Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

off, leaving just the lingering odor of his clean laundry smell in his wake. No wonder I was a little dizzy.
    After walking Trixie, I went through my closet, attempting to come up with an outfit that conveyed the gravitas that assigning future English majors required. I settled on a short-sleeved wrap dress and a pair of sandals, opting for comfort over seriousness. The dress was a little low-cut, but being as there was nary a safety or straight pin in sight, I pulled the material together, putting a little tape between the dress and my skin. I knew it wasn’t going to hold, but I also knew that it would make me feel better, knowing that I had done something to rectify the situation. I pulled my shoulder-length hair back into a low ponytail and threw on some earrings. I was on my way out the door fifteen minutes later after checking in with the dog walker, reminding her that the party was over; I was back at work full-time.
    I was planning on walking to the train that morning because the weather was beautiful, and I was definitely on my way there when I found myself veering off at the end of my street and ending up at Beans, Beans. I paused in front of the window of the store. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would come back here after what had transpired just forty-eight hours previous, but I felt compelled and a little guilty. I had thought many bad things about Greg’s coffee over the past two days and, in actuality, it wasn’t that bad. Okay, it was terrible. But I didn’t want the guy to fail and I wanted to show my solidarity. See? I was here and I had witnessed the whole thing! I tried to make eye contact with the other people on the street in front of the store, but imagined that I looked like a crazy person trying to strike up a conversation and ceased after the third person hurried by me. The store looked no worse for wear; a quick look inside told me that everything was as it had been right before Carter and George had started their fight ending in Carter’s death. Greg was at the counter, all alone, not a customer in the store. Seeing him going about his business in silence, all by himself, made me sad. Against my better judgment, I opened the door and walked in.
    His face lit up at the sight of me and, I have to say, it was not a bad way to start the day. He came out from around the counter and gave me a big bear hug, the kind that I really don’t enjoy, particularly from people I don’t know very well.
    “Alison! Hey!” he said, hustling back around the counter. “What can I get you?”
    “Nothing, Greg. Thanks,” I said, quickly changing my mind when I saw his disappointed face. “A large black coffee, please.”
    He turned around to fill a cup of coffee for me. “You’re my first customer of the day and I’ve been open since six.” He turned back around and handed me the hot cup. “Be careful. That’s hot.”
    I pulled a little sleeve from the stack next to the counter and slipped it on my cup before burning the pads of my fingertips. “Thanks for the warning,” I said, opening the lid and taking a little tiny sip. “No business today?”
    “Not yet,” he said, wiping down the glass-topped counter with a wet rag even though it was spotlessly clean.
    “They’ll come,” I assured him. “If you make the coffee, they will come,” I said gravely, making him laugh.
    “I hope you’re right.” He leaned onto the counter. “How are you doing today?”
    “Me?” I asked, surprised that he even cared about my well-being.
    “Yeah, you.” He smiled. “You got a lot more than you bargained for on Saturday.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “You, too.” I put my coffee on the counter.
    “You’re not drinking your coffee,” he said.
    “Oh, I will,” I said. “I’ve haven’t been feeling so great since last week. A little queasy.”
    Greg smiled broadly. “Something you want to tell me?”
    I couldn’t figure out why he was looking at me with such a broad grin on his face until he made a motion with his hand over his belly. “Pregnant? Oh, no,” I said. I shook my head back and forth so vigorously I started to get dizzy. “No. Not pregnant. Sick, maybe, but not pregnant.” I put my hand on my abdomen, wondering if my physique was giving the impression that I was with child. Yes, the usual paunch was still there, but it was nothing to write home about. A steady diet of Devil Dogs and vodka martinis will eventually take its toll. Was it time to start using the Ab