Death of a Chocolate Cheater: A Food Festival Mystery

by Penny Pike

  Thirty minutes later, the detective said, “The guys have all they need at this point. We’ll let you know what we find, but I’m guessing whoever did this covered his tracks well. Meanwhile, Darcy, you need to keep yourself safe and out of any more trouble. Whatever you’re doing, you’d better stop.”

  “I told her the same thing,” Reina said.

  “I’m just trying to help my aunt Abby’s friend Wendy,” I argued.

  Detective Shelton rubbed his stubbly chin, then asked, “So, how’s Abby?”

  “Fine,” I said lightly. “You know, aside from being worried about Wendy and certain the real killer is running around loose and the police aren’t doing anything about it.”

  He glanced around, avoiding eye contact with me. “Well, tell her hello for me.”

  “Tell her yourself,” I wanted to say, but I just nodded. “Can I get my car washed now, before the paint begins to peel?”

  The detective nodded. “We’re done here.”

  Detective Shelton and his techs got into their vehicles and drove off, leaving Jake, Reina, Clifford, and me alone to stare at one another, not sure what to do next.

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” Reina said. “Another big day tomorrow. Sorry about your car, Darcy.”

  Yeah, sure.

  “I’ll drive you over there, Ms. Patel,” Clifford said. He patted the passenger seat of his car. “Make sure you’re safe and whatnot.”

  Reina accepted the short ride to her trailer.

  “Get in your car,” Jake told me. “I know an all-night car wash. I’ll follow you there, then see you home. Unless you’d prefer Clifford . . .”

  I laughed. “Thanks, Jake. I’m glad you were here.”

  “Me too,” he said. “But I won’t feel good until I know you’re safely in your RV.”

  * * *

  Three car washes later—that’s how many it took to get the chocolate, but not the smell, out of almost every nook and cranny—we arrived at Aunt Abby’s house and my cozy Airstream home. I checked to see if the lights were on in her kitchen, figuring my aunt would be up all night finishing whoopie pies, but it was past eleven and dark inside, aside from the back porch light, which she always left on.

  “Looks like Aunt Abby’s gone to bed,” I said to Jake. “No wonder. It’s late and she’s probably exhausted from the busy day.”

  Jake nodded and glanced around. I got the feeling he was waiting for an invitation to come inside the RV.

  “Uh . . . ,” I said, feeling awkward. I’d never invited a guest into my place and wasn’t prepared to play hostess. “You want a glass of wine or some coffee or something?”

  Jake grinned. “Sure. I’ve never seen your place inside.”

  I got out my key and unlocked the door to the RV. “It’s not much, believe me. And I have to warn you, my aunt decorated the inside long before I moved in. Be prepared.”

  I opened the door and stepped in. The blinds were drawn across all the windows and along the front windshield, giving us complete privacy. At over six feet, Jake had to duck to enter the curved Airstream doorway. I watched him as he took in all the memorabilia from Aunt Abby’s trips to Disneyland, her garage-sale finds, and her purchases on eBay.

  “Wow,” was all he said as he glanced around. He smiled at the Cheshire Cat clock, the four hand-painted animation cells from The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, the Beauty and the Beast teakettle, the seven pillows on the couch featuring each of the Seven Dwarfs. “You must feel like you’re living in Walt Disney’s personal RV.”

  “It’s a bit much,” I said, “but Aunt Abby would kill me if I got rid of anything. After all, it’s her RV. I’m only living here until I can find a place of my own.” I decided not to mention that I also needed enough money for a first and last month’s deposit and a regular income to pay the rent.

  Jake shoved a few pillows over and plopped down on the fold-out leather couch. “Well, I think it’s kind of fun. Reminds me of my childhood. I used to love going to Disneyland. Pirates of the Caribbean was my favorite ride.”

  I smiled at the memory. “Mine too. And the Haunted Mansion.” I opened a tiny cupboard and pulled down a cheap bottle of red wine. “Wine? Or do you want a beer?”

  “You sure you don’t want to get to bed?” he asked.

  I stared at him. Did he mean what I thought he meant?

  He shook his head as if he’d read my naughty thoughts. “I meant, aren’t you tired? You’ve had quite a day. We all have.”

  I exhaled a breath of relief. Although Jake was certainly sexy, I wasn’t quite ready to take the next step. “I think I could use a glass of wine. It’ll help relax me.” It felt as if everything I said was a double entendre. Awk-ward.

  Jake smiled. “Wine would be great.”

  I poured the merlot into two short water glasses featuring cartoon characters. “You want Goofy or Snow White?”

  “Definitely Goofy,” he said, reaching out to take the proffered drink. “I’m not really the princess type.”

  Neither am I, I thought, taking a sip. There was no way I was going to sit around and wait for my prince to come rescue me. I’d learned that the hard way with my ex-boyfriend, Trevor the Tool. If I had to choose a Disney role model at this point, it would be that chick from Brave. I admired the fact that Merida was free-spirited and adventurous. Like her, I’d much rather be single than hook up with a boring prince.

  “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Jake asked, interrupting my daydream.

  I blinked. Where did that come from? Must have been the wine, I thought.

  “Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I realized. Maybe this wine is relaxing me a little too much.”

  Jake downed the last of his and stood up. “I’m going to let you get some sleep.”

  “You’re leaving?” I asked, feeling a tinge of disappointment at his words.

  He set his empty glass in the small steel sink. “Let’s meet up early and see what we can find out before the festival begins. Once it opens, we’ll be swamped until the contest and I doubt we’ll get a chance to do much more investigating.”

  “Early?” I winced as I rose from the comfortable chair. “How early is early?”

  “When you hear the knock on your door. That’s when I’ll be by with cream puffs and coffee.”

  I smiled.

  He smiled.

  I took a step closer to him, which wasn’t hard to do in the small space.

  He put his arms around me and pulled me even closer.

  He leaned in. . . .

  I closed my eyes. . . .

  Then something loud hit the Airstream, startling both of us.

  “What was that?” I whispered, frozen to the spot.

  “I don’t know,” Jake said, releasing me. “Stay put.” He bounded for the door, opened it, and leaped down the steps. I followed him to the door, remaining safely inside the RV.

  “What was it?” I called out.

  No answer. Jake had disappeared around the back of the Airstream.

  I leaned out. No sign of him. “Jake?” I called.

  No answer.

  “Where are you?”

  No answer.

  “Jake!”

  Jake suddenly appeared around the front of the RV.

  “Did you see anything?”

  He stood, frowning, at the front of the Airstream, his cell-phone flashlight shining on the windshield.

  “What is it?” I headed down the steps and joined him at the front. “What—” I stopped. “Oh no,” I said, my heart sinking. “Not again.”

  The front windshield was covered with chocolate. Someone had obviously thrown a large bucket of the liquid on the window. The empty plastic bucket lay on the ground nearby. That must have been what hit the Airstream.

  I peered in closer. “Is somethi
ng written there?”

  Jake focused the light on the front of the RV. Someone had scrawled something at the top of the window—in chocolate:

  “Now I know where you live.”

  Chapter 19

  Jake got out his cell phone.

  “Don’t,” I said, holding up a hand.

  He frowned. “We’ve got to report this, Darcy. It’s the second time someone has threatened you.”

  I sighed and felt my shoulders drop. “I know. But not tonight. Please. Whoever did this is probably long gone and left little evidence of his identity. I’m so tired. Could we call Shelton in the morning?”

  “Really?” Jake hesitated for a moment, then tucked his cell phone into the pocket of his black jeans. “Okay, but I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  We headed back inside, and Jake locked the door behind us. He looked at the couch-bed, spotted the lever, and opened up the bed. “Got any extra blankets?”

  “Are you sure you want to sleep there?” I said, surprised. “It’s not very comfortable.” Truth be told, I wouldn’t have minded his arms around me while I slept.

  “You need sleep, Darcy. And there’s no way either of us would get any sleep if I come in there with you.” He nodded toward the bedroom area.

  I smiled. He was right. And as much as I wanted to feel him lying beside me, I was too tired to argue. I yawned, kissed him good night, and went into the bedroom, sliding the door closed behind me.

  I changed out of my jeans and Big Yellow School Bus T-shirt and into my long Tinker Bell nightshirt, then fell into the small but cozy bed. I closed my eyes, snuggled down under the covers, and took a deep breath, ready to welcome some much-needed sleep.

  Half an hour later I was still staring at the Peter Pan wallpaper, my mind wide-awake while my body ached for sleep. Thoughts swirled like churning blades in a vat of chocolate as I wondered who had sent those warnings, why Polly had been killed, and who had drowned her in that chocolate.

  I also wondered if Jake was still awake too.

  I finally gave up the ghost, got up, and quietly slid open the door to the living area. The soft sounds of Jake’s deep sleep were comforting, and I envied him the ability to just check out like that. I’d never been one of those people who falls asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. Turning off the body was easy. Turning off the mind, not so much.

  I got my laptop from the small kitchen table and returned to the bedroom, sliding the door closed behind me. At least I could put my insomnia to good use. While Dillon seemed to be able to find out anything about anybody with his unique but questionable computer skills, my high-tech sleuthing abilities weren’t quite as gifted, so I turned to my favorite search engine to see what I could find on my suspects. I’d already talked to Simon and Isabel and knew their secrets—at least, the ones Polly had been blackmailing them for. And Frankie and Monet had let the proverbial cat out of the bag regarding their baggage. But I knew little of Griffin and Harrison, the two other contestants that Simon said were also Polly’s victims.

  I did a search for Griffin Makeba, the Pie Guy. He had a great rep for his wares, with lots of positive Yelp reviews, but that’s all I could find. His Facebook page was strictly self-promoting—that is, pie promoting—with little personal information. I’d have to ask Dillon to dig deeper if I wanted to know what Polly might have had on him. So far, a dead end.

  The name Harrison Tofflemire, on the other hand, came up repeatedly on the search engine. I skimmed the usual reviews of his Chocolate Falls business—mostly positive—and read an interview he gave to Chocolatier magazine about his success story. It was the usual spiel: Came from nothing. Never went to college. Started his own business. Invented the Chocolate Falls gizmo. Fame and fortune followed. I wondered why he’d bothered to enter the contest. He already seemed to have everything.

  An instant message popped up on the side of the screen.

  r u there?

  Dillon!

  Yes, what’s up? I answered. As a reporter for the newspaper—former reporter, that was—I had trouble using text slang in my messages. My old English teacher, Mr. Tannacito, was always looking over my shoulder, and I couldn’t shake him, even in a text.

  cant sleep, Dillon wrote. been digging into those contestants u asked abt.

  Great! I was just googling Griffin and Harrison’s names but didn’t find anything interesting. You get anything?

  I watched the cursor beat for a few seconds, then, gt the 411. griffin makeba, the dude protesting the choc from the ivory coast . . .

  What about him???

  Guess where he gets his choc . . .

  The Ivory Coast!

  Bingo, Dillon wrote. he’s been buying it from simon’s family for years—at a discount. apparently he threatened to expose simon senior’s working conditions, so they cut a deal with griffin 2 shut him up and decreased the price.

  OMG, I typed. I couldn’t help myself. Text slang seemed to be contagious when chatting with Dillon. So the blackmailee was also a blackmailer! How did you find out?

  2EZ. I knew simon’s co has lots of back doors and fake names. But once u go down that tunnel, ur bound 2 find gold. Or in this case, choc. J

  Great job, Dillon! Thanks! Anything on Harrison Tofflemire? All I could find was how smart, savvy, and successful he is—and most of that came from his own mouth.

  HAS. BRB.

  Hold a second. Be right back.

  I waited, all sleep forgotten at this latest news about Griffin. I couldn’t wait to learn what else Dillon had found. Seconds later he was back.

  looks like HT didn’t actually invent Choc. Falls. got a bunch of lawsuits pending. Canuck co. claims he stole plans 4 their Chocolate Cascade. When HT brought his gizmo out, CC went broke, filed bankruptcy and lawsuits against HT. He’s got high-powered attys fighting this, all on the down-low. Sounds like he got rich off someone else’s idea.

  You’re awesome! I gushed over the keyboard. Both of those guys had secrets they didn’t want uncovered, both worthy of blackmail. And according to what Simon overheard at the party, Polly knew all about them. Either one of them could have killed her. Wendy has to be innocent.

  Yo, abt tht . . .

  Uh-oh. What???

  Wendy wrote 4 George Brown’s magazine under a fake name.

  A pseudonym? What was it? What did she write about?

  She called her column Chocolate Crimes, and used the name Candy the Chocolate Critic. Wrote reviews on local choc stuff—companies, restaurants, ppl in the choc bus. None of the articles were very sweet, IYGMD.

  I got his drift. Wow. If Wendy criticized everyone in the chocolate business—and word got out who she was—she wouldn’t have many friends left. And she might even have a few enemies. Did someone her for the murder of Polly Montgomery to get even?

  G2G, Dillon messaged. Gaming time w/ the guys. TTYL.

  I thanked Dillon again, then switched off the laptop, closed it up, and set it on the small built-in table next to the bed. I wasn’t any more relaxed than I had been half an hour ago—in fact, I was more wired than ever—but at least I had information on my last two suspects, Griffin Makeba and Harrison Tofflemire.

  I lay down and snuggled into the covers again, hoping exhaustion would take over my brain as well as my body. I must have slept eventually, because the next thing I knew, someone was tapping on my bedroom door. I glanced at the Mickey Mouse night-light/clock. Six a.m.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I called out through the door.

  “Breakfast!” came Jake’s too-cheery voice. “Time to get up. Detective Shelton is on his way over.”

  “Seriously?” I grumbled. I threw off the covers and staggered into the tiny shower with the too-sensitive hot/cold nozzle and weak water pressure. Fifteen minutes later, I was awake, clean, dressed in a fresh Big
Yellow School Bus T-shirt and jeans, and ready for coffee, if not for the day.

  I slid the bedroom door open and shook my head at the sight.

  Jake, Detective Shelton, and Aunt Abby were gathered around my small table, drinking coffee and eating a Continental breakfast of cream puffs and whoopie pies. The only one missing was Dillon. Apparently he got to sleep in.

  “Good morning, sweetie,” Aunt Abby said.

  I pulled up the only empty chair left and sat down. “Morning,” I mumbled, then sipped the latte that was waiting for me on the table. “Glad you could all stop by.”

  “Jake told us what happened last night,” Aunt Abby said, a worried look on her already made-up face. Over her Big Yellow School Bus T-shirt and khaki slacks, she wore a flowery linen jacket that came from Chico’s, her favorite store. The jacket had to be an afterthought for Detective Shelton’s sake; otherwise she’d be wearing an apron.

  She reached over and patted my hand. “Are you all right, Darcy?”

  Detective Shelton also looked spiffy for the early-morning hour, dressed in his usual dark suit, with a red tie and product in his hair. I was beginning to wonder if the detective and my aunt were on some kind of date. As for Jake, he could have worn a torn and mismatched pirate costume instead of the jeans and T-shirt he’d worn yesterday and he still would have looked hot.

  “I’m fine, thanks to Jake,” I said, then blushed, wondering if she knew he had slept over. Ha. Of course she did. Nothing got past Aunt Abby. But I’d have to set her straight on the sleeping arrangements.

  “The crime-tech guys will be here soon,” the detective said. “You should have called me last night.”

  Jake raised a traitorous eyebrow at me.

  “Sorry, Detective. I was just too tired,” I explained. “I figured it would be much like the vandalism to my car and I could deal with it better in the morning.”

  “Did you sleep . . . well?” Aunt Abby asked. Her eyebrow was also raised, but for another reason. I knew what she was implying. “You still look a little tired.”

  “No, I didn’t sleep well,” I said to her, then blushed again at what she was probably thinking. “I mean, I was on my laptop with Dillon half the night. He found out some dirt on Griffin Makeba and Harrison Tofflemire. So yes, I’m tired.” I took another gulp of the latte Jake had made with my one-cup machine and prayed it would help keep my eyes open the rest of the day.