The next day was lovely, considering the confrontation about to go down. The weather outside was a perfect combo of sunny and breezy. The customers were as polite as I've ever seen them. Hell, even my employees were acting right. Jackson had strutted in with a big smile that morning, still riding the wave of jubilation that comes when your life is going according to plan.

          "Once I get my CDL," he had said while icing fresh cinnamon rolls. "I can start hauling. Uncle Bobby's company will start me out at twenty an hour."

         I was happy for him. I really was, despite losing the best baker Taste Teas has ever had. I dreaded the arduous process of hiring a new chef, but he had to do what was best for him at the end of the day.

          Pasha similarly had walked in this morning with a huge smile on her face. "I've met someone." She'd laughed. "He's an art major, environmental activist, and a vegetarian."

          Sounds like everything I'd hate in a man. Besides the vegetarianism, I guess. "Where'd you meet?"

          "At a student debt protest."

           I didn't even know they had those. "You don't have debt, do you?"

          "No but I might someday." She shook her mass of brown hair and smiled a dreamy smile. "Anyway, the student debt crisis is a modern injustice."

          "Okay." Better to not fan the flames of her passion so early in the morning.

          Even Devonte and Lana had refrained from flirting when their shifts overlapped. They were as professional and focused on the job as two teenagers with a crush on each other could be. So basically, there was a lot of moon eyes and dreamy sighing but nothing that held up productivity so I couldn't complain.

          Yet in spite of having a rare blessed day of outward peace, inside my thoughts had raged like a tempest. I must have caught my eyes roving to the novelty mug shaped wall clock hanging over the bookcase 'bout ten thousand times.

          Twelve hours, it had said that morning.

          And then eight hours.

          And then five hours.

          And now only one.

          I'd scheduled my appointment with Robert at six sharp. That was after closing but before sunset. Perfect time to confess to a murder. The general plan was to get him talking and coerce a confession out of him. Easier said than done, I know, but at this point I was out of options.

          "Almost ready." Manny had showed up just ahead of closing and parked in the back lot near Prick Pros. His contribution had been to install three hidden cameras. They weren't government issue of course (he has to sign off on that), but for reasons I'm afraid to ask about he has three super discreet mini cameras in his personal arsenal. About an hour and a half before the meeting he'd stood on the ladder affixing the last one on the trim above the front door. The other two were hidden on the bookshelf wedged between Jane Austen and whatever had topped Oprah's last book club list, and the other was on the counter near the automatic coffee machine. All three were pointed near the front counter where I'd left two stools after mopping the floor.

          Manny had brought his power tools and busied himself drilling in an anchor to hold the camera in place. "Are you sure he's coming alone?"

          "No."

          The man wasn't a kingpin, so I doubted he'd bring any enforcer type people along and anyway, from his perspective the fewer who knew about the deal the better. Though I understood Manny's concern.

          I'd stared up at his hands as they moved, too nervous to either ogle his well-toned fanny or crack jokes. "And you promise you'll stay hidden until the end?"

          "Yes," He'd shut his toolbox and started his descent down the ladder. "As long as he doesn't try to hurt you."

          That was a reasonable compromise in this case, I guess. Less reasonable was the fact that none of his cameras had audio capabilities. That's where my cheap little recorder came in.

          Now, I sat at the counter with teacup and kettle watching the world outside and glancing nervously from the middle of the bookcase to the coffee machine to the top of the door. I'd worn my cargo capris today—my only pair of action pants because of the abundance of pockets—and brought only two items: the cheap audio recorder in one of my left pockets, and my taser in one of the right ones.

          Hopefully, everything went according to plan. I took a nervous sip of tea, poured into my most favorite embossed cast iron teapot, to keep my hands steady. Manny was in the back watching the live feed of his cameras on his phone. My phone was sitting face down by the teapot.

          We were ready, though, for what, I wasn't certain.

          Robert's beamer pulled out front at five after six. He was alone, thank God. I swallowed my nerves and straightened my back. Showtime. I watched him carefully from the inside of my great big windows, picked out for coffee house people watching. He didn't look near as nervous as I felt from behind the wheel. In fact, he looked quite calm in his work wear.

          He took his sweet time walking in—he sat in the car for a few minutes dicking around, then crawled out with all the urgency of a geriatric gator. Once he made it out the door he stretched, brushed the imaginary dust from his suit, and then finally grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat.

          It was all a power move of course, designed to let me know who was really in charge here.

          When he made it to the front door and pulled fruitlessly at the handle, I smiled, stood slowly, and stretched my damn self.

          When I was done with my show, I smiled at him again, then went to unlock the door. The look of control he'd possessed moments before was replaced with annoyance as he stood tapping his foot in the pink spackled light of dusk.

          I opened the door like I had all the time in the world, gestured for him to have a seat, and then locked the door behind me. This was it.

          "You brought it?" He asked me as he set his briefcase on the counter.

          "Of course. You brought your checkbook?" I matched him tone for tone.

         "Of course." He scoffed. He may be a briber and a murderer, but how dare I question the man's word. "So, where is it?"

          I swallowed the lump in my throat. "About that, before I get them, I thought we could negotiate."

          "There's nothing to negotiate." His hands squeezed into fists, but his arms remained planted to his sides. "Five million for the records and the checks and your silence."

          "How about ten million?"

          "Ten million?" He chortled. "That's extortion!"

          "You'd know."

          His face morphed into an ugly frown. "Why the hell would I give you ten million dollars?"

          "Because—" There was a loud banging on the door. My already rapidly beating heart jumped to my throat but when I turned to see what it was my fear changed to aggravation. There in the glow of my flickering porchlight was Malik's skinny ass. "What the hell?"

          "Hey!" Came his muffled voice from the other side of the door. "Open up!" He started banging his open palms on the glass of my door like he paid rent or something.

          I turned back to Robert. "Is he with you?"

          "No."

          "I want my necklace!" Malik hollered.

          I forgot myself and sighed deeply. This damn family and this tacky-ass necklace..."Jesus Christ."

          "He's making a scene."

          "So?"

          Robert snorted and tapped his fingers on his briefcase. "I don't know how many of these types of deals you've done in the past, but in my experience the less attention the better."

          I'm not cut out for this criminal lifestyle. "Fine." I crossed the four feet between us and the door and opened it a crack. "I'm busy."

          Malik pushed past me and walked into my operation like he owned the place. "I want my shit. "

          I pushed three fingers into his face, all fear dissipating into anger. "You said I had three days. It's been one."

         He looked down his nose just like Destiny tends to do. Annoying-ass, tall-ass bastards. "I changed my mind. Where's my shit?"

          "I was going to get it to you tomorrow." I said as firmly as possible. "I have business today."

          "Robert?" He noticed Robert for the first time. His brow creased in confusion as he stared at his business associate. "What are you doing here?"

          Robert straightened his tie. "I had some business with Ms. Harper."

          "What sort of business."

          "I was thinking of investing."

          Malik looked around. "In this dinky little coffee shop?"

          "Hey, now. This is a café. And it is anything but dinky." My cell beeped loudly. "Excuse me."

          It was the pre-planned text from Manny. I ignored it and tapped a few quick buttons on my phone, then shoved it into my right front pocket. I looked up quickly but neither of them noticed what I'd done. They were too busy arguing.

          Robert loosened his tie. "You know how important it is to diversify."

          "There's no need to be coy, Robert." If I didn't cut in now, Malik would derail this whole thing. "He and I were negotiating for my continued silence over the whole bribery thing."

          "Bribery? What are you talking about?"

          From the stunned look on his face I take it he didn't know. "I'm talking about Robert and your mother bribing judges to judge favorably in various cases. I have the physical proof and my offer is five million."

          "Five million?" Malik turned to the man who had been his family's friend for the past thirty-five years.

          "Look, your mother and I put everything we had into the company. Sometimes it's necessary to do whatever it takes."

           "But bribing judges? That could destroy Dupont."

          "Having to pay millions in restitution would have destroyed it faster."

          "I can't believe you would do this!"

          "Dupont wouldn't have made it this far without me!"

         "You could go to jail, Robert!"

          "We were careful!"

          "You could get in a lot of trouble—you could get me in a lot of trouble!"

          "Diana was always careful to keep you far away from—"

          "I don't care!"

          I took an opening and cleared my throat. "I hate to interrupt, but I was in the middle of something."

         Robert bobbed his head in the affirmative. A fine sheen of sweat had formed across his brow. "Yes. Ms. Harper. I believe the agreed upon amount was five million." He opened the briefcase and pulled out his checkbook. Less of a flex than he'd wanted considering everything was getting more and more out of hand.

          "Actually," I held up a hand to stop him from wasting a check. "Before I was interrupted, I was about to raise my price to ten million."

          "Ten million. That's absurd." He slammed the checkbook down and pointed a finger at me. "We had a deal!"

          "We did, but circumstances have changed." I made myself say the words I had rehearsed in my head all day. "It's five for the bribery and five for the murder."

          Malik was so lost. "Murder? What murder?"

          "The murder of Diana Dupont."

          He sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. "My mother died of cancer."

          "No, she didn't. She died of a stroke caused by an air embolism that happened when someone pushed air into her IV line."

          Roberts face grew dark with anger. "That's enough."

          "Yeah. I'm tired of this run around too." Malik turned toward the door. "I'm coming for my necklace tomorrow."

          "You don't want to hear why he killed her?"

          Malik sighed, clearly exhausted with me. "Why who killed her?"

          "Robert."

          He chuckled. This whole thing was ludicrous to him. "Robert did not kill my mom."

          "Just like he couldn't bribe a judge. I forgot those unshakable scruples of his."

         Robert picked up his pen and opened his checkbook. "Ms. Harper, if you're finished stalling, we can finish this deal. I have reservations at Roux."

          But Malik interrupted, clearly curious if what I said was true. "Wait a minute. Why would he kill my mom?"

          "You already know why, Malik. It was the night you made her sign that will."

          "I don't understand."

          "She was more talkative than usual. It was the drugs. She started saying too much."

          His eyes drifted off into the memory of that night. When he remembered, his eyes widened. "Wait! I remember now. She said—"

          Malik crumbled to the ground. His glasses flew across the floor, one lens cracked and the other shattered. A trickle of blood dotted his temple. Robert stood there, breathing hard and clutching my cast iron teapot in his hand. The liquid inside had splattered all over the floor.

          I waited, but Malik didn't move. Down and out from one hit? See, this is why I like thickems like Manny! He would have ate that shit, then turned around and started swinging...

          Robert stared at me sadly. "Couldn't you have just left well enough alone?"

          "You killed him!" I did not know if that was true but maybe the shock of it would snap Robert out of it.

          "This is your fault!" He slammed my teapot into the ground where it clattered and rolled to a stop. "If you would've just taken the five million—"

          "Then what? You wouldn't have killed him like you killed Diana?"

           He slumped down onto a stool, his face grew long and tortured. "I had no choice."

          I walked over and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The other went to the recorder in my left pocket and switched it on. "It's okay. I know you didn't want to."

          "No, I didn't." His shoulders sunk. "She was my friend."

          "Yes, it was an accident. If we go to the police—"

          "Police?" The mere word snapped him out of his self-pitying trance. His eyes locked on to my hand in my pocket. The top of the recorder was just visible from that angle. "What is that?"

          I took a step back. "Nothing!"

          He jumped from his seat and caught my wrist in his thick fingers. "Give it to me!" We struggled together but he was too strong. He pulled my recorder from my pocket and turned it over in his hands. "Are you trying to record me?"

          I shook my head wildly. "No!"

          "You were going to go to the cops with this. Is this some kind of set up?"

          "No."

           He dropped it to the ground then used his calf-skin wingtips to stomp it over and over until it broke apart—shattered beyond repair.

          Robert looked at it satisfied, then turned his murderous gaze on me. "Trying to turn me in! Who do you think you are?"

         I shrugged. "A private detective."

         He laughed. "Don't quit your day job. You're not particularly good at this detective thing."

          Jury was still out honestly. "So, what now?"

          He looked from Malik to the recorder to the outside world until finally his wild gaze landed on me. "You've made quite a mess for me to clean up here."

          "Don't do anything drastic. We can work this out."

         But he just shook his head and took a step forward. "I don't think we can."