In Cold Chocolate

by Dorothy St. James

  “Eww! You’re not going to kiss my dad again?” Gavin looked as if he might throw up.

  “No! Of course not,” I protested. “I just need to talk to him about…” About Jody. I couldn’t tell Gavin that. And I didn’t know what to say so I finally sputtered, “About … about the shop.”

  “Sure, let’s talk,” Harley said. He sent Gavin up to their apartment, promising to join him in a minute.

  Once we were alone, Harley leaned toward me and whispered, “You want to talk more about that kiss, don’t you?” The look he was giving me suggested he was interested in reenacting the heated moment.

  “No!” I blurted, and immediately regretted it. I tucked my hands under my arms. “Well, yes, I do want to talk about it. But not right now. Not with everything else going on. Not when I can’t stop thinking about Jody.” I said his ex-wife’s name as if were a curse.

  “What about her?” he said with great caution. The way his brows crinkled just then was adorable. “If this is about Gavin going on and on about her, you don’t have to worry. Yes, he cares for her, and that’s a good thing. But I’m over her. I’m ready to move on. I’m ready to start dating again.”

  “You are?” My heart started leaping crazily around with joy.

  He tilted his head to one side. “Do you really have to ask?”

  “Yes, after the way you’ve been avoiding me I do have to ask.”

  “I’d been giving you space. Because”—he huffed—“because you kept making goo-goo eyes at Bixby Lewis. I thought maybe the two of you might end up together.”

  “Bixby is a rock superstar. Everyone was making goo-goo eyes at him. Even you were.”

  “That’s true,” he admitted with a sheepish shrug. “I also thought I needed to give you space after how Jody treated you and after how”—he squeezed his eyes closed so tightly it looked as if he was in pain. His hands curled into tight fists—“after how my brother treated you, I thought perhaps you wouldn’t want anything to do with me or my family.”

  “You’ve met my mother’s side of the family. And my father’s side isn’t any better. You should know that I, of all people, wouldn’t hold you responsible for the actions of your family members. That’d be just wrong.”

  His eyes popped open with surprise. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I was too busy worrying about my own baggage.”

  “Don’t talk to me about baggage or else I’ll start worrying about my own.” I laughed. “Crud. Now I’m thinking about my baggage.”

  He grabbed both of my hands and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss, so unexpected and yet so welcomed, had my thoughts tumbling like the leaves blowing in the sudden gust of wind that swirled around us.

  When we finally came up for air, I drew a deep breath and leaned into his chest. “If only we could stay like this forever.”

  “If only,” he whispered. “But the island needs us, doesn’t it?”

  I forced myself to step out of his embrace. “Not to splash cold water all over whatever is happening here between us, I do really need talk to you about Jody. And it’s not about her relationship with Gavin or about Cassidy’s murder. Of course Gavin cares for her. She’s his mother. I wouldn’t be putting myself and those around me in danger for her sorry hide if I didn’t think your son needed to keep his mother in his life. It’s just that I’m worried she said something to the Maybanks that has caused them to contest Mabel’s will again.”

  “Jody? What information could she possibly have against you?” he asked.

  “She told me the other day that a lie I’d been telling everyone was about to go public. She said this lie would make me lose my shop.”

  “Have you been lying about anything?” His voice suddenly turned all serious and lawyerly.

  “No, of course not,” I cried. “But that doesn’t mean she’s not plotting a scheme to ruin me. After all she’s still furious that I refused to sell my shop to Sunset Development so they could build their high-rise condos.”

  “I don’t know…” he started to say.

  “Oh, I know. I know this is her doing. She can’t stand that I kept the shop, and she must have found out something through Cassidy, something she knew she could use to make trouble for me.” Ohhh … I was so upset, I kicked a small wind-formed pile of sand at the base of the steps. That felt good, so I kicked it again.

  That’s when I saw it. It was sticking out of the sand like a tiny red finger pointing up at the sky.

  I dropped to my knees and swiftly brushed away the rest of the sand that was covering it.

  “What is it?” Harley asked as he peered over my shoulder.

  I carefully placed it in the palm of my hand. “It’s one of those stress spinner thingies.”

  Why did I keep finding these things? And who kept dropping them?

  Chapter Twenty

  “I’m making another batch of salted sea turtles,” Bertie announced when I returned to the Chocolate Box’s back kitchen later that Monday morning. “I don’t know why you asked me to do it. The thief will only take them again.”

  “I asked you to make them because I bought this from the hardware store this morning.” I tapped the box tucked under my arm. “I’m hoping to catch our sticky-fingered friend in the act.”

  “A camera?” Bertie nodded her approval. “That’s a good idea. Do you know how to hook it up?”

  “The directions are in the box. After I get it set up, maybe you could give me some more lessons on making the benne wafer cookies. The last batch I tried on my own, the cookies all stuck to the baking sheets. I ended up throwing them all away.”

  “The baking sheets?” Bertie cried with alarm. “You threw away the baking sheets? Those were top of the line. Mabel invested in them a few years ago. Each sheet cost several hundred dollars.”

  “No. I tossed my cookies. Wow, that sounds gross. I mean, I put the cookies in the trash and washed the pans.”

  “You must have forgotten to put the liners on the pans for the wafers. You need to use liners or parchment paper. Otherwise, they’ll stick. We can work through the recipe together after the morning rush.”

  I started opening the box for the security camera when I heard a loud knocking coming from the front of the shop. We still had about a half hour before we opened the doors for business.

  The knocking came again. More urgent this time.

  Bertie had her hands busy with the caramel for the turtles.

  “I’ll go get the door,” I said and hurried to the front to find a woman dressed in a flowered sundress standing hunched at the door. Her gnarled hand with paper-thin skin rose to wrap against the glass.

  I quickly unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Ethel Crump, what are you doing here so early in the morning? Don’t tell me you’re having a chocolate emergency.”

  “Chocolate emergency?” She coughed, trying to clear her raspy voice. It didn’t help. “Do you get those?”

  “Not in the morning. They mainly come in the middle of the night. And it’s generally the men knocking on my door desperate for ‘forgive me’ presents.” I took her arm. “Please, come in. Sit down. Let me brew some coffee while you tell me what’s going on.” I ushered her inside the shop, locking the door behind us.

  By this time Bertie had come up front to see for herself who had been knocking. “I’ll make the coffee,” she offered.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Ethel as I led her to the nearest chair. I settled in the chair next to hers.

  “I like you, Penn,” she said instead of answering my question. Not a good sign. “You’re doing good things with this shop. It’s becoming popular again. Mabel would have loved that.”

  “Thank you, but you’re not here to heap praises on my head. What’s going on?”

  Bertie carried over three mugs of coffee and joined us at the table. I noticed she was still limping. “What has put your knickers in a twist this morning, Ethel?”

  The older woman opened her mouth and then closed it. She looked at me and th
en at Bertie. “I like you,” she said again.

  “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Ethel, just spit it out,” Bertie grumbled.

  “The rumors against you are building, Penn. People all over town are talking about how you tricked Mabel into giving you her shop. They’re saying you faked your DNA results and that you’re no more of a Maybank than that feisty dog of yours.”

  Bertie slammed her mug down on the table. “Gracious sakes, Ethel, you’d have to have rocks for brains to believe that nonsense. As you’ve already pointed out, Penn is the best thing that’s happened to this shop in ages.”

  “Florence is my mother,” I said quietly. “She told me that herself.”

  “I know, I know, honey. I’ve heard you tell others about your encounter with Florence. And I like you. I want to be on your side. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m warning you.”

  I looked at Bertie. “This must have been what Jody was talking about a little over a week before Cassidy’s death,” I said. “She told me that my lies would cause me to lose this shop.”

  “That snake in the grass don’t know nothing,” Bertie grumbled, her Southern accent growing more pronounced, which only emphasized how much this upset her.

  “Do you think she made up this rumor to make trouble for me and the shop?” I asked.

  “Hard to believe that. If she was the source, it’d be mighty difficult for her to keep it going what with her being in jail and all,” Bertie said shaking her head. “And who in their right mind would believe Jody when Florence has already confessed to having birthed you?”

  “I heard from several people who seem to know what’s what that what you’ve been saying around town about Florence ain’t true,” Ethel interjected. “They’re saying that the Maybank clan is denying being related to you at all.”

  “That probably explains why Edward is filing a new petition to contest Mabel’s will. Harley told me about it this morning. But if Edward or one of his sisters would agree to the DNA test I’d been requesting, all of this would be resolved. As much as it pains me to admit it, Florence is my mother.”

  “That’s just the thing. Florence has never said anything about being your mother in public. So it’s your word against hers,” Ethel pointed out.

  “Harley was in the room with me. He heard her say it.”

  “Child, that boy is sweet on you,” Ethel sang in that half-scratchy, half-melodic island accent of hers, “which means he won’t be a credible witness in the eyes of most in this town.”

  “Then the courts will simply have to order DNA tests. I’m ready to take one. Mabel was my grandmother. I only wished I had more time with her.” I hadn’t realized I’d jumped up from my chair and had started shouting until I saw the shocked looks on both Ethel’s and Bertie’s faces.

  Ethel closed her gaping mouth. Her thin lips pulled into a broad smile. “That’s all I need to hear, dear. I’d been telling everyone who would listen that you are who you say you are. I’ll keep telling them that.”

  “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support.”

  “It’s not just me, child. Half the town is behind you.” Which also meant the other half of the town wasn’t. And that worried me.

  She must have noticed my frown. “Now don’t you go worrying that pretty head of yours.” She started to slowly rise from her chair. Her movements reminded me of an ageless oak creaking as it swayed in the ocean breeze. When I reached out to lend her a helping hand, she batted it away. “We’ll help you stand up to your family. After all, this shop needs you. Heck, this town needs you.”

  I prayed their support would be enough, because I wasn’t leaving this shop. At least, not willingly. It was my home now. It was where I belonged.

  I thanked Ethel again for coming to us with what she knew. And while my family’s determination to evict me from my shop was worrisome, finding Cassidy’s killer was an even more pressing concern.

  “Have you been able to find out anything about the identity of that woman who’d fled from the crime scene the night of Cassidy’s murder?” I asked before she could leave.

  My question seemed to bother Ethel. She gripped my hand, her nails dug into my skin. “You need to stop asking about that horrid man’s murder,” she whispered as if she was afraid someone might overhear us, which was silly since Bertie was the only other person in the shop. “You need to do it before you get hurt.”

  I pried my hand loose. “Why? What do you know?”

  She shook her head. “Cassidy Jones was a bad man.”

  “Because of what he did to your cat?”

  “Don’t be daft,” she rasped. “Running down cats with his car was just the tip of his wicked iceberg. In many ways, he was just like you.”

  “Like me? What do you mean?” How could she even think to compare me to a creep like Cassidy?

  “He liked to poke his nose where it didn’t belong. So do you. He liked to stir up hornet’s nests. So do you. And honey, I’m worried. Look what happened to him.” Her rheumy eyes seemed to clear for a moment as she leaned toward me. Her voice hardened. “Scores of people on Camellia Beach are thankful Cassidy Jones is dead. I’m sure there’s been a line to spit on his grave ever since the mortician planted him in the ground. Your poking around in his affairs will only endanger yourself and your friends. It has to stop.”

  “It has stopped,” I told her. “I’m not going to ask any more questions. I’ve decided everyone was right. Cassidy had too many secrets that too many people are desperate to keep.”

  Ethel’s lips curled into a pleased smile, but at the same time she shook her head. “I feel so sorry for that innocent little boy. He’s going to lose his mother, and she might not even be guilty.”

  “If you know anything, Ethel,” I pleaded despite just vowing that I’d stopped the investigation cold, “please tell me. If you know where I can find the woman who’d run away from the crime scene, please tell me.”

  “Despite that pretty speech of yours, you can’t give it up, can you? Your heart is in the right place, dear.” Her scratchy voice sounded somber, almost as if she was delivering a eulogy. “Too bad it’s going to get you killed.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “That’s him,” Lidia said in that booming voice of hers. Everyone around us started looking around to try and see who she was talking about.

  “Who?” I asked as I, like everyone else, looked around.

  I’d met up with Lidia at the base of the oceanfront pier during the Chocolate Box’s slow time. As I’d walked up, Stella tugged on the end of her leash while barking at seagulls. The birds seemed to be laughing at her, which only made her bark even more. She then started to jump in the air and snap her tiny jaws at the birds. I commanded her to stop. I begged her to behave. I tried bribing her with bacon. She would not calm down. The two of us made quite the circus until Stella spotted Lidia.

  The older woman was standing with her hands on her hips. The stern look on her face was directed toward me, not my silky dog. Her fashion style reminded me of how Bertie liked to dress when working at the shop. The clothes—a pair of worn jeans and a baby blue T-shirt with a giant paw print on the front—screamed comfort and economy.

  “Have your dog sit,” she said in place of a greeting.

  “Stella, sit.” I copied the arm movement Lidia had taught me. Stella didn’t seem to notice.

  Lidia huffed and raised her hand. Stella woof-woofed twice before plunking her bottom down.

  “She always has to have the last word, I see,” Lidia had said with a laugh. “Did you practice the sit command last night when she was calm?”

  “I practiced it with you yesterday afternoon.”

  “But did you have her do it over and over before bed when she was calm?”

  My shoulders slumped. “Sorry, no.”

  “Repetition is key. It’s important to practice this command and have her master it when she’s calm. Being able to have her sit is a powerful tool. It lets her know what’s ex
pected of her even if she’s in an unfamiliar situation. It also lets her know that you’re in control.”

  While Stella continued to misbehave, Lidia reviewed the steps I needed to follow to get her attention and have her sit. I tried it. Stella ignored me. There was simply too much going on for her to look at and bark at. Or so I thought.

  Lidia issued the exact same command, and Stella instantly plunked her silky bottom down and wagged her tail.

  “It’s all in the delivery,” Lidia explained as she leaned down and gave Stella a friendly pat on the head. “Practice it at home every night. You’ll get better at it.”

  As she’d straightened, she looked over my shoulder. That was when her loud voice had boomed, “That’s him.”

  “Who?” I’d whirled around to look.

  “Over there.” She pointed to a short, round fellow dressed in hopelessly wrinkled khaki shorts and a stained white T-shirt. It looked as if he hadn’t shaved in several days. The black stubble on his face had formed a beard in some areas, but was still just stubble in others. His scraggly reddish blond hair had been secured into a man bun at the top of his neck.

  Stella growled low in her throat.

  Lidia leaned in close to me and whispered in her not-so-quiet way, “It’s Fletcher Grimbal. You wanted to talk to him about Cassidy, right?”

  I’d forgotten that Lidia had promised to point him out to me. I’d also forgotten to tell her that I was no longer asking questions about Cassidy’s murder. At least not in public.

  I should have set her straight right away. But instead, I squinted at the man she’d pointed out to me and said, “That’s him, huh?” I started to cross the pier to intercept him. I didn’t get very far. The leash in my hand acted as an anchor.

  Stella refused to move. Her growls grew deeper.

  “She doesn’t approve of him,” Lidia said. “I’ll hold onto her over here. You go catch up to him.”

  I hesitated. I was no longer openly questioning anyone about Cassidy’s death. Besides the last time Stella acted all growly and frightened around someone, I’d later learned the guy was guilty of murder.