Chocolate Dipped Death

by Sammi Carter

  I had a bad feeling, but I didn’t want to make Miles worry even more, so I did my best to look and sound reassuring. “Try not to panic,” I said evenly. “There are probably a hundred places she could be.”

  “And I’ve checked in every one of them.” Someone honked, and another driver rolled down his window and shouted for Miles to move his car. Miles waved them both off, took a couple of jerky steps, and dragged his hand across his face again. “Delta hasn’t seen her,” he said. “Nobody on the hotel staff has seen her, and she hasn’t been to that coffee shop she likes so much. What if something’s happened to her?”

  “I’m sure she’s just fine. Have you driven along the route she takes when she runs? Maybe she twisted an ankle or pulled a muscle and can’t get back to the hotel.”

  He turned a set of agony-filled eyes in my direction. “I’ve looked everywhere I can, but I don’t know my way around that well, and she doesn’t take the same route every day. She likes variety.”

  “Well, I’m sure she’s perfectly all right. Why don’t you move your car so people can get through? Pull in next to my Jetta there,” I suggested, pointing out the lot between Divinity and Picture Perfect. “I’ll meet you back there as soon as Max is finished, and we’ll figure out where she is.”

  Miles glanced toward his car as if he hadn’t noticed it sitting there and gave the disgruntled drivers a distracted wave. “Sure. Okay. I’d appreciate the help.” He stepped back into the street, then looked back one more time. “You really think she’s okay?”

  “Of course she is,” I said. “She’ll turn up before you know it.

  I was wrong. Savannah didn’t turn up, and by one o’clock, Miles was visibly shaken. He phoned the police, but the officer on duty said there was nothing they could do until she’d been missing seventy-two hours. I didn’t think I’d survive another sixty-plus hours with Miles pacing back and forth inside the store, so I did the only thing I could under the circumstances. I picked up the phone and called Jawarski.

  Pine Jawarski is a detective with the Paradise Police Department. We met while he was investigating the murder of a friend, and I was trying to keep my brother out of jail. We’ve had dinner together a couple of times since then, but that’s as far as our “relationship” has progressed.

  Don’t get me wrong; he’s a good guy. At least, he seems to be. Sometimes when we’re together, I think there’s something going on between us, but he’s not any more ready to find out what that something is than I am. We usually let our awareness of each other flop around in the space between us and ignore it as much as possible.

  Jawarski answered on the second ring, and I have to admit that the pleasure I heard in his bass voice did a little something to me. “Abby! What are you doing calling me in the middle of a workday? Don’t tell me you finally decided to take me up on my challenge.”

  He’s been trying since Christmas to get me on the slopes again, but it’s been too many years since I hurled myself down the face of a mountain, and I was never that good at it anyway. Laughing softly, I moved into the kitchen so Miles wouldn’t hear me. “Not on your life, Jawarski. Or mine.”

  “So you say today, but be warned: I don’t plan to give up.”

  “And I don’t plan to cave in. If I hold out long enough, the season will be over, and I’ll be off the hook.”

  “Only until next year.”

  That smelled of permanence, and that made me uncomfortable, so I cut the chitchat short. “Actually, Jawarski, this is a professional call. We have a situation here, and I could use your help.”

  He switched gears immediately. “What’s going on? More trouble with the contest?”

  “You heard about that?”

  “Hasn’t everybody? Is that what’s wrong?”

  “In a roundabout way, I guess. One of our contestants seems to have gone missing. Her husband is here, and he’s really upset. She left their hotel room this morning at five thirty, and he hasn’t seen her since. The police say there’s nothing they can do until she’s been missing for seventy-two hours.”

  “Unless there are mitigating circumstances, they’re right.” At least Jawarski sounded regretful. “I assume this lady’s over eighteen?”

  I nodded. “She’s my age.”

  “And she’s mentally sound?”

  “Yes, depending on who you ask.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Bad joke. Yes, she’s mentally sound.”

  “Any reason to think she’s in danger?”

  I caught myself hesitating and shook my head firmly. “No. Nothing like that.”

  “And she’s not a danger to herself?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but can’t the patrol officers at least keep an eye out for her?”

  “She’s an adult, Abby. She could be off with friends or taking in a movie, or up on the slopes. We’ve got a town full of musicians spilled over from the festival in Aspen, and all of ’em just looking for trouble. We’d need a better reason than you’ve given me to get involved.”

  I could feel Miles watching me hopefully, but I didn’t let myself make eye contact. He’d read the answer in my eyes, but I wasn’t giving up yet. “What if I told you that the missing woman is the one Evie Rice accused of cheating last night?”

  “Is she?” Jawarski sounded a little more interested at that. “So are you saying you think Evie did something to her?”

  “No! Of course not. But Savannah isn’t particularly well-liked by anybody, so I don’t think she’s off visiting friends. I think maybe she’s been hurt. A sprained ankle or something.”

  “There are a thousand other places she could be,” Jawarski said again. “Maybe she’s getting a little something on the side, and her husband doesn’t know about it. Happens all the time, you know that.”

  My gaze strayed to the stairs to my apartment. If that’s where she was, she would be in danger when Karen woke up. Maybe I didn’t want Jawarski to find her, after all. “So there’s nothing you can do?”

  “Not yet. If she doesn’t show up in a couple of days, give me a call. We’ll pull out all the stops.”

  I nodded. “Sure. Thanks. Got any ideas what I can tell her husband? He’s going to wear a hole in my floor, pacing back and forth all day.”

  “If he’s that worried, tell him to go out and look for her himself. He could save himself a giant headache and the taxpayers a hefty chunk of change.”

  Jawarski was right, I thought when I disconnected, but Miles had already exhausted his resources, and he still didn’t know where his wife was. I turned around to find him watching me, a mixture of hope and wariness on his face. “Well?”

  I shook my head. “There’s nothing he can do.”

  The hope drained out of his expression right in front of my eyes. “This is ridiculous. A woman is missing!”

  “She’s an adult, Miles. She could be off shopping or—”

  “Not without money.”

  “She doesn’t have any with her?”

  He shook his head miserably. “Her wallet with all her credit cards is still in our room. This is going to kill me, but I guess there’s nothing I can do but wait.”

  There were a thousand places Savannah could be, I told myself as I tried to focus on work again. But she’d been missing for more than seven hours already. Even if she had been laid up with a twisted ankle, after seven hours in this cold she’d have more than just a sprain to deal with. “What we need,” I said, thinking aloud, “is a search party.”

  Disheartened, Miles sank into a chair and propped his chin in his hand. “That would be great, but I don’t know anyone in this town.”

  “No, but I do, and Bea knows even more people than I do. I’m sure between the two of us we can round up some help.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Absolutely. And under the circumstances, I think we should postpone tonight’s segment of the contest. If we’re all looking for Savannah, there won’t be time to set up.�
��

  Miles shook his head firmly. “I don’t want you to do that.”

  “You can’t postpone,” Bea said. “The contestants have been working all day to get ready.”

  “I understand, but it’s already one o’clock, and one of our contestants is missing. I think finding Savannah and making sure she’s all right is a little more important than sticking to our schedule.”

  Miles sighed with relief, and his eyes grew suspiciously bright. He turned away, embarrassed. “Thank you, Abby. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

  He didn’t need to tell me, I could see it in his expression. I touched his shoulder gently. “Just try not to worry. We’ll find her. I promise.”

  It was the second promise I’d made in less than twenty-four hours, and the second time I’d been wrong. One of these days, I was going to have to learn to keep my mouth shut.

  Chapter 6

  I divided the list of contestants with Bea, and within half an hour, we’d postponed that night’s event and rounded up a handful of volunteers to search for Savannah. I decided not to phone Evie, though. She needed special handling.

  Leaving Bea in charge of the store (and of Miles), I loaded Max into the Jetta and headed into the suburbs.

  I found Evie’s house in one of Paradise’s oldest residential neighborhoods, a small two-story house painted pale blue with yellow trim. Someone had made an effort to clear the walks, but chunks of ice buried in the snow made the journey from driveway to front door treacherous.

  Evie answered the door almost before I could knock. The wide, wild look in her violet eyes and the deep scowl tugging at the corners of her mouth told me I was too late before she even opened her mouth.

  “Meena Driggs just called,” she said, her tone ripe with accusation. “You can’t seriously be thinking of canceling the competition tonight just because Savannah has run off.”

  “She’s missing, Evie.”

  “You don’t really believe that do you?”

  “You don’t?”

  “Hell no.” Evie ushered me inside, and I spent a minute making Max comfortable in a sunny spot near the door before following Evie into the kitchen where several dozen chocolate turtles cooled on racks next to her famous candy bar pie. Looked like she’d been working all morning.

  Blue ribbons from previous wins in Divinity’s contest hung proudly on one wall, photographs of Evie’s various other accomplishments hung on another. Young Evie in her orchestra seat grinned proudly at the camera. Teenaged Evie in her burgundy and gold cheerleading costume—before the scandal that had gotten her kicked out—held pom-poms high over head. Evie as a young woman held a trophy and stood in front of a prizewinning bouquet at the Summit County Flower Show.

  When she saw me studying the pictures, a pleased smile eased the frown on her face. “Megan calls that my wall of fame. I think it inspires her.”

  “I’m sure it does.” I glanced around, trying to find pictures of Evie’s daughter, but Evie seemed to be the only family member memorialized here. “Does Megan have a wall?”

  Evie pulled two thick mugs from an overhead cupboard. “I’m working on hers in my spare time. I have tons of pictures, but her father is probably the least ambitious person on the planet. He never did approve of acknowledging Megan’s accomplishments in any meaningful way.”

  “He didn’t like what you’ve done here?”

  Evie shook her head. “He’s the epitome of mediocrity. He hates competition. Thinks it leads to bad things.”

  Hmmm. Wonder what makes him feel that way? “So he doesn’t let Megan compete?”

  “He lets her ‘join in,’ but he only approves of activities where every child, no matter how good or bad they are, gets the same reward. What’s the point of that?”

  I’ve never taken competition to the same level Evie does, but I’ll admit that I see nothing wrong with encouraging kids to excel. Life’s tough enough. Having something you’re good at makes a difference. But I do think parents and teachers should draw the line at teaching that it’s important to win at any cost. I’ve seen that in action, and it’s not pretty.

  I looked away from the wall of fame, sat where Evie indicated I should, and wondered how Evie got anything done in this kitchen. Staring at that many pictures of myself while I worked would creep me out.

  In another room, a clock chimed the half hour, and I realized that time was flying past. I tried steering the conversation back on track. “About Savannah—”

  The pinch lines around Evie’s mouth reappeared. “She’s pulling a fast one on you, Abby. Don’t let her get away with it.”

  “I don’t think so. She’s been gone since five thirty this morning. Her husband is really worried.”

  “He ought to be relieved.” Evie filled the mugs with homemade cocoa and slid one in front of me. Say what you want about Evie, she makes a great cup of cocoa using an old family recipe she refuses to share. “I don’t know what she’s up to this time, but you’re playing right into her hands.”

  Carrying that much anger around all the time had to hurt. “So where do you think she is?”

  “Who knows? Who cares? Hiding out in her room, maybe.”

  “You think Miles is in on the deception?”

  Evie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Well of course he is. Common sense would tell you that.”

  She hadn’t seen how upset Miles was, but I decided to play along. “So what do you think they’re up to?”

  Evie shook her head slowly. “With Savannah, it could be anything.” She sipped her cocoa and scowled at the ring the mug left on her table. “There’s one thing that’s been bothering me all night, though. I’ve been trying to figure out what kitchen Savannah’s been using to make her candy. Do you know?”

  “No, but we don’t ask.” The question hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  Pursuing her lips thoughtfully, Evie traced the ring on the table with a finger. “She’s staying at the Summit Lodge, right?”

  “That’s what she told Karen when she checked in for the contest yesterday.”

  “Well, you just know the chefs aren’t letting her make candy there.”

  I nodded and rolled cocoa around on my tongue, hoping that this time maybe I could discern what Evie used. Legend has it that the Aztec emperor Montezuma drank as many as fifty goblets of cocoa every day, only his was thick, dyed red, and flavored with chili peppers. I still couldn’t tell what Evie had used, but I was pretty sure chili peppers weren’t on the list.

  “Maybe she’s working at her sister’s house,” I suggested, reluctantly giving up and swallowing the mouthful.

  Evie shook her head again. “Delta would never let her do that. She’s too angry. But you know what that means, don’t you?”

  “No. What?”

  “It means Savannah didn’t make the candy she entered in the contest last night.”

  I was getting more than a little tired of the accusations and, frankly, I thought Evie owed me a hint about her cocoa just for listening to all of them. “You don’t know that for sure,” I said.

  “But she couldn’t have made it, Abby. She couldn’t. And she’ll show up again tonight, carrying around candy that somebody else made, all ready to pass it off as her own.”

  “You can’t just assume that she’s doing something underhanded because you don’t like her,” I said firmly. “And you can’t keep accusing her without proof. If she doesn’t do something to stop you, her husband will.”

  Evie’s smile grew chilly. “I don’t like her because she’s always doing something underhanded—and usually to me.”

  Karen might argue that part with her, but I wasn’t going to open that particular can of worms. I really didn’t care who suffered most at Savannah’s hands, I just wanted to protect the integrity of the contest and stop the public bickering. “Look, Evie, I know that you and Savannah have a long history, and I know that you have reasons for feeling the way you do, but she could be in real trouble.”

  “Troub
le she brought on herself.”

  I pretended not to hear her. “We’re putting together a search party at the shop. Most of the other contestants have agreed to help. Will you come?”

  Evie laughed and shook her head. “And play into Savannah’s latest head game? I can’t believe you’re even asking.”

  “I’d ask for her help if you were the one in trouble.”

  Evie’s smile faded. “And she’d turn you down even faster than I have. Don’t worry about her. She’s fine. I’d bet everything I own on it.”

  There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, so I thanked her and left her glaring at her cocoa mugs. I coaxed Max away from the warm spot on the floor and led him back outside. I’m not usually in touch with psychic energy and New Age vibrations, but the negative energy surrounding Evie was so thick I stood outside for a few minutes gulping clear, clean air before I could make myself get into the car and drive away.

  Evie’s attitude bothered me as I drove to the other end of town. Snow and traffic made the usual five-minute drive to Silver River Road take more than twenty, but it felt so good to be alone, I really didn’t mind.

  I circled the block a few times looking for a place to park, then finally squeezed the Jetta into an empty space at the bottom of the hill. Slowly, carefully, I pulled the bouquet of cinnamon roses from the car and set off on foot with Max at my heels. It was impressive, if I do say so myself, with three dozen glistening cinnamon “roses,” set off by deep green silk leaves and clusters of baby’s breath, all arranged in a crystal vase. A red velvet bow nestled in the center. Curls of ribbon peeked out from behind the greenery. I hoped Dylan and Richie liked it as much as I did.

  Like many of the buildings in Paradise, the Silver River Inn has gone through a number of incarnations since it was originally built. It started life as a school-house, but the sprawling brick building has also been a miner’s hospital, a library, and an office complex. Four years ago, Richie Bellieu and his partner, Dylan Wagstaff, bought the place. They gutted it the first year and spent the second bringing it to life again, this time as a bed-and-breakfast.