Death by Chocolate

by Abigail Keam

  If there hadn’t been the shadow of Dwight hanging over the festivities, it would have been a perfect day.

  As it was, I wanted the day to be as nice as possible for Ginny since this was the first major holiday since Dwight’s disappearance. That miserable daughter-in-law of hers didn’t even invite Ginny for Thanksgiving. What a crappy thing to do.

  Okay. I steal stuffed toys and lie occasionally, but I do have standards and there are some lines you just don’t cross over – like leaving a grieving widow woman alone on Thanksgiving. Not unless you want her swigging vodka out of the bottle while watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.

  Finally!

  The front door opened and in flew June, with Matt following with a case of champagne.

  Oh, the day just got better.

  Eunice called out, “Children, get your hands clean. Dinner will be on the table in three.” She turned to Matt. “Can you carve the turkey please?”

  “Sure thing. Just let me put some champagne on ice first.”

  I began placing bowls of food on the buffet table around a huge floral centerpiece Kelly had brought. Smiling, I stood back and looked at the dining table. It was gorgeous, with white linen napkins and tablecloth plus the beeswax candles on it and the buffet tables.

  Suddenly that little flash of an idea popped into my head again, and vanished like a puff of smoke. Darn it! Why couldn’t I catch onto it? It was important. I just felt it.

  Did it have to do with tables or decorations or food or gatherings? What was it?

  It would drive me crazy until I could catch it.

  9

  Kelly put his fork down. “I can’t eat another bite or I’ll pop.”

  Matt affectionately squeezed my hand. “Rennie, you and Miss Eunice have outdone yourselves. That was a meal fit for a king.” He rose from the table, “But I’m going to have a small slice of all the desserts before I call it quits.” He poked Kelly. “You’re a coward, Sir.”

  Kelly undid his belt. “I just can’t eat anymore now, but leave the desserts out. Whose knows what can happen in an hour?”

  Shaneika instructed her mother to go rest. “Mom, Linc and I will clean up. You and Josiah have done enough.”

  “I’ll help,” said Asa.

  “Me, too,” echoed Franklin. “It’s the least I can do.”

  June gave me a cheesy grin, while rising. “I’m going to get a bottle of champagne and watch football.”

  “Don’t get too drunk, June. You’ll fall and then sue me.”

  “Now that’s a pleasant thought. So glad you mentioned it.”

  “I’m going to take a nap,” I announced. “I’m beat.”

  Ginny followed me to my bedroom with Baby lumbering behind her. He wanted to sleep off all his treats of turkey handed under the table.

  “Jo, is something wrong?” she asked.

  “There is a thought, a bit of information having to do with Dwight that won’t surface. It’s like I know something, but I don’t know what. I can’t explain it, but something keeps flashing and it’s important. Stupid, I know.”

  “Take a nap. Maybe it will come to you in your dreams.”

  “Sure,” I laughed. “Ever since the accident, my brain doesn’t retrieve information like it used to. You’re right. Maybe it will just float to the surface one day.”

  “I’m going to help clean up and then leave. Thank you for having me. I really didn’t want to be alone.”

  Yawning, I replied, “That’s what friends are for, Ginny. Make sure you take some of the leftovers home.”

  If Ginny replied, I didn’t hear it.

  I was fast asleep.

  10

  I sat up.

  That’s it!

  The missing piece!

  Something that had bothered me at the time, but I didn’t register the significance of what I had seen.

  I went out into the great room. Everyone was gone. Pulling up a chair, I sat before the floral centerpiece and contemplated.

  What if Dwight had never made it to the Cumberland Falls?

  What if Dwight had been killed in town and it was made to look like he had gone to the Cumberland Falls?

  Clever. Clever. Clever.

  11

  Dwight had an excessive sweet tooth.

  Every year Ginny would have a local candy store make a large milk chocolate centerpiece for Dwight’s birthday instead of having a cake.

  Dwight would keep it in his office and hack off pieces until it was all gone. It was his private stash.

  “Ginny, do you still have the chocolate centerpiece that was at Dwight’s birthday party?”

  “It’s in the freezer. Why?”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  Surprise registered on Ginny’s face. “Seems strange, but all right. Follow me.”

  I followed Ginny down into her basement where she kept a large freezer. Opening it, she pulled out a heavy object covered in tinfoil.

  “It’s a little messed up,” Ginny babbled. “I had to retrieve it from the garbage.”

  “The garbage? Who put it there?”

  “Beats me. I sure was mad that someone would throw away Dwight’s chocolate horse centerpiece. It was expensive.”

  I peeled away the foil and picked up the frozen chunk of chocolate made to look like a running racehorse. “Gosh, this is really heavy. How much does it weight?”

  “About twenty-three pounds. Why are you curious about the chocolate?”

  “Let’s get it tested.”

  “What for?”

  “Ginny, do you remember how upset you were. Somehow the chocolate got damaged before the party. It was smudged and looked like a leg had broken off and someone had tried to repair it. It looked awful.”

  “I had forgotten, but I still don’t see why you are interested in the centerpiece. I just assumed that my granddaughter had pulled it off the table and Selena fixed it the best she could for the party.”

  “Just let me have it. I’ll bring it back. Promise.”

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  “I’d rather not until I know for sure.”

  Ginny wavered.

  “Do you trust me or not? You asked me to help you, so don’t tie my hands.”

  “You’re right. I’m being silly. It’s just a piece of chocolate, right?” Ginny wrapped the chocolate again and carried it out to my car. “Let me know something soon.”

  “I will as soon as I find something concrete,” I replied, waving goodbye as I backed out of Ginny’s driveway.

  I surely hoped I was wrong about my theory.

  12

  “Can you tell me what the report says without all the jargon?” I asked, sitting in the lab’s conference room.

  “First of all, no one should eat this chocolate. It’s contaminated with germs,” replied the technician, glancing at the report. She closed it and pushed it toward me.

  “Inside the chocolate?”

  “Outside, with lots of little nasty buggers making their home.”

  “It was found in the trash bin.”

  “That would explain the salmonella found on it.”

  “It had been in the freezer. Wouldn’t that kill bacteria?” I questioned, scanning the report.

  “Not salmonella. Don’t touch it without wearing gloves.”

  I had the sudden urge to wash my hands. “What else did you find?”

  “It was hard to ascertain what you wanted since all you said was ‘just find something odd about it.’”

  “Did you?”

  “It was in pretty bad shape when I got it. It was supposed to be a horse? Didn’t look like a horse.”

  I was growing impatient with the lab technician. “Just the facts, ma’am.”

  “Oh, cute. Dragnet. I get it.” The technician peered at the report. “I guess the most important thing is that I found specks of blood on it.”

  “Human blood?”

  “I found both chicken and human blood. I guess the chicken blood accou
nts for the salmonella.”

  “Can the human blood be ID’d? Can you do a DNA test on it?”

  “There was no request for DNA testing. I did group the blood type though. It was O-positive. That’s all I could do with it being in the shape it was.”

  “Don’t most people have O-positive blood?”

  “Thirty-seven percent have O-positive. The next largest group is A-positive.” She handed me the report. “I have listed all the bacteria on this thing.” She scooted the container holding the chunk of chocolate toward me.

  “Nothing else odd about it?” I asked, deflated.

  “I don’t’ know what to say. We found what we could, given the parameters we were given. Except for the blood, I would say the results are normal for something that had been thrown in the garbage and pulled out again. It’s nasty. Get rid of it.”

  “I can’t,” I replied, frowning. “It might be the clue to finding a missing man.”

  The technician shuddered and handed me the bill.

  “Pay on the way out, please. Is there anything else?”

  I shook my head. Looking at the bill, I swallowed. It was substantial. I sure hope Ginny would reimburse me as it was going to really impact my grocery money. But I would tell her about the report later . . . after I did some more snooping . . . I mean, investigating.

  13

  There are rules about solving a murder.

  Rule 1: Always start with the person closest to the victim.

  Rule 2: If that person is cleared, go on to the next closest person, and so on and so on.

  Rule 3: Alcohol and drugs fuel most murders. The perpetrator never would have caused harm if sober.

  Rule 4: Once mind-altering agents are ruled out, murder is about sex, money or power, unless the murderer is a psycho. Find the motive and you will discover the killer.

  Rule 5: There is always an unknown factor.

  Rule 6: No matter how well one has planned a murder or how much one hates the victim, it is hard to kill someone. That’s why so many mistakes are made during a killing. It messes with the murderer’s mind.

  Somewhere hardwired into our DNA, we know it’s very, very, very wrong to kill a human being. Again, that is if you’re not a psycho.

  However, after meeting so many jackasses during my fifty-one years of living, I’m surprised more people aren’t knocked-off. They simply wear you down with their meanness, carelessness or stupidity until you simply can’t take it anymore.

  Sometimes when I read the paper and see who has been shot, blown-up or hit in back of the head with a greasy skillet, I think the world has been done a favor.

  Think I’m a little jaded? Gee, what gave you that idea? I’m not the only one who delighted in some people’s passing.

  Irvin S. Cobb, a humorist from Paducah, Kentucky, said of someone, “I have just heard of his illness. Let’s hope it’s nothing trivial.”

  Our seventh president, Andrew Jackson supposedly said on his deathbed, “My only regrets are that I did not hang (John C.) Calhoun and shoot (Henry) Clay.”

  Last but not least, Mark Twain is known for saying about the death of an acquaintance, “I didn’t attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.”

  But Dwight Wheelwright wasn’t taking up space. He was a good man who loved his family, worked very hard, took care of his widowed mother, paid his taxes and went to church. He drank only socially, went to Keeneland for the races twice a year, liked fishing and was twenty pounds overweight, but who isn’t. He smoked a cigar when offered one, but never developed a habit for cigarettes.

  He was very knowledgeable about tools. In fact, I still use several birdhouses I bought from Dwight that he had made in his high school shop class. He was bright, but not super bright. Just a nice Joe who would ask you if you needed help as you were miserably trying to change a flat tire.

  So where was I on my investigation?

  I ruled out Ginny – as few mothers murder their sons – even though she would gain financially from his death. I believed her when she said she hadn’t known about the life insurance policy. Besides, she was too weak and had that glass eye, which would have popped out at the most inopportune time. Naw, Ginny couldn’t have done it.

  Alrighty then. Let’s go to the next one in line for the money – Dwight’s daughter. Ruled her out immediately. Most five-year-olds don’t even know what money is. It’s just ridiculous to think a five-year-old had anything to do with this. I crossed her name off my list.

  That left Selena. Selena. Selena. Selena.

  Now I had lots of things written on my yellow notepad about Selena.

  Selena seemed in a hurry to put Dwight’s disappearance behind her.

  Selena was angry that Ginny was still putting up missing person posters about Dwight.

  Selena was jumping the gun in having Dwight declared legally dead.

  But all this information had come from Ginny, who could have been biased. I needed to see for myself if Selena was really trying to discard the love of her life with nary a tear.

  I thought I’d go pay a visit. You know – pay my respects. I’d think of something to get into the house.

  I usually do.

  14

  I was trying to hold my cane and balance a casserole dish while reaching for the doorbell. Not an easy feat. I waited and waited and waited until I took my cane and hit the front door with annoying repetition. I hope Selena wasn’t taking a nap.

  “Mrs. Reynolds?”

  I snapped my head toward the driveway. There stood Selena, looking flummoxed and pulling off a pair of gardening gloves. I flashed a smile and held out my best microwaveable Pyrex dish. “Hello, Selena. I’ve brought you a casserole.”

  She didn’t move forward to take it, but eyed me suspiciously as though I were a Greek bearing gifts. So I had to resort to my trump card. “Dear, my leg hurts. Do you think I could sit down somewhere?”

  *

  I was sitting in Selena’s kitchen sipping a cup of tea while watching her put the casserole in the freezer. She then joined me at the kitchen table.

  “What’s all this?” I asked, looking at a mound of snapshots stacked on the table.

  Selena smiled. “These are our vacation pictures. I was trying to organize them so I could put them in a proper album. ‘Trying’ is the operative word. It’s taking me a long time. When I pick up a picture, it reminds me of all the good times Dwight and I used to have, and then I just get lost in time. I look up and an hour has gone by with me just remembering.” She pulled the pictures into a stack. “I’ll get it done sooner or later. It’s hard to go through them. You know what I mean?”

  “I certainly do,” I replied. “I know what it means to lose a husband.”

  “That’s right. You’re a widow too. I had forgotten.”

  “What makes you think you’re one? Dwight’s body has never been found. He could be alive.”

  Selena’s eyes teared up. She pressed her hand to her heart. “I would feel it here if he was alive. He never would have left the baby or me. No one will ever convince me that he left us except by death. No one!”

  I looked around for a tissue box. Seeing none, I handed her my lace handkerchief.

  Selena gratefully accepted it, dabbing at her eyes.

  “You know that Ginny feels differently. She clings to a sliver of hope that Dwight might still be alive. Maybe that’s not a bad idea . . . to have hope like that, I mean.”

  Selena expelled a long, exasperated sign. “Mrs. Reynolds. I think Ginny needs professional help.”

  “She says that you get upset when she puts up posters about Dwight. Even if he is dead, what harm can those posters pose?”

  “Because I see them everywhere I go and so does my daughter, who cries when she sees her daddy’s face. It’s upsetting to us both to be constantly reminded of our loss. But no matter how I explain the situation to her, she will not stop begging for him. It’s very cruel what Ginny does.”

  “I guess Ginny fe
els that unless she has a body to grieve over that Dwight is not really dead. Surely you can understand that?”

  “I do, but she refuses to see my point of view. I’ve got a little girl who’s mourning the loss of her daddy to worry about. That’s my main priority now.”

  There was nothing about what Selena was saying with which I could disagree. There were pictures of Dwight and Selena’s wedding on the living room walls, and his clothes still hung in their bedroom closet. I know because I peeked when I said I was using the bathroom. Maybe Ginny was wrong about Selena. It seemed to me that Selena was just trying to cope with a terrible situation the best way she knew how.

  Selena was moving away from the pain.

  I knew about this type of pain and sympathized.

  It was still hard for me, and Brannon had been gone for years now.

  The pain of loss never leaves. You just learn how to live with it, that’s all.

  15

  “I can’t believe that she snookered you, Josiah. You’re usually more perceptive.”

  “I’m telling you what I saw. There were pictures of Dwight on the wall, his clothes were still in the closet and Selena seem genuinely traumatized. I think she believes she is doing what is in the best interest of her child.”

  “Pshaw,” snorted Ginny.

  I laid my hand on Ginny’s arm. “Ginny, you might have to accept that Dwight is dead. Or at least, stop looking for him. It’s tearing the rest of your family apart at a time when you and Selena should be a comfort to each other.”

  Ginny glared steadily at me with her good eye. “Piss off, Josiah!”

  16

  “She actually told you to piss off?” laughed Lady Elsmere, clasping her hands in glee.

  “Can you believe that? After all that trouble I went to.”

  “No good deed goes unpunished,” murmured Charles.

  “Thank you, Charles,” I said, reaching for a Bourbon neat being offered on a silver tray. “How was Thanksgiving?”