Kernel of Truth (17 page)

He held up his hands to stop me. “Not yet, but you've got to try to lie low, Rebecca. You're not doing yourself any favors.”

No. I'd been too busy doing favors for little old ladies in the hospital and drunk women in crashed Honda Civics, and look where that had gotten me. “How am I supposed to lie any lower than I've been lying?”

“You could start by not snooping around in old ladies' houses at night and getting yourself arrested for breaking and entering.” He brushed the hair off my forehead. He held up his hands. “I know you had keys. It doesn't make it look any better.”

I sighed.

“You could also turn evidence over to Dan instead of running off to snoop into things yourself,” Garrett said.

“Like what evidence?”

“Like the FedEx ticket and the to-do list. Actually, give them to me now and I'll take them to Dan. I'm not sure he wants to see you right now.” I got up and fished the ticket out of my purse and then went and got Coco's to-do-list notepad from my desk and handed them over.

“Did you seriously do the pencil rubbing thing to see her to-do list?” Garrett looked at the notepad and shook his head.

I blushed. It had seemed totally logical to me. “I had to if I wanted to see what was on it.”

Garrett stopped shaking his head. In fact, he sat very still. “But the actual to-do list wasn't in her office?”

“Not that I saw and clearly not that Dan saw.” I wasn't sure where he was going with this. Then it dawned on me. “You think the killer took her to-do list?”

He shrugged. “I know it sounds pretty far-fetched. It was just a thought.” He stood up and headed for the door.

I followed him, and then suddenly we were there somehow standing too close to each other again.

He leaned forward and his lips touched mine. Time ground to a halt. There was me. There was him. There were our mouths joined together. Then I pushed him away and looked behind him.

“Are you looking for something?”

“Sprocket,” I said. “I thought maybe he pushed you again.”

He laughed and shook his head. Then he looped his arm around my waist and pulled me against him. “No, Rebecca. This is all me.”

*   *   *

After Garrett left,
which I made him do before any of our clothing got seriously disarranged despite the fact that the kisses had been darn nice, I pulled Coco's business plan
binder onto my lap. It started with an executive summary then moved on to a business concept description. I felt I was following pretty well until I hit the financial features and requirements section. There were a lot of charts and graphs and a lot of numbers. Like piles of numbers.

My relationship with numbers was somewhat troubled. Somehow I was fine with them in the kitchen. Cups and ounces, doubling and halving, converting to metric. No big deal as long as it was in a recipe. Put a dollar sign in front of something? It stopped me in my tracks like a deer preparing to become venison in front of a set of headlights.

Here's the thing about recipes. They don't really mean much. They are, in the end, only as good as the person making the dish. You have to be a little like Kenny Rogers's gambler. You have to know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em. You have to know when to follow the directions to the letter and when to let your own creativity shine. You have to be able to feel them in your bones. Your blood has to bubble and froth with your soups. Your heart has to beat with the rhythm of your whisk. Otherwise a recipe is nothing more than a set of words on a piece of paper.

I highly suspected a business plan was much the same. It would only be as good as the person who was following the plan.

I equally highly suspected I was not the person who would know how to make a business plan sing. I knew my way around a kitchen. I could make food that would make people feel. I could make a mac and cheese that would make you think you were being held on your grandmother's lap and a Prosecco sorbet that would make you think you had just fallen in love. I wasn't sure I could make a popcorn and chocolate wonderland that would have people driving from all over northern Ohio to experience it without bankrupting my already-broke self.

I slumped down into the red armchair and cursed its cheeriness. Cheery was about the last thing I was feeling at the moment. In fact, I might never feel cheery again.

I picked up the sheaf of recipes Coco and I had been developing. I caressed the page that held our popcorn fudge ideas. Think rocky road, but with popcorn instead of marshmallows to give it that extra salty schwing. Then I sat bolt upright. I might not be able to make a business plan sing, but I damn sure could make this recipe. I generally didn't do much with chocolate or fudge at POPS since Coco's Cocoas was right next door, but Jessica hadn't opened the doors since Coco's murder. Now I knew she was selling the building to Allen, and most likely the recipe was going off to one of the big confectionary companies.

There actually was no Coco's Cocoas next door to me anymore and no reason to not make that fudge. I didn't have a lot of time, but I really only had to make two of the recipes to accomplish what I had in mind.

I did what Coco would have expected me to do. I got to work.

Apparently, the lure
of a free piece of fudge trumps the distaste of taking food from a suspected murderess. I set Susanna—who, let's face it, was a draw all on her own—with a table of the tuxedo popcorn fudge and the Coco Pop Fudge in front of the store and plastered a great big Free Samples Today Only sign on the table.

It was like throwing bread crumbs on a lake. The geese flocked to it. Or in this case, the people of Grand Lake.

It started slow, but word gets around quickly in a small town. For once, that was working to my advantage. By the end of the week, there was a line going out the door of POPS at three in the afternoon when they knew that the Coco Pop Fudge would be hitting the counter.

It was a little like having invented the Cronut. Admittedly on a smaller scale, but the same feeling. If forced to give it a name, I'd call that feeling good. Real good.

If forced to be completely honest, it felt even better when Jessica shoved her way into POPS at four thirty, one arm
still in a sling, but plenty able to use her other tiny needlelike elbow to get through the crowd. She then screamed at me in front of everyone. Her face red, she shouted, “Rebecca Anderson, what the hell do you think you're doing?”

Everything went silent. The room had been buzzing before, but now you could hear water boiling in the kitchen. I had a feeling no one had ever heard Jessica come even close to swearing before much less yell out the word Mrs. Calvin spelled as h-e-double-toothpicks. I was willing to bet Jessica was calling me a “see you next Tuesday” in her head, but she wasn't quite mad enough to spit that out. Yet.

I smiled and said, “I'm selling fudge.”

“Coco's fudge, you mean. You're selling Coco's Signature Fudge, her secret recipe fudge.” She jabbed her finger toward my face. Luckily, with the counter between us and the height difference she wasn't going to get anywhere close to my face. Otherwise I'd be worried she was going to jab my eyes out.

“Not Coco's fudge. You know better than that, Jessica. Or you would if you tasted it. That recipe belongs to you and only you. This was a new recipe that Coco and I were working on together. For the new business. The one you said she would never go into with me.” I pulled the business plan out from under the counter and put it out for everyone to see.

I heard a few gasps from the crowd and Jessica's face went pale as she looked at the binder. “Give me a piece of that.” She grabbed a square off the display and crammed it into her mouth. She swayed while she ate it. Had she been drinking again?

“That's no way to taste something, Jessica. You know that.” It wasn't, either. Shoving a hunk of something into your mouth and chewing it like a wad of Bazooka was not
a good way to appreciate the subtleties of anything. Even if she hadn't tasted it the way she should have, Jessica got enough of a sample to know it wasn't Coco's secret recipe, either. Which, for me, was not so secret. I'd spent too many years helping Coco in the kitchen to not know that recipe. I also had too much respect for Coco to do anything with it, even if I was pretty sure she was going to give it to me in her new will. That had not been the way the fudge had crumbled. Or melted. Or set. Whatever. That was okay. I had these new recipes, ones I had more ownership of. No one could take these recipes from me.

Oh, it had some of the qualities. The smoothness. The richness. The way it melted against the tongue. It had a few other things as well. The new fudge was a little lighter, a little more playful. It had a little more zing. I'm not saying exactly—because I like to keep my secrets, too—but I had placed a fairly large order for cayenne with my supplier. Also, sea salt is such a nice addition. Maybe even a touch of caramel. Honestly, there's a lot a person can do with fudge.

“This is disrespectful, Rebecca. Terribly disrespectful.” Jessica shook her head, making her blond hair swing and then having to take a step backward to steady herself.

I cut off a piece of fudge from another display and held it out. “Wanna try the tuxedo version?”

I thought steam was going to start coming out of Jessica's ears. She knew that Coco had struggled with making a tuxedo fudge that she thought was worthy. Combining white and dark or white and milk chocolates is a tricky proposition. Some people don't even consider white chocolate to be a true chocolate. Finding the right combination of cocoa butter and sugar and milk to have the same consistency as the dark chocolate took some experimentation on our part.
I still might make some tweaks, but the tuxedo popcorn fudge was pretty good as it stood.

Jessica must have thought so, too. I could see her think about spitting it out to show her disgust with me, but she couldn't get herself to do it. It was that good.

“I will be back, Rebecca. With my lawyer,” she said as she marched back out.

“And I'll get you my pretty,” Susanna said sort of under her breath, but not entirely. The whole room laughed. I felt a glow in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with chocolate.

Let her call her lawyer. Mine was a good kisser and I had him on speed dial.

*   *   *

I closed up
the shop at the normal time. Tom was in back of the shop and practically snatched the bag of leftover popcorn—which was decidedly smaller than the ones he'd been getting the week before—and left. I watched him go, uneasy about how much he disliked women business owners and how easily he moved in and out of the shadows of Grand Lake.

We'd run out of fudge long before closing, but I needed the time to place orders for more supplies for what were clearly going to be some winning recipes. I decided to have them delivered so I wouldn't have to run into two-dimensional Antoine over at Kroger again. I swept up and then Sprocket and I were on our way to the lake.

I spotted the black SUV a block over as we crossed Court Street. Instead of continuing on, I doubled back and went around the block. The SUV was still there, like a dark hulk waiting for its prey.

Well, I was tired of being prey. I was tired of being pushed around. This was a new me and a new day and I was taking charge.

I walked up to the black SUV and knocked on the window.

It sunk smoothly down into its groove and I looked into the face of a woman probably around ten years older than me. She had a heart-shaped face, a good haircut, and trendy smart-girl glasses. “Can I help you?”

I admired her calm. “Yeah. You can tell me why you've been lurking around Grand Lake.”

“I'm afraid I can't discuss that. Confidentiality issues. You understand.” She started to close the window, but I leaned on it with both hands.

“No. I don't understand. Who are you and why do I keep seeing you around my shop?” I would not be brushed off like a nobody again.

“I'm sure I don't understand what you're talking about.” She smiled that bland smile at me again.

“You know a woman was murdered here and another one was attacked.” I didn't really think this woman had done anything, but maybe she had seen something. “The police are feeling a little bit jumpy about strangers hanging around and following women business owners.”

“I'm aware. I was very sorry to hear about Ms. Bittles. Her fudge is famous all over northern Ohio. I was a big admirer. I'm a little bit of a foodie. Would you mind moving away from my window so I can go?” Her smile was getting less bland and more anxious by the second.

“I mind a lot. I want to know who you are and what you're doing here. I want to know why you've been lurking around Coco's shop. Who sent you? One of the big chocolate companies? Maybe some developer who wants to buy it more
than our greedy mayor?” I leaned forward a little so our faces were very close.

She laughed now, a throaty raucous guffaw. “Big chocolate? Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious,” I said, refusing to be put off by her mocking tone. If she didn't know about Big Chocolate then I wasn't going to educate her. She could drown in their syrup before she knew which way the cocoa was blowing.

“You're not going to go away, are you?” she asked.

“Not a chance,” I said.

She shook her head and sighed. “Fine. I'll explain. It was a ridiculous assignment anyway.” She stuck out her hand. “My name is Leslie Stephens. I'm a private detective from Toledo. Antoine Belanger hired me to keep an eye on you.”

*   *   *

“You know, this
is really good,” Leslie said as she polished off another popcorn ball. It was her fourth. I wondered where she put it all. She was about as big around as my pinky finger. “I desperately wanted some of that fudge everyone has been lining up for, but I didn't dare come into the shop. I was worried you were onto me and I guess I was right. I don't suppose you have any left?”

We were sitting in the kitchen of POPS. After her bombshell of an announcement, I figured we needed to sit down and talk without an audience. I pulled out some of the fudge batch for the next day. “This should be close to set by now.” I cut off some and handed it to her.

She took a bite and made a kind of whooping noise. “Amazing. Can I get some to take back to Toledo? I know someone there who will be really interested in this.”

As if there was someone on the planet who wasn't
interested in chocolate. Well, not many someones. “How long has this been going on? This thing with Antoine?”

She narrowed her eyes and thought. “A couple of weeks. It's pretty easy duty. It's not every day, so I'm free to take other jobs here and there. You have a routine and you don't waver from it much.”

“Thanks. I think.” Having a routine made me sound responsible. Or possibly really dull.

“Well, except when you're breaking into houses.” She took another piece of fudge off the plate. “That's more exciting.”

“I didn't . . .” I decided to let it go. Maybe Garrett was right. Maybe I was splitting hairs. “So you're Antoine's source? The way he's found out about everything going on here in Grand Lake?”

“Well, everything that has to do with you. He's not interested in much else.” She cocked her head. “He seems really devoted, and Lord knows he's hot. And rich. Why are you insisting on living in this little Podunk town where people don't even seem to like you that much? If he wanted me back, I'd be on the next plane, and I don't even like guys.”

When she put it like that, it was hard to answer. “Let's just say that the devotion thing is new.”

She shrugged. “He's still hot and rich. I think a lot of women would settle for that. Hell, most of them would settle for just rich.”

“Then they can have him,” I said.

“Hey!” she said.

I looked down. Sprocket had his nose deep in her purse. He immediately pulled it out and trotted over to his bed with a makeup bag in his mouth. “Sprocket!”

I followed him over to his bed. I took the makeup bag, but noticed a lump under the cushion.

“What else have you been hiding?” I asked Sprocket as I moved the cushion. One tennis ball, two squishy toys—one of which I was pretty sure was a Teletubby—and a lavender sachet with CB embroidered on it. “Seriously, Sprocket?”

“A whole family of lawbreakers, eh?” Leslie said with her throaty laugh.

*   *   *

We said good
night soon after and I figured that would be the last I would ever see of Leslie Stephens, but I was wrong. She was back the next morning, waiting at the door with a bunch of my breakfast bar regulars. Apparently once you accepted fudge from a suspected murderess, you might as well accept breakfast bars as well. Everyone was back. I was going to have to consider hiring more help if I was going to have a morning rush and an afternoon rush.

“Back for more?” I asked Leslie when it was her turn.

“Well, yes, but I got a new assignment last night. I have something for you, too.” She handed me an envelope as I handed her two dried-cranberry and white chocolate breakfast bars and a cup of coffee.

“What's this?” I asked.

“A cease and desist order,” she said with a smile. “Have a nice day, Rebecca. You've been served.”

Then she was gone.

I ripped open the envelope and scanned the contents. Then I took out my phone and hit the speed dial for Garrett. It was a damn good thing he'd put his number in my phone. I felt like he was the only one I was calling these days.

“Hi, Rebecca.” Just hearing his voice made me feel a little bit better, but only a little bit.

“I've been served.” I kept looking through the papers, hoping that there was some kind of mistake.

“With what? Coffee?”

“I wish. Unless of course it came from the diner.” I took another look at the papers. They weren't changing. “A cease and desist from Jessica James about my Coco Pop Fudge.”

He laughed. “Come in as soon as Susanna gets there and we'll talk.”

*   *   *

Annie came by
for coffee before Susanna came in. I showed her the papers. “Jessica is suing you?” She laughed.

“Why does everybody think this is so funny?” I took the papers back from her. They didn't appear remotely humorous to me.

“But Coco Pop Fudge is not Coco's fudge recipe,” Annie protested. “Even I can taste that.”

Annie was a terrible cook, but she wasn't a bad eater. I wasn't surprised she could taste the difference. “Jessica knows it, too. She tasted my fudge. I could see in her eyes that she knew it wasn't Coco's recipe.”

“Can you prove it, though? I don't think the look on Jessica's face when she ate it is going to be admissible.” Annie stirred her coffee.

“How do you prove something like that? I have my notes in my handwriting about the recipes Coco and I were working on, but I don't have a copy of Coco's recipe in her handwriting.” I chewed on my lower lip, thinking.