Fatal Chocolate Obsession (Death by Chocolate Book 5) (4 page)

A space alien wearing beige coveralls and a plastic helmet of some sort came out to greet me. The alien lifted the plastic shield off Brandon’s face. “Hi, Lindsay. You can come on in. I’ve already cleared a space for you.” He indicated the right side of the open doorway.

I drove into the structure and got out. Half a dozen cars in various stages of repair from crunched like an accordion to smooth and shiny occupied bays along the length of the structure. Obviously a legitimate business. I made a mental note to tell Paula her suspicions were once again unfounded.

Brandon came over to join me. “I’m so glad you made it.” The coveralls were spotted and stained. That was reassuring too, explained how he could stay so clean when he was doing a dirty job.

I waved a hand toward my battered but beautiful car. “What do you think? Can you make her look all shiny and new?”

“It will be my pleasure. Why don’t you have a seat in the office? It’s air conditioned.” He indicated a small cubicle in the back. “I’ll have a look at this gem and see what we can do with her.”

“Works for me.” I started toward the office.

An older man emerged from another room in the back. His father? He was a little shorter than Brandon but had the same brown hair and eyes. I could see a faint resemblance, but the older man was muscular and rough with pock-marked skin and bushy brows low over narrow eyes. He looked vaguely familiar—maybe because he looked like Brandon or maybe I’d seen him in Death by Chocolate before.

When he saw me, he smiled, but the expression didn’t improve his appearance. I could see this man collecting DUIs and getting accused of sexual harassment. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Brandon’s looking at my car.” I motioned toward my vehicle where Brandon stood, his face expressionless, watching us. “Paint job.”

“Well, you’ve brought it to the right place. I’m Grady Mathis, the owner here.” He extended a calloused hand.

“I’m Lindsay Powell. Nice to meet you.” I accepted his hand and immediately wished for a Handi Wipe.

I was overreacting. The man’s hand was clean and dry. I forced a smile and gave myself a mental slap. Grady Mathis was being polite. If Fred hadn’t told me about his background, I’d probably have thought he was a perfectly nice man.

Or not.

“We’ll take good care of you, Lindsay.”

I flinched. Why did he say
we’ll take good care of you
and not
we’ll take good care of your car
? Why was I being so silly? “Good. Great. I’ll just wait in here.”

I fled to the small office, dropped onto the cracked vinyl covered seat of one of the two chairs and picked up a tattered
People
magazine. I opened it but didn’t look at the pages. Instead I watched Grady Mathis walk toward Brandon where he stood beside my car, making notes on a form on a clipboard. Brandon looked up and the two men started talking.

I should have closed the door. I didn’t. Instead I strained to hear what they were saying. Pretty boring. Not worth the effort expended. A lot of technical terms about repairing the dents in my car and how the paint job should be done.

Then the subject of cost came up and Brandon told him the deal he’d struck with me. The older Mathis’ voice got really low and I could no longer hear even the occasional word. However, I could tell from his tone that he was angry. Darn! Suddenly I felt guilty. Yes, guilty because somebody hit my car.

When Mathis shoved Brandon, I’d had enough.

I dropped all pretense of looking at the magazine and marched toward them. The conversation ceased and both men looked at me. Brandon smiled tentatively and his father leered.

“My car seems to be causing a problem. I think I’d better take it somewhere else. Brandon, I appreciate your offer, but this isn’t a good idea.”

I reached for the door handle but Grady Mathis stepped in front of me. “I’m sorry you had to hear our family problems,” he said. “My fault. My boy screwed up and he’s trying to make it right. I’d appreciate it if you’d let us do that.”

“Please.” Brandon’s voice was small like that of a child. I felt a rush of sympathy for him. Obviously his father was a bully. No wonder Brandon seemed so meek and grateful for every kind word. Probably didn’t get many of them at home. I’d have to pay more attention to him and give him a little extra chocolate from time to time.

In the meanwhile, I’d get the estimate and get out of that place as fast as I could. I looked at my watch. “Okay, but I have an appointment in half an hour.” That was the truth. An appointment to feed my cat. Henry would be starving by the time I got home.

“No problem,” Mathis assured me. “Have a seat. We’ll get right on it.”

I returned to the small room and the
People
magazine while Brandon checked out every inch of my car. Grady Mathis stayed with him a few minutes then came over to stand in the doorway of the office, thick arms crossed over his thick chest. “Sorry about that little scene.”

I pretended to be absorbed in the celebrity pictures in the magazine. “It’s okay. None of my business.”

“Brandon’s a good kid. Just needs a firm hand.”

“He seems like a very nice young man.” I emphasized the last two words.

Brandon appeared behind his father. “Got your estimate finished.”

I rose and took the paper from his hand. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

For a moment I stood motionless waiting for the elder Mathis to move out of my way. I couldn’t get through the door without touching him, and that wasn’t going to happen.

Finally he smiled and stepped back. “Look forward to seeing you again soon.”

I bared my teeth at him and hoped he took the expression for what it was—a threat, not a smile.

Brandon followed me to my car and opened the door. “Don’t let my dad upset you. He’s okay, just a few rough edges.”

“He seems pretty hard on you.”

Brandon dropped his head. “Sometimes, I guess. My mom died a few years ago and I’m all he’s got left.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Brandon lifted his gaze again. “It means a lot that you’re willing to let me fix your car and make up for what I did to you.”

Oh, great. Another guilt trip. Pack my bags and grab my passport.

I drove straight home, desperate to reach the serenity of my house and have a glass of wine. I was beyond the chocolate and Coke stage. I needed alcohol. And maybe a little chocolate.

Henry greeted me at the door, and I could feel my stress level dropping as he wound himself around my legs and purred.

I headed straight for the kitchen with him trotting at my heels. “You’re not going to believe the day I had.” He purred reassuringly. He’s such a good listener.

I stopped in the kitchen doorway and gasped in horror at the specks of red that covered the table and floor and even some of the cabinets. Bits and pieces of rose petals. Some evil creature had shredded my beautiful flowers.

“Henry!”

He looked up, wide blue eyes innocent. But his paws had red stains.

I studied my guilty cat who didn’t look the least bit guilty. In fact, he looked quite pleased with himself.

“I get it,” I said. “I understand what you’re trying to say. I understand the flowers were tainted. But who’s going to clean up this mess?”

We both knew who was going to clean up that mess.

He strolled over to the drawer where I kept the catnip, looked up and meowed.

I threw up my hands and heaved a huge sigh. “Really? Okay, I’m not going to kill you for this, but I’m certainly not going to reward you!”

I cleaned up the shredded flowers, fed Henry and baked some chocolate chip cookies for Fred. I did
not
give Henry catnip. 

When I walked out the door with the cookies, I saw Sophie in white shorts and a white shirt coming out of Fred’s house. It was seven o’clock in the evening. Not really a suspicious time. But I was suspicious. More talk about her financial affairs? Ha!

She saw me and waved. Henry and I hurried over, catching up to her at the end of the sidewalk. Henry gave her a head butt on the leg, and she reached down to pet him.

“How’s the decorating business going?” I asked.

She smiled. Was she blushing? Hard to tell with her olive skin. When I blush, it lights up the room. “Business is good. I signed another new client today. How are chocolate sales?”

“Good.” I searched my mind for something to say besides…
What were you and Fred doing? Of course it’s none of my business, but tell me anyway because I’m nosy.
The only thing that came to mind, the thing that I couldn’t seem to get out of my mind, was Bob’s murder. “Did you hear about my friend who got killed in the alley behind my restaurant?”

She nodded. “I’m so sorry. Fred told me how much you did for the poor man. That was very kind of you.”

I don’t often get accused of being
kind
. I shrugged. “I just gave him some leftovers. He was the one who struggled to get his life back together. So what else did Fred say?”

She waved a hand as if whatever he’d said was inconsequential. “Oh, you know Fred.”

I wasn’t sure I did. “Drop by sometime and we’ll have a glass of wine and some chocolate.” A couple of glasses of wine. Get her tipsy and maybe she’d open up and spill her guts.

“Sounds like fun.” She smiled and headed across the street toward her house.

I watched her for a moment, but it’s just as difficult to read minds from the back as it is from the front. Henry and I turned and went up Fred’s walk.

When we reached Fred’s immaculate flowerbeds with chrysanthemums and dahlias and moonflower vines and other flowers I can’t identify, I stopped and glared at Henry. “You got away with eating my flowers, but don’t get any ideas about touching Fred’s. Some of these are deadly nightshade.” They might have been for all I knew.

He gave me a haughty look and strolled away.

“And don’t come home with mouse fur between your teeth!” I understand it’s the thought that counts, but I just can’t work up the proper appreciation for his little gifts, and they were becoming more frequent as fall approached.

“Are you talking to yourself or to my flowers?”

I looked up at the sound of Fred’s voice.

“I was talking to—” Henry was gone. “Do you want these cookies or not?”

“Of course.” Fred held the door open.

I gave his flowers a final glance. There were no wilted leaves or petals in sight. Fred’s garden elf cleans them all up in the middle of the night.

“I expect to open the door one morning and find Henry with an elf in his mouth.” I handed him the plastic container of cookies and strode into his living room.

“An elf? Are these laced with something other than nuts?”

“Yes, real vanilla. You have lipstick on your shirt.”

He looked down at his immaculate white cotton shirt. “No, I don’t.”

“You had to check to be sure.”

He set the container of cookies on the coffee table. “I’m going to open a bottle of wine. Would you like a glass or have you already had your limit?”

“After the last twenty-four hours, you don’t have enough wine to reach my limit.”

Fred disappeared into the kitchen, and I looked around the room carefully, searching for evidence of what he and Sophie had been doing.

No dust was disturbed on his oak coffee table because there was no dust. The bottoms of his mini blinds were all completely level. Every grain of wood was in place on his hardwood floor. The forest green leather of his sofa and recliner was smooth and showed no signs of human habitation.

“What are you doing?”

I looked up from my close examination of the sofa to see Fred approaching with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

When faced with a question I don’t want to answer, I’ve found the best response is to change the subject. “What did you find out about Bob?”

Fred set the glasses on his coffee table and filled them with red wine then sat in his recliner. Actually, he filled his halfway and mine almost to the brim. “The company your friend was going to work for is A-Plus Construction owned by Nicholas Peterson.”

I picked up my glass, sat on the pristine sofa and took a big gulp of wine. Hearing the name of a real company made Bob’s death even more real, as real as if I’d seen the body. “This Nicholas Peterson, does he have a record?”

“He’s had a few speeding tickets, if that makes you feel better about him, but nothing else. Married to the same woman for thirty years, two daughters, three grandchildren. His colleagues respect him.”

“If Bob had his own construction company, then the two of them would have been business rivals. That could be a motive. Peterson might have been afraid Bob would make a strong comeback, set up on his own again and threaten his company.”

Fred shook his head. “I don’t think so. From what I’ve been able to find, they were always friends. Worked together on a lot of projects.”

I took another sip of wine. “Hmmph. Peterson reentered Bob’s life after all this time, and now Bob’s dead. Doesn’t that sound like an awfully big coincidence to you?”

“The police interviewed him today, and they don’t consider him a person of interest.” His voice went soft, the way it had when we’d talked on the phone earlier. I liked it much better when he was haughty and sarcastic. “Lindsay, you may never know what happened to your friend. This was likely a random attack. He was cleaned up and wearing decent clothes. Somebody may have thought he had money so they killed him for it.”

“He would have had money again and a nice home and maybe another wife. But whoever did this didn’t give him a chance. I don’t believe it was a robbery gone bad, but even if it was, we have to find who did it.”

Fred rose from his chair and came over to me. He produced a tissue and offered it to me.

I sniffed. “I don’t need that.”

“Would you like more wine?”

I looked at my glass and found it mysteriously empty. “Sure.”

He laid the tissue beside me and refilled my glass then went back to his chair.

“Did you have a chance to look over the pictures I sent you?” I asked.

He nodded. “The victim appears to have been standing when someone came up behind him. He started to turn, but the attacker hit him on the side of the head with a blunt instrument.”

“I’m impressed that you can tell all that from the blood spatter pattern in those pictures.”

“That and the pictures of the body in situ that the police took.”

I wasn’t surprised that he’d hacked into the police department’s records. Or maybe he didn’t hack. Maybe he worked for them.

Day trader? Financial analyst?
Not likely.

“So where do we go from here?” I asked. “I think we should question Nicholas Peterson. That’s the only lead we have.”

Fred’s brows drew together in a frown. “It’s not a very good lead. The police interview yielded nothing. You may have to let them handle this one. They have resources we don’t.”

I glared at him, took another sip of wine, and leaned back on the sofa. “You have just as many or more resources than they do, and I have something on my side that none of you do. I cared about Bob. I want his murderer caught. To the cops, he’s just another street person in the wrong place at the wrong time. To me, he was a friend, somebody who mattered. If you won’t help, I’ll do it by myself.”

“Do what? Talk to the man who was going to give Bob another chance by hiring him? What do you think he’s going to tell you?”

“I guess I won’t know until I talk to him. He might be able to give me names of Bob’s enemies.”

“He told the police he didn’t know anybody who’d want to hurt Bob.”

“But you have ways to get information out of people that the police don’t.”

Fred sipped his wine in silence for a couple of minutes. “I think this was a random murder, not something personal.”

He doesn’t like to admit when he’s wrong, but I could tell he was hooked. “You
think
that, but you’re not sure. I do have a point, don’t I?”

He rolled his eyes and sipped his wine. Definitely interested.

“We could catch Peterson at work tomorrow,” I said. “Talk to him, look around to see who else is there and whose ears perk up at the mention of Bob’s name.”

“I’ll do some checking and see if I can find anything to go on. If I can’t, you have to agree to let it go. Deal?”

We were practically on our way to A-Plus Construction. “Deal.”

“Tell me how your trip to the Mathis Paint and Body Shop went.”

I set down my wine. “What makes you think I went there? Do you have me micro-chipped?”

“When we talked earlier today and I suggested I should go with you to take your car in, you said,
Okay
. That means you don’t want to talk about it anymore but you’re going to do as you please and not comply with whatever’s being requested of you.”

Busted! He broke the code!

I told him about my visit to the Mathis Paint and Body Shop.

He opened the container of cookies and carefully selected the most symmetrical one. “I don’t like the sound of those people. I hope you’re not planning to take your car back.”

“No. Of course not.” I twirled my glass and watched the crimson liquid swirl around the curved crystal sides. “Probably not. I mean, I do feel sorry for Brandon, and I think it would help him if he could personally do something to repair the damage he did to my car. They did offer me a really good price. And Brandon has a color picked out for my car that’s absolutely perfect.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t like the idea of you doing business with somebody like Grady Mathis. I’ll talk to the man who works on my car. He’ll give you a decent price and do a good job, and he isn’t a pervert.”

“Okay.”

He looked at me. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t frown, didn’t scrunch his lips or narrow his eyes, but I knew what he was thinking. He’d broken the code. He knew the translation of
okay
. I tried to stare him down but finally gave up.

“All right!” I threw up my hands in submission. “I won’t take my car back to the Mathis boys. Do you want me to put that in writing and get it notarized?”

“If you’d like.”

“I wouldn’t.” I set my empty glass on the coffee table and stood. “I’m going home. I didn’t get much sleep last night. With any sort of luck, I won’t be interrupted by the cops or Rick’s girlfriend tonight.”

“Rick’s girlfriend?”

“Aha! You don’t see everything!” I told him about Ginger’s late-night visit and the bouquet of roses that Henry destroyed.

He frowned. “I don’t like the sound of either of those events.”

I shrugged. “It’s irritating but it’s no big deal. Just Rickhead dumping another woman. He probably has number seventy-three waiting in the wings.”

Both sides of Fred’s mouth slid upward in a grin. “Seventy-three? Have you been keeping track?”

“You know I’m not good with numbers. It could be seventy-four.”

“I’ll keep an eye on your house in case you have any more late night visitations.”

“You have my permission to shoot anybody who comes to my door tonight.”

He arched a well-groomed eyebrow. “Anybody?”

“Well, not Trent and not Paula or Zach, but anybody else.”

“In other words, it’s okay if I shoot Rick.”

“I’ll help you hide the body.” Like Fred would need any help.

He walked me outside and I started down the steps toward the sidewalk. It was dark and I’d had two glasses of wine so I thought I should stick to the sidewalk rather than going cross country through my yard with its irregular patches of grass and a few mole holes.

I turned back on the bottom step of his porch. “I saw Sophie leaving when I came over. More work on her financial affairs?” Yes, it was none of my business, but it never hurts to ask. Worst that can happen is the other person will lie or just won’t answer.

“Yes.”