Death of a Chocolate Cheater: A Food Festival Mystery (11 page)

“Really?” Willow had my attention. Did the mature Polly have a thing for the younger J.C.? “Any idea what she said to him or why she did that?”

Willow shook her head. “Nope. I tapped my number into his phone before he left, but then that woman who was in charge—Reena? She pretty much kept him busy the rest of the night.”

“Reina,” I said, correcting her, pronouncing it
Rayna
. “Did you talk to Wendy last night too?” I asked.

“A little. She was all bubbly and happy. Nice lady. I wonder why she killed that judge. Although, if you gotta die, what a way to go—dipped in chocolate.”

Shaking my head, I wrote Willow’s insensitive words off to her youth and took the two coffee drinks. I decided to skip Jake’s truck—my questions could wait until Drop Dead was gone—but as I turned to head back to the school bus, I nearly bumped into him.

“Whoa!” Jake said, steadying me as I held on to my coffees. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You okay?”

I nodded. Luckily, the coffees were lidded and I hadn’t spilled a drop. I looked around for his ex. No sign of her.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Uh . . . did you get a chance to call a lawyer for Wendy? Or talk to your cop friend about the murder?”

He nodded. “Is there somewhere we can go and talk for a minute?”

Uh-oh.

“Sure. Just let me drop Dillon’s coffee off at the school bus. Why don’t you find someplace to sit over in the shade and I’ll meet you.” I gestured toward a lawn area filled with folding chairs for weary chocolate eaters.

I returned to the bus and handed over Dillon’s coffee drink through the service window, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Jake was sitting in a chair apart from the other people, next to an empty chair. I sat next to him, still holding my coffee.

“So what did you find out?” I asked.

He took a deep breath. “It’s not looking good for your aunt’s friend Wendy.”

“Why? What do the police have on her?”

“They found something at the bottom of the vat of chocolate when they drained it.”

“They drained it?” It hadn’t occurred to me that the cops would do that, but it made sense. “What did they find?”

“A metal candy mold.”

“And . . . ?”

“Shaped like a knife.”

Uh-oh. I remembered that Wendy made chocolate novelties using various molds, including ones shaped like silverware. I had snagged a chocolate knife at the party.

“Are the police sure it belongs to Wendy?”

“It looks that way. They tried to get prints from it but couldn’t because of the chocolate. Still, if it’s hers, if she had her name on it, it places her at the scene
before
everyone entered the room, since no one saw her near the vat afterward.”

“But how would one of her molds get inside the vat? Surely she didn’t take it with her and drop it in.”

Jake shrugged. “It’s circumstantial, but Shelton apparently has more evidence.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“What about the gash on Polly’s head? Do they know what caused it?”

“Shelton thinks it’s some kind of jagged stick. Could be anything.”

“Did they find it?”

Jake shook his head. “They’re searching for it.”

If they found some kind of heavy stick with Wendy’s prints—and it proved to be the murder weapon—that would be the end of it. She’d surely be found guilty. So what
was
the murder weapon—and where was it?

“So Detective Shelton actually thinks little old Wendy hit Polly over the head with some kind of heavy rod or whatever, then pushed her into the vat of chocolate? That makes no sense.” I tossed my coffee into a nearby recycle bin, no longer interested in it. “And why the knife-shaped mold?”

“Shelton thinks maybe she meant to stab Polly with it. Apparently, the thing is pretty sharp—like a knife.”

“But why would she stab her with something like that when she could use a real knife?” I asked. “Why a candy mold? And why bring along a big stick?”

Jake shrugged. “Maybe it was something nearby, something handy. I don’t know.”

I thought for a moment. “No. It’s all too contrived. I think whoever killed Polly somehow got ahold of the knife mold and dropped it into the chocolate to make it look like Wendy did it, then beaned Polly over the head with something heavy and shoved her in.”

“Maybe,” Jake said.

“Besides, Wendy doesn’t have a motive. I mean, why would she want to kill Polly?”

Jake looked away.

“Jake? What aren’t you telling me?”

He shrugged. “Apparently, Shelton’s tech team found something on Wendy’s computer.”

My breath caught. I immediately thought of the blackmail messages to the other two judges. “What was it?”

“An e-mail Polly sent to Wendy.”

Uh-oh. My heart raced. “What did it say?”

“Something like, ‘
If you want me to forget what you’ve done, then don’t forget what to do. . . .
’”

I gasped. “So Polly wasn’t only blackmailing the judges—she was blackmailing Wendy too?”

“Sure looks that way,” Jake said.

I wondered what Wendy had done that was so awful that she’d become a victim of Polly’s blackmail scheme.

“What are you talking about?” said a voice behind me. Startled, I spun around in my chair.

“Aunt Abby! What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you,” she said, hands on her hips. “What’s this about Wendy?”

I glanced at Jake. He stood. “Detective Shelton found an e-mail on Polly’s computer, sent to Wendy.”

“You mean like the others?” Aunt Abby asked.

Jake cleared his throat before answering. “I’m afraid so. It sounds like Polly was blackmailing her too.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Aunt Abby said. “I’ve known Wendy for years. True, we lost touch for a while, but I told you we reconnected, and she’s the same old Wendy I knew from high school. She has nothing to hide. Wes is dead wrong about her.”

Jake stole a glance at me. Aunt Abby caught him. “I mean it. She’s innocent.”

He shifted his weight.

“Is there something else?” she asked Jake.

“The cops found one of her candy molds at the bottom of the vat of chocolate,” he told her.

Aunt Abby frowned. “Well . . . that’s easy to explain.”

Oh really?
I thought.

“Someone dropped it in there to her,” Aunt Abby said. “I saw something like that on
Castle
. Murderers are always trying to innocent people, and the cops always fall for it.”

Jake pressed his lips together, as if to keep from arguing with her.

Aunt Abby turned to me. “Darcy? You don’t believe all this bull-snot, do you? You met Wendy last night and you’ve heard me talk about her. Surely you could tell she wouldn’t do anything like that, right?”

I opened my mouth to speak but didn’t know what to say. I had met the woman only briefly. I certainly couldn’t have passed judgment on her.

“Listen, Darcy,” Aunt Abby said. “You’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” I asked.

“Start sniffing around, like the good reporter you are. Find out who
else
had a reason to kill Polly. And get some evidence—right, Counselor?” she said to Jake.

Jake nodded.

“All right, now go! The crowds are down and the event will be closing for the day soon. I really don’t need you back at the bus until tomorrow morning. Dillon and I can handle it until then. And if there’s anything Wendy’s hiding, I’m sure Dillon will find out. Which she isn’t.”

“You’ll need help to make more whoopie pies tonight,” I argued. “And you’ll need help getting ready for the competition tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow morning will be fine. Helping Wendy is more important than winning a contest.”

She was right. But although I’d been a reporter, I was no detective. And while Jake had been an attorney, he was no cop. We’d been lucky once, solving a murder when the police were stumped. Would we be able to do it again?

And what if Aunt Abby was wrong about her friend Wendy?

What if Wendy Spellman had a dark side that included an incident she’d kept secret—and a penchant for murder? I tried to recall what she’d said just before we drove away last night, after dropping her off. . . .

“We’ll do what we can,” Jake said, glancing at me.

I forced a reassuring smile.

“Good,” Aunt Abby said. “I’ll tell Dillon to find out what he can. Text me when you learn something, and I’ll keep you posted on what Dillon discovers.” With that she headed back to the school bus.

“She’s something else,” Jake said, grinning.

“Tell me about it,” I said. “Now what?”

“I suppose we ask around, see if we can find out more about Polly, see what she might have had on those judges. And who else she might have been blackmailing.”

“Any idea where to look?”

Jake nodded. “I have an idea.”

He took my hand and started to lead me off. I stopped abruptly and let go of his hand.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“What about your ex?”

Jake frowned, puzzled. “What about her?”

“I saw her coming out of your truck when I went to get a coffee. Doesn’t she need you?”

Jake smiled. “Darcy, are you still worried about her?”

“Of course not! I’m just asking because I know she wants your help, and if you need to go—”

He held a finger up to my lips to shut me up.

Half of me wanted to bite it, and the other half wanted to kiss it. God, he was aggravating.

“Lyla’s fine. I’m taking care of things. Now, come on. Let’s go do what we can to help your aunt’s friend.”

“What about your truck?”

“The festival is closing in an hour. I’ve already put a sign in the window.”

I nodded.

He smiled again, and I melted like a cream puff under a hot sun.

*   *   *

Jake led me through the food trucks to the back entrance of the festival, behind the fence, to a trailer parked not far from the staff parking lot. A large plastic sign was draped along one side of the trailer, with giant brown letters that read S
AN
F
RANCISCO
C
HOCOL
ATE
F
ESTIVAL
. On the door of the trailer was a smaller magnetic sign that read O
FFICE
.

“I didn’t know this was here,” I said.

“It’s Reina’s office trailer. I brought my registration here.” He stepped up the stairs and knocked on the metal door.

I heard indistinct murmurs inside.

Jake pushed on the door handle and opened it.
“Hello?” he called, leaning in. He turned and pulled me up by the hand, and we entered.

Reina Patel sat behind a large metal desk covered with stacks of papers. Her desk was surrounded by boxes filled with more papers—flyers for the festival, entry forms, tickets, et cetera. The walls were bare—the place was obviously temporary—but the floor was crowded with signage, rolled-up posters, and other festival paraphernalia. Along one shelf were trophies for the contest—a big one for the winner, the other two smaller for second and third places.

J.C. sat across from her, slouched in a folding chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, his camera in his lap.

Reina was talking on a tricked-out cell phone covered in rhinestones. As soon as she saw us, she abruptly set down the phone. J.C. sat up in his chair.

“Can I help you?” Reina asked, tilting her head.

Jake stepped forward and reached out a hand, accidentally knocking some papers off one of the stacks and onto the floor. “Sorry,” he said, kneeling down and retrieving the papers. He set the mess on the desk and tried to restack them.

“Just leave them!” Reina snapped. “What do you want?”

“I’m Jake Miller, from the Dream Puff truck.” He stuck out his hand again, this time avoiding another avalanche of papers.

She reluctantly took it.

Jake turned to me. “This is Darcy Burnett, from the Big Yellow School Bus. We have trucks at the Chocolate Festival. And we’re contestants in the competition.”

Reina frowned and steepled her hands. “I remember you. From the party. What can I do for you, Mr. Miller? I’m extremely busy trying to run this festival and dealing with all these unexpected glitches. . . .”

Glitches? A woman found dead and another arrested for murder were glitches?

“I’m sure you are,” Jake said, “and I won’t take up much of your time, but I understand Wendy Spellman from the Chocolate Candyland truck was arrested this morning. I wondered—”

She cut him off. “Very unfortunate, but at least we can put that behind us and move on with the festival. The police certainly did their job well this time. And quickly too.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jake said. “I think Wendy may have been arrested by mistake.”

Reina frowned; then the frown dissolved and she offered a condescending smile. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Miller, but I think the police know what they’re doing. And we don’t need any more unpleasant interruptions that might ruin the rest of the festival. We have a lot invested in this event—and a lot of attendees paying for a good time—so unless you’re moonlighting as a police officer and have some knowledge other than your intuition, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread any unfounded rumors. What’s done is done. Understand?”

I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “Listen, Reina. Wendy Spellman is a longtime friend of my aunt Abby, and my aunt says there’s no way Wendy would ever hurt anyone. I believe her, and I plan to do what I can
to help find out what really happened. We’d like your cooperation, but if you can’t—or won’t—help us, then we’ll do this on our own.”

The frown on Reina’s face returned. She was staring at me in an odd way.

“You’re Abigail Warner’s niece?”

I nodded.

In a sudden about-face, Reina sat up, placed her hands on her desk, and with a warm smile said, “Of course I’ll help you, if I can. If you think your aunt’s friend is innocent, then feel free to investigate. Just please promise me you’ll keep your little investigation quiet. Like I said, I don’t want anything else to jeopardize this festival. If word gets out a murderer is still lurking about, people will stay away in droves and the festival will lose money that’s earmarked for charity. Do you understand?”

I wondered how much she really cared about those charities.

Jake nodded, but I wasn’t so ready to be shackled by her demands.

“Did the police question you about Wendy?” I asked, figuring it was time to get this so-called investigation started.

“Yes, but I had nothing to contribute and answered truthfully. I don’t know Wendy other than through the festival, and I didn’t see what happened to poor Polly that night. . . .” She stopped, seemingly overcome by the memory of the murdered woman.

“You didn’t know Wendy before this?” Jake asked.

“No. Only what’s on her application. We don’t do a
lot of screening of our contestants, other than to make sure they have a licensed truck and a legitimate business.”

“And you have no idea why Wendy might want to kill Polly?”

Reina shook her head. She glanced at J.C., who also shook his head.

“Is there anyone else you can think of who might have had a reason to kill Polly?”

“Not really,” Reina said. “She seemed to have a lot of friends. She was quite popular. Although . . .”

“Although what?” I asked.

“Well, I’m not one to disparage anyone, especially not someone who’s no longer here to defend herself, but I thought I saw her have a little tiff with the other two judges, Simon and Isabel, at the party.”

“Any idea what it was about?” Jake asked.

“No. And like I said, I don’t listen to gossip. I just don’t want all this talk of murder to affect the festival and impact ticket sales. Although I’m sure it’s all over the news.”

“It won’t hurt your festival.” J.C. spoke for the first time since we’d barged in. “In fact, it’ll be just the opposite. People love to gawk at anything related to a crime. That’s why reality TV is so popular. Viewers love it when something bad happens to real people. Remember all the crowds that showed up when that restaurant chef was murdered a while back? The people who bought that place were probably booked up for months afterward. I’m surprised they didn’t use crime-scene tape as part of the new decor.”

I knew exactly the place she was talking about—the restaurant formerly known as Bones ’n’ Brew. The murder he mentioned had occurred right across the street from the Fort Mason food trucks—and my aunt had been on the list of suspects.

Reina shook her head. “What a nightmare this has been. Please,” she said to Jake and me, “be discreet, will you? Maybe J.C. is right and this will boost sales, now that the murderer has been caught—”

“Alleged murderer,” I said, interrupting her.

“Fine,” she said.

I caught J.C. fiddling with his camera.

“You videotaped everything at the party last night, right?” I asked him.

He nodded.

“You made a copy for the police. Any chance you saw something on the tapes that might offer some kind of clue?”

“Nah. I fast-forwarded through the whole thing and didn’t see anything other than a bunch of people partying. Nothing like the killer pushing that woman into the chocolate. Sorry.”

“Can you make a copy for us?” Jake asked.

“Your brother should have a copy. He downloaded it before I handed it over to the cops.”

“He’s not my brother,” I said, almost laughing at the thought.

“If that’s all,” Reina spoke up, “I really have to get back to work. I have a lot to do before the competition tomorrow night.”

“Speaking of the competition,” Jake said, “I’d like to
talk to those other two judges who were at the party last night. Know where we might find them?”

“I’m sorry,” Reina said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “I can’t give out personal information. Especially not about the judges when you’re both contestants. That would be unethical. Besides, they’ve sequestered themselves until the competition tomorrow. As you can imagine, they’re a little shaken up from all that’s happened, so they’re keeping out of sight until they’re needed. You understand.”

If she said “you understand” one more time, I was going to smack her.

“Sure,” Jake said too quickly. “Well, thanks for your time. You’ll let us know if you hear anything?”

“Of course,” Reina said. “Just remember, if you do anything to disrupt the festival, I may have to withdraw you from the competition.”

Oh no, she didn’t just threaten us!

Jake seemed to sense my anger and stepped in front of me to shake Reina’s hand again.

“Will do,” he said; then he turned and gestured for me to leave. I glared at him but did as he wanted. It wouldn’t do any good to call the woman on her threat. After all, she had the power to have Aunt Abby and Jake eliminated from the contest—and my aunt would be devastated if that happened.

We stepped out of the trailer, and Jake closed the door behind us.

“Well, that was a colossal waste of time,” I said. “And time is something we don’t have. The contest is tomorrow night, and after that everyone will scatter.”

Jake gently took my arm with one hand and walked me toward the fence near the back entrance. He kept the other hand down at his side.

“Maybe not,” he said when we were out of sight of the office trailer. He stopped, gave his other arm a shake, and turned over his hand. In it he held Reina’s rhinestone-covered cell phone.