Chocolate To Die For: Funny Cozy Mystery Series (Cocoa Narel Chocolate Shop Mysteries Book 4)

by Morgana Best

  While I wasn’t entirely surprised that Bob Jones had been murdered, it was still a bit of a shock to have it confirmed. And why Sydney detectives? Why hadn’t been left to Detectives Rieker and Clyde? I assumed Carl’s source was Detective Clyde himself. I expected even more customers now, once word that it was a murder got around town. Knowing this town, it wasn’t going to take long.

  I was on my feet all day, and didn’t have time for lunch, so I had to snack on chocolates—not that I was complaining. Carl usually relieved me at lunch time, but there was no sign of him today. In fact, I hadn’t seen him lately. I was sure he was up to something. But what? It wasn’t like Carl to keep secrets from me. We had been close friends since high school. I figured he had been busier than usual with his work, although he hadn’t complained about it as he usually did. Carl had his own IT business, and usually worked in short, intense bursts

  Just as I was about to flip the sign to Closed after a long, hard day, I saw two men in suits get out of a car directly outside my shop. These had to be the detectives. No one wore a suit in a small country town. I held the door open and waited for them.

  Their expressions were friendly enough, although neither one smiled. “Narel Myers?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m Detective Peter Palmer,” the generic-looking one said, “and this is Detective Taylor Thompson.” He gestured to the tall man beside him. He was of slender build, but I could tell that his muscles were rock hard. His age was indeterminable—he could have been anything from thirty to sixty.

  “Come in.” I shut the door behind them and flipped the sign to Closed.

  Detective Palmer came straight to the point. “We’d like you to come down to the station to make a witness report,” he said. I nodded, and he pressed on. “Would you walk us through what happened last night?”

  “Sure.” I opened the door and they followed me out onto the street. “Bob Jones said he had to come out after hours. He was fully booked, so he was fitting in this job for me,” I told them. “I was waiting in the shop in case he ran into any more plumbing disasters and then…”

  Detective Thompson interrupted me. “Plumbing disasters?”

  “Yes, you know, something that was going to make him charge me a lot more than he quoted.” There was no response, so I continued. “Anyway, he was taking longer than I thought and I wanted to go home, so I walked around the side of the building.”

  Thompson was scribbling away in a notepad. “What time was that?”

  “It was ten, just after ten. I know for sure, because I looked at the time and thought I needed to be getting home and I went outside straight after that.” My words were tumbling out one after the other—I supposed it was the shock.

  He nodded. “Thank you. Go on.”

  “So I walked around here, up this lane.” I walked up the lane with the detectives behind me. I gestured to the gate, which was now shut. “That gate was shut and I reached for it. That was when the gate opened onto me all of a sudden. Someone elbowed me hard out of the way and I fell against there.” I pointed to the nearby stone wall.

  “How light was it? Do you have an external light out here?” Thompson said, looking around.

  I shook my head. “It was quite dark, but not so dark that I needed a torch. The light in the courtyard is quite good, because there is an exterior light there.”

  “And you reported that you didn’t see who knocked you over?” Thompson asked me, still scribbling away.

  “No, it was just like a black shape. I couldn’t even tell if it was male or female or their height. It just happened so quickly. I wasn’t expecting it.” I felt like a really hopeless witness, but it had happened so quickly.

  “And what happened then?” Detective Palmer asked me.

  “Well, I went into the courtyard then. Oh no, wait a minute. I didn’t. At first I thought it must’ve been Bob who knocked me over, so I went back out to the street, expecting to see him driving away, but his ute was still there and there was no sign of him. That’s when I realised it was someone else, so I went back to speak to Bob.”

  “Please retrace your steps,” Detective Thompson said.

  I turned to go back to the street, but he added, “No, I mean once you got back to this point.”

  “Oh.” I felt like a bit of a fool. “Then I walked in here.” I walked through the gate, with the detectives following me. When I reached the courtyard, a wave of dizziness hit me. I took a deep breath, and steeled myself to continue. “That’s when I saw his legs sticking out the dunny door,” I told them. I pointed, somewhat unnecessarily, to the spot.

  “And what happened then?” they both asked me in unison.

  “I walked over to the door and saw his head was in the toilet. That’s when I saw all the redback spiders. I didn’t know if he was dead, so I grabbed his feet and pulled him clear, but when I rolled him over, I saw he was dead.” Tears pricked my eyes, and I struggled to control my breathing.

  I remembered something, and slapped my palm onto my forehead. “I forgot! I quickly took a few photos before I pulled him out.” I handed Detective Thompson my phone.

  He looked at the photos and showed them to Detective Palmer.

  “Do you mind if we email these to ourselves?”

  I waved one hand at him. “Of course not. Go ahead.”

  Detective Palmer fiddled with my phone, while Detective Thompson looked inside the dunny. “And what else did you see?”

  “Redback spiders,” I said. “Lots and lots of redback spiders. I’ve never seen so many at once. I’ve only ever seen two or three in the one place, so I thought it awfully strange, plus when I pulled him out, there were redback spiders on his clothes.”

  “And when did you last look inside this outdoor toilet?” Detective Thompson asked me.

  I bit my lip. “Last week, when I showed it to Bob to get a quote.”

  “And did you see any redback spiders then?”

  I shook my head. “No. Actually, Bob showed me the toilet last night to explain why he was going to charge me more, and I didn’t see any redback spiders then, either. He hadn’t started to remove the floor at that point, so I expect there could have been a nest under the floor boards.”

  Detective Palmer handed my phone back. “Thank you. And did the person who knocked you over threaten you in any way?”

  I was a little puzzled. “Threaten me?” I echoed. “No, they were too fast. What do you mean?”

  “The syringe left at the scene,” Palmer explained. “I expect the perpetrator dropped that when he or she knocked you over. I was asking whether the perpetrator held it up to you in a threatening manner.”

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t even know there was a syringe until one of the uniformed officers found it.”

  The detectives looked inside the little building. “No spiders in there now,” Palmer said to Thompson.

  “They’d still be there,” Thompson said with a shake of his head. “They would have all gone back under the wood.”

  I shuddered. I couldn’t wait to get someone else to knock down the building and hopefully all the redback spiders with it.

  Chapter 5

  The following morning, I was waiting in the Community Hall to be interviewed by the detectives. They had told me, with obvious disgust, the type of disgust some city folk reserve for folk from small country towns, that the police station was undergoing renovation, so the police had commandeered the Community Hall.

  I sat on a hard wooden bench seat and stared at the uninspiring decor, wondering if I should pop next door to buy a coffee. A café was within metres of the Community Hall. I needed coffee after another sleepless night. Carl and Louis the Fourteenth had once again slept over, and Carl had complained bitterly about his lack of sleep once more. Something just wasn’t right with Carl lately, and he had not been forthcoming as to what it was. That was so unlike him.

  A woman came through the door clutching a tiny brush tail possum. “Is this the WIRES office?” she ask
ed me. “I think this possum was separated from its mother. I found it all by itself when I was riding my bike through the bush down by the lagoon.”

  Lagoon was the fancy name for the local swamp, and WIRES was the acronym for Wildlife Information, Rescue and Education Service. Licensed WIRES volunteers care for sick, injured, and orphaned wildlife all over Australia, with a view to returning them to the wild. “I thought it was being used as a temporary police station,” I said in bewilderment, although at that point I noticed big posters of Australian wildlife blue-tacked onto the walls. “A lady just went into that room over there, so she might be with WIRES.” I pointed to a closed door on the far right side of the room.

  The woman thanked me, and walked over to the room. She opened the door without knocking, and a kangaroo hopped out, followed by an irate woman. She sprinted across the room after the kangaroo, and then all but dived onto it. She scooped it up and wrapped it in a big white towel. “This joey is being bottle-fed,” she said to me.

  I had no idea why she told me that. I smiled and nodded.

  The woman with the brush tail possum hurried over to her. “I wanted to bring you this possum.”

  The irate woman sighed long and hard. “You’re not supposed to bring wildlife here. Does it need veterinary attention?”

  The other woman shook her head. “I don’t think so. I really don’t know.”

  The irate woman nodded. “All right, well, all wildlife needs to be assessed by a vet first. Can you take the possum to the local vet? I’ll contact Doris, our closest volunteer, and she’ll collect it from the vet.” She must have noticed the woman looking pointedly at her joey, because she added, “Yes, I know I said not to bring wildlife here, but this joey needs feeding around-the-clock, so I have to take her everywhere I go. You know where the local vet is?”

  The other woman nodded before hurrying away, clutching the possum to her.

  Detective Thompson and Palmer walked through the door to the left. “This is a madhouse, a veritable madhouse,” Thompson said to Palmer in a stage whisper. “It’s a zoo, not a police station.” He let out a shriek as he stepped in something obviously left by the joey in its dash across the room. Thompson hurried out of the room, presumably to remove the offending matter from his shoe.

  Detective Palmer sighed and wiped his brow. “Come in, Miss Myers. Would you like some coffee?”

  I looked at the drip filter coffee bubbling away on the kitchen sink at the far side of the room. I normally would have refused drip filter coffee, but I could barely stay awake as it was. “Yes please, but could you put a lot of sugar in it?”

  “Sure.” He beckoned to me and opened the door into a small room. The floor was of polished wood, and I shuddered as I thought of all the redback spiders that might be lurking under it. In fact, when he left the room, I picked up my wooden chair and looked under it for redback spiders. Wooden chairs were a favourite hiding place of redback spiders, as were shoes. Everyone in the country was sure to tap their shoes and empty them before putting them on, to remove any spiders or small snakes that might have popped in there overnight. I wondered if the Sydney detectives followed, or even knew of, this tradition. It could well be to their detriment if they didn’t.

  When Palmer returned with my coffee, Thompson was right behind him. I thought I could detect a smell of something not too pleasant, so I held my coffee up to my nose. It didn’t smell much better. I also suspected that Palmer and I had a different definition of a lot of sugar.

  I went through the preliminaries, such as name, age, and address once more. “Now Ms Myers,” Palmer said, “bear in mind that you might have to give evidence in court if this comes to trial.”

  I sat up, suddenly awake. “So it was murder, then!”

  Palmer did not respond directly, but continued. “I want you to think carefully before you give your statement, and remember everything. It might be a long time before this comes to trial, and the prosecution will say that you have forgotten everything. I want you to be very clear before you give your statement now.”

  Thompson nodded. “The prosecution will make you seem like the most dreadful person on the planet. They’ll make you seem like a terrible liar. Most witnesses cry on the stand. The prosecution will question everything you said, so it’s important that you remember clearly.”

  They weren’t painting a nice picture. I nodded and sipped my coffee. The events of the other night were already a little bit hazy.

  I duly recounted, yet again, everything that had happened. Thompson scribbled away as I spoke. “Now, do you know anyone who had reason to wish Bob Jones harm?” Palmer asked me.

  “No, not really. He did charge a lot, though. Maybe he overcharged someone who got angry about it.”

  “Do all plumbers in this town overcharge people?” Thompson asked me.

  I resisted the urge to say, “Don’t all plumbers overcharge people?” and simply shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever used Bob Jones. I heard rumours around town that he overcharges, so maybe people were angry with him. I suppose it would have to be a pretty big bill if someone murdered him over it, though,” I added lamely.

  “And how well did you know Bob Jones?” It was Thompson who asked.

  “I didn’t know him well. He just remodelled my bathroom for me. This was his second job for me.”

  “Tell us about your relationship with Carl Camden,” Detective Palmer said.

  That took me by surprise. “We don’t have a relationship—he’s gay,” I said in protest.

  The detectives exchanged glances. “I didn’t mean a romantic relationship,” Palmer said slowly and carefully.

  “Oh,” I said in a small voice. “Carl and I have been best friends since high school. We’re very close friends.” I wondered why they were asking me about Carl. “You’re not saying Carl is a suspect in the murder?” I blurted out.

  “Why would you say that?” Thompson asked me.

  “Why would you want to know about Carl?” I countered. “He wasn’t even there that night, and he doesn’t even use Bob Jones. Carl’s house is new and doesn’t need any renovation work. I’m sure he’s never had to call a plumber since he bought the place. Anyway, his house would still be under builder’s warranty.”

  The detectives looked at each other once more. I had the distinct impression they were keeping something from me. But what? What did they know that I didn’t know, and why all the questions about Carl? I didn’t like it. It gave me a horribly uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Did you ever see Carl speaking with Bob Jones?” Thompson asked me.

  I shook my head. “No, never.” I remembered Carl’s vehement dislike of Bob Jones, and the fact that Carl was keeping something from me. Whatever it was, I knew that Carl wouldn’t have murdered Bob Jones. Carl wouldn’t be able to murder anyone.

  “Does Carl have a nice garden?”

  I thought that was an awfully strange question to ask. “He has nice lawns, but he doesn’t really like flowers. He likes the architectural look rather than the cottage garden look—you know, black mondo grass, kangaroo grass, pennstripe, that sort of thing.”

  “And does he have a problem with pests?”

  “Pests?” I echoed, wondering where they were going with this.

  “Cockroaches, flies, mosquitoes,” Thompson said.

  I shook my head. “He’s never mentioned it to me. Besides we don’t really get cockroaches in this town. They freeze to death in winter.”

  Thompson leant back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his neck. “All right then. Thank you, Ms Myers. I will have this typed up, and then you can check through it and see if you want to change anything. Then we will ask you to sign and date it.”

  He left the room with his written account of my statement, and I was left there sitting opposite Detective Palmer. “Do I wait here while it gets typed up?” I asked him, hoping the typist could type faster than my twenty words a minute with fifteen percent accuracy.

 
He nodded, much to my disappointment. “Would you like some more coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” I handed him the now empty cup. “Would I be able to have a lot more sugar in it this time?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “That had two heaped teaspoons in it.”

  “Could I please have five heaped teaspoons?”

  Palmer searched my face, presumably to see if I was joking, and then decided I was not. He exited the room once more, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Why the interest in Carl? I hoped Carl could answer that for me. Surely they were not trying to pin the murder on Carl. It made no sense.

  This time, the coffee was much sweeter. I thanked Palmer after I sipped it and saw that it was to my liking. “I don’t know if you’re allowed to tell me,” I said, “but was Bob Jones killed by redback spiders?”

  The detective shook his head. “I am allowed to tell you, because we have released a press statement. Bob Jones was killed with organophosphate poison. It was injected into him.”

  “How did you get the results so fast?” I asked him. “On TV shows, it takes a month at least.”

  The detective allowed himself a faint smile. “The abandoned syringe was the key. We were able to analyse the substance in it. Most forensics places have kits to identify organophosphate immediately. That allowed the medical examiner to cross check at once with the body, and gave us enough to know that he was killed with organophosphate poison. Of course, the full results will take several weeks; you’re right about that. For now, we have enough evidence to know that organophosphate poison was the method of murder.”

  I was puzzled. “But why the redback spiders? There were too many of them to be natural. Even if he had disturbed a nest, there wouldn’t have been so many.”

  Palmer appeared to agree with me. “I can only assume that the murderer wanted it to look like an accident, and brought in a jar of redback spiders to scatter over the body after the victim had been injected with the poison. If the murderer hadn’t bumped into you, he would never have dropped the syringe.”