Caffeine & Killers (Roasted Love Cozy 3)

"Good morning," I said. "I’m surprised you’re working today, with all this rain."

"Oh, we’re doing inside work on the new office building going up a block north of here," he said. I took their orders for French toast and bagels and then returned to the kitchen to give the orders to Jacob.

In a moment I was back at their tables with two espressos for the unknown men and a latte for Gary. "This is Michael and Kevin. Drywall guys."

"Nice to meet you. Let me know if you need anything."

More patrons came in, and I turned to greet them. Most worked in shops along the Piazza and they were regulars. I tuned into the moods of the people around me, and felt a little better. The other folks made the day a little less cloudy.

Then the bell jingled again and I saw Councilman Calvin Carpenter and his campaign manager Ronald Larch walk in.

Larch wouldn't look at me, but Carpenter acted as if we were old friends. My fake smile didn’t reach my eyes.

Lily, my server, arrived, and I took over at the espresso machine. Eddie clocked in next and he and Jacob stayed busy turning out bagels, scones and rolls as fast as people ordered them.

"If some of these customers don’t move out, we won’t have room for the latecomers," said Lily.

"Rainy days seem to hold them in here longer than usual," I said. "They probably don’t want to face the downpour any sooner than they have to."

Looking out the window at the grayness of the sky and the fog, I remembered watching John huddle under the eaves of Roasted Love in rain. He would wait there until our crowd thinned out and then slip inside for a little shelter.

Today, of course, no one was out there.

Eventually the Councilman and his manager finished their morning dose of caffeine and came to the register. Lily was busy, so I checked them out. Again, Larch acted like I wasn't there. On their way out, I heard Carpenter voice his appreciation that he didn’t have to walk around some "h

omeless heap" any longer to get in and out of Roasted Love.

The door jingled shut behind them. And then I had an idea.

This time, it had nothing to do with going back to the seedy downtown neighborhood. No, this time I wanted to learn more about Councilman Carpenter.

More than anything, I wanted to find out how he planned to deal with the issues that he thought plagued the city – namely, the homeless and the drug

addicts.

My having to come in early to work proved to be a good thing. It gave me all day long to think about how to approach the councilman for answers, and by the end of my shift I had things in place. At 3:00 I clocked out and left for his campaign office.

The sun was out and the air was cool and refreshed by the rain. I drove with a renewed determination.

# # #

Carpenter’s headquarters were in a rented one-story building that had once housed a large bookstore. The building was well-kept and the small narrow yard in front of it had been mowed recently before the rains. It ran parallel to a sidewalk that was smooth and flat, unlike the old downtown's cracked and uneven walks.

The entire front of the building was all windows.. No one could miss the large poster that took up one full glass frame. "Campaign Headquarters of Councilman Calvin Carpenter" it proudly proclaimed, to all who passed by.

Through all that glass, I could see several people who appeared to be running from one desk to another. Calvin Carpenter’s campaign was in full force with just three weeks remaining until Election Day.

I walked inside and headed towards a woman sitting at a desk in the center of the spacious room. Behind her were five doors that I presumed led to offices, one of which had to belong to the esteemed candidate.

It was sure a busy place. Aides ran back and forth, most of them talking on cell phones. There were even a few old-school landline phones ringing on the desks. Someone ran a copier in a far corner, and a shredding machine worked non-stop beside it. I saw long tables on the far right wall where workers collated all those copies.

"I’m here to see Councilman Carpenter," I told the receptionist. My voice held a confidence I didn’t entirely feel.

"Oh, I’m sorry, dear. He is very busy right now," she said quickly, and then turned back to her conversation. She balanced the phone receiver on her shoulder while writing something down.

I stayed right where I was, and waited. She frowned at me until I sat down in the chair at the end of her desk, not far from where she sat. Once she convinced the caller to vote for Carpenter, she would have to deal with me whether she wanted to or not.

I looked again at the rush all around me. I was reminded of the beehives that my grandparents kept in Oregon. The bees were busy all the time, though you couldn't tell exactly what they were doing. It always looked like all that work was meaningless – until you realized they'd been producing delicious raw honey all along.