Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 01 - Death by Chocolate

by Sally Berneathy

  I pushed the shower curtain aside. “No hairs in the bathtub. Either Mackey’s tidier in the shower than everywhere else, or he wears a hairpiece.”

  Fred peered over my shoulder. “He wore a hair piece.”

  “That’s my guess, too. Slobs in the bedroom are slobs in the shower.”

  “I meant because the hairs in the comb aren’t natural. They’re from a hair piece.”

  “Oh.”

  Fred moved away and opened the medicine cabinet. “This is interesting.”

  I stepped over to look, half expecting to see a bottle of aspirin-sized pills that were scored in half.

  Fred lifted out a paper cup that held a tangle of longer, darker hairs with golden roots.

  “Damn.”

  I expected Fred to say something about my language, but he didn’t. “My sentiments exactly.”

  “That looks like it was pulled out of a brush, like maybe—” I hesitated, not wanting to use Paula’s name and make this real— “like maybe somebody cleaned her brush and tossed the hairs in the trash and then some slimeball came along, digging through somebody’s private trash and found these hairs and saved them. What kind of a sicko would do that?”

  “A sicko collecting evidence that somebody really has blond hair, not brown, and she really is the person he’s looking for and he has proof of her true identity in order to blackmail her.”

  “Damn,” I said again. My vocabulary’s really not limited. I just couldn’t come up with any other word that fit the occasion quite so well. “Maybe Mackey had a girl friend who dyed her hair.”

  Fred didn’t bother to dignify that absurdity with a response.

  “I got that license number!” Stinson called from downstairs.

  “He probably couldn’t make it up here twice in the same day,” I speculated. “Just as well. I’m not about to give him mouth-to-mouth if he has a heart attack.”

  Fred stuck the paper cup of hairs back in the medicine cabinet and closed the door. “Let’s go.”

  “You go on,” I said. “I need to use the facilities.”

  He looked at me suspiciously. “You want to use these facilities?”

  “When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

  “You can’t wait until you get home?”

  “No, I can’t. It’s a female thing.” That always sends men running.

  It worked with Fred.

  I closed the door behind him, opened the medicine chest, took out the paper cup, dumped the hairs into the filthy toilet and flushed it. Yes, I admit it. I destroyed evidence. Possible evidence. We didn’t even know a crime had been committed. But I was certain of one thing, if there had been, Paula didn’t do it.

  And if she did, she had a damn good reason.

  Chapter Nine

  We went downstairs. Stinson offered Fred a dirty slip of paper with Mackey’s license plate number written on it. Fred, having removed his gloves, took it tentatively between the tips of his thumb and index finger, and we left.

  Outside in the fresh air, I drew in a deep breath and tried to get all the smelly ugliness of that place out of my lungs. Fred waved the paper in the air a few times before folding it and putting it in his shirt pocket.

  I felt like I needed to take a shower before getting back into the immaculate, air-conditioned cleanness of Fred’s car. But I wasn’t about to be left behind at that place, so I scooted in anyway.

  I’d been pretty quiet after the flushing episode, but as soon as we pulled away from the curb, my mouth kicked in again. “It could be a garden variety nutcase who’s been stalking Paula,” I said. “Went through her trash and collected some of her hair. Somehow found her unlisted phone number.”

  “Maybe. A garden variety nutcase who came to town to blackmail somebody else and along the way just happened to decide to stalk Paula until he went to collect the blackmail money and never returned.”

  “It could have happened that way,” I muttered.

  Fred didn’t say anything.

  “Can you think of a better scenario?” I carefully avoided the use of the word logical. I was only too well aware of the more logical scenario, and I wasn’t ready to go there.

  “No.”

  Apparently Fred wasn’t ready to go there either.

  When we pulled into Fred’s driveway, I saw Rick’s car parked in mine and Rick sitting on my porch.

  Fred spotted him, too. “Want to come in for a while?”

  I shook my head, took a deep breath and headed for home. I had a right to be there. Rick was the intruder, and I wasn’t going to let him keep me out of my own home.

  But it wasn’t quite that simple. I couldn’t decide if I was glad or upset to see him. A little of both, to be completely honest. Henry appeared from nowhere and fell into step beside me. For some weird reason, that made it a little easier to approach my almost-ex.

  “What are you doing here?” I snarled, but my heart wasn’t in it…and I could tell he knew that.

  He smiled. “Waiting for you to come home.”

  Henry and I marched disdainfully past him, and I unlocked my door. We went in, and Rick followed.

  I tossed my jacket on the back of the sofa then turned to him. “I don’t remember inviting you to come in.” Okay, I didn’t have to be so rude, but I was pretty stressed about that visit to Mackey’s apartment…and that damn tangle of dark hairs with blond roots. The last thing I needed right then was to have to deal with my ambivalent feelings about Rick Kramer.

  He smiled again. “May I come in?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so.” I turned away and headed straight for the kitchen to get a Coke. Maybe two. One for each hand.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I called to Rick. Unfortunately, despite appearances to the contrary, I am my mother’s daughter, and, while I can be quite rude when the occasion calls for it, there are a few manners I can’t ignore…like offering a guest something to drink.

  “Yes, thank you,” he replied. What a polite guest. “A Coke would be great.” He didn’t really like Coke. He just wanted an excuse to hang around.

  When I returned to the living room with our drinks, he’d already made himself comfortable on one end of my sofa.

  To my surprise, Henry had stretched out on the remainder of the sofa rather than in my recliner. Was it possible Henry had decided to accept Rick?

  Considering his tail was the end nearest Rick, probably not.

  The next question was whether Henry was smart enough to know that he was thus preventing me from sitting beside Rick and possibly making a total fool out of myself.

  Of course not. It was just a coincidence. Cats weren’t that smart.

  Henry lifted his head and I could have sworn he was grinning.

  Maybe they were that smart.

  I headed for the recliner, but Rick protested. “Come sit beside me.” He tried to give Henry’s rear a shove, but Henry lifted his head, bared his teeth and hissed. They were quite large teeth. I wasn’t surprised that Rick gave up.

  He leaned back and withdrew a small gift-wrapped box from his jacket pocket. “I brought you something.”

  Probably jewelry, judging from the size of the box. Rick knew I wasn’t really into jewelry, so he gave me sentimental stuff…like a ring with two hearts entwined featuring both our birthstones. “I wish you hadn’t,” I said. Then more firmly, “I can’t accept it.”

  He set it on the coffee table. “It’s yours. Do whatever you want with it. Throw it in the trash unopened if that’s what you want.”

  He knew I’d never do that. My curiosity would get the better of me and I’d have to open it sooner or later. Then I might toss it into the trash or the Missouri River. Or hock it.

  I decided to resort to my party manners mode, thank-you-mother-for-all-the-training-you-thought-didn’t-take. “That’s very nice of you to bring me a gift. I’m pleased that all the emotional upheaval has died down, and you and I can be friends after the divorce.” It was all a huge lie, but it sounded good.


  “Lindsay, you and I both know, after Saturday night, that the emotional ties between us are still strong.”

  Henry’s huge tail swung up to slap Rick’s chest. Rick glared at him, but Henry appeared to be sound asleep.

  “Cat dream,” I said.

  “Can’t you get your cat off the sofa?”

  “He’s not my cat. He’s a guest. Asking him to move would be rude.” Maybe this manners thing could work in my favor after all.

  “Fine. Look, Lindsay, we need to talk about you and me.”

  “No!” I bit my lip and ordered myself to return to the party manners mode. “Rick, this isn’t a good time. I just got back from a very disturbing incident. In fact, the last few days have been very disturbing. I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

  Sympathy and understanding…or a reasonable facsimile thereof…softened his features. He came over to stand behind me, loosened the top buttons of my blouse, and began to massage my neck and shoulders. His fingers were warm and firm and familiar, and it felt wonderful. Sure, I should have told him to stop, but it was kind of like the flowers. Why give up something I loved just because the source was questionable?

  “If you want to tell me what’s bothering you, maybe I can help,” Rick offered.

  That massage loosened my tongue as well as my muscles, and I soon found myself babbling about everything that had happened with Paula and the house across the street while Rick kneaded away my tension and murmured soothing nothings. I did leave out the part about Detective Trent’s almost-spring hazel eyes and our almost-bonding experience. No need to tell everything you know.

  When I got to the business about the smooth edges of the hole in the stuffed bear’s chest, Rick became a little tense. “You’re right, babe. I should have noticed that. Somebody saw me deliver your basket, came up and took it, then mutilated it and put it on Paula’s walk. Somebody’s watching you! Why aren’t the police doing anything?”

  “They’re doing all they can. Anyway, it’s not me this creep is watching. It’s Paula.”

  I told him about talking to Stinson, keeping that story pretty vague. I did not include the details of Fred’s charade or of the flushing incident.

  It felt good to be able to share my problems with Rick again the way I’d done for eight years, to feel that old familiar closeness.

  “I can’t believe Fred let you go into that apartment building,” he protested. “Please promise me you won’t do anything like that again. I’ll be worried sick about you.”

  His tone was so soothing, so cajoling, I almost agreed, almost let myself slip back into a former life where somebody cared about my welfare and worried about me. But I couldn’t quite make that promise, couldn’t quite tell such an outrageous lie.

  “Don’t worry about me.” I didn’t want to argue or, worse, stop the great massage, and that was the best avoidance I could come up with on short notice.

  “I do worry about you. I care about you.” Did I mention he’s a damn good salesman? I’m positive the Sirens of mythology who lured all those sailors to their deaths with their irresistible songs were Rick’s ancestors.

  “Ummm,” I said, long past fighting the lure.

  “Your parents are worried about you, too.”

  That broke the spell. “My parents? When did you talk to my parents?”

  “I talk to them regularly. They’re the only family I have.”

  They’re not your family, they’re mine, I wanted to say, but that seemed cruel. He’d never been that close to my parents when we were married. He’d grown up in orphanages and foster care and didn’t seem to need anybody, but maybe he was feeling vulnerable and alone with the divorce.

  “Don’t mention any of this to mom or dad,” I said instead.

  “Your mother told me you cancelled dinner with them on Sunday.”

  “Big deal. She was relieved.” And I was starting to feel stressed again.

  “She was concerned. She thinks your behavior since we separated has become even more erratic than normal.” Rick’s fingers began to feel like soft, warm steel traps.

  “Are you saying my mother used the word normal in a sentence about me? I must be improving!”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm. Your parents and I just want to take care of you.”

  The phone rang, interrupting more potential sarcasm about my desire to be taken care of. I jumped up, pulling away from Rick and feeling like Ulysses must have felt when his ship finally sailed out of hearing range of the Sirens.

  I snatched up the receiver. “Hello?” Friend, telemarketer or wrong number, I was going to talk to the person on the other end until Rick left.

  “Lin, this is Fred. Did you know there’s a police car parked in front of Paula’s house?”

  “No!” I leaned around to peer out the window and saw the black and white. “I’m on my way.”

  “I’m in the middle of running down this license plate we got from Stinson. Are you okay to go by yourself?”

  “Sure.”

  “Call me if you need me, and I’ll be right there.”

  “I know you will.”

  I hung up and started for the door, but Rick grabbed my arm. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “If you’ll let go of my arm, I can find out.”

  He looked outside and frowned. “You don’t need to go over there. Let the police handle it.”

  I jerked my arm free. “Paula’s my friend. I’m going.”

  “Do you remember when you insisted we let her move in and I warned you she’d be trouble? I hate to say it, but I told you so.”

  “You don’t hate to say it! You love to say it! We had a marriage built on I told you so! In eight years I never did anything right, so you can pretty much figure I’m not going to start now!”

  “Calm down, Lindsay.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! This is my house and I can be whatever I like in my own home and I like being uncalm and irrational and out of control!” I stormed out of my house and slammed my door.

  Rick followed behind as I ran to Paula’s house. Much as I might protest, he’d somehow managed to make me feel like an incompetent clod, just the way he did every time we got into an argument. I guess that’s why I didn’t confront him about his night-time absences when we were married. I knew I’d end up the loser no matter what.

  Paula’s door was open, and I didn’t wait to be invited in. Neither did Rick.

  Paula sat on one end of the sofa with Creighton on the other and Zach in between. Trent loomed over the three of them.

  They all looked up when I charged in. Paula’s eyes were bright with tears and terror. Zach grinned, pointed and said, “Anlinny!”

  “What’s going on?” I demanded.

  “Have you ever considered minding your own business?” Trent snapped.

  That was all it took. I was already furious and ready to strike out at somebody. I strode over and got in his face. “Never, and I don’t expect to do so in the future, either, so deal with it!”

  Those greenish eyes narrowed and flared into full, hot summer. “I’m here on official police business. You’re not. Are you going to leave the premises voluntarily or am I going to have to handcuff you and forcibly evict you?”

  “You better drag out the handcuffs.” I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Hold on!” In my peripheral vision I could see Rick move up beside me. “We own this property. You can’t evict us!”

  “Who are you?” Trent asked.

  I whirled on Rick. “We don’t own this property. I own this property. At least I will in three weeks. And this man can evict me if he wants to! You stay out of this!”

  “I’m her husband.” Rick spoke to Trent in a proprietary tone.

  “My ex-husband.”

  “Not for three weeks.”

  “You’re going to be my deceased husband if you keep pushing it!” I spun back toward Trent and held out my hands. “Cuff me!”

  He look
ed at me for a minute as though he thought I was totally insane, then he turned to Rick and back to me again. “Do you think you two could take your domestic squabbles somewhere else and stop interfering with police business?”

  I was humiliated, which only made me twice as angry. I stalked over to a chair, sat down, crossed my legs and folded my arms. Zach scooted off the sofa and came to sit in my lap.

  Trent threw up his hands.

  “Boo boo,” Zach said, pointing to a bruise on the side of his leg.

  “You sure do have a boo boo. How’d that happen?”

  Zach gave me an earnest though almost completely incoherent description of how his injury came about. The only word I recognized was “paak.” Evidently he’d fallen in the park.

  The room seemed awfully quiet when Zach finished speaking. I looked up to see everybody watching us. Rick was obviously frustrated and angry, the way he always was when he somehow lost control of a situation, but the others seemed uncomfortable, too.

  “What?” I asked, then an awful thought crossed my mind. “Did something happen to Zach? Did somebody hit him? What’s going on?”

  “Someone called the police and told them I was abusing Zach, that his life is in danger,” Paula said softly.

  “What?! That’s ridiculous!” I set Zach on the floor. “Go get your truck, okay?” He toddled off, and I marched over to invade Detective Trent’s space again. “That is absolutely the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Paula would never hurt Zach. Paula would never hurt anybody.”

  Rick moved up beside me and put his arm around my waist. “Lindsay, I think you should stay out of this.”

  “I, on the other hand,” I said without even glancing in his direction, “will hurt my ex-husband right here in front of two police officers if he doesn’t take his hands off me this minute.”

  Rick took his arm from around my waist but didn’t move away. “Lindsay, these people don’t want to hear about our marital problems,” he said and then he smiled. Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could feel that smile. I could see it, too, in Trent’s expression. His face kind of closed up, like he’d seen something he wanted no part of. Give the boy another point. Maybe I’d cut him a little slack.