Angry Jonny

Ignoring her bookmark she turned to the index and looked up coffee. Found the subject and page number. A black-and-white diagram broke down all the obvious elements: diagonal lines stretching out from various parts of the typical coffeemaker, leading to underlined terms she was already familiar with. Filter basket, timer, reservoir. Nothing about the inner workings, wiring or specific safety hazards.

  Not much of a help, but not a bad place to start.

  She closed the book, threw it back onto the pile.

  A few simple Google searches, and a pattern began to emerge. Her veiled tipster made a very good point. Tab by tab, she bookmarked the various websites. Shut down her computer and turned off the lights. Setting her mug in the kitchen sink, she approached the coffeemaker. Removed the pot and slowly ran her finger along its glass circumference.

  She glanced up at the clock on the wall.

  It was getting late.

  Jessica retired to her bedroom. Turned on a small lamp by the futon. Went to her window, casually checked for the undercover car.

  There it was, sleeping with one eye open.

  “Maybe I will have myself a cup of coffee,” Jessica murmured, yawning. “Tomorrow.”

  She dropped the shutters. Slipped into boxers and a white tank top. A stack of fresh, spiral-ringed notebooks on her desk called her over. She picked one up, paired with a ballpoint pen. Brought them to bed with her.

  Jessica propped herself up against a pair of pillows and drew her legs up.

  The notebook sat patiently in her lap.

  In large, uppercase letters, she spelled it all out on the bright red cover.

  ANGRY JONNY.

  Jessica flipped to the first page and began to write.

  Chapter 19: Friendly Advice.

  Sunday morning began with all the usual motions.

  Popping the lid off a container of dark roast. Scooping a few measures into the filter, then sliding the clip into place. Filling the pot with water, and emptying it into the reservoir.

  It was right about then that Jessica thought she’d try something a little different.

  She set the empty carafe on the counter. Reached out and turned the coffeemaker on. Adjusting her tank top, she leaned back against the fridge and glanced at the clock. Marked the time at eight-fifteen. She crossed her arms, waiting. The sounds of boiling water reached her ears, followed by a slow sizzle as fresh water droplets began to hit the metal warming plate.

  Another time check put the big hand at seventeen past.

  Jessica nodded to herself and left the kitchen, gliding past Dinah’s bedroom door.

  Shut nice and tight.

  Went to her room and got dressed for work.

  By the time she was done buttoning her vest, the smell of burning coffee was wafting into her room. She removed a black tie from a the door knob and threw it over her shoulder. The stench was stronger out in the hallway. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. The smoke alarm’s placid, green light remained unconcerned.

  Jessica returned to the kitchen, twenty five minutes into her experiment, putting the time at eighteen to nine.

  The coffeemaker had finished percolating. A puddle of brownish liquid was sizzling on the warming plate. Small signs of charring here and there. A little smoke, to be sure, but nothing to set the world on fire.

  Crossing her arms, Jessica leaned back against the fridge.

  Waiting for alarm bells.

  What she got for her patience was the sound of Dinah’s bedroom door opening.

  Floorboards creaking beneath shuffling footsteps.

  Jessica didn’t bat an eye when Eli wandered in, lanky body clad in red boxer shorts and a fitted, white T-shirt. Blond hair suffering from severe bedhead, all chicken feathers.

  When he spoke, his voice had an early morning croak to it: “Um, Jessica?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He pointed to the empty carafe. “I think you might have left out a step or two there.”

  “If you’d like some breakfast, I could always make you some toast.”

  Seconds later, Dinah burst in. Oversized plaid shirt hanging down past her waist. “Jessica, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Keeping it real.”

  “Real fucking stupid, maybe.” Dinah turned off the coffeemaker. Reached for a set of oven mitts, dotted with placid ladybugs. “You want to tell me just what you were trying to accomplish?”

  “Shit, Blondie...” Jessica reached for the plug as Dinah picked up the machine and held it over the sink, sending the remaining liquid down the drain. “I’m an ordinary gal, burning down the house.”

  “Going to have to try a lot harder than that.”

  “Anybody mind if I grab a cigarette?” Eli asked.

  “Go!” Jessica and Dinah ordered in unison.

  Eli left the kitchen with an amused smile.

  Dinah set the coffeemaker down, oven mitts placed squarely on her hips. “So what the hell, girl?”

  “I was just testing our fire alarm.”

  “You’re going to have to –”

  “– try a lot harder than that, yeah.” Jessica leaned over, took a closer look at the charred, metal plate. “So by my watch, I let this nonsense go on for about twenty… seven minutes. Twenty-seven minutes, and it didn’t look like this thing was nearly ready to burst into flames.”

  “There’s a reason for that. It’s called a thermostat. A small strip of metal. When it gets hot, it expands, and separates the current that heats the metal plate. As it cools down, it contracts, allowing it to heat up again.”

  “You are just full of useful information.”

  “Which you could have asked me about,” Dinah said, removing her mitts. “Yeah, that’s why I threw out our old maker. Busted thermostat. Didn’t realize you could replace it cheap, but so goes the learning curve.”

  “So goes it.”

  Dinah ran her hands though her blond locks, shook her head. “We’re going to be late for work.”

  “I’m sorry I fucked up your coffeemaker.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She gave Jessica a quick peck on the cheek. “We’ll grab some java at the Prescott. You can fuck up their coffeemaker when we get there.”

  “Will do.”

  Dinah left the kitchen.

  Jessica reached out, lightly tapped the white plastic.

  Still hot, but cooling off.

  She opened up a drawer, took out a Phillips head screwdriver. Mindful of her hands, she set the coffeemaker on its side and spun the bottom around. She bent close, readying the screwdriver.

  “You may want to wait just a bit before operating,” Eli advised from the doorway, tugging at a Marlboro.

  “My patient can’t wait another minute, doctor,” Jessica deadpanned, raising her eyes.

  “If the plastic’s still even a little hot to the touch, just wait till you start poking around inside.”

  “Didn’t realize I was in the presence of an expert.”

  Eli shrugged. “Wasn’t always a card player.”

  “It’s interesting to hear you say that while blowing smoke.”

  “Is this weird for you?”

  Jessica straightened, delaying the autopsy. “Is what weird for me?”

  “Dinah. Me. Here.”

  “All interesting points.”

  “I’m an interesting guy.”

  “Eli…I’m sure just about every girl you meet goes plain gaga over this mysterious stranger angle you’ve got going on. I’m sure you’ve assumed the same goes for me. But you’re just not my type.”

  “Type?”

  “You’re kind of bony. Blond. Never mind the fact that I’m seventeen, a minor. And I’m guessing both of us are in enough trouble with the law as it is.”

  “I’m familiar with statutory rape laws, thanks.”

  “How familiar?”

  “Now, that’s just mean,” Eli said, pointing an accusatory finger. “Mean and yucky.”

  “Then allow me to politely point out that you live
in a house whose owner I’ve never met. You make your living playing cards, though I’ve never seen you touch a deck. You’re a Floridian who’s a New Yorker, who is now, it appears, going to be spending a lot more time being a Carolinian.”

  “In short?”

  “You, sir, are not what you seem.”

  Eli stuck his cigarette between his teeth, crossed his arms and leaned back. “What if I told you I was a private detective?” he asked, tipping an imaginary fedora.

  “I think you’re getting yourself confused with Chaucer Braswell.”

  “Really?” Eli blinked, surprised. “He’s a private dick?”

  “Restaurant manager.”

  “Then what –”

  “It appears ain’t nothing as it seems…” Jessica told him, grabbing hold of the screwdriver and picking up the coffeemaker. “I’ve determined that about you, now have the respect to assume the same for me.”

  She breezed through his cloud of smoke, and headed for her room.

  “Jessica, wait.” Eli followed her as far as the hallway. “Can we pretend to be honest for a moment?”

  Jessica had to appreciate the fact that he had stopped short of her bedroom, holding fast at the threshold. “We can certainly pretend.”

  “Of course, I like you. I like your style, I like the way you carry yourself. I like that crazy brain of yours. I like that you don’t trade in bullshit. Also, you’re pretty easy on the eyes…” He smiled humbly. “But just because I also like Dinah, doesn’t mean you have to pretend to not like me.”

  “I thought we were pretending.”

  “Then could we stop?”

  “Let me pretend to think about it,” Jessica said, lifting her chin and squinting. “Mm… Nope, no sale.”

  Jessica reached out with her foot and gently shut the door in Eli’s face.

  She walked over to her desk, and sat the coffeemaker down on its head.

  Got the Phillips ready.

  She paused. Took a moment to think about what Eli had said, then carefully placed a finger against the bottom of the coffeemaker. Just in case there was something to his advice.

  Chapter 20: Beer Money.

  Sunday brunch at the Prescott was a blessing and a curse.

  The blessing was of a row of tables, lined up end to end along the wall. A procession of sliver chafing dishes, each one brimming with an endless supply of oldies but goodies. Applewood smoked bacon, ham, lox, hash browns, scrambled eggs. Yogurt, cereal, fresh fruit. Fresh bread, bagels, jam, honey, butter and cream cheese pads. Complete with a stand for freshly prepared omelets and crepes, a la carte.

  All for the low price of a single Andrew Jackson.

  Apart from drinks – a mimosa, bloody Mary, or coffee, all of which came with special buffet discounts – most servers were in the clear as far as taking orders went. Sunday brunch was ultimately an exercise in clearing dishes between binges.

  The curse was a subdued bottom line. People paid less for more, leaving a total that made for some lean tips. Earnings from the Prescott brunch shift were pejoratively referred to as beer money.

  For Jessica, the tradeoff was a welcome one.

  Less of a hassle, more time to focus on the tables she actually gave a damn about.

  Especially when her last table was a one-top who actually had a bit in common with her.

  “So what do you think?” Jessica asked.

  Chaucer dabbed his mouth with his napkin, took a look at the bill. “I think this is an outrage. Twenty bucks and no Belgian waffles?”

  “Was the omelet not to your liking?”

  “Actually, my boss is obsessed with omelets, so that order’s a tall one.” Chaucer shelled out a couple of twenties. “Though it’s best I hold my tongue. Knowing what I do about how your customers end up.”

  “Now that’s just mean,” Jessica told him, scooping up the checkbook. “Mean and yucky. After I do you the good service of inviting you to brunch.”

  “I am glad you called… I’m not keeping you from any other tables, am I?”

  “No.”

  “So apart from the fact that I’ve had both an excellent meal and a clandestine meeting with my favorite suspect...”

  “What do you think about the coffee thing?”

  “I think it’s solid,” Chaucer said. “But more importantly, there’s the matter of your anonymous helper.”

  “Do you think it’s him?”

  “Doesn’t seem to fit. Considering the letter Angry Jonny sent the Observer, he’s a bit more daring. A bit more old school. Email ain’t how this guy operates.”

  “I’m going to go and settle this up with Dinah,” Jessica said. “Pretend to bring you some change so we can talk about this some more.”

  “What makes you think I don’t want change?”

  “Knowing what you do about how my customers end up…”

  “Now that’s just mean. Mean and yucky.”

  Jessica winked, went to the bar. She handed Dinah her book.

  Dinah’s eyes were still red from another night on the town. “What’s with Dick Tracy over there?”

  “Best customer I’ve had in a while.”

  “I don’t think he’s what he seems…” Dinah made change, shut the register than handed Jessica her due. “Not what he seems at all.”

  “Something in the air,” Jessica agreed, heading back to an ironically numbered table thirteen. She placed the book in front of Chaucer, let him glance at it, eyes all stern.

  “So this mystery email…” he began. “I’m guessing it has to be from the inside. Someone who is both willing to leak information and who knows that you have a connection with Angry Jonny.”

  “You think this is coming from the police department?”

  “Any reason to think it shouldn’t be?”

  “Well, got to give props to Donahue and Randal. So far they’re doing all they can to keep the letter under wraps…” Jessica flashed back to her last encounter with them. “That being said, I don’t think either one of them will be asking me to the policeman’s ball this year.”

  “Who else have you told about the letter?”

  “Just Dinah.”

  “Quite a mystery.”

  “We already have one of those.”

  “It never ends, does it?” Chaucer sighed, closing the book and handing it back. “There, go buy yourself something nice.”

  “Not going to fill out your comment card?”

  “I’ll do you one better.” Chaucer rose from his seat. “Your shift over yet?”

  “Follow me.”

  Jessica set herself up in the hutch by the bar and gathered her paperwork. Chaucer took the closest seat, stationed sideways. “I know a guy who might be able to sweep the email for you.”

  “Sweep it?”

  “For lack of a technical term. It’s like a cyber-version of the UV lights cops use to check a room for latent prints, fluids, fibers and the like. I can get him to do his stuff, see if he can’t give us a little insight into who we’re dealing with.”

  “Let’s do this,” Jessica agreed, taking her totals, credit card slips, and waving them in the air. “Blondie!”

  Dinah coasted over, giving Chaucer a deferential nod. “Everything cool, Jess?”

  “Chaucer’s going to hook me up with a hacker,” she said, handing off her book. “Going to get to the bottom of who this Disney Owens might be.”

  “Who the hell is Disney Owens?”

  While Dinah counted out at the register, Jessica brought her up to speed on the email she had received. By the time Dinah returned with her niece’s tips, she looked more irritated than concerned. “And why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “Would’ve told you this morning, but I didn’t want to talk about it in front of your new boyfriend.”

  Chaucer’s ears perked up. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Eli Messner,” Jessica volunteered.

  “Not my boyfriend.” Dinah shot Chaucer a dirty look. “And n
one of your business, Mr. Braswell.”

  “Best be going anyway… Jessica, I’ll give you a call once I’ve set this up.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Take it easy, Dinah.”

  Dinah waved him off, didn’t speak until he was well out of ear shot. “Jessica.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, Blondie.” Jessica reached out and took hold of Dinah’s hands. “From now on, all right?”

  “Then could you tell me what the hell you were doing to my coffeemaker this morning, and why it’s currently sitting in the trunk of my car?”

  “I’ll explain on the way.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It will…” Jessica batted her eyes. “Feel like giving me a ride to the Observer?”

  “I didn’t think you were working today.”

  “I’m not. Just need to stop by and show my boss a little something.”

  With that taken care of, Jessica headed for the kitchen.

  Pleased to find she still had it in her to smile.

  Chapter 21: Coffee Mate.

  Al Holder hung up the phone, sent his chair into a dangerous recline and sighed. “All right. The sprinklers, alarms, all offline… Now, are you going to tell me why I’m sitting here talking to you and your little friend there?”

  Jessica glanced down at the coffeemaker, stationed atop a filing cabinet. “You mean baby Ricardo?”

  “Seriously, kid, I’m about to become very frightening.”

  “What time you got on your computer?”

  “Four-fifteen.”

  “Count it…” Jessica strolled over to a filing cabinet. Plugged in the coffeemaker, reservoir a quarter full. She flipped the switch, and quickly moved to the opposite corner of Al’s office. “Fact. One of Davenport’s neighbors, Jeffry Cates, was walking his dog at three-thirty in the morning. Heard a smoke alarm going off from inside the house. Much like this one.” Jessica removed a white, plastic disc from her bag and presented it to Al. “Standard, battery-operated.” She stood on a chair and balanced the alarm atop a framed spread boasting NIXON RESIGNS. “Cates calls the fire department, they bust in and are confronted with what?”

  “Davenport in his living room,” Al replied, following Jessica’s ritual with a mix of admiration and extreme trepidation. “All bound and bloody.”

  “And smoke coming in from the kitchen,” Jessica added, hopping down from the chair. She glanced at the coffeemaker, drops falling onto the naked heating plate, sizzling. “The kitchen, presumed entry point for Angry Jonny… Now go ahead and Google coffeemaker fire hazard. No quotes.”