Behind Chocolate Bars (6 page)

Erica and I had discussed the idea when we combined our stores, but had decided to keep our actual businesses separate. At the time, I was more worried about being a burden on Erica's family bookstore, which had been running since the 1950s.

He rushed on. “I'm putting it out there, to both of you, as a way to save expenses. There are economies of scale you two may be able to take advantage of, from insurance to taxes, that could reduce your overall costs.” He smiled. “Even your accounting expenses.”

My mind immediately started whirling with what-ifs.

Phoenix lost his smile when I didn't answer right away. “But if it's not what you want, no problem. We can revisit this in the future.”

I bit my lip. “What do you need permission for?”

He waited a moment as if making sure I'd meant it. “I'd like to have my staff prepare an analysis of what I believe you'd save and present it to both of you. If you decide to move forward, you'll form a legal partnership.”

I took a deep breath. “If that works for Erica,” I said. “It works for me.”

“She was next on my schedule,” he said. “Is she in her office?”

I nodded.

“Thank you again for your referral to May.” He reached out and patted my hand. “Either way it'll be fine.”

His soothing tone usually made me feel comforted, but I couldn't let go of the feeling that if we combined our businesses, something might change. And what Erica and I had right now was pretty perfect.

Both sides of our shop were doing fine. I easily met payroll, covered the rent, and even put a little away for that industrial-sized chocolate-tempering machine I'd been pining for.

I watched Phoenix walk down the hall toward Erica's office. I'd always liked that the financial parts of our businesses were completely up to each one of us. Would Erica and I start depending on each other even more than we did now? What if one of us starting having trouble? Would the other one feel resentment?

My brain swirled with possible pros and cons and I pulled out strawberries to dip while I waited for Phoenix to leave. When he waved good-bye, I scooted back to Erica's office to see what she thought of his idea.

She looked up from where she and Zane had been conferring over his computer. “Oh no,” she said.

“What is it?”

“Zane found a dating website that Faith Monette used,” she said. “It seems like she talked to a lot of men.”

“But that's good, right?” I asked. “That's a lot of people who might have had a problem with the victim.”

They both had dismayed expressions.

“We thought so,” Erica said. “But then he found another dating site, where she had an account under another name—Faelynn Monet.”

“Okay,” I said, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Here is one of her matches.” Zane turned the computer around to show me a photo of Oscar Fenton.

D
ylan's dad was dating the murder victim? I drew in a deep breath.

“Shoot,” I said.

This was a connection I didn't want to see. It led to way too many things to consider, things like “motive” and “means.” Was Dylan not talking to us because he was hiding something about his father?

“We have to talk to Oscar,” I said.

Erica nodded. “I'll call him. But I know Marino told him not to talk to anyone about anything. And I heard . . .”

“What?” I asked.

“The police are searching his house right now.”

“Uh-oh.” They must have thought that Dylan's Green Lantern key ring was enough evidence to justify a warrant. “What else did you find out about Faith?”

“Just this so far,” she said. “Zane's trying to learn more.”

“How many men are we talking about here?”

Zane shook his head. “She linked up with at least a hundred.”

“She dated one hundred men?” I couldn't keep the shock out of my voice.

He shrugged. “I can't tell how many of them she actually met in person yet.”

“So that means there are still a lot of potential suspects, besides Oscar and Dylan,” I said.

Erica looked at me. “Only one that we know of with physical evidence near the body. So far.”

“Right,” I said.

“But it gives the police a lot of people to investigate,” she said. “Which will keep them busy.”

“What does Faith have in her dating profile?” I asked.

Zane turned the computer around and clicked a few times, and I looked over his shoulder at a photo of a pretty smiling woman with highlighted brown hair and brown eyes. The profile said she was twenty-eight, with an athletic build, that she wanted kids, and that she was “curious, adventurous, entrepreneurial and fun.” Her favorite quote was “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

“That quote would appeal to a lot of people,” I said.

“Let me try something,” Zane said.

I watched as he copied the photo into Google Images search and waited for the results. Several Facebook pages popped up, each with a different name.

His eyes opened wide. “She's a catfish.”

“What's a catfish?” I asked, thinking of the ugly bottom-dwelling creatures.

“Someone who creates an online identity different from their real one,” Erica said.

“Like lying about your weight and age on your dating profile?” I asked. “Doesn't everyone do that?”

“No,” Zane said. “Like pretending to be someone else entirely. Using someone else's photo and lying about everything—your job, your family, your interests.” He clicked to the different Facebook pages. “At least she used her own photo.”

“Can you find out what she was up to?” Erica asked Zane.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes focused on the screen, filled with thumbnail photos of Faith. “It's going to take some time.”

*   *   *

B
y the next morning, Zane had compiled files on several of Faith's identities. She seemed to have taken catfishing to an art form. She had several different identities on Facebook and dating websites—with different education and job info as well as completely different friend lists and interests.

“Usually catfish develop only online relationships with other people,” Erica said while we opened up Chocolates and Chapters. “But Faith ‘graduated,' for lack of a better word, to meeting and dating men she met online.”

“Why did she do that?” I asked.

“My theory is that she made money from this somehow,” Erica said. “It's a lot of work to keep up so many lies, especially in person. She had to have a good reason.”

“All that seemed pretty easy for Zane to find,” I pointed out.

Erica knew where I was going with that thought. “So Detective Lockett probably has the same information.”

“Let's hope he finds something and leaves Dylan alone,” I said.

Erica nodded. “I finally got in touch with Quinn. She's the only one who would agree to talk to me about what we found out last night.” She stopped in the middle of dusting the dining area.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I can't believe my comic book kids don't trust me.”

“They're teenagers,” I said. “They can't think ahead enough steps to know what's good for them.”

I was about to ask Erica what she thought about Phoenix's idea to combine our finances when she asked out of the blue, “How would you like to go to a high school reunion?”

“No way!” I said in mock horror. I couldn't imagine a less fun evening. “It's not time for our next one yet, so whose reunion are you talking about?”

“When I was doing my own research, I saw that Faith's class from Buckey Central High School is celebrating its ten-year reunion,” she said. “It's not clear if she was even planning to attend—she came up on their Lost Classmates list.”

I made a little map in my head between the high school and Faith's address, which Zane had uncovered. “That's weird,” I said. “She didn't live very far from the school. And with Facebook, how can you be lost, unless you want to be?'

“Maybe she had a bad time in high school,” Erica suggested.

“Who didn't?” I said.

She looked down and didn't answer. Oh yeah. Erica was the star of our class. She'd had a delightful high school experience. And then she went on to to excel at Stanford and win a freakin' Fulbright scholarship. “There's an email address to ask for info on the event,” she said.

“Are you going to be in charge of our next reunion?” I asked, teasing.

“Maybe,” she said. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“What does that mean?”

She smiled. “When it comes to projects, where I go, you go.”

“Noooo!” I gave a dramatic shudder.

“The reunion is next Friday.” She handed me piece of paper with a name and phone number. “Here's the person handling all the reservations.”

“How does this help us?” I asked.

“I'm not sure,” she admitted. “But just because Faith's listed as missing doesn't mean she didn't keep in touch with some of her high school friends.”

Then I thought about the timing. “We can't go to the reunion. The festival opens the next day.”

“
You
can go. With Bean maybe,” she said. “I'll hold down the fort.”

“Hold down the fort?” I said. “Are we seventy?”

“Come on,” she said. “It'll be like a date.”

A date. I could do that. “Are you sure? Would they let us attend when we didn't even go to that school?”

“Talk her into it,” she said. “Pretend you're Bean's assistant. Say he wants to do a piece on reunions.”

“I'll try,” I said. “Worst case, we'll crash.” Just like they did on TV. I had a short fantasy of picking up a random person's name tag and talking to “my” fellow classmates as
they tried to reconcile their memories with the person standing in front of them.

“Maybe you'll find out something we can use to help Dylan,” she said, and went to turn the sign on the front door to Open.

I called the number and a perky voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hi,” I said. “Is this Honor Tambor?”

“Yes,” the woman said carefully, waiting to see if I was a salesperson.

“My name is Michelle. I'm an assistant to Benjamin Russell, the reporter, and I wanted to find out if I could attend your reunion next weekend.”

“Benjamin Russell from West Riverdale?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said tentatively. “His book—”

She gasped. “OMG! Is he looking into Faith Monette's murder? I didn't know that was worthy of a Benjamin Russell story!”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Mr. Russell is actually doing a piece on high school reunions in these days of social media.”

“That's a great cover,” she said enthusiastically. “We'll tell everyone that. But meanwhile, I have some ideas of people who he should look into.”

Whoa. I had to back her up. “He's really not looking into this murder you're talking about.”

“Right,” she said. “I think we should all meet to discuss this in more detail.”

“I'm sure that's not—”

“Of course it is,” she said. “I talked to her just days before she was killed. She was coming to the reunion.”

“You did? She was?” I asked.

“Yep,” she said. “I was class president, so I'm in charge
of the reunion. I know
everything
. So how about I meet him and you, if you're in this area, at his bookstore.”

“What bookstore?” I said, getting an ominous feeling.

“The one he owns with his family,” she said impatiently. “I was there, at his book signing. Are you sure you're his assistant?”

I sighed, knowing a bulldozer when I heard one. “Okay. What time is good for you?”

“Really?” she asked. “I'm going to meet Benjamin Russell?”

“I'll check his schedule, but you and I can get started and see when he can join us.”

“Fine,” she said. “But it'll be way beneficial to his story if we meet. In person.”

*   *   *

T
hree hours later, Honor Tambor arrived at Chocolates and Chapters, looking exactly like her Facebook picture. Late twenties, perfect hair and big smile. She wore a small pink backpack with some sorority letters on it and pink sunglasses.

“You must be Honor,” I said. “I'm Michelle.”

“So nice to meet you!” She looked around the dining area expectantly, and then her smile faded. “Is Mr. Russell not joining us?”

“He'll be here,” I said. “This story is really important to him.” I tried to take control of the meeting right up front by pointing to a table in the corner. “I reserved this for us.”

She walked right past me over to Colleen, who was working at the cashier counter on the bookstore side. “Erica!” she said as if they were long-lost friends.

Colleen looked up, startled. “No. Colleen.”

“Oh!” Honor said. “So nice to meet you. I'm a huge fan of your brother.”

Colleen got a knowing look on her face. “We have some signed books of his if you're interested.”

“I already have one,” she said. “As do all of my friends. Gifts from me. It's so cool that he's practically from our own neighborhood.” She looked around. “Is he here yet?”

“No, sorry,” Colleen said. “He's—”

“He's joining us later,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Honor took a shaky breath. “I promised myself I wouldn't fan-girl, but I'm not sure I can stop myself.”

“Let's get started,” I said, leading the way. “Kona, can you take Honor's order?”

“Of course,” she said, laughing.

“Michelle?” Colleen said. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.” I turned to Honor. “I'll be right over.”

“Looks like Bean has an admirer,” Colleen said. “Maybe we should start a fan club.”

“I'm hoping she's an isolated incident,” I said.

“Better not tell her who Bean is dating,” she said with a smile.

I joined Honor at the small table in the corner as Kona delivered iced tea and Fleur de Sel Caramels. “Before I forget, please keep this meeting and what we discuss confidential. We wouldn't want to influence anyone's behavior.”

She opened her eyes in delight. “Oh! I hadn't thought about that.” She took a bite of caramel, closing her eyes and giving a long groan. “Now, that's a little bite of heaven right there. The balance of gooey caramel with the chocolate, and
the perfect amount of saltiness? I just
have
to bring back a dozen of these for my friends. No, two dozen!”

Okay, maybe I liked her a little. “Mr. Russell would like to write about the experience of high school reunions in these days of social media. Classmates can easily stay in touch these days. How do you think that affects your reunion in particular?”

“It's so helpful!” she said. “We keep up-to-date on each other's lives, so we have more to talk about when we get together.” She sipped her iced tea. “Not everybody stays in touch,” she said. “We have a Lost Classmates list of people who no one has email addresses for.”

“That's understandable, because email addresses change,” I said. “But they're not on social media?”

“Nope,” she said with a
can you believe it?
look. “Faith Monette was on that list.”

“Really?” I acted dumb. “She wasn't on Facebook?”

“Actually, she was,” Honor said, “but her profile picture was a photo of her cat or something and she never responded to any friend requests, so no one knew it was her.”

“Then how did she find out about the reunion?” I asked, and then realized that I might sound too curious about Faith. “Maybe the article can help others find out about stuff like that.”

“She emailed me that she had seen the announcement on some reunion page and asked why she hadn't received an invitation,” she said. “I told her she was on the Lost Classmates list and sent her an Evite. She wrote that she was excited to see me, which was total nonsense.”

“Did you take her off the Lost list?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “I announced it on the Facebook page.”

Interesting. I had to tread lightly here.

“Why do you think some classmates want to stay lost?” I said. “For example, as far as you know, Faith wasn't in contact with her classmates for years. Did she have a hard time in high school?”

Honor let out a scoffing laugh. “Hard time? Hardly.” She looked around to make sure no one could hear her. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Faith was like, the ultimate mean girl. Really popular.” She gave a little sniff. “For all the wrong reasons, of course.”