Death Is Like a Box of Chocolates (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (11 page)

A loud cheer echoed out from the pool room and I had to raise my voice. “What happened next?”

“He told her she was out of her mind and then he lit outta here.”

“Did he threaten her?” Erica asked. She must have been itching to pull out her fancy murder investigation notebook, but restrained herself.

“I couldn’t hear much of what he said—it was three-dollar-beer night and this place was packed—but she looked pretty shaken up. Like, she was acting all tough in front of him and as soon as he left, she kinda collapsed.”

“Collapsed?”

“Not really, like, on the floor, or anything.” He struggled to explain. “Like she had psyched herself up to do something and it went worse than she expected.”

“Did you ask her what was wrong?” Erica asked before I had a chance to.

“Of course.” He seemed a little offended. “But she didn’t want to talk about it.”

“What happened next?” I asked.

“She asked me to walk her to her car.”

She was that worried? “Was he hanging around?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Long gone.”

“Did you see what was in the photos?” Erica asked.

He tilted his head as if realizing we weren’t just gossiping. “I was too far away.”

Erica didn’t slow down. “What did the guy look like?”

“Kinda normal,” he said.

“Nondescript?” Erica asked. She couldn’t take it anymore and pulled out her notebook.

Jake seemed amused. “What are you guys doing? Helping the chief?”

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

He gave me that “you tried to buy beer from me when you were underage” look. How did bartenders know when you’re lying?

Erica tried to appear less intense. “We’re just trying to understand it. It was terrible finding her like that.”

From the disconcerted look on Jake’s face, deflecting attention by playing the sympathy card worked. “What was that guy like?” I asked.

“To tell you the truth, he looked a little like a weasel. And had those scars on his face like that actor. Mickey Rourke, maybe?”

“Pockmarks? Like from acne?” Erica asked.

“Yeah. Like that. And he wore a big diamond earring. Probably fake, given the rest of him.” He walked away to serve two guys in cowboy hats who’d just walked in.

“Does that sound like Larry?” I asked. I realized I’d only seen him from a distance, when he waited for Denise outside in his car, but he did have that weaselly look.

“Could be.” Erica looked over at Opal, who hadn’t moved, and from the way she was nursing that soda, she wasn’t headed for the bathroom anytime soon. “Let’s get back to Opal another time,” she said. “I want to research Larry.”

We finished our drinks, left some money on the bar and waved good-bye to Jake.

“Well that was productive,” Erica said as we walked across the wet parking lot. She hit the button to unlock the doors. Heavy rain clouds gathered, blocking out any light from the moon.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the curtain move in one of the Ear’s windows. A man stood behind it, but with the light behind him, I couldn’t tell who it was. He moved away and I shook off my uneasy feeling.

“Too bad we don’t have a photo of Larry to show Jake and make sure,” I said.

We got in the car and looked at each other. “But I’m sure Denise had some,” Erica said.

“Maybe you can ask Lieutenant Bobby,” I said. “He has to have a mug shot somewhere.”

She scoffed. “Right.”

“Or maybe we can check out her apartment ourselves.” I dug my keychain out of my purse and held up the key Denise had given me the time she asked me to water her plants when Colleen was also out of town.

“Oh, we shouldn’t,” Erica said in a voice that meant, “Oh we should,” and started driving toward town.

The clouds spit rain on the trip over, with occasional heavier outbursts as if to warn us away. Denise had lived just a block from the store, in a second-floor apartment above the Knit Wits yarn store. It hurt my heart to see our store, even from a block away, and know I couldn’t go in.

“Wait,” I said. “Can you drive by the back of the store? I want to see if the cat is out in the rain.”

She drove by slowly, but Coco was out of sight.

Except for the restaurants, the rest of Main Street was closed. We parked behind the yarn store and pulled our hoods up over our heads. We probably looked like bad actors in a TV cop show the way we were skulking around as we approached the building. I was so nervous that I was breathing fast and I had to keep myself from giggling.

From the bottom of the steps leading to Denise’s apartment we tried to see if there was some kind of sticker that sealed it as a crime scene, but since we couldn’t tell, we started up. I’d been to her apartment only a few times, but I’d never noticed how much the ancient stair boards creaked, even wet with rain. My keys jangled abrasively in my hand, and Erica shushed me before chuckling at her own nervous response.

As soon as we made it to the top of the stairs, I heard a large bump from inside. Erica’s eyes widened like a cartoon character, and we both turned to get the heck out of there when the door burst open. Larry the Loser, with Denise’s laptop in hand, looked as surprised to see us as we were to see him.

“Larry?” I ventured, before he stuck out a straight-arm just like a football player and pushed me out of the way.

I
stumbled against the wooden railing and then instinctively ran down the stairs after him, yelling, “Bring that back!” Erica was right behind me.

Larry looked back at us and tripped over the wet curb, and the laptop flew out of his hands and hit the street with a loud crunching sound. I cringed. Whatever was on there had probably disappeared into cyber heaven. He moved toward it as a police car came flying around the corner, then he took off through the trees.

Lieutenant Bobby tore out of the car after him, yelling to us, “You guys okay?” as he ran.

“Yeah,” I yelled back and waved him on. “Go get him!”

My breath was heaving, as if I’d run for miles instead of down some stairs. Erica was staring at the laptop.

“We can’t,” I said, knowing she desperately wanted to see what was on it. “Bobby’ll kill us.”

Oops. That was the wrong thing to say. Her eyebrows came together in a scowl. Just as she moved toward it, Bobby stepped out from the trees.

“You lost him?” I asked. Maybe Larry was as weaselly in action as he looked.

“He had his car right over there in the alley,” he said a little defensively. Then he radioed in what had happened, staring at us as if he didn’t trust us.

“What the heck were you doing here?” he asked after he ended the call.

“Um,” I started, but then the chief arrived in his cruiser.

He approached slowly. I felt like I was a child and he’d caught me playing hooky. “Twice in one day I find you snooping around, Ms. Serrano. And this time with Ms. Russell. You two playing Scooby Doo or something?”

“No, sir,” I said. “We just—”

Erica interrupted. “We were anxious to find out if Denise’s apartment had been cleared by the police. We had an emergency meeting of the cook-off committee and realized we need photographs Denise had taken for the event.”

That girl sure thought fast on her feet.

“We had no intention of entering if the crime-scene seal was still intact,” she said, as if offended he could think anything different.

Somehow her snotty words made it more believable. I peeked up at Bobby, who didn’t appear at all bamboozled.

“And then that horrible man pushed Michelle and she practically fell down the stairs,” she said with a tiny shudder.

Had she taken acting lessons at college?

I stayed silent. The chief grunted and seemed to relent.

“So, in some small way, we assisted your investigation,” Erica said. “If we weren’t here, he would’ve gotten away with that.” She pointed to the computer.

“Was her apartment searched already?” I asked.

The chief grimaced. “Yes it was.” He spoke to Bobby. “Call that state cop buddy of yours and get him over here.”

He pointed a finger at us. “You two get on home. I’ll stop by for a statement later.”

Bobby smirked at us, probably knowing it would give us time to get our stories straight.

• • • • • • • • • 

I
t didn’t take long for Detective Lockett and Bobby to arrive, Bobby knocking but not even bothering for us to respond before coming in. We were waiting on the couch in the living room to make sure they didn’t see our new artwork in the kitchen.

They shook off the rain that had started in earnest, hanging their dripping coats on an antique coatrack Erica had found at one of her estate sales. Lockett sat down in an overstuffed chair while Bobby stood leaning on the doorjamb.

Lockett leaned forward with his hands on his knees. “What are you gals up to?”

We’d already agreed that Erica would do the talking. “As I explained to the chief, we were hoping you were done in there and we could retrieve photos of the different fudge entries that Denise had taken. We need them for the press release.”

Lockett stared at us as if about to call “bull,” and I had to look down. Then he shifted in his chair. “How ’bout this. You two stop turning up where you’re not wanted, and I won’t slap you in jail for the next coupla weeks to keep you out of my way.”

I pushed my hands together to stop them from trembling, but Erica stared at him calmly. “Why are you threatening us?”

What the heck was she doing?

“Excuse me?” he said, his tone menacing.

“We haven’t committed any crime. You have no legal basis to arrest us,” she said, “so you must have another reason.”

Bobby shifted his feet around. I think he was trying not to smile.

Lockett’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like being called on his bluff.

“I’d like to offer a service to you,” she continued, as if he’d agreed with her and we had all moved on. “I have an assistant who’s a whiz at computers. Maybe he can take a look at that computer you found and see why Larry was so determined to get it.”

Lockett chuckled. “We have very talented techs who will get what we need.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “But in the event they can’t, he’s at your disposal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “So, what do you think is on that computer?”

“I suspect it’s something Larry didn’t want the police to find,” she said. “Perhaps his motivation for killing her. And given that she was a photographer, photos of some kind.”

His expression was calculating. “Anything else?”

She leaned forward in her chair. “By showing up at Denise’s tonight, he seemed to believe the police wouldn’t find the laptop, so it had to be very well hidden. Some of these old buildings have unexpected nooks and crannies, and perhaps due to his relationship with Denise, he knew her hiding place. Once you figure out why he wanted the laptop so badly, I believe you’ll find your motive.”

“Which would be?” he prompted.

“Now that I don’t know,” she said. “But I believe your accomplished techs will find out.” She turned to Bobby. “How’d you get there so fast tonight?”

Lockett answered for him. “A neighbor called when Larry broke in.”

Erica tilted her head. “Do you have any results from your testing of our store?”

He gave Bobby a “can you believe this girl?” look but Bobby remained impassive. “Okay, this is preliminary. I’m tellin’ ya only because we’re releasing this info in the morning. The only poison found was in the chocolate on the table. Your shop is clean. You can get back in there tomorrow.”

The relief I felt was so overwhelming, tears popped into my eyes. Detective Lockett noticed; he noticed everything.

I was about to stand and let them leave when Erica pushed. “Reese Everhard stopped by earlier to say you’d found poison in the store. Was she lying to get a reaction, or does she know something you don’t?”

Lockett’s face tightened. “Did she now?”

Erica’s eyes widened. “So she told the truth. You found poison in the store.”

“That’s not public information,” he said.

“We certainly won’t tell anyone,” she said. “And you’re smart enough to know that it didn’t belong there. It was planted.” She paused. “How . . . premeditated.”

My mouth fell open, and it took a moment before I could talk. “Someone tried to frame me?”

“Not necessarily,” Lockett said. “They were most likely trying to make it look like an accident.”

“An accident?” I stood up. “That I’d be so stupid, so negligent, that I’d somehow allow poison into my chocolate?”

Erica put her hand on my arm. “Well, that’s better than a cold-blooded murderer.”

“Where was the poison?” I demanded.

“I’m not going to tell you,” the detective said. He had a gleam in his eyes, like he was enjoying the hunt for this particular killer.

Bobby shifted in the doorway, and the detective looked down at his notebook.

Erica sat for a moment. “Anything else that didn’t seem to belong?”

Lockett stood up. “We’re done. Keep this to yourself.”

We followed him to the front door.

“We’ll deal with Ms. Everhard,” he said as they both shrugged into their coats.

“Good night,” Erica said, as if this had been a social call. “Careful driving in that rain.”

After we were sure they were both gone, we rushed to fill in more information on our wall chart. Larry was certainly suspect number one. Since the police had the computer he was after, and a lot more resources than we did, they’d find Larry first.

It took until bedtime for me to realize that it could’ve gone badly for us tonight. Larry could have tried to hurt us. Or worse.

What kept me tossing and turning was how much we had misjudged him. If Larry had pulled off Denise’s murder, along with planting evidence to create a smoke screen, even if it didn’t fool the police, he must be smarter than we assumed.

• • • • • • • • • 

I
hoped Wednesday would live up to its nickname of “hump day” and that we were on our way over it. While some kind of top-of-the-line hazmat company that Erica found was scouring our store, I shopped for everything I needed to restock and reopen on Saturday, and Erica organized the fudge cook-off reboot meeting for later in the day. She’d already heard that a ton of concerned citizens were attending to find out how the investigation and plans for the cook-off were progressing.

Kona had called, anxious to start working the next day. I called my other assistant, Kayla. “Please tell me you’re free to work in the store tomorrow.”

“I’m free to work in the store tomorrow,” she said, sounding like a robot.

“Oh good,” I said. “Wait. Are you really free or are you telling me what I want to hear?”

“Calm down,” she said. “I’m free. I’ll be there.” I heard a car changing into high gear. “Wait. Tomorrow’s Thursday, right?”

Kayla always said she was too ADHD to stick to one job at a time, so she split her time between the shop, teaching yoga and driving high-end sports cars to wealthy collectors.

“Where are you?”

“Coming up on Savannah, Georgia,” she said. “This car’s going to Fort Lauderdale, and I’m flying back tonight.”

“Then what are you doing on the phone? Hang up and pay attention to the road!”

“Always,” she said and hung up.

Colleen had stepped in to plan Denise’s funeral for Saturday afternoon, including taking up a collection for the costs, since there seemed to be no record of a will. Denise had told her that she came from a long line of couples with only one child and her mother had been her only family before her death from cancer. Denise had hoped to break that curse and have a bunch of children when she married. It made her death even more sad; she was the end of her line.

We heard a few whispers asking why Colleen, who was married to a “person of interest” in Denise’s murder, was coordinating the service. But they were drowned out by most of the town pointing out that Denise and Colleen were best friends.

We planned to open at our normal time on Saturday and treat it as a trial run, closing by one, in time for the funeral.

Saturday evening was the running of the Preakness Stakes at the Pimlico Race Course in Baltimore, which was a big deal in West Riverdale. Every business that didn’t have televisions to show the race just closed down.

I’d driven all the way to Frederick to buy my cream, sugar and other supplies to avoid running into any neighbors. I even threw in a few cans of gourmet cat food for Coco, in the event she made her way back to the store. I’d welcomed the long drive alone through the rolling hills that surrounded our town. On the way back, I noticed that solar panels were popping up on a bunch of West Riverdale homes. How cool that West Riverdale residents were so into green technology.

A scowling Henna stormed over as soon as I parked in front of my house. “Michelle Serrano!”

Whoa. It was like being yelled at by my mother. “Henna? What’s wrong?” Playing dumb rarely worked but it was worth a try. I got out and grabbed a grocery bag full of cream and sugar to use as a buffer.

“Did you tell the police that I was mad at Denise?” She was so furious, her hands were fisted, as if she was holding back on hitting me.

“Me? Of course not,” I tried.

“Because I told you that in confidence,” she said. “And then they came here and questioned me about where I was Sunday night. Me!”

“I’m
so
sorry,” I said. “They must have misunderstood me. I was in such shock that I don’t remember a lot of that day, but they did ask if anyone had an issue with Denise.”

Her mouth dropped open and I rushed to finish.

“I told them that of course you had nothing to do with it, so I’m sure it’s just procedure or something.”

She seemed to calm down a little, so I picked another bag up. “I have to get these into the refrigerator.” Then I paused. “So you must have been working Sunday night.”

She looked disconcerted for a moment and then said, “Yes. Yes I was.”

Was she hiding something? “I’m sorry if I caused any problems,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

She nodded, not sure whether to forgive me.

I leaned back against my minivan. “Did they tell you if they had any leads?”

She shook her head. “No. Just gave me a hard time.”

“Well, you have nothing to worry about,” I reassured her. “They’ll catch whoever did this and it’ll work out.”

I hoped I wasn’t telling her a huge lie.

• • • • • • • • • 

N
eighbors were pouring into the West Riverdale Community Center, which was a big name for the simple building on Peach Lane that was basically a large, barnlike, only somewhat insulated room with a wooden floor. A small metal shack in the back held tables and chairs that had to be moved by whomever used it. The usage fee was often waived if the renter cleaned up afterward, unless they were a company that had deep pockets.