Death Is Like a Box of Chocolates (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (18 page)

That seemed to placate her. “Let me get the tea,” she said, heading to the kitchen. “And another cup.” That last bit was a little huffy.

“Thank you!” I called after her, and then turned to Terrence. “I’ve heard that solar is a good investment.”

“Are you the home owner?” he asked, and then he punched in a few numbers on his phone.

“Um, no,” I said, in the event that he was looking up my info as we spoke. “I’ve been talking to my landlord, Yuli, about buying it from him.” I was getting good at this thinking-on-my-feet thing.

“You have?” Henna asked from the doorway. “But he told me he was never selling your house.”

Shoot! “We’re just talking so far.” I sat in one of Henna’s overstuffed chairs and it smushed around me like a hug. “I
love
this chair,” I told her and then turned to Terrence. “So how does this whole solar thing work?”

Mr. Jaffe was only too happy to launch into his pitch as Henna served us both tea. “I’d like to show you how you can save twenty-five percent or more off your electricity costs.” He talked about the evils of the electric company, the glorious benefits of using the sun to create our energy and how Get Me Some Solar was the best option for us.

Henna was starting to look annoyed that he was directing many of his comments toward me. Between my hard work all day, lack of sleep and the weirdly comforting feeling of sitting in that chair, I was having a hard time focusing on his words.

He pulled out a laminated chart showing how much we’d save at different levels of energy usage.

“I have a lot of trees,” I said. “Does that still work?”

“Good question,” he said. “The installers will choose the best location, usually facing as directly south as possible, and will recommend trimming trees that are in the way.”

I looked at the chart, which included a column for savings from state and federal rebates and tax credits, including one for West Riverdale. “Our town offers a rebate?”

“Yes it does,” he said. “Five hundred dollars, as soon as you fill out the paperwork. Very generous for a town your size, which shows how committed your town council is to green energy.”

“Can I keep this?” I asked.

His face didn’t change, but I felt a tightness come from him. “All of this information is easily available on our website.” He reached for the chart but I pulled it back as if examining it. No wonder everyone was buying solar. This made it look like a no-brainer.

I turned it over. “What’s this ‘We’ll Buy It’ program?”

“I was just getting to that.” He became even more enthusiastic. “For those customers who would like to join the ranks of those enjoying the benefits of solar energy, but aren’t ready to make the financial commitment necessary, we offer the We’ll Buy It program. Get Me Some Solar will install the equipment at our own cost and you lease it from us. Our company applies for the incentives and shares the electricity savings with you.”

My BS meter went into the red zone. “Wow,” I said. “That sounds so easy.”

“That’s what we do,” he said. “We make it easy to join the future. The future of clean energy in a safer world.”

I nodded. “So how many of my neighbors are installing solar?”

“A lot.” He pulled a stack of papers out of his leather binder and riffled through them. “It’s a simple decision for anyone with a significant energy bill.”

“This calls for some more tea,” I said. “I’ll get it.” I picked up the teapot, which wasn’t close to empty, and went into the kitchen, clutching the laminated chart.

“I’m sorry, Henna,” I called out. “I can’t find the lemon.”

“Excuse me,” she told him, managing to sound both annoyed and bewildered.

“Don’t sign anything,” I told her in a low voice when she joined me in the kitchen. “I’m going to have Erica look into this and see if it’s legit.”

She scowled at me. “I’m not a little old lady who can be conned, you know.”

“I know,” I said. “You’re a successful business owner. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Mr. Jaffe, but I’m pretty sure he won’t tell you that those solar panels use wireless technology. I know you don’t like that.”

Her eyes widened and then drew together in frustration. She knew I’d found her weak spot. “By the way, Opal is totally mad at you for telling the police about her,” she said.

“What? But I didn’t.”

She crossed her arms and smiled.

Henna lied to Opal to get back at me? No wonder Opal never returned my phone call about photographing Hillary Punkin. “Just tell Terrence I had an emergency,” I said. “I’m going home this way.”

I went out the back door and waited in the dark by the chicken coop. A minute later, the president left, looking back in confusion, probably wondering where he’d gone wrong. He stared at my house for a minute and then put on his Bluetooth, got in his car and drove away.

A solar guy driving a gas-guzzling car. How did he explain that?

I
woke up the next morning way before my alarm, worry running through my head like a live electrical wire hopping around on the ground. The minutes dragged and then suddenly rushed by so fast that I skipped my morning run.

I worried incessantly on my drive to the store. Would anyone show up to buy my chocolate? Would people even take my free samples? Would I ever hear back from my hotel again? Would I have a heart attack before the store opened?

Kona was leaning on her car, sipping coffee by the back entrance of the shop, and I sniffled a little. I loved that girl. She opened her car door as I pulled up beside her, grabbed another huge travel mug and slammed the door shut with her hip. “Ready for the big day?”

“Have I told you lately how freakin’ awesome you are?” I took a mug from her so she could lock her door, and the smell of her special mocha with a touch of cayenne pepper wafted into my nose. I took a sip and immediately felt calm, as if the caffeine in the drink was fighting my nerves and using up all the negative energy.

“Not since yesterday,” she said.

“You didn’t have to come in so early,” I said, “but I’m really glad you’re here.” The sound of gravel shifting under our feet seemed loud in the morning quiet.

Coco sauntered up from around the corner. “Oh look,” Kona said. “Minotaur is back.”

“Minotaur?” I asked. “That’s Coco.” The cat took turns winding around our ankles.

Kona gave me a pretend scowl. “Minotaur hangs around the library sometimes. The college kids feed her.”

That cat gets around.

I welcomed the reassuring feeling of every step of opening the store. Bringing an assortment of chocolates from the back wine cooler storage unit to the display case, turning the chocolate warmer on to dip strawberries and pineapples, making coffee and filling the cream dispensers.

Erica arrived a little later. “Are we ready to rumble?” she yelled with the delivery of a pro wrestling announcer. She held up both hands, showing crossed fingers, and then started her own opening process. Colleen joined her, looking exhausted.

We weren’t planning to make any more chocolate until we saw what happened with sales, so I focused on everything else—turning on the register and documenting the money we’d left there Sunday night, rearranging the chocolates on display and worrying about what to do if no one showed.

We were ready early, so I distracted myself by telling Erica about Henna’s solar guy. “Maybe you can research that company,” I added. “It sounded fishy to me.”

“From what I understand,” she said, “the great majority of solar companies aren’t doing anything illegal. But they don’t always explain to customers that the best benefit to them is to pay for the system up front and then enjoy more of the savings themselves.”

“That’s not illegal?” I asked. “What about someone who doesn’t understand all the complexities like you do?”

“Again, it’s all legal.” She shrugged. “But I’ll check them out.”

As the last half hour before opening sped by, I started panicking. Why had we made so much chocolate?

I couldn’t stand the suspense. “Kona,” I said, waving to the front door a few minutes before opening time. “Would you like to do the honors?”

She smiled and headed to the door, pausing as if she heard something. She clicked open the lock and turned the knob tentatively. When the door opened, I could hear what had made her pause. A crowd had formed outside the door. A crowd of my neighbors and friends who had lined up to buy my chocolate.

I stood by the counter and stared before dropping my tray of free samples on the closest table and rushing over to give everyone a hug as they filed in, fighting back tears the whole time. I was a big sloppy mess.

Thank goodness Principal Palladine gave me his handkerchief. I was sure seeing the person who was about to serve them chocolate wiping her snot on her sleeve would make them turn around and say, “Never mind.”

I couldn’t help but stick my head outside to see how many people had lined up. Leo and Bean brought up the rear, a good thirty people back. “Hey, Berry,” Leo said. “How about getting to work?”

“Did you do this?” I asked him after I made my way down the line, thanking everyone along the way.

“Nah,” he said. “Erica called a few folks who passed the info along that you needed some help.”

Bean gave me a crooked smile, and I melted a little. Leo squinted at me, as if wondering what was going on.

I rushed back to help Kona, who was happily ringing up a small plate of truffles and a coffee for Beatrice. I handed her a gift box of three chocolate bars. “That’s for being first in line.”

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “But I was just as anxious as you to get back here. I don’t know how I survived this week without your delicious Raspberry Surprises.”

“Ten percent off?” Kona asked quietly.

“Fifty,” I said, perhaps a little delirious in my happiness.

She smiled and shook her head. “Ten is plenty.”

We sped people through the line. Some took their orders to go, but about half sat down in our dining area or headed over to the bookstore side to pick up the latest bestsellers.

Finally it was Leo’s and Bean’s turn. They stood a little awkwardly, as if something was going on between them.

“You guys okay?” I asked.

Bean had his poker face on but Leo’s eyes narrowed. “Not now.”

“Really?” I asked.

Leo shook his head and answered with a short, “No.”

I didn’t push. I was in my happy place, where all was right with the world. Even seeing some of our customers looking around, obviously wondering where “it” had happened couldn’t dim my joy.

Abby Brenton, who had been the town’s deputy mayor for the last fifteen of her sixtysomething years, came in after the early rush, wearing a bedazzled rose gingham shirt over a jean skirt and white flat shoes that could only be described as “sensible.”

“Abby!” I said. “So nice to see you. I thought you didn’t like chocolate.” I held out the sample tray, half empty.

“I’m allergic,” she said.

I pulled the tray back. “Really? What happens when you eat it?”

“Relax,” she said. “I just break out.” She chuckled. “In fat.”

I made an exaggerated “whew” gesture across my forehead. She ordered a large assortment from Kona and then spoke to some older ladies at the counter before heading on out.

One of my customers who always hid her tiny dog in her huge purse stopped in. I’d given up on telling her it was against the health code. She’d always hold him up and say, “Who could kick out this lil’ face?”

I had just finished serving a pack of women in yoga clothes, glowing from their workout, when Mayor Gwen Ficks arrived. A few reporter types followed, taking photos. She seemed pleased at the crowd. “I was all set to buy a big box of chocolate and eat it all over town,” she said. “Obviously, I don’t need to.”

I felt a rush of gratitude. “Well, we don’t have the
whole
town in here, so maybe that’ll work on those on the fence.” I couldn’t stop smiling. “Black Forest Milks?”

“Absolutely,” Gwen said. “And throw in some caramels for Abby. I’ve been out of town so much lately that she’s been going above and beyond. Not that she doesn’t always.”

I watched the mayor walk outside, ostentatiously taking a bite out of her truffle. She probably was even saying, “Yummy,” as she walked to her office in the courthouse. I couldn’t thank her enough for doing her part.

Then I noticed Reese taking photos. What was she up to now?

• • • • • • • • • 

T
he rest of the morning passed in a blur of neighbors stopping in to support us, as if we were the last known survivors of a major disaster, coupled with a pent-up demand for my chocolate and Erica’s and Colleen’s books. I guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder. Or maybe people didn’t like it if they couldn’t get something they used to have access to. At noon, we were out of Preakness coins, as people prepared for their race parties later in the day. We closed up and posted a
Closed for Funeral
sign.

Colleen changed into a black dress and headed over to the funeral home. Erica, Kona and I had agreed to go home to change into our own somber outfits and meet there. My morning bliss faded away, disappearing completely by the time we arrived.

From the street, the West Riverdale Funeral Home looked like the dignified redbrick building of historical record that it was. But over the decades, owners had added on various wings pointing out in different directions, giving the side and back views a ramshackle appearance.

The parking lot was more than half full, indicating that they had other services going on as well.

“I’ve read hundreds of murder mysteries,” Erica said, “and the funeral is often a great place to get clues.”

I smiled. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

The very atmosphere of the funeral home seemed to ooze grief, as if past mourners had left some of their emotion behind to gather in corners and attach itself to the tasteful yet subdued wallpaper. I couldn’t help but remember my parents’ service, in this very building.

The enormity of Denise’s death hit me. Denise was gone. Forever.

Tears pressed against my eyes and I escaped to the ladies’ room, luckily empty. I holed up in the end stall to get control.

Two young women in clicking heels walked in and went straight to the mirror. One of them groaned. “When can we leave?” They must’ve been attending another service.

“My mom said we can’t be the first ones outta here,” the other said. “He’s our boss. And he’s grieving. Blah, blah.”

“Then how long can we stay in here?” Her groan was more of a whine this time.

“As long as we can.”

“Did you hear back from Rusty about his party?”

I heard fumbling and assumed the other woman was rummaging through her purse for her phone. Should I come out now? I didn’t recognize the voices, so what did it matter if they saw me splashing water on my face and repairing my makeup?

“He says it’s on,” she said. “He said I should bring these chocolates.”

“What chocolates?”

“From this video that Reese woman has on her blog,” she said, laughing. “Here, check out my phone.”

I heard the screechy sound of Reese, trying to sound like a television reporter. “Today I’m embarrassed to call myself a citizen of West Riverdale. How is it possible that the mayor of our town endangers the very people who voted her into office? Why is she sacrificing public safety to support one store? I can’t imagine how anyone would risk their life just to eat chocolate. Perhaps they ordered these.”

And then the unmistakable sound of me yelling “Nooo!” Reese had obviously posted that damn video again.

The girls laughed.

Screw it, I decided. I’m not hiding from some idiot kids because of crazy Reese. I deliberately flushed the toilet and stepped out. “Hello.”

I walked to the sink while they stared at me, openmouthed, obviously recognizing me, and then looked back at the phone.

“Uh,” one of them said. “Hello.” They left, stumbling over each other in their hurry.

I dug for my phone and brought up Reese’s blog. There it was, the headline reading,
Reopening: Under Same Old, Same Old
, with a photo of me serving Mayor Gwen, right over a link featuring me about to toss the X-rated chocolates in the air.

I didn’t bother with the video and just read. Reese was really going at the mayor, the police and, of course, me. Me, for serving poisoned chocolate; the mayor for a variety of things, including supporting our store, pushing through the special sales tax and helping to sell more of the now-empty homes in her development. And the police, for not arresting me.

My resentment of Reese certainly pulled me out of my pity party, and I met Erica on the way back.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Does this place have a banned guest list?” I shoved the phone at her.

“I’m sure it does.” She read Reese’s blog, her face showing her growing anger. “I’ll take care of it.”

• • • • • • • • • 

T
he only clue we discovered was that Jake Hale had a big mouth. And we watched it in action before the funeral even started.

I had the first inklings of a problem when I saw Jake talking to Henna while everyone gathered in the parlor before the service, and they both turned toward us. He must’ve told her about our conversation in the bar. Then Henna raced off to talk to a group of older women. When they all turned to look at us with the same expression of surprise on their faces, I knew we were doomed. “Did you see that?” I asked Erica.

“Yes.” She frowned. “An interesting case study in small-town dynamics.”

“So you’re not as freaked out as I am that the whole town is finding out we’re investigating Denise’s murder?” I said out of the corner of my mouth.

The group dispersed and soon parts of the whole room were staring at us. “Well, that cat is out of the bag.” I wondered what kind of trouble this would cause us.

Erica shrugged. “Maybe it’ll help us somehow.”

It was back to avoiding speculative glances sent our way as we moved into the room for the service, and the funeral proceeded. Denise’s pastor gave a heartfelt sermon and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house when he discussed Denise joining her mother in heaven. Colleen was able to put her other problems aside and give a moving eulogy of the great friend Denise had been, the loving daughter who handled her mother’s illness with grace and the successful businessperson who contributed so much to West Riverdale.