Behind Chocolate Bars (15 page)

“Just wait a minute,” I told the kitten.

The twins got very excited to see their uncle bringing out the ladder and dashed toward me, sending Truffles back up a few branches.

“The ladder is for grown-ups, right, boys?” I asked. “You should build a ladder with your blocks.” They went back to the porch but sat down on the steps to watch the excitement.

“Want me to go up?” he asked.

“Let me try first,” I said, and climbed the ladder while Bean held it stable.

Truffles meowed a few times, and then hopped toward the bottom branch again.

“Time to move,” I said, reaching up as high as I could.

The kitten complained a few more times and then reached his paw out to me. I stood on my tiptoes on the highest rung
that I could and then hopped a little to grab Truffles by his scruff.

“Yay!” the boys cheered. “Auntie Schmell is a hero!”

I climbed back down, not letting go of Truffles until he was safely inside the house. Bean's relief was obvious. I even felt a little like a hero.

*   *   *

“K
nock, knock.” West Riverdale's chief of police, Eric Noonan, stood in the doorway of Chocolates and Chapters' kitchen, his shock of gray hair standing more on end than it usually did. He was not happy about another homicide in his small town.

“Hello, Chief,” I said cautiously. His visits never came with good news.

“Michelle,” he started right away, “I've known you a long time. You must stop this nonsense.”

“Do you really believe anything Reese puts in the rag she calls a newspaper?” I asked, but he knew I was trying to get around him.

“I've heard from other sources, as you well know,” he said. “We're dealing with one angry killer.”

“Do you still think Dylan had anything to do with her murder?” I challenged him.

He didn't answer for a moment. “That's not the point.”

“That's exactly the point for us,” I said. “If we
were
actually investigating something, then we'd stop once he was cleared.” I gave him my best pointed stare. “When is that going to happen?”

“I don't know,” the chief admitted. “But you still need to stop.”

*   *   *

W
orking at the Boys and Girls Club that evening didn't give us much respite from Reese's negative publicity. Yvonne, Steve and Jolene were totally on our side, but a few of our teen volunteers didn't show up.

“How's Dylan?” I asked Quinn.

“He's okay,” she said. “Tired of being cooped up.” She paused. “The other kids want me to apologize. They all wanted to come, but their parents kept them away.”

I ended up working angry while stacking tables and chairs, and came away with a strained shoulder. Erica insisted I take a break in the quiet room with an ice pack.

I tried Star, and after two rings it went to message. Uh-oh. One ring meant her phone was turned off. Two rings meant she'd rejected my call. Which meant she didn't want to talk to me. Which meant that Leo might have done something stupid.

I left her a message anyway. “Hi, Star. I'm sorry to bother you.” I paused, not knowing exactly what to say. “Could you return this call?”

It took her fifteen minutes, but she called me back. I jumped and hit the Accept button before she could change her mind and hang up. “Star, thanks so much for getting back to me.”

“I don't know where your brother is,” she said in a flat tone. “He isn't returning my calls.”

This was bad. “I'm so sorry. All I can say is he's really messed up and I don't know what to do. I know he loves you, so none of this makes sense.”

She didn't say anything.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. “I think he's having some . . . issues.”

“Ya think?” she said.

“Did he ever tell you about . . . them?” I left the question open.

“Of course,” she said. “And he said he was able to cope with those issues. But if he's gonna be such a wuss, he and his issues can kiss my ass.”

I couldn't help but laugh, even in my worried state. We said our good-byes and I called Bean. He also didn't answer—where was everybody today?—so I sent him a text asking if he knew where Leo was.

Erica opened the door to the haunted house break room while I was emptying the ice pack to put it back on the first-aid shelf.

“I'm really sorry,” she said, her face white with apprehension. “Something happened to your minivan.”

“What?” I asked as I followed her in a dead run toward an exit.

“Someone hit it,” she said, “with a baseball bat.”

I
t was worse than just a baseball bat. Someone had slashed
Stop Now
in white spray paint across my beautiful truffle photos. I nearly cried. Okay, I did cry. I was so proud of this van, which advertised my business and transported my products to my customers.

Erica grabbed my shaking hands and looked me in the eyes. “It's okay,” she said.

When I nodded, still sniffling, she walked me to the retaining wall with the
West Riverdale Boys and Girls Club
sign on it, and made me sit down. Probably to make sure I didn't faint. She called 911, and within minutes, Junior arrived in the West Riverdale police car, sirens wailing and red lights flashing.

We'd been smart enough not to touch anything. With the painted threat, the crime scene techs were sure to be here soon to take fingerprints, at a minimum.

Erica handled Junior's questions, but really the scene in front of me had all the answers. The baseball bat, which had been jammed into the windshield, was a horrible message in itself, without the threatening words.

The van was right under a streetlight. Whoever did it took a real risk of being caught. Were we that close to finding something out about the case that someone felt the need to scare us off? If the killer did this, how many bats did he carry around?

I thought about my own softball bag that I kept in my car all of softball season. I owned four bats myself.

Then Bobby arrived in his own car, trying to be all professional, but I could tell he was worried and ramping up to give us a hard time about our investigation.

“This is Reese's fault,” I said to him from my seat on the wall.

He stared at me, with Junior nervously eyeing him, waiting for direction.

“She wrote that article,” I said, “to instigate something like this to happen.” I needed a place for my growing anger to go, and Reese was an easy target. “I want you to arrest her for it.” Which made complete sense to me.

Bobby paused, choosing his words carefully. “On what grounds?”

“Isn't there some crime for inciting riots?” I asked. “Or hate crimes or something? She incited this hate crime.”

Erica took a step toward me. “Michelle,” she said in her
why don't we all calm down
voice.

“No.” I stood up, as tall as my short body would go. “Officer Robert Simkin. I demand that you arrest Reese Everhard for inciting this criminal act.”

*   *   *

A
n hour later, I'd cooled off a bit. Bobby and Erica had blathered on about “freedom of speech” or some such nonsense, but all I could hear was the white rage in my head.

Then Tommy pulled up in his tricked-out hearse, with Quinn in the front seat and that silly life-sized skeleton waving from the backseat. “Need a ride?” he asked, with a sideways look at Lieutenant Bobby. Quinn must have called Tommy, and they'd decided to rescue me.

“She doesn't,” Bobby said at the same time I said, “I'd love one.”

I ran around to the other side, so I wouldn't have to push the skeleton aside. “Am I done here?” I asked Bobby.

He nodded, not looking very happy about it. He probably wasn't happy about any of it, including taking my poor car in for evidence.

I had to push aside a few action figures and a large stuffed tube with eyes. “What is this?” I held it up so Tommy could see it in the rearview mirror.

He smiled. “Mad cow disease. You have Ebola and flesh-eating Streptococcus back there too.”

He focused on driving away, and I decided not to look too closely at the assorted plush toys around me. “Good thing I had my shots.”

“Scarier than a jack-o'-lantern,” he said.

Quinn turned around from the front passenger seat. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“NP,” Tommy said, the text shortcut for “no problem,” although I'd never heard it spoken aloud.

“Do the police have any idea who did that?” Quinn asked.

“Nope.” I felt my anger flame back up again and forced myself to calm down. “Could be someone connected to the murder, or anyone who read that article and decided to be a real jerk.”

Tommy took a turn off of the road that I didn't expect. “You're not going down Main Street?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said. “Got a shortcut.”

Who needed a shortcut in such a small town? But I stayed quiet.

We ended up on a dirt road that cut between the houses across the street from me and the farm on the other side. The hearse wasn't made to handle bad roads and the ride became extremely bumpy.

We came out a little bit past our house, where the hill that I cursed every time I ran began. Our outside lights were on timers and they were blazing.

And then we all noticed the black car stopped on the hill, on the side of the road. With a clear view of our house.

“Stop,” I said urgently. “Quinn, take a photo of that license plate.”

Teens were way faster at opening apps than I could be.

“Tommy,” I said. “Pull a little closer.”

Quinn opened her window and hung out to take a picture. The flash that seemed as bright as lightning alerted the driver, and he squealed out, past my house and toward town, as fast as a race car.

“Follow him,” I demanded, adrenaline flying through my body. I wanted to catch this guy.

Tommy was already chasing after him, the huge hearse moving faster than I thought it could go.

Quinn scrunched down in her seat and covered her face with her hands, and I realized this was a bad idea. These were kids, for heaven's sake.

“Slow down,” I told Tommy. “It isn't safe.”

“But,” Tommy protested, taking the next turn in a screech, “maybe it's him. The killer.”

“Forget it,” I said. “Quinn took a picture. We got him.”

It helped that when we reached the top of the next hill, the black car was gone. Tommy slowed down and pulled over. He looked over at Quinn. “You okay?”

She unraveled her body from the fetal position and nodded. “That was so cool!” Her shaking hands didn't go with her words, but we let it go.

“Quinn,” I said, “can you email that to me right away? I'll send it to Detective Lockett.”

She nodded, wide-eyed.

“It's a good thing you took that shortcut, Tommy.” My voice was as shaky as Quinn's. “Or we might not have known he was there.”

*   *   *

I
t took quite a while for all of us to settle down. Tommy had walked me inside and insisted on looking around for intruders before leaving to take Quinn home. He even waited at the front door to make sure I turned the security system back on. I was shaken up enough to not question it.

I left a message with my insurance company and also with the company who did the original artwork, hoping my insurance would pay for a good deal of the repair. And then I went online to rent another minivan.

Erica arrived, and I told her about the car watching our house.

“Send me the photo,” she said, and opened her laptop on the kitchen table. She blew it up and we could the see the four rings of the Audi logo as clear as day. But the license plate was a highlighted blur.

“What happened?” I asked.

She frowned. “He must be using a reflective cover to avoid those cameras that take pictures of speeding drivers.”

“So a dead end?” I asked, totally exasperated.

Just then Bean texted me back that he hadn't heard from Leo either. I was so high-strung I wouldn't be good at talking to my brother even if I could track him down. Besides, this nasty business just confirmed that he was right. I didn't want to cause Leo any more stress, and I couldn't deal with a lecture from him.

A few minutes later, Bean called. “What happened to your car?”

“Who told you?” I asked.

“Never mind that,” he said. “Why didn't you or Erica let me know?”

“It just happened,” I said, feeling defensive. “We were going to tell you.”

He was silent for a minute. “Okay,” he said. “Just . . . take care of yourself.”

I softened my tone as well. “Of course. You too.” Then I told him about the car waiting outside our house.

“You were in a car chase in a hearse?” He sounded amused and worried at the same time.

“I know,” I said. “Sounds like bad TV.”

“I can totally picture it,” he said. “Just think about what Tommy's Facebook post is going to be tonight.”

I laughed, sure that Tommy would be the hero of the day once word got out, but hoped both he and Quinn had better sense than to post anything about this online.

Lockett and Bobby arrived at our house, after doing whatever police do with a scene like the rampage on my minivan. “So who'd you piss off this time?” Lockett asked, his face grim, as I led them to the kitchen.

“The list is endless,” I said, my joke falling flat.

“We're actually at a loss,” Erica admitted. “There are just too many people who had an ax to grind with Faith, and we're not any closer to finding out anything important.”

The clever girl never used the word “investigation,” but Lockett didn't quibble.

“I should tell you that someone was watching the house when I got back,” I told Lockett.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

I explained Tommy's shortcut and the black car waiting and our following until it took off. I left out the excessive speed of the chase.

But Lockett wasn't fooled. He turned bright red.

To distract him, Erica pulled up her notes on her computer and let him know everyone we had talked to, along with our disappointing results.

I had a hard time paying attention, wondering if whoever had attacked my car was someone I had talked to, or someone who had read Reese's article and just wanted to scare us off before we figured him, or her, out. Was there any chance the same person was watching our house?

“We'll follow up on everyone on your list, to find out
where they were tonight and the night of Faith's murder,” Lockett said when Erica was finished.

“Do you think this was because of that article?” I asked.

“We won't know until we find out who did it,” he said. “Whoever it was might have followed you or maybe they knew you'd be at the Boys and Girls Club this evening. A lot of people know when the festival is going to open, and that you're both involved.”

Erica walked them out. I was too exhausted to listen to him tell us again to stay away from his investigation, even if it really did seem like it would be for our own good.

*   *   *

T
he next morning was gloomy, matching my mood, with rain clouds looming. I was surprised to see Dylan waiting for me on the back porch to the shop. He got to his feet while I parked.

“Hey,” I said. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm fine,” he said, his haunted eyes telling a different story. “I heard what happened last night and I wanted to apologize for getting you guys into this mess.”

“That is not your fault,” I told him.

“But your car,” he started.

“Again, none of that is your fault,” I insisted. “The police aren't even sure it's connected.”

“Right,” he said with sarcasm.

“You here to work?” I asked, trying to change the subject and get the guilty look off of his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “My dad said I can either work here or go to school. Guess what I picked?”

“Yay for us!” I said. “There are boxes of books calling your name from the storage room.”

*   *   *

P
hoenix stopped by and I groaned inwardly. I hadn't done a thing about my marketing plan, let alone figuring out costs, and I knew he wanted to set up the meeting about possibly merging Erica's and my finances. Outwardly, I said, “Good morning!” a little too cheerily, as if to combat the weirdness in my head. “Cappuccino?”

“You know it. How are you holding up?” he said with sincere sympathy.

“We're okay.”

“Let me know if there's anything I can do.” It didn't sound like a platitude coming from Phoenix.

“I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

“I was thinking that perhaps we should put off any meeting about possible merger plans until after the festival.”

I swung my head to look at him. “Did Erica suggest that?”

“No,” he said, puzzled. “It just seems like the two of you have a lot going on right now and this can wait.”

I couldn't believe Erica and I hadn't talked about it yet. “No, go ahead,” I said, feeling very adult. “We should figure it all out sooner rather than later.”

“I hoped you'd say that.” He pulled out two folders. One labeled
Erica
and one labeled
Michelle
. He handed me mine. “In here is everything you need to consider before making your decision.”

“Everything?” I asked. I riffled through the papers without really focusing on them.

“Including legal papers to create the partnership in the back.” He watched my reaction.

“Whoa,” I said.

“It's a big step,” he said. “I know you'll make the right decision for both of you. Would you like to give Erica her copies?”

I nodded and rushed back to talk to Erica as soon as he left. “Phoenix was here.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, paying more attention to her computer than to me.

“He suggested that we put off the discussion about merging our finances until after the festival,” I said.

“Okay.” She typed a few words and squinted at the screen. “Whatever makes sense.”

“So what do you think about the idea?” I asked.

She must have heard something in my voice because she looked up. “I don't know yet,” she said. “We have to see if it makes sense financially.”

“So, you'd be okay with merging if Phoenix showed us it would save money?” It came out more confrontational than I intended.