Truffled to Death (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (10 page)

“Did the chief talk to her yet?” I asked.

“Nope,” Iris said. “And not for lack of trying. She’s up and disappeared.”

“Oh no,” I said. “We were hoping to talk to her. Is there any way to get her a message?”

Iris grimaced. “I kin sure try. The Rivers’ gardener comes here every other day just about. They’re good friends.” She stood up. “Jasper! You git your feet off that chair!”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

Z
ane was working on updating the page of available used books on the website when we got back to the store. While Erica was busy with a customer, I stopped in to talk to him. “Is there any chance you could find out all you can about someone and not tell Erica?”

He blinked at me for a moment. “Is this person Erica?”

“No!” I said, offended that he’d think I’d do that to my best friend.

“Then no problem.”

“Oh good,” I said. “Can I show you something on your computer?”

I was still uncertain about going behind Erica’s back, but if it helped to get the suspect label off of her, I’d do it. I brought up the page that highlighted the professor’s alleged sexual harassment. “There’s the website.”

Maybe Erica wasn’t thinking clearly about the possibilities because she identified with those girls too much. She
couldn’t really believe that we shouldn’t investigate them; just because they were harassed by the scummy professor didn’t mean they could get away with murder.

“I know that site,” Zane said.

I brought up the info on Dr. Moody and pointed to LibrarySophie’s comments. “Can you find out anything you can on this person?”

He took a moment to read what she’d written and then pushed my hands away from his keyboard. “No prob.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

E
rica stopped by my counter when I was dipping fresh long-stemmed strawberries into chocolate. We often did some of the showy finishing touches out front to entice customers into ordering more. Who could resist a juicy, ripe strawberry dripping with the finest Felchlin milk chocolate? Especially when I decorated it with a glistening sprinkle of raw sugar.

I put a newly dipped strawberry on a plate and gave it to her. “If you wait a minute, it’ll harden.”

“I like it this way.” She took a small bite of the end and then licked the smudge of chocolate off her lips. “Yum. I left a message for Lavender.”

“Did you tell her why you’re calling?” I asked.

“Not specifically,” she said. “I said I found something online and needed to speak to her.”

“Okay.” But it made me feel uneasy. Then I saw Zane come down the hall with papers in his hand. As soon as he saw Erica, he did a quick U-turn and went back to his office.

I waited until Erica finished her chocolate treat and went back to her side of the store, before running back to see what Zane had found.

“That website is pretty tight,” he said. “I can probably get more with my comp sci professor’s help, but all I could get right away was that she signed in from one of Eastern University’s library computers.”

“So she’s trying to stay anonymous?”

“A couple of them were posted after hours,” he said. “She may work there.”

“Oh,” I said. That explained her online name.

“And then I did some digging on Facebook and found this.” He handed me a sheet of paper with the photo of a young Sophie Anderson, smiling into the camera with huge brown eyes and light brown hair. “And this.” The next photo was the same girl, but with angry eyes made up with heavy black eyeliner, her hair dyed goth black, and a leather spike collar around her neck.

I looked up at Zane. “That’s a pretty major before and after.”

He frowned. “Remember when you guys asked me to find any connection the professor had to West Riverdale?” he asked.

I nodded.

He pulled up a website of student research projects for Ancient Maya Civilizations. Twenty-three students had submitted papers on the assignment titled, “The Significance of Trade on the Art of the Maya People.”

Jennie River was one of the students.

I
was wondering when I could fit in a trip to Baltimore to track down LibrarySophie without Erica knowing, when Carlo Morales walked into the store wearing a suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Plus a month’s rent for the store. I sucked in a breath. What was he doing here?

“Hi,” I said, as if he was like any other customer. “Sit anywhere and I’ll get you a menu.”

“Thank you,” he said in a low voice that would’ve been sexy if I didn’t think he might be a murderous art trafficker. “But I’m here to see Kona.”

I was sure my surprise showed on my face. “Um,” I stumbled. “I’ll get her.”

He nodded as if used to people doing his bidding. I sedately walked back to the kitchen when I felt like running
and asking her what the hell she was doing with a man like that. Again. If there was any time I’d prefer she have a one-night stand to a relationship, it was now. I closed the kitchen door behind me. “Kona. That Carlo guy is here to see you!”

She stopped filling the Hazelnut Darks with a pastry-piping bag and looked up at the clock. “Damn it! I lost track of time.” She squished the ganache toward the bottom of the bag and started filling faster. “Can you talk to him while I finish these and change?”

“I guess,” I said. “But are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

She gave me an
are you kidding
look and leaned down to finish the tray. “Really? You’re going to go all mom on me?”

“It’s just—” I stopped. “You don’t know anything about him. He feels . . . unsafe.” Maybe I shouldn’t tell her my real fears about him unless I had even a scrap of proof.

She laughed. “And that’s a bad thing?” She waved one hand. “Go. Keep him entertained for a minute. But not too entertained.”

I walked back to the front where Carlo stood by the counter. How the heck should I handle this? “She’ll be right out,” I said. “Would you like something while you wait?”

“No, but thank you. Your chocolates are delicious.” That word sounded even better with his exotic accent in that low rumbly voice. No wonder Kona couldn’t resist him.

I felt an overwhelming wish to protect my friend. “So how long are you going to be in town?”

“Not long,” he said. “Until I complete my business.”

“And what business is that?” I tried hard to sound
interested and not investigatory but there was a definite edge in my voice.

“I’m a fine art dealer.” His voice was calm.

“Oh,” I said. “Is that why you were at the Rivers’ reception?” I asked.

He nodded once. “Indirectly.”

I raised my eyebrows, expecting more information.

“When a museum obtains such pieces, and obviously sets such store by them,” he explained, “it encourages my buyers to purchase similar items at significantly higher prices.”

“You have clients here?”

He looked amused at my questions. “I have clients all over the world.” He paused. “You feel motherly towards our Kona, no?”

Our Kona? “No. I mean, yes.” I decided to put it all on the table. “She’s very young. And you’re very . . .”

His eyes widened. “Old?” he said in a challenging tone, as if daring me to be rude.

“Sophisticated.” I held my chin up high, looking straight at him. “Why would someone as worldly as you be interested in a young girl like Kona?”

His jaw tightened, but before he could answer, Kona walked down the hall in a colorful sundress, looking as lovely and fresh as a dandelion in the spring. I kept my eyes on his face and saw his expression become almost uncertain as if he was realizing the difference I’d just noted. And then he went back to the suave guy he was so good at pulling off.

Kona seemed to sense that something was going on and she gave me a
back off
look.

Carlo took Kona’s hand and kissed it, and she grinned and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek, which seemed to
surprise and delight him. “See you tomorrow, Michelle,” she said.

Carlo gave me little bow. “I will take good care of her.”

I gave him a hesitant nod. That’s what I was afraid of.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

Z
ane joined me in staring at the door long after Kona and Carlo had gone. “I don’t like him,” he said.

Zane and Kona had dated a few times over the summer, but both had agreed right away that there was no chemistry between them. From what I’d overheard Kona telling Kayla, they’d tried. A lot.

I probably couldn’t trust Zane’s instincts in this, except that they meshed so well with mine. “Maybe you can check him out? I know he has . . . a solid alibi for the robbery.”

Zane winced.

“But that doesn’t mean he didn’t mastermind it.”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

Erica and I were usually both on shutdown duty Wednesday nights. She’d tried to reassure me that Carlo wouldn’t hurt Kona when we knew he was with her, but the worry weighed on me. Was that what it was like to be a parent?

I called Kayla to see if I could find out more, but she was reluctant to tattle on her friend. “I’m just worried about this guy,” I told her. “Have I ever cared who she was dating before?”

“No,” Kayla said, still sounding a little dubious.

“Well, what do you think about him?” I asked.

“I don’t know anything,” she said. “Don’t worry. It’s not like she’s marrying him or anything.”

By the time I got home, I was exhausted but wired. “You
have to calm down,” Erica said as I paced the kitchen. “Make some chocolate or something.”

Her cell phone dinged with a text. “Or, maybe we can take a road trip.”

“Where?”

“Farley Olsen, the security guard, is willing to meet us tonight after his rehearsal,” she said. She pulled up her map app. “We can be there in less than half an hour.”

“That’s great,” I said. “I need to do something.” Action might help me get rid of this anxiety.

She texted him back. “He can do it. Let’s go.”

Her car was low on charge, so I drove my Chocolates and Chapters minivan. We waited outside the locked lobby doors of the local theater where Farley was starring in a production of
Noises Off
. The theater was gaining an excellent national reputation, known for its actors graduating to theater in DC and even New York.

“This script is quite funny,” Erica said, looking closely at the play posters advertising upcoming events. “It’s a great example of a play within a play.”

Farley came out from the theater area, and my mouth dropped. He looked totally different, like he’d dropped at least thirty pounds. He let us in. “Sorry,” he said. “I should’ve told you to come around to the stage entrance.” He wore stage makeup that made him look older and an elaborate ascot around his neck.

“Not a problem,” Erica said. “Thanks for meeting with us.”

We sat on the benches lining the lobby that the lucky few who arrived early to a play got to use.

“We’re not done yet so I have only a few minutes,” he said.

“Wow,” I said. “You guys work long hours.”

He shrugged. “Tech rehearsals go until we’re done.” The stage makeup emphasized his weariness.

Erica got right down to business. “So how did you know Dr. Moody?”

“I work security at E.U.,” he said.

E.U.? Did he know what that sounded like? “What does ‘working security’ mean?” I asked.

“I sit at the security desk and make sure students have ID to get into the dorm.” Farley had the precise enunciation of most actors I’d met.

“What did you need to do to get that job?” Erica asked.

“Basically, just pass a background check,” he said. “I got the gig when I was a student there and just kept doing it when it fit into my schedule.”

“Why do you think the professor hired you?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Except one time I caught someone stealing a load of construction wood that would’ve cost his department hundreds of dollars to replace.”

“Do you know why he didn’t use a more . . . official security company?” Erica asked.

Farley didn’t seem offended. “He said there was no budget for security and he was paying me himself. And that it was just a show for the donors. It’s not like the stuff was paintings or fine art. So I got the uniform, the stomach pouch and the muscle pads from the costume shop and acted like a security guard.”

“What do you think happened that night?” Erica asked.

He shook his head. “I really don’t know. Everyone keeps
saying there’s never been a robbery like that, of Maya art, in the United States. The last thing I remember, I’d finished packing up and said good night to Mr. River.”

“Adam?” I interrupted.

“Yes. And then it was the next morning and I was stumbling around on some hill by the highway. It was like a freaky rave party weekend when I was a kid.” He paused.

Erica cocked her head. “Did you just remember something new?”

“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “Someone called my name.”

“Can you close your eyes and remember the sound of that voice? Like, play it over in your head? Think of it as waiting offstage, listening for a cue.”

He did as he was told, but gave up, shaking his head. “It’s so bizarre not being able to remember.”

“Female or male?” Erica asked.

He closed his eyes again. “Male. I’m pretty sure.”

“That’s great,” she said. “Any chance it was Dr. Moody?”

He squinted with his eyes closed, as if trying to see the memory in his own mind. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”

Erica changed gears. “What do the police think happened?”

He shrugged. “If they know, they haven’t told me.”

“Did you know any of the Rivers before the party?” I asked.

“No. I met them earlier the day of the party.”

I persisted. “What about their housekeeper, Deirdre Cash?”

“No.” Farley laughed, and I realized we were tag-teaming him pretty hard.

Erica didn’t let up. “Did you recognize anyone at the party?”

He shook his head. “Just Dr. Moody. The Rivers were nice to me.”

Erica got that look on her face when she had an inspiration. “What did you think of the Rivers?”

“Like I said, I barely spoke to them.” He was beginning to sound impatient.

“But you must have got an impression,” Erica said. “If you were casting them in a play or a movie, what role would they play?”

His eyes lit up. We were finally speaking his language.

“What about Adam?” Erica asked. “Just say the first thing that comes to mind.”

“Gordon Gekko,
Wall Street
.”

“That’s perfect,” she said in an encouraging tone. “What about Vivian?”

“Lady M—” He stopped. “I can’t say her last name inside a theater.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about but Erica did.

“Shakespeare, right?” she said with assurance.

“Macbeth?” I filled in.

Farley reacted with horror, his mouth a big O. “Sh!” He pretended to throw something over his shoulder.

“It’s considered bad luck,” Erica explained to me, exasperated that I hadn’t followed her lead. “What about Gary?”

I could tell she was trying to distract him from my faux pas.

He considered Gary for a minute. “Bodhi in
Point Break
.”

“That surfing movie?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I never saw it, but you know, the surfer-dude type.”

“Wasn’t he a criminal?” I asked Erica.

She didn’t look at me but I could sense her wanting to tell me to shut up.

“No, not a criminal,” he said. “Maybe like the surfer guy in
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
.”

“What about Jennie?” she asked. I’d told her about Jennie’s connection to the professor.

He shook his head. “I don’t think she ever spoke to me. But if I had to guess, I’d say Amber from
Parenthood
.”

The lost teenager, I thought.

“Interesting,” Erica said. “You’ve helped a lot.”

We thanked him and watched him walk away.

“What did that teach us?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” Erica said. “Let’s see if we can watch him a little bit.”

We slipped through the door and sat in the back seats of the small theater. Someone called out for the actors milling about on the stage, “Let’s start at the beginning of act two.”

We watched as Farley squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and totally became a world-weary director.

“He’s an excellent actor,” Erica said.

“I was thinking the same thing,” I said. “So how do we know if he told us the truth?”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

M
y phone woke me up the next morning. “Your cat had kittens in my storage room!” an outraged voice yelled in my ear, or at least as close as I could get the cell in my comatose state.

“What? Who is this?” I asked, sitting up and trying to figure out what planet I was on. I looked at my clock. It was five thirty in the morning.

“This is Gary,” he said with exaggerated patience. “I came into my coffee shop this morning and went to get something
out of the storage closet and your cat hissed at me. She had kittens in my storage room! And she made a disgusting mess in there.”

“Coco had kittens?” I felt a weird rush of joy and pride. My little Coco was a mom? “I’ll be right there.” I jumped out of bed. It took me a minute to figure out what to do first. Clothes would help.