Death Before Decaf by Caroline Fardig

production and profit, so I have an interest in economics as well. I wonder if being the scene of a murder will be good or bad for business.”
    “Nobody said anything about murder,” I said uneasily, gulping my drink.
    He gave me a weird look. “Yeah, they did. It’s all over the news. Do you live under a rock or something?”
    I said quietly, “No, I just don’t feel like reliving it.” I had been very careful today to avoid media of any kind, and sticking my head in the sand was keeping me sane.
    Taking my hand, he said kindly, “I wondered if you were the one who found the body. Do you want to talk about it? It’s okay if you don’t.”
    His concern for me was sweet, and his touch shot a tingle up my arm. “Thanks, but I’m kind of freaked out by it. I’d rather not talk about it too much.” The image of Dave lying in the dumpster popped into my head again, and I felt ill. Worrying that it was a good possibility I’d lose my dinner, I excused myself and fled the table.
    Once inside the ladies’ room, I splashed some water on my face and looked in the mirror. Not cute. I was paler than usual, which was hardly possible with my already glow-in-the-dark-hued skin tone. The only color I had to my face was the big, purple circles under my green eyes. I quickly swiped some concealer over them, and was halfway through applying blush to my cheeks when the bathroom door opened and a man walked in. Horrified, I looked around, hoping in my haste that I hadn’t chosen the wrong restroom. Nope. The tampon dispenser and lack of urinals were a sure sign that I was in the right place. Not wanting to get involved with a perv, I packed up my makeup and headed for the door.
    The man blocked my exit. He was scrawny, only a little taller than me, so he wasn’t particularly intimidating, but his eyes were hard. He asked, “Are you Juliet Langley?”
    Gasping, I whispered, “Yes.”
    He broke into a smile, shoving the end of his phone in my face. “I’m Don Wolfe from the
Nashville Gazette
. We spoke earlier, but somehow we got cut off. Care to give me an exclusive on the death of David Hill? I’ll get it all here on a recording, so you can be sure I quote you right,” he drawled. Normally, I associated a Southern drawl with nice Southern folk, but there was something about this guy that was distinctly vile.
    Taken aback, I cried, “In a ladies’ restroom? That’s disgusting. And I thought I made it clear before that I have no comment.”
    Undaunted, he continued, “You found the body. Can you describe it for me? What were you thinking when you saw the dead man?”
    Stepping away from him, I warned, “Stop! I don’t want to talk to you!”
    He pressed, “I heard through the grapevine that you’re a person of interest. Why is that?”
    I tried going around him, but he got in my way again. “Let me by,” I cried.
    “Not until you give me something.”
    Anger quickly replaced my fear. “Oh, I’ll give you something.” I raised my knee and planted it between his legs.
    Wolfe cried out like a little girl and slid down the wall. “My nuts! Ohhhh…son of a bitch, that hurts! I’ll get you for assault!”
    Remembering that he was recording our conversation, I asked, “Did I bump into you, Mr. Wolfe? I’m so clumsy sometimes. My apologies.” I stepped over him and hurried back to the table.
    Seth took one look at my face and hopped up, taking my hands. “Are you feeling okay? I was worried about you.”
    I felt pretty badass until I had to talk about it, and then I started shaking. “Um…well, a reporter accosted me in the ladies’ room. It was a
man
, by the way, and he…started trying to interview me.”
    Seth’s face immediately grew dark as he peered around the room. “Where is he now?”
    “I don’t know.” I brightened a little, thinking back to the pained look on Wolfe’s face. “Hopefully he’s still on the bathroom floor, clutching his balls.”
    He regarded me quizzically. “Did you have