Death by Chocolate Lab

by Bethany Blake

  “I’m so sorry about Virginia,” I said, approaching his car, which he’d parked in the gravel spot. I’d hurried off the patio to intercept him, in hopes of preventing my mother from foisting a card on him. “How are you doing?”

  Mitch stepped away from the BMW, and I noted that he’d gained a nice tan since I’d last seen him. I could imagine him chasing a little white ball around on the grass. In fact, he was wearing khakis and a golf shirt, like he’d just come from the course—although I knew that couldn’t be the case.

  Could it?

  “I’m coping,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. He smiled, hopefully out of habit, then seemed to think the better of that and quickly grew serious. “I’m sorry for you, too. It must’ve been very traumatic for you that evening.”

  “I’m okay,” I assured him, ending the handshake and reaching into my back pocket to retrieve Virginia’s phone. I didn’t want to forget to hand it over to him. “I accidentally took this when I was trying to call for help. I’m sure you’ll want it back, to give it to the police.”

  “That’s Virginia’s?” he asked, sounding oddly eager. Before I could answer, he took the phone from me and stared at the dark screen. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I’ll definitely want this. I’d been wondering what happened to it.”

  There was something weird about his tone of voice. Then again, I didn’t know what was normal for him.

  “I suppose you want the dogs,” I said, turning to summon them.

  I also thought it was strange that Macduff, Iago, and Hamlet hadn’t run to greet the man with whom they lived. They remained on the patio, eating their ice cream.

  Piper and my mother were still seated at the table, too, although Mom was half out of her chair. I could tell she was watching to see if I’d invite Mitch to join us or if she’d need to swoop down to offer her overwrought brand of sympathy, accompanied by that business card.

  I didn’t want that to happen and called, “Macduff, Iago, Hamlet! Come!”

  Luckily, they obeyed that non-Shakespearean command and started loping in my direction.

  When I turned back to Mitch, he was opening his wallet. “I’d actually like you to keep the dogs for a while—at least until after the funeral,” he said. He continued to dig for cash but looked up at me. “That is your business, right? You don’t just walk dogs. You sit for them, too, correct?”

  My van was parked next to his car, so there was no denying I was a pet sitter, even if I’d wanted to—which I didn’t.

  “The whole pack is welcome to stay here for a while,” I said. “But I couldn’t take any money for watching them. Not under the circumstances.”

  “No. I want to pay you,” he insisted. “You’ll be helping me during a busy, difficult time.”

  I was about to protest again when he grabbed my hand and pressed a wad of cash into my palm. He folded my fingers around the bills and squeezed them. “Here’s five hundred dollars. That should pay their keep for a while. But I can pay you more, if need be.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” I said, trying to give back the advance. The rottweilers had joined us, and I felt sorry for them, in case they understood that they were being abandoned, even temporarily. “Please . . . I can’t take this. Let me watch them as a favor.”

  “Of course you should be paid,” Mitch said. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t even looked at the poor rotties. He really hadn’t been joking when he’d suggested I keep them the day I met him on the porch. He released my hand and took a step backward. “Thanks for returning the phone,” he said. “And I’ll be in touch about picking up the dogs. Soon.”

  I didn’t say anything more. I watched, cash in hand, as he hopped into his sporty car, put it in gear, and drove off.

  “Well, he left in a hurry,” my mother said, wobbling in her rush to cross the uneven ground, although she was obviously too late. The BMW was leaving a trail of dust as Mitch beat his hasty retreat. “I didn’t even get a chance to express my condolences.”

  “I don’t know if condolences are in order,” I said, continuing to follow the BMW with my gaze as it sped down the hill. “I don’t think he’s too broken up about Virginia’s death.”

  I also didn’t think Senator Mitch was ever going to claim his dogs. In fact, I wouldn’t let him. He’d sell them or put them in a shelter.

  I rested my hand on Macduff’s head and forced myself to smile at the leader of the small pack. He was looking up at me with confusion in his eyes. “It’s okay,” I assured him. “I’ll take care of you all.”

  “You can’t do that,” my mother protested. “You can’t take on three huge beasts! Piper will not allow it.”

  “Trust me, I’m being well compensated,” I said, opening my palm to show her the money. “Five hundred dollars—for starters.”

  For once, Mom was impressed with me. “Well, that’s decent remuneration,” she said. “And with the chance of more to come.”

  The whole situation didn’t feel right to me, though.

  I didn’t trust a man who didn’t greet his own dogs, no matter how much he smiled or how many people voted for him. And he’d seemed so eager to get his hands on that phone.

  Had I just taken money from a guy who’d killed his wife—and given him a device that might have damning evidence on it? Like an angry text or a call placed at the wrong time?

  Then I remembered how Bryce had complained about his mother’s failure to acknowledge him publicly. If Mitch had just learned about Bryce’s existence, he’d probably hated Steve, too.

  It would certainly be rough to learn that your spouse had kept a massive secret from you for years. A secret she’d shared with her past lover.

  Bryce’s arrival in town might’ve turned Mitch’s world upside down—and given him motive for two murders.

  I rested my hand against my stomach, which was churning.

  “Mom?” I asked. “Can you please give me Detective Black’s contact information? And loan me your phone? I think I’ve done something really stupid.”

  Chapter 64

  “Would you believe my mother is still invoking ‘Realtor-client privilege’?” I asked Moxie, who was on speaker. My mother had refused to let me touch her phone to contact Jonathan, but Piper had been nice enough to lend me hers so I could call my friend while I got ready to meet Dylan at the Lakeside. In spite of complaining about the addition of three dogs to the house, Piper was pleased that I was finally earning some real money. She’d taken the wad of cash from my hand and counted out three hundred dollars for herself as partial payment on rent and food. “Mom said she’d contact Jonathan about Virginia’s phone.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” Moxie asked. Her voice sounded crystal clear, like she was in my bedroom with me. I was starting to see the advantages of keeping up with the latest technology, as Piper always did. “You are way too deeply involved in this investigation. Just let the police figure it out.”

  “Yeah, I can’t do that,” I said, searching through my closet for a new outfit. Piper’d made me bathe all the dogs, who were drying off outside, and I’d gotten soaked when they’d shaken off the hose water. Since the evening was hot, and Dylan and I would be sitting outside, I selected a spaghetti-strap maxi dress with a sweet washed-out pink floral print. The look was bohemian meets shabby chic. “Even if I didn’t feel like I need to protect Piper, I’m too intrigued at this point to let it go.”

  “Are you intrigued by the murders or the detective who’s getting paid to solve them?” Moxie asked.

  “The murders,” I said too quickly. I immediately felt guilty. Didn’t girl code dictate that I be honest with my best friend? “Okay, I might be somewhat intrigued by Jonathan. Enough that I researched him online, got caught doing it, and ruined a potential friendship.”

  The phone was so good that I could hear Moxie suck in a breath. “Ooh . . . What did you learn? Because I will readily admit to being fascinated with Detective Black!”

  I hesitated, then said, “I know we s
hare all our secrets, but I’d rather not share his. Is that okay? And could you please not hunt them down, either? He’s pretty upset with me. I’d like his past to lie dormant for a while.”

  “Okay,” Moxie agreed. “I’ll just wait for the regular gossip mill to start churning. Somebody else will delve into his history at some point and talk.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  After slipping on the dress, I moved to my mirror, which was an intricately carved piece I’d bartered for at a Thai market, gaining it in exchange for most of the items in my backpack.

  “Can you tell me one thing?” Moxie asked. “Although I think I know the answer.”

  I pulled my hair into a loose updo. I’d been promised cheese, and I didn’t want to get a glob in my curls again. Then, on a whim, I put on some silver hoop earrings that I rarely wore, and slipped a bunch of delicate silver bangles on my left wrist. “What’s the question?”

  “His past—it’s pretty interesting, isn’t it?”

  I wasn’t sure I approved of Jonathan’s decision to become an elite soldier—not that he’d ever sought my approval. And I felt sorry about the losses he’d suffered. But I couldn’t deny that his former life was interesting. “Yes,” I said. “It’s all pretty fascinating stuff.” Then I checked the clock on my nightstand. It was past eight o’clock. “Oh, gosh! I really have to go!”

  “Dylan will be at least an hour late,” Moxie reminded me. “I think he still lives on West Coast time.”

  That was true, but on the off chance he’d arrive on time, I signed off with Moxie, grabbed a pair of sandals, and hurried out of the house, stopping only to say good night to Piper and the dogs, who were still on the patio, enjoying a cool breeze.

  “Do you think you should go inside?” I asked my sister. “It’s getting dark, and there is a killer running around. . . .”

  “I don’t think whoever killed Steve and/or Virginia is after me,” Piper said. She nodded toward the barn, and I saw light coming from the windows. “And Mr. Peachy is working late, replacing some rotting wood in one of the stalls. If anything happened, I’d just call for him.”

  That reassured me, and I headed for my van. About twenty minutes later, I pulled into the Lakeside’s parking lot. The place was packed, and I ended up parking in a grassy area near some trees, outside the official patch of gravel.

  As I got out of the VW, someone approached me, stepping out from behind another car.

  At first, I thought it was Dylan. The man was built about the same.

  But when he greeted me, I got a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Hello, Daphne,” he said, with a smile that was far from warm and welcoming. “How fortunate for me that you showed up here, where we can talk—in private.”

  Chapter 65

  “I don’t have anything to say,” I told Christian Clarke, who blocked my way to the gravel lot.

  Sidestepping him, I headed for that more open area, out from under the trees, but he grabbed my arm. His grip was firm.

  “What do you want?” I asked, trying to shake free. He held me tightly, though, and I snapped, “Let me go!”

  Christian ignored my demand. “I think you know where Giulia is,” he said in a low growl. “I know she was going to meet you the night before she disappeared.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked more softly. I wanted to keep him calm. His eyes were glittering with anger.

  His grip on my arm tightened. “I knew she was up to something when she said she wanted to get some air so late at night. So I followed her to the park, but she saw me and ran away to her shop. She locked me out. . . .” He must’ve realized that he was casting himself in a terrible light. Painting himself as a stalker. He tried to smile and changed his tune just slightly. “I was worried about her wandering around alone at midnight, when there’s a killer out there. I was trying to look out for her.”

  Yeah, right. That was why she’d run away and locked herself in a building.

  I resisted the urge to try to yank my arm away again. I needed to wait for the right moment, when he let his guard down. He was still holding me tightly. But I took a tentative step forward, trying to move us both to where we might be seen by people on the pier. “What does this have to do with me?” I asked.

  “As I was walking home, I saw you heading into the park. Why else, if not to meet Giulia, who’d handed you a note, acting suspiciously the whole time?”

  “That was a recipe. And I don’t know what you’re talking—”

  “You do know!” He squeezed even harder. He was going to leave marks. Yet he’d been so blinded by his rage that I’d managed to maneuver us into a less secluded spot. People eating outside might be able to see us. “Has she contacted you?” he demanded. “Where is she? What did she tell you about me?”

  I was scared. And I had no answers for him. I had no idea where Giulia was. But I was glad she’d had the courage to escape Christian’s grasp. Now I needed to do the same.

  “If you don’t let me go in two seconds,” I warned him, starting to pull against his grip, “I will scream so loudly that every person in the Lakeside will come running. Then, although I am a pacifist at heart, I will punch your face so hard that your pretty nose will never look the same. Do you understand?”

  I didn’t have to make good on my threats. Two people had seen us and were coming to my aid.

  One of them strode across the parking lot and said in a calm but commanding tone, “Let her go, Clarke. Now. ”

  The other followed at a more relaxed pace and urged, “Let’s everybody take a few deep breaths and chill. No need for anybody to get hurt.”

  What else would I expect from a warrior and a surfer?

  Chapter 66

  “Detective Black looked like he was ready to throw a punch, huh?” Dylan mused over a plate of iceberg lettuce and sliced tomatoes, which were normally used to top burgers at the Lakeside. The menu didn’t include a salad, with the exception of coleslaw, which contained non-vegan-friendly mayonnaise. He shook his head and prodded the lettuce gently with a fork. “If you ask me, ‘peace is the only battle worth waging,’ as Camus would say. Use words first, right?”

  Actually, Jonathan had used words. Sometimes very strong, even threatening words. He’d told Christian, in no uncertain terms, never to touch or even approach me again, lest Christian find more than his nose ruined. Then he’d dismissed Christian, nodded curtly to me, and walked back to the restaurant before I could even thank him for intervening.

  I looked down the pier at Jonathan, who was sitting at one of the barrel tables with Detective Doebler and a woman I didn’t recognize. She had curly brown hair and looked to be in her midforties. Perhaps Detective Doebler’s wife? They were all sharing a bushel basket of crabs and a pitcher of beer. As I watched, Jonathan lifted a mallet and neatly cracked a crab in half.

  “You definitely have two different styles,” I said, returning my attention to Dylan. “I appreciated them both tonight.”

  Dylan poured some malt vinegar, meant for fish and chips, onto his makeshift meal. “What was going on there with Christian?”

  I hesitated, not sure how much I should share. “I wouldn’t want this to reach Moxie and the gossip mill. . . .”

  Feigning an injured look, Dylan leaned back on his stool and pointed at his chest with both index fingers, as if to say, “Really? You think I’d blab?”

  No, he wouldn’t.

  “I’m pretty sure Christian was abusing Giulia,” I confided quietly. “Emotionally or physically . . .” I rubbed my arm, which was starting to bruise. “Probably both. She apparently got up the courage to leave him, and he thought I might know where she’d gone.”

  Dylan knitted his brows. “Why would he think that?”

  “Remember, I was supposed to meet Giulia the other night? And she didn’t show? I guess she did go to the park, but Christian followed her and scared her off. He saw me there, too, and assumed she meant to confide in me.”

&n
bsp; “Well, I hope she’s someplace safe,” Dylan said. “Nobody should have to live in fear or be controlled by another person.”

  I was afraid we were about to embark upon a discussion of the pitfalls of committed relationships before my double-cheese nachos even arrived, and I tried to steer the conversation in another direction.

  “I also wondered if Giulia was going to tell me about something she saw the night of Steve’s death. Maybe something involving her hotheaded boyfriend, who was with her at Winding Hill. I saw him that evening, staring daggers at Steve’s truck.”

  Dylan appeared confused. “Why stare at a truck?”

  “Because it was Steve’s,” I explained. “Surely, you heard the rumors about Steve and Giulia being an item?”

  “No, never,” Dylan said. “Not a peep.”

  Of course he hadn’t heard anything. He probably hadn’t visited Moxie’s salon in months. His blond hair was, as usual, drawn back in a ponytail.

  “Anyway, if there was even a grain of truth to the gossip, a possessive guy like Christian might’ve flown off the handle.” My nachos arrived, and I took a moment to thank the waitress. Then I added, “Heck, maybe the rumors wouldn’t even need to be true. He might’ve sought out Steve, started a fight, and killed him.”

  While Dylan was considering all that and I was opening a small plastic container of pico de gallo, I heard five muffled but distinctive notes from the Beach Boys song “Surfin’ U.S.A.”

  “Uh, oh,” Dylan said, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out his phone and read the screen, muttering, “Aw, too bad.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Shifting on the stool, he shoved the phone back into his pocket. “That was Piper. I’ve gotta go. Sparky’s abscess is worse. We need to do emergency surgery.”

  I tried not to picture an oozing iguana jowl before I ate gobs of melted white cheddar, and said, “Oh, poor Sparky!”

  I felt sorry for the iguana—and for myself. I was all dressed up, and I was going to be stuck eating alone. I’d learned from experience never to take nachos home. The Lakeside concocted the best cheese sauce—a warm, gooey mixture of butter, milk, and sharp cheddar—and the freshest pico de gallo, made only in season with local tomatoes, sweet onions, and cilantro. But the meal didn’t travel well. The chips would be soggy by the time I got halfway to Winding Hill. And the guacamole would be brown before I even left the parking lot.