Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 01 - Death by Chocolate (3 page)

I gritted my teeth and forced a smile. Paula’s not the only one who can do masks. “I don’t love him the way I love chocolate and Coke.”

We all three laughed. I’m sure Zach didn’t know what he was laughing at, but his mommy and his Aunt Lindsay were laughing, and that made him happy.

A knock on the front door stopped the laughter.

Paula’s eyes went wide, and the blood drained from her face. Total terror. She used to do that regularly at work, freak out every time somebody came into our shop. Fortunately for our profit margin, many people come in every day, and she finally got used to it, but visitors at home were apparently still scary. Of course, she didn’t have visitors at home except for the postman and me.

I was sitting on the sofa and
the mail didn’t come on Sunday.

She set her cup on the table, her hand shaking so badly the coffee sloshed onto her fingers.

“I’ll get it.” I bounced up, handed Zach to her and was at the door before she could protest.

Not that I think she was capable of speech at that moment.

Chapter Two

I opened the door to see two cops on the front porch—a Suit and a Uniform.

The
Uniform looked like a nice guy…young, pleasant expression, a little apologetic as if he hated to interrupt somebody’s Sunday morning. In contrast, the Suit’s face was a study in sharp angles. He did have nice eyes, though, even if they weren’t blue. His were kind of hazel, like trees in the early spring when they’re ready to explode with leaves, and even though they’re still winter-brown, you can see a green shimmer.

The
Suit flashed his badge. “Police,” he said, like I couldn’t recognize the uniforms—both of them.

“Chocolatier,” I said in reply. I couldn’t help myself. Blame it on the Coke and cookies. With all that sugar and caffeine, I was feeling ten feet tall and bullet proof.

The Uniform looked puzzled but one corner of the Suit’s mouth quirked upward like he wanted to smile but knew he shouldn’t.

He looked me over from my messy hair to my bare feet, so I did the same to him, not that I could tell much from the blue suit, sedate tie and white shirt. Well, the tie was knotted a little crooked and the white shirt was kind of rumpled. Add all that to the trees-in-spring eyes, the way he’d almost smiled at my joke, and I was prepared to like him…unless he wanted to write me a speeding ticket, that is.

“Are you Paula Walters?” he asked.

“No.” I felt reluctant to volunteer any information, and not just because of my paranoia about traffic tickets. I could sense waves of fear emanating from Paula who remained on the sofa behind me. She was always a very careful driver, so careful I sometimes wanted to lean out the passenger door and push off with one foot to make her go faster. This wasn’t about a speeding ticket.

“Is Paula Walters here?” the Suit asked, exasperation evident in his voice. The angles of his face seemed to become even sharper than before.

“Yes,” I answered.

He waited.

So did I.

“Could we speak to her?” He was practically gritting his teeth. Now I was the one who had to suppress a smile. It’s not often I can frustrate a cop…though I always make an effort.

Reluctantly, I turned back to my friend. She was standing now, holding Zach tightly, her knuckles white. I’d thought her face was pale before, but now she could have been an understudy for
Casper. Her eyes were wide, the pupils pinpoints.

I suddenly felt helpless, as though I were turning her over to the executioner. Damn it, I should have found some way to make her tell me those secrets so we could have fixed whatever was wrong.

Yeah, right, like I’d fixed my own life.

She marched bravely toward the door, handing Zach to me as she passed. Zach pointed at the men and smiled. “Pees man!”

“That’s right,” I said. “Policeman. Policemen are our friends.” At that moment I didn’t really believe that any more than I believed it when one of them stopped me on the highway, but was trying to score some brownie points. I had a feeling Paula was going to need a few of those.

Paula moved directly in front of the door and straightened her spine. “I’m Paula Walters.”
She was standing tall, but she sounded tiny and weak.

“Can we talk to you for a minute?”
the Suit asked.

Paula darted a quick glance behind her, as if she were looking for an escape route, and I remembered her question that first day about whether the house had a
nother exit.

My heart sank. What was going on? Did her fear go beyond worry about an abusive husband? Had Rick been right? Was my friend a fugitive?
Was she an ax murderer after all?

I couldn’t imagine quiet, gentle Paula doing anything bad. Of course,
bad
and
illegal
are not necessarily synonymous. Take, for instance, an innocent person going a few miles over the artificially-imposed speed limit.

However, Paula did not look innocent as she stood rigidly inside the screen door, her stare fixed on the cops on her front porch.
She looked scared…and guilty.

“What
do you want to talk to me about?” Her voice was a barely audible croak.

“Lester McKay,” the Suit replied. “Can we come in?”

And I’d thought Paula couldn’t get any paler. For a minute I thought she was going to faint. I’d never seen anyone faint before, but the signs were unmistakable.

S
he stood motionless for a moment like a soldier guarding the entrance to the fort. I waited for her to say
no,
to charge onto the porch and chase them away. I considered doing it for her, telling them they couldn’t come inside without a search warrant. I fervently hoped they didn’t have one of those.

The cops didn’t say a word, just stood on the porch, watching and waiting. This didn’t look good.

Suddenly Paula’s shoulders sloped forward in a posture of defeat. She fumbled with the latch, releasing it and opening the door. Her movements robotic and forced, she stepped aside, allowing them to enter.

The
y moved past her, invading her house.

She
stood stiffly, hands behind her back, her expression that of a woman being led to the guillotine…terrified, helpless and resigned to her fate.

The uniform’s gun belt creaked.
Paula gasped and jerked backward.

The S
uit pretended not to notice, but I could tell he did. His eyes narrowed speculatively.

“I’m Detective Adam Trent,” he said, “and this is Officer
Donald Creighton.” Trent was a big man, looming large in the high-ceilinged room. He was the kind who would have loomed large even if he’d been short. The Uniform wasn’t quite so tall or quite so intimidating. I could see this pair doing the good cop/bad cop routine. The Suit would definitely be the bad cop.

“Like
to ask you a few questions,” he said.

Paula gave a jerky nod of permission.

“What do you know about Lester Mackey?”

She swayed slightly. “L-Lester.
”

“Yes, ma’am. Lester Mackey.”

She blinked twice and straightened. “Lester
Mackey
?” Her voice was stronger.
Go, Paula
!

The cops exchanged glances.

“Yes, ma’am,” Trent said, a little impatiently. “Lester Mackey. What can you tell us about him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know anybody by that name.” She almost sounded as if she was on the verge of breaking into laughter, as if she’d just gotten a reprieve from that guillotine.

“We’re only trying to locate Mr. Mackey,” Trent said. “You’re not going to cause him any trouble by telling us what you know.” His words as well as the sharp edge to his voice indicated he thought Paula was lying and not doing a very good job of it.

I believed her. Her relief was too visible to doubt.

“I don’t know anybody named Lester Mackey,” she repeated firmly. She stood with her arms wrapped protectively, defensively across her midriff.

“Take your time and think about it.” Trent
regarded her suspiciously.

“I don’t have to think about it. I don’t know anybody by that name.” She was becoming indignant.
Good for you, Paula! Stand your ground!

“If you don’t know Lester Mackey, why did he have your name and phone number on a piece o
f paper in his apartment?”

All her relief disappeared
, and I could see her mentally mounting the steps to that guillotine again. I knew she had an unlisted number. She’d been reluctant to give it to me. For this Lester Mackey to have it must mean she knew him.

“My home phone number?” Her voice quavered.

“That’s right.”

“I don’t know why he had it or where he got it.”

“It’s unlisted, so you must have given it to him.”

“
I don’t know!
I swear to you, I’ve never heard of Lester Mackey.”

“Where were you last night between the hours of eight and ten?”
Trent demanded, taking advantage of her distress.

Nice eyes or not, I’d had enough of this man badgering my friend. I set Zach on the floor and stepped forward,
moving up beside her, closer to Trent than she was.

“Does Ms. Walters need to call an attorney?” I demanded.

He folded his arms and rocked slightly backward, one eyebrow lifted. “That depends. Has Ms. Walters done something illegal?”

How the hell should I know?
But I didn’t say that. “If you don’t think she’s done anything illegal, why are you grilling her?”

“I’m just checking out a missing persons report.”

I scowled at him and he scowled at me. “So this Lester Mackey disappeared last night between the hours of eight and ten?”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t you have to wait forty-eight hours or something before you check on missing people unless there’s suspicion of foul play?” I watch all those cop shows. I know these things.

Creighton looked to
Trent as if waiting for him to field the question.

“Usually,” the detective said after a long moment. “Now
, is it my turn to ask a question?”

“It’s okay, Lindsay,” Paula said quietly before I could respond to
Trent’s sarcasm. “I’ll answer the question. I was at home all night. I left work a little after four, picked up Zach at the baby sitter’s, took him to the park, and I’ve been right here since about six last night.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, of course alone, except for my son.”

“Why do you want to know?” I was feeling very defensive on Paula’s behalf and, I admit it, very curious. “Who is this Lester Mackey person and what’s happened to him? Why are you checking out his disappearance so fast?”

Trent scowled at me again. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lindsay Powell. I’m her sister.”

“No, you’re not. She doesn’t have a sister.”

Aha! So he’d checked into her background. This was getting deeper all the time.

“Well, I’m her best friend.”

Trent and I did some more glaring and sizing each other up. I could tell he was thinking about asking me to leave and I was thinking about refusing.

“On that piece of paper in Lester Mackey’s apartment,” Creighton said, breaking the silence, “right beneath Ms. Walters’ phone number was yesterday’s date and a time, eight o’clock. Mr. Mackey left on an appointment and never returned home. His apartment manager was worried and called us.”

“Failing to return home from an appointment equals suspicion of foul play?” I asked. Gee, all those nights I could have had the cops out looking for Rick.

Trent gave Creighton a warning glance. There was more to the story, but they weren’t going to tell us.

Zach, tired of being ignored, chose that moment to charge over
, wielding his favorite truck. “Here!” Grinning happily, he clutched Creighton’s pant leg in one sweaty little hand and held the toy up to him with the other.

“Hey, what you got there?” Gun belt creaking, Creighton squatted down to the kid’s level and accepted the truck. “Cool wheels.”

“Zach!” Paula stooped and lifted her son, snatching him away as though she thought the cop would harm him. “Don’t bother the policeman,” Paula said, her face pale again, the panic back in her voice and her eyes. “He’s working. Why don’t you go to your room and play with your purple dinosaur? Mommy won’t be much longer, and then I promise we’ll go to the park.” She set him down. “Go on now.” He raised his arms for a hug. She hugged him then patted his diapered bottom and sent him from the room.

“Bye!” he called.

“Bye!” we all responded, even the cops. Creighton smiled, but Trent winced and his lips clenched as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d done…let his macho façade slip. Kinda cute. He’d probably clench his lips even harder if he knew I thought that. I considered telling him, just to see him react.