Death Is Like a Box of Chocolates (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (12 page)

My store was only two blocks away. I’d walked close to it, telling myself that I was looking for Coco, but I also just wanted to see it. It made me ache, like I was experiencing nostalgia for a long-lost home.

It seemed like most of the town was here as well as a lot of people I didn’t know who probably weren’t actually involved with the festival. I’d been standing by the cookies and coffee table when the first few people came in and veered away, sending me speculative glances. Did they think I’d poisoned the cookies? I was probably being paranoid, but in the event they were not on carb-free diets, I slinked to the opposite corner in the back.

I was surprised to see a bunch of Erica’s Super Hero Geek Team club members coming in the back door, holding money. Erica pulled out a box from under a covered table and handed out comic books, collecting money and accepting her thanks. They must not have been able to wait until we reopened for their comic-book fix.

Henna sat up straight in the front row, as if to prove her innocence. Right beside her sat Reese Everhard, which added to my anxiety. She was obviously willing to say or do anything for a story. Beatrice Duncan was a few rows back, in a one-sided discussion with Sammy, haranguing him about something having to do with the hardware store, while Howard stared off into the corner. Principal Palladine walked in with a guy in an expensive business suit and slicked-back hair. The guy was giving him a friendly smile but seemed unhappy with whatever they were discussing. The principal seemed displeased as well, although his face lit up when he saw me. He left the businessman behind and came over.

“How are you, Michelle?” He always used the prettiest pronunciation of my name, “Mee-shell,” with a little French lilt at the end. He gave my shoulder a small squeeze in support. “Holding up okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Ready to get back to work.”

He nodded approvingly. “Sounds like you.”

Principal Palladine had been one of my favorite adults after the death of my parents. He hadn’t fawned all over me like some, trying to be the one who saved me from my grief. He hadn’t attempted to take over for Leo and be my parent. He’d called me into his office once to offer any help when I needed it. I didn’t realize it until much later, but he’d most likely intervened when teachers had become tired of my acting out in classes or when I skipped doing homework. I’d always been somewhat of an academic slacker and my grief at my parents’ death had only intensified my you-only-live-once mentality. It was a miracle I graduated, which may also have been because of him.

“Who is that guy?” I asked. “I haven’t seen him before.”

“He’s the president of Get Me Some Solar, the company installing the panels at our school,” he said.

“Seems like you weren’t getting along so well.” I sure was getting nosy.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he said. “Just trying to nail down some details.”

“What a great project,” I said.

“Yep,” he said. “It’s going to save us a ton on electricity.”

An older lady who had been the secretary when I was in high school waved from the chairs, and the principal excused himself.

I felt a little alone for a moment, and then Leo was standing beside me.

“You sneak in the back?” I smiled my delight in having him there.

“Seems like the place to be tonight.” He looked around the fast-filling room. It could only help to have the visible support of my decorated war veteran brother. I moved a little closer to him as the police contingent—Chief Noonan, Lieutenant Bobby and Detective Lockett—came through the door right on time and stood against the wall by the entrance.

Erica nodded to them and then moved to the podium on the small stage. The banner announcing the Great Fudge Cook-off and highlighting all of the sponsors hung behind her. We’d created a whole new category—Titanium Sponsor—for Get Me Some Solar so that they could have top billing. Now that I’d seen the thousand-dollar suit the president was wearing, I wished we had charged them more.

Erica welcomed everyone and reminded them that we were all on the same team to make Memorial Day weekend go off without a hitch. She gave a wonderful little introduction of the mayor, who added her peppy speech to the momentum of the feel-good meeting.

Then Gwen introduced Chief Noonan, and the mood changed.

“Thank you all for coming.” He introduced Detective Lockett and Lieutenant Bobby. “I know you must have a lot of questions about this terrible crime. I just wanted to let you know that we are working closely with the state police and will find out who did this.”

Noonan cleared his throat. “I’ll take your questions, but please know that I won’t be discussing any details, since this is an active investigation.”

“Do you have any leads?” Someone asked from the front. “We hear locals have been brought in for questioning.”

He meant Mark. I tensed until the chief said, “We’ve interviewed several persons of interest and so far, no suspects have been identified.”

Bean appeared on the other side of me, his whole focus on the spectacle while I couldn’t help but notice how cute he looked in a black T-shirt that pulled across his shoulder, oh-so-close to mine.

A man with a digital recorder and notepad did a double take when he saw Bean and jumped up to talk to him. “Hey, Russell,” he said, shoving his glasses up on top of his head and shaking Bean’s hand. “You on this?”

“Oliver,” Bean said. “Nah, I live here. They got you on the crime beat now?”

He chuckled. “Nope. I’m here checking out your mayor.”

Bean’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on with her?”

“Not sure yet. I got a tip that some super PAC is interested in her potential run for the House next year.”

I tried to keep the surprise off my face, as if I wasn’t eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Why would a super PAC be interested in a small-town mayor?” Bean asked.

“You tell me,” he said. “From what I understand, the party is having a hard time getting people to step up to the plate this time around. Bad political environment. I’m just following the money to see what’s up.” He got a calculating look on his face. “You know the players here. Who should I talk to?”

Bean shook his head. “I don’t know yet. Just got into town.” He thought for a moment. “I’ll give you what I find out, okay?”

“You got any dirt on her?” The reporter’s voice was eager.

Bean shook his head. “Clean as a whistle. I don’t think you’ll find anything.”

The reporter snorted. “There’s always something,” he said. “Gives me job stability.” He moved back to his chair and asked, “Mayor Ficks, there have been rumors that you’re considering a run for the House of Representatives. How would the recent violence in your town affect that?”

A small murmur went up in the audience, but the mayor didn’t even look surprised. She took a step forward and the chief handed her the microphone. “Right now I’m focusing on keeping West Riverdale as safe as it’s been during my whole tenure.” She stepped back and the next question was directed to the chief.

Look at our Gwen, being all mayor-ly. I felt proud that our little town of West Riverdale might have someone in Congress. Maybe she’d even buy my chocolates to give away to all of her hotshot DC friends.

Reese decided she’d been waving her skinny spider-monkey arms long enough without a response and stood. My stomach dropped. “It has been reported that Ms. Coburn died from poisoned chocolates made by Michelle Serrano.” She turned to point to me in the back. “And she is planning to open her store again in a few days. How safe are her chocolates?”

“Well,” the chief began before Detective Lockett moved in front of him at the podium.

“After thorough testing by the state crime lab, we verified that only the chocolates in the box and those ingested by the victim were poisoned. It was not accidental poisoning. The shop in question has been cleared because there are no safety issues.”

Actual tears came to my eyes and I had to sniffle a little before Leo handed me the bandana hanging out of his back pocket. I was so grateful for Lockett’s very public show of support. Leo put his arm around my shoulder for a manly hug.

“Interesting.” Bean’s eyes stayed on the detective.

But Reese didn’t give up. “Would you eat her chocolate, detective?”

Mayor Gwen spoke up so loud she didn’t need the mike. “Why Reese Everhard, are you ever gonna grow the heck up?” A little bit of her southern twang came through. “You’re still mad that Michelle led the basketball team to the state finals all these years later?” She took a step forward to address the whole crowd. “People, this is the problem with our government right now. They’re all stuck in high school like Reese here. It’s time to
move on
.”

“She’s good,” Bean’s friend muttered. “Homey, loyal and professional all in the same package.”

If his buddy was right about Gwen’s intentions, it sounded like she had her campaign slogan. I could see the banners now:
Move On with Gwen Ficks
.

I
drove home in a hopeful daze that even the wild wind that was always a preview for a storm couldn’t dim. I’d be back in my shop tomorrow. A lot of my neighbors, and customers, had come over to say good night, this time without the speculation that had been apparent earlier at the meeting. Leo had left as soon as he could, but Bean had stayed right by me. Sometimes our arms touched, which generated totally inappropriate zings through me just when the pastor of the local church offered me his warm wishes.

Reese had escaped right away, obviously cowed by the mayor’s words. Maybe she’d leave me alone from now on.

Detective Lockett had been out the door as soon as the formal presentation part was over, skipping the cookies, coffee and gossip part of the evening. Bean had kept an eye on him as he left, as if he didn’t quite trust him.

Already planning what chocolate magic I’d be whipping up the next day, I completely ignored the car parked across the street from my house. That is, until Reese got out and stood by my minivan door, blocking me in. I could either whack her out of the way, which I considered, or wait for her to say her piece and leave.

“Why is the mayor defending you?” she asked, her face tight with annoyance. And maybe embarrassment. “What do you have on her?”

“Oh, so that’s the only answer?” I scoffed, trying not to feel intimidated.

“What?”

She couldn’t hear me through the window and with the wind blowing through the giant oaks around my house. I lowered the window an inch. “You’re losing your mind, Reese. The only reason the mayor said those things to you is because you sound like an idiot. You can’t make up a conspiracy where there isn’t one.”

“Right,” Reese said. “And that’s why the state cop told everyone your chocolate was safe when he knows they found poison in your kitchen. And why the mayor threatened to take away my community education grant if I didn’t leave you alone.”

My disbelief must have shown on my face because she ramped up to yelling. “And why they’re not talking about needles hidden in the Harris house.” She flinched, as if she hadn’t wanted to tell me that.

What? Needles found in Colleen’s house? “How would you know what they found?” I asked. “Do you have a mole in the police department? Is that what they taught you in your online journalism class? Or maybe
you
planted the poison in my kitchen.” I opened the minivan door, forcing her to jump back as I got out. “Did you kill Denise just to have a real story for once? And try to implicate me for some stupid revenge?”

To say she looked shocked was an understatement. She rocked back on her heels and her mouth opened and shut a few times. Not a good look for someone who already resembled a stork. More like a pelican now.

Then she slammed her jaw shut. “You listen to me, Michelle Serrano. You may think you can hide behind your bigwig friends, but I have the power of the press on my side and I’m going to prove you did it.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” I said.
And barking mad
. “And losing your chance to find the real killer.” The “you idiot” was implied in my tone.

She stomped back to her car just as Erica drove up.

“What was that about?” Erica asked as she joined me in watching Reese drive away.

“She thinks we’re in some conspiracy with the mayor and Lockett to hide what really happened with Denise,” I said, my anger turning into confusion. “She said the police found needles at Mark and Colleen’s.” Worry tingled at the back of my neck.

Erica was stunned. “That’s crazy.”

“I know,” I said. “Why didn’t Bobby tell us?”

“You have to talk to him,” she said. “Or maybe have Leo ask.” Her voice trailed off and then she seemed to regroup. “Let’s put that aside for now.” Erica held out something shiny in her hand. “Guess what this is?”

I looked at it closely. “A flash drive?” I asked, with a sarcastic tone.

“And guess where I found it?” She tugged her backpack out of the front seat and threw it on her shoulder.

“I hate guessing games,” I said. “Just tell me.”

“In that book Denise mentioned to you,” she said, a little smug. “
The Eighties at Echo Beach
.”

“What? You went in the shop? How does it look?” I was consumed with a desire to go to my home away from home, combined with an equal amount of dread at having to face the spot where Denise died.

“It looks great,” she said. “The cleanup is done. We’re on track to get in there tomorrow and open on Saturday. I’m using what Detective Lockett said tonight for the press release, and you’ll need to send it out to all of your clients too.”

Another bit of stress leaked away at her words.

“Did you see Coco?” When she looked confused, I explained. “I saw a stray cat there a few days ago, before all this happened. I named it Coco.”

“Is it a brown tabby?”

“Yes,” I said. “Was it there?”

“Its name is Puck.”

I raised my eyebrows. “From Shakespeare? Really?”

“Really,” she said, probably feeling defensive about such a silly name. “I fed it and gave it some water.”

“Tonight?” I felt weirdly snubbed.

“Yes,” she said. “When I found this.” She held up the flash drive.

“What’s on it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but let’s find out.”

We walked into the house, and I ran right into Erica’s back as she stopped at the doorway of the kitchen.

“Uh-oh,” she said.

I peeked around her. Our kitchen was trashed.

“Uh-oh,” I repeated. My stomach dropped at the sight of something—sugar? flour?—tossed all over the counters and floor, and the words “Screw you!” written across the remaining pieces of the torn-up investigation project plan.

“I’m calling the police,” Erica said and pulled her phone out.

“No, wait.” I tried to make sense of this. “Let’s figure out who this could be first.” When she looked unsure, I said, “What if it was Mark?”

She put her phone back in her pocket and took a shaky breath. “What if it was Reese?”

“Could be,” I said, being the calm one for once. “Let’s think about what we want to have happen here. If we call the police, they’ll see our project plan and they won’t be happy.”

Erica nodded. “But that message is rather threatening.”

“It could be Larry, in which case we want the police to collect the evidence. And help to prove that Mark is innocent.” I was arguing the other side now.

Both of us took in the scene and then Erica pulled her phone out again. “I’ll take photos and video.”

“I’ll call Mark and ask him if he did it,” I said. “And warn him that we’re about to call the cops.”

• • • • • • • • • 

M
ark denied knowing anything about the mess in our kitchen.

We called Bean first. He’d gone out with his reporter buddy after the meeting, but agreed to come home immediately, no questions asked.

Erica stayed close to the wall and took a ton of photos. I didn’t know what we’d do with them, but it seemed like a good idea. “Michelle,” she said. “Where’s your computer?”

“What?” I rushed to the dining room, which I used as an office. It was easy enough to scoop everything off the table when we had a lot of friends over. My computer was where I’d left it.

Bean walked in and stood in the doorway. “Wow,” he said mildly. “Someone’s pissed.”

“We’ve been debating calling the police,” Erica said.

Another car drove up and parked in front of our house. “Oh, lovely,” I said. “We’re having a party.” I looked outside and panicked. “Damn. It’s Bobby.”

Bean shrugged. “May as well let him in.”

“You’re not the one with a murder investigation project plan all over the wall,” I hissed.

“I expect he’ll break the door down if you don’t answer,” he said.

Bobby knocked. I took a deep breath and opened the door, standing in the way so he couldn’t just walk in. “Hi Bobby,” I said, oh so casually. “What’s up?”

Bobby looked tired but his eyes became more alert as he noticed Bean standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Is Erica here? I have a few questions for her.”

“Now’s not a good time,” I said. “Can you stop back tomorrow?” I started to close the door and his hand shot out. His eyes went to the flour footprints on the floor leading from the kitchen. Damn those cop observation skills.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“Nothing,” I said in my high-pitched I’m-lying voice. I really had to work on that. “She’ll call you.”

With one hand, he pushed the door open and walked in, making sure not to disturb the footprints. “Where is she?”

Bean made an “after you” gesture toward the kitchen.

Bobby froze when he saw the mess. And Erica standing at the edge of it.

“What the hell?” He took a step inside and saw the project plan. His face darkened and he turned back to Bean.

“Did you know about this?” he asked him.

“This?” Bean pointed to the mess on the floor. “Or that?” He pointed to the wall. “Oh yeah. I knew about that.”

“You see,” Erica started, but Bobby held up his hand for her to stop. He closed his eyes as if trying to contain his temper.

She ignored him. “We came home and it was like this. We were just thinking of calling the police, but . . .” She caught the look on his face and trailed off. Very unlike her.

“Erica wanted to call,” I backed her up, “but I talked her out of it because . . .”

“You didn’t want the police to see that you’re investigating a
murder
,” he said.

“Well, when you put it that way . . .” I said.

Erica scowled at me as if I were jumping sides. “Look Bobby. You know this means more to us than it does to Lockett. We’re just asking people some questions.”

“Did you think that maybe we’re asking the same people the same questions?” he asked. “Or are we too stupid to figure out what you can?”

Erica flinched, which seemed to cause him to lose steam. He took a step toward her and she looked down.

I felt like I was watching a Spanish soap opera without subtitles. Something was going on but I couldn’t decipher the explanation. Too bad I could never get Erica to tell me what had happened between the two of them in high school.

I stepped in. “We’re not cops. People might tell us things they won’t tell you.”

Bobby shoved his hand through his hair and put his cop face on. “This has got to stop.”

I let out my breath. “We’re not doing anything wrong. That plan is just to help us organize our thoughts. But we don’t want Lockett or the chief to know until we have something to show for it.”

He gestured toward the mess. “This looks like you have something to show for it,” he said. “Someone obviously knows what you’re up to.”

“That’s why we were going to call you, to get fingerprints or something,” I said. “Because maybe it was Larry.”

Bobby pointed to the “Screw you” message scrawled across the plan. “Apparently, it was someone on your list. What if it was Mark? Are you going to press charges?”

“It wasn’t him,” I said.

“So you called him to check?” His jaw tensed. “You know we can get a warrant for your phone records, right?”

“I just wanted to make sure he didn’t get mad at us and do something stupid,” I said.

“He’s not
that
much of an idiot,” Bean said.

Erica spoke up. “I think we should take this down now and invite Bobby’s crime-scene techs to take fingerprints.”

“They’ll know you removed something,” he said. “And how are you going to get over there?”

“Like this,” she said, and walked right through, leaving narrow shoe prints in her wake. She threw a laughing glance over her shoulder to Bobby and his face softened as if against his will. “Don’t tell.”

• • • • • • • • • 

I
t was hours later when the last tech left. Detective Lockett was busy doing something else, and after being drilled by the chief, I was allowed to leave to purchase more flour and sugar. Erica had explained the footprints by saying her cell phone was on the other side and she didn’t realize she shouldn’t walk through. We hid the remnants of our plan in my minivan. I was grateful our intruder hadn’t found my chocolate supplies still in their boxes; it would’ve taken another day to have more delivered and made it impossible to open on Saturday.

Bobby was about to get in his car when I arrived back at home, and I decided to ask him something that had been stuck in the back of my mind. It went along with what Reese had told me, and I couldn’t discuss it with Erica or Bean. “I know we’ve caused you a lot of trouble,” I started and he gave me a look that said “ya-think?” loud and clear.

“Can I ask just one more question? Is Colleen a suspect?”

“Off the record?” He glanced at the house as if making sure Erica wasn’t watching.

“Sure,” I said. Luckily I wasn’t a reporter and didn’t have to worry about journalistic ethics.

“She’s on the list, but we verified that she didn’t open Denise’s text until morning,” he said. “As far as we know, Denise was about to tell her about her husband’s affair, but was giving Mark one last chance to tell her himself.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said. “What a mess, huh?”

“You said it,” he said as he got in his cruiser.