In Cold Chocolate

by Dorothy St. James

  “Sounds like Cassidy Jones is entertaining a lady tonight.” Althea nodded toward the house.

  “Cassidy Jones?” I asked, remembering how upset Johnny Pane had gotten when Jody had mentioned his name. “I know he sells houses, but who is he? Why does he have everyone in town afraid of him?”

  And what kind of man would date a woman as prickly as Jody? And, if what Ethel had said was true, why was Florence visiting him so often? Was he selling my mother a house on the island?

  “Cassidy?” She stopped to gaze up at the house. “Never thought to be afraid of him. Actually, I never really took him seriously. The picture he uses on his ‘For Sale’ signs looks as if it belongs on the cover of a romance novel from the nineteen-eighties. How can anyone take someone who uses those pictures serious?”

  “I’ve seen those signs everywhere. It’s as if he’s trying to seduce me with his eyes. And under the picture, doesn’t it say ‘I know what you want’? It’s creepy.”

  “Oddly enough, many women around here fall for that slogan and his bedroom eyes.”

  “Ewww… why?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Althea said. “I think it’s creepy too. And yet women flock to him like maggots to rotten fruit. Every time I see him, he always has a new and different lady to … um … entertain. Nothing fearsome about that.”

  “A modern-day Casanova?” That didn’t mesh with what Jody had said about him.

  “Casanova is the perfect description for him. But not in a sexy way. In this day and age, what he’s doing is unhealthy and gross.” Althea started walking again. “The older generation doesn’t understand the health risks to such hazardous behavior, do they?”

  My gaze remained locked on Cassidy’s love shack. “Jody told my painter today that she’s dating Cassidy. She said he’s devoted to her and only her. She was quite emphatic about it too. Do you think that means he’s done with his philandering ways?”

  “Cassidy Jones?” Althea stopped so quickly she nearly tripped. “Are you sure that’s the name you heard?”

  “That’s who she said.”

  “Well, Jody would have had to cast a mighty powerful spell on Cassidy in order to tame him,” Althea joked. At least I hoped she was joking. In addition to all the other woo-woo nonsense Althea believe in, she also believed in witchcraft. “But it can’t be Jody up there. Isn’t she home watching Gavin?”

  “Harley has custody this week,” I said, “so Jody is free to spend her nights any way she wants. There’s no reason why she wouldn’t be up there singing along with Ella.”

  “Ewww…” Althea shook her hands as if trying to rid herself of the image of Jody with the village lothario. “I hope she has good health insurance.”

  We both laughed as we continued down the beach.

  The house next door to Cassidy Jones’ kitschy love shack was one of the new hulking beach mansions built by Sunset Development. The lights on the porch facing the ocean blazed like an airport landing strip.

  “We can’t have that.” Althea shaded her eyes as she turned toward the blaring lights. “The babies need it to be dark.” With the shovel still slung over her shoulder, she marched up the steps of the beach house and started pounding on the glass double doors.

  No one answered.

  “Whoever is renting the house must be out for the evening.” I peeked through one of the large windows into an empty, darkened living room with an amazing kitchen complete with commercial appliances.

  “I heard the house recently sold to some fancy-schmancy chef from the north,” Althea said as she knocked again. “Someone needs to tell him about the lights-out policy on the beach.”

  We waited for several minutes. No one came to the door.

  “I’ll have to come back tomorrow and talk with the owner,” she said with a sigh. “In the meantime, we’ll need to set up something to block the light. Otherwise, the turtles won’t go where they need to go.”

  Althea marched back down the steps and hurried down the beach. This time I was the one who had to jog to keep up with her quick, angry stride. A few houses down, she stopped at the base of a sand dune where a small area was marked off with stakes and orange warning tape. By the light of the full moon, I could read the writing on an orange diamond-shaped caution sign: LOGGERHEAD TURTLE NESTING AREA.

  “So this is it?” I whispered as I squinted at the small mound of sand that looked like any other mound of sand on the beach. I tried to picture baby turtles emerging from the sandy lump.

  “This your first hatching, honey?” A silver-haired woman I recognized from the Pink Pelican Inn gave me a toothy smile. She was wearing the same yellow T-shirt Althea had donned. “It’s a blooming miracle to watch the little ones crawl out of the sand and waddle toward the water.”

  “They don’t waddle, Harriett, they skitter,” Harriett’s dark-haired friend—who was also wearing a yellow turtle volunteer T-shirt—corrected with a shout. “They skitter and slide on those tiny flippers they have for feet down to the water. The little darlings swim toward the moon.”

  “She gets my meaning,” Harriett Daschle said.

  “It’s important to be precise in our language. Otherwise, society will collapse,” her friend countered in that loud voice of hers. “You must be Penn, the chocolate shop owner. I’ve heard all about you. I’m Lidia. Lidia Vanderhorst.” She thrust out her hand for me to shake. “I moved into the Pink Pelican two months ago, and only recently passed the test to volunteer with the turtles. This will be my second hatching.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand. “You just moved here, and you’ve already been accepted as a volunteer?”

  Althea must have heard the hurt in my voice. I’d signed up to volunteer on the turtle team as soon as I’d heard it existed and had been told that there was a two-year waiting list. “Lidia has been on the waiting list for two and a half years now. She put her name on the list even before moving to Camellia.”

  “That’s right,” Lidia’s voice boomed. “I’d been living on nearby James Island before finally making my big move to Camellia Beach. Have always wanted to help with the turtles. Was willing to drive over the bridge in the middle of the night to do it. But I’m glad I don’t have to. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  “I see,” I said. My gaze kept going back to the mound of sand. Was that a sand crab or a baby turtle digging its way to the surface?

  It was a sand crab.

  “We need to do something about the porch lights over there. The owner isn’t home.” Althea pointed to the brightly lit beach house. “The turtles will think that’s the moon and go toward the house instead of the water. Who has the cardboard?”

  Lidia looked at Harriett who looked at Althea.

  “Don’t look at me.” I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t even have the T-shirt.”

  Althea stuck her shovel into the sand. “I’ll have to go get some cardboard.” She headed for the closest beach walkover.

  “What do we do if they start hatching?” I called to her, afraid to be left unsupervised with a brood of babies, each one precious and important to the survival of an endangered species.

  “Herd them toward the water,” she called back over her shoulder.

  Chapter Four

  Ten minutes passed. And then twenty.

  Althea hadn’t returned. The sea turtles hadn’t emerged. I was starting to worry.

  “Where is Althea?” a sharp voice demanded from the direction of the beach walkover. “She’s such a flake she can’t even remember to show up? Is that what happened?”

  I whirled around and saw Jody coming toward us with the determined gait of a charging bull.

  “Jody?” I glanced down the beach toward the darkened love shack and back at Jody. “What are you doing here?” Did this mean she wasn’t the woman being romanced by Cassidy Jones’ smooth jazz?

  She didn’t look like a woman leaving a man’s arms. She was wearing one of the turtle volunteers’ yellow T-shirts, cut-off jeans, and a la
rge fanny pack. But what did I know? Perhaps she dressed like that to go on a date.

  “What am I doing here? I’m a volunteer. What are you doing here?” She thrust her finger in my direction.

  “Althea invited me,” I said and then quickly added, “just as an observer.”

  She didn’t look impressed. “Well, I’m looking forward to standing by as an observer when you lose your shop. And then you’ll get exactly what you deserve, which is nothing.”

  “Stop playing games and just tell me what you are talking about.” A feeling of dread landed in the pit of my stomach. Was Jody getting her information from Cassidy? Was Florence working with Cassidy Jones in a new plot to steal the Chocolate Box away from me? “I haven’t lied to anyone.”

  Instead of answering, she chuckled. “You don’t even lie well about lying. Where is that precious friend of yours?”

  “Our turtle lady,” Lidia stepped forward and said loudly, “is getting the cardboard to block the light and to funnel the babies to the sea.”

  “She should be back soon,” Harriett added. “And you shouldn’t even be here. Chief Byrd had warned you—”

  “They’re breaking the law.” Jody glared at the house with the offending lights and acted as if she hadn’t even seen Harriett. “The ordinance clearly states that lights on the beach need to be turned off from May to October. I don’t know why Althea didn’t tell them that.”

  “She tried,” I said. “The new owner wasn’t home.”

  Jody muttered something under her breath and then announced, “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Penn said”—Lidia spoke even louder and slower, as if addressing someone with an acute hearing problem—“the owners aren’t home. There’s no way to turn out the lights.”

  “Yes, there is.” The confidence in Jody’s statement made me wonder if her experience working in construction had taught her how to turn off the power to a house.

  “Jody, no.” Harriett lifted both her hands and stood in front of Jody. “Don’t do it.”

  “Don’t do what?” Lidia asked.

  “It’s what needs to be done.” Jody nudged Harriett aside with her shoulder and kept walking.

  “What are you going to do?” I demanded.

  Jody paused just long enough to flash a wild grin in our direction. “I’m going to take care of the lights.” As she headed toward the house, she pulled a gun from her fanny pack. A freaking big gun.

  Lidia and Harriett both threw their hands in the air as they backed away from Jody and her firearm. Harriett shouted to Jody’s retreating back, “The police chief warned—”

  “I’m saving the turtles,” Jody called over her shoulder as she started to run. She ran toward the brightly lit house with the loping gait of one of those predatory coyotes that had recently moved onto the island. “It’s a community service. Y’all should be thanking me.”

  At that very moment, Althea came over the walkover, her arms weighed down with stacks of black painted cardboard.

  “Jody’s here,” I said.

  “No.” Althea dropped the stacked cardboard. “Please tell me she doesn’t have her gun.”

  “She has her gun,” both Harriett and Lidia cried.

  Althea started to sprint down the beach. We all ran after her.

  “That gun is why Jody isn’t the turtle lady anymore,” Harriett explained as she jogged next to me. “She waves it around like a crazy lady. Last year she shot up a house. According to the police, she’s not even supposed to volunteer with us anymore.”

  “I hope Althea can stop her.” I started to run faster. Too late. The sound of gunfire ripped through the humid air. One by one, the blaring lights on the mansion went dark. Even after it was dark, the gun kept firing. A woman on the beach started to scream.

  Lidia and Harriett had both fallen behind by the time I reached the house. I found Jody standing at the base of the mansion’s steps, a gun in each hand. Wait a blasted minute. She had two guns in her fanny pack? Was it even big enough for two guns?

  Her breaths sounded loud and ragged. So did mine. So did Althea’s. But Jody was no longer staring at the now darkened mansion. Her gaze had latched onto a shadowy lump on the beach about fifty yards away and the screaming lady standing beside it.

  “What were you thinking, Jody?” I demanded.

  “Chief Byrd had warned you more than once to stop acting like this is the Wild West,” Althea said as Jody whirled around to face us. “I don’t know how you handled things in the upstate, but here in Camellia Beach, we don’t whip out our guns at every little provocation.”

  Jody’s face looked pale in the ghostly moonlight. Paler than it had before she’d started shooting up that brightly lit beachfront mansion. She started to say something, but before she got the first word out, one of the guns in her hands fired.

  I saw the flash of the blast. Heard Jody’s shout. I even remember thinking I needed to duck. But my muscles couldn’t move fast enough.

  The bullet hit my shoulder with the speed of a freight train. It knocked me flat on my back.

  She shot me?

  Jody freaking shot me!

  I was lying with the back of my head half buried in the dry sand while staring up at the moon. The top of my shoulder burned like it was on fire. Was I dying? I didn’t feel like I was dying.

  Jody shot me. I still couldn’t believe it. She had actually shot me.

  Chapter Five

  The woman down the beach only screamed louder.

  Althea cursed as she pried both of the guns from Jody’s grip. “What were you thinking? You shot Penn!”

  I watched my friend toss the guns to the ground. The hand I was using to grip my burning shoulder felt sticky from blood. I still didn’t know if I was going to die or not. I’d never been shot before. I suspected I might bleed to death unless someone got me some medical help. Like now. I was beginning to feel lightheaded. Was I losing consciousness?

  Lidia dropped to her knees beside me and peeled my hand away from my shoulder. “It’s just a little scrape,” she called to the others. She then said to me, “Slather some antiseptic on it and slap a bandage over the whole thing and you’ll be fine.”

  “Really?” I slowly sat up. “I’m not dying?”

  “It’ll leave a nasty bruise and hurt like the devil for a week or so, but I’ve seen this before. You’ll be fine,” she repeated.

  I braved a look at my shoulder. She was right. The bullet must have simply grazed the top of my shoulder.

  “It burns,” I said, still not ready to believe that it was simply a scratch.

  “I’m sure it does,” Lidia offered me a hand to get to my feet. “Bullets tend to get seriously hot after they’re fired.”

  Althea, I suddenly noticed, was kneeling down on the other side of me. When did she get there? She put her hand under my arm and helped me stand.

  The world spun. My legs started to collapse beneath me.

  “Breathe,” Lidia barked the instruction.

  I drew in a deep breath while the world continued to spin.

  “You’re fine, Penn,” Lidia said. “You’re simply hyperventilating.”

  Well, wasn’t that embarrassing? And why was that woman down near the water still screaming? At least I wasn’t screaming. That was something, right?

  “Y’all need to get over here, now!” Harriett yelled. She was standing beside the screaming woman who was dressed in what looked like a turquoise flowered muumuu. Harriett had pulled her arm around the moon-faced woman’s shoulder, hugging her tight. They were standing next to the dark lump in the sand that Jody had been staring at when we’d first run up to her.

  Had Jody unwittingly shot an adult sea turtle laying her eggs on the beach? Was that what had so upset the screaming woman?

  The urgency in Harriett’s voice felt like a splash of cold water to my face. Suddenly revived from my dizzy spell, I ran with Lidia and Althea on either side of me.

  “What’s going on?” Althea called out as we ra
n toward Harriett.

  Harriett tightened her arm around the screaming woman’s shoulder. It looked as if she was using all her strength to keep the heavy-set woman standing. The woman’s midlength hair was mussed and standing up on one side. She glanced at the three of us as we approached, dragged in a deep breath, and started screaming even louder.

  When I got closer I saw right away why she was so upset. And why Harriett was upset too. It wasn’t a sea turtle lying in the sand. Sea turtles didn’t wear colorful Hawaiian shirts. Sea turtles didn’t have long blond hair.

  But Cassidy Jones did.

  That was him on the beach with a bullet wound in his chest.

  He was quite unmistakably dead.

  * * *

  “Don’t rightly know why they called you,” Police Chief Hank Byrd said as he scratched his thick belly. About a halfhour had passed since we’d called the police.

  Frank Gibbons, a homicide detective from the county Sheriff’s department, had donned blue medical gloves. He held a flashlight in one hand as he crouched down and started sifting through a small pile of sand near where Jody had been standing with guns in hand.

  Gibbons didn’t answer Camellia Beach’s police chief right away. He moved his hand through the sand like a child searching for shells. What he uncovered wasn’t a seashell, though. It was a shell casing. A moment later he uncovered something else, something bright red. I leaned as far over the yellow crime scene tape as I dared, but was too far away to see what it was.

  “Tag these,” he said to one of the crime scene techs. A young man dressed in a white jumpsuit and a headset that included a flashlight came running over with evidence bags.