Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry

by Denise Swanson

  Simon’s handsome face reddened, and Skye gave him a sympathetic look that clearly said, Mothers!

  His hazel eyes softened and he smiled, nodding his head in agreement.

  After the entrées were served, and everyone turned to their food, Simon leaned close to Skye and said quietly, “Frannie mentioned that some disgruntled cheerleader’s parents are suing the school newspaper. Does that have anything to do with why you were late?”

  Skye hadn’t intended to let anyone know what had happened, especially before she could talk to Wally, but she found herself nodding.

  “Anything I can do to help?” His soothing tenor made Skye relax for the first time since Justin and Frannie had told her about Ashley’s disappearance.

  “I don’t think so, but thanks for offering.”

  Once they finished their entrées and the tables were cleared, the room was darkened and a masculine voice boomed over the loudspeakers, “We have a special treat for you tonight. Instead of a traditional dessert, our factory has constructed the largest chocolate fountain in the country.” A spotlight aimed at the center front of the room flared to life, illuminating a tublike vessel about the circumference of a child’s wading pool and nearly as tall as a refrigerator. From its four spouts chocolate flowed in a continual stream.

  After a second of silent appreciation, applause and excited chatter broke out among the audience. Flashbulbs went off as newspaper photographers took pictures. Even TV cameramen jockeyed for good shots.

  Once the noise and activity decreased, the voice said, “Tables one through four are invited to come up and get your dessert now.”

  May was the first one out of her seat. From the table near the fountain she piled her plate with slices of banana, small squares of angel food cake, and a small mountain of strawberries.

  Simon was behind Skye, and as he made his selections he murmured to her, “I can think of something I’d rather drizzle chocolate over than this stuff.”

  Her face flooded with warmth, but she pretended not to have heard him. They had broken up at the end of last summer because she thought he had cheated on her. At the time he had refused to explain himself, and Skye had not learned until Thanksgiving that the woman she had discovered him with was his half sister, not a girlfriend. By then Skye had become involved with Wally, and Simon’s explanation involving family secrets was too late.

  Since finding out Simon’s big secret, she had seen him here and there, but hadn’t spent any time with him. Skye considered their relationship over, and she wasn’t ready to be just friends. Was Simon saying he felt otherwise? Was he just flattering her or was he intimating that he wanted her back?

  Before she could figure out his intentions or decide what to do about them—she really was very happy with Wally— a voice came over the PA system.

  Clearly the person speaking didn’t mean for the whole place to hear him when he said, “What do you mean, you might not sell Fine Foods? You can’t pull out of a deal like this. They’ll sue us, you crazy old woman.”

  Grandma Sal’s voice was easily recognizable. “I haven’t signed anything, and behavior like this won’t get me to. You’d better watch your manners and remember who owns the majority of Fine Foods.”

  “I’ve slaved my whole life for this company. You’d better not try to screw me out of my share now.”

  “It’s not your name and face on the products; it’s mine, and I have to do what I think is right for both the business and its employees.”

  “And I have to do what I think is necessary for me. I’m warning you that if you get in my way on this deal, I’ll be forced to get rid of you.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Add Egg Yolks

  No human being should be forced to get out of bed at five in the morning. Skye stuck an arm out from under the covers and thumped her squealing alarm. She usually woke to the sound of music, or at least a deejay’s serene baritone, but she had purposely changed the setting to buzzer, knowing that anything less wouldn’t rouse her at this ungodly hour.

  May was picking her up at ten to six. She’d insisted they needed the full three hours allotted for practice, and while Skye didn’t disagree, she knew her mom hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that no amount of preparation would make Skye’s cooking edible.

  Skye had tried to talk May into meeting her at the factory, intending to arrive later in the morning, but May knew her too well and had vetoed that suggestion. At the time it had seemed too much trouble to argue, but now that she actually had to get up at the crack of dawn, Skye wished she had insisted on driving herself.

  It was too late to change things now, and Skye set a new personal record for showering, dressing, and gulping down a cup of Earl Grey tea. She was waiting on the porch when her mother pulled into the driveway. She slid into the passenger side of May’s Oldsmobile and slumped back on the seat, closing her eyes.

  “Good morning.” May chirped. Skye winced.

  “Morning,” Skye mumbled, refusing to call anything that started this early “good.”

  “Isn’t this a beautiful day?”

  “If you like the wind whipping down the plains.” Skye squirmed in her seat. “My poor tulips have been stripped of all their petals.”

  “You sound grumpy.” May expertly backed out of the long drive. “What’s wrong? Are you sleepy, hungry?”

  “No. And I’m not Happy, Dopey, or any of the other Seven Dwarfs either.”

  “Then what’s up?” May ignored Skye’s feeble attempt at humor.

  “Nothing. I’m fine. You know I’m not a morning person. Just give me a chance to wake up.”

  May huffed, but was silent for only a few seconds before saying, “Who do you think that was arguing with Grandma Sal over the PA last night?”

  Skye forced open one eye. “Who else could it be but her son, Jared?”

  “Yep, that’s what everyone else I talked to on the phone this morning is thinking too.”

  It didn’t surprise Skye that May had already polled people about the incident. Her mother’s group of friends got up before the birds, and had a better communication network than AT&T.

  May was silent for another couple of seconds, then changed the subject, a dark look clouding her usual sunny expression. “All I can say is that if Cherry Alexander messes with my ingredients today, I’ll make cherries flambé out of her.”

  “Mom, you don’t know that Cherry was behind the salt/sugar mixup.”

  May ignored Skye’s interjection. “Yesterday my cake turned out flat as a training bra. That won’t happen again. Today I’ll check everything as soon as I get there, and no one will get near my kitchen.”

  Skye closed both eyes again. “Sounds like a plan, Mom.”

  Before Skye could doze off again, May commented, “You and Simon seemed to be pretty cozy last night.”

  Skye shrugged, keeping her eyes shut. Simon was not a subject she was ready to discuss before she was fully awake and armed with all her senses.

  May continued, “Barb and her husband commented on how well you two danced together.”

  Darn! After the dinner the front area had been cleared for dancing. A local band had been hired to provide the music. In a moment of weakness and—Skye might as well admit it—pique at Wally’s absence, she had agreed to one waltz with Simon.

  Skye shrugged again, then realized she’d better nip May’s fantasies in the bud before they grew into Barbie’s Dream Wedding. “Simon and I have had a lot of practice dancing together. It doesn’t mean a thing. After all, he danced with several of the women present.”

  “They were all married or old enough to be his mother.” May put on her turn signal and slowed down, then eased the big car into the nearly empty factory parking lot.

  As soon as May stopped the Olds, Skye leaped out and hurried toward the warehouse entrance. She had to get away from her mother and clear her mind. It was time to become one with the casserole.

  May lagged behind, hefting a box and two canvas bags she
’d taken from the trunk. Skye watched as her mother struggled under her load. What in the world did she have in the box, not to mention the bags? Grandma Sal’s people were providing all the ingredients, pans, and utensils, although they had said it was okay to bring your own.

  Skye was torn between giving May a hand and completing her escape. Just as she was about to go back and help, someone dressed in a dirty factory jumpsuit, wearing both a hairnet and a net over the lower half of his face, rushed past May. Skye couldn’t hear what her mother said, but the worker stopped, turned around, and took the box from her mom’s arms.

  Skye’s mouth hung open as she saw the person close the lid of the trunk and allow May to lead the way. Her mother was truly amazing. She could guilt nearly anyone into doing nearly anything.

  Smiling, Skye turned back to her original goal, and sprinted the last few steps to the warehouse entrance. As she reached for the handle the door smashed into her. She teetered backward, trying to regain her balance, but before she recovered her uncle Dante rushed out of the building shouting something unintelligible. In the process he slammed into her and she fell onto her derriere.

  May was his next victim. Dante hit her like a champion in a belly-bucking contest. The two bags she was carrying flew upward, spreading kitchenware in an impressively large arc. A sudden gust of air caught the lighter articles and carried them away.

  The person carrying May’s box dropped it and took off running like the space shuttle blasting into orbit.

  As Skye struggled to her feet and hurried over to her downed relatives, she wondered if May’s helper could out-run the wind. “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “I’m fine.” May had already gotten to her knees and was retrieving the cooking items from the grass.

  “Uncle Dante.” Skye squatted down level with the mayor, who was still sitting, stunned, on the sidewalk. “What happened?”

  At first his response was gibberish, but finally Skye made out a few words. She heard him say, woman, dead, and chocolate.

  The last explained the wet brown stain on Dante’s ample shirtfront, but that still left the most important question: Who was dead? Was it Grandma Sal? After all, they had all heard her being threatened by her son last night.

  Her heart pounding in alarm, Skye looked around. Her mother hadn’t heard Dante’s mumblings—she was still picking utensils out of the grass—and no one else was in sight. The guy in the jumpsuit had not returned, and Skye figured he was probably late for work or didn’t want to get involved with the crazy people. She checked again, but no one else had materialized, which left her in charge.

  She brought her attention back to her uncle and asked, “Who’s dead? Are you sure they aren’t just hurt? Did you call for help?”

  Dante was rubbing at the chocolate on his shirt, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Out, out damn spot,” and didn’t seem to hear Skye’s questions or feel her shaking him.

  Deciding that he would be of no help for quite some time, Skye reached around him and unclipped the cell phone from his belt. Dante frowned momentarily, but didn’t stop in his stain-removal efforts.

  Rising to her feet, she dialed 911. Due to May’s absence, the PD was shorthanded and Thea was on duty again, but this time Skye cut off her social chat and said, “Thea, Skye here. We have a problem at the Grandma Sal’s factory. Send the police and an ambulance. I’m not sure exactly what the situation is. My witness isn’t coherent at the moment.”

  The dispatcher instantly snapped into professional mode. “Someone will be there in a few minutes. Don’t hang up, in case you need help.”

  “Fine.” Skye left the line open, but wanted her hands free. She had no pockets and was afraid that if she put the phone into her tote bag she’d never find it again. Shrugging, she slipped it into her cleavage. The little antenna sticking out from her chest looked a tad strange, but there was nothing normal about this situation.

  Skye’s mother had finally retrieved all her belongings and noticed that Dante was sitting on the sidewalk in a nearly catatonic state. Now that her whisk was safe and her measuring spoons out of harm’s way, May focused on trying to snap her brother out of his stupor, but he still wasn’t putting together coherent sentences.

  Since Skye was the new Scumble River Police Department psychological consultant, she would no doubt be assigned to debrief her uncle once Wally arrived, but for now she felt that securing the scene of the crime was more important.

  She positioned herself in front of the door, determined to keep anyone from entering before the police arrived. Dante’s exit had jammed the door into an open position, and the wind was blowing debris from the yard inside. She chewed her lip, wondering if she should close the door.

  The longer Skye waited, the more she second-guessed herself. Maybe she should have checked to see what Dante was mumbling about before calling 911. What if he’d had a psychotic break, and there was nothing wrong inside the building?

  Before the police had employed her she would have gone in and scoped out the situation, but now she felt obligated to be more restrained and professional.

  While she was considering her next move, an earsplitting scream from just beyond the warehouse doors prodded her into action, and without thinking Skye rushed inside. As she ran she dug through her purse until she found the pepper spray she always carried. Holding the canister at the ready, she followed the sound of the screams.

  Last night the party had taken place in the rear of the warehouse. Although the tables had been cleared, they were still arranged as they had been for the dinner, facing the back wall near the dessert station and dance floor.

  As Skye wound her way through the table maze, she saw that the dance floor was clear, but to her left, standing frozen by the chocolate fountain, was Diane White, the cookie blogger. She stood in the famous Home Alone pose, hands to cheeks with mouth and eyes rounded into giant Os.

  Looking past the shrieking woman, Skye saw a pair of five-hundred-dollar Vera Wang sandals sticking up from the chocolate fountain. They weren’t moving. Skye approached Diane warily, not sure what role the blogger had played in this particular tragedy. Was she the innocent witness, or was she the diabolical killer, sneaking back to clean up her tracks?

  Skye was pretty sure the woman in the fountain had been murdered. Suicide by chocolate or natural death via cocoa was a bit of a stretch, even for Skye’s active imagination.

  “Diane, calm down. Everything’s fine. The police will be here any minute.” When the blogger continued to shriek, Skye’s palms itched to slap her, but luckily for the finalist the Scumble River police force arrived, and Skye stepped back and allowed them to handle the hysterical woman.

  Wally, gun drawn, raced into the warehouse, followed by Anthony, one of the part-time officers who also had his firearm at the ready. Both men aimed their weapons at Diane, who swallowed a scream in midscreech and promptly began to choke.

  Without taking his eyes from the suspect, Wally asked Skye, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “What about her?” He indicated the coughing woman.

  “I heard her start to scream a minute or two ago, which was several minutes after Dante came running out of here covered in chocolate and muttering about a dead woman.”

  Wally nodded. “Anthony, pat her down, then get her out of here and have the paramedics take a look at her, but don’t let her leave.”

  The officer complied. He didn’t find any weapons on the blogger and took her outside.

  As soon as they were gone, Wally rushed to Skye and took her in his arms. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He smoothed the hair off her forehead. “Thea was hysterical. She said you didn’t answer her, and all she could hear on the phone was screaming.”

  Guiltily Skye reached into her bra and withdrew Dante’s cell. “I… ah … forgot I had it on. Once the yelling started I followed my instincts.”

  As a pair of EMTs ran in, Skye reluctantly withdrew from the safe haven of Wally
’s arms. He kissed her on the temple, gave her one last squeeze, and then joined the paramedics at the chocolate fountain.

  Suddenly Skye felt dizzy and sank into a nearby chair. Her view was a bit obstructed, but it was clear from the snatches of conversation she heard and the body language of the EMTs that the woman in the fountain was dead.

  There was a short argument between Wally and one of the paramedics, who was obviously inexperienced. The newbie wanted to remove the body from the chocolate, but Wally insisted they wait for the coroner.

  Skye cringed. It was obvious to her that Wally’s legendary patience was growing thin. She could see the irritability on his face and the way his shoulders twitched. Unfortunately the EMT didn’t seem to notice, and Skye was afraid that Wally would take a swing at the guy, whose persistent questions were as annoying as a two-year-old demanding a toy at Wal-Mart.

  Fortunately, before Wally decided to deck the guy, Simon rushed in, and, as county coroner, took over.

  Skye watched Wally step aside and speak into the radio clipped to his shoulder. She guessed he was calling the county crime scene techs. For a while Scumble River couldn’t get assistance from the county because the sheriff blamed Skye and Wally for opening an investigation into his conduct on a previous case. But a few weeks ago the old sheriff had finally been removed, and his temporary replacement was a reasonable man who didn’t hold a grudge.

  A quick glance at her watch told Skye that it was nearly six thirty. She knew it would take at least three-quarters of an hour, maybe more, for the techs to arrive. They were based in Laurel, the county seat, which was forty-five miles of secondary roads away.

  Pulling herself together, Skye rose from her seat and walked over to Wally. “Is there anything you want me to do while we wait for the techs to get here?”