Death Is Like a Box of Chocolates (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (24 page)

Kona and Kayla had given each of the ten finalists their own marked plastic container, and all of the fudge entries were to be delivered by nine, well before the opening ceremonies at ten and the blind taste test immediately after.

We had an interesting assortment of fudge finalists. Everything from the standard Old-fashioned Chocolate, Cookies and Cream, and Peanut Butter fudge, to Piña Colada, Mint, and Velveeta Cheese fudge.

Kona and Kayla had outvoted me on that one.

“Love the hat,” I told Kona, who wore a huge beach hat with a scarf woven through it. She’d painted some kind of animated squirrel on the parts of the scarf showing through, so when she whipped her head around, it looked like the creature was chasing an acorn.

We loaded the minivan with two smaller wine coolers to take to our booth at the park, plugged them in and then headed back again for our chocolates, already packed in boxes of four, nine and sixteen. We’d decided to sell only preset boxes, but we could always change gears later in the day if we felt like we were losing sales.

I opened the drawer by the cash register, searching for the Square cell phone attachment that let us take credit cards outside the store, when I noticed Kona’s handwritten cheat sheet listing our top customers’ favorites. She kept it tucked under the cash register, and I’d seen her surreptitiously peek at it a thousand times as people entered.

I hadn’t realized what a wealth of information it contained. Most of our customers liked it when we remembered their favorites, but it was hard to keep them all straight and to stay up-to-date when they changed. Sometimes the new flavors I introduced became favorites and sometimes they didn’t work at all.

I saw the principal listed toward the top and again felt the combination of anger and sadness. Kona had crossed out his old favorite flavors for new ones several times over the last few months. His newest favorite was Black Forest Milks, a popular choice.

“Ready to go?” Kona asked, and I put the paper away.

Early birds were entering the park, some volunteering to help with last-minute odds and ends and some putting down their camping chairs and blankets to reserve space in front of the small stage at the end of one of the rows of booths.

We set up our table for judging, which would be to the right of the stage, in full view of anyone who wanted to watch. I couldn’t imagine that it would be very exciting. Our ten contestants excitedly handed over their entries to Kona, who arranged them on trays with their assigned numbers in front of them. One of the contestants held up a hand. “Can mine be the third entry?” but the others shushed her, telling her that she couldn’t mess around with the order.

Kona was very gracious, saying that the three judges would start at different corners of the table, so there was no advantage in going first, last or third. Then she turned firm. “If the coordinators of the event observe any of you trying to communicate or influence the judges in any way, your entry will be disqualified.”

That caused a little bit of good-natured grumbling. “Guess I better cancel that skywriter,” one of them joked.

My two chef judges arrived together, a married couple who owned rival top restaurants in Frederick. They were rumored to be competing against each other on the newest Grand Chef Network show called
4 Star Chef Showdown
.

I welcomed them and explained the process, and then I heard my cell phone buzz with a notice from my website. Excusing myself, I clicked on the phone and saw I’d received a large order from my hotel. My best customer was back!

A wave of relief made me laugh out loud. My chocolates had survived being a freakin’ murder weapon. They were that good. Maybe even good enough to survive a bad review from Hillary.

Five minutes before ten, a Hummer stretch limo emblazoned with photos of Hillary and logos of her show arrived. It narrowly missed one of the generators before stopping right behind the stage.

I held my breath until the driver placed stairs by the back door and Hillary got out, her thigh-high red leather boots with four-inch-heels leading the way. Her flag-inspired dress was more subdued than yesterday’s, and her assistants also wore some combination of red, white and blue. I wondered if they color coordinated their outfits every day.

Right at ten o’clock, Mayor Gwen and some other members of the town council walked onto the small covered stage. Gwen was back to full professional mode, with her trademark scarf and everything.

“Welcome to the First Annual West Riverdale Great Fudge Cook-off and Arts Festival!”

First annual? How about first and last? At least that involved me.

The crowd gave her a smattering of applause and she smiled.

“This contest is a wonderful kickoff to an amazing weekend of the best family-friendly fun that West Riverdale has to offer. I can’t wait to taste the delicious fudge recipes. A little birdy told me that one of them is actually made with Velveeta cheese! Isn’t that fun?”

She pulled a notecard out of her pocket and glanced at it while the crowd groaned at the mention of the unusual flavor. “I encourage all of you to take advantage of this opportunity to buy artwork from our local artists, eat the delicious cuisine by our food vendors and enjoy our beautiful Maryland sunshine.” She gestured around as if she’d provided the beautiful weather herself.

“I’d like to thank our Titanium Sponsor for all they have done to help get this event off the ground. We all know who it is—Get Me Some Solar. Isn’t that the cutest name?” She led the audience in applause. “Please welcome their president, Terrence Jaffe.”

I stood behind Kona when he ran onto the stage, hoping he didn’t want his laminated info sheet back.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Mayor. We are delighted to work with such a forward-thinking town like West Riverdale. You guys have a great mayor, don’t you?” He applauded and the crowd joined him. “She knows how important green energy is to the future of your town, your country and your world. And we’re happy to help. We hope you all will check out our website and learn how you can make a difference too.”

Reese appeared as if by magic from behind a tent, and cornered him as he jogged down the three steps to the ground. I was dying to know what she was asking him, but then Gwen said into the microphone, “I’d like to welcome Erica Russell and Michelle Serrano to the stage to begin the Great Fudge Cook-off!”

E
rica seemed happy to go up on stage after the mayor’s introduction, but I just waved from the ground.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Gwen yelled into her microphone. “Come on up here.”

Breaking into my stressed smile, I walked up the steps, tripping just a bit as if my feet knew I didn’t want to be onstage. A dull roaring started in my ears, which always happened during any kind of public speaking.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Reese still talking to poor Terrence Jaffe, throwing her arms around him as if she was in a Fellini movie. It was hard not to stare. Even Gwen couldn’t keep her eyes off of them.

“Why don’t you let everyone know how the judging will work?” Gwen shoved the microphone at me, and I’m sure panic showed on my face.

I handed it off to Erica, who went over our simple rules and introduced our judges. The quickly growing crowd applauded politely for the two restaurant chefs, but cheered wildly for Hillary. All three judges waved from their spot behind the judging table, while Gwen introduced the high school jazz club. They clambered onto the stage and Gwen rescued Terrence from Reese’s clutches. I thought I could hear Reese gnashing her teeth from the other side of the stage.

Kona waved at me to join her behind the table. Each judge was given score sheets on clipboards. Hillary directed one of her assistants over; he took the sheets off the simple brown clipboard and put it on an orange plaid–covered one, which seemed to delight Hillary.

She and the other judges took their time walking around the table while the jazz band played, tasting each fudge entry and making notes. Hillary took just the tiniest bite of each one. As she passed my position at one corner of the table, she whispered to me, “I hate fudge.”

I laughed. “Me too!”

The contestants huddled together, waiting for the verdict. Hillary and the two chefs compared their score sheets, and then Hillary started arguing with them in a loud whisper.

Kona was closest and seemed about to burst into laughter. Then all three judges turned around. Hillary was smiling but the others seemed grim.

“Can I announce the winner?” Hillary asked with childlike enthusiasm.

“We’d be honored,” Erica said with a little bow as Hillary danced up the stairs and grabbed the microphone. Hillary started reading from her own score sheet. Had she convinced the others to only use her results? “In third place, Chocolate Raspberry Hedonism!”

Everyone clapped and the contestant ran up on stage to get her gift certificate to Chocolates and Chapters. “In second place, Coconuts in Paradise!”

A disappointed elderly lady didn’t bother with the stairs. She waved from in front of the stage and held her hand up for her gift certificate.

“In first place,” Hillary said slowly, drawing out the suspense, “the winner of the first ever West Riverdale Great Fudge Cook-off is . . .”

The audience groaned at her delay.

“Mint Espresso!” Tonya the nurse’s mom dashed to the stage, hugged Hillary and did a little happy dance before taking her gift certificate from Erica. The audience clapped and the jazz band started up again.

• • • • • • • • • 

I
thanked all of the judges, and Kona remembered to give them their gift baskets filled with chocolates and the latest best-selling books. I invited them all to enjoy the festival, but they had other places to be.

Hillary gave me one last hug and pointed to her assistant, who handed me her card. The whole group piled into the Hummer and left. I felt a wave of relief. Whatever she decided, my chocolates, and I, would be okay.

The First Annual Great Fudge Cook-off was over. I looked over the crowded festival and grinned at Erica. We had done it.

• • • • • • • • • 

K
ona and I joined Kayla at our booth in the food area. Granny’s Funnel Cakes was doing a brisk business along with Dublin Roasters Coffee, but we weren’t selling much. I understood my regulars not buying, since so many had been in the shop this week, but I needed to drum up business with the tourists. Time to pull out the gateway drug. No one could eat just one.

Kayla placed a bunch of the tiny caramels on a chilled silver tray and I dove into the crowd, inviting attendees to take a chocolate along with a business card with our booth number on the back. I was quickly relieved of my chocolate. It was so much fun seeing people enjoying their bite of heaven, especially when many of them headed over to our tent. I walked around the back of Sweeney’s Weenies’ tent and noticed Reese arguing with the mayor. They were too far away for me to hear much except something about Boys and Girls Club funding.

Since the proceeds from Bean’s book launch and silent auction was a fundraiser for the Boys and Girls Club, it got my attention. I inched closer to listen, but then Gwen said loudly, “Can I borrow your pen? Thanks!” and pulled the pen that we all knew was a camera out of Reese’s pocket and walked away.

Reese looked stunned, and I couldn’t resist a smile. She caught me and marched over. “Did you put the mayor up to that?” The way she loomed over me, glaring like a cranky vulture, made me giggle.

“Up to what?” I said. “So she took your pen. Big deal. She’ll return it.”

“You are not that stupid,” she said. “She took my camera so I couldn’t catch her doing something illegal. There is a crapload of corruption going on in this town and everyone goes on their merry way as if this really was Mayberry.”

“What corruption?”

“Where do you think our illustrious mayor is getting her money to run for Congress? Her major donor is Get Me Some Solar. Guess who’s making a bloody fortune off of every installation? And what town in America can afford to offer a five hundred dollar grant to everyone who gets solar?”

“So you think she’s encouraging everyone to install solar, so the company will donate to her campaign?” I started my question with sarcasm but ended it with uncertainty in my voice.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Connect the dots.”

“Do you have any evidence?”

“Not yet, but I will,” she said. “There’s always a weak link and I’m going to find it.”

I saw the mayor shopping at the Peaceful Heart Glass booth. She’d worked so hard for West Riverdale for many years. Would she really sell her soul to make it to Congress?

“You might want to think about why we suddenly need fundraisers for the Boys and Girls Club,” Reese continued. “Maybe because the town council secretly cut their funding in order to pay the stupid rebates.” She stomped off, probably to get another pen camera.

Was that why the mayor had talked us into a fundraiser? I remembered my now-warm silver tray, empty of chocolates, and headed back to the booth.

• • • • • • • • • 

T
he afternoon sped by as Erica dealt with small emergencies and I sold chocolate and helped when I could. Leo showed up for the last hour and introduced me to a lovely woman named Star.

“What a beautiful name,” I said, as I shook her hand enthusiastically.

Leo sent me a “watch it” look and I backed off. But that didn’t stop me from stalking them to a couple of booths as I tried to figure out if he was on a date. As far as I knew, he hadn’t dated since he came home. He touched her back and guided her to the next artist. This was great!

Suddenly it was six p.m. and the First Annual West Riverdale Arts Festival was officially closed.

Kona, Kayla and I were exhausted, and I was a little sunburnt from not putting on my sunscreen early enough in the day.

Bean was on cleanup duty and stopped by in between taking down tents. “Cute,” he said, touching a finger to my nose. “More freckles.”

Wonderful.

“How’d you do today?” he asked.

“Good,” I told him, feeling sweaty and dog tired. “Really, I’m just happy it’s over.”

He smiled. “I’ll have the beer waiting at home.”

Home? Was he thinking of it that way? It gave me a warm feeling.

The mayor was making the rounds of all of the booths, thanking people for their participation. “Michelle, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of the hard work you and the rest of the committee put into this event. It was truly extraordinary.”

“Thanks, Gwen.” I was almost too tired to form words. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“You’ll have just enough time to rest before the book launch tomorrow,” she said ruefully. “We really piled it on for you all, didn’t we?”

Was that a royal ‘we’? “That’ll be easy compared to this,” I said, happy that she finally seemed to realize she’d asked too much. “Hey, while I have you. I had a question about that solar company. I saw this article—”

Anger flared in her eyes and I stopped talking.

“Have you been listening to that crazy Reese?” Her voice was more exasperated than angry, which reassured me.

She patted my arm. “I know how much you and Erica contributed to uncovering Denise’s killer, but you can’t let that go to your head. People are going to think you’re a conspiracy theorist like Reese. I think it’s time to get back to your usual spectacular job of making your delicious chocolate. Or would you rather put out your own private investigator shingle?” she said with a laugh.

I forced a smile. “It’ll be great when everything gets back to normal.”

• • • • • • • • • 

A
cold breeze swept through the park, always an indicator for an incoming storm, and everyone rushed to finish packing up before the showers hit.

We got a little wet unloading everything into our store, but it seemed to energize the bunch of us.

“Let’s get some beer and have everyone meet at our house,” I suggested, and Erica agreed.

I texted invites to a few people, and decided to see what trouble I could cause by including Bobby as well.

Soon our kitchen at home was filled with an impromptu party. To my delight, Leo brought Star and I was able to question, I mean, get to know her. “So where did you meet?” I asked her in my most obnoxious nosy-parker voice.

She looked up at Leo, and he said, “It’s okay.”

“A PTSD support group meeting,” she said simply. “At the West Riverdale Veterans Club.”

I bit my lip. I’d researched services for vets when Leo came home but he’d always rejected them. Finally, he was ready to do what he needed to do to get better. Maybe not all the way back to normal, but further along the path in his new life.

My pride must have shone in my face, because he said, “I’m trying, Berry.” His voice was rough. I resisted hugging him tight, but I may have made Star a little uncomfortable by fawning over her way too much.

Jolene and Steve had brought some of their teen volunteers, along with a cooler full of soda to make sure they stayed away from the beer. Most of them didn’t seem the partying type, but what did I know? They spent the night in the living room playing some game that involved wizards and planeswalkers, spells and lands. It also seemed to involve a lot of arguing and yelling about rules.

Beatrice and Howard stopped by with Sammy, who went straight for the beer. Beatrice started in on him immediately. “We had a great day, Sammy, but now you have to follow up with all those people I took notes on.”

I was pretty sure he rolled his eyes.

When Howard went to stare outside at the rain, his basset-hound eyes seeming even more sad, I joined him at the window. He gave me a brief smile. “Nasty out there, ain’t it?”

“Howard, I have a difficult problem that I need your help with,” I started. “If you were me, and you saw, entirely by accident of course, someone give a lot of money to, um, let’s say someone in authority, what would you do?”

His face turned wary. “It depends who the person is, doesn’t it?”

“Or the person in authority, like, maybe the building inspector.”

His eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder at Beatrice. “Please don’t tell Bea,” he said. “I’m done with that poker game anyway. I told ’em I was out. For good.”

“So that was gambling money?”

“I got a problem, you see?” he said. “Bea made me quit a long time ago. I thought I could handle it now, but that jerk made me keep bidding higher . . .” He shook his head. “It was good that it happened, really. Now I’m truly done.”

The whole thing made me hate that Wayne Chauncey more than ever, but I was relieved that Howard was in the clear.

Bobby stopped by, and I was sure Erica noticed how cute he was with his hair all disheveled from the windy rain. He thanked me for the beer I handed him, and even though he didn’t look at her at all, his attention was on Erica.

I saw Bean watching him and our eyes met. I was the first to turn away.

At midnight, Erica kicked everyone out. Bean went upstairs, sending me an enigmatic smile on his way. What was he doing? Inviting me up? Asking me to invite him down? I was too confused to decide anything.

After diving into my pajamas, I heard a male voice. Peeking out the kitchen window, I saw Erica and Bobby talking on the porch. Like, actually talking. I was dying to find out what that was about but once I hit my bed, I fell asleep instantly.

• • • • • • • • • 

T
he much more relaxed fudge cook-off committee spent the morning collecting silent auction items and setting up the community center for Bean’s book signing. Kona made Erica’s stupid softball cupcakes, which even I had to admit were very cute.