Behind Chocolate Bars (18 page)

The only way for Erica to manage the festival, and for me to help, was on-site. Besides, we didn't want our assistants to miss all the fun, so we decided to close early for the week of the festival. We posted a sign that said, “Chocolate Emergency? Come to the Spooktacular Halloween Festival at the Boys and Girls Club.
If you dare!
”

I wasn't sure about that last part of the sign, which Kona had painted in red ink slashed across the sign and made to look like dripping blood, but I decided to see what kind of feedback I got before replacing it.

Kayla and Kona were hard at work at the Chocolates and
Chapters booth, which was positioned right outside the haunted house. Kayla had made a sign that said,
Haunted house gave you the chills? Chocolate frogs will help!
They were certainly doing a brisk business selling the bags of the little yummy creatures, which we'd made with milk, dark and green-colored white chocolate.

The centerpiece of the festival was the haunted house. Everyone agreed that it was the scariest one ever, even beating out the Mayhem Mansion of 2013, when the slime machine had gone out of control and spewed green gunk all over the gym. Kids had panicked and tracked it everywhere. Yvonne said she still found dried green globs in odd places.

Attendance was booming at all of the carnival games, with little kids huddling around the duck pond to pick up the masked ducks and win a prize, tossing beanbags into mouths of assorted monsters, and bowling small pumpkin-painted balls into ghost-shrouded pins. The teens lined up to shoot basketballs painted to look like zombie heads in the hoop, fling darts at ghost balloons, and throw rings over the bottles with glowing green goo in them. I tried that one. It was impossible.

I'd gone simple with my costume this year, using the same mad-scientist wig, glasses and white lab coat from a few years earlier. I was pulling a tray of bat-shaped chocolate lollipops out of the coolers when my cell phone went off. I ignored it until I heard phones ringing all around me. My phone rang again, and I answered it with a sinking feeling.

It was Quinn, who was working at the entrance. “The police are here. They're looking for Dylan. I think they're going to arrest him!” Quinn said, sounding like she was crying.

“Where is he?” I kept my voice low.

“Zombie room,” she said, sniffling.

“I'll get him,” I told her. Inside I cursed the rule we'd made to have the students keep their phones turned off when they were in character. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with Dylan, just that I needed to protect him.

I dashed into the Boys and Girls Club through a back entrance and was immediately dumped into the surreal world of the prison of nightmares, with bloodied zombie inmates screaming and reaching through bars to get me.

Luckily, Dylan was at the front of the room, and I recognized him right away, even though the fog machine was working overtime. The sound effects were way too loud, so I grabbed his arm and led the way to the quiet room.

I closed the door behind him, muting the screams and loud bangs coming from the other rooms. “The police are here looking for you,” I said. “I'm pretty sure they're here to arrest you. Call your dad.”

He pulled out his phone without question. “Dad,” he said, his voice urgent. “The police are after me. Can you”—his voice broke—“call the lawyer or something?”

I put my hand on his arm while he listened to instructions from his father.

“Okay,” he said, and hung up.

“What do you want to do?” I asked, half wondering if we should make a run for it to Mexico.

Dylan took a deep breath. “He said to go quietly and not answer any questions.”

I thought of the scene that would happen if this poor boy was arrested in front of his friends and everyone else at the festival. And Reese was out there. I shuddered. “Hold on,” I said. “Wash your face and take off that costume. Let's try a different way.”

I called Lockett while Dylan went to the sink. “I hear you're looking for one of my volunteers.”

“Where is he?” His tone was no-nonsense and urgent.

“I'm sure you don't want a huge scene at the festival. Just think what Reese would do with the photos of you arresting a mummy.” Dylan was removing his zombie costume, but I was hoping to delay Lockett in case the police had already made it to the zombie room. “I'll bring him down to the station.”

“When?”

“Fifteen minutes. He needs to get out of his costume.” Dylan had already peeled it off and was in basketball shorts and a West Riverdale High T-shirt.

“Fine,” he said.

And then the door to our little sanctuary opened.

Lockett stood outside with Bobby, both of them grim and determined. “Let's go.”

*   *   *

I
paced the lobby of the police station, still fuming at the police. They'd allowed Dylan to walk out with just Lockett and not handcuffed, but they said there was no way they were letting me bring in a murder suspect alone. I'd called Erica, but I knew it was impossible for her to leave until the festival closed.

Of course, no one would tell me what evidence they'd found that justified arresting Dylan. How could one superhero key ring and a Facebook account lead to this? At least they weren't questioning him until his lawyer arrived. I wondered what the heck was keeping Marino. He was
probably helping some hotshot politician and couldn't be bothered with a small-town kid.

I glared at Bobby, but he was ignoring me. He was even avoiding Bean, who had joined me to provide moral support but seemed to be in hyperobservant mode, listening intently and following everyone's movements.

Then Oscar came running in. He went right past me to the counter. “I confess,” he said to Bobby. “I killed that woman.”

“O
scar.” I jumped up to grab his arm, my heart in my throat. “You don't have to—”

He shook me off. “I confess. Now let my son go.”

Chief Noonan stuck his head out from his office, not looking anywhere near as surprised as I was. Had they planned this? “Mr. Fenton,” he started.

“You have to release Dylan,” Oscar said. “Now.”

“It doesn't work that way,” the chief said. “Come into my office.” He turned to Bobby. “Send in Detective Lockett.”

Then Antony Marino walked in the front door. He looked at Oscar being led by the chief to his office and then turned an accusing eye on me. “What the hell is happening here?”

*   *   *

I
t took well over an hour to sort out, but after questioning Oscar, the police released Dylan. I'd stayed at the police station, texting with Erica, who couldn't leave her duties at the festival, and Quinn, who was keeping the comic book club updated by text. I had no doubt that if Dylan remained in custody, they'd show up at the police station in their costumes soon enough. We did not need the added chaos of students in their superhero, zombie and mummy costumes descending on the police station.

Marino jerked his head for Bean and me to join him as he led a shocked and scared Dylan out of the building. We stopped on the street, out of earshot of any prying police ears. “I'm calling in a top lawyer to represent Oscar Fenton,” Marino said. “Dylan insisted.”

“Thank you,” I said and then turned to Dylan. “Would you like to stay with us until this is sorted out?”

“Mr. Fenton suggested the same thing,” Marino said. “I understand they have no family close by?”

Dylan didn't say anything.

I touched his arm. “We have an extra room,” I said. “But if you want to stay somewhere else, it's okay.”

He shook his head, not meeting my eyes. “It's fine.”

Marino nodded his approval and turned to Dylan. “
Do. Not.
Discuss this case with anyone, however well-intentioned.” He sent Bean a stern look. “Especially reporters.”

He turned to me, and I tried to look innocent.

“Michelle, I'll be calling at least once daily and expect you
to answer the phone immediately,” he said, and turned away before listening to my “Of course.”

Bean walked us to my rental minivan. “Let me know if you need anything.” He looked intensely curious but was holding back on bothering Dylan with any questions.

I unlocked the car and Dylan got in. He stared straight ahead and then his face crumpled. He pointed down the street. “My dad's truck.” It was parked halfway down the block. “I don't want to leave it there.”

“Can you get Oscar's truck to my house?” I asked Bean.

“I'll take care of it,” he said.

I got in and started the car, having no idea what to say to Dylan other than “It will be okay. We'll figure this out.”

He looked back at the police station, as if trying to see his dad. I hoped they would hold Oscar in the comfortable cell they had at the West Riverdale station instead of transferring him to the Frederick jail. I started the car, and just as I was about to pull out, Reese knocked on the window on Dylan's side.

We both jumped.

“Dylan, what do have to say about your father's confession?” she yelled, as though we couldn't hear her through the glass. “Did he take the fall to save you from prison?”

I drove out of there as fast as I could, then opened my window and yelled back, “Get a life!”

It took me several blocks to settle down and realize my tantrum wasn't helping anyone, especially Dylan.

I looked over at him and his face was white.

“I'm really sorry that happened,” I said. “Can you do me a favor and breathe deeply a few times?”

He did as I suggested, and color flooded back to his face.
“She's just the beginning, isn't she?” he said quietly. “It just keeps getting worse and worse.”

There wasn't anything I could do to make Dylan feel any better, except try to find some lead that the police had missed. It was time to ignore Marino's orders not to ask questions. “Do you have any ideas who the real murderer was?”

He shook his head.

“None?”

“No,” he said, and I believed him.

“Do you know why they arrested you?” I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer to that one.

He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “The DNA test came back on the necklace,” he said.

“What necklace?” I asked.

He nodded. “The one my dad gave her.” He closed his eyes as if in pain. “It had her . . . blood on it.”

“Where did the police find it?” My voice was trembling.

“In the secret drawer in my dad's desk. In the workshop,” he said. “I put it there.” His face was so bleak, my heart ached for him.

My heart stopped for a moment and then started thudding. I so didn't want to know what that meant, but I forced myself to talk calmly. “Let's start at the beginning,” I said. “You set up the fake Facebook account.”

He gave a shaky nod. “And then I scheduled a meeting with her. Like, she thought she was meeting my dad at Green Meadows.”

Oh man. This could be bad. “Why did she agree to meet?”

“I said I—I mean, my dad—wanted her help finding a house to buy.” He bit his lip. “I thought if she was interested in his money, she wouldn't say no.”

“Why did you want to meet with her?” I asked.

“I just wanted her to know we knew what she was up to and if she didn't leave my dad alone, we were going to call the police.” He shook his head, as if he couldn't believe how stupid he'd been.

“Then what happened?” I drove slowly, the dark car feeling like a safe refuge from the real world.

“We almost chickened out. And when we got there . . .” He took a deep breath. “She was dead. Her face, her everything, was bashed in.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“We backed away, but then I saw the necklace on the floor,” he said. “My dad used to make them for my mom, and I couldn't stand for it to be there.” He paused and then whispered, “I went back in and took it.”

“And that's how your key ring was left there?”

“I think so,” he said.

That must have been why there were so many footprints at the scene, and why Lockett had thought there might be more than one murderer.

We pulled up in front of our house and I turned the car off. It was a struggle to keep my voice composed and empty of judgment. “Why didn't you tell anyone before? We could have helped you.”

“I thought my dad did it,” he whispered. “And then, it all got so messed up. And I didn't want anyone to know anything,” he said. “And Tommy said we could get in trouble for desecrating the body. And obstruction of justice. And other stuff.”

“Does your dad know?”

He nodded.

I had to ask. “And there's no chance your dad . . .”

“No! That night, we drove around for a while, and when I came home my dad was in his workshop. But I was afraid to talk to him. I found out later he'd finished a set of cupboards he'd just started that day,” he said. “He was definitely home the whole time.” He looked down, red with shame. “I can't believe I doubted him even for a minute.”

“So he's just trying to protect you now with that confession,” I said, tears coming to my eyes.

He nodded and then put his forehead on his bent knees. “How did I screw everything up so bad?”

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “First, have you told Marino all of this?”

He gave a small nod.

Wow. “Why hasn't he done anything with this information?”

He lifted his head. “He said his first job is to make sure I don't go to jail, but I told him he has to make sure everyone knows my dad is innocent too.” He paused. “Or I was going to show the police the video.”

“Video?” I asked, even more shocked than from his other revelations.

“Trent was wearing a GoPro—you know, a video camera on his head,” he said. “We wanted her to confess that she was a fraud, so we could show my dad. And he caught, like, the whole thing.”

For the first time, I felt a ray of hope. “It's all on tape?” Maybe the video would contain evidence to clear Dylan and Oscar.

He nodded.

“Why didn't any of you tell the police? Especially after you knew your dad didn't do it?” I asked.

“We made an oath,” he said, as if it made total sense.

That must be a pretty strong oath. “Did Marino see the video?” I asked.

He shook his head. “He said it wasn't time yet.”

“Well it's time now,” I said. “Where's that tape?”

*   *   *

M
uch as I wanted to see the recording, I didn't want any chain-of-custody issues. Even though that might be ruined already. I called Marino as soon as we got inside. He blustered on about me questioning his client, but I told him he could come and look at it first, or I'd take it to Detective Lockett myself. He ordered his driver to turn around and come to our house.

I called Erica, who was shutting down the festival. “They have a video?” she asked, sounding grim. “I'll bring Tommy, Quinn and Trent to our house.”

I bet this time she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Tommy's hearse arrived first, and Quinn and Trent spilled out. They all had the remains of their zombie makeup around their hairlines and in the creases of their necks. Trent carried an iPad.

Quinn looked the most guilty, although each of them expressed varying levels of remorse as they moved into the kitchen.

While I had to admire their loyalty to Dylan, they could all be in serious trouble with the police. Even if they thought they were protecting their friend's dad, what made them think that holding on to key evidence that could have cleared up this case, and possibly led to an arrest days ago, was in any way okay?

I automatically got everyone hot cocoa, this time with fresh mint leaves, while we waited for Marino to join us.
The teens stayed quiet, and Erica and I didn't harass them with questions. Tommy and Quinn sat on the couch with Dylan in the middle, while Trent perched on the armrest.

Marino's limo arrived and he stepped out, minus his double-breasted suit jacket. “Everyone go outside,” he demanded as he walked up the stairs. “Except Dylan and whoever made the tape.”

We all followed his orders, instinctively staying in the circle of light from the porch lamp. Moths flew against the bulb and the kitchen windows. Marino kept Dylan and Trent in the living room, away from all of our prying eyes.

Tommy and Quinn looked scared, knowing this was do-or-die time for all of them. I had no words to comfort them.

But Erica did. “Whatever happens,” she said. “We're on your side.”

Quinn nodded tearfully and Tommy looked away.

“It'll be okay,” I said.

Marino came out, holding Trent's iPad. “Erica and Michelle. Follow me.”

We walked with him to his car, where he had to wave off his driver, who had already leapt to his feet and opened Marino's door for him. The driver nodded and got back inside.

“If either of you question my client again, I will throw him into protective custody far away from here,” he said. “Do you understand?”

We both nodded.

“I'm taking the tape to Detective Lockett,” he said. “It does not help Oscar, but that's not my concern. As long as the police do not believe that Dylan and his friends are award-winning actors, it does succeed in clearing them of murder. Which is my one and only goal.”

I felt a wave of relief, but then Erica had to ask questions. “How does it clear them?”

He raised his eyebrows at her, annoyed at being challenged. “The video clearly shows that until they arrived, there was only one set of shoe prints at the crime scene.”

“Do you expect the police to file charges over obstruction, or anything else?” she asked.

“If they are feeling vindictive, they might, but I'll make it clear that they were frightened and devastated children when they made that decision,” he said. “And that a reasonable jury would most likely feel the same way.”

He stared at Erica. “However, until the police have arrested the killer, this is not over,” he said. “That video clearly shows the badly beaten body, which demonstrates just how angry and possibly deranged the murderer is. Your brother is quite fond of you and would be very upset if something untoward were to happen.”

Holy cow. He talked like Erica.

His eyes moved to mine. “And you too.” He turned to get into the car, his driver popping out like a jack in the box. “Both of you need to be careful.”

*   *   *

I
t took a long time for any of us to get to sleep that night. Tommy, Quinn and Trent all looked like they wanted to stay with Dylan, but Erica convinced them they had to go home and tell their parents what they'd done.

Erica often paced deep into the night. I usually found the sounds of our century-old house creaking relaxing, but tonight I knew her steps were tinged with worry.

Dylan was quiet in the guest bedroom upstairs, but I couldn't imagine that he was able to sleep either.

My alarm woke me from a deep sleep, feeling way too early, and for the first time in ages, I didn't want to go into the store. Chocolates and Chapters was my home away from home, but I was dreading the gossip that was bound to surround us.

I made myself drive down Main Street and saw that a light in our store was already on, welcoming me and my bad mood.

Kona and Kayla were already there, opening up both sides of the store. They came over to give me a hug. “You okay?” Kona asked.

I shook my head. “It's a mess.”

“Why don't you hang in the back today and we'll handle the Sunday hordes,” Kayla suggested.