A Bitter Brew
January 11, 2025
The smell of roasted coffee beans mixed with the acrid stench of blood as Detective Nora Blake stepped into The Golden Cup Café, a cozy spot nestled in the heart of downtown. The café was closed for the morning, the usual hum of chatter and clinking mugs replaced by the soft hum of fluorescent lights.
On the tiled floor behind the counter lay Simon Caldwell, the café’s owner. His apron was soaked in blood, a deep stab wound in his abdomen. A shattered ceramic mug lay beside him, shards scattered like jagged puzzle pieces.
Nora knelt beside the body, her latex-gloved hand hovering over a small piece of paper sticking out from Simon’s clenched fist. She gently pulled it free, revealing a scrawled note: “You took everything.”
Her partner, Detective Ray Foster, leaned against the counter, frowning at the scene. “Doesn’t scream random robbery,” he said. “Whoever did this had a grudge.”
“Big one,” Nora agreed, rising to her feet. “Any witnesses?”
Ray shook his head. “The barista found him this morning when she came to open up. She’s pretty shaken, but she’s in the back if you want to talk to her.”
The barista, a young woman named Mia, sat at a small table in the staff room, clutching a steaming cup of tea. Her hands trembled as she set it down.
“I didn’t hear anything last night,” Mia said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I left at closing, around 10 PM. Simon stayed late to balance the books. He said he had a meeting with someone, but he didn’t say who.”
“Did he seem worried?” Nora asked.
Mia nodded. “He’d been tense all week. I heard him arguing with someone on the phone a few days ago, but I didn’t catch who it was. He just kept saying, ‘You can’t do this.’”
Nora and Ray exchanged a glance.
“Did Simon have any enemies?” Ray asked.
Mia hesitated. “Not enemies, but there was a man—David Harper. He used to be Simon’s business partner before Simon bought him out. David didn’t take it well.”
David Harper’s modest apartment smelled of stale beer and regret. Nora and Ray found him sitting on a couch piled with newspapers and unopened mail.
“Simon Caldwell’s dead,” Nora said, watching David’s reaction closely.
David blinked, his mouth falling open. “Dead? What? I didn’t… I didn’t kill him!”
“Where were you last night?” Ray asked.
“At home,” David stammered. “I swear. I haven’t seen Simon in months.”
Nora folded her arms. “We heard about your fallout. Buying you out must’ve stung.”
David’s face twisted with anger. “Of course it did! He stole my dream, my café. But I didn’t kill him.” He slumped back. “If you want someone to look at, check his supplier—Mark Graham. Simon owed him money, and they had words about it last week.”
Mark Graham turned out to be a local coffee distributor with a short temper and a penchant for violence. When Nora and Ray confronted him at his warehouse, he didn’t deny the argument.
“Yeah, Simon owed me,” Mark admitted, leaning against a pallet of coffee bags. “But I didn’t kill him. You think I’d risk my business over a few grand?”
Nora’s gaze sharpened. “Then why was your knife at the scene?”
Mark froze.
“We found your prints on the hilt,” Ray added. “You had plenty of motive, Mark.”
Mark cursed under his breath, then snarled, “Fine. I went there to scare him, all right? I didn’t mean to kill him! He started yelling, and things got out of hand.”
Nora cuffed him, her face impassive. “Killing him over a debt? That’s not just ‘out of hand,’ Mark. That’s murder.”
As Mark was led away, Nora looked out the café window at the bustling street. Another senseless death, another life ruined by greed.
“People make terrible choices for the smallest reasons,” she said quietly.
Ray nodded. “And we’re here to clean up the mess.”
Nora sighed, already dreading the next case.