Chocolate was, indeed, everywhere. Not really edible, though, unless you like licking it off the floors, walls, and windows. There have been days when I would’ve done that for a chocolate fix, but the wasted deliciousness wasn’t the worst thing about this scene.
The Chocolatiers blended their own chocolate mixture (a dark secret) in a huge, stainless steel vat behind the main counter. In the dim light, I could see someone bending over the vat—a large, red, plumed hat covering him.
“It’s Cesar,” Chase said. “I guess he had a little too much to drink before he came to make chocolate.”
“What a waste!” It was all I could think of—until Chase tried to wake the eldest chocolatier. Cesar fell backward out of the vat, splashing up another few gallons of liquid chocolate across us and the rest of the shop. He was wearing red shorts and a white apron with red hearts beneath his extravagant, plumed hat. Like the rest of the kitchen—he was covered in chocolate.
“I don’t think he’s drunk after all,” Chase said in a subdued voice after checking Cesar’s pulse. “I think he’s dead.”
The security guard coming in behind me sighed. “Poor Cesar. I guess this is what they mean when they say death by chocolate.”
Three
It only took the Myrtle Beach Police Department a few minutes to invade the Village with their lights and sirens. By that time, all the lanterns and candles in the Village were lit and residents had begun making their way toward the center of the disturbance.
Chase shook hands with Detective Donald Almond. Detective Almond was assigned to the Village as a contact for the more serious offenses that happened—not the petty thefts or even simple assaults. Chase and the regular security force took care of those things. Of course, all the offenders ended up in the Myrtle Beach jail anyway.
“This better be good, Manhattan,” Detective Almond said. His gray shirt and too-tight black pants looked even more wrinkled than usual. Obviously, he’d searched around in the dark for clothes, too.
“I don’t know about good but Cesar Rizzo is dead.”
At almost the same instant that Chase said his name, Cesar’s brothers—Bernardo and Marco—came running, pushing their way through the crowd to find out what had happened.
“Hold on there, boys.” Detective Almond held up his hand. “Where’s the fire?”
All three Chocolatiers were tall, buff, good-looking specimens of Renaissance manhood. Cesar had been the oldest, probably in his forties. “We heard our brother is dead,” Bernardo said with great angst in his voice. “You tell us what’s going on.”
“Chase?” Marco asked in a less-demanding voice. He was the youngest and the least obnoxious of the trio. “Did something happen to Cesar?”
“I’m afraid he’s dead.” Chase put a hand on each one of the younger Rizzo brothers’ shoulders. “I’m not sure what happened to him yet. The police will figure it out.”
“Let’s take a look before we start making rash statements.” Detective Almond hitched up his pants and snorted a little in the damp night air. “I give you a lot of credit for keeping everything straight out here, Manhattan. But you better let an expert take a look before you make wild statements. You’re not the coroner, you know.”
Following his statement, Detective Almond went into the chocolate shop. He came right back out again. “Looks like you might be right. That man is definitely dead.”
I started to say, duh, but held my tongue. Mary, Mary Quite Contrary stood next to me, trying to see what was happening. “Did Cesar really die making chocolate?” she asked me.
“It looks like it.”
“I hope he got to eat some of it.”
I didn’t answer, since it looked like he might’ve eaten a little too much chocolate. Chase and Detective Almond went back into the shop, leaving Marco and Bernardo sobbing loudly in the street over their brother’s demise.
“What’s it like in there?” Fred the Red Dragon asked, wearing only the bottom half of his costume.
“Chocolate everywhere,” I told him. “It looks kind of like his blender went crazy.”
Everyone from Lady Godiva to Galileo and Mother Goose began speculating on what could’ve killed Cesar. It looked like an unfortunate accident to me. But it was hard to tell what happened with chocolate covering everything. The coroner’s van pulled up a few minutes later to add more fuel to Village speculation.
Security men began to urge everyone to go home. Two fairies had taken Bernardo and Marco in hand—as they frequently did. The Three Chocolatiers were probably the most eligible bachelors in the Village.
Merlin came through the thinning crowd, no pointed wizard’s hat or robe, just a pair of purple silk pajamas covering his thin frame. “Good heavens! I could hear all of this going on at the other end of the Village. Can you keep it down? There’s a lot going on tomorrow. I need my rest.”
“There’s been a death,” Sam Da Vinci told him. “Cesar Rizzo.”
“You don’t say. What do they think happened to him?” The wizard-CEO stroked his straggly white beard.
“They haven’t said yet,” Lady Lindsey said. “But I heard Chase say he died in chocolate.”
Merlin rocked back on his heels and smiled. “Best way to die—besides sex, of course.”
Everyone laughed at that. I figured it was good for them to use humor to alleviate the tension. The Village was a tight-knit community. Aside from a transient population of college and high school drama students who took on the lesser jobs, the shopkeepers and the main characters were mostly people who had been here for years. Cesar’s death was bound to affect everyone.
“Well, at least we don’t have to compete with him for the ladies anymore,” Peter Greenwalt added. He was a chunky man with mutton chops and long hair. He owned Peter’s Pub, one of the better taverns in the Village.
Many of the younger (and middle-aged) men around him agreed with that statement. There was a lot of jealousy regarding the Three Chocolatiers. Not only were they physically attractive and single, but they owned a chocolate shop. That’s about as good as it gets.
A sound like thunder came from the darkness, headed our way. The small group of residents outside the chocolate shop drew closer together. Even the police officers, charged with holding the line against entry from the cobblestones, looked worried.
“What is that?” I asked just before eight men in black robes brought their horses to an abrupt stop before us.
“I take it you haven’t met the new attraction yet,” Merlin whispered. “The Knights Templar. They’re very popular this summer.”
I could see why. The men were wrapped in dark robes and headdresses that allowed only their eyes to show. The horses were huge and extremely well trained. Not one of the animals so much as flicked its tail after the riders stopped.
“Show offs,” Peter hissed. “They’ve taken over the Village. Not even Chase can stop them.”
The head police officer stepped forward as the knights moved toward the chocolate shop. “There’s no admittance. Best to go home now.”
The knight in front nodded. “We have only come to see if we may be of service.”
“Why? Run out of things to do in the woods?” I recognized Da Vinci’s voice, but he was behind me, apparently not up to yelling that to their faces.
The dark riders looked my way at the same time, and a chill ran down my spine. They were very impressive. The monks of the Brotherhood of the Sheaf were a little spooky when you saw them all together. But nothing like this. It was probably the big, black horses. The monks don’t ride.
“You question our honorable intentions?” the front rider demanded, still looking right at me.
“I don’t,” I responded quickly, looking over my shoulder. That coward, Da Vinci, was gone. “It wasn’t me. I think you’re kind of awesome. And if you say you’re here to help, I believe you.”
The lead rider dismounted, as did the rest of his men, and walked toward me. I couldn’t help but notice the very large scimitar
hanging from his side. Very impressive. He knelt at my feet and took my hand. “It seems someone hid behind you so they could hurl insults without regard for the consequences. I apologize for your being rudely used, my lady.” He kissed my hand.
I’ve had many people kiss my hand in the Village. Most people don’t get that you can’t slobber on someone and expect to impress them. This knight knew what he was doing. There was absolutely no slobber.
“That’s fine, Sir Knight. I appreciate your concern. No harm, no foul.”
“Perhaps a ride on my steed in the night air would be good for you, my lady. You have only to say the word.”
“Allow me to say the word,” Chase said, interrupting my knightly interlude. “All of you guys go home. Go back to your tents, and let the professionals handle this. And by this, I mean Jessie, too. I hope you get what I’m saying here.”
The knight got easily to his feet and gave Chase a curt bow. “We do not mean to trespass, Sir Bailiff. Let us know if you need help maintaining order and stability in the Village. This is our home now, too.”
“Thanks,” Chase acknowledged him politely. “I think I’ve got this one.”
All of the Knights Templar got on their horses and headed back the way they’d come. Peter joked a little with Chase about needing help from the horsemen. When Chase refused to take the bait, he drifted away with a few of the remaining residents.
“You didn’t tell me about them,” I said when Chase and I were alone.
“I’m surprised you haven’t seen them already. They’re the hot ticket this summer. They live in big black tents in the forest. The visitors love them and their horse tricks, but everyone who works here hates them.”
“Jealousy.”
“Maybe.”
“They are kind of awesome.”
“You think?”
“Not like you.” I backed down from my knight-inspired haze. “But impressive.”
We were walking back to the Dungeon, leaving the police and crime scene people to do their jobs. From somewhere in the darkness, a crazed rooster was crowing his heart out, confused by the noise and light into thinking it was morning.
“Did they have any ideas about what happened to Cesar?” The conversation had fallen flat and I felt the urge to talk. Not unusual for me.
“They didn’t really say. I think it had something to do with the large hat pin in his eye.”
Four
“Ew!” I think that summed up my feelings on the subject. My stomach felt a little queasy thinking about it. “I guess he was murdered then. Besides all the jealous men in the Village, who’d want to kill Cesar?”
“You probably just hit the shield with the lance.” Chase unlocked the door to the Dungeon. “I’m sure Detective Almond will want to have a word with some of them.”
“It was kind of elaborate, wasn’t it?” Despite the gross factor, I couldn’t keep from thinking—and, therefore, talking—about it. “I mean, why go through all of that staging with the chocolate and covering him with the hat? Why kill him with a hat pin in the eye—which, by the way, is really creepy—and why the rest of the drama? What did the hat pin look like?”
“I don’t know, Jessie. I don’t like murder in the Village. I can handle the petty thefts and everything else. People being killed here is more than I want to think about. And I think the hat pin had some kind of green stone on it. It was hard to tell with all the chocolate.”
He was taking off his shirt and shorts, cleaning off the chocolate, and I was admiring the view. “You handled it very well. Are you starting to regret that you’re the bailiff?”
“Not exactly. I didn’t think I’d have to deal with something like this when I took the job. I guess when you get a large group of people living together, bad things can happen.”
I washed the chocolate off of me, too, and lay down next to him, wrapping my arms around him. “I’m sorry you had to do this. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”
He smiled at me and turned off the light. “Let’s think about that.”
Chase and I were up a few hours later, which was not especially welcome after the tumultuous events of earlier that morning. Every Wednesday morning, Chase hears grievances from the residents of the Village. This is done right outside the Dungeon near the stocks for the occasional bout of vegetable justice that’s required to keep everybody happy. Normally this is a small group, since no one gets up early around here, and Adventure Land conveniently allows this time before the gates open for the process.
Chase, as bailiff, hears the grievances, makes judgments on some of them, and takes others to King Harold and Queen Olivia. If that doesn’t work, he takes the problem to the Village management team. But mostly, no one wants to involve outsiders, so Chase’s word is law.
This particular Wednesday morning, a stream of residents waited outside the Dungeon for Chase to emerge. They seemed unusually angry and hostile to me. Maybe it was just having their sleep interrupted by Cesar’s untimely demise.
“We want to know what you’re going to do about those Templar Knights,” Lord Maximus demanded. He does the “Birds of Prey” program at the Hawk Stage three times a day. “We’re tired of putting up with them.”
There was a chorus of agreement from the knaves, knights, madmen, and scoundrels behind him. I couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t a single woman in the crowd.
“Do you have something in particular that you want to lodge a complaint about?” Chase asked Maximus in particular and the crowd in general.
“You mean besides them showing up during performances, upstaging everyone else, and sneaking around the Village at all hours of the day and night?” Maximus countered.
“And stealing all the women!” a well-dressed woodsman added.
A loud, lusty response followed from the young to middle-aged men. Fists shot into the air to reinforce their unhappiness.
I could see Chase was trying not to smile in the face of this complaint. I knew he took his role very seriously. “Gentlemen, knaves, and varlets—”
“Don’t forget madmen!”
“And madmen. I understand your problem with the knights. There’s not much I can do about it. My advice is to keep your ladies happy and at home.”
“Maybe we should open a chastity belt shop,” one of the varlets retorted.
“There has to be something you can do, Chase.” My twin brother, Tony, added his voice to the discussion. “I hear they were interested in Jessie last night. She’ll end up in the black tents with them before the week is out. Then you’ll really understand our problem.”
If my brother was having lady problems because of the knights, there must really be an issue. I hadn’t seen him since I’d arrived. He lived here year-round like Chase and many of the others. And, usually, women flocked to him like magpies.
Chase held up his hand for silence after allowing a few minutes of banter regarding Tony’s manhood. “I’ll talk to the knights. But they aren’t kidnapping your girlfriends. If Jessie, or any other lady, decides to go with them, there’s not much I can do. But I’ll definitely have a word with them about the performances.”
No one was very happy with that decision—except for the Tornado Twins, Diego and Lorenzo. They’re comedians with a mature audience sticker on all the signs and handouts around the Village.
Diego prostrated himself at Chase’s feet. “Take me with you! I want to live in the black tents. I could water their horses or shave their heads. I don’t care. I just want to be like them.”
His brother, Lorenzo, came up and slipped a leash around his neck. “You’re staying home tonight! No more running around the forest with those knights. Maybe these other guys don’t know how to keep their partners home, but I know about your secret life of peanut butter and debauchery. Come along!”
A little pig with a tiny pink umbrella fastened to its head went with them, following at their heels like a puppy.
“Anything else?” Chase asked as the male port
ion of the group began to wander back to their shops and jobs.
Mother Goose, holding Phineas, her live fowl, came forward with one of the Lovely Laundry Ladies. “Yes, Bailiff. We were wondering if you could take us out to help you with the knights. We’re both very good at problem solving.”
Chase shook his head, his dark braid flipping over his shoulder, the early-morning sunlight glinting on the gold earring he wore. “Ladies, seriously, you know where the tents are. If you want to go out there, do so.”
Mother Goose humphed. “It’s not that easy to get an introduction. I’ll bet you take Jessie out there with you.”
“Not if he’s smart,” Tony commented.
“If that’s all.” Chase tried again to wrap up the justice system in the Village.
“I have a question.” Detective Almond seemed to come out of nowhere—still wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier this morning.
“What can I do for you, detective?” Chase asked.
“You can tell me who you think killed your chocolate-making friend. I hate to take you away from all this important stuff, Manhattan. But it looks like you really do have a murder on your hands.”
Five
“At least I didn’t get out of bed at two A.M. for nothing,” Detective Almond joked. “What kind of kangaroo court are you running out here anyway? Those people court are you running out here anyway? Those people acted like you’re judge and jury.”
Chase didn’t try to explain. It never went well with someone from the outside anyway. “I guess it was kind of easy for you to tell that Cesar didn’t die of natural causes once you found the hat pin in his eye.”
“Yep. But that was just some kind of weird symbolism—like the hat, I guess. It’s not what killed him.”
Harrowing Hats Page 3