Death of a Chocolate Cheater: A Food Festival Mystery

by Penny Pike

  “Jake!” I said, feeling a sudden heat wave envelop me. “Uh . . . you made it.”

  Lame, I thought. But what was I supposed to say at an awkward moment like this? How’s your ex?

  “You look really great,” Jake said, eyeing me up and down.

  I felt my face burn and let out a half smile. “Oh, this? I’m just trying to keep a low profile. It’s Aunt Abby’s night tonight.”

  “Well, you’d look terrific in anything. Here.” He handed me a brown-colored drink in a champagne flute.

  I set down my empty wineglass and took the one he offered. I held it up to the light to examine the unusual color. “What is it?”

  “Mocha champagne. It’s not bad.”

  I took a sip. Like the other chocolate drinks, it tasted weird, but at the moment, I figured I could use another boost of courage from the alcohol.

  “Sorry we’ve kept missing each other these past couple of weeks,” Jake said.

  “Yeah, you know . . . I’ve been helping my aunt get ready for this event, and you’ve been—” I stopped myself.

  He nodded. “I was surprised when I heard your aunt had entered the competition. You never mentioned it.”

  I wanted to say, “I never got the chance with your ex around,” but I didn’t. I kept it light instead of snarky. “Yeah. How about that?” I sipped the champagne. “So how’ve you been?”

  “I’ve missed you,” Jake said quietly. I turned aside so he wouldn’t see the hurt on my face, but I could feel his eyes on me as I watched the party guests.

  “I missed you, too,” I said as casually as I could. “I know you’ve been busy too.” I wondered if he’d get my drift and confess he’d been seeing his ex.

  Instead, Jake took the drink out of my hand and set it down, along with his. He took my hands and turned me toward him. “Listen, I really am sorry about being out of touch lately. Like I said, I’ve been dealing with something and it’s taken up a lot of time. But I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. . . .”

  “Friendship?” I repeated. Was that what he thought this was? I pulled my hands away.

  “Darcy, I’ve wanted to tell you what’s been going on, but . . .”

  I took a deep breath. “But what, Jake?”

  “But it involved another person.”

  “I figured as much.” I looked out at the crowd. I knew who he meant—Lyla Vassar.

  He took my chin and turned my face toward him. “You know I was engaged before, right?”

  “I vaguely remember,” I said. Oh boy. Here it comes.

  “Well, Lyla—that’s her name—she came by a couple of weeks ago—”

  “I know.”

  Jake blinked in surprise. “You know?”

  I nodded. “She seems to make regular visits to your Dream Puff truck. I assumed—”

  He cut me off. “Oh . . . you assumed . . . No, no, Darcy. She needs my help.”

  I’ll bet, I thought.

  “She wants me to help with her divorce.”

  So she can marry you.

  “Brad—the guy she married, the guy she left me for—he was the DA who prosecuted me when I got disbarred. When I lost everything, she dumped me and ran off with him.”

  I suddenly felt sorry for him, but it still didn’t change anything.

  “Now,” Jake continued, “she wants out. She found out he’s been having an affair with the court stenographer, and now Lyla wants a divorce.”

  I frowned, trying not to show my skepticism. Had this Brad guy really cheated on Jake’s ex-fiancée? Or had Lyla come to her senses and realized what a great guy Jake was? Possibilities poured through my mind like a chocolate fountain.

  “Sorry to hear that,” I said evenly, “but I thought you weren’t practicing law anymore. How are you going to help her? And why? You don’t owe her anything.”

  But I knew why. In spite of everything his ex had done to him, Jake was a genuinely nice guy, and not the type to hold a grudge. Besides, she was drop-dead gorgeous. And maybe he was still in love with her.

  “I’m helping her because her parents asked me to.”

  I remembered that Lyla’s parents would have lost their life savings if Jake hadn’t helped them out back when he was a corporate securities attorney. When he discovered one of his clients was bilking investors out of their money—including his ex-fiancée and her parents—he told them to pull their money out in order to protect them. But he was indicted for securities fraud and disbarred for breaching the attorney/client privilege. That’s when he turned to creating cream puffs.

  Still, why would Jake help his ex-fiancée and her parents now?

  “Jake, you’re not a private detective. You’re not even a divorce lawyer. Why doesn’t Lyla just hire a professional to do all of this? Why get you involved?”

  He shrugged and looked away. “Honestly, I’m not sure I understand it either.” He shook his head. “Guilt, maybe.”

  “What do you have to feel guilty about?”

  “I was a workaholic when I was at the law firm. I know I neglected her. That’s probably why she left me. Brad gave her the attention she wasn’t getting from me. That’s part of the reason I didn’t try to get reinstated to the bar. I realized after all was said and done that I didn’t have much of a life outside of work, and I wanted to change that.”

  “Jake, are you sure she’s not just trying to get you—” I stopped myself.

  “Back?” Jake broke into a grin. “Darcy . . . are you . . . jealous?”

  “What?” I felt my face turn the color of Aunt Abby’s dyed hair. “No! I’m just trying to look out for you. . . .”

  “You actually think Lyla wants to get back together with me?” He laughed. “I’m flattered, but there’s not a chance in hell of that happening.”

  I started to ask if he was really that naive, but my response was interrupted by a scream. The room went deadly silent.

  I immediately looked for Aunt Abby to see if she was all right. I spotted her sitting at the table with her friend Wendy. Both were staring openmouthed at the table next to them, as were the rest of the guests who had heard the scream. I leaned in to see what had happened.

  The limp figure of a woman lay facedown on top of the table, not moving.

  I recognized her from the blond twist of hair and red gown.

  Polly Montgomery.

  Chapter 5

  “Oh my God!” a woman shrieked. “Is she dead?”

  The festival judge lay sprawled across the round table. She wasn’t moving.

  Jake pushed through the encircling crowd, shouldering his way to the table. I was right behind him. “Someone call nine-one-one!” he said as he reached in to feel Polly’s neck.

  I heard a muffled giggle and looked around to see who was rude enough to laugh when there was a dead woman lying in the middle of a table.

  It was the dead woman. She raised her head and blinked her glassy red eyes.

  The crowd gasped.

  She rolled over onto her back and giggled again.

  So, Polly Montgomery wasn’t dead after all. She was simply dead drunk.

  “Whoopsh!” she said, grinning as she looked up at Jake. “How about a li’l help, handshome?”

  “She’s all right,” Jake announced to the onlooking crowd. “Everyone, give her some space.”

  Polly waved her arm around. The chocolate diamond on her finger sparkled in the light. “Hello? Need a hand here, big boy.”

  The crowd began murmuring at the spectacle Polly was presenting. Like a gentleman, Jake took Polly’s arm and hoisted her up to a tenuous sitting position on the table. She shook her head as if trying to clear her vision. “Whoa!” she said. “Why is the room spinning?”

  “Are you okay, Ms. Montgomery?” Jake asked.

  “’Coursh I am,” Polly replied, as the
crowd whispered around her. She glanced at the table. “Must a’ shlipped on a wet spot.”

  “What were you trying to do? Stand on the table?” Jake asked.

  She shrugged. “I just wanted to make an announshment.”

  “Well, next time don’t try to stand on a table in heels,” Jake admonished.

  “How else was I ’posed to get everyone’s attenshun?” She swung her feet onto a chair, using it as a step down from the tabletop. She swayed precariously on her perch.

  “Well, you’ve got their attention now,” Jake said. “Why don’t you come down and make your announcement? It’s a lot safer.”

  As Jake reached to help Polly down, Reina Patel came rushing up, her dark eyebrows pinched in a frown. “What happened? What’s going on? Get her off the table this instant!”

  “Calm down, Reina.” Polly leaned into Jake’s strong arms. “I just got a little dizshy. I’m fine, but I could use a drink.” She winked at Jake.

  He took Polly by the waist and guided her feet to the floor. Polly’s hands lingered on Jake’s arms a few seconds too long for my liking before she brushed off her gown and touched the back of her French twist. She snatched up a half-empty glass of wine from a nearby table and downed it. “Great party, Reina.”

  Reina reached for Polly’s free hand. “I think you need to come with me—”

  Polly cut her off and yanked her hand away. “Wait a sec. I wanna tell everyone who I’m gonna vote for tomorrow so they can all relaxsh.”

  The crowd hushed, waiting to hear what Polly was about to say. Before she could speak again, Reina took her by the arm, more forcefully this time.

  “Come on, Polly. You need to get your beauty rest before the big day tomorrow. Besides, we don’t want to spoil the fun for everyone tonight.”

  Polly blinked slowly, then stared at Reina as if just recognizing her. “Ooookay,” Polly said, nodding like a bobblehead doll.

  Reina relaxed her grip and led the intoxicated woman toward the doors. Polly stumbled a couple of times along the way, tripping over her long gown. I noticed the videographer a few feet away, taping the scene, and wondered if this was something Reina wanted to capture on tape.

  “J.C.!” Reina snapped. She swiped her fingertips across her throat, signaling “cut” so he’d stop taping. “Help me, would you?” The twentysomething man named J.C. lowered the recorder and took Polly’s other arm.

  “I’m fine! I jus’ need another drink,” Polly mumbled before she and her two escorts disappeared behind the exit doors.

  “Where are they taking her?” Aunt Abby whispered to me.

  I shrugged. “They’re probably sending her home in a cab.”

  “Wow,” Dillon said, as the party guests slowly resumed their conversations. “She’s totally wasted! But I guess that’s normal for her. I saw a bunch of selfies on her Facebook page, and she looked shit-faced in about half of them. Plus, I overheard some people talking about her drinking problem.”

  “What did they say?” I asked Dillon.

  He shrugged. “Something about how much she was drinking tonight and how her glass was never empty.”

  “I wonder how she expects to judge the contest with the hangover she’s sure to have tomorrow,” Aunt Abby said.

  “It sounded like she’s already made up her mind,” I answered. “And we haven’t even tasted the entries yet.”

  Aunt Abby glanced at Jake. “She’ll probably choose your cream puffs, Jake.”

  Jake shook his head. “I’m sure it’ll be your whoopie pies, Abby.”

  “They’re both fantastic,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Actually, I don’t think it’s going to be either one of you,” Dillon interrupted.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’ve been doing a little recon,” Dillon said.

  “Recon?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, you know, surveillance. I wanted to see if I could get a line on the other judges—Simon Van Houten and Isabel Lau. Figure out their tastes.”

  I perked up. “You mean, you’ve been spying on them.”

  Aunt Abby’s eyes widened. “What did you find out?”

  “Not much. As soon as Polly joined them, they got real quiet and looked kind of nervous.”

  I frowned. “Did Polly say something to them?”

  Dillon shrugged. “Yeah, but I couldn’t hear what it was. All I know is, Van Houten’s face turned red and Lau looked like she’d seen a ghost.”

  What had Polly Montgomery said to the two judges to make them react that way? Did it have anything to do with the death of Judge George Brown?

  Too bad I didn’t have time to do some eavesdropping of my own. Sirens interrupted my plans. Someone must have called 911, because moments later EMTs and police officers burst in and all conversations came to an immediate halt.

  * * *

  Jake handled the cops—he happened to know a couple of them from his years working as an attorney. One in particular was an attractive Asian woman who wore the equipment-laden uniform as if it were a fashion statement. He explained the situation, told them Polly had left, and suggested they talk to Reina when she returned if they wanted to know anything else. With no real harm done, the cops and paramedics took off. I was ready to head home too, done in by all the party drama at the end of a long day of helping Aunt Abby prepare her chocolate entry.

  “Attention, everyone,” came a voice over the sound system. Reina Patel was back, as was the camera guy, J.C. If he was trying to be unobtrusive, it wasn’t working, not in those baggy jeans, Avengers T-shirt, and wild hair Reina didn’t seem to notice or care, as long as he was filming. She stood in front of the band, holding a microphone, looking tired, with dark circles under her eyes. She smoothed a few strands of mussed hair as she waited for the murmuring crowd to quiet down.

  “Attention, please!” Reina repeated. She nodded to J.C., and he began recording the audience, finally focusing on Reina. With her hair limp, her lipstick faded, and her designer scarf missing, it appeared this event was taking a toll on Reina. I felt for her. The scene with the drunken judge must have been her worst nightmare.

  “Thank you, everyone,” Reina said. She glanced at J.C. as if to make sure he was recording before continuing. “I appreciate all you’re doing to make this year’s Chocolate Festival the best ever!”

  The enthusiasm in her voice rang false, but I admired her for trying. She nodded and smiled as the group halfheartedly applauded themselves.

  “I’d like to share a little background on the Chocolate Festival with you,” Reina continued.

  Seriously? I thought. Now? Wasn’t it a little late for a history lesson? Poor Reina didn’t seem to understand that the party was essentially over. But the crowd politely stood listening and sipping their drinks.

  “As many of you know, the first Chocolate Festival was held back in 1849, the year after gold was discovered in California. What you might not know is, Frankie Nudo’s great-great-grandfather, Dominic Nudo, came over from Italy to strike gold, but instead found another type of gold—liquid gold in the form of chocolate—which he sold to the miners at profitable prices. He was so successful, he opened up the Nudo Confectionary Company a few years later, and that’s when he really struck it rich. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t be hosting our annual Chocolate Festival this weekend, right here where it all started. Keep in mind, the event also raises money for the city’s homeless population, a very worthy cause.”

  Dillon mumbled under his breath, “Maybe it should go to the Diabetes Association.”

  I elbowed him, hoping no one else had overheard his snarky remark.

  “Today,” Reina continued, “the annual Chocolate Festival has evolved into a two-day celebration encompassing nearly a full city block. It features more than fifty booths of chocolate vendors as well as various food trucks, plus live music, chef
demonstrations, chocolate-eating contests, and of course, the chocolate-tasting competition. And you get ten tastings for twenty dollars!”

  A cheer and more applause broke out. Glasses clinked. I searched for the other contestants and caught a glare between Frankie and Monet. Interesting. Harrison said something to the twins that made them roll their eyes. Griffin stiffened and blinked nervously several times. Wendy stood by my aunt, the two arm in arm like the old friends they were.

  “This year, our twentieth year, I’m proud to be your event coordinator. I’ve added a few new features, including a Wine-and-Chocolate Pairing, where you can taste wine and chocolate together, a Chocolate-to-the-Death Ice-Cream-Eating Contest, where contestants down bowls of ice cream without using their hands, and a Chocolate College, where folks can learn all about making and cooking with chocolate.”

  Murmurs of pleasure and interest filled the room.

  “But tonight, as special guests of the festival, I have a treat for all of you, to show my appreciation for your participation in the competition.” Reina smiled broadly. She seemed to have gotten a second wind. “Please follow me upstairs to the second-floor ballroom.”

  She signaled to J.C. to turn off the camera and led the way out of the room.

  The crowd mumbled as they headed for the stairs or elevator, most still holding their champagne flutes and wineglasses. I looked for Jake and spotted him in the corner talking on his cell phone. I wondered who was on the other end. Drop Dead?

  Aunt Abby, Dillon, and I took the stairs to the second floor. I was initially curious about the “big surprise,” but with Polly’s recent intoxicated performance, I felt I’d had enough surprises for one night.

  We entered the lavish ballroom, where I imagined many a fancy event had taken place over the years. Giant colorful murals covered the walls, depicting scenes from under the sea, along with old sailing ships. The tiled floors meant there had been dancing, and the mini stage was obviously set up for a live band.