The Chocolate Kiss-Off

by Heather Haven

  “Close, but no cigar.” Percy turned back to her mother. “Mother, I told Oliver he should have a piece of fruit for dessert, so no more pudding or anything like that. How about giving him one of these apples? And a Spam sandwich. He likes those.”

  “He’s the only one,” Sera piped up. “I think Spam’s disgusting.”

  “Says she who drinks armored cow straight from the can.”

  “I like condensed milk.”

  “There’s more of that taste you’ve been talking about. And by the way, gauche means someone who is uncouth or vulgar.”

  “Sez you.”

  “Not just me. Webster, too.”

  “I don’t even know the guy.”

  Percy opened her mouth for a retort, thought better of it, and took a bite of apple.

  “I’m off to Brooklyn, Mother.”

  She crossed to a set of wall hooks, each holding a hat or scarf. Snatching at a dark brown fedora given to her by her father for Christmas, she plopped it on her head. Percy thought aloud, her mind racing.

  “I think I’ve got enough gas. Glad Pop didn’t take Ophelia on his latest job. I’d have to take two trains to get to the Brooklyn police station, otherwise.” Ophelia was the family automobile, a black 1929 Dodge, and considered more of a pet than a car. “Speaking of Pop, he call yet? I’ve got to talk to him about the business.” Percy glanced at her watch. “Naw, it’s too early.”

  “Father phoned late last night.” Mother smiled to herself, probably remembering the phone conversation.

  Even though her parents called each other ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’, they were madly in love, almost like teenagers. You’d never know they had been married for forty-three years, the way they acted.

  Pop’s given name was Habakkuk - after a biblical prophet - and Mother’s was Lamentation. With her willowy shape and unkempt long, white blonde hair, Percy felt Mother should have been named Dandelion. She often looked like she might blow away at any moment.

  Steeped in family tradition or maybe along the lines of misery loves company, the couple saddled their three children with the names Adjudication, Persephone, and Serendipity. Every day the siblings thanked their lucky stars for the nicknames of Jude, Percy, and Sera.

  Percy searched her mother’s face. “Pop doing okay?”

  Her voice didn’t convey the constant anxiety living inside her, but Percy knew Mother felt the same way. Pop was sixty-five-years old and only recently recovered from a compound fracture of his leg, a leg almost lost as a result of the severity of multiple breaks and a bone infection.

  “I hope they catch those German soldiers soon,” Sera interjected before their mother could speak. She ran stubby fingers through bleached blond hair. “This weather has got to be hard on Pop’s health, all that sitting around under a pier.”

  Percy gave a shake of her head as a warning signal to her sister that went unnoticed. Mother was worried enough without this conversation. Percy tried to turn it in another direction.

  “I’m sure Pop’s coping just fine, but it must be playing havoc with Atlantic City’s businesses.”

  Oblivious, Sera made a face. “Pop’s no kid and it’s been snowing for days.” She picked up a piece of toast. “Burnt, again. I can’t even make decent toast, and this colored lard doesn’t help.”

  “It’s called margarine,” said Percy. “It might be made of lard, though.”

  “I don’t care what it’s called, I miss butter.” Sera looked up at her older sister. “I thought it was just rumor the krauts came ashore from a submarine, anyway.”

  Percy looked at her sister. “Maybe so, maybe not. But the government and the state of New Jersey have to make sure the enemy isn’t rendezvousing nightly under the Boardwalk exchanging information gained during the day. Whether it’s true or part of the hysteria of the times, we can’t take any chances. I’m sure it will be over soon. I offered to go in his place, but they didn’t think I could hide under the radar as well as a man.” Percy shot a sideways glance at Mother, who remained uncharacteristically quiet.

  Looking grim, Mother finally spoke. “The hours your father is working would be hard enough on a young person, but you don’t say no to the government. It’s our patriotic duty.”

  Percy reached out and laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “Pop will be all right. He’s got his warmest coat and he took his old army blanket to lay on the ground. You’ll see.”

  Sera, now realizing how the discussion affected her mother, leapt up and came to her mother’s other side. “Sure he will, Mother. Don’t pay any attention to me. You know how I like to chin-wag. I’ve got to go and get ready for work.”

  She glanced in Percy’s direction with a look of apology before escaping the kitchen. Percy watched the kitchen door swing closed then turned back to her mother with concern.

  “You okay?”

  Mother nodded and gave her elder daughter a half-smile. “Father and I had a nice, long talk last night.” She looked happy for a moment but was overtaken by a distasteful thought. “The charges were four dollars and fifty-seven cents. Can you believe it, Persephone? Four dollars and fifty-seven cents. Four. Dollars. And --”

  “And fifty-seven cents. Got it.”

  “I almost swooned when the operator told me at the end of the call. But Father needed to talk, poor soul. He’s lonely, you know, on top of being tired.”

  “Sure. Morning, noon, and night hiding underneath a boardwalk can get anybody down, Mother.” Percy hesitated before she spoke again. “How’s his leg? Did he say?”

  “No, but then he wouldn’t. No matter how hard Father tries to pretend things are fine, I can tell he wants to come home.”

  “If he calls when I’m not here, tell him I need to talk to him sooner rather than later. You okay with taking messages again while I’m not here, right?”

  Mother nodded with a smile, but Percy felt ill at ease about it. On top of everything else, Percy was still functioning as the Cole Brothers’ secretary, as well as an investigator. The more she was out on cases, the more the job of answering phones, taking messages, and a dozen other things fell to Mother. The woman had enough to do running the household and taking care of her grandson in Percy’s absence.

  Something will have to be done about that, too.

  The jangle of the foyer phone hurried Percy into the hallway. It was slightly before six am. Maybe it was Pop or something related to Howie’s problem. Percy picked up the phone fast.

  “Cole Brothers Investigations, Persephone Cole speaking,” she said in a rush.

  “Perce, it’s me.”

  “Hey, Hutchers. Find out anything?”

  Even though she and Detective Kenneth Hutchers ‘stepped out’ from time to time, she still addressed him by his surname. He, in turn, always called her by the one-syllable nickname of Perce, as if saying Persephone or even Percy was too much effort.

  “According to the report, Goldberg was seen running away from the scene of the crime, covered in the murder weapon.”

  “What do you mean, ‘covered in the murder weapon’?”

  “Covered from head to toe in milk chocolate. The cops apprehended him hiding out in a phone booth half a block away.”

  “Who’s the victim?”

  “Carlotta Mendez, owner of Carlotta’s Chocolates and Goldberg’s boss. Came over from Spain with her family’s secret recipe to start a chocolate business nine years ago. Single and in her forties. Helluva a way to die, drowning in a vat of chocolate.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Some would say there are worse ways of going. I thought she was found with a rope around her neck. Least, that’s what O’Hara said on the phone.”

  “The autopsy isn’t complete yet, but my pal over at the coroner’s office says it looks like she died as early as midnight. Something about the condition of the skin. Also she might have chocolate in her lungs. It’s in her mouth and throat. They don’t know what the rope was about yet.”

  “None of this sounds right, Hutchers. There�
�s more to this story.”

  “There is. Seems your pal, Goldberg, had a blow-up with Carlotta a few days ago when she demoted him from head chocolatier to assistant.”

  “Hmmm. That’s interesting. Jude should’ve arrived at the station by now. He wants to get Howie arraigned and out of there.”

  Hutchers let out a chuckle. “Fat chance. Goldberg ain’t going nowhere. They got him dead to rights.”

  “Hutchers, I know this man. He’s Oliver’s godfather. He didn’t do this. I don’t know who did, but it wasn’t Howie. I need to talk to him, get the story straight.”

  “Well, I did what you asked. I told the cop doing desk duty to be on the lookout for Goldberg’s wife, a tall redheaded, full-figured gal. That would be you.”

  “That’s a better description than you’ve given of me before. The last time you described me as fat.” Her voice took an unexpected turn toward the warm and familiar.

  “I ain’t never going to live that down, am I?” His voice, too, had warmth and humor, matching her tone. He cleared his throat then went back to business. “They’ll let you into Goldberg’s cell, probably for a good twenty minutes. That should get you something.”

  “Thanks, Hutchers. I appreciate it.”

  “Enough to marry me?” His tone was light but had a serious edge to it.

  “Ah, you just want somebody to wash out your socks. Hire a maid.” They both laughed. “I got to go, Hutchers. If you find out anything else --”

  “You’ll be the first I tell,” he interrupted.

  “Thanks.” She hung up the phone.

  Chapter Six

  “Hey Goldberg, I got your wife here to see you.”

  The cop shouted out as he led Percy down the long line of holding cells. His words set off a series of catcalls and lewd sounds from cells holding individuals against their will or as prisoners of the state, depending on your point of view.

  “Shut up, you miserable creeps or I’ll call the guards down here and really give you what for.”

  He looked back at Percy and grinned. The men shut up and went back to sleeping, reading or pacing their cells, as before.

  “Ain’t this fun?” the guard winked at the woman trailing behind him.

  No matter where Percy looked, everything was a battered shade of gray. Speckled with cracks and graffiti, walls, ceilings, and floor merged into one. Dozens of male prisoners, uniformed in similar gray, also blended into the tired and depressing surroundings.

  Upon hearing the guard’s voice, Howard Goldberg turned around with surprise and ran to the edge of his cell, grasping the bars with white-knuckled hands.

  He, too, was wearing the same gray garb as the other prisoners. But both sleeves and cuffs had been rolled up, making him look like a kid dressing up in his father’s clothes. Oversized scuffies, dirty and worn, clad his small feet.

  Howie took after his mother in build, meaning short and plump. On a good day, maybe he could stretch his round, undefined body up to five-foot four.

  His face was his saving grace. Not quite handsome, it was interesting, earnest, and caring. Within folds of fat and double chins, his intelligence and love of fellow man sparkled. He looked like one of the nicest people on the face of the earth. As far as Percy was concerned, he was.

  The detective noticed one of his eyes had been blackened. An angry purple and red bruise had formed on his swollen, upper lid to below his eyebrow.

  “Percy, Percy.” Howie called her name then remained silent.

  The jangling sounds of the keys caused them both to glance down at the lock. The guard seemed to have a hard time opening it. He fidgeted and fidgeted. Percy and Howie exchanged looks. The guard noticed the look and slowed down even more. Apparently, this was a game with him.

  “Gee, do I turn the key to the left or to the right?” The guard’s voice took on a taunting edge, as he drawled out the words. “Can’t seem to remember.”

  “You do this fifty times a day,” Percy remarked. “A smart man would’ve had it down by now. But I guess that ain’t you.”

  “Anxious for a hug from the little man?” The guard turned with a wink to Howie, who stared back, unblinking.

  Percy closed in on the guard a good four- or five- inches shorter than she, and grabbed one of the bars above his head with a taut hand. She leaned over him, looked down, and spoke in a low but threatening tone.

  “Suppose I give you a hug, pal, and squeeze real, real hard? So hard, breathing’s going to be on the tough side.”

  The guard froze, gaped at her then gulped. With a shaky hand, he turned the key and opened the door. Percy stepped inside the cell and heard the door close and lock behind her. She slowly turned around to face the guard on the other side of the bars, who backed away in silence.

  “You got twenty minutes, lady.” He finally uttered, waiting until he was half way down the corridor.

  Percy turned back to a trembling Howie. He gave her a quick hug, his head landing somewhere in the middle of her chest. Then he pulled away and began to pace the length of the small cell. His entire body twitched with nervous energy.

  “You look like you’re going to jump out of your skin, Howie.”

  “Thank God, you’re here, Percy. They think I killed Carlotta. They think I killed somebody! As if I could ever do anything like that.”

  “Calm down and tell me what happened. Let’s see what we can do.”

  “How’s momma taking this?”

  “Your mother’s holding up. She’s made of strong stuff.”

  He didn’t reply, but nodded his head. “Did you speak to Jude? He left a few minutes ago. I told him everything, everything. It’s all so insane. I can’t believe it.”

  “Yeah, I saw him. He was on his way to talk to a judge. Seems they want to make an example out of you. It’s an election year.”

  “Oh my God, Percy.” He threw himself down on the thin, uncovered mattress. The springs squeaked protesting his weight. “They’re going to hang me. They’re going to hang me.” Face down, he sobbed into the stained ticking.

  She crossed over and patted his back. “Don’t give in, unless you did it.” She paused for a moment. Her low, unemotional voice filled the space. “Tell me the truth. Did you kill that woman, Howie?”

  He stopped sobbing and sat bolt upright, staring at her in horror.

  “How could you even ask such a thing?” His voice held an incredulity she rarely heard from him.”I could never do that to anyone.”

  She sat down beside him. “That’s good to know. For a second there I wasn’t so sure; you’re acting so guilty. We’ll get you out of this mess, but you got to straighten up, and work with Jude and me, okay?”

  He didn’t say anything, but swallowed hard then nodded.

  “So tell me what happened.”

  He fought for control, wringing his pudgy hands, fingernails still rimmed with chocolate.

  “I don’t know. I found her. That’s all.”

  “I need more.”

  “Sure, sure. When I got to work, the door was unlocked and the lights were on. I went in the back to find chocolate all over the floor, equipment, walls. Like somebody had a food fight. It was terrible. The closer I got to the kettle, the more spilt chocolate there was. Then I saw her legs sticking out of it. It was burbling with her in there. It was terrible,” he repeated. His eyes got a far-away look. He winced.

  “What time did you get to the factory?” She reached out a hand, covering the clenched ones in his lap, forcing the wringing movements to stop. “Focus, Howie.”

  Howie looked at his friend and managed a small smile.

  “Sorry. Around three, it had to be. I’ve been working the early shift the last couple of days, ever since Carlotta gave her new boyfriend my job of overseeing things. Ronald Bogdanovitch.” Before he went on, he made a face at the man’s name.

  “Ronald had her buffaloed, Percy, honest. I used to work from six in the morning to six at night. Twelve-hour days, six-days a week, help her run the place. B
ut she changed it, just like that. Put me on the three to three in the afternoon heating and pouring the chocolate. Gave my job to Bogdanovitch, even though he doesn’t know the first thing about it. Cut my salary, too. But it’s not so much the money as the principle of the thing, you know? I was good at my job.”

  “Sounds tough. Tell me about this Carlotta. What was she like? Did she have any enemies?”

  Howie pursed his lips together, moving them in and out. He did that when he didn’t want to talk about something. Percy pushed.

  “So you didn’t like her.”

  “It wasn’t so much that I didn’t like her, Percy. She knew her chocolate. She just...she...” He broke off speaking and sat back on the bunk.

  “Talk, man, we’re running out of time.”

  He leaned forward again and looked to either side of him, making sure no one could hear him except Percy. “She used to come on to me. She was like that with all of the men, even the young ones, the ones who hardly spoke English. It was like she was...”

  “Sex starved?”

  “Yes.” He looked down, embarrassed. “She was younger than she looked. In her early forties. I don’t know exactly. But she was a dried-up, skinny, little thing with a great big nose--”

  “So no Dorothy Lamour.”

  “No, and she wore this big black braid coiled around the top of her head. Made her look very matronly. But still, I think all she wanted was to be loved.”

  “She didn’t know about you and Ralph, I guess.”

  Howie glanced up. Percy threw a gentle smile in his direction. “One old friend to another.”

  Howie smiled back then dropped his head again. “Nobody knows except you. Not even Mamma. Especially Mamma. She’d die. She always wanted me to marry you. Mothers.” He shrugged, trying to regain his humor.

  “How is Ralph?”

  “He’s over in France somewhere. He can’t say. I got a letter from him yesterday.”

  “You still trying to join up?”

  He paused then shook his head with finality. “No use. Rheumatic Fever from when I was a kid. Damaged my heart. My sad lot in life.” He added the last part in barely a whisper.