Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 04 - Chocolate Mousse Attack (14 page)

Chapter
Sixteen

The next day while Paula and I prepared for breakfast, I caught her up on the latest developments. She listened quietly for the most part, shaking her head now and then, but when I finished the story about our visit to the Murrays, she stopped beating the cinnamon roll dough and looked at me in a way that made me feel she wanted to replace that dough with my head.

“You promised them you’d go to a party for George?”

“Well, yeah, actually I promised them you, Fred and I would go to that party.”

Her eyes widened and she gave the dough a really hard thump. “I’d kill you right now, but then who’d make the Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake for lunch?”

It’s always good to know my talents are appreciated.

The morning went smoothly. One customer demanded his money back after he’d eaten three chocolate scones and drunk two cups of Paula’s coffee. But nobody died, the police didn’t come to take me away, no reporters came by to ask embarrassing questions, so it was a good morning.

Matthew came in toward the end of the lunch hour rush, sat at the counter and talked to Paula at every opportunity. He had a goofy expression on his face when he looked at her. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t shared my reservations about him. Obviously I was wrong. Anybody who looked like that couldn’t possibly have an ulterior motive.

Finally only a few people, Matthew among them, of course. I was beginning cleanup when Fred called. I took my tray of dishes into the kitchen, set them in the sink and answered my cell phone.

“Do you have a long skirt?” As I said, Fred isn’t a fan of chitchat.

“I think so.”

“What color is it?”

“Red, purple, green, orange, teal. I dressed as a hippy for a Halloween party. It gets in my way when I walk, so I haven’t worn it since.”

“That won’t do. You need a black one.”

“
Are we making a visit to the cult people?”

“How about a scarf
?”

“I have
several scarves.”

“What color?”

“Red, purple, green, orange, teal. I like bright colors.”

He sighed. “I’ll take care of it
. I’ve been doing some checking on our favorite doctor, and I’ve located his parents. He and his brother are both from Seventh Gate.”

A cold hand wrapped around my heart and squeezed really tight. “
So he and Matthew are from the same community.” That didn’t prove anything bad about Matthew, but it looked suspicious.

“I’ll bring the necessary clothing to your house when you get home from work.” He hung up.

I stood motionless, staring at my phone for several moments.

Paula shoved the door open and almost ran into me. “What are you doing?” she asked as she placed a tray of dirty dishes on the counter.

“Uh…”

“Is there any more Mousse Cake?” She opened the refrigerator door. “Oh, good, there’s another one. Matthew wants a piece. I told him it’s your best creation to date.” She set the dessert on the counter and began to slice it. “He’s worried about Zach and me after what happened to Sophie Sunday night. He offered to sit outside in his car all night to be sure we were safe. I told him that was silly.”

She didn’t look up, but I could tell from her voice that, while she thought Matthew’s offer was silly, she also thought it was sweet. I thought he’d just set up a perfect alibi for hanging around and spying on Sophie.

I watched Paula carefully place a piece of Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake on a plate then take it out front. I considered taking the remainder of the dessert and dumping it over Matthew’s head, but that would have been a waste of good chocolate.

Still, it was tempting.

*~*~*

True to his word, Fred met me at the front door of my house when I got home from work. He wore a pair of faded overalls and a blue work shirt and carried a large shopping bag with no store name on it. I suspected he had not bought our new clothes at Macy’s. Maybe the back room of the Good Will thrift store.

I opened the door and Henry greeted me, winding himself around my legs and purring. He ignored Fred and Fred ignored him. Before we left, Henry would somehow manage to stick a couple hundred of his hairs to Fred’s
clothing.

I fed Henry while Fred unpacked his bag in the living room.

I returned to see a long black skirt, a black blouse and a black scarf spread out on the sofa. They were all faded and wrinkled. “Haute couture.”

“Go upstairs and put them on. Wear those black shoes you we
ar when your feet hurt. We need to hurry. It’s a long drive.”

“If we’re in a hurry, does this mean I get to drive since I drive faster than you?”

He scowled. “We’ll see.”

He didn’t say no.

I gathered up the dreadful clothes and took them to my bedroom where I pulled off my jeans and T-shirt then put on the witch’s disguise. I studied myself in the cheval floor mirror. I looked sort of like a witch. Was this how those people we were going to visit dressed? How sad to be forced to wear clothes like this all the time…no blue jeans, no red silk shirts, no fleecy warm-ups in winter.

If Dr. Dan grew up in an environment like that, no wonder he was a psycho killer.

I folded the scarf, tucked it under my arm and went back downstairs. Henry and Fred were both waiting at the front door. Fred’s clothes were liberally sprinkled with white cat hairs.

I let one
guy outside and asked for car keys from the other. Fred shook his head. “I don’t think it’s worth it. Even if you drive fifteen miles over the speed limit the entire way, we’ll only get there six and a half minutes faster.”

“It could be a critical
six and a half minutes.”

“I was rounding. It would really only be
six minutes and twenty-one seconds.” He grimaced, sighed and handed me the keys. “You’ll hit some heavy traffic, so you’ll have to go more than twenty miles over the limit on the highway to make up for lost time.”

I smiled. “Not a problem.”

We were walking across my yard to his car when a dark sedan pulled up in front of my house and stopped. The back passenger door flew open and a small figure that was becoming way too familiar tumbled out and ran toward me.

Rickie.

That wasn’t possible. I was hallucinating. Somebody put something in that last Coke.

A man and woman stepped out of the car. John and Cara Ferguson. Rick’s friends he’d entrusted with his son. I’d glimpsed them briefly at the police station when the cops had dragged me in for questioning.

“Aunt Lindsay! I’m home!” Rickie ran up and threw his skinny little arms around my waist. “I missed you so much.”

“What’s going on?” I tried to loosen Rickie’s grip, but he held on like a demented tick.

John took the bulging canvas bag from the trunk of his car, and the couple approached slowly. They looked different than they’d looked at the police station, less like a preppy couple living the good life and more like parents. Cara’s short blond hair was no longer perfect and her makeup was smeared. John’s immaculate white shirt was streaked with something. Dirt? Chocolate? His eyes bulged slightly and he had a scratch on one cheek.

John set the now-familiar canvas bag down in front of me, and Cara smiled tightly. “You’re Lindsay Powell?” she asked.

I looked at Fred, hoping he’d come up with a good story to get me out of the current situation.

“She is.” He sold me out. “Who are you?”

“He’ll be better off with you.” John took his wife’s arm and tugged her back toward their car.

“No!” I tried unsuccessfully to push Rickie away. “He’s supposed to stay with you! I got in trouble for letting him stay with me. The cops tried to arrest me for kidnapping. It’s illegal for him to stay with me!”

“But you told them you’re his stepmother. It’s okay for you to keep him.” Cara turned to leave.

I tried to stumble after them but found it difficult to make progress with a nine-year old succubus attached to my body.

“Fred, help me!” I pleaded.

“You told them you’re his stepmother?” Fred was visibly astonished. That doesn’t happen often.

“I was desperate.”

“Why would you do something like that?”

“You had to be there.”

The Fergusons slid into their car, slammed the door and laid rubber as they drove away.

I gave up the attempt to catch them and merely watched their departing car in horror, my heart sinking to the bottom of my big toe. That was probably the fastest they’d ever driven in their orderly lives. Where was a traffic cop when you needed one?

With his mission accomplished, Rickie detached himself and started toward my house.

I grabbed his shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“I told them I wanted to stay with you. I missed you.”

I narrowed my eyes and fixed him with a cold stare. “Bullshit. You were so awful, they dumped you on me.”

“Whatever.” He turned away but I held onto his shoulder
and looked at Fred.

“Will Sophie keep him while we’re gone?”

“She’s still at her shop, trying to get everything set up.”

“Paula’s not home yet.
If you’ve got some handcuffs, I could lock him in the basement.”

“No time. We’ll take him with us. Rickie, get in the back seat of my car.” Fred motioned toward his white Mercedes.

Without another word, Rickie walked toward Fred’s car.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“Vulcan mind control.”

We headed across town and hit road construction. Kansas City highways always have at least one and usually two lanes closed at any given time. During the winter it’s due to ice and snow, and during the spring and summer, it’s due to construction to repair the damages of all that ice and snow.

Nevertheless, we made it across town and out to the country in record time, thanks to my driving skills and whatever modifications Fred had made to that engine. I prefer my smaller car because it’s easier to slip in between other vehicles, but the power in Fred’s car made it a good tradeoff.

Of course I didn’t get a ticket, not with Fred along to put a protective Vulcan shield around the car.

Following his directions, I drove from the highway to a paved road to a dirt road. I was forced to drive slow, very slow. Even so, we bounced over the rutted road in a way that made my teeth rattle. In the summer drought, the dust enveloped us. Fred would doubtless be up all night washing his car.

“Pull off the road in that clear area.” He pointed a couple of hundred feet up the road.

I followed his instructions then looked around. Nothing but trees and weeds. “What’s going on? You’re not planning to dump the kid here, are you? Not only will we get in big trouble with Social Services, but he’ll just follow us back home anyway.”

“I’m not getting out in the middle of nowhere,” Rickie said. Obviously he was concerned about Fred’s plans to dump him.

“We have to walk the rest of the way to the farmhouse,” Fred stated emphatically.

“We do?”

“These people are paranoid. The road doesn’t go up to their houses. Put on your scarf. You can’t let anyone but your husband see your hair.”

“All these women have bad hair?”

“It’s a sign of submission. We have to blend if they’re going to talk to us.”

Reluctantly
I wrapped the scarf over my head. Just what I needed in the August heat. “What about him?” I nodded to Rickie in the back seat who sat there quietly in his blue jeans and a T-shirt with zombies on it. He wasn’t going to blend.

“We’ll explain him. Rickie, hand me that box
in the seat beside you.”

Rickie obediently handed him a rectangular
carton about the size of a shoe box. Fred opened it and took out a dead albino creature.

I shuddered.
“What are you going to do with that?”

He attached
it to his face. A beard. “Think I should grow one?”

“I promise to buy you a lifetime supply of razors if you don’t.”

We left the air conditioned car and trudged out across the field in the afternoon heat.

Three hours later we arrived
at Dr. Dan’s home place. Fred said it had been only twenty minutes, pointing to the sun which still occupied roughly the same position in the sky as when we’d left the car, but I figured if he could manipulate Rickie’s mind, he could manipulate the sun. I’m sticking with my estimate of three hours for that hot, dirty walk in those stifling clothes.

As we approached the house, I began to comprehend the real meaning of
self-sustaining farm.
If they couldn’t build it or grow it themselves, they didn’t have it. Whoever built the house might have constructed buildings of Legos in his childhood, but he’d never taken a class in architecture. The porch listed to one side, and the house listed to the other. The wood was rough and desperately needed a coat of paint. The screen on the front door was rusted and torn and sagged from one hinge.