of disheveled, if not lovely hair, but he was a little handsome. Not as handsome as say Detective Juarez, but he could hold his own if he tightened up the wardrobe. And improved on the general grouchiness.

        Staring at him I was suddenly thinking on the painting of the woman. At the time, I'd thought his rage was a product of my snooping, but from what I knew of him now I understood that it wasn't that I was looking at the paintings. It was that I saw her. He didn't want me looking at her.

        "Johnny?"

        "Hmm?"

        "Who is she?"

        "I don't want to talk about that." His voice came out in a harsh whisper like he was physically pained just thinking about her. I'd hit a nerve.

        "Oh. It's okay you don't have to tell me if you don't want."

        "Good cause I don't."

        "Fine, cause I didn't really want to know." I pursed my lips and turned my head, trying my best to look indifferent.

        He sighed. "You are so ridiculous. She's just someone I used to know, okay." He shook his head. "But that's as far as I want to take it. I can tell you like to fix things. But I don't want to be fixed."

        "Okay...Hey Johnny."

        "What?"

        "What were you going to tell me the other day?"

        "What do you mean?"

        "When you caught me, you know, before you left the room you were going to say something."

        "It wasn't important."

        "Tell me anyway."

        "Well, I was just going to mention that in the commotion I almost tripped over that news lady."

        I inched up in my booth. "Sara Santiago?"

        "No. The new one. The brunette with the ponytail; looks like she has a stick permanently fused up her ass."

        "You're one to talk." He cocked his head in mock indignation. "You're talking about Allison, but it couldn't have been her she told me she left before Bo died."

        "Sure looked like her when I almost tripped over her." This time I cocked my head. "I used to paint portraits for a living, I don't forget faces easily."

        I considered this for a moment. If Johnny was right that triflin' ho had lied to me, and more importantly she'd been present when Bo died which blows her alibi out of the water.

        If she wasn't guilty why did she feel the need to lie about being there when Bo bit the big one? The funeral was tomorrow; maybe I could sneak attack the bitch and pull the truth out of her. Allison just shot to my number one suspect spot again.

        "Think you're on to something?" Johnny had been looking at me again.

        "Maybe."

       "Be careful, you are dealing with a murderer."

        "Awww, you worried about me?"

        "Naw. Just don't want to have your death on my conscious." He looked utterly unconcerned.

       "Aren’t you sweet?" And for some reason, I meant it.