Behind Chocolate Bars (20 page)

*   *   *

E
rica popped her head into the kitchen the next morning just as Kona and I were finishing replacing the run on Halloween-themed chocolates we'd had the day before. “The manager of volunteers at that Gentle Giants horse rescue place can show us around this afternoon.”

I looked up at the clock and blinked while I thought about the schedule. “It's Tuesday, right? Kayla will be here at one,” I said. “I can go then.”

I sent a questioning glance to Kona, who seemed to stop short of rolling her eyes. “Yes, Mom. We'll be fine all by ourselves.”

“No parties,” I said in a fake stern-mom tone.

“Sure thing,” she said as she bent down to add a coffee bean to the last Mocha Surprise.

“Perfect,” Erica said and popped her head back out.

“You need to get your private investigator license or something,” Kona said. “Then you'll get paid for all this.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “And then your vast empire will be mine, all mine.” She ended with a villainous laugh.

“Be careful what you wish for,” I told her. “Hey, how's your class going?”

Kona had started taking an online business class, and wanted to have her own store someday. If I allowed myself to think about it, I worried that I'd lose her. Her website was doing great, but it wasn't the kind of business she wanted long-term. She'd assured me that it would take years for her to learn enough to move on, and she'd promised me it wouldn't be a chocolate shop. I wouldn't want to compete with her.

“Great!” she said. “Getting straight A's on everything so far.”

“Of course you are,” I said, feeling like a proud parent.

*   *   *

T
he drive to Gentle Giants Draft Rescue Farm took us through Frederick and the downtown section of Mount Airy. Their Main Street looked so much like West Riverdale that I had to do a double take. They even had a statue of an early mayor on horseback in the center of a tiny fountain like we did.

“I haven't had a visit from Lockett in a while,” I said. “Has he said anything about Gilly?”

She shook her head. “Nothing yet. And Bobby's not talking either.”

Dylan was spending the day with Colleen, who had been approved by Marino.

We continued through town and back out to the countryside to the farm. It was picture perfect with rolling hills, a barn in the background, and horses grazing together at one end of the huge pasture.

We drove up the long driveway, past the
Gentle Giants Draft Horse Rescue
sign made with horseshoes, and parked near the barn. Inside an enclosure a woman wearing a hoodie covered by a green Gentle Giants windbreaker brushed a reddish-brown horse taller than an SUV.

“Hello,” she said when we got out of the car. The unexpectedly appealing smell of horse manure blanketed the air, bringing back memories of a summer camp I'd gone to for a few years before my parents died.

“Hi,” Erica said as we walked over. “Are you Glenda?”

“Yep,” she said. “Come on over and meet Sweetie Pie.”

We reached through the worn fence to tentatively pat the horse, who turned an eye on us as if to say, “You have no idea what you're doing, right?” He could star in a Budweiser commercial with that long mane and tail, and long tufts of cream-colored hair covering his hooves, like horse Uggs.

“We were hoping to talk to you about Faith Monette,” Erica said.

Glenda stiffened. “The police were out here earlier asking questions about her. You with them?”

“No,” I said. “But we've trying to help a friend.”

“I'll tell you what I told them,” she said. “She called
herself Faylinn Moyner and she volunteered here for about a year. She said she saw a video online and wanted to help. After a few months she slimed her way onto our fund-raising committee and suddenly I'm getting emails and phone calls from people who donated money and never got a receipt.”

“They gave the money to Faith?” Erica asked.

“Yes,” she said. “She created a fake website with a Donate button and just stole the money.”

“That's terrible,” I said. “Did you get any money back?”

She shook her head. “It was gone.”

“Did the police investigate?” Erica asked.

“Yep,” she said. The horse threw his head around and snorted as if he was disgusted too. “Nothing came of it.”

“How much money did she take?” I asked.

She shrugged. “We only know of the people who contacted us for a receipt. A few thousand for sure. Best I could do was report the website and have it taken down.”

We thought for a moment and then I asked, “Is there anything else about her you can tell us?”

Her face looked hurt for a moment. “I just didn't get it. She was so good with the horses. I could tell she loved them. Why would she steal from them?”

“Any ideas?” Erica asked in a gentle tone.

“My husband has a theory,” she said. “Have you heard the story about the fox and the scorpion?”

“No,” I said.

“You see, a scorpion needs to get across a river, so he asks a fox to carry him. The fox replies that he can't because the scorpion will kill him. The scorpion says he wouldn't because then he'd die too, so the fox agrees. Halfway across
the river, the scorpion bites the fox. As he's dying, the fox asks, ‘Why? Now we're both going to die.' And the scorpion says, ‘I couldn't help it. It's in my nature.'”

That was a sobering thought.

“So it was in her nature to steal from people, and even though she loved these horses, she just couldn't help herself?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I just don't know. After I got a few calls, she came out on her normal day to volunteer and I confronted her. She looked kinda speechless, like she didn't know how she got caught. And I told her to never come back. My husband says it's nonsense, but I saw it.”

“What?”

“She looked devastated,” she said. “She started to leave but stopped for one last look at the horses. I'm pretty sure she was crying.”

“Did you ever see her again?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “But I think she came by to see her favorite horse, Beechem. I came out a few mornings and found pieces of apple in his stall. I think she visited him at night.”

“Is he still here?” I wasn't sure why I asked.

“No. He was adopted,” she said. “By a really nice man.”

“Do you remember his name?” Erica asked.

“Sure,” she said. “We actually don't get a lot of men adopting our horses. His name was Wade Overton.”

W
ade Overton? Why did his name keep coming up?

I tried to remain calm but this seemed like critical information. “He has a farm?”

Glenda shook her head. “He needed a place to board him and we recommended a place. We keep track of our horses to make sure they're not being bought for meat.”

I wanted to say “Yuck,” but at the last second I changed it to “That's terrible.”

“He wasn't sure which stables would take such a big horse, so he asked for a referral,” she said. “I was happy to tell him one of my favorites.”

We patiently waited for her to give us the address of the farm, along with how to get there. She explained that our GPS would take us in a much longer way, and we'd hit a gate that the farm never opened, if we didn't listen to her.

We followed her directions, getting nervous with the one-lane road she'd recommended, but sure enough, we were soon at the barn of yet another horse farm.

“Hello?” we called out, but no one answered.

“Seems deserted,” I said.

We walked over to the opening to the barn and called out again. “Hello?”

“Hello?” A male voice answered from halfway down the barn, the contrast from the outside light to the inside making it too dark to see who it was.

“Hi,” I said, taking a few steps in. “We're looking for the manager.” I blinked, trying to make out the face of who I was talking to.

“You can find her at the main house,” he said. “Hold on. I'll come out and show you.”

“It's okay. I see it,” Erica said, and headed up the slight hill to the large ranch house.

His voice sounded vaguely familiar. I could see the darker shadow of a man against the light coming through cracks in the barn behind him. But it wasn't until he hit the patch of light coming from the open door that I recognized him.

Wade Overton.

I gasped. “Wade?” I scrambled to figure out what to say to him. “What are you . . . ?”

He smiled. “Don't worry. I know who you are.”

“What does that mean?” I tried.

“You should see your face.” He threw his head back in laughter. “I'm not a complete computer idiot. When you told me what happened to Faith, I looked online and saw that article about you and your friend.”

“Oh,” I said, cursing Reese internally and wishing Erica was here.

“It's cool,” he said. “I hope you figure it out. That dude has to pay.”

“I'm so confused,” I said, and this time I wasn't trying to use my ditzy ploy. “Why do you have Faith's favorite horse?”

He shrugged, pulling his sunglasses from the back of his shirt collar. “Look, I already told the police all this, but since you guys are on the same side, I'll tell ya.”

I was all ears.

“Like I said, Faith came into the shop a while ago, but the truth was that I got up the nerve to ask her out,” he said. “And she said yes. We went out a few times, real casual, and then she told me she needed someone ‘more ambitious.'” He used finger quotes, and laughed again, but this time, it had an edge.

“That must have made you feel terrible,” I said.

“Nah,” he said. “I get it. I've certainly heard
that
from chicks before.” His expression was totally bland.

“You weren't mad?” I wasn't sure that was something you got over so easy.

“I get it. That whole
need to be taken care of
thing women have.”

Whoa. Sexist much? “Why didn't you tell me that to begin with?” I asked.

He looked a little sheepish. “I wanted your business. I thought if you knew we'd dated, you wouldn't take her word for it that I was a good mechanic.”

“So why do you have Beechem?” I still felt like I wasn't getting the whole story. I started walking back to the stall
he'd walked out of, and my eyes adjusted quickly to the semi-dark.

“When we were going out, she had some problem with his adoption, so she asked me to adopt him in name only,” he said. He patted Beechem's face over the gate. “She paid for everything and I just had to put my name on the certificate, or whatever it's called. Easy-schmeasy. I didn't think any more about him until, you know.”

I stayed back. Beechem was huge. “Are you going to keep him?” I asked.

“Can't afford it,” he said, stroking his mane. “To tell you the truth, I was thinking of selling him, but the contract doesn't allow that, so he's going back to that adoption place.”

“Gentle Giants?”

“That's the one,” he said. “Did they point you this way?”

“Yes,” I said. “Really nice folks. Do they know he's coming back?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I guess I should let them know, so they can prepare.” He seemed a little wistful. “He's paid up until November fifteenth.”

I saw Erica returning alone at the end of barn and decided to press my luck. “So you didn't make enough money for Faith? That doesn't sound very nice.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don't think it was a matter of money, but more like doing something special with my life.”

“Okay.” I nodded like that made sense.

He gave me a rueful look. “I always knew she was outta my league, but the whole thing was good for me. Now I'm thinking of going to college. Go see what I missed. Can't hurt, right?”

Was this someone else Faith influenced to better his life?

Erica came up beside me, and I introduced them. She didn't seem surprised to see him. “I'm sure the police asked you this already, but where were you the night she died?”

He laughed. “They did. And I told them I was in the can, sick as a dog. The guys from the garage ate at Wally's Shack. My buddy and I split the seafood sampler and we both regretted it. All night.”

“Did you tell the restaurant?” I asked.

“Hell yeah. Soon as I could get outta the bathroom, I called them. They said it was a bad batch of clams. A few folks had the same problem, especially my friend.” He tapped on his phone. “Here's his number if you want to call him.”

“Thanks.” I dutifully typed the number into my phone.

“Sorry I can't help. I sure hope you get the guy.”

*   *   *

“W
hat do you think?” Erica asked as I drove back toward West Riverdale.

“I'm not sure,” I said. “Maybe if he hadn't lied the first time I met him, I'd believe him.” I told her about our conversation in detail. “He seemed perfectly reasonable, but something . . .”

“I'll text Zane to send over anything he has on him,” she said as she pulled out her phone.

On the way back, we drove by a billboard advertising the Marines.

Erica read my mind. “Have you heard from Leo?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. I assumed he'd check up
on me once he heard the news about the minivan, but he hadn't even sent a text.

“You have a key to his apartment, right?” she asked. “Why don't you take a drive over there after you drop me off?”

When we got back to the store, Erica went over to her side and I checked in with Kona before trying Leo's cell one more time. It went straight to voice mail. Again.

I couldn't stay away anymore. I drove over to Leo's apartment, grateful to see his motorcycle in his parking space, even though it was caked with dirt. He'd never have allowed that a few weeks ago.

I didn't even knock, just let myself in. “Leo?” I called out.

He sat on the couch, looking even more gaunt. He didn't even look up. My heart gave one big thump and then raced.

I sat beside him on the couch, moving slowly, and tentatively touched his hand.

He blinked, his face drawn with exhaustion. Whatever he'd been doing all these days, it hadn't been sleeping. Or eating.

“Can you talk?” I asked.

He gave an almost silent snort. “Yes.”

“Can I get you some water?” I asked, and then got up to go to the kitchen and was glad to see that even though his sink had dirty dishes in it, his clean glasses were still lined up with military precision in the cupboard. I turned on the faucet and poured him a glass, grabbing ice from his freezer. “Have you been working?”

He shook his head.

I sat down and handed him the glass, with a little push to encourage him to bring it toward his mouth. “Have you seen your therapist?”

He nodded.

“Worst day?” I asked, my voice turning rough.

Two tears spilled over from his eyes, making their way down his face, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil he was going through.

I couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. Not when he'd fought through so much pain in physical therapy. Not when he'd adjusted to his prosthetic leg. Not even when his commander had survived several battles in Afghanistan and succumbed to pancreatic cancer a year after he returned home.

I hugged him tight, trying to send my healing thoughts into his whole being. “It's going to be okay,” I whispered. “It really will.”

He took a deep breath and the tension in his shoulders relaxed just a little.

I tried again. “Worst day?”

Slowly, he shook his head.

Relief inched through me.

“Is this about Star?” I asked, hoping not to step on any emotional land mines.

His hands clenched. He didn't answer.

“Is she okay?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“Did you break up with her?”

He shook his head, but his eyes looked hopeless. He cleared his throat. “I'm no good for her.”

I never felt the need to tread as carefully as I did now. “You're the best person I know.”

His mouth pulled to one side as if to say it wasn't true.

I laid one hand on his cheek. “Leo. You are.” I enunciated every word. “The absolute very best. You
deserve
her.”

He pressed his cheek into the palm of my hand almost unconsciously.

“You do.” I talked louder, willing him to really hear me. And to believe me. “And she deserves you.”

He shook his head again.

“Are you afraid?”

He hesitated before nodding. “I might have already lost her.”

I put my forehead to his forehead and squeezed both hands to his cheeks.

“Get her back,” I said.

*   *   *

I
stayed long enough to make Leo oatmeal from a packet and watched him eat it. Then I ran to the grocery store and bought every comfort food I could think of, along with the basic staples, and rushed back. He was in the shower, which I took to be a step in the right direction.

By the time he came out, in what looked like clean clothes, I'd washed the dishes and made a very strong pot of coffee. I handed him a mug after adding a lot of cream and sugar. “This will help,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said, still not looking at me.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice still too quiet. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I'm better. You can go to work, or whatever.”

“Okay,” I said, not feeling very sure. “You'll let me know if you need . . . anything.”

He nodded. “I just have some thinking to do.”

“Oh, now we're in trouble,” I joked.

He grimaced, trying to give me a smile that didn't quite work.

“Want to come over for dinner?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said.

“I'll pick up Zelini's,” I said. “Meatball subs?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow?” Of course, I was supposed to work the festival, but I'd get someone to cover for me.

“Probably,” he said.

I hugged him good-bye, feeling like he still wasn't back on track, and worried all the way back to the store.

Erica was waiting for me. She asked, “Is Leo okay?”

“He's a little better,” I said. “Dylan still at Colleen's?”

“Yes,” she said. The school was letting Dylan work from home for a while, and his friends were always around when they weren't at the festival. It was weird having teen boys around, especially when there was usually more than one at a time. Besides eating all our groceries, they took up so much space. Dylan usually slept in the guest room upstairs with at least one of his friends bunking down on the couch. Like a nonstop sleepover.

“Did they get breakfast?” I asked. Listen to me, momming a bunch of teen boys old enough to pick up a bagel if they needed it.

“Yes,” she said absentmindedly. “Jolene and Steve are coming over.” She looked over my shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

Steve opened the door for Jolene with an elaborate bow, and she walked in holding a bunch of papers. I was about
to excuse myself, when Steve said, “Hi, Michelle,” and walked with me to the counter. Jolene sat down with Erica to go over Dylan's homework assignments. Erica had emailed all of his teachers; she'd definitely make sure he kept up on his schoolwork.

“I can't stop thinking about this mess with Oscar,” Steve said.

“He's going to be fine,” I said. “Marino got him a lawyer—”

“That's not it,” he said. “It's just not fair what people are saying about him. He's one of the best dads I know.” He shook his head as if trying to make sense of his thoughts. “Oscar is the kind of dad who would do anything for Dylan. After the craziness with Dylan's mom, he turned down a job in Atlanta to keep some kind of stability in Dylan's life. Even though they both had to deal with all the nasty gossip here. He absolutely wouldn't risk hurting Dylan by killing someone.”

“I understand.” He was preaching to the choir here.

But he wanted to get his thoughts out. “You know, my own dad wasn't bad, but he wanted me to take over the family business and hated that I wanted to be a teacher. He made it very clear.” He gave a little laugh. “I'm not sure if he was madder about that or that Jolene was black. But eventually he fell in love with her like everyone does.”