Dangerously Dark (19 page)

“What about the liquid nitrogen tanks?” I persisted. “Austin said the safety wasn't working, but he fixed it before anyone could verify that for sure. That means
he
could have—”

“Tampered with it? To off his rival?” Danny strode to the two tanks. They gleamed like something out of a science fiction movie, silvery and metallic, with circular grab bars at the top and an assortment of valves and dials. Hoses snaked away from each one, enabling refills of the smaller vessels used in Churn PDX's individual ice-cream-freezing machines. “They look okay.”

“You're not an expert,” I pointed out. “Maybe one of the hoses has a leak? The liquid nitrogen is under pressure.”

“If there was a leak, we'd be dead right now.” Danny glanced up from his study of the tanks. “Do you feel dead?”

“Har, har.” I plucked that incriminating piece of plastic wrap from the tongs. I tucked it into my purse for safekeeping, then passed the tongs to Danny. He put them back on the stainless-steel countertop accurately—almost as if he had experience with conducting a search-and-find mission (aka a break-in). “What about Lauren?” I brainstormed. “After all, I'm pretty sure she pushed Austin into the path of an oncoming car.”

Danny hadn't been at Declan's funeral. But I knew what I'd (almost) seen—and what I'd (definitely) heard. Lauren had grunted . . . while pushing Austin into danger to get rid of him?

Danny laughed. “There's no way Lauren could push Austin. He must have four inches and a hundred and fifty pounds on her.”

“She had leverage. He was on a bike at the time,” I informed him. “Plus, Austin's beanie had slipped. He couldn't see to defend himself. It was a perfect opportunity.”

My security expert remained dubious. “Lauren didn't try to kill Austin. For one thing, she's not dumb enough to do it so publicly. She would have waited for a better moment.”

“Nice.” Worryingly, Danny didn't seem fazed by Lauren's potential homicidal tendencies. “And you still want to date her . . . why?”

My echo of his skepticism about my belief in Carissa didn't hit its mark. His knowing smirk told me that much.

“You've seen Lauren, right? Tall, curvy, up for it?”

Ugh.
“Try not to let ‘little Danny' do your thinking for you,” I suggested. “At least until we've solved this murder.”

“Hey,
I
don't even want to be here in ‘Murderville.'” Danny pulled a face at the new nickname he'd coined for Portland, then adjusted the tongs he'd replaced by a millimeter. Satisfied, he looked at me. “The least you can do is let me have some fun.”

“Visit a brewpub. Have a beer. This
is
Beervana, you know.”

I preferred
that
nickname. Or several alternatives I knew.

“There are better things in life,” Danny said, “than beer.”

Name one,
I wanted to say . . . but I knew he would. In detail.

I didn't want to know that much about Danny's love life—especially his sexual shenanigans with Lauren. So I adjusted my purse on my shoulder, then headed for the trailer's door.

At the same moment, it swung open. Someone was coming in.

Eleven

It was a good thing I'd prepared a backup excuse for our presence there, I told myself. Unfortunately, in the heat of the moment, I couldn't remember what it was. Especially once I saw that it was
Janel,
my number one suspect, in the doorway.

It was growing darker outside. (I suddenly wondered how much time I'd wasted arguing “Carissa versus Janel” theories with Danny.) With the lights on in the trailer, I saw Janel clearly.

She saw us, too, and reared back in shock. Today she'd traded her usual slogan T-shirt for one with the Muddle + Spade logo, I noticed. I gawked at her, completely caught off-guard now that the crucial moment was at hand. (Hey, I'm not an expert, remember? What would you do?)

Danny brought up the rear behind me. He actually chuckled.

The cretin. Didn't he know how suspicious this looked?

Plus, as much as I liked Janel's blunt, boisterous ways, there was no denying her probable guilt. She had the means to kill Declan (liquid nitrogen dispensed in an unventilated trailer), a motive (unrequited love), and an opportunity (I glimpsed a key to Carissa's trailer in Janel's hand at that very moment). In my book, all those things added up to
guilty.

“What are
you
doing in here?” she demanded.

Stuck, I got glib. “What does it look like we're doing?”

“It looks like you're getting freaky among the overstock supply of ice-cream cups.” Janel's unswerving gaze darted behind me.
Low down
behind me. About hip height. “Next time, be a gentleman, dude,” she advised Danny. “Bring something to cushion those stainless-steel countertops. They're murder on the hips.”

I swiveled. Danny was stuffing his shirt in his low-riding jeans, giving a convincing impression of someone hastily getting dressed. His hair had gotten messed up somehow, too.

What the . . .?

Aha. That rat.
Janel thought Danny and I had sneaked away for a romantic encounter in Carissa's trailer. Everyone knew it was currently unused. Churn PDX seemed to be on unofficial (indefinite) hiatus while Carissa dealt with losing Declan.

I didn't approve of Danny's diversionary tactic—but as rapidly devised excuses went, it was pretty good. I had to hand it to Danny. He'd covered us.

He'd had a plan B all along. I should have anticipated as much. Now Janel wouldn't know we'd (potentially) found proof of her sabotaging Carissa's trailer and killing Declan. I shivered. Even if Danny didn't agree that's what we'd done (his money seemed to be riding on Carissa), I was getting surer of Janel.

“Declan left me with some pretty wicked bruises a time or two, thanks to all that metal quilting and those stupid grooved edges,” Janel volunteered with a lusty look. “I'm not sure he was sorry, actually. But I'm going to miss him all the same.”

Great. More proof of what a dirtbag Declan was. For a spurned lover, Janel seemed pretty chipper about things. She was basically bragging about getting together with Declan in Carissa's trailer. I guessed that meant their relationship
hadn't
predated his romance (and engagement) with Carissa. He'd definitely been cheating on my friend, and he'd been doing it with Janel.

How else would Janel have had such a ribald story to relate about him? I'd never look at 1950s-diner-style stainless-steel countertops the same way again. Now they were nookie pit stops.

If Carissa had known about Declan's unfaithfulness (maybe because of Janel similarly bragging to
her
)—and reacted by forcing Declan to get a restraining order against Janel—then maybe there was something to Danny's and Travis's theories that my friend might be a different woman than I remembered.

A more vindictive woman.
I'd assumed that Carissa had been pressured into that decision by her well-meaning parents. I mean, who
hasn't
had the experience of blowing off steam about relationship issues with friends, only to have those friends keep nursing a grudge later? Replace “friends” with “parents,” and the dynamic held true. But if Carissa had
wanted
to keep Janel away from Declan by force . . . well, I couldn't really fault her. She wouldn't have been the first person ever to blame the cheated-with instead of the cheater when things got rocky.

Unaware of the rapidly churning wheels in my mistrustful mind, Janel ogled Danny. “Lauren won't like hearing about this.”

He didn't even blink. “Lauren doesn't have to know.”

His smooth willingness to (seemingly) collude with Janel left me flabbergasted. I know I've hinted to you about Danny's sketchy past, but seeing the other side of him in action startled me. Even if it was for a good cause (and it was).

“What are
you
doing in here?” I demanded to distract myself. I nodded at Janel's key. “Carissa didn't give you that.”

“You're right. She didn't.” Carelessly, with no further explanation, Janel gesticulated to move past me. “Excuse me.”

I didn't budge. “You didn't answer my question.”

That's right. I can be pretty hard-nosed when pushed. Or when Danny was there to have my back. Or, you know, both.

Janel's acerbic gaze met Danny's. “This is how she is
after
she's gotten some? Whoa, dude. You must be pretty awful in the sack.” Her attention zoomed past us. “I mean, on the counter.”

Awful in the sack.
Now both me
and
Danny were annoyed.

I folded my arms. “That's not an answer, either.”

“Okay.” Janel shook her head, muttering a swearword. “I'm only putting up with you because you didn't join the lynch mob earlier at Declan's funeral.” I could have sworn her gaze thanked me for that kindness. She heaved a sigh. “I'm just here to pick up some napkins for Tomasz. He's fresh out at the bar.”

Was it me, or was that sigh covering up a conscious pause? The kind of pause a person might use to concoct a bogus excuse?

Not waiting for me to decide, Janel squeezed past me. She spied the box of Lowfold dispenser napkins and approached it.

“I'll get that,” Danny volunteered. Tricky. Deceitful. And always chivalrous—that's my sometime bodyguard for you.

“No, thanks. I've got it.” Expertly, Janel flipped over the box. Using its short side, she was able to pick it up. “See?”

I did see. So did Danny. We both saw that, positioned that way (the way we
hadn't
stacked it two minutes earlier), that box offered an extra several inches of height—height that could have been used by a short woman like Janel to reach the intake register for the trailer's ventilation system and cover it with plastic wrap, preventing fresh oxygen from getting in.

Warily, I edged backward. I couldn't help it.

I ran into Danny. He steadied me. Of course.

Janel groaned under the weight of the box. It was a good thing she was sturdily built. Good for her, not for Declan.

She refused Danny's second helpful gesture. “I've gotten pretty good at handling heavy boxes,” she informed us. “Berk was nice enough to hire me part-time after Declan took out that—well, you know.”
Civil protection order.
“Anyway, Berk knew how much I loved Cartorama. I was working on saving it from those developers at the time. I couldn't have continued if I wasn't allowed to be anywhere near Declan. But if I was working—”

“You
had
to be permitted to be here,” I surmised.

“Something like that.” Janel cracked a rueful smile. “I think nobody else wanted to do all the grunt work of putting up flyers and circulating petitions. Plus, I needed money. Still do. Otherwise”—her gaze turned faraway—“I wouldn't be here.”

Because I'd be mourning Declan.
Her subtext was clear.

But Janel wasn't the type to get bogged down in sentiment, apparently. Meaningfully, she nodded at me. “Hey, aren't you going to be late? You know, for the Chocolate After Dark tour?”

Uh-oh.
I was. In all the excitement, I'd lost track of time. I scampered out of Carissa's trailer with Danny behind me.

Janel followed, awkwardly maneuvering through the doorway with the box of napkins. She aimed her chin toward the Sweet Seductions cart. “Everyone's already gathered over there.” With unnerving cheerfulness, she added, “Catch you later!”

Then Janel trundled off to Muddle + Spade, leaving me and Danny outside our supposed love nest. Reminded of the excuse he'd made up, I shot my security expert a disgruntled look.

“Don't blame me,” he objected with both palms in the air. He frowned toward Janel. “She was just bad-mouthing
my
ability to satisfy a woman. If anyone should be mad here, it's me.”

Then he shut Carissa's trailer door behind us, shot my purse a significant look (reminding me of the evidence inside), and headed over to join the waiting tour attendees.

 

 

Regrettably, I couldn't follow Danny's lead and jump into action as Chocolate After Dark's fearless leader straightaway. I still needed Declan's iPad to check the client list, process late payments, and confirm the tour route before setting off to feast on triple-chocolate-chunk cookies, cocoa cream pie, house-made chocolate-hazelnut spread, and chocolate martinis.

This was where my plan B made things more complicated. I'd thought I would have more time to retrieve Declan's iPad—and (it occurred to me belatedly) to make sure Danny decoded it for me.

He saw me hesitate and doubled back. “What's wrong?”

“Declan's iPad. It's still locked. Even after I get it—”

“It's not locked.” My security expert looked affronted.

“Are you sure? You barely had time to do anything with it.” I gave him a stern look. “Don't screw around with me. I'm going to have to sneak back into Muddle + Spade to get it, so—”

“So I already broke the password.” Danny still looked insulted. “Did you think I just picked locks and busted heads?”

I bit my lip. “Well . . .” I couldn't just say
yes,
could I?

“I'm not a caveman,” Danny informed me with dignity. “I understand technology.” He glanced at the gathered crowd. “Besides, Declan's password wasn't exactly complex.”

“Let me guess. Was it . . . ‘Carissa'?”

My protection expert rolled his eyes.

“‘Declan'?” I deduced. “‘Churn'? ‘Chocolate'? ‘PDX'? ‘123456'?”

I'd read somewhere that the latter number combination was one of the most common (and dumbest) passwords in use, right along with “password.”

That kind of “cleverness” could get you hacked for sure.

We didn't have time to dawdle. Danny knew it. “Boobies.”

I must have misheard him. “‘Boobies'?”

“That was Declan's password.”

“How in the world did you guess that?” I had to ask. I was ashamed of myself for delaying the tour any further, but I was unable to resist. “Why not ‘butts'? Or ‘thighs'? Or ‘good personalities'?”

Danny laughed. “Have you seen Carissa, Lauren, and Janel?”

I frowned, perplexed. “Of course I have. So?”

“So . . .” He had the grace to look abashed—even as he directed a pointed gaze at my chest. “Declan wouldn't have dated
you.
”

I caught Danny's drift and frowned. “That's shortsighted.” To say the least. Not that I was sorry. I don't mind being less than well-endowed . . . and I didn't mind missing out on a loser like Declan. “I wouldn't have dated
him,
either. Just for the record.”

“I know. You like your men tall, blond, and inaccessible.”

Coincidentally, that described Travis to a tee.

“I don't have time to confirm or deny that.” I looked to the waiting group of tour attendees. They weren't at the designated departure point (which was supposed to have been Churn PDX) but at Lauren's cart, Sweet Seductions, just as Janel had said. “I need to get Declan's iPad. Hold them off for me?”

Danny glanced that way, too. Or maybe he was looking at Lauren? Apparently, she wasn't just after Danny; she was after my job, too. Because she'd definitely co-opted my tour attendees.

“No problem,” Danny told me with too much eagerness.

“Try not to get killed in the process,” I warned.

I didn't trust Lauren. No matter how guilty Janel looked (or even Austin, given what I now knew from Tomasz about his
A.M.
activities on the day Declan had died), the siren of Cartorama looked guiltier still. She was even dressed the part of femme fatale, all dolled up in a leopard-print dress, black stilettos, and an Amy Winehouse–style beehive, plus all her tattoos. As usual, she should have looked ridiculous, but . . .

You can fill in the blanks by now. She looked fabulous.

Danny obviously agreed. He'd hinted that his interest in Lauren was purely physical, but the buoyant, boyish look on his face told me that Lauren might mean more than that to him.

He turned to me. Banally, he said, “Are you still here?”

That was my signal to scram. “Nope. I'm already gone.”

Making good on my word, I headed across the busy, fairground-lit cart pod toward Muddle + Spade. As I left, Lauren's husky voice pursued me, trailing me across the lot.

“Declan
really
was one of the
best
people I've ever known,” she was telling the waiting attendees, employing that uniquely pious tone people tended to use when speaking of the dearly departed. “I mean, he loved life
so
much! We
both
loved life. . . .”