Behind Chocolate Bars (22 page)

“And you know everything?” he asked, sounding more like himself. He looked out at the water again, clutching the box. “How . . . ?”

I knew he meant
How can I make that leap of faith?
and not
How can I convince her?
but I went with the easier question. “I think the man who rides a motorcycle with one leg can figure that out. But a grand romantic gesture coupled with that ring and an explanation that you were a big chicken should do the trick.”

*   *   *

T
he sun seemed to shine a little brighter when I headed back to West Riverdale. Leo had stayed behind, saying he had a lot to think about. This time I knew his thoughts were taking him to a better place, especially when he dove into the meal I'd picked up.

I thought about my mother's ring. Just a stone and metal, but a symbol of so much more. Love and a lifetime commitment. The necklace Bobby gave Erica. They might not have used the “L” word yet, but maybe they didn't need to. The necklace was enough.

I looked down at the file of papers on the front seat and realized that I'd been almost as big a chicken as Leo. I pulled over and read them through. The legalese was clear—this agreement would mean our businesses would officially become one business. Tied together no matter what came down the path. Success. Failure. Global shortage of sugar or paper. Erica and I would be in it together.

I signed and initialed everywhere that Erica had, not using my normal chicken scrawl, but looping my letters and making my name large and my commitment unambiguous.

“There,” I said out loud, alone in my car. “I did it.” I felt a rush of pride, and I started the car and headed to Phoenix's house, wanting to see my decision through.

His home was a charming farmhouse that had been haphazardly added on to over the decades. He had completely renovated it, not just upgrading things like the antiquated plumbing and electric, but also lopping off a rickety addition to create a more balanced appearance. I'd looked forward to reading his renovation updates in his newsletters, where
he'd always had a cheerful take on what I would've considered disasters. He'd held a huge housewarming party when it was completed, inviting his clients from all over.

I turned into his driveway, right behind a brown UPS truck that had stopped at a gate blocking the entrance. The driver put in a code and the gate opened. I hurried to squeeze in before the gate closed behind me and followed the truck to the house.

“Hi!” I said cheerfully as I jumped out to put my papers in the mail slot. “Want me to ring the bell for you?” The chance of Phoenix being home during the day was low, but I knew UPS drivers were expected to ring the doorbell just in case.

“Sure,” he said, hustling over a couple of small boxes and several large envelopes with the UPS logo. “I need a signature.”

The door opened and Detective Lockett stood in the doorway, barefoot. He looked as stunned as I felt. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning, Roger,” the UPS driver said. “Can you sign for these?”

Lockett took the package and signed the electronic form. He scowled at me until the driver was back in his truck.

Roger? The UPS driver knew Lockett by name?

“You're living together,” I said. “I guess you
are
serious.”

He sighed. “Yes, nebby. We're engaged.”

“Cool!” I said. “When's the wedding?”

Lockett shook his head. “You never stop with the questions.” His phone rang and he answered it while staring straight at me. “Lockett.” He listened for a moment. “Fine.” He hung up.

He gestured to the papers I still held in my hand. “Want to do something with those?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Sorry. I was excited to give these to Phoenix and stopped by on an impulse.”

He snorted. “That'll always get you into trouble.”

*   *   *

B
ean called when I was on my way back to West Riverdale. “Hey, I have another possible overnight in Baltimore. Can I drop Truffles off with you?”

“Sure,” I said, looking forward to spending time with the fluff ball.

“Now?” he asked. “My timing is tight.”

“I'm ten minutes away from home,” I said, “but Dylan's there.”

“That works,” he said.

It looked like our shared kitten custody was working out just fine.

He called me back. “Dylan's not here. I used my key and put Truffles in the living room.”

My heart sank. “Are you kidding me? He's supposed to tell us when he leaves. Is the security system on?”

“No,” he said.

“Gilly.” I sped up. “I'll call him. Can you wait there?”

I took a minute to dial Dylan's number before taking Tommy's shortcut to get home faster. I'd just hit the bumpiest part of the dirt road when I saw Oscar's truck traveling off the road.

Way off the road.

In fact, it was heading down the driveway toward my neighbor's lake.

“What is he doing?” I said out loud and then realized the truck was picking up speed.

“N
o!” I screamed uselessly inside my car and accelerated down the road, looking for any break in the brush that would take me toward the lake.

I lost sight of the truck behind some trees and then I saw the faint outline of an unused driveway. The back of the minivan fishtailed as I turned too fast, dirt shooting up behind me. A hill rose in front of me, blocking my view.

I slammed my thumb down on my cell phone and listened for the beep indicating sound activation. “Call Bean,” I yelled.

“Calling Bean mobile,” the mechanical voice said back to me. The sound of the phone dialing on speaker setting made me almost sob with relief.

“Hey,” Bean answered.

“Oscar's truck is heading right for the Dunbar lake,” I yelled. “I think Dylan is driving it.”

“I'll be right there,” he said.

I crested the hill in time to see exactly what I was afraid of. The truck was already in the water, the front slowly sinking.

My foot automatically went to the floor, the engine roaring until I braked to a stop at the dock. I jumped out and yelled, “Dylan!” before bounding into the water, wading with my knees high until I was forced to swim. The windows were open and the cabin of the truck was filling with water fast.

Dylan was unconscious, the water rising to his chest, and I could see blood in the water. I held on to the side of the truck bed and yanked on the door. It didn't move.

It was locked. I reached in and unlocked the door, and this time I put my foot against the side of the truck and pulled with everything I had.

The door opened with a groan but the truck shifted even more, and Dylan's whole body pitched forward, his face right in the water. I started sobbing.

I tried to pull him out, but the door started to close on us both. This time, I held the door open with one foot, grabbed Dylan under the arms and pushed off.

We were free of the car, and suddenly strong arms grabbed Dylan.

Another wave of panic went through me before I realized it was Bean. “You okay?” he asked, swimming backward on his back and keeping Dylan's face out of the water.

“Yeah,” I said, my chest heaving as I followed them.

Soon we both were able to touch the muddy bottom of the lake and make our way to shore.

Bean immediately put Dylan on the ground and checked his vital signs. “He's breathing,” he said. “You did it. You saved him.”

Sirens blared in the distance and I collapsed beside Dylan, trying to get my breath back. “Why is he unconscious?”

“I don't know,” he said. “His lungs are clear.” He went to the trunk of his car to retrieve three blankets. “Did you see what happened?” He handed me a blanket and unfolded another to cover Dylan.

“I was too far away,” I said. “But it doesn't make sense.”

Bean used the third blanket as a pillow under Dylan's head.

His hand came away bloody and he looked at me. “He was hit on the head. Dylan didn't do this.”

*   *   *

T
he next half hour, time seemed to have warped, moving unbelievably fast and then in slow motion.

Bean tried to get me to go home and put dry clothes on, but I refused, standing and shivering while Dylan was placed on a backboard and taken away by ambulance. The EMTs seemed most concerned about his head injury.

One thought made it through the fog. “Where's Truffles?” I asked.

“At your house,” he said. “Erica's got him.”

Chief Noonan took Bean aside to ask him questions. I could hear the succinct tone of his answers but not his words, and the feeling that this couldn't be real swamped me.

Detective Lockett tried to question me but I couldn't seem to focus, while Bobby put up the crime scene tape, his face set, and the crime scene techs worked the area around the dock. A tow truck arrived and slowly pulled Oscar's
truck out of the lake, the high whine of the winch making me jump.

Water poured out of it and I completely missed Lockett's question again, trembling at the sight of the murky water and the memory of the fear. What would have happened to Dylan if I hadn't been here?

“Why don't we go to your house to continue this,” Lockett said for the third time. He sounded like he was being kind, but he probably was tired of me not being able to concentrate.

I nodded. “I can't drive.”

“I'll take you home and Junior will bring your car around,” Lockett said. He walked over to let the chief and Bean know where we were going and then led the way to his car.

A small group had gathered at the beginning of the driveway leading to the lake, their cars parked halfway off the dirt road. Junior lifted the crime scene tape high and we drove under it. Reese had her camera raised to take photos but stopped to stare at me, openmouthed.

“You know Dylan didn't do this,” I said as we drove the short distance to my house.

Lockett's face was grim. “We're looking at all of the possibilities.”

Erica met us on the porch, holding Dylan's cell phone in a plastic bag. “I didn't touch it,” she said as she handed it to the detective. She gave me a hug and then turned me around by my shoulders to push me inside. “Shower and warm clothes. Now. And ignore those pitiful meows from Truffles. He has food and water upstairs in my room.”

I cracked a smile and followed her orders. As I was putting on thick socks, Bean knocked on my door. “You okay?” he asked when I opened it.

I nodded even though I felt far from okay. He pulled me into his arms and held on. “You scared the crap out of me,” he said, his voice rough.

“I didn't really think,” I said. “I just jumped in.” I shivered again at the thought of poor Dylan in that water.

“I get that.” He placed a kiss on the top of my head. “I just don't want to lose you.”

I held on tight. “You won't.”

Lockett was waiting for me in the kitchen with the chief when I returned. “Please sit down,” he said, and after the day I had, I was happy to listen to him. Erica handed me hot cocoa and I wrapped my hands around the mug.

“I need you to start at the beginning,” he said, his voice gentle.

I explained everything, from Bean's phone call to pulling Dylan out of the truck.

Lockett looked right at me. “Dylan sent a text to his father, confessing to the murder and saying that he was going to kill himself.”

I sat up straight. “It's not true.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

His tone wasn't challenging, but I responded as if it was. “The real killer sent that text,” I insisted, my voice shrill. “And then he hit Dylan on the head and drove him into that lake. He wanted to send everyone in the wrong direction.”

“Did you see anyone else besides Dylan near the truck?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “But the truck was far away. And there were trees in the way.”

“Was there enough time for someone to send the truck into the lake and escape without you seeing them?” he asked.

I shook my head, feeling helpless. “I don't know. I was focused on helping Dylan. There are lots of bushes there. Someone could have easily hidden.”

Erica laid her hand on my arm. “It's clear that there are enough questions to not accept this confession at face value, Detective. And if the real murderer truly intended to frame Dylan, then he might try to hurt him again. Dylan needs round-the-clock police protection.”

Lockett stared at her for a moment. “I agree.”

“And perhaps we should let everyone believe the suicide note,” Bean suggested. “To make sure whoever did this thinks we've all fallen for it.”

Lockett nodded, his face thoughtful.

“Can we see Dylan?” I asked.

“Gilly's with him.” Then, as if understanding how much we needed to make sure Dylan was safe, he added, “You can't ask him any questions, not one, until we talk to him. Do you understand?”

I nodded, and this time it wasn't a lie.

*   *   *

I
nformation about Dylan's suicide attempt spread like wildfire throughout West Riverdale and I had to turn off my phone to avoid all the gossipmongers who wanted to tell me they'd known Dylan was the killer all along.

Reese's blog was especially gloating, pointing out Erica's
and my failure to recognize a murderer right under our nose. Of course, Jolene and Steve sent reassuring texts, saying that it was all horse-hooey and our fine police force would figure out the truth.

Bean drove me to the hospital. Erica could not pass on her festival responsibilities to anyone else and told me to keep her updated. Gilly was kind to us, even though she had to believe this wouldn't have happened if she'd taken Dylan to Florida. We all kept a quiet vigil in Dylan's room. His friends took turns hanging out in the lounge at the end of the hall. Invariably, they spent their time on their cell phones, doing whatever teens do to stay occupied in an intense but somewhat boring atmosphere.

Junior had parked himself on an uncomfortable chair right outside the room, looking like a teen himself in a baseball cap and jeans. His alert expression and immediate analysis of anyone who entered the hall was the only thing that gave it away: this boy had police protection.

After a couple of hours, I realized I wasn't doing any good to anyone. Or perhaps my penance was over. Bean and I headed home.

Erica joined us after closing down the festival. We were all exhausted but not ready to sleep when we heard a knock on the door. I seriously considered ignoring it.

“Open up, Serrano.” It was Lockett.

I ran over to let him in. Poor Lockett looked exhausted. I took a minute to make him a coffee before asking, “Did you learn anything new?”

“A text was deleted from Dylan's phone,” he said. “It told him to come outside if he wanted to set his dad free.”

I bit my lip, not wanting to cry in front of Lockett, but
the emotional roller coaster of the day was getting to me. “Dylan would do anything to help his dad.”

“And that text proves he didn't try to commit suicide,” Erica said.

I shivered. This was one bad dude. Even if the first murder was some kind of impulsive attack, this was premeditated.

“Did you notice anyone watching your house?” Lockett asked. “This person had to be waiting for the right time to make a move.”

We'd been on the lookout ever since the Great Hearse Car Chase, but had never spotted anyone again. I shook my head. Could we have missed something like that? Then I remembered what Chuck had said. “Chuck mentioned that someone was following Faith, and Vaughn and Nancy's neighbor also said someone was staking out their house. Could it all be the same guy?”

Lockett's eyes narrowed. “We'll look into it.”

Erica and I had decided that the best thing for our investigation was to wait for Dylan to regain consciousness and ask him who did this to him.

*   *   *

F
riday passed in a blur, and Dylan was still unconscious on Saturday, worrying everyone. I stopped by the hospital on the way to working at the festival. Gilly looked exhausted, but hopeful.

Word of the festival must have spread to other towns, as everyone decided West Riverdale was the place to be on Halloween. The place had been packed with costumed families since noon, and the volunteers were stretched to the max keeping up with the crowds.

An adult clown was pretending to browse my chocolates while feasting on the freebies. The white gloves picking up the brown chocolate samples were making me uncomfortable.

Phoenix stopped by. “How are you holding up?”

“Good,” I said, as Kayla rang up a small box of truffles for a grandma dressed up like the Fairy Godmother with her granddaughter dressed as Cinderella.

“Bippety-boppity-boo!” Kayla said to them.

“Hey,” I said to Phoenix. “I hear you're engaged.”

He smiled. “Yes I am.” He put his arm on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “And you signed the papers. That was a very good decision.”

“I hope so,” I said. “But don't change the subject. When's the wedding?”

Phoenix laughed. “You'll be among the first to know.” He waved and moved on to the next booth.

Quinn ran up to my booth, breathless, and inside I started quaking. “Dylan?” I asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “I just found something. “

“What?”

“Zane brought us”—she looked around, but the only one around was Clown Guy—“
her
emails to help him go through and I noticed that someone used the same phrase in a comment on that stupid article Reese wrote
and
in an email to Faith.”

“What phrase?”

“He called her a ‘bright light.'”

Oh man. That was in the reunion slide show too.

“Who was he?” I asked.

“I don't know,” she said. “Faith used the code name BCH.
But she didn't save any of the emails with him in her files. Then a month later, she put BCH in her Dud category.”

That didn't make any sense. She'd saved every email from every single one of her targets.

But maybe he wasn't a target. Could BCH be the man Chuck said Faith fell in love with? The one who had lied about owning a business?

BCH. “Bucky Central High,” I said out loud.

Wade Overton had admitted that they'd dated and she dumped him? Could it have been more serious than that? Could he have lied about owning the garage instead of being an employee?

“Her high school?” Quinn asked.

I created a little timeline in my head. “Do you know when she put him in the Dud file?”

She shook her head. “A couple of months ago?”

She didn't need to check. I was certain. “You found something very important. I have to call someone.” I looked around for Erica, but she must have been putting out a fire somewhere else. My clown customer was gone without buying anything. But he'd be back. Once they tasted my truffles, they always came back.