Truffled to Death (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (17 page)

Amulet Man walked past us and soon our camera was looking at his back. Which was how we captured the look
on Carlo’s face as he came around the corner and recognized him. Carlo was furious. They had a short argument in Spanish and the Amulet Man slunk away, throwing a resentful look over his shoulder.

Carlo’s eyes darted around as if searching the area. I actually ducked when he stared at the van for a moment, even though there was no way for him to see us. Then he made a quick phone call and turned around to go back the way he’d come.

“We have to follow him!” I said as he disappeared around the corner.

I ignored Erica’s protest and slid open the van door.

Santiago Diaz stood on the other side, a gun in his hand.

M
y mouth formed the word “What?” but no sound came out.

He gestured again with the gun and I moved backward into the van. He coolly climbed in and shut the door. He seemed like a more lean version of Carlo, all hard angles in his face, and hard muscles under that dark suit.

What was wrong with me? Why hadn’t I yelled and run? Or better yet, slammed the door in his face?

“Hands where I can see them, Mr. West,” Santiago said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take that laptop.”

Erica didn’t look frightened at all. “Why would you want our surveillance of Carlo Morales?”

“Such an official word, Ms. Russell,” he said, “for your, how do you say, hijinks. Let’s just agree that this is bigger than the unfortunate death of your professor.”

He held out his hand for the laptop with the gun in the
other. Erica nodded to Zane, who unplugged the computer and handed it to Santiago. Erica stared at me and I could tell she was willing me not to do anything stupid.

“All of you should pay very careful attention to what I’m about to say.” He pointed the gun directly at Zane. “Stop your investigation into Carlo Morales immediately. All of your lives may depend on it.”

Zane stared back at him, as impassive as Erica.

We watched Santiago tuck the laptop under his arm and pull the door open, slipping his gun into a shoulder holster. Then he smiled and slid the door shut.

I went to open the door and follow him, but Erica said, “Michelle!” in such an authoritative voice that I stopped.

Zane immediately typed into his cell phone, and then yelled, “Shit!”

I had never heard him raise his voice, let alone swear. “What?”

“He jammed my transmission,” Zane said. “He has the only recording of the meeting on that laptop. Hold on.”

Erica sat still, trying to make sense of what just happened.

“Did you get it?” Zane asked someone on the other end, and then made a fist and yelled. “Yes!”

“What?” I demanded.

“I sent a photo of that guy with the necklace to my professor as soon as I captured it,” he said. “At least we have that.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

E
verything looked the same back at the store, but I felt like some kind of monumental shift had happened. Why did Santiago want our recording of Carlo’s meeting with
Amulet Man so much he’d risk an armed robbery on a busy street? Why was Carlo arguing with Amulet Man? And how was I serving Rum Raisin Milks to a table of grandmother church volunteers without shaking?

We’d decided to wait and see what Zane’s computer science professor came up with before saying anything to the police, especially after Bobby’s hissy fit following the stingray spine incident.

By late afternoon, it all seemed like a weird dream. Zane was working with another of his laptops, although he was pretty angry at losing his favorite. He was muttering about not being able to access the dark web, which sounded like some video game.

Erica got ready to leave for her flash mob work party at the high school. I didn’t know how she could think about that now. Of course, I was selling truffles.

“Let me know if Jennie River makes it,” I told her as she went out the door.

Kona and I were discussing the chocolates we’d make on our Magic Monday, when Zane came out from the hallway and gestured for me to join him.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Kona.

Zane rushed back to the office he shared with Erica, and an enlarged photo of Amulet Man we’d seen outside the El Diablo Restaurant was up on his screen. I was just about to tell him to be more discreet when he excitedly said, “You won’t believe this, but I think we took the only photo, like ever, of a famous forger.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No,” he said. “My professor’s government contact is super psyched. She wasn’t supposed to tell me anything, not
even which agency her contact works for—I suspect Homeland Security—but they only had a description of the guy—no photographs. He goes under the name Sincero and he provides forged documentation to show that antiquities have been purchased legitimately, when they’re not. He wears a baseball cap and an amulet, just like that guy. ICE, the FBI, Interpol—they’ve all been looking for this guy for years.”

“ICE?” My brain was moving too slowly to keep up with Zane.

“Immigration and Customs Enforcement,” he said. “They’re responsible for finding art that has been sold illegally and sending it back where it belongs.”

I was feeling more confused by the minute. “A forger? So he might be connected to the robbery and by default, to Dr. Moody’s death?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we just give that info to Detective Lockett and let him pass it on to the right people?”

“Um,” Zane said. “I’m pretty sure that just happened through my professor’s government guy.”

“Okay,” I said. “I need to talk to Erica. Can you, I don’t know, keep digging?”

“Sure.” He seemed energized by his big win.

I let Kona know I was running over to the high school for a little bit. The first serious flash mob rehearsal was taking place in the gym and I was dying to see it, in addition to filling Erica in on this Sincero guy.

“It’s the candy lady,” one of the kids painting long strips of paper in the hallway yelled as I entered the front door. “You got some M&M’s?”

“Sorry!” I called out. “You gotta upgrade those taste buds.” The strips of paper seemed to form a huge background of a jungle with a stone edifice rising out of it.

“Nah,” he said. “I love all the chocolate.”

Jennie was painting a bunch of intricate parrots in a tree. I was delighted to see her there. She used her finger to make an artful smudge and then wiped it on her shirt that had hearts all over it. When she saw me, she gave a timid smile and then got back to adding detail to a wing.

“Where’s Erica?” I asked.

“In the gym, I think,” one of the students told me.

I never failed to feel nostalgic in the gymnasium, where I’d spent so much of my high school years at basketball practice and games. It smelled the same, that mixture of old popcorn, sweet spilled drinks, and teen sweat.

The high windows that never let in enough light were the same, but the beat-up floor and bleachers had been replaced after years of fundraising by the hardworking PTA.

Jolene Roxbury was looking down at a printout of the mural and hollering out orders. “Jim, to the right one step. Hold your weapon higher.”

That caused a cascade of giggles that Jolene ignored. “Winnie, to the left, half a step.” I watched as each student followed her directions until it was set up exactly how she wanted it. A long line of Maya warriors and royalty dressed in vibrant colors of red and orange, and warm, earthen browns. If you didn’t look too closely at the papier-mâché helmets and fake weapons, it was almost believable.

“Mark it!” she yelled at last, and four students with different colors of tape started placing tape strips on the floor with a reasoning only drama people would understand.

I walked up to Jolene. “How’s it going?”

She grinned. “Amazing. These kids are amazing. And the whole thing is going to be amazing.” She handled a few
questions by students working with maps of Main Street. It seemed like they were figuring out what streets to block off to keep possible bystanders out of the way during the filming.

She sent them on their way to do her bidding and I snuck a question in before she started her next job. “How’s Jennie River doing?”

She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was around. “Good, I think. Very shy even though she’s a little older than these kids. But she paints beautifully. I’m glad you suggested I reach out to her. One of the art girls has taken her under her wing.”

I was having such a good time watching the innocent fun of the teens that I’d forgotten about Zane’s discovery. “Where’s Erica?” I asked.

“Workroom,” she said, waving in the general direction of the theater. “Behind the stage. It’s confusing back there, so just ask a kid when you get close.”

I found my way, after opening the costume room and a rehearsal room first, and found Erica repairing a few papier-mâché helmets and a spear. She looked up, surprised to see me.

“Hey,” I said. “I have some news from Zane.”

I could tell that she changed mental gears reluctantly. I felt the same way. Flash mob mode was way more fun than murder investigation mode.

“That guy we photographed goes by the name Sincero. He’s actually a big-time forger,” I said. “Customs has been looking for him for years because he provides documentation that art traffickers need to prove their pieces were bought legitimately. You know, when they’re not.”

She frowned. “And Carlo knows him. He probably uses him.”

“Why do you think Carlo was so angry?”

She paused to think. “Maybe being seen with him in public? Maybe something about their business?”

We stared at each other, both troubled. “Zane said his professor will inform the right government people, but maybe we should let Lockett know,” I said.

“You’re right,” she said.

I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like a big weight dropped off my shoulders. It shouldn’t be up to two shop owners in small town Maryland to bring down an international art trafficker. “I doubt that anyone really believes you’re a suspect anymore,” I said. “Our job is kinda done.”

“Do you want to do the honors or should I?” Erica asked.

“You do it,” I said. “I’m heading back to close down the store.”

“I’ll probably be here late,” she said.

“No problem,” I said. “Although, can you make sure you walk out with someone?”

“Sure,” she said.

Before she could dial, Jennie came into the room. “Mrs. Roxbury said I should help you paint the helmets.”

Uh-oh. Had she overheard any of our conversation?

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Good,” she said. “This is fun.”

I looked at Erica and she shook her head slightly. I dove in anyway. “How’s Deirdre?”

Jennie gave me a funny look. “Fine,” she said and went to pick up a few art brushes. “That was all a big misunderstanding. She didn’t steal anything.”

“That’s good,” I said. “It would be hard to have a criminal, like, living with you.”

She picked up a helmet. “You want me to paint this to match that?” She pointed to a photo of a Maya nobleman on the wall.

“That’d be great,” Erica said. “You get started, and I’ll be back in a minute.” She waved her cell at me to let me know she’d make the call.

I drove through town to the store. West Riverdale was already quieting down for Sunday dinner, and our early Sunday closing time was fast approaching. Some of the maple trees were just beginning to change for autumn, slight touches of red and yellow at the edges of their leaves.

I arrived at the store to find an ominous black Lincoln Town Car parked in front. Instead of driving around and parking in the back as usual, I pulled into an open spot in front. Before I dashed inside, I called Bobby.

He answered with a rude, “What?”

I was just grateful that he took my call. “I’m not sure what’s happening but I need you at the shop. No sirens. Just casually stop in.” I hung up before he answered, confident that he’d be there.

Kona was standing behind the counter looking upset as Carlo leaned over it. The store was empty of customers, although I knew Colleen had to be cleaning up somewhere.

“How’s it going?” I asked. “Those kids at the high school are awesome.” I pretended to just realize who was standing there as he eased back, looking stony. “Hi . . . Carlo. Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Kona said, her chin up. “He was just leaving.” She was angry, not afraid.

“Carlo,” I said, trying to draw him away from Kona. “As you may have heard, we’re trying to help the police with their investigation.” I took a step back, hoping he’d follow me.

He turned his head, still angry, but curious.

“We found these spreadsheets in Spanish that appear to be for art sales.”

Now I really had his attention.

“Would you be willing to look at them for me and provide your expert opinion?”

I gave him my best wide-eyed look, just as Bobby walked in.

“Hey, Bobby,” I kept my voice casual. “Chocolate run or caffeine run?”

He nodded to Carlo and played along. “Coffee, please,” he said to Kona, and took a seat at the counter.

“I’ll be right back.” I practically ran to the office and back again with one of the spreadsheets. “Want to sit here?” I gestured toward a chair where Carlo could see Bobby but Bobby couldn’t hear what I was about to say. He would so not approve.

Carlo crossed to the table, moving with an elegant grace that still seemed threatening. His face was wary.

I took the seat across from him. “This was provided to us, anonymously, and the only thing we can tell about it is that it seems to be a handwritten recording of sales. But why wouldn’t it be on a computer?”

His eyes went to the paper as soon as I said “handwritten.” “Anonymously, you say?”

“Yes.” I improvised. “Dropped through our mail slot. It seems like someone is trying to help us, but we’re too stupid to figure it out.”

He froze as soon as he saw the spreadsheet, and then his eyes zeroed in on my face. He leaned toward me. “Where did you get this?”