Chapter 21

I swung open the heavy wooden door of The Coffee House, the tinkling chime announcing my arrival. The warm, inviting lights illuminated the cozy place, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped me like a warm hug. Diane was already seated in a booth, her beauty radiating like a beacon, even in the dim lighting.

"Hello," I said with a smile as I slid into the seat across from her.

"Hi, Eva Rae," she replied, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of my appearance. We quickly placed our orders—blueberry muffins and two cups of steaming black coffee for me and a creamy concoction with sugar for Diane.

"Spill it," Diane prompted before our order even hit the table. "There's no hiding that something is going on. You look distressed."

The waitress brought over our coffee. Steam curled from the cups like ghosts of my thoughts. I took a gulp, scalding my tongue but barely noticing. I needed more. I poured in sugar. My fingers fumbled with a spoon, twirling it aimlessly.

"Everything okay?" Her voice cut through the hum of low conversations and the occasional hiss from the espresso machine. Concern lined her face, softening the edges of her usually composed features.

"Uh, yeah," I lied. With another swig of coffee, the mug emptied too soon. "Can I get a refill?" I called to the waitress, my voice sharper than intended.

Diane reached across the table, her hand hovering as if to steady mine. "Eva Rae, talk to me."

Her words were a tether, and for a moment, I clung to them, trying to ground myself in the familiarity of our friendship. But the storm inside wouldn't let up, and I knew it was only a matter of time before it broke loose.

The refill arrived, a steaming torrent splashing into my mug. I clasped it for energy, the ceramic radiating against my clammy palms. I leaned in, the words tumbling from me in a hushed avalanche.

"I've been up all night, Diane. Carol Rudolph—Will and Angela's neighbor—was found dead. In her house. Actually, I was the one who found her."

My eyes met hers, pleading for understanding.

"Dead? How so?"

"She was bludgeoned. It was ugly. Blood everywhere… And the cops… they grilled me for hours."

Her face drained of color, her poised demeanor crumbling like a cliffside in slow motion.

"Me, Diane. They think I might be involvedbecause I was there. For all I know, they might think I murdered her."

Diane's fingers twitched around her cup, the polished surface now a lifeline as she absorbed the gravity of my confession. Her blue eyes, always so steady, flickered with a storm of emotions.

"Murder?" The word was barely audible over the clatter of cups and chatter. "Eva Rae, this is… you can't be serious."

I nodded, each movement heavy with fatigue and an acute awareness of the stakes. The silverware on our table seemed to rattle with the intensity of my heartbeat.

"Dead serious," I said, my voice laced with concern and urgency. My gaze locked onto hers, willing her to grasp the full weight of the situation.

Diane's hands trembled, just perceptibly, betraying the shock that had seized her composure. She looked at me, not as the confident Diane I knew, but as someone confronted with a reality too stark to fully comprehend.

"Carol…," she whispered, her voice trailing off into the ambient noise of the coffee house, her thoughts lost amid the scent of roasted beans and the soft jazz playing in the background. "I remember her well. Angela thought for a long time that Will had an affair with her. She never liked her."

I reached for the muffin, breaking off a piece more out of habit than hunger. Diane was still gripping her coffee cup like a lifeline.

"Did Angela ever mention anything about prescription drugs?" I kept my voice low and gentle despite the urgency scratching at my insides. "Her husband… was he addicted?"

For a moment, Diane's composure wavered. Her eyes slid away from mine, seeking refuge in the abstract patterns of the coffee house floor. Then, with an effort that seemed to pull her back into the present, her gaze lifted, locking with mine, a silent admission before words even formed.

"Yes," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "Angela told me… about the drugs."

The air between us thickened, laden with unsaid implications and secrets that now began to seep through the cracks of a carefully constructed facade.

I leaned forward, the booth's vinyl squeaking beneath me. A strand of red hair escaped my ponytail, brushing against my cheek as I spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Diane, in Angela's notebook, there were notes. About Will. She was describing erratic behavior. I spoke to my medical expert back in Cocoa Beach, and he confirmed that this type of drug can change a man's behavior and make him aggressive. I need to know if this was the case. Did Will show signs of erratic behavior?"

My words hung in the air, mingling with the scent of espresso and cinnamon from someone's latte at the next table.

"Erratic?" Diane's voice was barely audible above the hiss of the steamer. Her face, moments ago flushed with the warmth of our booth, now drained to an ashen hue. Her hands, resting on the table, trembled ever so slightly.

"Yes. It raises questions." My eyes stayed locked on hers, searching, probing for any flicker of acknowledgment or any sign she recognized the man described on those pages.

Diane inhaled sharply. Her blue eyes swelled with something akin to fear, or maybe it was disbelief. Disbelief tinged with the faintest trace of betrayal.

"Diane, Angela wrote in her notebook that she was scared of him. Of him either hurting himself or someone else."

"He didn't kill her," she said, the words tumbling out like a plea. "Especially not over some… silly drug addiction."

The conviction in her tone clashed with the uncertainty in her gaze. She wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. Her son-in-law, the father of her grandchildren—surely he couldn't be capable of murder.

"Of course," I replied, my response measured, but my mind racing. The pieces weren't fitting together, and every new revelation seemed only to deepen the mystery surrounding Carol's death.

The server approached, refilling our coffees with a clink of porcelain on porcelain, oblivious to the tension. I thanked him with a nod, watching Diane compose herself once more, the mask of certainty sliding back into place.

I tapped the table, my fingers drumming a staccato rhythm that mirrored the beat of my racing heart.

"Did Angela ever share worries about Will's behavior with you?" The question hung in the air, a thread waiting to be pulled.

Diane's posture wilted slightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with the weight of a mother's sorrow.

"No," she sighed, her voice carrying the burden of remembrance. "Angela fretted over him cheating, not… violence."

"I heard this about her before; can you elaborate?"

"She became obsessed over it." Diane's fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup, tracing invisible patterns. "She saw hints, signs of infidelity everywhere."

"Everywhere?" I leaned in closer, my curiosity piqued by the fervor in Diane's description.

"Even when there were none," Diane confirmed, a droplet of sadness falling from her words. Her blue eyes seemed to look past me, focusing on a painful point in time only she could see.

I leaned back, the worn leather of the booth creaking under my shifting weight. My mind was a cyclone of doubt and suspicion, each thought colliding with another, leaving me questioning everything I thought I knew. There had to be more hidden layers yet to be uncovered.

"Will loved her," Diane murmured, breaking into my whirling thoughts. She stretched across the table, her hand warm against the chill of my arm. "He wouldn't… he couldn't have done this. I knew my daughter. She could be a lot from time to time. Her obsession with him cheating… it drove her nuts."

"Love can be complex," I said, not quite ready to dispel the fog of theories shrouding my brain.

"Complex, yes, but not deadly. At least not in this case." Her eyes held mine, pleading for understanding. "His addiction, it's true—it took him to dark places. But not to murder. And not to betrayal."

"Accidents happen," I conceded, the words tasting bitter as they left my mouth.

"Angela's death was tragic, but an accident," Diane insisted, her grip tightening. "Stairs can be… they're treacherous."

"Treacherous," I echoed, the term snagging on something within me, a detail, perhaps, or an intuition I could not yet articulate.

"Please," she continued, her voice a soft lilt of hope amidst the cacophony of my skepticism, "you have to see that Will isn't capable of such horror."

Her conviction was a beacon in the fog, but did it illuminate the truth or cast shadows where clarity needed to reign?

"Thank you, Diane," I said, my words measured against the torrent of thoughts inside my head. "I appreciate you being here."

The coffee house was a blur of motion and chatter around me, but it all seemed distant, secondary to the puzzle pieces floating in my mind. Her support was a lifeline, yet doubt gnawed at me, a relentless itch.

"Anytime, Eva Rae." Her voice held the warmth of a summer's embrace, but I was out in the cold, sorting through the frost of facts and speculation.

"Truth has a way of surfacing," I murmured more to myself than to her, standing up from the booth with an abruptness that mirrored my urgency.

"Find it then," she said, her eyes following me as I slid out of the booth. "But find the real truth. We don't have much time. Will's trial starts tomorrow."

"I know," I said, feeling defeated. The little I had wasn't exactly enough. "I will get to the bottom of this."

I rose to my feet, the promise lingering behind me. I felt like I was lying to her. I didn't see how I would be able to find anything before tomorrow that would help Will. I wanted to help Diane; I truly did. And I wanted to find out what really happened to Angelaand, of course, Carol. Why did she have to die? Was it the same killer?

The bell above the coffee shop door jingled sharply as I pushed through, stepping into the daylight. The sun was too bright, too cheery for the grim task ahead. My pace quickened, every step a beat in the symphony of my racing heart.

Will's addiction, Angela's fears, Carol's death—all whispered secrets carried on the breeze that brushed past me.

With each block passed while driving, my resolve hardened. Carol's lifeless eyes haunted me, a silent plea. I needed answers. I needed to peel back the layers of deception until nothing remained but the stark, unyielding reality.

I took a deep breath, the weight of unsolved mysteries heavy on my shoulders. It was up to me to uncover the truth. Was it murder? An accident? Or an affair gone wrong? The words swirled in my mind like menacing vultures.

But I couldn't stop now. Carol deserved more, and I would stop at nothing to bring it to her,even if it meant delving deeper into the dark secrets of this sweltering Florida town.

Who could I trust? I wasn't sure anymore.