Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 02 - Murder, Lies & Chocolate

by Sally Berneathy

  “Fly, bug, some kind of insect,” I said for Trent’s benefit. “You all know what I meant. Anyway, I think Rick either learned some things last night that he didn’t know about his girlfriend, or he learned there’s another player in this game of Take Lindsay’s House. In either event, that would have been one interesting conversation. It’s too bad we’ll never know what was said.”

  “Would you hand me another beer?” Trent asked in a blatant change of subject maneuver.

  I pulled a cold can from the ice and took it to him then plopped down in the chair beside him. “You know, if we were all to pool our knowledge, we’d be able to catch Bradford’s killer a lot faster and make my house safe so nobody felt compelled to sleep on an air bed in my living room. And since I brought the subject up, you’ve got to work tomorrow. You need to deflate your bed and take it with you. This is getting ridiculous.”

  “She’s right, Trent,” Paula said. “Lindsay and Henry are going to stay at my house tonight.”

  “And leave the treasure in my house unguarded?” I shook my head. “I am not exactly helpless, and I have a ferocious attack cat.”

  At the moment my attack cat was teaching Zach how to leap at the lightning bugs that were starting to appear in the evening dusk.

  “I’m staying at your house tonight,” Fred announced, “whether or not you’re there. You can stay with Paula and I’ll guard the treasure.”

  I reached over and took Trent’s hand. “Well, I guess that settles that. Unless you want to sleep with Fred, you need to go home tonight.” If Fred spent the night, I’d have extra time to nag him about bugging Rick’s house.

  Trent studied Fred. The two men are about the same height, but Trent does all that cop stuff and has muscles like you’d see on the cover of a romance novel. He also has a fierce look about him, the kind of look that would make a criminal stop and think twice before taking him on. Fred, on the other hand, is lanky and has a dignified look that would only frighten someone about to use the wrong fork at dinner.

  “Thanks for offering, Fred,” Trent said, “but I don’t mind staying with Lindsay again. She’s so self-sufficient, I don’t often have the chance to take care of her.”

  Trent had never seen Fred kick butt and take out a would-be murderer about to make me his next victim, and Fred denies that ever happened when I try to tell somebody. So I can understand why Trent might be a little dubious about trusting Fred to protect me. It was kind of amusing but kind of insulting too.

  I let go of Trent’s hand and rose. I’d intended to rise imperiously, but that’s kind of hard to do from a lawn chair. Nevertheless, I stood and looked at the two of them. “That’s enough. I do not need to be protected. I do not need either of you staying at my house tonight, but if anybody’s going to, it’s going to be Fred because the rest of us have to work tomorrow. And speaking of that, it’s getting dark, so we need to call it a night.”

  “I work,” Fred protested.

  “Where’s Zach?” Paula exclaimed, and suddenly she was on her feet, her voice laced with panic. She still hadn’t completely recovered from the nightmare experience her ex put her and Zach through and was a little overly protective of her son.

  “It’s okay,” I assured her. “Henry’s gone too. He probably went around the house, and Zach’s chasing him.”

  But I didn’t feel as confident as I sounded. There was too much crazy stuff going on to feel okay with a little boy and a cat disappearing in the dark.

  “I’ll go down the alley,” Trent said, pushing through the shrubbery in that direction.

  “I’ll go around the house this way, you two go that way.” Fred headed to the left, and Paula and I went right.

  A terrible scream ruptured the quiet night, a sound like a creature in the depths of the jungle preparing to take down his prey.

  “Zach!” Paula shouted, running toward the front of the house so fast I couldn’t keep up even with my longer legs.

  “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Zach raced into her arms, sobbing hysterically. “Bad man hurt Henry!”

  “Henry!” Now it was my turn to panic. I raced around the corner of the house in time to see Henry chasing a figure in a long coat and hood down the sidewalk. Apparently my cat wasn’t hurt too badly. “Henry! Stop!” I charged down the sidewalk, determined to save my cat and trip his intended victim to put them on the same level so Henry could get to him to claw his face off.

  Fred appeared from the other direction, his long legs easily carrying him ahead of me.

  But the running figure had a head start. He made it to the beige sedan that waited at the curb with the engine running, slid in and peeled away. Henry let out another jungle cat yowl but stopped at the curb. Good. Chasing dogs was one thing, but I didn’t need him to start chasing cars. What would I do if he brought a few home and I had to pay insurance on them?

  Fred ran into the street and looked after the sedan. Trent brought up the rear, swearing with a great deal of expertise. He had his gun drawn.

  “Shoot out the tires!” I shouted.

  “I can’t do that!”

  Freaking laws. You can’t drive too fast. You’re not divorced until the judge says you are. You can’t shoot out the tires of somebody who tried to hurt your almost-girlfriend’s cat. Who makes up these stupid laws?

  Fred came back down the sidewalk, shaking his head. “Same license plates as the car at Paula’s house. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman driving.”

  Henry stalked over, and I picked him up. “Good boy,” I said. “Good attack cat.” I could tell he was disappointed he hadn’t been able to draw blood.

  “It was her.” Paula stood beside me, her son held tightly against her.

  Zach pushed away from his mother, reached up and petted my cat. “Henry okay?”

  “Henry’s okay.” I looked at Paula. “I agree. I think it was the woman with the big boobs, and she wore protective clothing because Henry got her when she broke in before. My money’s on Lisa. She’s the right height.”

  Trent moved up beside me. “I suspect you’re correct about the clothing. Nobody wears a coat and hood in this heat just to keep warm.” His gun had disappeared again. Slick. “But you said Lisa didn’t have any scratches on her.”

  I shrugged. “Could be Rick was with her when they broke in, and Henry scratched him while she got away. Henry doesn’t like Rick. You saw that last night.” But I didn’t really believe my own theory. Rick had been shocked when I told him about the break-in. I knew him well enough to know when he was lying. He did it so often, it wasn’t hard to learn the signs. And I didn’t think he’d been faking his surprise last night.

  Fred strode over to the porch, and Trent followed.

  “Here’s how they’ve been getting into your house.” Fred stared down at something metallic lying directly in front of the door.

  “Lock picks,” Trent said. “We’re dealing with professionals.” He took out his cell phone. “Time to call in the cops.”

  “Why? They won’t do anything. Nothing was taken, nothing was destroyed,” I mimicked.

  “They’ll file another report. We’ll have it on record.” He punched a number into his phone.

  “I’m going home now,” Fred said, “but I’ll be back when everybody’s gone. I’m spending the night, and tomorrow we’re searching your house from top to bottom. There’s something valuable in there or these people wouldn’t take such risks to get to it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Pleasant Grove Police were, once more, less than helpful. They wrote up a report and took the lock pick things with them in an evidence bag. Maybe one day they’d check for fingerprints, but I doubted it.

  Fred spent the night in my living room on Trent’s air mattress which Trent graciously agreed to loan him. I think those two could be friends if they weren’t both so secretive about everything. But I suppose an air mattress is as good a place as any for a friendship to start.

  When I left for work, Fred was already up and
making strange noises in my basement. I gave him carte blanche permission to go through everything. I figured by the time I got home, he’d have my house cleaned and all my spices in alphabetical order. I was hoping he’d find a few missing things like my favorite iron skillet and my purple tee-shirt with rhinestone butterflies.

  The morning went well. I made Chocolate Mousse for lunch, served it with a dollop of whipped cream and a strawberry on top, and saw a lot of happy faces.

  Paula and I were cleaning up and preparing to close for the day when Trent called.

  “We’ve arrested someone for Rodney Bradford’s murder,” he said. “I wanted to let you know before you saw it on TV.”

  “Who? Lisa? Rick?”

  “Diane Hartman.”

  “Who?” I’d never heard the name. “Are we talking about the same Rodney Bradford?”

  “She’s his old girlfriend. They were together before Rodney went to prison, and then he dumped her for Lisa.”

  “Oh. Well. So you caught her. That’s great.”

  “You don’t sound like you think it’s great. You can let Henry roam again and won’t have to worry about somebody breaking into your house.”

  “I do think it’s great. I really do. It’s just that, well, I’ve become sort of personally involved, and I guess I’m a little disappointed not to be involved in the final solution. You never even mentioned that woman before today. I had no idea she was being considered as a suspect.” I felt a little betrayed.

  “Lindsay, you know I can’t tell you everything that goes on in an official investigation.”

  “I understand. No problem.” I did understand on a rational level, but I still had a problem with it. Okay, I knew that was irrational. Didn’t matter. I was miffed that Trent had been in my house and shared my chocolate and even kissed me but still kept secrets from me. “So this woman killed Bradford because she was upset with him for dumping her?”

  “That’s our take on it.”

  “What was she looking for in my house?”

  “She denies being in your house.”

  “Well, of course she does. I suppose she denies killing Bradford too.”

  “Yes.”

  “So she didn’t confess, but you have evidence to prove she’s guilty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like cat scratches on her arms?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  That sounded like a no to me. “What does she look like?”

  He hesitated.

  “Oh, come on! I’ll see her picture on TV on the evening news!”

  “Medium height, dark hair, ample bosom.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the tall, blond woman who came to Paula’s house.”

  “Wearing a wig, it could be. Paula’s short. If Diane was wearing heels, she’d seem tall to Paula.”

  “What would she be doing driving a car registered in George Murray’s name?”

  Silence for several heart beats. “How did you know about George Murray’s car?”

  I considered telling him Fred told me, get all the secrets out in the open. But it wasn’t my place to divulge Fred’s secrets. “Computer,” I said, feeling certain that was how Fred got his information.

  “You found that information on the Internet?”

  “You can find anything on the Internet.”

  “License plate registrations are not public information.”

  “That all depends on your definition of public. I need to go. We’re busy.”

  “Hmmm,” he said.

  “Good-bye,” I said.

  “What was that all about?” Paula asked as soon as I hung up.

  “They arrested Rodney Bradford’s old girlfriend for his murder.” I gave the counter a final wipe and tossed the towel into the laundry hamper.

  “Well, that’s good. We won’t have to worry anymore about people breaking into your house or trying to hurt Henry.” She didn’t look convinced. “What were you saying about George Murray’s car?”

  “That beige car that came to your house and that Henry chased away last night is registered to George Murray.”

  In the silent restaurant, surrounded by clean, empty tables and counter stools, we stood for a long moment looking at each other, our doubts so loud I could almost hear them.

  “Surely they have some sort of evidence against this Diane Hartman,” Paula finally said. “The police know what they’re doing.”

  “You really believe that? You were married to a cop.”

  Paula nodded, her jaw firming. “Good point. We still need to be careful.”

  ***

  I returned home to find my house much tidier than when I left and loud noises coming from my attic. Henry darted down the stairs and made a big production of telling me about this latest interruption to his once-orderly life. I gave him tuna and promised catnip later. He grudgingly accepted.

  I went up to the attic where Fred sat in the middle of the floor clutching a hammer and looking more disheveled than I’d ever seen him. For one thing, he was sweating. Who knew Fred could sweat? His hair was a mess, tousled, more gray than white from all the dust, and his face was streaked with grime. He didn’t look happy.

  “There is nothing…and I emphasize the word nothing…in this house that anyone would risk jail time to obtain.”

  I sat down beside him. It seemed the polite thing to do. “That’s good, right?”

  “It makes no sense,” he said.

  “Want to hear something else that doesn’t make sense? The cops arrested Bradford’s old girlfriend for his murder.”

  Fred’s scowl deepened. “You’re right. That doesn’t make sense. Did she confess?”

  “No, she denies everything. But Trent said they have evidence.”

  “I don’t suppose Mr. Stone Face told you what that evidence is.”

  Mr. Stone Face. Good one. “Of course not. He can’t tell me everything that goes on in an official investigation.”

  Fred rose. “I’m going to go home and shower. I’ll be back in two hours and we can eat leftovers from yesterday’s cookout.”

  I stood and headed out of the dusty attic. “And we can talk about the evidence that Trent won’t tell me about.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I have chocolate mousse.”

  “You always think you can bribe me with chocolate.”

  I preceded him down the stairs, smiling to myself. There was a reason I always thought I could bribe him with chocolate. It always worked.

  “Did you find my iron skillet?” I asked.

  “You have an iron skillet in the back of the top shelf of the third row of kitchen cabinets. Is that the one you’re talking about?”

  “Yes. Kitchen cabinet, huh? Who would have thought to look there?”

  “Did you know you have six pairs of men’s silk bikini briefs with the monogram RLK under your bed?”

  “Yes. Those belonged to Rick. They were his favorites. They somehow got mixed up in my stuff when I moved out.”

  “Somehow?”

  I paused halfway down the attic stairs and looked at him over my shoulder. “We all know how. Let it go.”

  He nodded. I turned and continued on to the second floor landing. “Is there a reason they’re under your bed?” he asked.

  “Henry likes to drag things under there for his den, and I thought he deserved expensive things.”

  “I also found a purple tee-shirt with rhinestone butterflies mixed in with those shorts.”

  “Ew! Guess I won’t be wearing that shirt again, not after it’s been in close proximity to Rick’s underwear.”

  “They’re all covered in cat hair.”

  “Good.” Maybe one day I’d give Rick back a pair or two of his expensive shorts.

  ***

  Fred returned exactly two hours later, clean and looking more like his usual self. We had hamburgers and chocolate mousse, and Henry had catnip. Soon everyone was satiated, and at least one of us was in a suitable state to be pumped for information.


  I popped open fresh Cokes for Fred and me, and we moved into the living room.

  “What evidence do they have against Rodney’s old girlfriend?” I asked as we both sank onto the sofa. I stretched out, putting my feet on my coffee table. It’s my coffee table, so I’ll put my feet on it if I like.

  “She has an amoprine tree in her front yard, and it’s loaded with berries.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe those trees aren’t common around here, but I’m going to bet that’s not the only one in the area.”

  “Probably the only one with a direct connection to the murder victim. Perhaps not damning evidence in itself, but they also received an anonymous tip that Bradford was at her house a couple of hours before he died.”

  “Anonymous tip? They trust a tip from somebody who won’t even leave their name?”

  “Enough to investigate, and a neighbor confirmed seeing Rodney’s car in the driveway that morning.”

  I sat back and sipped my Coke, considering that information. “This puts a whole new light on things.”

  “Not really. Diane claims he arrived at her house that morning saying she’d texted him to come by, that she had something important to tell him. She says she didn’t text him, that she doesn’t own a cell phone. The text originated from one of those prepaid phones, so that doesn’t prove anything one way or the other. He did go into her house for a while, and they had coffee together.”

  I turned to look directly at him. “Coffee? Are you using that as a euphemism for something else?”

  Fred heaved a frustrated sigh. “No. Bradford loved coffee. They drank coffee together. She said they had a nice conversation, and he left to keep his appointment with his real estate agent. That would be Rick.”

  “A nice conversation? Not likely.”

  “I guess we’ll never know. Bradford’s in no condition to verify or deny what she says. Amoprine berries do have a bitter flavor similar to coffee, so she could have done it.”

  We sipped our sodas in silence for a little while.

  Henry strolled in, eased onto the sofa beside me and went to sleep, snoring softly.

  “Cat scratches?” I asked.

  “No, thank you.”