Playing with Bonbon Fire

by Dorothy St. James

  He seemed surprised by the question. “I … um … I … no. I’m sorry, Penn. I know how hard you worked on them. Bixby’s fans aren’t exactly the voting crowd I want to court.”

  “What do you mean? Last night’s crowd seemed fine to me.”

  Ezell gave me a patronizing smile. “I’m sure they’re fine. It’s just that Bixby’s fan base includes too many young kids. And kids run by and snatch up the chocolate without bothering to read the literature. Why should they? They’re not even old enough to vote.”

  “Really? I’d thought the crowd was a good mix, and mainly made up of thirty-somethings.”

  “Trust me. I have more experience with these things. I do plan to start handing out the bags tonight. An older, more thoughtful crowd will come to hear …” He shook his head. “Oh, dear me. I’m so sorry. The Ocean Waves are scheduled to play tonight’s concert, aren’t they?”

  Good gravy, they were. That was just one more reason why I needed to find Bubba. He had connections with the local music scene I didn’t have. I hoped he’d be able to find a last-minute replacement to fill tonight’s slot. Why wasn’t he answering his phone?

  I had too much work that needed to be done today. I didn’t have time to chitchat with the congressman. “What exactly did you need to talk to me about in private?” I asked.

  He looked suddenly uncomfortable. He tugged at his tie. “I … Look, this murder, it’s not good for the town. It’s not good for my campaign. I need to know if you saw anything at the bonfire—no matter how small,” he quickly added, “that might embarrass the town even further. Being in marketing, I’m sure you understand the need to stay one step ahead of the press. We can’t have any more surprises, not during the peak of tourist season. And not a few weeks before the primary election.”

  I shook my head. “The only thing I saw was the bag of chocolate bonbons you’d given to Bixby.”

  “Why do you think Stan had them?” He walked away and then came back, which made Stella bark. “I don’t understand any of this. Why would someone kill Stan? We grew up together, you know.”

  I hadn’t known.

  “We were close, like this.” He held his palms against each other, pressing them together until there was no sunlight coming between them. “We were tight like that for as long I can remember. I just can’t imagine how anyone could hurt …”

  His face twisted with grief.

  I tentatively touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized the two of you were friends.”

  “The best of friends.” He stared at the sky while blinking heavily. “After he left to search for fame on a bigger stage, there were some in this town who resented Stan for reaching beyond what many of us could even imagine. Some of his friends even vowed to never to speak to him again. But I understood what Stan was trying to do. With this run for the U.S. Senate, I’m doing it, too.”

  “So you think someone killed Stan because they were jealous of his success?” That didn’t sound right. Stan had only experienced a fleeting success. From the sounds of things, he was taking any paying gig he could find.

  “I don’t know, Penn.” He furrowed his slightly graying brows. “You said you found that bag of chocolate at the bonfire. You don’t think Bixby might have something to do with Stan’s death?”

  “Bixby? I hadn’t considered that he might be somehow involved.” I couldn’t picture the superstar killing anyone, especially not like that. At the same time, I couldn’t blame the congressman for trying to find answers, especially if Stan had been his friend.

  “Detective Gibbons is good at his job.” Heck, he’d already focused in on Bubba as a main suspect. “I’m sure he’ll make an arrest soon. And then we’ll all have our answers to what happened last night.”

  I prayed the answers the detective would uncover with his investigation wouldn’t prove that Bubba had carried through on his threat to kill Stan.

  “I’m sure justice will win in the end, Congressman,” I said.

  “Thank you. And please, Penn, call me Trey.” He tried out a smile.

  Stella didn’t give me the chance to respond. She decided at that moment to chase after a marsh rat. Barking like a maniac, she pulled on the leash.

  “Stella!” I tossed her a bacon treat. She ignored the treat. The marsh rat stood bravely just beyond the reach of Stella’s leash and stared at her with its black beady eyes, taunting her.

  I ended up picking up my little dog and carrying her, still barking, back toward the apartment.

  “I need to take her home,” I shouted over the noise. “I’ll let you know what we plan to do about tonight’s concert.” Hopefully, we wouldn’t have to cancel.

  “Sure, Penn. Thank you, again. And please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help save the town’s festival.”

  Chapter 9

  When I returned to the shop, Bertie was still gone. The kitchen was empty. I found Althea working the front counter. Tom had joined her and was helping fill orders. Ezell was working the room again, talking with prospective voters.

  “There you are, Penn,” Althea said. “The phone has been ringing off the hook.” She handed me a stack of messages. Many were requests for refunds on tickets for tonight’s concert. Some were even seeking refunds for concerts that were scheduled later in the week.

  Oh, no. I didn’t have time for this. But I couldn’t ignore it, either. I’d learned from my experience working in marketing that hiding from the customer only made bad press worse. I needed to return all those calls, and I also needed to contact the local news outlets and start putting out assurances that, despite last night’s tragedy, the Summer Solstice Beach Music Festival would still happen. Security would be tightened. And we were going to do everything in our power to keep everyone attending safe and happy.

  I took a moment to thank Tom for his help at the counter. I packed him a small bag of milk chocolate truffles as a thank-you gift before wishing him and his uncle good luck at the pier that night.

  After they left, I started to say to Althea, “I hate to ask this—”

  “Then don’t.” Smiling, she plucked the messages out of my hands. “What do you want me to tell them?”

  We discussed a plan of action for handling the public: offer assurances, give them free chocolate (if necessary), and if all else failed return the ticket money.

  Returning the money had to be our last choice, since the profit margin on the concert was already on the thin side. Most of the money from the advance ticket sales had already been spent on setup costs and housing for the band members.

  Once Althea and I had decided what needed to be done, I made some quick calls to the local newspaper, the Camellia Current, and the local television news stations. I talked with the reporters at each news outlet about the festival and where things stood. I promised to email formal statements and any adjustments to the schedule by early afternoon.

  It was already close to eleven o’clock, which meant I needed to get moving.

  “Before you run off again, you need to tell me. How’d it go?” Althea asked, her eyebrows doing a funny little dance.

  “What do you mean?” I grabbed my purse from where I’d stashed it under the counter.

  “With Trey.” She sang his name, making it sound as if it had two syllables.

  “He wanted to talk about last night’s murder. Stan was his friend.”

  “Really?” Her eyes grew large. “How awful for him. But why did he come here to talk to you and not to the police?”

  “Are you suggesting he’s interested in me?”

  “Maybe.” She started to tick off items on her fingers. “He went out of his way to help you secure a business loan. He places large orders at your shop. And he’s always using the Chocolate Box as an example of a successful small business in his speeches around town.”

  “He’s doing what any politician should do: help the little guy. And I’ve just taken over the Chocolate Box, so his mentioning it as a successful business has nothing to do
with me and everything to do with your mother and Mabel.”

  “He never mentioned the shop or even stuck his head through those doors until you arrived in town and took over.”

  “He’s running for a national office now,” I said with a sigh. “I’m sure he’s heard of my family’s political connections. I hate to think that he’s trying to use me. But …”

  “He might be coming around because he was impressed with the way you handled yourself when you solved Skinny McGee’s murder. Perhaps he came here today as a way to ask for your help in finding out who murdered his friend. Or perhaps he just likes you.” She nodded toward the front door. “Speaking of someone who likes you.”

  Harley Dalton had entered the shop. He was dressed in his regular business attire: a mid-price suit. The jacket was slung over his arm. He looked serious, like a man on a mission. And the way his broad shoulders filled out his white oxford shirt also made him devastatingly handsome.

  My heart did a little tap dance when his searching gaze landed on me. I told that silly organ to cut it out.

  Harley crossed the room toward us.

  “Hey, Harley,” Althea said, her voice all light and flirty.

  “You’re looking good today, Thea,” he said, with an ease I’d seen him show only around her and her mother. He leaned his elbow on the display counter. “That color suits you. You’re helping out your mom today? I hope it’s not because things are slow at your shop.”

  Althea and Harley had a history that dated back to when Althea had been in high school and Harley had been attending the College of Charleston. While their romantic relationship hadn’t survived the long term, the two of them had developed a strong bond of friendship. Althea was even godmother to Harley’s son.

  As the two of them talked about the crystal shop, I eased out from behind the counter. I needed to find Bubba. Hopefully he could help me figure out how to rescue the town’s music festival from complete collapse.

  “So, Harley, what brings you to the chocolate shop in the middle of the day?” Althea asked before I got too close to the door. Her brows started waggling again. She let her gaze bounce from me to Harley and back to me again as she added, “Not that I need to ask.”

  He straightened and a bit of pink crept into his cheeks. “I’m here to talk to Penn. Legal business.” He turned toward me. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Actually, I don’t.” I hitched the strap of my purse higher on my shoulder. “The music festival is falling apart. And I need to see what I can do to—”

  “It’ll just be a moment,” he said. “If it wasn’t important, you know I wouldn’t be here.”

  As in, he wouldn’t be talking with me unless business forced him to? Ouch. That stung. But, to be fair, he had talked with me that morning when he’d noticed I was upset. That had been decent of him.

  “You can talk while I walk to Bubba’s house. He’s still not answering his phone.”

  “Bye, Thea,” Harley called as he hurried after me. “I’ll talk with you later.”

  “You’re not planning on running around the island investigating Stan’s murder, are you?” Harley asked as soon as he caught up to me.

  I picked up my pace. “Why would you think I’d do that when we both know the police are in hot pursuit of the killer?”

  “Because I was there when you almost lost your life investigating the last murder that happened in Camellia Beach.”

  I pumped my arms to get my body to move even faster. “Stan wasn’t my friend.”

  “But Bubba is,” he countered. “And I’ve heard he’s the only suspect at the moment.”

  “Is that why you came to find me? To give me a lecture?”

  “No, I got a call from Edward’s office,” he said.

  “Oh, don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t handle any more problems in my life right now.”

  “Hiding from your relatives won’t make them go away.”

  It wouldn’t. And Harley knew me too well. Running and hiding was my knee-jerk response to trouble. Ever since arriving in Camellia Beach, I’d worked like the devil to change my ways. But old habits had a way of sneaking back up on me.

  “Very well,” I said with a sigh. “What are Mabel’s children—”

  “Your aunts and uncle,” Harley corrected.

  “Yes, them. What are they accusing me of doing this time?”

  “Nothing they haven’t already accused you of. They’ve responded to your request for a DNA test. It’s been denied.”

  I walked even faster, pumping my arms even harder as I hurried down the middle of the street. Was I trying to run away? Probably.

  “I don’t understand it. They’re the ones who didn’t believe the DNA results Skinny had done for me. They’re the ones who keep telling me I have no proof I’m related to them.”

  “As long as the question of your parentage stays alive, it keeps the contested will in the courts,” he pointed out. “So it doesn’t benefit them to prove you’re related.”

  “I have a right to know which one of Mabel’s daughters is my mother. Don’t they understand that?”

  Harley jogged beside me. “Can we discuss this while not running?”

  I came to an abrupt stop and propped my fists on my hips. “I told you I was in a hurry.”

  “That you did, Penn.” He pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his shiny brow. “But it’s too hot out here. I can’t go running across the island in a suit. I don’t know how you’re doing it in those shoes.”

  Bubba lived at the far end of the island, down by the county park. Dressed in a suit, Harley would be nothing but a puddle of sweat if he had to chase after me the entire way. The humidity hung hot and heavy in the air. My silk blouse was already starting to feel sticky. And my feet were starting to throb in the ankle-wrapped pink pumps despite the fact that they’d been touted to be the epitome of comfort.

  “Just listen to me, Penn,” Harley pleaded. “And then I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He tilted his head and frowned at me. “Penn,” he said, his voice softening. “I know this is a sore subject with you. Even though your mother abandoned you, we don’t have the legal means to force her into revealing her identity.”

  “What about Carolina?” I asked. Mabel’s oldest daughter had run away years ago. No one had heard from her since. She was the one I suspected was my mother.

  She had to be my mother, didn’t she?

  I’d been hoping Florence and Peach, Mabel’s two other daughters, would agree to take a DNA test in order to rule them out as parental contenders. But given that Mabel’s children had spent the past several months pretending I didn’t exist, I wasn’t all that surprised they’d turned down my DNA request.

  Shortly after learning Mabel was my maternal grandmother, I’d directed Harley to hire a private investigator to quietly search for the missing Carolina Maybank. It was an expense the trustees of my trust fund had agreed to finance. I’d hoped for some news by now.

  Harley shook his head. “We still haven’t been able to find where she went or even if she’s still alive. I’m sorry.”

  “So this is where it ends, then.” I resumed my mad trek down the island. “Thank you for—”

  “Penn, wait.”

  “I have pressing matters that desperately need my attention.”

  “Penn, there is something else.”

  With a sigh, I stopped.

  “Edward’s office has sent a request for you.”

  “A request? For me?” I held back a laugh. “That’s rich. What do they want? The shop? They can’t have it.”

  “No, that’s not what the request is about. Florence wants to meet with you. In person. In private.”

  Florence Corners, Mabel’s middle daughter, had never even tried to hide her dislike of me. Before anyone knew I was Mabel’s granddaughter, Florence had accused me of conning their mother out of her fortune every time our paths crossed. Af
ter the DNA results came out proving my relationship to Mabel, Florence had gone silent. If we happened to be in the same room, she’d look through me as if I didn’t exist. And I had a feeling she was the one who was pushing the hardest to keep the contested will tied up in the courts so I couldn’t access the money Mabel had set aside for the shop’s upkeep.

  She wanted to meet with me?

  “Tell her no freaking way.” My arms pumped with renewed anger as I hurried away from Harley. Yes, I was running. If Mabel’s family didn’t want anything to do with me, I didn’t want anything to do with them. It wasn’t as if rejection was new to me. My father’s family had been bemoaning my existence from the day my mother abandoned me on their doorstep.

  Even so, I swiped at a stray tear that stung my eye and wondered what Florence wanted to say to me and why she needed to say it in private.

  Chapter 10

  Bubba lived on the southern tip of the island. Except for the vacation homes lining the beach, development on this part of the island was sparse. The land was low and swampy. Ancient scrubby oaks, twisted into strange shapes from years of unrelenting wind, were tangled with thorny vines. They created a thick, arching canopy over the road that seemed to swallow the summer sunlight. Narrow dirt driveways met the main road here and there.

  By the time I reached the deeply rutted drive that led to Bubba’s place, I was out of breath and thinking Harley had been right—these pumps were impossible for a trek across the island. When I’d bought them, I’d fallen in love with the pink leather bows and sleek shape of their heels and had only half-believed their claim of comfort. I hadn’t thought about how impractical they’d be in my new shop-owner lifestyle. I hadn’t figured they’d need to weather a stumble through the pluff mud this morning or fill in for hiking boots as I marched clear across the island in search of the music festival’s co-chair. Even Bertie’s cheap sneakers would have served much better for such a hike.

  The fact that I hadn’t taken my car only proved how flustered I was that morning. But I hadn’t, so I trudged down the dirt road that led to Bubba’s cottage.