Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 03 - The Great Chocolate Scam

by Sally Berneathy

  “She’s probably the one who killed Rick.”

  I arched a dubious eyebrow. “You think Marissa would kill her own son?”

  “She sure wasn’t much of a mother. Rick lived with his daddy most of the time.”

  “Where’s Daddy now?” She might slip up and tell the truth.

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I thought he might want to join the slumber party at my house.”

  She blinked a couple of times. In all those purported discussions between Rick and her about me, I guess he forgot to tell her how sarcastic I can be.

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled and went back to eating her sandwich.

  “So you think Rick’s mother killed him because he liked his father best?”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t put anything past that woman. Rick was working on a big deal, and she wanted in, but he wouldn’t let her. Made her pretty mad.”

  Apparently Rick actually had been in recent contact with his family. “What kind of a deal?”

  “How would I know? Nobody ever tells me anything.”

  “I know just what you mean. Rick never told me he was married before.” A happy thought crossed my mind. Maybe he’d never bothered to get a divorce. Maybe he and I had never been married.

  “We were married in the eyes of God!” Grace protested.

  My hope for that avenue of escape withered and died. “What about the eyes of the legal system?”

  She cast a glance at Rickie, Jr., who had finished his sandwich and was starting on his second cookie. “Mary wouldn’t stand for that,” she mumbled.

  Suddenly I felt sorry for this woman. Pregnant, alone and up against Marissa, then raising a son with no help from the worthless father. I told myself it wasn’t my problem and I should just send them on their way with a dozen cookies in a to-go bag. I assured myself I had no responsibility for these people even though I had access to Rick’s property and Rick might—emphasis on the might—have fathered this boy and failed to provide for him.

  All my arguments with myself were pointless.

  “You can stay at my place tonight,” I said with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll borrow an air mattress from my neighbor.”

  I blame my mother for imbuing me with an over-active sense of responsibility. Or maybe it was Rick’s fault. He had so little that I learned to make up for his failings.

  Grace teared up and grabbed my hand again. “Oh, thank you! Rick was right. You are a good person.”

  “We don’t have to sleep with the bugs again tonight?” Rickie asked.

  There was something about that kid that got on my nerves. He must belong to Rick. “No guarantees,” I said. “I have a no-kill policy at my house.”

  *~*~*

  Grace and Rickie’s car was an old, rusty Ford that rattled and spewed black smoke as they followed me home. I told myself I was doing the right thing even if I didn’t especially like these people. Karma had done me a favor by getting Rick out of my life. I had to pass on the good deeds or Karma might get mad at me and throw Rick back.

  “This is nice,” Grace said as she and Rickie climbed my porch steps. Whether she meant it or not, at least she had better manners than Marissa.

  Nah, she must mean it. I hadn’t seen any sign of manners.

  I opened the door and invited them in.

  Henry, waiting just inside, gave them a once-over and decided to ignore them. He head-bumped my leg then trotted off toward the kitchen without making any move to attack them. One vote against Rickie being Rick’s son.

  “Have a seat, let me feed my cat, and I’ll be right back. After I answer my cell phone.” My cell phone had begun playing Hoyt Axton’s Wild Bull Rider. Fred’s ring tone. Not that he’d ever been a bull rider. Well, he could have for all I knew, but he’d have made the bull shower first, so I doubted it. However, the song reflected his attitude.

  I took my phone from my purse. “Hello.” I followed Henry to the kitchen.

  “Now who have you brought home?” he asked.

  “Rick’s son and the boy’s mother.” I filled Henry’s bowl.

  Fred was silent for a long moment. Got him again! “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Those other people are gone?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them in several hours, so I’m hoping they’ve moved on to bigger and better swindles.” I closed the pantry door firmly so Henry couldn’t get in and help himself to his cat food, something he’d done before, and told Fred about Bryan and Marissa. “Maybe they’ll stay with him tonight.”

  “That would be good. I really don’t trust those people. Last night one of the boys was outside your house, trying to peer inside the windows.”

  “What? Omigawd! When?” I shivered at the thought of somebody peering into my house. “And why?”

  “Twelve minutes after midnight, and I have no idea why. I’m not psychic. I thought at first it was Rick since he’s done that sort of thing more than once in the past. Then I realized it must be one of his brothers since he’s dead. I went outside to confront him, but he was gone by the time I got there.”

  “Which brother was it?”

  “I don’t know. They look a lot alike, and it was dark. Which one was wearing black last night?”

  I hadn’t paid much attention to the boys, but I was pretty sure they had both been wearing faded jeans and light-colored tee-shirts. “Neither one of them. Well, not before we went to bed, anyway. Maybe they had black pajamas. Damn! Peeking in the window? That’s creepy! Are you sure it was one of them?”

  “Do they have a fourth brother?”

  “I hope not, but it’s possible. Rick’s relatives just keep coming out of the woodwork.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  He hung up. If I needed an air mattress, I’d have to call him back.

  But that turned out to be unnecessary. Marissa phoned to say she and the boys were going to dinner with Bryan, and then they’d all be staying at his three bedroom condo on the Plaza. I smiled as I disconnected the call. I could just see Marissa and Bryan sitting across the table from each other at dinner, both trying for the biggest smile. They’d light up the entire restaurant.

  I strolled back into the living room to tell Grace and Rickie they would have a bed and a sofa and wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor or in the basement with the giant spiders. Grace was sitting on the sofa, thumbing through my coffee table book of cats while Rickie sat on the floor enthusiastically pumping the treadle of my grandmother’s antique Singer sewing machine.

  “Stop that!”

  Rickie continued as if he hadn’t heard me.

  Grace looked up. “He’s just playing. He’s not hurting anything.”

  “Actually, he is. That machine is over a hundred years old, but it used to work before your son got hold of it!”

  “Rickie, don’t do that.”

  He stopped and glared at me.

  “You might want to ask my permission before you play with anything else,” I said.

  He shrugged. “You haven’t got any of the good channels. Like I could see them anyway on that little television. What am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. Go outside and play in the traffic.”

  Grace laughed. “That’s funny! Go outside and play in the traffic!”

  No sense of sarcasm. “Why don’t you read a book? I have lots of books.”

  He snorted. “I’m a kid. I don’t read books.”

  “Don’t you have any toys with you?”

  “Go out to the car and get one of your games,” Grace said.

  “If I do, can we have pizza for dinner?”

  Pizza for the third night in a row? What was a little high cholesterol compared to getting that kid settled down for a few hours? “Yes! If you’ll sit in a corner and not touch anything for the rest of the evening, I’ll get you a pizza.”

  He took Grace’s car keys and went out the door.<
br />
  “He’s had a rough life,” Grace said, “what with not having a daddy.” She sighed and looked sad.

  “How old was he when Rick left?”

  “Just a baby.”

  “What did he mean at the restaurant about me killing his daddy?”

  She shrugged and laid the book back on the coffee table. “He blames you for taking his daddy away from us.”

  “Excuse me? Rick was already living in Kansas City when I met him!”

  “He’s a kid. He doesn’t always understand grown up stuff.”

  I’d be willing to bet he understood whatever she told him. I found myself wishing for Mama and the boys as house guests instead of these two.

  My cell phone rang, diverting me from thoughts of choking Grace.

  Trent.

  I answered the call and went into the kitchen for a little privacy.

  “Do you still have house guests, or would you like a cop to keep you warm tonight?”

  I groaned. “Marissa and the boys are spending the night with Bryan Kollar, but Grace and Rickie, Jr., are here.”

  He said a few ugly words.

  “I agree. Just take down that damned crime scene tape, and maybe tomorrow you can be my house guest.”

  “Working on it,” he said.

  The front door slammed, and the sound of something breaking came from the living room. Rickie was back in the house.

  “Have you had a vasectomy?”

  “What? No!”

  “Maybe you should give it some thought.”

  Chapter Ten

  Rickie and Grace were no happier about being rousted out of bed at four in the morning than Mama and the boys had been. That kid sure could whine. Not for the first time, I sent up a prayer of thanks that Rick and I had never had kids.

  Of course they came to the restaurant for breakfast. Our featured special that morning was Chocolate Gravy served over hot biscuits drenched in butter. Rickie had four servings. He’d probably be on a sugar high for the rest of the day. But that was Grace’s problem, not mine. I didn’t force feed him those biscuits and chocolate gravy, and she didn’t stop him from eating them.

  On one of my trips through the room to serve customers, Grace waved me over to their table. “Rickie’s getting restless. I’m going to take him to a park or something. We’ll be back before you close.”

  I gave her a smile as phony as anything Bryan or Marissa could produce. “Have fun. Don’t forget to write.”

  She blinked a couple of times then, unable to figure out what I meant, just nodded.

  Trent called right in the middle of the lunch rush. Normally I don’t answer any calls during those hours. My friends know that, and they wait until after closing time. So when I heard Trent’s ring tone, I knew it must be important. Balancing a tray of sandwiches and cookies in one hand, I pulled my phone from my pocket with the other. “Hello?”

  “I just wanted to let you know we’re taking down the crime scene tape from Rick’s house today.”

  “Thank you!”

  “Call me later.”

  I wanted to jump and shout and laugh and yell. Instead I shoved my phone back into my pocket and took the food out to the customers. There would be time to celebrate tonight. Just Trent and me. The thought put a big smile on my face that didn’t disappear even when a customer left a quarter tip.

  After Paula and I closed up, I dashed home with the intention of putting my sheets in the washer immediately. I only have one set of sheets for each bed. That way I save on storage room, and I never have to try to fold that stupid fitted sheet.

  Even the sight of two cars parked in front of my house, one a shiny Cadillac and the other a battered Ford, didn’t diminish my happiness. All I had to do was send them to Rick’s house and let them destroy the furniture and each other. I didn’t care if they totally demolished everything, even the house itself.

  All five of them burst from their cars and converged on me as soon as I started across the yard. I made a mad dash for the door but barely got the key in the lock before they hit the front porch.

  “The tape’s gone, and my boys and I need to get in!” Marissa shouted.

  “Don’t let her! She has no right to be there! That’s my son’s inheritance!” Grace shouted, though her high pitched voice was no competition for Marissa’s powerful tones.

  “Mama, I don’t like that woman!” Rickie whined.

  Brad and Clint remained silent, hanging around the fringes. One of them was a peeping Tom, but it could be worse. They could both be like Rickie.

  I spun around to face them, my back against the door. “Go, all of you! There’s five bedrooms. Sort it out on your own.” I waved my hands in an outward gesture.

  “It’s locked!” Marissa said.

  “We can’t get in,” Grace added.

  Damn. Of course the door was locked, and I distinctly remembered throwing my key at Rick the night I moved out. Hit him on the nose. One of my better memories.

  The cops got in. There had to be a way. I’d call Trent and ask him. If Rick’s relatives couldn’t get in, apparently the cops hadn’t kicked down the door.

  “Stay here,” I said. “I’ll make a phone call and get you in.”

  Marissa and Grace began shouting and grabbing at me. I got the door open and slid inside, closing it behind me, almost getting somebody’s hand. For a moment I leaned against it, trying to catch my breath and calm down. Thank goodness Rick had never insisted on spending Thanksgiving with his family! I’d have had to kill somebody with the carving knife.

  Outside Grace and Marissa were still shouting at each other and Rickie was still whining. The boys were still silent. Probably knew there was no point in trying to out-shout their mother.

  Henry trotted up, meowing in a complaining voice.

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I’m not going to let them inside. But if they get in, you have my permission to attack. Just be careful of Marissa. I’m not sure she’s had her rabies shots.”

  My cell phone rang. Fred. The moment I heard his ring tone, I realized I didn’t have to call the cops or get a key. I had a neighbor who possessed all sorts of arcane knowledge about breaking and entering.

  “I’m so glad you called,” I said, following Henry to the kitchen while I talked. Priorities. Feeding my cat was even more important than getting rid of the rabid relatives. At least, that was Henry’s opinion.

  “Are you aware you have a screaming horde on your front porch?” Fred asked.

  “I do recall seeing something like that, and I need you to help me get rid of them.” I poured food into Henry’s bowl.

  “The machine gun again?”

  “Only if you have bullets in it.” Henry dove into his food with enthusiasm. It took so little to make him happy. Much better son than Rickie.

  “I would really enjoy that, but I don’t think it would be a good idea. Your buddy Trent would be upset. He’s so narrow-minded about things like that.”

  “Some friend you are, won’t even kill a few people for me. Fine, at least go with me to Rick’s house and pick the lock so I can get them inside.”

  “That’s actually what I called about.”

  “Really? You knew I didn’t have a key?”

  “I didn’t know, but it doesn’t surprise me. Threw it in Rick’s face when you left, didn’t you?”

  Sometimes Fred scares me with how much he knows. Or guesses. “Hit him on the nose.”

  “Good for you. I’ll get you in the house now that the crime scene tape’s gone—”

  “How did you know the tape’s gone?” See what I mean about the things he knows?

  “It’s public information. I’ll get you in, but we have to search that house before you let that barbarian horde in there to destroy evidence.”

  “What evidence? The cops have been all over that house the last few days. They won’t have left anything.” Henry finished the last morsel of food, looked up and asked politely to go outside. Grace should have got a cat ins
tead of having a son.

  “That’s possible, but we need to look anyway,” Fred said. “The police found pieces of a computer in the wreckage, but they didn’t find a backup drive in the house or at his office.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have one.” I opened the back door and let Henry out.

  “Maybe. But that’s unlikely considering all the details he had to keep track of for his business. If anything had happened to his original files, he’d have had some real problems. I feel certain he left a backup somewhere. You need to sneak out your kitchen door then go down the alley, and I’ll pick you up at the end of the block.”

  “What about the horde?”

  “Be sure all your doors and windows are locked. If they get bad enough, maybe somebody will call the police and report them for disturbing the peace.” He hung up.

  I looked at my inert cell phone. Rick’s relatives were strange, no doubt about it, but my friend was a little strange too.

  Nevertheless, I headed out the back door, locking up carefully behind myself. At least I’d get to ride in Fred’s 1968 vintage white Mercedes. He was very picky about that car and would probably complain later about finding long red hairs everywhere. Like I pulled them out and dropped them on purpose.

  Okay, maybe a couple just to annoy him.

  I skulked across my back yard and through the bushes. Henry was lying on his stomach in the weeds, watching some creature intently. He gave me a quick, frowning look when I stepped on a stick and made a noise, then went back to studying his invisible prey. Sometimes I wondered if he had hallucinations, but I never brought it up.

  Fred was waiting when I got to the end of the alley. I slid in, sank onto the soft leather seat, and we drove away, going exactly the speed limit, not one mile over. That was enough to drive me crazy. I consider speed limits to be suggestions for people who don’t drive very well. Those people annoy me when they get in my way. And just for the record, Trent has steadfastly refused to fix even one speeding ticket for me. We’ve had a few discussions about that and will, I’m sure, have a few more.

  “There’s no evidence Rickie is Rick’s son,” Fred said as he eased around a corner. “The father on his birth certificate is listed as unknown.”