Behind Chocolate Bars (19 page)

I gratefully escaped to Erica's office and made the mistake of checking out Reese's blog. She obviously had no qualms about falsely accusing her neighbors one day and then expecting them to buy her stupid paper the next.
Sins of the Father?
screamed her headline, twice the normal size.
The citizens of West Riverdale are wondering if we will ever know the truth about the brutal murder of Faith Monette.

The only “citizen” she was talking about was Reese herself.

I forced myself to read the whole thing, but luckily, she knew even less than we did.

The comments section at the bottom was gratifying, for once. More than one citizen of West Riverdale told her to “Leave the boy alone,” along with a “Shut the hell up, you vindictive jerk,” which was my favorite. The last one said it
all: “Reese Everhard, what is wrong with you? Haven't you heard of innocent until proven guilty?'

Unfortunately, that wasn't how the Internet worked.

*   *   *

E
rica came in late, and waited until the last minute to wake Dylan. “He promised to stay in the house until his friends come over,” she said.

I told her about Reese's article, and she opened the offending website on her laptop and gave a gasp of dismay.

Something new had popped up. Reese had ignored the angry comments of her previous article and doubled down on the nastiness right away:
Why are the organizers of the Halloween Festival allowed to harbor a suspected murderer? Citizens of West Riverdale are asking if they should be in charge of such a family-oriented event.

And then she had a photo of the high school kids in full zombie makeup and poses.
Would you send your child to a haunted house with someone like this?

Could she be more horrible?

I took a deep breath, feeling even more of an urgency to figure out who the murderer was and get the shadow of the “suspect” label off of Dylan. And Oscar. Where could we find out more about this mess?

“Maybe we need to eat at the Ear for lunch,” I said.

*   *   *

W
e certainly didn't have to worry about too much gossip ruining the day. In the first hour, we had only one customer, a diehard who bought her current favorite and
scurried off with her head down as if making sure no one saw her.

Erica and I left for lunch early, leaving the subdued Kona and Kayla in charge.

The Ear had earned its nickname decades before when the neon stopped working in the curves of the “Bar” sign for O'Shaughnessey's. The owner and bartender, Jake, had a knack of listening without judgment to all of his customers. He heard a lot and was often willing to share his knowledge with Erica and me.

Marino called us for a status update on Dylan and to say a colleague had agreed to take Oscar's case. He'd be meeting with Oscar later in the day.

Erica called Dylan to let him know.

“Is he okay?” I asked.

“He took it well,” she said. “His friends are coming over and I ordered pizza.” Dylan had decided to stay away from volunteering at the Halloween Festival, which made sense to everyone. We put off deciding what he'd do about school on Monday.

We walked in right before the lunch rush in an effort to avoid as many fellow West Riverdale citizens as possible. A few morning drinkers sitting at the other end of the bar ignored our arrival. I wondered if they'd been there all night. The dining area was empty, the familiar scent of stale beer and peanuts now marred by the smell of disinfectant coming from the open restroom doors.

“If it isn't the keepers of the town juvenile delinquents,” Jake said as he walked through the swinging door from the kitchen carrying a drying rack full of glasses. Jake was
good-looking in a casual, plaid-shirt kind of way. Women often fell for his friendly customer service, but he was utterly devoted to his wife and kids. “Which one of you is Fagin and which one is the Artful Dodger?”

“Hilarious,” I said glumly as we sat on the stools at the bar.

He had already changed his chalkboard to say,
Sunday Happy Hour 4–7 p.m. Because Monday is coming too soon!

One of Jake's multitudes of female cousins came out of the men's bathroom pushing a mop and wearing a surly look on her face. Bathrooms must not have been her thing.

We'd memorized the simple bar menu long ago, but I picked one up from the metal stand anyway. “What's the latest on our current disaster?” I asked, not even bothering to pretend we were there for anything but information. Although Jake knew I couldn't resist his baked potato skins.

He set down the rack and came to stand in front of us, managing to look sympathetic and amused at the same time. “Beer, wine or something more potent?” he asked. “Or just lunch and gossip?” He saw me check out what he had on tap. “Michelle, you'd love this Sorry Chicky by Burley Oak Brewery.”

I sighed and passed. “Just an iced tea for me. And potato skins.” It was going to be a long day. And night.

“Greek salad, please,” Erica said. “And iced tea.”

“Coming right up,” Jake said, and yelled the order through the window to the kitchen.

“How are Sydney and Alex?” Erica asked. Even in our sorry state, she was polite.

“Kids are doing great,” he said.

I got right to it before he started one of his kid's soccer-gymnastics-swimming stories. “So our store is empty today. Does that mean people actually believe Reese's BS?”

“Hell no,” he said. “Don't worry. It'll blow over soon and they'll be back.”

His cheerfulness rubbed me the wrong way. “How do you know?” I said, my tone a lot more churlish than I intended.

He raised his eyebrows. “It's just a knee-jerk reaction to the whole drama. Deep down, they know that you two are just helping. But there's a small part of them that's worried. Like, if they were wrong about Oscar, or even worse, Dylan, then what else are they wrong about?”

“So they're staying away from us and our store until they see how it all shakes out?” I asked.

He pursed his lips. “I think so.”

Erica added. “I think there's a bit of social pressure being applied. Mean-girl bullying, if you will.”

That made me even madder. “They think they're going to stay away from our store until we fall in line?”

Jake shrugged noncommittally, as if he didn't want to talk too badly about his friends and customers.

A few men in dusty construction clothes came in, talking about a pickup football game that had gotten nasty. I didn't recognize them and they sat on the other side of the bar.

“What have you heard about the murder?” I asked after he took their food orders and gave them their drinks.

He shook his head, all of his cheerfulness gone. “What a mess, right?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He hesitated before offering, “Some of them are saying that even if Dylan didn't do it, he's hiding something.”

“Like what?” I demanded.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “That maybe he . . . moved the body or something.”

Suddenly, I was so livid I felt buzzing in my ears. “He's just a boy!” burst out of me.

The construction workers stopped their conversation to stare at me.

Erica put a hand on my arm. “Do you know anyone who knew Faith?” she asked, sticking with our original mission to find out what information had filtered through Jake's scores of customers.

He shook his head. “I think we're too far from her stomping grounds.”

“What about people who dated Oscar?” I asked. “Before Faith.”

Now he looked truly troubled. “This is really awkward.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I heard something, but I'm not sure if it's true,” he said.

We waited.

“Yvonne, you know, at the Boys and Girls Club?” he said. “Folks are saying that she was spying on Dylan and Oscar for Gilly, his mom.”

“Yvonne?” Erica asked. “Why?”

“I assumed it was because they were friends, but you'd have to ask her,” he said. “That's not the point. She kept sending information down to Florida, until . . .”

“Until what?” His reluctance was driving me crazy.

“Until she dated Oscar.”

O
nce again, our visit to the Ear resulted in information we didn't want to know about a friend. We'd heard that Yvonne might be passing on information about Oscar and Dylan to Gilly, but dating Oscar?

Jake had also heard that Oscar dumped Yvonne when she confessed to being his ex-wife's friend and informant. And that's when Oscar tried online dating and met Faith. We all knew where that had ended up.

“What a tangled web,” I said, finding solace in my caramels. I might as well eat them, because no one was buying any today.

We decided to take advantage of our lack of customers to go over the investigation. Erica brought her laptop over to sit at the counter. “This new information demonstrates two things: That even though Gilly now lives in Florida, she
knew enough about what was going on in Oscar's life to be considered a suspect. And that Yvonne had a connection to both Oscar and Gilly that she seems to have kept hidden. What was her reason?”

“We need to talk to Yvonne,” I said. “But we can't get to Gilly.” I paused. “Maybe we should let Detective Lockett know about that arrangement. He might find it interesting enough to talk to Gilly himself.”

She looked thoughtful. “We'll hold off on that until we talk to Yvonne tonight at the festival,” Erica said. “Let's discuss the suspects again.”

“Good idea. I'm getting them all confused.” I stuck out my index finger. “Let's start with our latest. Yvonne just inched onto the list, although we have no evidence of any kind other than gossip from Jake. Two, Newell and/or Ullman. They were cleared by Lockett, but people with that kind of money and connections could hire people to do their dirty work.”

“But neither one seems to have a strong motive,” Erica said.

“We're also not done with Nancy and Vaughn. Besides the whole sibling-rivalry thing, which
had
to have made him angry his whole life, his wife must be a little nutty to pull out a shotgun like that. Maybe she's capable of worse.”

“What about Faith's high school friends?” she asked.

“I wouldn't exactly call them
friends
,” I said. “But unless the upcoming reunion triggered something . . . homicidal in one of them, why would they be driven to something so extreme a decade later?”

“Faith was on the Lost Classmates list for years,” Erica
noted. “Perhaps someone hated her enough to go after her just when she was ‘found' again.”

I bit my lip. “It's something we have to consider, but it just seems so farfetched.”

“Chuck?” Erica asked, going through her list.

I sighed. “I think we should take Lockett's cue that he just stole her stuff, since there's no evidence he did the actual murder.”

“If he was sloppy enough to keep her electronics, he'd have to have left some kind of evidence that he killed her,” Erica said. “What about Freddy, the pawnshop guy?”

“As far as we know, he had no motive either,” I said.

“And we know it wasn't Dylan or Oscar,” Erica said firmly, and then frowned. “Zane and I still have a lot of files to go through. Now that everything is out, the comic book club wants to help, so we're splitting up the workload and sharing the files with them. Maybe one of them will see something we missed.” She closed her laptop. “In the meantime, I think we need a plan to bring our customers back in.”

“Those traitors,” I muttered. “We should just move. That would show them.”

Erica's eyes widened. “That's a marvelous idea. Like when a sports team threatens to change cities in order to get a new stadium.” She pulled out her phone. “I'm calling Jake.”

“Great idea,” I said.

“Hi, Jake. I was wondering if you could do us a favor.”

He must have given her a cute comment because she smiled. “Perhaps you could mention to a few of your customers that Chocolates and Chapters may be forced to move. To Frederick, for example.”

I could hear his laughter across the counter. He knew exactly what we were up to. They exchanged good-byes and she hung up. “That should do the trick,” she said with satisfaction.

Then she pulled out the file from Phoenix.

“Did you read all that already?” I asked. I'd glanced at a few of spreadsheets but was too anxious to go through everything, knowing that a legal agreement was waiting for me at the end.

“Yes,” she said. “It all seems in order.”

“In order?” I asked. “In what way?”

“Phoenix presented his case that our financials should be merged. We'll save money and, after the initial hassle, time and energy in the future.” She handed me the legal agreement. “I signed the papers but, of course, they don't take effect until you sign them,” she said.

I couldn't help my stunned expression.

“I know this step is hard for you, and I completely understand if you're not ready to take it.”

“Okay.” My voice came out as a little squeak.

Then Zane joined us at the counter and I shoved the papers back into the file. He usually stayed in the back, but we had no customers for him to hide from. “I found another website where she had an account,” he said. “And under Interests, it says she volunteers at the Gentle Giants Draft Horse Rescue Farm.”

Erica Googled the organization and I came around to see what she found. Their website popped up with photos of Clydesdales scrolling by. A video started with tear-jerking music and interviews with their management. We watched as happy horses played in fields, and listened to devoted
volunteers tell us why they saved these large horses from slaughter and abuse.

“Looks like we need a field trip,” I said.

*   *   *

I
t didn't take long for the news of our threatened move to spread. May popped her head in first. “Did I hear correctly?” she asked. “You guys are moving?”

I put on my sad face while I sat at one of our many open tables, tapping my fingers. “We're just concerned,” I said, laying on the guilt like a neglected mom. On steroids. “It seems like our customers don't believe in us. Maybe we should make room for another store they'd enjoy more.”

May hadn't known me long enough to figure out my tactics. “Don't you worry,” she insisted. “They'll come around.” She was about to pop back out, but changed her mind. “Can I get a latte? And some Champagne Milks?”

As soon as she left, my cell phone rang.

It was Iris from the diner. “You're movin'?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked in a guilty tone, as if she'd caught me.

“People jes started flappin their jaws that you're up and movin'. Course I tole 'em to shut their pie holes. No way you guys was leavin'.” I imagined her coming to our defense, waving around her skinny tanned arms for emphasis.

“Who did?” I asked. “What did they say?”

“Said you were lookin' at hightailing over to Frederick and I said no way. You ain't city folk.” She inhaled deeply. Must be on her cigarette break. “But I also tole 'em it was their own damn fault for listening to dat Reese witch.” The last line was yelled, as if she was directing it into the diner.

“We're not moving,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “Then git yer ass in here soon, ya hear?” She hung up.

That afternoon we had a trickle of customers coming back in, sheepishly requesting their favorites. I used my
being gracious only because you're my customer
face, so that they knew I wasn't happy with them, which seemed to cause them to buy even more.

Someone should take this Mom Guilt marketing tactic, write a book, and go national with it.

*   *   *

“Y
vonne? Do you have a minute?” We were in the middle of the Halloween Festival but I left Kona in charge of the booth and tracked down Yvonne so Erica and I could discuss her relationships with Oscar. And Gilly.

“Of course.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “Anything for you,” she said with a smile.

I led the way through the wild prison room, the screens and booms shaking the walls. I opened the door to the break room. No Erica.

She must be dealing with some festival crisis, so I was on my own.

“You know Dylan is staying with us, right?” I asked, glad the noise was muted.

“Of course,” she said, sounding a little less enthusiastic. “Everyone knows.”

“We—I mean, I—need to ask you some questions.” I paused. “About Gilly.”

Her eyes widened. “How could I help you with that?”

“We know you're still in contact with her,” I said, sounding more sure of myself than I really was.

“That's not true,” she said flatly.

“But you were,” I said. “Until you started dating Oscar.”

Her face turned bright red. “How do you know about that? Did Oscar tell you?”

“No,” I said. “But people know. I just need to ask you if Gilly knew that Oscar was dating Faith.”

She took in a deep breath, understanding where I was headed immediately. “Gilly didn't do it. She couldn't. She lives so far away . . .”

“Let's start at the beginning,” I said. “Why did you keep in touch with her and let her know who Oscar was dating?”

“Because it wasn't fair!” she said, outraged. “They just ripped her out of their lives. As if she didn't matter at all!”

I took a step back at her vehemence, wishing I'd waited for Erica.

She put her hand to her head and tried again in a more rational tone. “You're not a mother. You can't understand.”

“From what I do know,” I tried gently, “Gilly ripped herself out of their lives.”

“She didn't have a choice,” she said. “Not after . . . everything became public.”

“The affair,” I said.

“She was so exposed. And it was all so humiliating for both Oscar and Dylan,” she said. “She punished herself by going away.”

I kept silent.

“But she never thought they'd totally cut her off,” she said. “So I let her know what was happening in their lives.
I even sent her photos sometimes. What I'd want to have if I was in her situation.”

“Did she ever come up here from Florida?”

She shook her head. “I don't think so,” she said. “They're not doing too well financially . . .”

“And?” I prompted.

“And I'm not sure how their relationship is doing either,” she said.

What a mess
, I thought. But I had to get my questions answered. “Why did you and Oscar stop dating?”

She let out a big sigh. “We shouldn't have even started. Maybe we both felt betrayed or something. We got close and then one thing led to another . . .” Her voice trailed off. “And then before it got serious, I told him that I'd been talking to Gilly. And he dumped me.”

Her misery was apparent. “It was better that he learned it from you.”

“You'd think so,” she said, “but I still ended up alone.”

“Did you tell Gilly what happened?” I asked.

She nodded. “But she already knew.”

“What did she say?”

“That I got what I deserved,” she said. “She dumped me too.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, and then went for it. “If Gilly knew about you, she must be in contact with other friends here. Did Gilly know about Faith?”

“I don't know,” she said. “She wasn't talking to me anymore, but maybe she has someone else telling her what was going on with Oscar and Dylan.” Her phone beeped and she looked at it. “I have to go.”

Erica rushed in as soon as Yvonne left. “Sorry I missed
your talk,” she said. “Janice misplaced some costumes, but I found them in the main office.”

I told her what Yvonne had told me. “I think we need to let Detective Lockett know about Gilly,” I said. “It's not like we can go down to Florida and talk to her ourselves.”

Erica took a moment to consider all the possibilities. “I agree. Can you call him now?”

I sighed. “Sure.” He wasn't going to be happy with us. Again.

*   *   *

O
ur guilt tactics continued to work. A small crowd had gathered outside before opening on Monday. I hadn't even noticed since I'd been in my usual chocolate-making storm in the kitchen.

Normally, I'd ask Kona to open early, but our customers didn't deserve it after staying away the day before. After the initial rush, we had our normal ebb and flow of customers until after school ended, when the high school kids flooded the shop. It took me a while to realize that it was a show of support, or perhaps they hadn't known that the adults in town had been staying away.

Dylan had come with us to the store, hiding in the back as much as possible. I was running to the back kitchen to bring out more Raspberry Specials when I saw someone sneaking down the back hallway toward Erica's office.

It was Reese.

“What are you doing back here?” I demanded. “This is not public property.”

“I was just looking for . . .”

I got in her face, at least as much as I could with someone who was half a foot taller than me. “You were looking for Dylan. Weren't you?”

Over her shoulder, I saw Dylan stick his head out of the doorway and then go back in.

“No!” she squawked. “And even if I was, haven't you heard of freedom of the press?”

“Haven't you heard of trespassing? And harassment?” I pointed out the front door. “Get out.”

She grumbled the whole way to the front door. I might have even heard her say, “You'll be sorry.”

By the time we closed up early for the festival, we'd sold out of a lot of varieties, especially Ghoulish Grapefruit Milks with their fresh grapefruit zest, Black Currant Darks in the shape of black cats and with a dash of Cointreau, and our Full Moon Coins with vanilla bean–flecked ganache. Luckily I'd set aside plenty of other chocolate for the booth, but Kona was going to join me early the next day to restock our shelves.