Death Is Like a Box of Chocolates (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (17 page)

Then my natural suspicion kicked in. “That’s a little convenient, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” she said, “and I’m only saying what I hope the police find.” She turned to Erica. “We’re still on track for the cook-off and arts festival, right?”

“So far, so good,” Erica said, but I could tell half of her brain was on the theory Gwen was pushing.

“Great!” She clapped her hands together. “And the book signing?”

Erica nodded. “Everything’s going according to schedule.”

“We are so lucky to have such a talented citizen in your brother. And so willing to come back and help out our Boys and Girls Club,” she said. “Just so you know, the press conference will be right before you open tomorrow, and then I’m going to lead everyone over to your store.”

A store full of reporters? “Is that a good idea?”

“I think it’s a fabulous idea,” she said. “They’ll see that everything is back to normal here in West Riverdale.”

With one last bite and a wave, she left.

Something about Gwen made me breathe a sigh of relief when she was gone. “What did our WestRiv Security guy say?”

“He wouldn’t tell me anything,” Erica said, sounding annoyed.

“What?” I asked. “Don’t they work for us?”

“Bobby told them they weren’t allowed to tell us anything while there’s an active investigation,” she said.

“That’s bull. We deserve to know how someone broke in. For our own safety.” I was beginning to sound as sanctimonious as Gwen. “You know, I have Johnny’s cell number from the time he fixed the camera in the back hallway.” I pulled out my phone and swiped down to “S” for “Security.” “I think it’s time we had little Johnny take a look at our broken camera.”

“What broken camera?” Erica asked.

“The one I’m going to break,” I said.

J
ohnny Horton was the son of the security company’s owner, and had started working with the company as soon as he could hook wires together—way below the legal age requirements. No one minded because he was a nice kid. Not the brightest bulb in the pack, but hardworking and good-natured.

He timidly knocked on the door to my kitchen. I’d wanted to leave it open so I could catch him as he came through but the humidity was increasing and I couldn’t risk my chocolates. Soon we’d be hitting the summer swampland levels we were used to.

Denise had usually been our go-to girl to handle any workmen we needed. She’d raised flirting for discounts to an art form, but I’d never been able to fake anything in my life.

Johnny wiped his nose with the back of his hand and hiked up his falling-down pants. I wanted to buy him some suspenders. I bet if I could find Halo ones, he’d wear them.

I pointed. “The light for this camera isn’t on.”

He evaluated the height. “I’ll need the ladder.”

“I have one in my storeroom.” The same one I’d used to pull out the wire.

“What do you think about the Orioles chances this year?” I tried on the way to the storage room.

He shrugged. “They need to beef up their bull pen.”

“
And
their fielding.”

Johnny nodded, took the ladder from me and put it on his bony shoulder. I didn’t know how it even fit.

I tried to think of something else to fill the awkward silence back to the camera. “So, you graduating this year?”

“Yep.” He set the ladder up and climbed it like a monkey. “Here’s your problem. The wire came loose.”

“That’s weird,” I said. “How could it just fall out?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe something long caught on it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re just a little nervous with everything that’s happened here.”

He nodded as if remembering.

“I mean,” I said as if trying to figure it out, “how could someone turn off both the alarms and the cameras? He’d have to be a security genius.”

“Not really.” Johnny took a pair of pliers out of his toolbox that he’d placed on the top rung of the ladder.

I really wanted to ask him how someone could break in, but I backed off instead of stampeding him like Erica said I did. “So how many are at your company?”

“Just the six of us.” He twisted something. “But we have plans to expand to more towns.”

“It must be hard to find qualified people.” I squinted up as if trying to see what he was doing. “You have to know so much technical stuff.”

He shrugged, not really paying attention.

“I mean, it’s not like you can Google how to get around security systems.” I chuckled.

He smiled like he knew something I didn’t.

“What? You can?” I laughed as if that was scandalous. “But you still have to know the codes, right?” When he nodded, I tried again. “I bet you can break into any building in the county,” which was my feeble attempt at Denise-type flirting.

“Nah.” He blushed.

“What if you knew the codes?”

“Well, smart customers change their codes all the time.” He climbed down from the ladder and folded it up.

I didn’t want to admit that the only time we changed ours was when Denise’s studio had been broken into. “But how could someone figure it out?”

Johnny perched the ladder on his shoulder. “He just needs to know the backdoor code.”

“Oh,” I said. “What’s a backdoor code?”

He looked at me like he’d made a terrible mistake. “Uh, nothing.”

“Johnny,” I said in a serious tone. “You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

He looked around as if making sure no one could hear us. “Sometimes the owner wants to use the same code to get into all of their stores or apartments or something.”

“So Yuli has his own code for getting in?” I asked as if it was interesting and not kinda creepy.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But he never uses it. He just wants it for an emergency.”

“That’s so smart,” I said. “And everyone who works for your dad knows that code?”

He shrugged. “It’s in the files.”

“Hey, is it easy to find out if that’s the code someone used to get in Sunday night?” I pushed.

Some kind of self-preservation must have finally kicked in because he went into his dumb teen lingo. “I dunno.”

“Really?” I asked. “You don’t know or you won’t tell me?”

“I don’t know,” he said, but he looked worried.

“Let’s make a deal,” I said in a friendly-but-I-mean-it voice. “You find out if the special code was how he got in, and I won’t tell anyone who told me.”

• • • • • • • • • 

I
found Erica in her office surrounded by books of all shapes and sizes. She was going through a publisher’s catalog of books to be released next quarter. “I’m not surprised Yuli has his own code,” Erica said a little absentmindedly. “He has to be able to enter in case of an emergency.”

I should’ve known she’d think of that. “But in the files where anyone can see it?”

“That’s not very secure,” she agreed.

“Denise would agree.”
Did I say that out loud?
Erica didn’t respond to my morbid humor.

I changed the subject. “How’s Colleen holding up?”

She put the catalog down. “Actually, she’s doing better than I thought she would.”

“I haven’t seen her at the store.” Did that come across as judgmental?

“She’s trying to figure out what she wants to do with . . . everything.” Erica seemed troubled. “And discover how she got to this point.”

“What point? Do you mean with Mark or the store?”

“Mostly family issues,” she said. “As far as I can tell.”

It had to be difficult growing up as the more normal sister to the hotshot boy and genius girl. Erica’s expression turned thoughtful, maybe wondering how she got to this point as well. She had been on some kind of academia fast track and then decided it wasn’t for her and came home. Now she seemed totally happy managing a bookstore and used book business, and helping the academia types with their research. But maybe having more brains and energy than any one person should have had drawbacks I couldn’t see.

It is weird that all three of us ended up here from completely different paths.

She shook herself as if coming out of her introspection. “I want to go back to the beginning and add to the project plan. We need to include everyone with a connection to Denise, no matter how small,” she said. “No matter how much we know and love them.”

“Does that mean you and me?”

She laughed. “Except for us.”

Her cell phone rang and she sighed heavily before answering it. I listened to her side of the conversation, which included “It’s on schedule” and “Of course” and “No problem” over and over. And then she sounded irritated. “You do understand that we’re volunteers, right?”

“What was that about?” I asked when she hung up.

“The president of Get Me Some Solar.” She tossed the phone onto her desk. “He wanted to ensure that everything we had contractually agreed to was on schedule.” She actually gave a little huff. He must have pissed her off.

“What was that last bit about?”

“He kept referring to Gwen like she was our boss,” she said, “and that he’d be reporting to her about our performance. Give me a break.”

Kona had banned me from the back kitchen while she slaved away at tortes and other pastries, so it was the perfect time for Erica and me to work up a quick list of what had changed in Denise’s life soon before her death.

First, her mother died. Second, her ex-boyfriend stole her money. Third, she may have blackmailed him to get the money back and he broke into the store, perhaps to find the photos. More recently, she was named senior-class portrait photographer and was invited, and then disinvited, to show her work to the gallery owner in DC.

“What about the stuff we don’t know about?” Erica asked.

“You’re right,” I realized. “We all assume we know everything about everyone’s lives, but we didn’t know about Mark. Or that Larry stole money from Denise.”

“And I didn’t know you made X-rated chocolate.” Erica smirked.

I groaned and changed the subject. “Maybe we could get Colleen to fill in the blanks?”

“She said she’d stop in later to talk about the opening and the funeral,” Erica said.

“She’ll be here tomorrow for the opening?” So far, Colleen hadn’t been around much, which was totally understandable.

“Of course,” she said.

“So how far back in Denise’s life should we go?” I asked.

Erica put her thinking expression on. “First, two weeks ago. Then month-by-month until, say, six months ago.”

“I’ll check her Facebook page and maybe you can see what Zane can dig up,” I suggested.

• • • • • • • • • 

C
olleen rushed in, this time holding a folder for West Riverdale’s only funeral home instead of a snotty kid.

Erica spoke to her. “We’re at a standstill on this investigation, and I was hoping you could help.” When Colleen nodded, she went on. “What was new in Denise’s life in the past few months?”

“Other than her finding out that my husband was cheating on me?” Colleen’s tone was bitter, but she answered. “She was happy that her photography career seemed ready to take off. Especially when that DC guy finally agreed to see her stuff.” She pushed aside a small stack of the latest teen vampire bestsellers and sat down on the edge of the desk.

“But that jerk of an ex really did a number on her,” she said, disgusted. “Just like a man. He pretended he was trying to turn his life around. Some sob story that he was in therapy now and dealing with his issues of being kicked out of the house when he was fourteen.”

She continued. “Not that he should’ve died or anything, but it was awful the way he constantly criticized her, but made it seem like he was complimenting her. Like saying it was amazing that she had so many clients when anyone can take photos with their phones now. And then he stole her money and left.”

“What did she say about that?” Erica asked.

“She was upset,” Colleen admitted. “She knew she’d been stupid, but she said she was definitely getting her money back.”

• • • • • • • • • 

E
rica was working with Zane, so after looking around for Coco, who was probably warm and cozy in her own home, I drove out to the highway to pick up a sausage and pepperoni pizza from Zelini’s and headed home. It wasn’t until I parked and saw my dark house that I admitted to myself that I’d been hoping to see Bean again. I was worried about the opening on a bunch of different levels, and I didn’t want to be alone.

While I was debating the merits of eating in the car, a huge SUV parked in front of Henna’s house, its Lexus LX insignia right in my face. Someone was compensating for something. A man with slicked-back hair jumped out and adjusted the Bluetooth hooked on his ear. “I’m here.”

I recognized him from our fudge cook-off meeting—that solar company president. What was he doing here?

He pulled out a
Get Me Some Solar
magnetic sign with its happy sun logo and placed it carefully on the passenger door. “Yeah, I know.” His voice was impatient. “The old-lady pitch. I got it. And you can tell Williams that if he isn’t here in ten minutes, he’s fired.”

He made a monkeylike grin to check his teeth in the side mirror before picking up his briefcase and walking toward Henna’s door.

I mentally debated ignoring all that so I could eat my delicious pizza, but curiosity got the best of me and I decided to barge in on what looked like a sales call. Some of that was concern for Henna; she was getting up in years and I didn’t want anyone to take advantage of her. But I was also curious why so many people in town were getting solar panels on their roofs.

“Hi!” I called out and walked toward him. “Are you the solar guy?”

He pulled the Bluetooth off of his ear and sent me a winning smile. “Yes, I am.”

I pointed to my house. “I live next door to Henna. Can I listen to your little pitch too?”

His smile dimmed. “I could schedule—”

I got close enough to touch his arm. “Don’t tell Henna, but her son has asked me to look out for her. She’s starting to have memory ‘issues.’” I pointed to my head and grimaced. “So really, it’d be better for both of you if I was here.”

Henna would kill me if she heard that. I rang the doorbell, not giving him a choice, and Henna opened the door as if she’d been waiting close by.

“Henna!” I hugged her, totally getting in the way of his handshake. “Your solar guy said it would be okay if I joined you for your meeting.” I walked in, and her bewildered expression totally fed into my claim about her memory.

“Terrence Jaffe,” the president said, introducing himself.

“Welcome,” she said, sounding delighted. “My best friend, Sadie, signed up for your service so I’d like to learn more.”

The butterfly motif had spread from the chicken coop and taken up discreet residence in Henna’s house. Compared to her artwork, these butterflies were tiny, and they were scattered across the house, like little fairies in a fantasy painting.

“This is delightful,” I said, pointing to a rainbow-colored one perched on a fern in the corner.