As everyone else filed out, I sat back down at the table. The orange chair once again made a loud squeak. When we were alone, Harley closed the conference room door.
My heart thumped nervously in my chest. Jody had warned me to never be alone with him. But we weren’t alone—not really. Miss Bunny was only a few steps outside the door.
“Here comes the kicker,” I said dryly. “It’s money, right? I need to shell out a small fortune in order to keep the shop open.”
“No. That’s not why I asked you to wait. I . . . um . . .” He came around the table and sat down in the chair next to mine. Somehow he managed to sit without making the orange relic shriek and whine. “Like the others, Miss Mabel had written you a letter. I can only assume it explained why she picked you to inherit her chocolate shop. The letter was sealed, and as far as I know, no one but her had read it.”
“Super, give me the letter. I can’t wait to find out what in the world she was thinking.”
“That’s the problem. I can’t.”
“Can’t? Why not?”
He shifted in the ugly chair. This time the springs did squeal. “Someone broke into my office last night and stole it. Nothing else was missing. Just the letter she’d written to you.”
“Someone tried to break into my motel room last night as well. And my friend Skinny, as I’ve already told you, had volunteered to visit this horrible little town to find out why someone—Mabel, I assume—was trying to lure me to come here. And he was killed.”
He frowned at that. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight. “Has anything else happened?”
“No.” But then I remembered the near miss with the car on that first morning. I told him about it and how I’d managed to run into Althea’s crystal shop to avoid getting hit.
“What kind of car was it?”
“A black sedan.”
“Was it a Ford, Chrysler, BMW?”
I shook my head. “I was too busy running for my life. Althea assured me that it had been a bad driver. She said the island is filled with them.”
Harley took off his glasses and tapped them on the conference table. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have started out by saying that because that alone scares me.”
“Sorry. I’m not great at this kind of thing. My dad was.” He kept tapping his glasses against the warped tabletop. “I’m only just learning to fill his shoes. But here it goes. I’m worried about you. I know you don’t realize it, but the land underneath what you’re calling a wreck of a building is worth a small fortune. And it sounds as if someone wants that land so badly that they might be willing to kill to get their hands on it. I’m worried, Penn, that your life could be in grave danger.”
“But if I inherited the shop, how would killing me help someone else get it? If I die, Granny Mae inherits all my assets. And if she’s not alive to inherit, my estate goes to a list of ten charities.”
“Your estate?”
“You really don’t know who I am?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. Should I?”
“No, you shouldn’t. But most people I’ve met in town seem to already know everything about me.”
“That’s small towns for you. Anyhow, back to the will and how it might have put your life in danger. Yes, Miss Mabel listed you as heir to her shop. However, and this is a big one, in South Carolina, if you die within the next five days, you won’t inherit anything. Your heirs won’t inherit the building or the shop either. It’ll all go to Miss Mabel’s family.” He looked at the closed conference room door.
“So you’re saying you think one of her children wants me dead?”
“I’m not ready to go that far. But if someone is trying to get to you because of the inheritance, they’ll have to act within the next five days.”
Chapter 8
“That was one hell of a show in there,” Cal said. He fell in step with me as I hurried away from Harley’s law office.
“I can understand why Mabel’s children are upset. They don’t know me. And here I am getting their family’s shop.”
“No, I meant Miss Mabel. She has these wild schemes. Or rather she did. And she never considers who it might hurt. You don’t need to take the shop, you know.”
“It is rather like the plot from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, isn’t it? I won the golden ticket. I even received a prize letter embossed with gold print. She picked me without even meeting me. Did you know that?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been traveling for my work. If I’d been here when she’d written the will, perhaps I could have stopped her. Or at least she might have explained to me what was going on in that quirky head of hers.”
I needed to talk with Bertie. Certainly she had some idea why Mabel decided to write me into her will.
Cal followed along as I made a mad march away from Harley’s office. I wasn’t quite sure where I was heading. The Chocolate Box was closed. I didn’t know where Bertie lived. And the motel and the beach were in the opposite direction.
I stopped suddenly and looked up. The late-afternoon sun had decorated the sky with streaks of reds and oranges. A squirrel rustled the fronds of the palmetto tree above me. A gentle sea breeze flavored the air with a salty tang.
“What are you going to do?” Cal asked.
That was a good question. I’d told Harley before I left his office to let Mabel’s family know I wouldn’t take the shop. I didn’t want it. Even if I did, it wasn’t worth getting killed over. Let them fight over the land among themselves.
While Harley had said he’d get the paperwork ready so I could sign the shop and land over to Mabel’s family, he’d urged me to take some time to think about it. But really, what was there to think about?
My gaze traveled up and down Camellia’s short Main Street. The dilapidated concrete-block motel capped the street on one end. A bridge to the mainland served as the gateway to the town on the other end. And in between were aging brick buildings and weathered clapboard shacks.
This town was a wreck in search of a wrecking ball. It definitely wasn’t a place I wanted to call home.
“I don’t think I’m safe here,” I said and proceeded to tell Cal everything I had told Harley about almost being run over by a black sedan, the break-in at the motel, and now the stolen letter Mabel had written to me to explain why she’d left me the shop.
He grew unusually quiet when he heard about the car coming over the curb to try to hit me. “A black sedan? And you think the robbery and the near miss from the black sedan is related to your friend’s death?” he asked.
“How can I not think that? He was here because of me. And now I’m here because of his murder.”
A great blue heron cried as it glided on its stunningly large wings toward the marsh and river at the back of the island.
“I don’t want it,” I said as I watched the bird. “I don’t want the shop.”
Cal smiled. “Who would?”
“I told Harley that I wanted to sign the property over to Mabel’s children. He said he’d put together the paperwork, but he also wanted me to think about it. But what’s to think about? I don’t want the shop, and I don’t want someone to kill me over something I don’t give two figs about.”
“Let me tell my brother to put a rush job on those papers, or better yet, I’ll tell Edward. He’ll help you sell it or do with it whatever you think is right.”
I gave a curt nod. So that was that: I would give it to Mabel’s family. Or sell it. Or do something that didn’t involve my staying in Camellia Beach.
“Good,” I said and resumed my mad march, but this time I headed toward the ocean.
“Where are you going?” he called after me.
“Home.”
* * *
“What a silly thing to say.” That was one of the many things I liked about Granny Mae. She never stopped herself from telling me exactly what she thought.
“But it only makes sense,” I protested.
I’d called her shortly after I’d taken Stella for a walk on the beach. I tossed the little dog a treat. I then dropped my suitcase onto the motel’s lumpy bed and started throwing clothes into it. It was time to go home.
I dearly wished I was back in Madison having this conversation with Granny Mae in person. Actually, I didn’t want to have this conversation. I simply wanted to be back in Madison. Then I could move on and not think about Skinny’s or Mabel’s deaths or the Chocolate Box anymore. That was something I’d learned to do well in my life—not think about the nasty bits.
“It’s not silly. What else can I do other than give back the shop and go back home?”
Home. Granny Mae had been right. As usual. That had been a silly thing to say. Although I enjoyed sharing a place with Granny Mae, it was her home, not mine. Quite honestly, I’d never had a place that felt like home. I’m not sure I’d even know what a home felt like.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t get on the next plane and fly back here,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. But—” She sighed deeply. “These past several days when you’d call me to tell me what you learned in the chocolate classes, I heard something in your voice—a lightness, a happiness I’ve never heard there before.”
“It was the chocolate. Scientists have proven it has the power to simulate the feeling of love,” I said, repeating what Mabel had told me.
I could hear Granny Mae nodding. Her earrings always clattered against the side of the phone when she nodded during conversations.
“Mabel picked you. Out of all the people in the world, she picked you. From everything you’ve told me about her, it sounds like she was one smart cookie. She must have had a good reason for leaving you the shop.”
“My money,” I grumbled.
I wished everything in life wasn’t always about my money.
“Lots of people have money, dear. But she picked you. There has to be another reason. Why did she think you deserved to get the one thing that meant the most to her in the world?”
“But that’s the thing. I don’t deserve it. I don’t possess any cooking skills. I’m not related to her. Unless that’s what Skinny had discovered. And I don’t even want it.” Gracious, I needed some chocolate.
“Skinny knew why she gave it to you,” Granny Mae reminded me.
“Yeah, and look what happened to him.”
I stared at my hastily packed suitcase and swore under my breath. How could I leave with everyone believing the worst about my friend? He wasn’t a drug user. And he would never sell drugs either.
“I’ll talk to Bertie. She must know something. But then I’m hopping on the next flight home.”
There was that pesky word again: home. If only I had a place like that, a place where I felt like I belonged.
“Good. Good. Book the flight,” Granny Mae said, her earrings clanking against the phone again. “You should be safe here.”
Yeah right, that snide voice in my head jeered, I should be safe in Madison because murderers never fly on airplanes.
* * *
According to Deloris at the motel’s front desk, I could find Bertie at Mabel’s house. She’d then leaned partially over the desk and shouted in what I suppose she’d thought was a whisper, “Several of Mabel’s children are also there.”
The long-term residents hanging out in the lobby started murmuring after they heard that. “She’s the one who got the shop,” a white-haired woman dressed in a bright-pink kimono said to the man in a seersucker suit sitting next to her.
“Does Jody know?” the man replied as he rocked in a wicker chair.
“Imagine she does by now,” the woman said. Her rocking chair’s movement matched his.
“That’s going to cause a heap of trouble.” He nodded.
I hurried over to them and demanded, “Why would Jody care who inherited the Chocolate Box?”
The woman frowned as she leaned toward me. “What?”
I repeated the question.
Both of them nodded. “Word around town is that Mabel’s kids all wanted to sell. And Jody has been badgering Mabel to sell the building,” the man said.
“What did Mabel want to happen with the building after she was gone?” I asked.
“What?” the lady asked.
I repeated the question.
“Oh.” The woman’s eyes, yellowed with age, lit up. “To keep it in the family, of course.”
“But she didn’t keep it in the family, did she?” the man said, shaking his head. “She gave it to you.”
“She had to do something drastic. Those ungrateful kids of hers were trying to sell it out from under her even before she died,” the woman said.
“What about Bertie?” I asked. “Why didn’t Mabel give the shop to Bertie?”
“What?” the woman shouted.
I repeated the question.
The two of them laughed. “What would she want it for?” the man asked.
I couldn’t get much else out of them because the lobby bunko game was about to start, and they were eager to get to the nearby game table. The man did, however, pause long enough to direct me to Mabel’s house.
Actually, it wasn’t a house but one of the two apartments in the same run-down building that housed the Chocolate Box.
The “Closed” sign still hung on the Chocolate Box’s front door. The sight of it made my heart drop even farther into my already queasy stomach. That sign would remain there indefinitely unless I changed my mind and removed it.
I wasn’t going to change my mind.
The stairway leading to the building’s second-floor apartments snaked around the side of the building. It was the same staircase Harley had used that morning. I kept a firm grip on the railing as I climbed the rickety wooden treads. Many of the boards were rotten and in need of replacing. Like the rest of the building, it would take a complete rebuild to make them safe.
I wasn’t going to rebuild them, because I wasn’t going to change my mind. I wasn’t going to keep the business or the building.
The stairs led me to a second-story porch that spanned the building’s entire length. The view from there caught me by surprise.
Instead of a dirty, muddy marsh with a sluggish river beyond, the scene spread out before me reminded me of one of those gaudy photographs that were too good to be true—the colors too bright, the inspirational saying along the bottom too cheery.
But this wasn’t a photograph. This was nature at its best.
Or pollution.
It had to be pollution. I’d read somewhere that pollutants in the air created stunning sunsets.
Heck, it didn’t matter what had caused the scene. I stood transfixed, peering beyond the scrubby oak trees as the water in the river spilled over into the adjacent marshes. It sparkled with flecks of golden sunlight. Deep-red hues rose up into the twilight sky, where a full moon sat like a ghostly ball.
A sleek gray dolphin performed a graceful backflip in the middle of the river, sending a spray of the sun-kissed water flying into the air.
I supposed if you looked hard enough, breathtaking scenes like this one could be found anywhere, even in dilapidated little backwaters like Camellia Beach. Another dolphin joined the first one. The two jumped and sprayed water as they played in the river. I could have stayed there watching the show forever, but my cell phone chimed.
Bitch. I won’t let u ruin me, the message said. I immediately checked who’d sent it. And groaned.
The Cheese King.
Don’t know what u r talking about, I texted back.
U have a week to get back here and fix things or else.
I don’t work for u, I texted back and then blocked his number.
Was that what was waiting for me in Wisconsin? Great. Just great. My life was crumbling even faster than the Chocolate Box’s walls. I didn’t have a job. Some nut had given me her family’s legacy. Another nut was going around killing people and may have tried to kill me . . . twice. And now the Cheese
King was threatening to come after me, and I didn’t know why.
With a sigh, I turned away from the beautiful scenery and faced the decaying building that would never be mine.
Two red doors opened up onto the upstairs porch. One sported a magnolia wreath dotted with red and orange blanket flowers. I figured that must be the one that led to Mabel’s apartment.
Before I could knock, Bertie swung the door open wide. “Penn, what a surprise. I’m so glad you’re here. Come in. Come in.”
“Inspecting your ill-gotten gains?” Florence, the pale imitation of Mabel, said as I entered the spacious living room. It looked as if she was on her way out. But as soon as she saw me, she set her Coach purse down on a nearby side table. “Don’t get too used to the idea of owning the Chocolate Box or this building. I’ll have you know Edward is already putting together the paperwork to contest the will.”
“Florence, your mama taught you better manners than that,” Bertie scolded. She latched onto my arm and pulled me deeper into the room, where I spotted Peach perched on a floral sofa. Althea was sitting in a matching armchair, sipping on tea. Small platters of chocolate truffles were scattered on end tables and on the coffee table.
“I don’t want the shop or the building,” I told them as I scooped up a truffle. “I’ve already asked Harley to start working on the papers to—”
“Hush now,” Bertie scolded. “You can’t go around making hasty decisions like that.”
I wasn’t able to tell her that I could and had, because I’d bitten into the dark-chocolate raspberry truffle. The chocolate treat practically exploded in my mouth with a tropical symphony of bitter and sweet.
Love. Mabel had said chocolate triggered the same parts of the brain as love. And oh, boy was she right. I was in love with these chocolates. It would be a shame to see the shop close.
No! I was not going to change my mind.
The truffle I’d eaten hadn’t been made using the regular chocolates Mabel used for the shop. No, these truffles must have been made using her special chocolate. The Amar chocolate. The taste of pure love.
Before yesterday, I’d never tasted anything like it. It was a flavor I’d remember—and crave—for the rest of my life.
Asking for Truffle Page 9