Grounds to Kill Read online

  Grounds to Kill

  By Wendy Roberts

  Barista Jen Hanby’s coworkers give her a hard time for bringing coffee and pastries to a homeless man who sits outside her café—but she has a secret. The scruffy man is her father.

  She’s also hiding the little matter of why her palm itches. But how can she explain that her hand has a mind of its own and writes messages from the beyond? Right. That’ll get her Employee of the Month.

  When she finds herself scrawling your boyfriend is cheating on you! to herself on the bathroom mirror, she immediately dumps the guy. But then his little fling—who just happens to be her half sister—turns up dead, and suddenly Jen’s homeless father is the prime suspect.

  Jen knows he is being framed and must take matters into her own hands to protect him. But will anyone believe that the crazy old man is innocent? Or that his spirit-writing daughter holds the truth?

  66,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  In the world of publishing, January is an intimidating month. Mostly because we’re thinking about 2013 long before we want to be. In fact, conversations about 2014 have long since started. How’s that for intimidating? January is also intimidating because we’re expected to set goals and promise great things for the year ahead. That, Carina Press can handle.

  This year, our goal is not only to continue to provide readers with excellent editorial, but also to add a new category of New Adult to our romance line, in order to increase the number of mystery, science-fiction and fantasy titles we publish; to publish returning authors with connected books; and to grow our romance subgenres such as historical romance, GLBT, romantic suspense and erotic romance. You can look forward to all of that happening in 2013!

  In January, we start the year by finishing up Shannon Stacey’s second Kowalski family trilogy with the highly anticipated story of Josh and Katie’s romance, All He Ever Dreamed. If you haven’t read Shannon’s books, you can check out the original Kowalski trilogy for only $4.99 per novel. We also enter 2013 with the paperback release of Fiona Lowe’s 2012 RITA® award-winning contemporary romance, Boomerang Bride.

  Other contemporary romance authors joining Shannon in January include Rachael Johns, kicking off a new contemporary series set in Hollywood with Stand-In Star, and Liz Flaherty with Jar of Dreams. Liz’s debut romance, One More Summer, was described by reviewers as “compelling and addictive” and “one incredible story.”

  On the other end of the romance spectrum are several paranormal, urban fantasy and steampunk romance releases this month. Coleen Kwan returns with the sequel to her fun steampunk romance Asher’s Invention. Asher’s Dilemma brings you the continued romance of Asher and Minerva in a clockwork world.

  Two other continuing series return with fantastic installments. Claws Bared by Sheryl Nantus is the next story in her Blood of the Pride series. And Sandy James offers up The Impetuous Amazon, the second book in the Alliance of the Amazons series. Meanwhile, a new paranormal trilogy begins with Stacy Gail’s Nobody’s Angel, which brings us a tale of Nephilim and sassy heroines. Look for the second book, Savage Angel, in February.

  Cathy Pegau takes us into space with her newest science-fiction romance, Caught in Amber, while Eleri Stone takes us to a world steeped in fantasy and wrapped with pleasure in Threads of Desire, her erotic fantasy romance. Keeping us in the here and now, with more erotic sexy-times, is Callie Croix’s newest erotic contemporary romance, Covert Seduction.

  We’re pleased to welcome mystery author Wendy Roberts to Carina Press with her newest mystery, Grounds to Kill. We’re also pleased that Julie Moffett has chosen to reissue her Scottish historical romance, The Thorn & the Thistle, with us in January.

  Last, to start off 2013, I’m excited to introduce you to our two debut authors. JL Merrow offers up a compelling tale of love through the ages with the male/male historical time travel Trick of Time. Romantic suspense author Ana Barrons will blow away fans of suspense and romance with her debut novel, Wrongfully Accused. Please join me in giving these two authors a warm welcome to Carina Press (by buying their books, of course!).

  I hope you’ll join me for another excellent year of books at Carina Press. Our 2013 schedule is shaping up to be full of books our team loves and can’t wait to get into readers’ hands, including a new trilogy from Fiona Lowe; a compulsively readable new adult romance, Rush Me, from debut author Alison Parr; the last two parts of Jax Garren’s dark Beauty and the Beast retelling; more contemporary romance novels from up-and-coming author Christi Barth; the kickoff of a thrilling urban fantasy series from debut author Steve Vera; more erotic romance compliments of Lynda Aicher; a series of erotic Love Letters from a collection of authors; noir historical mystery Die on Your Feet by debut author S.G. Wong; and another installment of Marie Force’s romantic suspense series.

  This is only a small portion of the amazing books we have coming up in 2013, so please look for these and more from the awesomely talented Carina Press authors.

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Acknowledgements

  Big thanks to all my local baristas for keeping me caffeinated while I write.

  Also, I am eternally grateful for Melissa Jeglinski’s unwavering support and Krista Stroever’s editorial expertise. You ladies rock.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  There’s a superstition that says if the palm of your hand is itchy you’ll soon be receiving money. If that were true, I’d be a gazillionaire instead of an underpaid barista. Instinctively, I felt my itchy hand might one day bring me luck. So far, nada.

  I rubbed my burning palm on the countertop while I concentrated on whipping up a large café mocha, no sugar, no whip, extra-dry, half-skim, half-whole milk, with chocolate syrup.

  “Watch your back, Jen.” My co-worker, Mitch, squeezed behind me to get to the cooler for more milk.

  Mitch was tall and muscular with golden hair and eyes like hot espresso. When Mitch worked, Merlot’s Café saw a fifty percent increase in female clientele. The estrogen enriched customers flocked to flirt with him. They tended to hang around too long and talk too much, but I didn’t mind. Mitch’s hundred watt smiles had a direct correlation to how the tip jar overflowed, and we shared gratuities. I reaped the benefits without having to sell my own soul with plunging necklines and pushup bras.

  My palm was itching even more, so I snagged a wooden stir stick and scraped it roughly against my hand.

  “Eczema acting up?” Mitch asked, raising his eyebrows.

  I merely shrugged. No sense in complicating our working relationship by telling him I was crazy.
/>   Mitch took a woman’s coffee order, then elbowed me good naturedly.

  “Hey, look.” He indicated outside the coffee shop with his chin. “It’s your pal, Mr. Stinky.”

  He chuckled, but I didn’t. My teeth clenched as I glanced out the coffee shop’s window. A disheveled homeless man took up his usual sloppy stance on the sidewalk across the street.

  “He’s not my friend.”

  I took an order for a medium, extra-dry café mocha with raspberry syrup.

  “You say he’s not your friend but I doubt you’ve bought anyone else on the planet as many coffees as that guy.”

  Mitch was bent at the waist restocking the pastry case and looked up at me with a smarmy grin. He was trying to be funny so I resisted the temptation to send him flying into the lemon scones.

  “Admit it,” Mitch chided as he got to his feet. “As far as coffee dates go, you and Mr. Stinky are on a roll.”

  “Right. You caught me.” I tucked a wayward strand of brown hair back into my loose ponytail.

  Normally, working with Mitch was a coaster ride of wit made even more fun because he was so easy on the eyes. But it was only halfway through my shift and my feet already hurt in my new espadrilles. Don’t mess with a girl with sore feet.

  “Oh you li-i-ike him,” Mitch teased. He elbowed me in the ribs as he passed.

  “You got me. I’m a pushover for skinny fifty-year-olds that smell like a Dumpster.”

  “Fifty? You think he’s fifty?” Mitch straightened, tilted his head and stared out the window. “I’d say a hard sixty.”

  A bouffant-blonde regular stepped up to the counter in thigh-high boots and an impossibly tight blue dress.

  “What do you think, Molly?” Mitch asked her. “How old do you think Mr. Stinky is? Jen says fifty and I’m going with early sixties.”

  “Who?” she asked, looking confused.

  “The homeless dude who’s been sitting across the street every day the last month or so.” When Molly continued to offer him a blank stare, Mitch added, “You walk by him every morning to get your tea.”

  Molly glanced quickly over her shoulder.

  “He’s there every day?” She frowned and blinked long false eyelashes. “I never noticed.”

  I poured Molly her usual peppermint tea, but the steam rising came from between my ears, not from the small vent at the top of the plastic lid. Pushing Mitch aside, I thrust the cup into Molly’s hand and took her two dollars. I gave her a quarter in change, and she deposited it into the tip jar. Great, I could plan my trip to Hawaii now.

  “Thanks, Mitch.” Molly fluttered her eyelashes.

  Once Molly was out the door with her tea, I picked up a rag and began energetically wiping down the counter and pastry case.

  Merlot’s Café was just one of thousands of independent coffee shops in Seattle. I’d been whipping up java there for nearly two years. It was located on the main floor of an old, five-story brown brick office building on James Street halfway between Yesler and Second in Pioneer Square. The place was owned by a seldom-seen owner named Mervin Lo. Here at Merlot’s we served fair trade, shade grown, organic coffee usually with a smile. The inside was long and narrow with lots of exposed brick, a wide glass pastry case, half a dozen tables and counters with bar stools at the front windows. The walls were lined with framed black and white photos from long ago Seattle when vegetable stands stood where Pike’s Place sprawls today.

  “Amazing that she could walk by every day and not even see him,” I snarled under my breath. “Obviously her dresses are too tight and have cut off circulation to the gray matter beneath her dyed roots.”

  “Nothing amazing about it, Jen. Hundreds of people walk down the streets of Seattle every day and I bet most of those don’t give the homeless a second thought.” He stood next to me and nudged my shoulder good-naturedly. “C’mon, even you must’ve had times when you crossed the street to avoid a panhandler or pretended not to hear the guy asking you for spare change.”

  “Whatever. Just drop it.”

  My gaze cut sideways to the guy across the street. It was starting to rain. My throat constricted. You’d think if you chose to be homeless, you’d at least have the sense to thumb a ride south until you hit the California sun instead of hanging out in Seattle. The burning itch in my palm ramped up a notch and I rubbed my hand against my blue-jean-clad thigh.

  Mitch caught me staring across the street and said, “I told you when he started coming round a few weeks ago that if you fed him he’d keep coming back.” He paused. “They’re kind of like cats, and for him...” he nodded across the street. “...coffee is like tuna.

  “Shut up!” I slammed my palm on the counter, somewhat for emphasis but also to help relieve the itch. The half-dozen customers in Merlot’s looked up from their newspapers and laptops to regard me curiously.

  We served the last of the customers in a long line and I picked up a pen in my left hand to offer my itchy palm some solace. I doodled on the thick pad left near the register.

  “How come you write with your right hand, but you always doodle with your left?” Mitch asked.

  “Guess I’m just talented.” I winked.

  I wiped the already clean counter and Mitch went off to make small talk with a petite brunette. After a minute, I began to feel restless.

  “It’s slow.” I two-pointed my rag into a nearby sink. “I’m going on my break.”

  Mitch wisely kept any snarky comments to himself when I poured a large black coffee in a to-go cup, snagged a bran muffin from the basket containing the day-olds and headed out the door.

  As I crossed the street, I observed Mr. Stinky was still getting organized. He finished a smoke and ground it under his toe as I walked over. Placing a twelve-inch square piece of cardboard on the damp sidewalk, he sat down, criss-crossing legs clad in dirty blue jeans. He had on a denim jacket and leaned his back against the gray concrete slab of the parking garage behind him. In a death grip in his left hand he held the orange Jansport backpack containing all his worldly possessions.

  His eyes looked dead ahead at Merlot’s, and he didn’t acknowledge me in any way as I dodged traffic and risked becoming the victim to an angry Prius driver. Once I was right in front of him, I crouched down to eye level. The stench of him brought tears to my eyes. At least I told myself it was the smell.

  A curl of steam rose from the vented lid of the hot coffee that I placed on the concrete sidewalk. He took the muffin from my outstretched hand and unzipped his backpack using a small yellow compass dangling from the center pocket zipper pull. He placed the muffin gingerly inside next to the oatmeal bar I gave him yesterday and the cinnamon roll from who knows when. Then he reached deeper to the bottom of the pack and pulled out two things—his usual worn paper coffee cup with “change please” scrawled in black Sharpie and a lost dog flyer. He placed the cup in front of him and handed me the sheet.

  I sighed, barely glancing at it.

  “Right. Lost black lab. Got it. You’ve given me the same paper every day for a month. You know that you don’t have a dog, right?”

  I ran an impatient hand through my hair, tugged out the ponytail then scrunched up my hair and pulled the elastic around it tighter than before.

  “Look, you gotta find somewhere else to hang out.” I dug in my pocket for a folded index card. “I’ve made a list of all the shelters and soup kitchens in the area. The one up on Third even has a daytime program. You could, you know, be inside all day. No more sitting in the rain. Wouldn’t that be nice? Plus, they’d feed you so, um, yeah...wouldn’t that be good?”

  I held out the card but he continued to look straight ahead. Not at me but through me. For a minute we stayed like that. Him staring. Me holding out the list. I’m sure he could’ve easily done this all day but I had a life. The rain ramped up from mist to drizzle and past
ed my hair to my head and made my mascara run but did nothing to wash away his eau de toilet. Finally, with a small exasperated sigh, I tucked the card into his donation cup along with a twenty I couldn’t afford.

  I was about to get to my feet then changed my mind and leaned in to snap my fingers in front of his face to try to get his attention. His gray eyes flicked to my face then away.

  “I don’t get it.” I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Why the hell do you come here every day if you don’t even want to talk to me?”

  He reached out a grubby hand and tapped the lost dog flyer I still held in my left hand.

  “The dog? There is no dog!” I crumpled the sheet and tossed it at him angrily. It bounced off his stained jacket and landed in his lap.

  “You can’t keep coming here.” My voice hitched. I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, Dad, but you just can’t.”

  Chapter Two

  I left him to sit in the rain and headed back across the street without looking back. Inside Merlot’s I stormed past the patrons and Mitch’s questioning look to go straight to the back room. I took a moment to compose myself. Scrubbing my hands roughly across my face, I told myself for the millionth time that there was nothing I could do about the fact that my father chose to live on the streets. And for the millionth time that thought gave me no reassurance at all.

  Thinking about my dad made me want to get to the bottom of a bottle of tequila. The only bright spot was the fact that I was seeing my boyfriend tonight. That thought made me smile, and I was about to return to the front of the shop when the bell from the back alley door buzzed. Unlocking the sliding bolt, I shouldered open the heavy metal door.

  “You’re late, Charlie.”

  “Sorry, Jen.” The delivery man was standing in the rain holding a large box of mixed baked goods with Fresh! Fresh! Fresh! in bold lettering across the white container.

  Charlie pushed past me to place the box on a table. Even though I was the one who got Charlie the business with Merlot’s, I’ve never really liked the guy. He was over six feet, with thinning brown hair and skinny to the point of scary. How the hell could you operate a bakery and simultaneously look like you hadn’t eaten more than a breadcrumb in a year? It was unnatural. If I worked at Fresh! Fresh! Fresh! there’s no doubt whatsoever that I’d be Fat! Fat! Fat! and have Zits! Zits! Zits!