by Penny Pike
Harrison pulled a bottle of water from his refrigerator, opened the cap, and handed it to me. I drank several gulps and felt my heart rate begin to slow down.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problem. What happened? You looked like a frightened rabbit. Something spook you?”
I nodded. “Griffin. I was talking to him in his truck and”—I hesitated, not wanting to tell Harrison the truth—“and he got upset about something, so I left. . . .”
“I heard yelling,” Harrison said, “but I didn’t know where it was coming from. Chefs around here do a lot of yelling, so I don’t pay much mind to it. Did he hurt you?”
“No.” I glanced at my wrist where Griffin had grabbed me. It was red, but not bruised—at least not yet. I thought about having him arrested for assault, but what was I thinking? I’d gone in there alone, made some serious accusations, and essentially provoked him. If I called the cops, I’d just make him even angrier, and it would prove nothing.
“He’s a hothead,” Harrison said. “Always mad about something. He hates Simon Van Houten because he thinks his father’s business is involved in child labor. He hates Monet for giving him the cold shoulder. He hates Frankie because Frankie’s a player. And he hates me because I’m so successful and my daughters won’t have anything to do with him. Just blow him off.”
Harrison was successful, but according to Dillon, with someone else’s invention. This was going to be my opening to question him, but I was still shaking from my encounter with Griffin. Maybe now wasn’t a good time. Then again, time was of the essence and this was the perfect opportunity. And Harrison’s daughters were around, so he surely wouldn’t get violent.
I decided to go for it. Surely I wouldn’t be attacked twice in one morning. Would I?
“You’ve really done well for yourself, haven’t you?” I asked him after taking another sip of water.
“I’ve been lucky,” he said modestly. He pulled over a roller cart holding the larger of the two chocolate waterfalls. The stainless-steel appliance, shaped like a pyramid, stood about five feet tall, one of the largest I’d seen. “This baby sold more than a hundred thousand units last year.” He patted it as if it were a pet. “I’ll be using it for the contest this afternoon. The smaller one is less complicated, so I’ve been using it for the festival, but I’m bringing out the big guns for the win.”
“How did you come up with the chocolate waterfall idea?” I asked, baiting him.
“Simple, really,” he said, beaming with pride. “You see, this here’s the base, which contains the motor, heater, and the controls.” He pointed as he listed the parts. “The motor turns the auger. The auger is like a giant corkscrew that brings the chocolate up from the base to the top. The heater keeps the chocolate melted, and the controls operate it.”
Okay, so he knew the basics of a chocolate waterfall. That wasn’t what I had asked. I listened patiently as he went on.
“The tiers—these layers here—fill up with molten chocolate. When the chocolate reaches the top tier, it overflows and cascades down, like hot lava, or a waterfall.”
He switched on the smaller machine, poured some chocolate chips onto the base, and they instantly began to melt.
“You have to use chocolate that has a lot of cocoa butter, or you have to add oil.” He poured in more chocolate chips, and soon the base was full of melted chocolate. “Once it gets going, you can dip just about anything in the chocolate—fruit, cake, marshmallows, your finger.” He grinned.
My mouth was starting to water from the smell of the heated chocolate. Harrison switched on the pump and magically, the chocolate began to rise up the central auger—a metal tubelike thingy with small circular blades attached every inch or so—and spill over the top.
“Here. Try some.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of strawberries. He handed me a skewer and gestured to the bowl. I stabbed a medium-sized strawberry with the skewer and inserted it slowly into the liquid wall of cascading dark chocolate. When I pulled it back out, the berry was completely coated in chocolate.
“Go on. Eat it,” Harrison said, watching me.
I bit into the chocolate-covered strawberry.
Incredible.
I was going to have to get me one of these Chocolate Falls.
“Good?”
“Delicious!” I said after I finished the strawberry. “So, how did you come up with the idea of creating this machine?”
Harrison shrugged. “Just came to me, you know. I was thinking about how popular chocolate fondue was, but not so easy for a big group of people to enjoy. Then I saw this champagne fountain at a wedding once, and put two and two together. Chocolate Falls! My own invention.”
“But there are other chocolate fountains on the market, aren’t there?” I persisted.
“Yeah, but mine was the first, and it’s the best. I have a secret patent for it that I don’t share with anyone.”
“Funny,” I said. “I thought a Canadian company invented this version in the 1980s. You said you came up with the idea in 2002?”
Harrison switched off the machine. The grin on his face was gone, replaced by a frown. “Where did you hear that?”
“I don’t know. I must have picked it up when I was writing food reviews for the newspaper.”
“Well, it’s not true. It’s my invention. I created it and I perfected it. Lots of companies have tried to copy me, but none of them know my secret. You’d better check your sources carefully next time.”
“I will,” I lied. “Oh, I know where I heard it. From Polly Montgomery.”
I watched Harrison closely for a reaction. His face twisted in disgust.
“Polly? That drunken old slut? She was nothing but a backstabbing, two-faced gossipmonger who should have been run out of the industry. I don’t mean to speak poorly of the dead, but in this case, I’ll make an exception. There was no love lost between us.”
“Were you and Polly . . . ?” I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I didn’t have to. He answered the implied question.
“Yeah, we had a thing, but it was a long time ago,” Harrison snapped. “Before I knew what a well-heeled liar she was. I don’t know what else she told you, but I wouldn’t believe a word of it if I were you.”
So Harrison and Polly had also been an item. Was there any man safe from Polly’s generous charms?
Before I could ask another question, Harrison said, “Look, I gotta get ready to open. The festival will be starting in a few minutes. Meantime, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything about me and Polly. My girls don’t know, and I don’t want them to think casual sex is okay.”
“Of course,” I lied, figuring his daughters were way ahead of him on that. “I just have one last question.”
“What’s that?” Harrison said, irritation etched on his face.
“Do you have proof you invented the Chocolate Falls before anyone else?”
“What kind of a question is that?”
I was about to go out on a limb here. “Did Polly have reason to think you might have stolen the idea from that Canadian company?”
“I guess I didn’t make myself clear, missy,” Harrison said, his eyes narrow and focused on me. “If you say or print anything about me, my relationship with Polly, or even hint that Chocolate Falls wasn’t my invention, my lawyer will have you up on slander and libel charges faster than you can melt chocolate.”
* * *
I escaped Harrison’s truck without injury, probably because I fled the moment he’d threatened me. As I passed Jake’s Dream Puff truck, I saw the CLOSED sign still in his window, along with the coffee I’d left him.
“Aunt Abby?” I said after boarding the school bus. “Have you heard from Jake?”
“No. I haven’t seen him, dear,” Aunt Abby said. “But I’m glad you’re back. Fifteen minutes until showtime
and I’m still not ready. Could you unwrap those whoopie pies and put them in the paper cups?”
Nodding, I donned an apron. Dillon opened the boxes of ready-made whoopie pies, while I used tongs to place them in the colorful fluted paper cups, ready for the first wave of festival attendees. “You haven’t heard from him at all?”
“Who?” Aunt Abby asked.
“Jake! He’s still not in his truck. That’s not like him.”
“No, dear.”
“Dillon?”
“Nope,” he replied. “Maybe he had car trouble.”
Maybe, I thought. Maybe not.
Maybe something was wrong.
It wasn’t like him to ditch me when he’d said he’d meet me—at least, not without calling to cancel first. And it wasn’t like him to be late opening his food truck, especially today, the second and last day of the festival. If Reina found out he hadn’t shown up, she’d have a fit.
My cell phone rang.
“That’s probably him now,” Aunt Abby said, pulling out more paper cups.
I retrieved my cell phone—which now had a crack in the glass—and checked the caller ID. Aunt Abby was right.
“Jake! Where are you?” I said a little too frantically. Thinking about the recent threats I’d received, I’d worried he’d gotten some too, since we’d been working on this murder investigation together. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Darcy. Are you?”
“Yes, but you were supposed to meet me this morning.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t go ahead without me,” he said.
I didn’t answer.
“Oh, Darcy, no. Look, this thing is becoming more serious than I realized. I’m at the hospital—”
“The hospital! Why? What happened? Are you all right?”
Aunt Abby and Dillon stopped what they were doing and looked at me, alarmed.
“I’m fine. My cop friend called after you left. There was another hit-and-run accident late last night or early this morning.”
“Oh no! What happened? Someone you know?”
“It was J.C. He was run down while walking out of his apartment.”
“Oh my God. Is he . . . okay?”
“He’s in a medically induced coma. It doesn’t look good.”
Chapter 22
“What happened?” Aunt Abby said the second I hung up the phone.
“J.C.—Reina’s camera guy. He . . . was hit by a car last night sometime. . . . He’s at the hospital. . . .” I was having trouble processing the news I’d just heard from Jake. There was no way this was a coincidence. But this time it wasn’t a festival judge. If this was deliberate, why had J.C. been targeted?
Had he seen something the night Polly was killed after all? Was it captured on his camera? Had he not noticed it at first?
“The poor thing!” Aunt Abby said. “First George, then Polly, now that young camera boy. Do you think it has anything to do with Polly’s death?”
“It has to,” I said. “Dillon, you downloaded the party footage from J.C.’s camera, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, about that . . .” Dillon said, shaking his head.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“There was some kind of glitch. It didn’t come through.”
I sighed, then had a thought. “Could you hack into his computer and download it that way?”
“I could try,” he said, “assuming he saved it to his computer. But the festival’s about to open. Can it wait?”
“Whenever you can get to it would be great.” I looked at my aunt, her eyes as wide as whoopie pies. “Aunt Abby, would it be all right if I went to the hospital to see about J.C.? Do you think you can manage without me for an hour?”
“Of course, dear. Dillon and I will be fine. Things usually start off slowly the first hour. Go see what you can find out. Anything to help Wendy.”
“Thanks, Aunt Abby. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Darcy?” my aunt said. “Does this mean the police will let Wendy go? Surely they can’t think she killed Polly now that someone else tried to kill that boy.”
“Not if the police think it was just an accident and not deliberate. Wendy will still be on the hook.”
Aunt Abby sighed and gazed off into the distance. Dillon shot me a worried look. I nodded, letting him know I was concerned about my aunt too.
“I’ll be back soon.” I gave Aunt Abby a hug and headed out of the bus.
I made my way to the parking lot and found my VW Bug free of chocolate or any other type of vandalism, other than the remaining stain on the canvas top. That was a relief. I only wished Jake had been with me, especially when I questioned Griffin and Harrison, but I’d see him soon enough at SF General.
As I drove up Gough Street on the way to the hospital, I thought about possible reasons why someone would run J.C. down. The obvious motive was that J.C. knew something the killer didn’t want him to share. Or was it something on J.C.’s camera that the killer didn’t want anyone to see? Something the police might not have seen?
One thought led to another. Had Polly been blackmailing J.C., too, making him another suspect in her murder? Had she been sleeping with him as well? And if J.C. killed Polly, then why would someone try to kill him?
Or was the hit-and-run just an accident? Pedestrians in this city got hit all the time.
I parked in the hospital lot under a sign that read RESERVED FOR ER PHYSICIANS, my thoughts in a jumble, and headed for the emergency-room entrance. Jake had told me to go to the ER waiting room, and he’d meet me there. I found the room quickly and entered, my heart racing again.
“Jake!” I said the moment I spotted him. He was sitting next to an attractive Asian woman in a tailored blue suit, maroon blouse, and sensible black shoes. The rest of the seats were empty.
“Darcy!” He got up and embraced me, then pulled back and turned to the woman next to him. “Darcy, this is Lisa Lee, the cop friend I’ve mentioned. She was on duty at the time of the accident. Lisa, this is Darcy.”
This beautiful young woman with sleek black hair, a perfect complexion, and sparkling brown eyes was his cop friend?
Lisa reached out and shook my hand with her strong grip. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Really? All I’d heard about her was that she was Jake’s “cop friend,” who I’d assumed would be a guy. How sexist was I?
“Uh . . . ,” I said, trying to gather my wits after meeting this knockout. Jake really seemed to attract them. “How’s J.C.? Do you know anything more?”
Before either one could answer, a deep voice came from behind me. “I should have known you’d be here.”
Uh-oh.
I turned to see Detective Shelton’s large form filling the doorway.
“Hey, Detective,” I said. “Any news about J.C.?”
He shook his head and entered the room. “He’s still under. We’re not going to get anything from him for a while—if at all.”
“What do you mean, if at all?” I asked.
The detective shook his head. I caught his drift. “You two might as well go on back to work.”
“Detective,” I said. “What about Wendy Spellman? Doesn’t this attempt on J.C.’s life prove the real killer is still out there? Can’t you let her go?”
“Not so fast, Darcy,” the detective said. “We don’t know anything more than he was hit by a car and the driver took off. Right now it looks like a hit-and-run accident.”
“Are you forgetting about George Brown, the judge who was killed right before the Chocolate Festival? That was also a hit-and-run. This has got to be more than a coincidence.”
“Brown’s death was ruled an accident too, Darcy.”
“You’re kidding! Don’t you see? George and Polly and J.C. are all conne
cted to the Chocolate Festival!”
Jake touched my arm, trying to calm me. I took a deep breath. “Have you at least watched J.C.’s video?”
Detective Shelton nodded. “Several times. Unfortunately, there’s no footage of anything that might have to do with the murder. It’s just shots of the crowd, Ms. Patel’s speeches, and the vat of chocolate after Polly Montgomery was dumped in there. If you were hoping for evidence of the killer in action, sorry. That only happens in bad movies.”
I shook my head, exasperated.
The detective sighed. “Like I said, there’s nothing you can do here.”
“Oh my God, I just heard!” came another voice from the doorway. This time is was Reina Patel. In spite of the concerned look on her face, she appeared festive in her silky brown jumpsuit, her signature chocolate-chip-covered scarf tied intricately around her long, slim neck. “What happened to J.C.?”
While the detective filled her in, I watched Reina’s expression. Her frown deepened and her mouth tightened. I wondered if she was upset by what happened to J.C. or just irritated she’d lost future footage of the Chocolate Festival. It was tough to tell.
“What about his camera?” Reina said, confirming my worst suspicions. “Did they find it?”
The detective looked over at Lisa Lee.
“We found it a few feet from the body. It was in pieces,” she said.
Reina shook her head. “How sad. He never went anywhere without his camera.” She checked her watch. “Well, if there’s nothing I can do, I need to get back to the festival. And so do the two of you.” She pointed back and forth between Jake and me. “We opened half an hour ago, and you need to be there. I don’t want a bunch of disappointed customers complaining on Yelp.”
I rolled my eyes at Jake.
Reina started to leave, then turned back. “Officer, are we in any danger? I thought you had the killer in custody.”
“It’s Detective Shelton,” he replied, setting her straight. “We’ll have extra police presence at the festival, but I don’t think you’re at risk. It was probably an accident, but we’re not ruling anything out. Stay alert; be smart.”