Mocha Mayhem

Chapter Two

After S.P.J. left, Sam disappeared behind a series of dusty filing drawers in one of the back offices. I assumed this room was unoccupied by any members of the force, judging by the stacks of manila folders tempting gravity along the edges of the room. They were joined by towers of crooked filing cabinets. In fact, everything in the room seemed to be listing to the left. I tilted my head slightly, feeling like I'd stepped into some strange, slightly tilted alternate reality. "Ooh, I get it! This is one of those mystery spots that they charge tourists to visit! You cops are a hoot."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam's muttering floated toward me from some distant corner of the room.

I massaged the back of my neck up toward my temples, where I could feel the slow throb of a tension headache. It was probably this room combined with our entire interaction with the bewildering Elaine Johansen.

"What exactly are you looking for?" I blew gently on one four-foot-tall pile of folders topping a series of carefully placed binders near the room's entryway. I had the urge to tempt good old Lady Gravity and see if she took the bait. The folders rustled briefly and shed their dust before the dust mites resettled and the folders resumed their stubborn display of anti-gravity prowess.

"That cold case."

"Ah, yes, that cold case. The nitro one, topped with the chocolate cream foam. Everyone's favorite flavor...What I wouldn't give for a looksy-loo at the old gal."

Sam took the time to snort despite being elbow-deep in dust and cobwebs. I peeked over a slightly shorter cabinet to see her frantically pouring through the contents of one grey-green drawer.

"Anyways...I'm going to go for a cup of joe, if I can't be of any assistance..?"

"What? Huh? Yeah, go..."

Samantha was nothing if not eloquent. We shared that trait, sisters in our incoherence. We tended to bond over unusual things during the past twenty-odd years that we've known each other, like the fact that we both lost all of our races in middle school track and have forever loathed frozen corn. (It's like it's not even real corn—where did they hide the cobs?! Trust me on this one.)

I took my caffeine-deprived self and marched across the main office jungle, waving at Mindy, Sam's would-be girlfriend, from where she sat perched at the edge of her seat in her tiny cubicle. She returned my wave but looked around me, a bit distracted, as though searching for Samantha. Ah, young love. "She's digging through ancient burial grounds," I explained, indicating the room Sam was currently in.

Mindy nodded slowly, pulling her black hair over her shoulders and weaving her hands through it. "Samantha usually doesn't take on cold cases..." She blinked her eyes wearily and glanced at the door to the filing cabinet room under her thick eyelashes.

I shrugged and paused by the edge of the partition. I noticed Mindy had earbuds hanging around her neck, some new age music pouring from them. As an evil best friend will naturally do, I teased Sam about Mindy's age. The girl claimed she was twenty-two, already seven years younger than us, but she could just as easily pull off sixteen if she were so inclined. Still, I didn't want to bug Sam too much, seeing as how neither of these chicks had yet worked up the guts to ask the other out. Plus, a lot of the older guys on the team were super old-school and probably bothered them more than enough already.

I balanced my weight from one foot to the other. "Well, I'm guessing we're about to make an exception seeing as how we're dealing with a really frantic and crazy rich lady with a haunting for us to solve."