Death Is Like a Box of Chocolates (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (20 page)

Erica introduced herself to Mr. Dansby.

He dove right in, sounding impatient. “I’d like to purchase the rights to Ms. Coburn’s photos. Who do I need to talk to?”

“Unfortunately,” Erica said, “that will take a while, since no one has been able to find a will.”

“That’s terrible!” He looked aghast. “I advise all of my artists to leave instructions behind about how their work is to be handled upon their passing.”

“It’s too bad she wasn’t yet one of your clients,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down and have some chocolate while we discuss what you’d like to do?”

He stared with disgust mixed with longing at my display case. “I don’t eat processed sugar.”

“Of course not,” she said. “Just coffee then?”

“Espresso?” he asked hopefully as if that would help soothe him.

“So how did you find out about Denise?” Erica asked, oozing concern, as I made his espresso.

“The police came to see me,” he said. “I was shocked at the news.” He clasped his hands and pressed his thumbs together in a weird nervous gesture that was a little hypnotizing. Press. Thumbs turned red. Release. Color went back to white. “I’m assuming the circumstances were suspicious because those police officers asked quite a lot of questions about why I cancelled the appointment. Even after I told them she’d been the one to cancel on me.” Press. Red. Release. White.

I willed my machine to hurry so I could join them.

“That must have been disconcerting, to say the least,” she said, leading him on.

“I’ll say,” he said, as if remembering the affront. “I actually thought I might be under suspicion for a little bit.”

“I’m sure they were satisfied with your alibi,” she said.

Finally! The last bit of espresso dripped out and I delivered it to Eggbert, I mean, Emberton.

“They had to be,” he said. “I was working with my assistant on our next show, a wonderful new artist who uses paper tapestry. The colors! You would not believe the gorgeous landscapes she produces. It’s as if she simplifies nature to its very essence and weaves it for us to experience.”

He and Erica must have taken the same how-to-talk-snooty class.

“So Denise called you directly to tell you she couldn’t be there?” Erica probed. “I find that very surprising since she sat right there telling us she couldn’t wait to show you her work.”

“I already told Michelle that a man pretending to be her assistant called.” He looked where Erica had pointed. Press. Release. “The police told me she didn’t have one. But how could I have known that when he called?”

“Did the police take your phone?”

“Of course not.” He was adamant. “They requested it, but I told them they must produce a warrant first. My whole life is on this phone.”

“Did you tell them the phone number the assistant called from?”

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“What do you want to do with her photos?” I asked. I could tell that Erica really wanted to get a hold of that phone.

He sighed dramatically. “I envision her glorious artwork filling my gallery space with her spirit, the soul of a true artist, interspersed with news articles on her untimely death. It’s a story of a promising young artist whose life was cut short by tragedy.”

I couldn’t help but imagine that scene and then I realized it may have been exactly what the killer was trying to avoid. “Erica, can I talk to you a second?” I grabbed her arm and pulled her out of earshot of our theatrical visitor. “Someone did not want him to see Denise’s photos. What if we hosted a show of Denise’s work? It might flush out whoever wanted to keep her work hidden.” I felt a growing excitement that we could be moving in the right direction.

Erica was intrigued. “That could work. We’d have to obtain her photos from the police. But how would we figure out which she intended to show Emberton?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We just
tell
everyone it was the work she was going to show him.”

“We’ll have to actually set up a show,” she said. “Maybe Emberton can help.”

We walked back to the counter, where he was taking a final sip of the espresso.

Erica sat down facing him. “I think you are the perfect person to handle her work, so I’ll offer you a deal. I will put all of my considerable resources into getting you the rights to her photos in exchange for two things: you hold a memorial show here in West Riverdale first and you also let me borrow your phone for, let’s say, twenty minutes to let my tech guy have a go at it.”

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked.

Erica smiled. “Let’s say we have a vested interest in helping the police solve this thing.”

He looked at me, seeming to reevaluate my injuries. “Oh. A plot twist,” he said. “Amateur sleuths at the ready.”

E
mberton angled his head as if framing pictures of us in his mind. “I’ll agree to your plan only if I get to include photos of you two and your story in my exhibit as well.”

“No,” Erica said. “It wouldn’t be . . . prudent.”

“Ah.” He held out his phone and then pulled it back. “Twenty minutes with the phone. But he has to stay away from everything else on my phone not having to do with that call.”

“Of course,” Erica said.

“Let me see my availability.” Emberton used his phone to review his schedule and then handed it to Erica. “If the show here can be Friday night, it’s a deal.”

We left Egghead tsk-tsking over the small art section of the bookstore while we tracked down Zane.

“What do you think Zane can do with a phone number?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’d like to find out.”

Both of us descended on his office. The walls were floor-to-ceiling metal shelves, most of them stuffed with books. Erica had installed her own climate control system to create the best atmosphere for preserving books.

Zane pushed his bleach-tipped hair out of his eyes and looked at us warily. Maybe our arrival was a little too breathless.

“Hi, Zane.” Erica held out Emberton’s cell. “Someone called this phone on Sunday and we’d like to learn whatever we can from it.”

“Okay,” he said. “Like what?”

“We’re hoping to learn more than the phone number. Who they are? Maybe where they called from?”

“I don’t know anything about phones,” he said.

“Can you find out from one of your hacker buddies?” I asked.

He frowned, affronted. “I’m not a hacker, and I don’t have ‘hacker buddies.’”

Erica sent me a shut-the-heck-up look. I impatiently turned away and pretended to examine a shelf of ancient books.

“Don’t touch those,” Zane said. He was about to stand up to keep me away from them.

I backed away, raising up my one good hand as if he were holding a gun. “Okay, calm down.”

He relaxed back into his seat, but kept a wary eye on me.

Erica brought his attention back to the phone. “Do you know anyone that can get information off of a cell phone?”

“I can ask my professor,” he said, his eyes on me.

I fought back the urge to reach out and poke a random book.

He continued. “She’s always warning us about how easy it is to break into phones, computers and stuff.”

“Can you do it in ten minutes?” I asked. “The guy who owns it is out in the store and wants it back.”

He reached for his phone. “I’ll try.”

• • • • • • • • • 

W
e left him alone and stood in the hall. It certainly wouldn’t help our efforts to hover.

“Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep Emberton from seeing those photos,” I said. Suddenly the excitement of finding a new avenue to investigate seeped away, and I was left with worry and sadness. Was it really possible that something in those photos led to Denise’s murder? And could whoever didn’t want that photo seen be the one who tried to run me down?

Zane joined us in the hall. “She can track where the phone is right now. Do you want her to do that?”

“Yes!” we said at the same time.

“Okay,” Erica said. “Michelle, can you check on our friend and tell him that we’ll just be a few more minutes?”

“Sure,” I said. “But, Zane, one more thing. Do you know where Denise stored her photos?”

“Yeah,” he said. “On two computers and an external drive, and she also had a cloud service.”

Erica asked, excitement in her voice, “Do you know how to get into her cloud service?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Depends on the passwords.”

“Wait,” Erica said. “Will someone—the cloud service or police—be able to trace it to you?”

He frowned. “I’ll ask my professor. I’ll bet she can get in and out without anyone knowing.”

“Okay, try,” Erica said. “But we don’t want you to get into trouble, okay?”

“He couldn’t get in
that
much trouble for just one peek,” I said.

Erica glared at me. “We are not risking Zane’s future over our fishing expedition.”

But what if we caught a big, fat murderer on the hook?
I thought, but kept it to myself.

Emberton was over the moon about the possibility of hosting a memorial show for Denise in such a “quant little town,” as he put it, and even more excited to move the show to his studio afterward. But first we had to get the police to agree.

I called Bobby, who answered with a terse, “I’m on vacation.”

“Really?” My shock was clear even over the phone. I was hit by a truck and he was on vacation?

“Lockett ordered me to take the day off. If you need anything, contact him.” He hung up.

I called him back and it went straight to voice mail. I stared at Erica for a moment, stunned, until I remembered that I’d told Leo he should go back to fishing.

“I know where he is,” I said. “Leo always rents the same cabin near Cunningham Falls.” I had a little flashback to when my whole family would spend a week up there. My mom had liked to complain about the lack of a real kitchen, but we all knew she loved hanging out around the fire pit. I sent Leo a text asking if he was having a good time at Cunningham Falls.

Just got back from fishing,
he texted back.
Caught a bunch of panfish
.

“Let’s go.” I showed her the text. “They’re probably cooking them now.”

We gave Emberton his phone back, said our good-byes and left Kona and Colleen in charge of the store. It took thirty minutes to drive up into the hills, twenty if I’d been driving, and we found Bobby’s car right away. Zane texted us that the phone was turned off and couldn’t be located until it was turned back on.

I was lucky it wasn’t a far walk from the parking lot to their site. Getting hit by a car had taken a lot out of me, and I was huffing and puffing the last few steps.

Leo and Bobby were both enjoying the sunshine and the quiet, leaning back in the most comfortable camping chairs I’d ever seen. They even had extending footrests. The remains of their lunch were scattered around them. Bobby had a baseball cap propped over the top of his face and Leo had removed his prosthetic leg and was rubbing his thigh. He smiled and waved when he saw us.

Bobby must have heard us approach because he stood up and cursed. “I’m not telling you anything,” he said.

I couldn’t see behind his sunglasses. I was pretty sure that Erica was looking at his chest where it was exposed by his open shirt.

“What are you talking about?” I said. “I’m here to see my brother.”

Bobby scowled at Leo. “Why did you tell ’em we were here? This is a no-work zone.”

“Sorry,” Leo said, enjoying Bobby’s discomfort.

“You’ve been holding out on us,” I accused Bobby.

“On so many things.” He sat down in the chair and deliberately put his hat back.

“Guess who showed up today?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. “Emberton Dansby.” I drew out the pronunciation.

He scowled and moved his hat up. “Playing the vulture?”

“Yep,” I said. “He wants to display Denise’s work and thinks he can make a buck off the tragedy.”

Bobby shook his head.

“The thing is,” I said, “having a show in a real gallery is what Denise really wanted.”

He snorted. “You’re leaving out the part about her wanting to be alive for it. And get the money herself. Now it doesn’t benefit anyone but the egghead.”

I smiled. “I called him the same thing! So we were thinking that maybe we should do some kind of show, and the money raised from selling the photos would go to a charity or something. Like for cancer, in honor of her mom.”

He saw right through me. “What are you guys up to?”

“What could be wrong with a show? It could be a wonderful tribute for Denise.” My tone rose higher.

He just stared at me with his head tilted in a do-not-lie-to-me way. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

Erica stepped beside me and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. “It’s obvious that whoever cancelled the appointment with Mr. Dansby didn’t want Denise’s photos to be seen. A public show may be the best way to flush them out.”

Bobby’s jaw tightened. “What the hell are you talking about? Listen, as much as I understand that you’re frustrated, whoever did this is dangerous and you need to stay away from them.”

I rolled my eyes and he appealed to my brother. “This is your sister, Leo. The one who was almost killed last night. Do you want this to turn into a triple murder? That’ll qualify him for serial killer status.”

Inside I quaked at his words, but I scowled to show him how tough I was. Unfortunately, the scowling hurt my face.

Leo got that maybe-I-should-pretend-to-parent squint that had usually preceded some idiotic attempt at grounding me as a teen, and then he relaxed.

It was almost as if I could read his mind. “You’re thinking that the fastest way to get me to do something is to forbid it, right?” I said.

He turned to Bobby. “You’re on your own on this one. Good luck.”

Bobby took some convincing. It helped that we started on the same page; we all believed that finding out who had called Emberton could be the key to unmasking Denise’s killer. And much as he didn’t want to admit it, we were all involved in the investigation, and all targets. The sooner the mystery was solved, the better.

“Lockett will never agree to it,” he warned.

I disagreed. “He cares more about solving the case than he does about us.”

Bobby didn’t argue that point, which made Leo frown.

I changed the subject. “What is Lockett doing with the photos?”

Bobby hesitated but then relented. “He has someone analyzing them to figure out if any of them are incriminating.”

“Aren’t there thousands of photos?” Erica asked, and he nodded.

I tensed. “Don’t you think our idea is better?”

He looked right at Erica. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Finally, he told us more about what the police had learned. Denise’s computer, external hard drive and big leather portfolio had been taken when the chocolate was left in her studio. The second computer that was hidden in her apartment was badly damaged, but they had been able to discover that she used a cloud service. With a warrant, they’d gained access but hadn’t been able to figure out how, or if, her photos were connected.

He agreed to talk to Lockett about the show and let us know as soon as he could.

“Can you answer just one last question?” I asked Bobby. “Then we’ll leave you two alone in your bromance.”

He scowled and I backtracked fast. “We’d just like to know what time they broke in.”

“No,” he said.

“It’s just a time, Bobby,” Erica said.

Bobby stared at her a moment until she looked away. I was sure he wasn’t going to tell us anything and then he said, “Someone broke into the studio at eleven that night and turned off the security alarms and cameras. Ten minutes later, the cameras came back on and the chocolates were sitting on Denise’s counter.”

Erica met his eyes again and the tension grew even more.

Leo shifted in his chair and the creak broke the mood.

Maybe we should retreat to fight another day. “Thanks. You won’t regret it.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I already do.”