Authors: Leslie Meier

Chocolate Covered Murder (21 page)

BOOK: Chocolate Covered Murder

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“Uh, sorry, Lucy. This is Will Martin, he's new to the force, he's filling in while Barney's on leave,” said Todd, striding past him and stepping onto the porch, where he banged loudly on the door with his flashlight. “POLICE! OPEN UP!”

Noticing that young Officer Martin had joined Todd on the porch, Lucy decided discretion was definitely the best part of valor. She sure didn't want to face Trey and Corney if she'd misunderstood the nature of their encounter. Picking up the frying pan, she placed it on the porch and then slipped away, as quietly as she could.

She'd reached the corner of the house when the door opened and she heard Trey asking, “What's the trouble, Officer?” His voice was calm and cool, polite.

She ran, as fast as she could, to her car.

Chapter Eighteen

T
he car had cooled down while Lucy had tried to figure out how to help Corney, but she didn't notice. She was burning with embarrassment and exertionâfleeing the scene through the snow had taken a lot of energy. Now she was trying to catch her breath as she fumbled with the keys and started the car. It took a great deal of restraint not to floor the gas pedal, but she knew it would be foolish to speed on the icy roads, and she sure didn't want to attract attention by peeling off down the street at high speed.

As she drove along the dark, empty roads she tried to figure out what to do next. The clock in the car said it was already nearly ten. The ball was probably in full swing and she knew she ought to go back, although she was hardly in the mood. How was she going to join her friends in the festivities when her mind was across town, worrying about Corney? They would be joking and laughing and probably drinking a bit too much and she'd be wondering what was happening on Shore Road.

She replayed the scene she'd glimpsed through the curtains, trying to figure out what was going on. If it was sex, it wasn't like any sort of sex she'd ever been involved in, though she was pretty sure her experience in this department was rather limited. But if it wasn't sex, but an attempted murder, why would Trey want to harm Corney? He might be a bit kinky but he hardly seemed like some psycho who got off by killing women. Could he have killed Tamzin? That murder had some sexual overtones, the way the killer stripped the victim and covered her with chocolate. But what about Max? His death didn't fit that mold at all. He was a guy, for one thing, and emphatically heterosexual. The police thought Dora was the killer, and maybe they were right, which meant that if Trey was a killer, then there were two murderers operating in Tinker's Cove. Considering the town's small population, that seemed a statistical impossibility. Although Lucy knew that lightning sometimes did strike twice, she couldn't believe that was the case here.

She believed Dora was innocent, so maybe Trey was the real killer, but that also seemed a stretch. He was successful and admiredâwhat would he possibly have to gain by killing Max? And if he was the murderer, why would he have risked discovery by attempting to kill Corney? She admitted to herself that she might not like Trey very much, but that didn't mean he was a murderer.

Reaching the VFW, where the lights were all ablaze and the thumping beat of rock music could be heard even in the parking lot, Lucy resolutely put thoughts of murder in the back of her mind. A handful of smokers were shivering on the porch as Lucy entered; inside she sniffed a heady mix of perspiration, perfume, and booze. The DJ was playing “Y.M.C.A.” at top volume and a few serious party animals on the dance floor, including Pam and Sue, who were dancing together, were waving their arms in the shapes of the letters.

Bill was sitting at the table with Rachel and Bob, swirling his half-full glass of beer and staring at the dwindling foamy head. She slipped into the empty seat next to him and he snapped to attention. “Where were you?” he asked, his voice thick.

“I told you. Corney had car trouble.”

“Right.” He looked around. “Where is she?”

“In the end she didn't feel well and decided to stay home.”

“That's a shame,” said Rachel. “She worked so hard to organize this shindig and now she can't enjoy her success.”

Bob, clearly a bit tipsy, raised his glass. “To Corney!”

Rachel shook her head. “I can see I'm going to be driving the car home tonight.”

Bill nodded and leaned toward Lucy, putting his hand on her knee. “Speaking of which, I'm ready to go anytime you are.”

Lucy found she was disappointed. The DJ was playing a new song, “Heard It Through the Grapevine,” and Lucy was itching to dance. “Oh, come on, let's just dance a couple of songs.”

“You know I feel like an idiot on the dance floor,” said Bill, draining his glass. “Another round, Bob?”

“Sure,” said Bob, getting a look from Rachel.

“All these guys want to do is drink,” she said. “I'll dance with you, Lucy.”

Lucy grinned and hopped up. “When we first got here I was reminded of my high school prom, but now that the girls are all dancing together it's more like middle school.”

“Yeah,” agreed Rachel, as they joined the twisting and writhing dancers. “Except in middle school the guys were interested enough to stand on the sidelines and watch the girls dance.”

“Now they don't even watch,” said Lucy, staking out some dance floor territory next to Pam and Sue.

“They watch ... sports,” said Sue, cocking her head toward the bar where a crowd of men had gathered to stare at the basketball game on the TV.

“They're missing out on a lot of fun,” declared Pam, as the song ended. “Let's do the Macarena,” she yelled to the DJ. “And the Chicken Dance!”

Rachel caught Lucy's eye. “You know, I think I better get Bob home or he'll have a heck of a hangover tomorrow. And he's got that case... .”

“Right,” said Lucy, her thoughts turning back to Corney's predicament. “I should get home, too.”

Pam and Sue were already crossing their arms and slapping their hips, keeping time to the music, so Lucy wiggled her fingers in a little wave and followed Rachel back to their table. When she got there, she realized her phone was ringing. She picked up her purse and drew it out, heading for the quiet of the ladies' room. It was Corney, again.

“Are you all right?” asked Lucy.

“I'm scared.” She paused. “And confused.”

“What happened?”

“I'm not sure. That's why I'm scared. What if he comes back?”

“You've got an alarm system, don't you?”

“Yeah,” said Corney. “He could disable it, couldn't he? I've seen it on TV. A snip of the wire, they open the window.. . .”

“Lock all the windows, and the doors, too. Anyway, he's not going to come back. Not after the cops came.”

“I told you not to call the cops,” hissed Corney. “Talk about embarrassingâand they weren't any good at all. Trey wrapped them around his little finger. He got all chummy with Todd Kirwan, told him it was just sex play and Todd, sweet lad that he is, just wanted to get away as fast as he could. That young one, on the other hand, was sure fascinated with my predicament. Couldn't take his eyes off me while Trey was unlocking the handcuffs. He did that firstâthen gave me a sheet so I could cover myself, the bastard.”

“I'm sorry,” said Lucy. “But I couldn't see through the door and I was worried it was a home invasion. That's why I called the cops. I was scared, too,” admitted Lucy. She dropped her voice as a couple of women entered the ladies' room. “Do you think he really wanted to hurt you?”

“I honestly don't know. I'm so confused. He had his hands on my neck, but I think that's supposed to make everything more intense or something. A lot of men like it rough, remember what those girls said about Tiger?”

Lucy did. It had been quite a revelation. “Trey's got a big ego,” ventured Lucy. “Maybe that's something these Type A guys need.”

“Well, I'm done with him, that's for sure. I don't care how successful he is, I don't need to be treated like that.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Lucy. “How did it start? I mean, weren't you all dressed up for the ball?”

“Yeah. I was dressed to the nines. I spent the entire day getting ready. Manicure, pedicure, hair, facial, the works. I had a new dress, Valentine red, fabulous shoes. And he was in a tux when he arrived, gave me a box of truffles. The big one. The
grande
. I offered him a drink, I had a bottle of champagne on ice. We were sitting in the living room, in front of the fire. It was lovely. We chatted, light stuff, you know. I was in a great mood, I felt flirty, you know?” She paused. “Maybe I went too far.”

“I don't think you should blame yourself. I don't think you had control of the situation,” said Lucy.

“I did in the beginning,” said Corney. “I invited him in, I had the champagne ready.”

“When did it change? Did he drink a lot of the champagne?”

“No. He hardly had any.”

Another dead end, thought Lucy. “What were you talking about?”

“I think I said I was going to Mexico in a week or two. I asked if he was going to get away someplace sunny this winter.”

“That sounds innocent enough.”

“I know. It's not like it was personal or anything. Just small talk, cocktail party chatter.”

“Maybe he couldn't get away himself this year,” said Lucy. “The economy is still pretty bad, a lot of people are cutting corners.”

Corney's tone was thoughtful. “I don't think that was it. It was more about me, something I said. I just had this feeling the atmosphere had changed.”

“What did you say?”

“I think I said I was looking forward to drinking
sangria
and using my high school Spanish!”

“And what happened then?”

“He put down his glass and stood in front of me and put his hand under my chin and sort of pulled me up and kissed me and said there was no hurry about getting to the party.”

Lucy shook her head. “Speaking Spanish is a turn on for a lot of men. Bill loves to see those Almodovar movies just to hear Penelope Cruz do that lispy thing.”

“I do have a Castilian accent,” said Corney. “Maybe I said
thangria
instead of
sangria
.”

“That's probably it,” said Lucy, realizing she'd been talking too long and Bill was still at the bar. “I've gotta go. Take a sleeping pill and I'll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Lucy. You've been a pal.”

Chapter Nineteen

L
ucy took the wheel for the drive home, and Bill immediately fell asleep, snoring loudly as she followed the familiar route home. She was left to her own devices, and her thoughts followed their own meandering track. So Corney was going to Mexico, and she spoke Spanish. A lot of people went there. James Taylor had a song about it. Mexico. What was it with Mexico?

Chocolate was discovered in Mexico, at least she thought it was. The Aztecs drank it in their religious rituals, but it was a bitter, unsweetened drink. One of the explorersâCortez, Magellan, Columbusâshe wasn't sure who, but she did know one of them brought it back to Europe, where it created a sensation when some genius came up with the idea of adding sugar. The rest was history. And now the health experts were saying that dark chocolate was good for you, so she didn't even have to feel guilty about that secret stash of chocolate bars she kept in her night stand.

But the popularity of dark chocolate was a relatively recent phenomenon. Lucy remembered how the kids would refuse to eat it and the little miniature bars would linger in the bowl of Halloween candy until she finally finished them off. Until then, in fact, she'd always chosen milk chocolate but after eating those few, spurned bits of dark chocolate, she came to prefer it.

Now, of course, dark chocolate was just the beginning of a chocolate revolution. Trey had been proud of his unusual flavors and she knew he was part of a larger trend. Even Dora was mixing up hot-pepper-flavored chocolates for her Hot Lips, which, come to think of it, she'd learned from Max. Hadn't Dora said something about Max picking up the recipe in Mexico?

Okay, so maybe both Max and Trey had gone to Mexico, and Corney was planning to go there, too. A lot of people went to Mexico. Even Bill's parents, in fact, had a time-share in Cancun. They loved it and spent a few weeks there every winter. They didn't speak Spanish, they said they didn't need it. They had little contact with actual Mexicans, except for the time-share employees, but spent their time with other Americans. Lucy figured that was probably the case with most English speakers in Mexico, who lived in a sort of parallel universe to the natives, encountering them only when they bought something in a shop or ate in a restaurant. Bill's parents, however, stuck to the time-share's own restaurant, fearing the native food would make them sick. And they never drank the water without boiling it first.

Lucy chuckled to herself, remembering Bill's mom Edna's hilarious account of how the first thing she did upon arrival every year was to fill every pot with water, bring it to a boil for ten minutes, and then load all the pots into the refrigerator. Lucy doubted it was really necessary but you couldn't convince Edna, who wouldn't even make coffee with unboiled water.

“What's so funny?' asked Bill, waking up when she turned into the driveway.

“I was thinking about your mother,” said Lucy, braking.

“My mom is funny?”

“Sometimes,” said Lucy. “It's been a while since you spoke with her. Why don't you give her a call tomorrow?”

“I will,” said Bill, stumbling on the porch steps.

“Take it easy,” said Lucy, taking his arm and guiding him inside. She doubted he'd remember much about the evening tomorrow morning, least of all his promise to call his folks.

Bill wasn't the only one with a thick head on Sunday morningâCorney complained of a hangover when Lucy called to check on her.

“I couldn't sleep, so I had some brandy,” confessed Corney. “I finished the bottle.”

“It wasn't full, was it?” asked a horrified Lucy.

“I don't remember,” admitted Corney. “All I know is that it's empty now. It's sitting on the kitchen counter, mocking me.”

“My father used to swear by something called a prairie oyster,” said Lucy. “I think it's a raw egg with Worcestershire sauce and something else. Maybe tomato juice.”

“That sounds disgusting,” said Corney.

“The hair of the dog, that's the thing,” said Bill, pulling a beer out of the refrigerator.

“Try a beer,” advised Lucy. “That's what Bill is doing.”

“I think I'll just throw up and go back to bed,” said Corney.

“No sign of Trey?” asked Lucy.

“No.” Corney paused. “You know, I think I probably overreacted. It's just been so long since I was with a man I think I forgot how they are.”

Lucy didn't think using handcuffs and trying to strangle your partner were typical male behaviors, but she didn't say anything for fear of upsetting Corney. She'd been through a traumatic experience and it would take time for her to process it. In the meantime she would need sympathy and support. “I'll stop by later,” promised Lucy. “Just to make sure everything's all right.”

“Thanks, Lucy,” said Corney, her voice a bit shaky.

Hanging up, Lucy dialed Fern's Famous, where Flora answered the phone.

“How's Dora?” she asked.

“About how you'd expect, if you were innocent and accused of killing two people and sitting in a stinky jail cell,” said Flora, in her matter-of-fact tone.

“I heard you hired Bob Goodman,” said Lucy. “He's the best.”

“He's charging enough,” said Flora, adding a little
humph
.

Lucy knew Bob's rates were extremely fair, but doubted Flora knew that many lawyers charged hundreds of dollars per hour. “Maybe they'll catch the real murderer before it goes to trial,” said Lucy. “I'm following up on something that might help. Do you know when Max was in Mexico?”

“Well, it was when Dora got pregnant with Lily. He got her pregnant and hightailed off. I had to go down and bring him back and make him do the right thing.”

“So that was about twenty years ago, something like that?”

“That'd be about right.”

“There's another thing,” said Lucy. “Do you know anything about the tuition money Max promised for Lily?”

“Promises, promises,” snorted Flora. “Max was always making promises.”

“Do you have any idea where he was going to get it?”

“I do not,” said Flora. “As far as I know, he was broke, he was always broke.” She paused. “Maybe his rich old uncle died and left him a bundle. Maybe he was blackmailing somebody. Maybe he won the lottery. I really don't know. What I do know is that if he got a dollar, he spent it.”

Lucy was thoughtful. Flora had meant it as a joke, sort of, but blackmail could be a motive for murder. “Do you really think Max was blackmailing somebody? Where'd you get that idea?”

“Same place I got the idea about the rich uncle and the lottery ticket. Where do people get money if they don't work for it? Trust me, Max wasn't much of a worker. Maybe he was going to sell something, maybe he had a buyer for that snowmobile of his. Like I said, I really don't know where Max thought he was going to get twenty thousand dollars for Lily. All I know is that he never did.”

“Right. Well, thanks Flora. Say hi to Dora for me. Let her know I'm thinking of her and doing everything I can to catch the real killer.”

Flora didn't reply immediately and Lucy suspected she probably didn't think much of her investigative abilities, so she was surprised when Flora finally spoke. “You be careful, Lucy.”

“I will,” promised Lucy, touched by Flora's concern. “I surely will.”

Turning to her morning chores, Lucy loaded the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and swept the floor. She was just finishing running the vacuum around the family room when the girls appeared, looking for rides.

“Can I take the car?” asked Sara.

“What for? I thought your job ended with Valentine's Day.”

“I've got a study group meeting at Jenny's house. It's a group project on women's suffrage.”

“And I'm going to Friends of Animals,” added Zoe. “I'm filling in for Laurieâshe went on that ski trip.”

Lucy thought for a minute. Bill was under the weather now, but he'd probably want his truck later. Besides, he didn't like anyone to drive it except himself. She could let Sara take the Subaru, but that would leave her without transportation and she had promised to stop in at Corney's. “No. I'm going to need the car,” she said.

Sara wasn't happy with her decision. “What about the truck?”

“Don't push it,” said Lucy, laughing. “Your father's not in a mood to share this morning.” She wrapped up the vacuum cleaner cord. “I'll take you.”

Lucy made the familiar trip, first dropping Zoe at Friends of Animals and then letting Sara off at Jenny's house. She went on to the Quik-Stop for gas, feeling guilty about adding to the nation's thirst for foreign oil and resentful that she didn't really have a choice, and picked up a sports drink for Bill's hangover. When she was leaving the store, a man with a buzz cut and a decided military bearing held the door for her. She thanked him and hurried to her car, but when she started the engine a little hunch popped into her head. She waited until the man left the store and watched as he strode off down Main Street, observing that he appeared to be in his early fifties and extremely fit. She was certain she'd never seen him in town before.

Acting on the hunch, she drove slowly until the car was alongside him, then rolled down the window. “You're new in town, aren't you?” she asked. “Can I help you with anything?”

He turned, an amused expression on his face. “I know this is a small town but... .”

Lucy interrupted him. “I'm Lucy Stone. I'm a reporter with the local paper. I really do know everybody in town,” she said, handing him her card. “And I'm thinking you might be Tamzin Graves's ex-husband.”

“You must be a really good reporter,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I'm Larry Graves and I was married to Tamzin for a couple of years.”

“I'm very sorry for your loss,” said Lucy, in a serious tone.

Graves's expression hardened. “She didn't deserve this.”

“I know.” Lucy paused, thinking that survivors often wanted to talk about their lost loved one. “You know, I'm going to have to write an obituary for her and I don't know much about her. Maybe you could help me?”

Graves hesitated a moment, then nodded.

“How about a cup of coffee?”

“Sure,” he said, reaching for the car door.

When he was seated, Lucy continued driving down Main Street, toward Jake's. Graves sat beside her, large and silent, and she remembered hearing he was in Afghanistan.

“You must have some case of jet lag,” she said. “How long is the flight from Afghanistan?”

“Actually, it was only a short hop, from Cape Cod. There's a training facility at Camp Edwardsâa little village and a lot of sandâit's to give the troops a feeling for what they'll encounter in the Middle East. I'm one of the instructors.”

“Oh.” Lucy pulled into a parking spot in front of Jake's and braked. “But you were in Afghanistan?”

“Yeah.” He fell silent, climbing out of the car. “I've been back stateside for six months or so,” he said, as they climbed the steps and went inside the coffee shop.

The morning crowd had gone and Norine, the waitress, was busy clearing tables and tidying up. “Sit anywhere you want,” she said.

Lucy chose a booth at the back. “This is on me,” she said, as Norine set two menus down in front of them. “Have whatever you want.”

“Just coffee, regular,” he said, pulling off his hat and shrugging out of his jacket. His buzz cut was sprinkled with gray, Lucy noticed, and the skin was stretched tightly over his cheekbones. His eyes were very blue.

Lucy ordered a black decaf for herself, then pulled out her notebook. “I hope you don't mind if I take notes?”

Graves shrugged.

“First of all, I need your full name and rank... .”

He raised an eyebrow and slid a business card across the table. “Not my service number?”

She smiled back, taking the card. “That won't be necessary.”

“It's major. Major Lawrence Graves, United States Army, currently stationed at Camp Edwards in Massachusetts.” Norine set the coffees in front of them and he busied himself adding cream and sugar.

“And you were married to Tamzin?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, stirring his coffee. “For three years, back in the nineties. She was in her early thirties. Beautiful. I never knew such a beautiful woman.”

Lucy nodded, wondering how to broach her next question. “She made quite an impression here in town... .”

Graves laughed. “I bet she didâespecially with the male half of the population.”

BOOK: Chocolate Covered Murder

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