Death Is Like a Box of Chocolates (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (21 page)

Z
ane met us at the back door. “I got the photos from Denise’s account.” He held up a flash drive, looking triumphant.

“All of them?” Erica asked.

“Ye-up.” He seemed very pleased with himself.

“How many are we talking about?” I asked.

“We put her portraits on a different drive, and there are still thousands.”

“Thousands?” I asked. How could we search through those? “Are they labeled or something?”

He nodded. “Same as before. Geotags and other stuff. And she titled them.”

“Was there a file labeled for the Dansby Gallery?” I asked.

“Let’s see.”

We followed him to his tiny office and he plugged the flash drive into his computer. With a few keystrokes, the screen filled with thumbnail photos. Pages and pages of them. And one of the folders was called Dansby.

“Awesome,” Erica said.

Zane beamed.

We were having a show whether the police approved or not.

“That’s interesting,” Zane said as he clicked on several photos. “The geotags have all been stripped from this folder.”

• • • • • • • • • 

A
s we were cleaning up after closing, the shop phone rang. Something told me not to answer it, but I didn’t listen. “Hey, Fireplug,” Jake the bartender said.

Great. I had a new nickname that made fun of my hair and my size. “Hi,” I said cautiously.

“That jewel you wanted has made an appearance.” His voice was muffled as if trying to keep someone from overhearing.

Did he really think anyone wouldn’t decipher his ingenious code?

I sighed heavily. “Be right there. And thanks.”

I walked back to Erica’s office and found her with her librarian glasses on, deep into a book the size of Nebraska.

“What is that?” I asked.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old
Mitchell’s New General Atlas
.” She gave a sigh as if she’d just finished meditating, or had a massage, or hugged a puppy.

“Jake called.” I gestured out the door before she launched into any more info about her old book. “Opal’s there. Let’s go.”

“Cool!” Erica jumped to her feet.

She drove, since my shoulder was aching like crazy, and I warned her that Henna had told Opal we gave her up as a suspect to the police. “So how do you want to play this?”

“Let’s just apologize as if we did tell them,” she said. “That should diffuse the situation.” She looked at my arm. “You’re getting soda.”

We arrived at the Ear, the parking lot more than half full. “Ready?” I asked, and Erica nodded. The scent of the bar seemed reassuring, always the same mix of beer and sweat.

Jake waved when he saw us. “Michelle and Erica,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Opal’s bleary eyes latched onto us as we walked by her leaning on the bar. “Well if it isn’t Sherlock Shit-for-brains and her sidekick, Wiseass Watson.” Several of her somewhat less drunk friends laughed loudly.

I guess everything’s funnier with alcohol. Wait. Was I Sherlock or Watson?

I was sure that Opal had already been questioned, but we weren’t bound by any police ethics, like not questioning her when she was drunk. I sure hoped sloppy Opal was very different from professional Opal. Tonight she was bleary-eyed, with mascara smudged in the corner of her eyes—one of the reasons I never wore mascara.

We retreated to a booth out of sight of her and her bevy of drunken buddies, and one of Jake’s multitudes of young cousins came over to take our order.

Jake brought over my soda and Erica’s wine, waiting impatiently as a group of heavily made-up girls in their young twenties sloshed by with their appletinis. “Sorry,” he said. “Had to wait for the train of trollops to get out of the way.”

“Lovely alliteration,” Erica said.

“I could’ve sworn you said, ‘Mine!’ about that last one,” I added.

Jake smiled. “Nope. Happily married man here. You must have heard that from Tiny.” He pointed to the middle-aged man wearing a cowboy hat at the bar. “Just so you know, Opal arrived pretty much in that condition. She thinks she’s drinking gin and tonics right now, but there’s barely a drop of gin in there.” He headed back to the bar, just as Opal decided to lurch her way over to us and stand swaying at the edge of our table.

“I’m truly sorry we inadvertently caused you trouble, Opal,” Erica said. “We didn’t mean any harm.”

Opal didn’t look mollified. “I should sue you for libel.”

“You mean slander,” Erica offered.

“Don’t help her,” I hissed. I could tell Erica was about to launch into a long-winded legal explanation of why it was slander and not libel, so I dove in. “You could do that. But think of all that media attention you’d get about what you were doing that night.”

Her glassy eyes seemed unsure.

I continued. “You know those reporters. Just think what a hundred Reeses could uncover.” I couldn’t believe I’d found a use for Reese.

“Opal,” one of her drinking buddies yelled. “Your round!”

She turned unsteadily to gesture to Jake, who nodded back to her, and then she stumbled onto the bench beside Erica. “Why do you even care?” she said. “The guy who did it is dead.”

“We have reason to suspect that Larry wasn’t the killer,” Erica said. “Which means there’s a murderer running around West Riverdale.”

“Not me!” Opal said.

“We never thought it was you,” Erica said. “We just mentioned that you could lose a lot of money with Denise becoming an approved senior-class photographer.”

Opal waved her hand around listlessly. “That was all BS.”

“What do you mean?”

“Peter tol’ me. He was jus’ giving her a trial run,” Opal said. “She still had to get approved by the school board and that takes for freakin’ ever, believe me.”

Really? Denise had seemed so sure she had it.

“Maybe you can help us piece together what happened that night,” Erica said. “Who was hanging out here? Did anyone leave right before eleven?”

“I dunno. I was gone by ten,” Opal said. “I’m told.”

“Who took you home?”

She glanced around as if making sure no one could hear her. “Peter.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay.”

She gave a suggestive shrug and gave us what she thought was a sexy look over her shoulder. “Seems like we both have an alibi.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to appear shocked. Erica had less luck.

“Stop acting all innocent Mrs. High and Mighty,” Opal said to Erica. “People have sex all the time. Like you and that Lieutenant Bobby.”

“We’re not—” she started to respond, and then stopped.

“So you and Peter,” it took all my focus not to call him Principal Palladine, “slept together that night?” I asked, trying to sound totally nonjudgmental.

“Hmm. I’d say we didn’t get much sleep,” she said with a ginny leer.

My face must have betrayed some emotion because she brayed like a cynical donkey.

“You kids think you know everything. And the world’s full of unicorns and rainbows.” She smirked. “People cheat. Even principals cheat. It happens. Get over it.”

“So he stayed with you?” Erica asked.

“He was with me all night long.” She dragged out the last three words. “I have the best alibi.”

“So we haven’t heard this because Principal Palladine was too honorable to tell anyone what happened,” I said.

“Honorable?” She laughed so hard tears started leaking out of her eyes. “You’re such a child.” She lurched to her feet. “Later, losers,” she said, and rejoined her group.

I sat blinking at Erica until Jake came over with two more drinks, even though we’d barely started the first. “I told you. Sometimes it’s better not to know.”

“I guess when you own a bar, you see a lot more than the average person,” I said.

Erica interjected. “So exactly how intoxicated was Opal?”

“Are you still on that?” I asked, exasperated.

“Totally blitzo,” Jake answered. “Bad. Worse even than tonight.”

“Bad enough to totally lose track of time?”

Jake looked wary. “Sure, I guess.”

He started to walk away, but Erica called him back. “Is that the first time Peter has ever taken someone home?”

He shrugged. “As far as I know.”

I stared at her when Jake was out of earshot. “Really? You think Principal Palladine was so diabolical that he could plan ahead to pick up Opal and spend the night with her in order to have an alibi for when he killed Denise?”

She was in her thinking place, and didn’t realize how upset I was. It just couldn’t be the principal.

• • • • • • • • • 

B
ecause of our pact to never be alone until the killer was found, Erica followed me into the shop Monday morning. We locked ourselves in and went our separate ways. Coco was nowhere to be found; she was probably hanging out at the hair salon or the library, the tramp.

I tried to figure out why I was so troubled about Principal Palladine. Part of it had to be the father figure role he’d played right after my parents died. But also how he’d taken my side when Leo had tried to stop me from dropping out of college.

My arm was much better, so I followed the doctor’s orders to keep it in the sling, but was able to use it to stir and lift everything but my largest bowls. I stayed busy making Rosewater Caramels, until I heard raised voices. Imagining the worst, I ran to open the door, but it was just Colleen with the stressed voice, and Erica trying to calm her down.

I heard something about a therapy appointment for Prudence and an unavailable babysitter, and quickly closed the door again. Erica was stuck with the twins again.

A little while later, Erica knocked and peeked her head in. “Zane called! The phone has been turned on and they located it.”

I put down my dried organic rose petals and wiped my hands on the towel tucked into my pocket. “Where?”

“Behind the inconvenience store,” she said.

That was the nickname for the West Riverdale Convenience Store. While they were the only store in town open all night, they never had what anyone needed, unless it was condoms, cold beer, tiny sewing kits or stale Cheetos. It’s where teens gathered to smoke; if our town had a wrong side of the tracks, this store was in it.

“Bean’s on his way here to pick me up,” she continued. “You have to watch the twins.”

“I can’t watch the twins!” I screeched.

“You have to,” Erica said, and opened the door. “You’re already hurt and we don’t know who’s using that phone.”

I came out into the hallway and saw that she had brought the double stroller right outside my kitchen door.

Two blond heads simultaneously turned to stare at me.

“But I don’t know what to do with them.” I tried a high happy voice that I’d often heard parents use but it didn’t come out right with my teeth clenched.

Their heads moved back to see what Erica would say, like they were watching a tennis match.

Erica tried to reassure me. “Just let them sit right here for ten minutes, until Kona comes. She’s always here by nine. Even you can manage them for ten minutes.”

The boys frowned matching frowns, as if they couldn’t believe it either.

“No, I can’t,” I said. “What if, if . . . something happens?”

“Nothing will happen,” she said, edging toward the door. “Boys. Be good.” And then she was gone.

The twins watched her leave with wide eyes and then turned to stare at me with no expression, so simultaneously that it seemed like a crazy CGI special effect. For a horror movie. Then they searched for something more interesting. I swore their little demon heads turned completely around on their necks before they both reached for the seatbelts holding them in their stroller and started wriggling their butts in an odd synchronized dance.

In seconds, they escaped. In different directions.

“Gabe! Graham!” I yelled, which caused them to giggle uncontrollably. I’m not sure which was scarier, their silence or their maniacal laughs.

It didn’t help that they were wearing Dr. Seuss Thing 1 and Thing 2 T-shirts.

Thing 1 headed for a couch in the dining area, throwing one leg up to climb on it, and Thing 2 took off right for the wooden stairs leading to the second floor of the bookstore. I had a vision of him attempting to skydive from the railing and decided he was most urgent. Just as he reached the stairs, he swerved away, laughing over his shoulder at me and running between the aisles of books.

The whole thing reminded me of the velociraptors in
Jurassic Park
.

I ran after him and picked him up with one arm, like a shortstop catching a grounder speeding toward the outfield. He wriggled like an oversized ferret, and I allowed myself a moment of triumph before carrying him back to the café.

It was then that I realized I’d been played. Thing 1 had dragged a chair over to the counter and was shoving an Acai and Blueberry chocolate bar in his face like he was competing in a food-eating contest.

Thing 2 struggled mightily to join his brother and with only one good arm, I was forced to let him go.

They started talking in twin gobbledy-speak and Thing 1 handed the rest of the chocolate bar to his brother. They both looked at me as if they’d found heaven.

• • • • • • • • • 

W
hen Kona arrived, both twins were sitting in my lap, their faces and hands covered with chocolate. They’d insisted on sharing with me, which made my heart melt along with my chocolate, so my face was a mess too.