In the morning I was awakened by the unbearably loud ring of my cell phone. Who in God's name could be calling me at-I checked the digital clock- eleven thirty-two AM? Everyone knows it's impolite to call someone so early the day after a massive drinking bender.

        I rolled over the thick folds in my comforter trying to reach the phone. I don't even remember coming home last night. Everything after that fourth glass is kind of a blur.

        My head pounding, I felt around until the noisy device was in my palm, then pressed talk without bothering to check who it was.

        "Evie?" The voice on the line was small and frightened.

         "Aunt Jackie? What's up?"

         "You've got to get down to the police station. Jackson's been arrested." I shot up in bed, dizziness distorting my vision.

         "What?!"

         "They say he killed some man."

          "I'm on the way. Don't worry." I'd hear the rest in person.

           I climbed out of bed and, working through my hangover showered and dressed; throwing on a dress shirt and dark slacks. In the living room Henry was passed out on the sofa looking about one hundred times worse than I felt. On the counter my keys were splayed across a scrap of paper. The note read:

     "You owe me cab fare on top of your debt. Next time I see your face you better have my money.
                           P.S. Tell Henry he's a punk bitch for getting wasted after just two drinks.
                                                                                                                         -Jimmy"

        Jimmy lived on the floor above mine. He didn't have a car so every evening he bused the two miles to Delmar's. On occasion if I get too toasty to drive myself home, the surly bartender puts me in a cab and drives my car home which meant I wouldn't have to go all the way back to the bar. Good old Jimmy.

        I grabbed my keys and rushed toward the door.

        "Hey, lock up when you leave." I said to Henry's deaf ears. He'd wake up in a few hours, get his bearings then head back to the bar to get his car. I knew I didn't have to worry about him.

          I walked out of my apartment building, lungs gasping for breath in the damp Florida heat. There was enough humidity in the air this morning to make my hair frizz right out of it's pony tail. But of coarse this was me we're talking about, and my hair's sensitive enough to frizz for no reason at all. Holy moly it was a scorcher today. With a sluggish inhale I made my way to my baby.

         Parked on the east side of my building in my usual spot sat my true love Douglas, the world's greatest car.

         "Good morning, Handsome." It's important to talk to your car you know, it promotes fewer breakdowns. He's less likely to crap out on you when you've built a good relationship, or so I tell myself. Superstition like that is good for someone like me who doesn't know a dipstick from a tailpipe.

         I climbed in and started the engine. I'd like to say he purred like a kitten but if I'm giving animal analogies to my car, I'd say he sounded more like a chocking chicken, right before he gets his head cut off. I stroked his dashboard.

         "Okay, I'll take you to your mechanic next week, right now we have to go see about Jackson." He sputtered in compliance and I made my way downtown, unease settling in the pit of my stomach.

********************************************************

          As I was walking through the double doors of the police station, Jackson and Aunt Jackie were walking out. Jackson looked a hot mess. The bags under his eyes were large enough to accommodate the luggage of a family of twelve. He also looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep.

        "What happened?" I walked up and wrapped my arms around him.

        "They think I killed Bo Conway."

         "What? You wouldn't do that."

          "They said I poisoned the blueberry cake slice." I felt my face shift into one of confusion. "They did an autopsy. He had arsenic in his stomach."

         "So. Why assume it was you?"

         "Cause they got witnesses that say they saw me threaten him right before he died." I spotted Detective Juarez behind them, talking with another cop.

         "It's completely ridiculous!" His mother spoke up. "My Jackson wouldn't hurt a fly."

           We all knew that wasn't necessarily true. Jackson had been sort of a badass back in the day. He started dealing dope in high school to help Aunt Jackie with the rent then graduated to gang violence by the time he was in his twenties. Jackson was very capable of hurting someone, of that I had no doubt. The only thing was prison had reformed him. Where before he'd stab a man for looking at him funny; now it'd take a lot to truly piss him off. There was no way he'd kill Bo over a few harsh words. Not unless he threatened him or his family.

         "You going home?" I asked them.

         "Yeah, they don't have enough evidence to arrest me but they told me not to leave town."

        "Alright, go get some rest." He nodded at me and he and Aunt Jackie went on their way.

       I couldn't believe this. Someone poisoned Bo Conway? In my restaurant? Oh hell no.

         "Detective?" I stormed briskly up to Detective Juarez, the receptionist running behind me. I don't think I was supposed to just go walking around back here without their permission, but at that moment I didn't care. How dare he suspect my cousin? Doesn't he know how awkward that's going to make everybody at our wedding. "How dare you suspect my cousin." The receptionist grabbed me by the elbow but Detective Juarez waved him off.

          "How dare I? It's my job to keep murderers off the streets." He had the nerve to talk down to me like I was some kind of child.

        "Oh please, Jackson may be a lot of things but he's no killer." I crossed my arms across my chest.

        "Oh really? I had no idea you were an experienced crime solver. Tell me if he didn't do it, who did?"

        "Well...I don't know. But I do know that Jackson couldn't have done this."

        "Did you know that Bo was poisoned with arsenic? Someone sprinkled it on his cake slice."

       "Yeah, and?" I tilted a defiant chin up to meet his gaze.

       "And that the only place he'd eaten since breakfast was your establishment."

        "So."

         "Isn't it true that Mr. Reynolds is the only chef at said establishment?"

         "Well yeah-"

        "Is it also true that except for you and your staff, no one else has access to the kitchen?"

         "Nobody's allowed back there but that doesn't necessarily mean someone couldn't just walk through the door when no one was looking."

       "But it's not likely." His expression changed to empathy. "Besides, he's got a rap-sheet as long as I am." He had put on the face he uses to deal with denial ridden family members, but I wouldn't be swayed. "You're cousin baked the cake, he cut the cake, and he served the cake. I've been doing this a long time. Men like your cousin are bad news."

       "He's changed. Just because he's made mistakes in the past doesn't mean he would do something like this."

        "I have to look at the facts. The fact that Mr. Reynolds was a gang member and drug dealer makes his chances of being a murderer a probability."

        "But not a certainty." I argued.

        His face hardened. "Even so, I know what I'm doing." he motioned to the receptionist. "Ed, escort Miss Harper to the front door." Ed was by my side in an instant, trying to gently lead me back to the front of the building.

       "Oh, one more thing." Detective Juarez turned back as suddenly as he had dismissed me. "Since this is a police investigation you're going to need to close down your coffee shop for a few days so we can investigate properly."

        And with that he turned and marched back in his office, a vision of towering power and authority.

         Okay, I can take a hint but don't think I'm through with the good detective. I just needed to figure out a way to convince him that Jackson was innocent.