Death Before Decaf by Caroline Fardig Page B

looking for a bookie, where would I start?”
    Pete answered groggily, “Huh? Jules, what in the hell do you want with a bookie?”
    “Are you asleep already? It’s only nine!”
    “I had a rough day,” he whined.
    I chuckled. He sounded so sad. “I want to find Ron Hatcher and talk to him.”
    “What? I thought you were taking your info to the police!”
    “Well…I thought it would be better to have some facts to back it up.”
    “You’re not a detective, Jules. Leave it to the professionals.”
    “The professionals suck. I’m tired of being treated like a criminal. We’re going to find Ron Hatcher.”
    “Now? Tonight?”
    “Yeah. I’ve got time, and you’re obviously not doing anything important. Besides, don’t bookies come out at night?”
    “I think that’s vampires, but close enough.”
    “Is that a yes?”
    “Jules…”
    “Oh, come on, old man. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
    “Fine, but let the record show that I am against this.”
    “Duly noted.”

Chapter 7
    I drove the few blocks to Pete’s house, and he came to the curb to meet me. It was obvious that he was still grumpy, because he wasn’t his usual happy Pete self.
    “Where did you get all of this energy?” he complained.
    I’d had a really fun evening, but suddenly felt weird about telling Pete I’d been on a date. “I can’t just sit on all of these leads that Charlene gave us. I have to do something or I’ll go nuts.”
    “Do you know where you’re going first?”
    “That’s where you come in. You’re a guy. Don’t you know any seedy dudes with access to the underground?”
    “Who
are
you? You’ve gone all thug on me.” He frowned. “You know I don’t hang around with seedy dudes. Dave was the only person I’ve ever known who’d be able to get me in touch with a bookie.”
    “You
are
quite the Boy Scout.”
    Pete had always been a “do the right thing” kind of guy, never wanting to get mixed up in any questionable activities. I remember when we were back in college, a group of our fellow music students had decided to mess with one of the professors, who none of us liked. We had planned to toilet-paper her trees and fork her yard, but Pete hadn’t wanted any part of it.
    —
    “Come on, Pete, don’t be such a Boy Scout,” I had said to him back then, trying to talk him into the prank. “You can’t stand her, either. Come with us. It’ll make you feel better.”
    “Sure, she’s a sucky teacher, but I don’t think she deserves a mess in her yard,” he said.
    “She’s made a mess of my GPA. She deserves it.”
    He shook his head. “Your GPA was already a mess, Jules. You can’t blame her for that.”
    “Whose side are you on, anyway?” I huffed.
    “Yours. I’m trying to keep you out of trouble. You guys are going to get caught.”
    “Nah, it’s late. I’m sure she’s in bed. Besides, you don’t want to miss out on the fun. You’ve pranked people before, right?”
    He ignored me. “I don’t know, Jules. I don’t think it’s worth it.”
    I could tell from the way he reacted that Pete hadn’t pranked anyone’s house before. I didn’t want to be the one to talk him into something that he clearly didn’t want to do. He was such a sweetheart.
    I sighed. “Okay, I won’t push you. See you later.”
    It turned out Pete was exactly right. We totally got caught. Not only that, but our professor insisted we pick up every piece of toilet paper and every plastic fork we had put in her yard, plus rake her leaves, clean her gutters, and pull every last weed out of her flower beds. She said that if we didn’t do it, she’d go to the dean, so we all caved. We were there all night long. I remember having to go straight to my first class the next morning with dirt and leaves still clinging to my clothes. Pete took one look at me and laughed until he cried. I never pranked another professor again.
    —
    Present-day Pete frowned at me. “You don’t have to bust my balls for being an