Death of a Chocolate Cheater: A Food Festival Mystery

by Penny Pike

  Reina nodded. She pulled out her cell, tapped in a number, and said as she walked out the door, “Yes, I’m calling to see if you have someone who can record an event today. . . .”

  Wow. She was already calling for J.C.’s replacement so she could continue her one-woman show. Nothing got in the way of Reina’s obsession with making a behind-the-scenes documentary out of this situation. And she’d probably have no trouble selling her story to the Food Network. Like J.C. had said, viewers love real-life drama, even when it’s sprinkled with fiction.

  * * *

  Jake walked me to my car, still parked illegally in a spot reserved for physicians. Luckily I hadn’t gotten ticketed or towed, only a raised eyebrow from Jake. As we drove back to the Chocolate Festival in our separate cars, I hoped Aunt Abby wasn’t too overwhelmed with customers. I felt guilty leaving her, but she understood that I was trying to help her friend Wendy. Unfortunately, the trip hadn’t produced much information as to whether the hit-and-run was an accident or deliberate, but I had learned that J.C.’s camera had been destroyed, and the cops had the flash drive. Hopefully, he had downloaded everything onto his computer. And hopefully, Dillon could retrieve any videos he’d made. Maybe the footage would reveal something that could help find the killer.

  We parked in the festival lot and walked together through the back entrance to the food truck area.

  “I’d better open up,” Jake said, after spotting several people looking at his truck and shaking their heads.

  “I’m sure Aunt Abby needs help too,” I said, glancing at her line.

  “Let’s meet up when the crowd dies down,” Jake suggested.

  I nodded and headed inside Aunt Abby’s school bus.

  “Thank God you’re back,” Dillon said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “It’s worse than yesterday.”

  Aunt Abby was taking orders, while Dillon filled them as fast as he could. I put on my apron and helped Dillon, who was obviously having trouble keeping up. A nonstop stream of customers kept us busy for the next few hours. Around three o’clock, the crowd finally thinned, and Dillon and I were able to take a short break.

  “Bring me a Witch’s Brew,” Dillon said, getting out his laptop and seating himself on a stool. “I’ll see if I can get into J.C.’s computer.”

  “Great!” I said, then asked Aunt Abby if she wanted anything.

  “No, thanks. I’ll get an energy drink from the fridge.” No wonder my aunt never took a break. She lived on those energy drinks.

  I swung by the Dream Puff truck and waved to Jake, who was still dealing with customers, then got in the short line at the Coffee Witch for my afternoon infusion.

  “Any news about J.C.?” Willow asked when I reached her service window. “I heard he got in an accident or something.”

  Apparently word had spread, as it always did in the food truck community. Unfortunately, the news wasn’t always accurate.

  I shook my head. “Not an accident, exactly. He was involved in a hit-and-run. Did you know him?”

  “Yeah,” she said, a grin filling her face. “He’s hot—don’t you think?”

  Not at the moment, I thought. “Well, right now he’s in a medically induced coma.”

  Willow’s grin vanished. “Holy crap! I hope he’ll be all right. We were supposed to hook up again tonight.”

  That was quick, I thought. “You went out with J.C.?” I was surprised that they knew each other well enough to go out on a date, but I shouldn’t have been. In spite of Willow’s multiple piercings and tattoos and that wicked short blond/purple hair—or maybe because of that—guys seemed attracted to her. And Willow was quite the flirt herself.

  “Yeah, we met at that party, you know, where that judge was killed,” Willow said casually. “We went clubbing after the cops were done with us. He’s totally hot. I love his tats.”

  I smiled. If you liked guys wearing baggy jeans and faded T-shirts who have scruffy beards, uncombed hair, arms tattooed with tribal designs, Asian characters, and dragons, and gauged earlobe holes you could fit a finger through, then I guessed he was hot.

  “Willow, did J.C. ever say anything about Polly?”

  “Nope. Only that he wished he had caught the killer. On his camera, I mean.”

  “Did you see any of the footage he filmed?”

  “Just some of the party stuff. When I was at his place last night, he kept playing one part over and over. I got bored and told him I was leaving. He said he’d come to my apartment later, but he never showed. Guess that’s ’cause he got run over.”

  Run over. I shook my head, but said nothing. It wasn’t that Willow was cold; she was just young and a little self-absorbed.

  “What part did he keep playing over?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying much attention.”

  She handed me my coffee order—one for Dillon, one for Jake, and one for me—and I paid her, plus tip. I tenuously carried the cups back to the school bus to drop off Dillon’s coffee and find out if he’d been able to download J.C.’s party footage. J.C. had been playing a particular part “over and over”—to the point where Willow apparently felt neglected and decided to leave.

  What was it that had captured J.C.’s attention?

  Something the police hadn’t seen? Something that might lead to the killer?

  The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that someone had deliberately tried to kill J.C. because of something on that footage.

  Chapter 23

  “Dillon, did you get anything?” I asked as I entered the school bus.

  “Bam!” Dillon said, pretending to strike his laptop with his fingers as if casting a spell.

  “You really are a magician!” I said. “How did you do it?”

  “Easy,” he said, like he always says when he hacks into another computer. “You just hack into the source computer, find the file, download it, transfer it to the target computer, and that’s it.”

  He really did make it sound easy, but there was no way I could do what he did.

  Jake climbed in and joined us.

  “Dillon got into J.C.’s computer,” I told him. “Willow said J.C. kept watching a certain part over and over. We need to see the footage of the party and try to figure out what he was so interested in.”

  “It’ll take hours to watch the whole thing,” Jake said, helping himself to a whoopie pie.

  He was right. And with the chocolate contest looming, we didn’t have hours. “Can we fast-forward through it?”

  Dillon tapped a couple of keys and started the video, then moved it into fast-forward. I caught glimpses of Reina dressed in that gorgeous chocolate-brown ensemble as she welcomed guests to the party. I watched as Polly in her red velvet dress and wobbly heels lay drunk on the table, Reina escorted Polly out, and party guests mingled. Then Reina returned; she gave a speech interrupted by Griffin’s outburst and the rebuttal from Simon Van Houten. Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep track of who was at the party the whole time and who possibly left for a while.

  We fast-forwarded through the first part again, which took place on the veranda at the Maritime Museum. Nothing looked suspicious, other than the argument between Griffin and Simon, captured on the video. I had since learned that Griffin was blackmailing Simon, but I still didn’t see what that had to do with Polly. She had her own blackmail schemes going on.

  The next bit was taken inside the museum after Reina had gathered the guests to view the giant vat of chocolate. There she was standing next to the vat, her chocolate dress nearly the same color as the molten chocolate. She gave another speech; then J.C. did a panorama of the crowd. Everyone seemed accounted for. Then came Reina’s scream. The camera spun away from the crowd and focused on Reina, giving us a close-up of her horrified face, her hand grasping her long, thin neck as if she were choking. The
n there was a sudden jerk as the camera moved to the vat of chocolate. J.C. had focused on Polly’s chocolate-covered hand, clearly visible through the transparent plastic tub.

  If the Food Network got ahold of this footage, it would no doubt eat it up.

  Was this footage the reason J.C. was attacked? Did someone want to keep it from going to the TV show? And was the hit-and-run actually meant for the camera and not J.C.?

  I asked Dillon to replay the scene where Reina screamed when she discovered the vat of chocolate but saw nothing that indicated a murderer lurking in the area.

  I checked my watch. Two hours until the contest.

  I handed Jake the coffee I’d bought him. “It’s cold,” I said, “like this case.”

  He put the paper cup in the microwave and tapped the coffee icon.

  “There’s got to be something on that footage,” I said. “But if there is, I didn’t see it.”

  Jake shook his head. Dillon shrugged. Aunt Abby frowned.

  “I’ve got to get ready for the contest,” Jake said, retrieving his coffee. “Good luck, Abby,” he said, and gave her a hug. “I hope you win.”

  “You too, Jake,” Aunt Abby said. “As long as one of us beats those other contestants, I’ll be happy.”

  “See you in a while?” Jake said to me.

  I nodded and watched him go.

  “Damn!” I said. “I was sure there was something on J.C.’s camera footage.”

  “Darcy, you’ve been on this nonstop since it happened, thanks to me,” Aunt Abby said. “I’m worried about you. You’re not sleeping well. You look exhausted. Why don’t you take a nice break before the contest? We’ll be fine here. The crowds are light.”

  I nodded. “Maybe you’re right. Are you sure you don’t need me until then?”

  “I’m sure. The whoopie pies are ready to go. I’d rather you be rested for the contest.”

  I gave my aunt a hug, thanked Dillon, and stepped out of the bus, ready to drop. As I walked to my car, planning to go home and take a relaxing shower, I replayed the party scene in my head. But instead of seeing something suspicious, it felt as if something was missing. It was like one of those “Can you spot the differences” pictures, where little changes are made in one of a pair of photos. They were usually things easily overlooked, like a button missing in one picture but not in the other, or a mole on someone’s face that’s gone in the second picture.

  That’s the feeling I had about the video.

  Something was missing.

  Now you see it; now you don’t.

  On my way to the parking lot, I glanced over at Reina’s office and saw a young man leaving the trailer. To my surprise, he slammed the office door behind him and stomped off toward the parking lot. I noticed he had a camera in his hand. Curious, I hurried over to him.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, hoping he might tell me what had caused him to be so upset.

  “What a diva!” the young guy said. He was heavy, with glasses and curly brown hair and the kind of skin that freckles and doesn’t tan.

  “Are you the new cameraman?”

  “Was,” he said, emphasizing the past tense. “She might as well hold the camera herself. All she wants is shots of her. I thought this was supposed to be a gig for the Food Network, but it’s all about whatever-her-name-is. I’m an artist. They don’t pay me enough to put up with this crap. I’m outta here.”

  I watched him head for his car. Then I glanced back at the trailer and detoured toward Reina’s office.

  I knocked. A few moments later the door opened. Reina still looked festive yet professional in her chocolate jumpsuit and designer scarf. “Yes?”

  “I just saw the new camera guy leaving the festival. He looked upset. Is anything wrong?”

  “He’s an idiot,” Reina said. “I might as well shoot the event myself. At least J.C. could follow directions. This guy thought he was some kind of Spielberg and—”

  “Reina!” I heard a man’s voice yell from behind me. I turned to see Harrison Tofflemire walking toward the trailer, his face twisted in rage. “What’s the meaning of this?” He held up what looked like a heavy metal rod with spiraling blades. It took me a second to recognize it as part of his Chocolate Falls gizmo that siphoned the chocolate up to the top tier. The auger. What was he doing with it in his hand?

  “Calm down, Harrison,” she said to him.

  “No, I won’t calm down. The auger in my deluxe Chocolate Falls machine is missing! The machine I was going to use for tonight’s contest.”

  “Isn’t that it in your hand?” she asked, pointing to the metal tube he held.

  “No! This is the one from the smaller machine. I need the one for the big machine!” He climbed the steps and pushed his way into the office.

  Reina blinked. “Uh . . . Darcy, I’m going to have to deal with this. I’ll see you at the competition.” With that she closed the door.

  Crap. Something was going on and I wasn’t invited. What was Harrison all upset about?

  The bad thing about trailers and RVs is that they tend to have thin walls. I should know. I can hear Aunt Abby’s neighbor blasting his TV every night. The good thing was, I might be able to hear what was going on inside.

  I circled around to the back so no one passing by would see me eavesdropping and pressed my ear against the wall.

  “What’s the problem, Harrison?” I heard Reina say. It sounded as if she were talking into a tin can.

  “You know what the problem is!” Harrison bellowed. “I want the part you stole from my big machine!”

  Stole from his machine? I’d expected him to demand she find the missing part, not accuse her of stealing it.

  Reina laughed. “Why would I want that thing? I have no use for it.”

  “I don’t know how you did it, but somehow you got into my truck and stole it. You knew I was going to use the big machine for the contest, and you sabotaged it because I refused to share the winnings with you. Now, where’s my auger?”

  Reina? Wasn’t Polly the one who was blackmailing the contestants into sharing their winnings?

  I was dying to peek through the window overhead and see what was going on, but I didn’t want to take a chance of getting caught. Instead, I kept my ear to the wall.

  “Look, Harrison, I told you I’d fix it so you’d win the contest—for the right price—but you were too greedy. Now you’re on your own. Good luck with that.”

  I could picture her grinning smugly at him.

  “I’m not leaving until I find it!” Harrison shouted.

  “Go ahead,” Reina said. “Have a look.”

  I heard rustling around in the trailer, the slamming of drawers, the moving of office furniture. It sounded like he was tearing the place apart.

  “It’s not here, Harrison,” Reina said calmly. “If I had it, and I’m not saying I do, it would be somewhere safe. And since you didn’t agree to pay me, if I had it, I’d take it to the police.”

  “What for?” Harrison said. I could almost see him frowning.

  “Because it’s the perfect weapon to use as a blunt instrument if you wanted to bash someone over the head. And it’s covered with your fingerprints.”

  Oh my God. Harrison? Had he been the one who hit Polly over the head using a part of his own chocolate machine? That heavy metal tube would make a good weapon, especially with those blades encircling it. But how did Reina know? And why hadn’t she told the police?

  “Where is it?” Harrison demanded. “Tell me, or so help me, I’ll bash you over the head with this one.”

  A chill ran down my spine. If Harrison was the killer, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Reina!

  I ran around to the door, leaped up the steps, and burst in. Harrison stood a few feet from Reina, the metal auger at his side, his face red with rage. Reina was leaning against her desk as if she di
dn’t feel the slightest threat.

  “Harrison! Stop!” I yelled.

  Harrison spun around and raised the auger.

  Reina took that second to grab a nearby folding chair. She swung it up and brought it down on Harrison’s head.

  Harrison Tofflemire crumpled to the floor.

  I stared at Reina in shock.

  “Darcy! Thank God!” Reina said. “If you hadn’t come in just now, he would have killed me with that metal pipe! Just like the one he used to kill Polly.”

  I frowned, confused at the way she’d seemed so calm just before bashing Harrison over the head.

  “It’s true!” she sputtered. “He killed Polly. And I have proof!”

  Harrison moaned. He lay facedown on the floor, the back of his head bleeding from a large gash.

  I knelt down to check on him. “Reina, call nine-one-one!” I ordered.

  She paused a moment, then began searching her desk for her phone. When she found it, she lifted it up, paused again, then punched in three numbers.

  “Harrison!” I said, bending over him. I patted his face lightly. “Are you all right?” I looked up at Reina. “I need something to wrap the wound on his head. He’s bleeding.”

  “Like what?” she said, glancing around. The place was full of papers, office furniture, and promotional materials for the festival. I saw nothing that could be used as a bandage.

  “Your scarf!” I gestured at my neck. “Give it to me.”

  She clutched the chocolate-chip-covered silk scarf in her hand as if it were her lifeline. “No! It’s hand-painted, one of a kind. Cost me a fortune. I’m sure there’s something else you can use.”

  “There is nothing else, Reina, unless you want to take off your clothes! Now give it to me before he bleeds to death.”

  She slowly pulled off the two-yard-long scarf and threw it down at me. I snatched it and wrapped a good part of it around Harrison’s bleeding head as best I could, covering the wound.

  He moaned again and mumbled something I couldn’t make out.