Death of a Chocoholic

by Lee Hollis

  Sergio glared at him and Randy took a big gulp of his wine, pretending he hadn’t said anything.

  “What were you doing there?” Sergio wanted to know.

  “Well, since you asked, I am not one hundred percent convinced that Bessie’s death was purely from natural causes. You see—”

  “I am. I am one hundred percent convinced,” Sergio said in a loud voice.

  “Okay, well, let me try to change your mind—”

  “No,” Sergio said, downing his wine. “I’m tired from a really long day and I’m in no mood to hear about your wild, unsusceptible theories.”

  “Unsusceptible to what?” Hayley asked.

  “He means ‘unsubstantiated,’” Randy said, again trying to be helpful.

  English was not Sergio’s first language; on occasion he was known to mix up his words.

  “Okay, first of all, I have no theories, just a few clues. But I did hear from Bessie and she believed someone wanted to kill her,” Hayley said.

  “So she said something to you when she called you last night, right before she died?” Sergio asked.

  “No, she didn’t say anything to me at that point. It was after that.”

  “So she mailed you a letter or sent you an e-mail, which you didn’t open until after you discovered the body?”

  “No, nothing like that. She put a note in a piece of chocolate. I bit into it.”

  Sergio stared at Hayley for a long moment and then turned and headed for the stairs.

  “Good night.”

  “Sergio, wait... ,” Hayley pleaded.

  Sergio stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned around. “Stop, Hayley. Stop right now. I do not want you making this a ‘thing,’ like you usually do.”

  “‘Thing’? What do you mean ‘thing’? What do I make a thing?”

  “He means your propensity to poke your nose into affairs that don’t concern you,” Randy said.

  Hayley sipped her wine and pouted.

  Just like Sabrina Merryweather.

  Maybe if she looked as cute as Sabrina did in high school doing it, she just might get somewhere with Sergio. On second thought Sergio was gay, so it was probably a lost cause.

  Besides, he was already halfway up the stairs.

  “Case closed,” he said before walking into the bedroom and slamming the door.

  “Don’t worry,” Randy said, crossing over to the dining-room table to retrieve the bottle of Merlot. “His hands are tied because the official investigation into the cause of death has been determined. He’s done with it. But he knows you won’t listen to him, and on some level he’s at peace with that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Randy poured them both another glass, finishing the bottle. “Sergio, in all of his wisdom, once said that when it comes to solving a mystery, you’re like a Bieber with a tennis ball.”

  “I’m confused. I didn’t even know Justin Bieber played tennis.”

  “He meant to say ‘beagle.’ And his point was, when it comes to finding answers, you’re like a beagle with a tennis ball. There’s no way you’re ever letting it go.”

  Hayley smiled.

  Sergio was a smart man.

  And he was absolutely right.

  Chapter 16

  “My paper is not the National Enquirer, Hayley! We deal in facts here,” Sal barked as he bulldozed his way into the front office.

  “What are you talking about?” Hayley said, averting her eyes, her face reddening.

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Bruce’s crime column. That little piece of fiction you willfully came up with and just e-mailed me!”

  Hayley rose from her desk. “I happen to believe everything I wrote is true.”

  “It reads more like a gossip column, Hayley. It’s pure breathless speculation. The facts are, Bessie Winthrop died of a simple heart attack. End of story.”

  “Well, that’s speculation as well, because Sabrina Merryweather refuses to do an autopsy on the body, so we can’t be sure.”

  Sal thrust his chest out like a rooster’s. He wasn’t used to Hayley standing up to him. “Now you listen here. I’m the boss around here and I decide what gets printed and posted online. I only want stories that deal in facts. So I’m making an executive decision. I’m killing the story.”

  “Fine. But I think you’re being sexist.”

  Sal’s cheeks were now redder than Hayley’s.

  His round face looked like a ripe apple.

  “‘Sexist’? Me? What the hell are you talking about? I donated to the breast cancer awareness marathon through Acadia National Park last summer. I wore the pink-ribbon pin for a week! My wife works! I have the complete series of Xena: Warrior Princess on DVD! How could anybody call me ‘sexist’?”

  “Because, Sal, Bruce Linney has a long history of fudging facts and teasing his readers with innuendo in order to slant a story in the direction he wants it to go. He’s like the male version of Nancy Grace. And never once have you buried one of his columns. Not even the time he went so far as to suggest that I was a cold-blooded killer who was going around poisoning people with my clam chowder!”

  Sal opened his mouth to protest, but he stopped himself. He realized he had nothing to say. He just couldn’t argue that point. Hayley was right. He did give Bruce a lot of leeway when it came to his column.

  It bugged him that Hayley was getting the best of him.

  And Hayley knew it.

  Sal paused. Gathered his thoughts. Exhaled a breath that turned into a whistle before he spoke. “But we don’t know for a certainty that Bessie was murdered. However, you seem to take great pride in insinuating that she was.”

  “I didn’t insinuate anything. I just raised some questions. Sabrina is not bothering with an autopsy. Sergio classified her death as ‘from natural causes.’ Bessie did have a lot of enemies in town. And I found a note in Bessie’s handwriting, hidden inside a chocolate she made especially for me, that clearly said she thought someone wanted to kill her. Those are all cold, hard facts, Sal. Every single one. I am not interested in making anything up.”

  “Okay, fine. But I’m still not running the story—”

  “But, Sal—”

  “Hold on. Hear me out. If you do manage to dig up some kind of hard evidence that could reopen the case, then you can write about it to your heart’s content.”

  “So you’re letting me investigate on behalf of the paper?”

  “Hell no. You do it on your own time. When you’re here at the office, I want you writing recipes and covering the real crimes going on in town, like the report I just got that two high-school kids just stole some OxyContin from the pharmacy.”

  “I’ll head over there right now. Thanks, Sal.”

  “Before you go, where did you hide that bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey I gave you?”

  “The one you told me to keep away from you until after five o’clock?”

  “Yeah. What time is it?”

  “Ten-thirty. In the morning, FYI.”

  “Well, you’ve worn me out a little early, so I think I deserve a pick-me-up.”

  “You made me promise, Sal.”

  “What do I have to do to get you to give it to me now?”

  “Run my story.”

  “Anything but that.”

  Hayley wasn’t about to budge.

  She reached into her bag, pulled out a key, and set it down on top of her desk.

  “What’s that?”

  “The key to the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet just outside your office. I can take it with me or leave it right here when I go to the pharmacy.”

  “So the booze is in there?”

  Hayley nodded. “Your choice.”

  “Your friend Sabrina is not going to like it. Your column makes her look incompetent.”

  “She’s not really my friend. I’ll risk it.”

  Sal tried to hold out a bit longer, but it was no use. He lunged toward Hayley’s desk and snatched up the key with
his chubby fingers. “I’ll run the damn story. But no more calling me sexist!”

  He hustled into the back of the office faster than Hayley had ever seen him move.

  Hayley smiled, satisfied.

  She had been given the green light to keep investigating.

  And, hopefully, prove everyone wrong.

  She felt confident in her mind that Bessie’s death had nothing to do with her health.

  Bessie Winthrop had been murdered.

  Chapter 17

  “I have such good news!” Liddy hollered as she burst through the back door and into the kitchen to find Hayley on her hands and knees sopping up cat urine from the hardwood floor in the hallway leading to the living room.

  “I sure could use some right about now,” Hayley said, giving an icy stare to Blueberry, who squatted on the recliner, flapping his massively thick tail methodically up and down.

  “You spill your cocktail?” Liddy asked sympathetically.

  “I never had time to make one. Blueberry’s been busy all day marking his territory.”

  “Where’s Leroy?”

  “Wherever Blueberry isn’t.”

  “I don’t know why you agreed to take in that demonic beast. He’s just making your life miserable.”

  “You know I’ve always been a bleeding heart.”

  “Yes, but that cat isn’t even grateful. Look at him perched on his throne like some spoiled king, as if it’s his birthright to be here.”

  “I’m hoping he’s just misunderstood.”

  “And I’m hoping when I get home I find Channing Tatum in my shower. They’re both unattainable fantasies.”

  Hayley finished wiping the floor and climbed to her feet. “So, what’s your news?”

  “Well, I happen to know for a fact that you are right.”

  “About Bessie being murdered?”

  “No. I don’t care about that. I couldn’t stand Bessie. She always made me so nervous. I hate it when I don’t know what people are going to say next.”

  “So, what am I right about?”

  “That handsome, new vet is definitely married.”

  “I thought you said you had good news.”

  “I do. He’s married, but he is separated and filing for divorce. That’s a big reason why Dr. Palmer moved here—to make a fresh start.”

  “How do you know all this?” Hayley asked, mixing herself and Liddy a Jack and Coke. She had whiskey on her mind all afternoon after she gave up the bottle in the drawer to Sal.

  “Well, my other good news is I’ve been dating someone new. A lawyer.”

  “Ted Rivers, who has an office above yours? He’s married, Liddy!”

  “I’m not talking about Ted Rivers! I could never sleep with him. I saw him without his shirt on doing crunches at the gym once. He’s got so many pimples on his back that it looks like the surface of Mars. Can you imagine running your hands on that? Yuck.”

  Hayley handed Liddy her cocktail, and Liddy took a generous sip.

  “Yummy. You sure do know how to make a cocktail, girlfriend. Anyway, I’m dating Ted’s new big rival, Sonny Lipton. Just finished law school last year and opened up a practice in town. Ted’s beside himself. He’s never had any serious competition before.”

  “Liddy, Sonny Lipton is something like twenty-five years old.”

  “Twenty-six, to be precise. And it’s wonderful. After that young bartender at the Beer ’n Bowl hit on me last Friday night, I decided to embrace my inner cougar. I picked him up in the produce section of the Shop ’n Save the next day. He was squeezing melons. I was buying bananas. It was all the imagery we needed to see before introducing ourselves and making a date for that night.”

  “So he told you Aaron’s filing for divorce?”

  “Oh, is it Aaron already?”

  “I mean Dr. Palmer.”

  “Yes, Sonny’s handling it for him. He needed a new lawyer because his wife is using his previous attorney. Sonny loves pillow talk.”

  “Okay, you really don’t need to give me any more details about you and Sonny. So, what am I supposed to do with this information?”

  Liddy thought about this for a moment and then broke into a smile. She marched into the living room and pointed to Blueberry. “Your cat clearly has a bladder issue. He’s peeing all over the house. You need to take him to the vet for a thorough examination.”

  “I don’t think it’s a medical condition. I think it’s more of a test of wills. He wants to see what it’s going to take to make me crack.”

  Liddy’s finger pointing got a bit too close to Blueberry’s face and he lashed out with his claws and slashed the tip of Liddy’s index finger, drawing blood. Liddy howled in pain, retracting her finger to her chest as Blueberry hissed at her.

  “Why, you fat, furry force of evil! Mess with me again and I’ll dump you in a potato sack and drop you right off the Trenton Bridge!”

  “Liddy, he doesn’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  “No, he understands every word. And I don’t think he’s ever going to rest until we’re all dead,” Liddy said, sucking the blood off her finger. “I’m going upstairs for a Band-Aid.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable using Blueberry as an excuse just to show up at Dr. Palmer’s office again.”

  Liddy stopped halfway up the stairs. “Do what you want, Hayley. But there are a lot of single women and divorcées who have their eye on any new man in town who doesn’t smell of salt water and gutted fish. I’m just saying, snooze and you lose.”

  Liddy, of course, was right.

  But Hayley had vowed never to be one of those opportunistic, desperate women who sought out a man like it was some sort of competition.

  And it seemed a little sad and pathetic to use an obviously disturbed animal as a way to get close to him again.

  No.

  Absolutely not.

  She would not stoop to such tactics.

  Still, she couldn’t shake the image of those dreamy green bedroom eyes.

  Blueberry jumped down off the recliner, marched right back to where Hayley had just cleaned up the cat urine, and peed again. All the while he kept one eye on Hayley, his whiskers lifting upward as he formed an insidious smile on his face.

  On second thought, Hayley considered, maybe Dr. Palmer might actually have something to help Blueberry stop peeing so much.

  Or just something to calm him down.

  Or better yet, something to knock him into a kitty coma.

  For years to come.

  Chapter 18

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Palmer is out of the office right now. How can I help you?” Marla, the vet’s assistant, said. She was wearing a pink smock, with blue Smurf characters all over it. She put down her People magazine on top of a whole stack that included such gossipy rags as US, In Touch, and Star.

  “You may remember he treated my dog, Leroy, and now I’m hoping he might be able to help me with my cat. Well, he’s not really my cat. I’m just looking after him until we can find him a permanent home. Actually, it’s an interesting story. . . .”

  Marla did not seem the least bit interested in hearing Hayley’s interesting story, so Hayley just lifted up the pet carrier she was holding and set it down on the desk.

  Marla peeked through the cage door. “Who do we have here?”

  “Don’t get too close. He’s a mean one. Hates everybody. I don’t want you getting scratched.”

  Surprisingly, Blueberry wasn’t hissing. He just sat in the carrier; his fat, furry body took up most of the space.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Blueberry.”

  “Hello, Blueberry. I’m Marla,” she said, sticking a finger through the metal wire and petting the cat’s wet nose.

  “No, don’t! I’m warning you, he’s dangerous and unpredictable!”

  But Blueberry didn’t go on the attack.

  Instead, he stuck his sandpaper-like tongue out and licked Marla’s finger.

  And he wasn’t hissing.

/>   He was purring.

  Yes, purring!

  A sound Hayley had never heard come out of him.

  The sign of a contented cat.

  This was unbelievable.

  “He doesn’t seem so bad,” Marla said, pressing her face up against the cage door and pursing her lips to make a series of kissing sounds.

  Hayley stood in front of her, flabbergasted. Then she poked her head around to check the carrier and see if she had accidentally brought the wrong cat.

  No, it was definitely Blueberry.

  Purring and licking.

  Like a normal cat.

  Hayley was starting to suspect this was all a plot by Blueberry to make her look crazy.

  He was that diabolical.

  Marla unlatched the door and reached in to pull Blueberry out. She held him close to her bosom and gently stroked his back.

  Hayley’s mouth just hung open.

  Blueberry rubbed his face against Marla’s chest.

  The purring was almost deafening.

  “You certainly have a way with animals,” Hayley said, still not quite believing her eyes.

  “I know. I thought about being a vet when I was a kid. For about half a minute. What I really want to do is to move to Hollywood and become an actress. I did high-school plays, so I know I have the talent.”

  “Well, good luck.”

  “I don’t need luck. I know it’s going to happen. I’m going to star in big movies and marry a famous actor or maybe just a handsome professional, like Dr. Palmer.”

  There was a gleam in her eye when she spoke of the good doctor.

  Hayley wasn’t the only one who had a slight crush on the new vet in town.

  “Will the doctor be back soon?” Hayley asked.

  Still cradling Blueberry, Marla leaned forward in her chair and clicked a button on her computer bringing up Dr. Palmer’s calendar.

  “I keep track of his schedule, so I know where he is at all times,” Marla said with a self-satisfied smile, almost bragging. Marla clearly liked to think of herself as the most important woman in the doctor’s life now that he was divorcing his wife.

  At least until she moved to Hollywood and married Ryan Gosling.

  Blueberry was now on his back in Marla’s arms like a newborn baby, looking euphoric as she scratched his belly. She was scanning the calendar on her computer screen.