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

by Sally Berneathy

  “We love to run in marathons all over the country, so we thought we’d just get a small condominium close to our son and then we won’t have to worry about the grass dying in the middle of August or what happens if our pipes freeze in Kansas City while we’re running around Corpus Christi.”

  Elderly? Senile?

  We toured the house and made the appropriate sounds of approval. It was a nice house, three bedroom, two bath, two car garage, finished basement with an extra half bath. Nothing fancy, but, as Walter said, solid. Well cared for. It was hard to imagine someone as flashy as Bryan Kollar growing up in that house.

  Finally we returned to the living room and took seats on the comfortable sofa and matching loveseat facing the stone fireplace that looked pretty but didn’t heat effectively.

  “Where do you work?” Walter asked.

  “I’m an actuary for Bremington Investments.” Fred produced a card from his pocket and handed it to Walter.

  Walter accepted the business card and looked at it. “You work right down the street. This would be a convenient location for you. Where do you live now?”

  Fred gave a location across town. “Tired of all the driving.”

  Walter nodded. “I hear you. My sporting goods business is…was…located in the Bottoms. I had to fight all that downtown traffic for years.”

  “Was?”

  Walter patted Alice’s leg, and they both smiled. “Sold the business, selling the house, becoming mobile.”

  “Kollar,” I said, rolling the name around on my tongue. “You had a sporting goods business? Are you related to Bryan Kollar?”

  Alice smiled and nodded. “Our son. He’s the reason we’re able to do all this.”

  “He’s very successful,” I said. “That’s great that he’s willing to help his parents.”

  “Oh, no,” Walter protested, “we’d never take money from Bryan. Alice just meant that he’s the reason we opened the sporting goods store and started running. Changed our lives.”

  “It’s hard to believe looking at him now,” Alice said, “but Bryan was a sickly child. He’s adopted, and we’ve often wondered about his birth mother, if she did something that got him off to a rough start in life. But practically overnight while he was in college, he got into vitamins and supplements and working out, and then he opened his first gym.” She smiled and lifted her hands. “And the rest is history.”

  Walter leaned back. “We were teachers and led a fairly sedentary lifestyle. But after we saw what happened with Bryan, we took up jogging, quit our jobs and opened the sporting goods store.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “He started his first gym right after he graduated?”

  Alice shifted uncomfortably and looked at her husband. “Actually, he didn’t graduate. He quit during his third year because he knew what he wanted to do and didn’t see any reason to spend more time in school.”

  Fred gave a sad smile. “You’re lucky. Our son’s been in college for five years and still doesn’t know what he wants to do.” Married half an hour, and already we were parents of a grown son who showed signs of being a perennial student. “As far as I can tell, all he wants to do is call home for more money and go off to the next party.”

  Alice nodded, her expression sympathetic. “I know what you mean. Bryan went through that stage. His first couple of years in college, he got in with the wrong crowd, and we were pretty worried for a while. But then he got into weight lifting and all of a sudden he straightened up. He found his purpose in life. Your son will be fine. Look what a success Bryan made of himself.”

  “Did your son ever…” Fred’s voice trailed off, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. I decided I’d better do the same thing since he was apparently about to confess something horrible our son had done. I felt guilty. Had we failed to give him enough chocolate? “No, never mind,” he said. “I’m sure Bryan Kollar would never have…” Fred swallowed then resumed speaking as if it was difficult to say the words. “Our son, we think he may be doing drugs.”

  I knew it! Chocolate deficit disorder!

  Walter and Alice exchanged glances. “Don’t worry,” Walter reassured us. “It happens. It’s a stage lots of kids go through.”

  “We’re pretty sure Bryan was using…substances he shouldn’t have been using,” Alice said. “The crowd he got involved with…well, they weren’t other college students. They were some pretty rough characters.”

  “How did you handle it?” I asked, trying to sound worried about my fictional son. I felt certain it was Fred’s fault he’d gone astray. I had done my best to provide the boy with adequate chocolate.

  “It was very scary,” Alice said. “We just let him know we were there for him and we loved him no matter what but we didn’t approve of his bad choices. It was a rough time. We got through it. You’ll get through it.”

  “Thank you so much for sharing that with us,” I said, feeling a little ashamed of myself for eliciting such personal information on a phony basis, but it was for a good reason. “It does help us to see how your story turned out. Your son’s a success, and now you’re going to retire thanks to selling the business your son inspired you to start.”

  “Well,” Walter said, “that and the sale of an old flour mill that belonged to my great grandfather. Some real estate guy came along out of the blue and offered us more money for it than I’d ever have thought about. Gave us the extra boost we needed to retire.”

  Bryan’s parents were not old or senile, and they didn’t seem the least bit upset about selling the flour mill. Whatever reason Bryan had for wanting it back, it had nothing to do with his parents. Rick and his family weren’t the only liars around.

  The Kollars gave us their real estate agent’s business card, and we promised to call her.

  Okay, we lied, but Bryan started it.

  *~*~*

  “Our son?” I asked when we were back in the car and heading home. “You let them think I’m old enough to have a son who’s been in college for five years?”

  “You were precocious.” He guided the car around a slow turn. “It worked. They admitted that their son had some problems, got in with the wrong crowd.”

  “Apparently he got away from that crowd. The man won’t even eat sugar. I can’t imagine him doing drugs.”

  “Body builders don’t usually consider steroids in the same class as drugs.”

  I nodded. “It does sound like he bulked up pretty fast, and he is abnormally well developed. But what could that have to do with his obsession about that old flour mill or his possible involvement in Rick’s murder?”

  “I’m not sure. I’d like to find out more about the crowd he got involved with in college. I’d also like to find out where he got the money to open his first gym when he was still in school.”

  “Oh, good point. And what about his parents opening that sporting goods store? If they were both teachers and sending a son to college, it seems unlikely they’d have had the money to suddenly open a business. They said Bryan didn’t help them, but maybe he loaned them some money and they paid him back and don’t consider that help. Only place I can think of that a kid in college could get that kind of money would be selling drugs.”

  Fred grinned. “Very good. I was thinking the same thing. Maybe that ring has given you super powers after all.”

  I’d forgotten about The Ring. I looked down at my hand where it shone with a quiet glow. In the gathering dusk that came through the car windows, the characters almost seemed to move.

  I touched it. The metal was warm.

  Well, of course it was warm. It had been on my finger for an hour, and the temperature outside was in the eighties.

  I yanked it off and handed it back to Fred. But I wouldn’t feel comfortable until I got home and checked the mirror to be sure I still had all my hair and teeth.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Monday arrived way too soon. I’d expected to be happily exhausted with a tired smile on my face after a wild weekend with Trent.
Instead I’d had a wild weekend with Rick, his relatives and possibly his would-be murderers. Nevertheless, daybreak found me slinging Chocolate Chip Pancakes, and my No-Crust Chocolate Meringue Pie was a big hit at lunch.

  It looked as if the day would pass as smoothly as my pie filling, but then the restaurant phone rang just as the lunch rush was ending. The noise burst into the room with a chilling intensity. Somehow I knew it wasn’t the usual call about our hours or location.

  The One Ring from Mordor. It had given me super powers after all. My hair had seemed unusually messy that morning.

  Or it could be that I was expecting a disaster since we hadn’t had one for more than twenty-four hours.

  Paula was across the room serving pie to the last customers in the place, so I set my tray of dirty dishes on the counter and picked up the receiver. “Death by Chocolate. How can I help you?”

  “Is Rickie there?”

  I almost didn’t recognize the subdued voice. “Grace?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Is Rickie with you?”

  “Rickie? No, of course he’s not here. Why on earth would you think he was here?”

  “Has he been there today?”

  “Not that I know of. Grace, have you mislaid your son?”

  “Maybe.”

  I lifted a hand to my forehead. Maybe? “When did you see him last?”

  “He wanted to stay up late last night because he was in the middle of some video game so I went to bed and let him play.”

  “Last night?” Paula and the couple with the pie all looked up when I practically shrieked the question. I turned my back to them and lowered my voice. “You haven’t seen him since last night?”

  “I wasn’t worried at first. He wanders around by himself a lot. I figured it was a safe neighborhood.” A defensive note crept into her usual nasal tone.

  “Have you called the police?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you should do that,” I said, trying to sound calm and not like I thought she was a total idiot. “He could be lost.” Or worse. I thought of the time a year ago when Paula’s psycho ex had kidnapped Zach. Paula had been hysterical. Grace was taking this pretty serenely.

  “I don’t want to call the police. I have some, uh, parking tickets.”

  “I don’t care if there’s a warrant out for your arrest for murder! Your son’s missing. You need to call the cops.”

  Grace burst into sobs as if she suddenly comprehended the situation. “Can you please come over here?”

  “You want me to come over there? Why me? Where are Marissa and her sons?”

  “I don’t know!” she wailed. “She told me Rickie probably ran away from home just to get away from me, and then they left! I’m all alone, and you’re the closest thing to family I’ve got since you were married to my son’s daddy.”

  More and more I was beginning to appreciate my own dysfunctional family even with all their dysfunctions.

  “I can’t leave here,” I said. “I have a business to run.”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Paula standing behind me. “Go,” she said quietly. “I can finish cleaning up. If her son’s missing, she’ll need somebody. I couldn’t have made it without you and Fred when Zach disappeared.”

  I didn’t think this was quite the same situation, but I didn’t argue. “Grace, I’ll be there as soon as I can, and you really need to call the police. Now!”

  I hung up and explained the situation to Paula.

  “She hasn’t seen her son since last night?”

  The people eating No-Crust Chocolate Meringue Pie looked up again at Paula’s exclamation.

  “No wonder he’s such a brat,” I said. “Who wouldn’t be with a mother like Grace? I’ll help clean and then I’ll go over there.”

  “Go now. I can finish here, and I’ll call Fred to see if he wants to meet you over there.”

  I hesitated.

  “What if Henry was missing?” she said. “Wouldn’t you want somebody to be there with you?”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I took my purse and left.

  While I was stopped at a traffic light, I called Trent, got his voicemail and left a message.

  Okay, it was a stop sign, but I have him on speed dial and I have a Bluetooth and he never answers anyway, so it wasn’t really like I was talking on my phone while driving. And anyway, I wasn’t speeding while I was doing it.

  I arrived at Rick’s house to find Grace pacing up and down on the sidewalk in front. She rushed up to me and grabbed my arms the minute I got out of my car. Grabby folk from Crappie Creek.

  “Did you call the police?” I asked.

  She nodded. “They’re going to send somebody over.”

  “Good. In the meantime, let’s go talk to the neighbors. Maybe somebody’s seen him.” I figured that would be a futile effort. Rick’s neighbors…my former neighbors…made a concerted effort not to see anything. But it would give us something to do while waiting for the cops.

  We’d been to three houses by the time the first officers arrived. Two people hadn’t answered the door, and the other had given us a quick, cursory, “No,” before closing the door in our faces.

  Grace ran over to the officers as they got out of their car.

  Fred pulled into the driveway, and I hurried to his car.

  “Paula told you?” I asked.

  He nodded, unfolded his lanky frame from the Mercedes and stepped out. “How’s Grace taking it?”

  “She’s starting to freak out. I think it’s finally hit her that something may have happened to the kid.”

  Fred turned to study Grace and the two officers as they led her down the sidewalk and into the house. “You know they always look at the parents first when a child disappears.”

  I nodded, recalling the way the cops had handled the situation when Zach was kidnapped.

  Another cop car pulled up. The officers went inside the house then came back out almost immediately and went to the nearest neighbor’s house. Those same people who hadn’t answered my knock were suddenly home.

  Fred opened a briefcase in the front seat of his car, took out what appeared to be a Bluetooth earpiece and stuck it in his ear. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

  We strolled down the street, stopping to admire flowers along the way.

  I knew what he was doing. Eavesdropping with the aid of a technical device. I wasn’t certain if the technical device negated the stigma of bad manners, but I was certain I wanted one.

  “What are they saying?” I demanded as the cops lingered at the door of the second house.

  “Nothing yet.”

  I could tell by Fred’s instantly alert expression when the cops hit pay dirt. I looked at the house and saw they were talking to a teenage boy who didn’t look very happy to be interacting with the police.

  Fred took my arm and we strolled another few feet. “Tell me!” I ordered.

  He leaned over to sniff the roses on a bush at the house next door to the one where the action was taking place, completely ignoring me.

  Trent had a gun, Fred had all sorts of spy devices, and I had chocolate. Mine definitely tasted the best but gave me no advantage whatsoever with criminals.

  “When this is over, I want my own earpiece,” I said through gritted teeth. Should have kept The Ring. Maybe I could have used it to bargain with.

  Fred smelled another rose.

  The cops left that house, made a phone call, then backtracked and went to the house on the other side of Rick’s.

  Fred moved over to lean against a large oak tree. He wasn’t smiling. I followed him. “That kid was talking on the phone to his girlfriend last night about 3:00 a.m. He was looking out his bedroom window while they talked, and he saw a van pull up in front of Rick’s house. A tall man got out, went inside and came back almost immediately carrying a bundle over his shoulder.”

  I swallowed around the lump that suddenly came up in my throat. “A bundle of what?”

  “It was dark
, and he was paying more attention to his girlfriend than to the neighbors. But he said it was about four feet long and floppy, looked like something wrapped in a blanket. The kid said the man was carrying it over his shoulder like firemen carry people from a burning building in the movies. “

  “Rickie didn’t run away and he didn’t wander off,” I said quietly.

  “No. Somebody took him, somebody who deliberately came after him. This was no random snatch. The man knew he was in the house.”

  We headed back toward Rick’s house. “Why would somebody take him if they knew him? It’s not like he’s the kind of kid some childless couple would want to kidnap and raise as their own. I hate to sound rude, but who’d want him?”

  “It could be a question of who doesn’t want him. Marissa, for one, would have reason to want him out of the way. If he should be proven to be Rick’s son, she wouldn’t inherit.”

  I stopped and looked at Fred. “You think Rickie could be…” My sentence trailed off. If I didn’t say the word, it wouldn’t be real.

  “Dead.” Fred had no problem expressing himself.

  I shuddered. I didn’t like the kid, would be perfectly happy never seeing him again for the rest of my life, but I didn’t want to think of him dead. “Marissa doesn’t fit the description the neighbor’s son gave of the kidnapper,” I said, trying to make the ugly image go away.

  “No, but either of her sons would, and either of them could easily toss Rickie over his shoulder and stroll off with him. Bryan Kollar would fit the description too. Same motive. He has a contract with Marissa to sell him back the flour mill. But if she doesn’t inherit, that contract is worthless. If Rickie’s not around, she’s sure to inherit.”

  I flinched as I remembered my taunt to Bryan the day before about how Rickie might inherit. Was I to blame for Rickie’s kidnapping…for his murder?

  Fred moved closer to Rick’s house and adjusted his earpiece. “This incident could rule out Akin as a suspect since he has nothing to gain by Rickie’s disappearance. Too bad. I really don’t like him. I’d have enjoyed seeing him go to prison.”

  “Maybe the kidnapping isn’t connected to the attempt on Rick’s life, or maybe Akin had a secret desire to be a father to a demon child, and Rickie’s still alive somewhere.”