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

by Morgana Best

  This wasn’t going to be easy. “I need a man’s opinion,” I said. “Since there isn’t one here, what do women usually buy for men in your shop? What would you buy your husband?”

  She snorted rudely. “I wouldn’t buy my husband anything from my shop. He would only like a prize Hereford bull as a gift.”

  I was rendered speechless, so simply nodded. I presently recovered my wits, and offered up a fake laugh. “Have you ever bought him a bull for his birthday?” She merely looked at me, so I added, “Oh, I recognise you. Aren’t you Daryl Andrews’ wife? You have that farm twenty kilometres out of town on the road to Walcha?”

  Valerie went pale, and gripped the edge of a heavily carved Balinese dining table. Clearly, I had upset her, although I had no idea why. A group of women hurried into the shop at that point, all talking in very posh tones. Valerie at once went to serve them. I stood by the counter for some time, wondering when she would come back so I could buy the candle, but in the end I gave up.

  She became upset when I mentioned her husband. Perhaps she did realise that he was the murderer, after all. At any rate, I had spent longer than I wanted to, so I hurried back to my shop. My path took me along a side street where I could clearly see Tom’s office from an angle. To my surprise, I saw Carl walking out of Tom’s office.

  I hurried over to him. I was sure he had seen me, but he picked up speed. “Carl!” I called when I was only a few steps behind him.

  He turned around. “Narel.”

  So I was right—he had seen me, after all. “Carl, I saw you coming out of Tom’s office.”

  He nodded. “I caught up with work a bit so I thought I’d come to town to see how you were, but you weren’t in your shop so I went over to Tom’s office to see if you were there.”

  For some reason, I knew he was lying. Sure, it was a reasonable explanation and one that would have been entirely believable, only I knew Carl too well. He fidgeted and looked down at his feet. “I just went to see Valerie Andrews at Cane Delights and Homewares,” I told him.

  He looked up, interested. “What did she say?”

  I walked in the direction of my shop and Carl fell into step beside me. “Not much, not much at all. I pretended I was looking for a gift for a man, and asked her what she would select her husband from the shop, but she said he only wanted cows as gifts.”

  “You’re joking!” Carl said.

  “I’m sure she was joking,” I said, “but she didn’t strike me as someone who had a sense of humour. When I mentioned her husband, she got really funny. Perhaps she’s realised that he murdered Bob.”

  “Maybe,” Carl said with a sigh, “but there are other suspects that we need to look into. I don’t think we should jump to conclusions. If it was that obvious, the police would have arrested him by now.”

  We had reached my shop, so I unlocked it and let Carl in. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Celia Carruthers is my best bet,” he said. “That’s a pretty nasty thing to happen, having a bath fall through the ceiling. I can’t really see that Scott and Emily Fowler would have a motive to murder him. Sure, Bob overcharged them, but he overcharged half the people in town.”

  I had to agree. “Carl, have you had lunch yet?”

  He shook his head. “I’m ravenous. I was going to grab something to eat on my way out to…” He stopped speaking abruptly.

  “On your way out to where?”

  A slow red flush made its way up his face. “Home. On my way out to home.”

  I knew Carl would never use such an expression. I really wished I knew what was going on with him, but I supposed he would tell me in his own good time. “I happen to have two Chocolate Pots de Crème, if you’d like one?”

  “Would I ever! Do you have any proper food to eat first?”

  “Of course I do. I have sourdough bread, and olives and tomatoes.”

  Carl was clearly impressed. “Well, Narel, you really are trying to eat better.”

  I smiled and nodded. I would just have to save the chocolate hazelnut spread for when he wasn’t around. I was slicing the tomatoes when I heard the text tone on my phone in the next room. “Carl, could you check that? See if it’s the police or something important.”

  Carl came back into the room much faster than he left. He waved the phone at me. “Look at this! It’s from Tom.” He was breathless.

  Before I could read the text, Carl said, “Scott and Emily Fowler murdered a granny!”

  Chapter 14

  I stood there, dumbstruck. Surely I hadn’t heard him properly. “Sorry, Carl, what did you say?”

  He thrust the phone at me. Sure enough, the text read, Scott Fowler buried his mother behind their house.

  I allowed myself a few moments of disbelief, and then called Tom. I set the phone to Loud so Carl could hear the conversation. “They murdered her?” I asked Tom.

  Tom was silent for a moment, and I imagined him shaking his head. “No, they didn’t. She died of natural causes.”

  “Why didn’t they bury her at a cemetery in that case?”

  Carl tugged on my arm. “Give the man a chance to speak.”

  “Her pension cheques,” Tom said. “Not that they do cheques these days—it’s direct deposit into a bank account, but you know what I mean. Scott’s mother lived with them. She was getting a lot of money from the government, well, as much as anyone can. Apparently, she died of natural causes and they wanted her money to continue, so they buried her in their backyard next to the goat.”

  Now I was certain I hadn’t been hearing properly. “Did you say a goat? Or her coat?”

  Tom chuckled. “I really shouldn’t laugh over something as serious as this, but they had a pet goat for years. They buried her next to their pet goat.”

  I thought that awfully strange, but then again, burying someone in one’s own back yard was strange in itself. “Have they been charged?” I asked him.

  “The police charged Scott, but not Emily. I think they both convinced the police that she knew nothing about it. Scott swore blind that Emily didn’t know anything about it. He said Emily would have refused to let him bury his mother next to the goat. She did a good job of acting surprised, at any rate.”

  Carl grabbed the phone from me. “Did Bob Jones know this? If he knew, then that’s why the Fowlers killed him! Maybe he dug up her body when he was digging the trenches for the water pipes.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” Tom said. “Narel, can you hear me?”

  I snatched the phone back from Carl. “Yes, I can. Did Scott confess to murdering Bob?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Tom said. “I don’t have the whole story. I only know because they wanted to sell the block of land that adjoins theirs, and I was over there just then getting them to sign the paperwork for it. The police came only moments after I arrived, so I heard the whole thing. The police dug up the bodies.”

  “Bodies?” I echoed.

  “Scott’s mother and the pet goat. Anyway, the police took Scott and Emily Fowler down to the station for questioning.”

  “How did the police find out?” I asked Tom.

  “They said it was an anonymous tip-off.”

  Carl held his hand out for the phone, so I handed it to him. “Tom, I think I’ve solved the case,” Carl said excitedly, waving his free hand around. “Bob Jones discovered the body while he was digging, and was blackmailing them. I’ll bet he left a letter with his lawyer saying if anything were to happen to him, that they were the ones who did it.”

  “That’s not as far-fetched as it sounds, Carl,” I said, tapping my chin.

  “I think Narel should continue to stay at my house until we know for sure,” Tom said, but Carl had already handed the phone back to me.

  “That would be lovely. I don’t want to be a burden, though,” I said.

  “You could never be a burden, Narel,” Tom said in a heartfelt tone.

  I swiped at Carl who was making a gagging motion. I knew he would tease me for several hou
rs over that. To my surprise, he seemed in a hurry to go. “You haven’t even had dessert yet,” I called after his retreating back.

  He simply waved over his shoulder. As Carl walked out the door, a customer came in. I was shaking from hunger the whole time I served her. After she left, I flipped the sign to Closed and went into the back room. I ate a few chocolates—after all, carbohydrates always helped me think.

  Could Scott Fowler have killed Bob? I didn’t know how long his mother had been dead, but that was easy money they were getting from the government on her behalf. Fraud was a serious offence, but murder, of course, was far more serious. And how did I know that the Fowlers hadn’t actually killed her?

  I grabbed my iPad to see what the charges for fraud would be. I immediately found that the charge was called, Obtaining Benefit by Deception. I also found that while most convicted offenders went to jail, some were given a suspended sentence. It all depended on the amount of money; the higher the amount of money, the higher the penalty. In that case, it didn’t look like Scott would serve serious jail time, if any, given that it was money given by the government.

  I knew it was illegal to bury someone outside a cemetery, so I googled the fines for that. This time, the penalty was a six year jail sentence and possibly a fine as well.

  This wasn’t really helping. I was trying to find out if the police would hold Scott pending bail, or whether they would release him at once. Since it was now looking like Scott was the murderer, then if I could identify him, the case would be sealed. No wonder he was trying to kill me.

  I popped another chocolate or five in my mouth and turned my attention back to my iPad. This time, I googled the instructions for making pepper spray. I was surprised that the internet was full of such instructions. There were even YouTube videos.

  I jumped up and looked in my cupboard. I had a bottle of white vinegar, and even a spray bottle. I filled the spray bottle with vinegar and adjusted the nozzle until I was sure it would eject the mixture a suitable distance and with force. I then poured the vinegar into a bowl. Carl loved spicy food, and I had a large glass bottle of ground red chilli peppers for when he came around for lunch, which was often. The instructions called for baby oil. I didn’t have any, so I used sesame oil.

  I put the ingredients in a blender and blended until it looked dissolved. Then I realised I hadn’t added the garlic. I cut some garlic as finely as I could and put it in the blender, too. It took quite some time to blend. In fact, the garlic didn’t blend completely, but I wasn’t worried as the recipe called for straining.

  I looked through my drawers for the finest mesh strainer I could find, and then strained the mixture into a bowl. I carefully poured it into the spray bottle, sneezing repeatedly as I did so.

  My eyes were already watering, so I walked to the back door and opened it. It was a pretty good mixture, if I did say so myself. I was grateful for the fresh air flowing in through the back door. I didn’t want to leave the back door open, just in case Scott Fowler wasn’t the murderer after all, but the pepper spray fumes were just too potent.

  I was holding the spray bottle in one hand and wiping it with the other, when someone burst through the back door.

  I spun around in shock.

  The first thing I noticed was the ski mask, and then I realised that the figure was dressed in black. “Don’t breathe a word of it, or it will be the worse for you!” the figure said. He stepped towards me. “This is your only warning!”

  By reflex, I held up the bottle and sprayed as hard as I could, aiming for his eyes.

  To my enormous relief, the spray worked. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and for a split second I was worried that a piece of garlic might catch in the bottle and clog up the spray. Luckily for me, the spray was successful. I scored a direct hit, right into the eyes of my would-be assailant.

  The figure screamed, covered his eyes, turned around and ran headlong into the open door. He fell back, apparently knocked out cold. I looked around for something to tie him up, but I didn’t have any rope around, given Mongrel’s feelings about it. I immediately called the local police.

  When I hung up, the figure was still out cold. I had heard somewhere that people don’t stay out cold for long, only in movies. I sure hoped that wasn’t true. Then I realised I had bigger concerns. In all my googling about pepper spray, I had discovered it was illegal in all states in Australia except Western Australia. The fine for possession of pepper spray was up to fifteen years jail. Of course, I lived on the east coast, and Western Australia, as its name would suggest, was on the west coast. It was hardly just over the border.

  What could I do? I couldn’t say that the man tripped and fell headfirst into a bowl of salad. That gave me an idea, but I would have to act fast. The Community Hall housing the temporary police station was only minutes away.

  I immediately grabbed a large glass bowl and then pulled a head of lettuce out of the fridge. I ripped it to shreds with my bare hands. I took some tomatoes from the fridge and diced them roughly. I threw them into the bowl. Then I threw the entire contents of the pepper spray into the bowl and tossed the makeshift salad with a wooden fork.

  I went blank. What did normal people have in salads? Carrots, but there was no time to grate them. Nevertheless, I grabbed a carrot, attacked it with a knife, and threw the pieces into the bowl as well. I added the unused cloves of garlic for good measure. I rinsed out the spray bottle, but it still looked a little oily. I filled it with white vinegar and put it under the kitchen sink.

  I could hear sirens, and they were not far away. I ran back to the fridge, grabbed a handful of lettuce, shredded it with my hands once more and dropped it all over the intruder’s face. I threw some carrots and tomatoes on top of his face for good measure.

  The police banged on my front door just as I finished. I sprinted there and let them in. “He’s in the back room,” I said.

  The police hurried into my back room with me right behind them. The figure was struggling to his feet. One of the uniformed officers seized him while the other ripped off the ski mask. A piece of lettuce went flying.

  “Graham Gibson!” I said in shock. “It was you!”

  Graham spat out a piece of tomato. “She used pepper spray on me,” he wailed. He called me a few fancy names that made me blush. “I can’t see! She’s blinded me!”

  Two officers took the loud and protesting Graham away, presumably for medical treatment and then to charge him, while Sergeant Stan Smith stayed behind. “Did you use pepper spray on the alleged perpetrator, Ms Myers?”

  I shook my head. “Of course not. I don’t have any such thing. It’s illegal, isn’t it?”

  “There’s a strong smell of pepper spray in here, and Mr Gibson’s eyes appear to be affected.”

  I nodded. “I was just eating a salad when he tried to attack me, so I threw my salad in his face. I like hot, spicy salad dressing,” I added. I carefully searched the sergeant’s face for signs that he believed me.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so?”

  I nodded. “Feel free to search the place, or look in my purse. To tell you the truth, I’d like to have some pepper spray to protect myself, but I know it’s illegal.”

  He looked unconvinced. “See, I threw some of my salad at him when he came at me,” I continued, pointing to a large bowl of salad on the little table. “The spicy salad dressing must have got in his eyes.”

  The sergeant picked up the bowl and sniffed it. “Whoa!” he said, putting the bowl down abruptly. “How can anyone eat that?” He rubbed his eyes, and then sneezed violently.

  “I love spicy food,” I lied. I picked up the spoon in the bowl and selected a piece of tomato that didn’t seem as heavily affected by the pepper spray a.k.a. alleged salad dressing as the other pieces of tomato. I popped it in my mouth. “Yum.”

  It was all I was able to say before my throat burnt. It couldn’t have burnt any more if I had swallowed five red-hot pokers. I gasped for breath. Tears p
oured out of my eyes as the air left my lungs. The room spun. “Delicious,” I managed to say through my burnt lips. I hoped I was convincing.

  The sergeant stared at me, puzzled, for a moment. “Miss Myers, would you come down to the station now to give your witness statement?”

  I was unable to speak, so I simply nodded. Mercifully, Sergeant Smith left. I locked the door behind him and then ran into the little bathroom at the back of the shop. I rinsed my mouth out again and again, and then went outside and gulped breaths of fresh air. My mouth was still on fire. My eyes had not stopped streaming.

  I remembered reading somewhere that butter was good for burns, so I hurried back to the fridge in which were several buttercream chocolates. I ate several. That did seem to soothe my mouth a little.

  It was then I remembered the garlic. I had swallowed a big mouthful of garlic. How was I going to kiss Tom? I gave myself a mental slap. There were more important matters to deal with, namely, that Graham Gibson had just tried to attack me. Besides, Tom had shown no sign of wanting to kiss me, much to my chagrin.

  Could Graham be Bob’s killer? Or was he in it with someone else? And if so, was I still in mortal danger?

  I popped one more buttercream chocolate into my mouth and locked the back door securely.

  Chapter 15

  Before I left for the temporary police station, I called Tom and Carl. Neither picked up, so I texted them both. By the time I reached the Community Hall, I hadn’t heard from either of them.

  As I approached the Community Hall door, I heard strange sounds emanating from inside. I wondered if Graham Gibson was putting up a struggle. I opened the door, but couldn’t see anything. I could, however, hear raised voices coming from the room next to the one in which the police had interviewed me earlier.

  “It’s a zoo!” someone said in a loud voice. “We can’t be expected to work under these ridiculous conditions.”

  I felt a little embarrassed overhearing the conversation, but it was not possible to do otherwise, given that the person was speaking so loudly. Just then, the door flew open and Detective Thompson marched out. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw me. “Ms Myers, that was fast.”