Death Is Like a Box of Chocolates (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (16 page)

“Yes,” I said, sounding put-upon, and stepped out. The dark pressed in against the only flickering streetlight. Wind whistled through trees hanging over the dilapidated building, making me shiver even though the air was warm.

We approached the motel office and Bean indicated I should stay off to the side. A loud buzzer sounded when he opened the door to the office and went in. I was dying to peek in, sure that such a dilapidated place would hold a clerk with the stringy long hair of a straight-to-video zombie movie actor.

Not that I was an expert, but the motel seemed designed for fast getaways, with open hallways leading through the building to the back parking lot and lots of stairways up to the second floor.

Bean came out, excited. “My new best friend Chris thinks he’s in 116 around the back.”

“How much did that new best friend cost?” My voice was a little shrill with nerves. “Twenty dollars?”

“Don’t be cynical,” he said, but didn’t answer.

I followed him through the tunnel-like hall to the back parking lot, which was a lot darker without the pinkish light from the neon motel sign. My heart was pounding and I moved closer to Bean. An ancient rusted Ford Fiesta was parked in front of 116. The curtains were drawn but a weak light leaked out around it. Bean was about to knock when we both noticed the door was open a tiny bit. He put his finger to his lips. The adrenaline must have been pumping through my veins because for a second I thought that was really sexy.

Then he pushed open the door with his elbow and walked in. I debated a long moment before he grabbed my arm and yanked me in, closing the door with his sleeve pulled over his hand.

We were in a tiny room made up mostly of a bed with a stained, mud-colored bedspread and beige-painted walls showing the black scars of careless suitcases and at least one fist through the wall. The chipped sink was outside the bathroom, and humidity from a recent shower hung like a sheer curtain looping across the top of the warped mirror that distorted our reflections. I was afraid to inspect the carpet.

The room looked like it had been hurriedly searched, with the suitcase emptied on the floor, drawers hanging open and the mattress listing off to the side.

The scent of something familiar mixed with an unmistakable aroma of Irish Spring soap.

“Larry?” Bean called out, scaring the crap out of me.

I gave him the universal what-the-heck-are-you-doing look and he grinned. He was totally enjoying this. He moved to the bathroom, turned the knob with his sleeve and the door swung open.

Larry’s naked body slid to the floor, his tattoo showing in all its glory. His head had been bashed in.

B
ean moved back to me, as if to make sure I didn’t faint. I had to admit, I saw a few stars before shaking my head and breathing deep. “I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

“Not just yet,” he said. “Nothing’s going to help our buddy here. I need one minute.”

He pulled out his camera and took a ton of photos, totally focused, even stepping over the body to document everything in the bathroom. “Do you want to wait outside?” he asked without looking at me.

“No,” I said, meaning “yes.” But I gathered the guts to pull the sleeves over my hands and open the drawer of the nightstand, the only one unopened in the room. Nothing. But I noticed a piece of paper peeking out from under the bed and grabbed it.

“Uh-oh.” I showed it to Bean.

“What is it?” He walked over to take a picture. “Oh.”

It was a piece of our project plan. It looked like Larry had been our vandalizing visitor after all.

“What the hell?” I gestured a little wildly with my hands. “Larry was our number one suspect. How did he end up here? Dead?”

Bean interrupted my little rant by handing me his keys. “Michelle,” he talked softly. “Take the car and go home. I have to call Lockett.”

“What? No!”

He shook his head, impatient. “I can say I got an anonymous tip and came here,” he said. “But I don’t want to involve you.”

Come to think of it, I was only too happy to leave.

• • • • • • • • • 

I
sat at my kitchen table, staring at the damn project plan. I couldn’t get the sight of a dead Larry out of my mind. Erica was still upstairs, although all was quiet, so the twins were either gone or asleep.

Larry’s death changed everything. Who could have killed him? And why? The questions kept spinning in my brain like they were in a demented clothes dryer.

A car stopped in front of the house, and I rushed to the window to see Bean get out of Bobby’s police car. I met him at the door. “You okay?” he asked.

I blinked at him a moment. “I don’t know.”

He came in, and I led the way back to the kitchen. “I’ve been staring at this monstrosity and now it doesn’t make any sense.” I pointed to the Larry column. “He was the best suspect and now he’s dead.”

“Are you okay?” Bean repeated a little more insistently, and touched my arm.

I shrugged it off. “I’m fine.” The image of Larry’s crushed skull flashed into my head and I shivered. I didn’t know why I was reacting more strongly to Larry than to Denise. I didn’t even know him. But it was my first time seeing a head bashed in. And hopefully, my last.

“It’s okay.” Bean pushed me down into a chair and sat beside me. “Seeing someone dead is always traumatic.”

My hands started shaking and he grabbed both of them. “Just breathe deep.” His voice was kind.

My shoulders shuddered with the effort to hold back tears as I tried to fill my lungs. It took several tries.

“Breathe,” he repeated and demonstrated, his chest moving in an exaggerated motion that actually kind of helped.

“How many dead bodies have you seen before?” I tried to sound sarcastic but it was a pretty weak attempt.

“Ah, getting back to normal.” He smiled and I was glad he hadn’t answered me.

His hand moved up to rub the back of my neck and this time I had to tamp down a different kind of shudder that was building. I bent my head so he couldn’t see my expression.

His reporter antenna must have been working overtime because his impersonal neck rub slowed, turning into something more suggestive.

I dared a peek up at him and his eyes held a hint of humor, and something else, especially when he glanced at my mouth.

“Did Lockett want to know where you got the photo?” I asked.

“Yes, but I told him I never reveal a source.” His hand moved down to rub my tense shoulder.

I smiled. “So I’m a source?”

“Yes.” His eyes closed a little, making him even more sexy. “A source of many things.”

“Aggravation?” I fished.

“Provocation.”

“Really?”

“Vexation.”

I laughed and it came out a little breathless. “That’s still a word?”

“Yes.” He drew out the word.

“Irritation?” I asked, not able to look away.

“Fascination.”

He leaned toward me.

“No.” I surprised myself. Where did that come from?

“No?”

Now I had to go with it. “Bad idea.”

“What is?” he teased.

No way was I letting him off the hook. “Kissing me.”

“I’m thinking it may be a very good idea,” he said slowly, as if seriously considering, and liking, the idea.

“Really?” For some reason, I held my breath.

“Well,” he admitted, “at least not a bad idea.”

“No?” I asked, staring at his mouth.

“Not a horrible idea at all,” he said, and leaned toward me.

Our lips met. A wild rush went through me.
Whoa
. I moved closer and then heard a knock on the door. “Michelle?” Erica asked.

I nearly tumbled backward in reaction, and only Bean’s hand on my arm kept me from pushing my chair over with me in it.

“Relax,” he said. I was a little gratified that he seemed annoyed by the interruption. “Well, this is better than spin-the-bottle.”

He did remember! “Come on in,” I said to Erica, my voice squeaky.

She walked in, looking exhausted. “They’re finally asleep.” Only the twins made her that tired. Then her face changed as she noticed Bean holding my hand. “What’s wrong?”

• • • • • • • • • 

A
nother night tossing and turning, with images of Larry interspersed with weirdly hot dreams of Bean. I was still up early enough to run and get the cobwebs from my brain, and meet Kona at eight for another marathon day of chocolate making.

Erica, Bean and I had talked through the death of Larry and all of its implications until midnight. Our theory that Larry had killed Denise was a dead end, so to speak, and we realized that the same person may have killed both of them.

We had examined our plan in detail, but I was beginning to think that project plans might not be suited to murder investigations.

Erica would have none of that. “This system will work.”

“It’s not a system,” I gestured toward the wall. “It’s a gypsy carnival game.”

“Ooh,” Erica said. “We should get one of those for the festival.” She made a note and then stared again at the wall. “Let’s go over every variable again.”

“We need to figure out who knew our security codes,” I said. “Because not only did someone get into Denise’s studio, they also put poison in my kitchen, so they knew the codes to just about everything.”

Once Erica delivered the twins back to Colleen, it was her job to talk to the security company while I got to work on making chocolates. Kona and I had moved on to Mocha Supremes—coffee-flavored ganache in delicious, dark chocolate, spray-painted light blue and white—and Pistachio Surprises, with their hint of orange zest and crunch of organic pistachio crumbles.

I was sitting at my customer counter packing an assortment of truffles into their cute little boxes and trying not to worry about Coco. She hadn’t eaten any of the food I’d left out. Then Detective Lockett opened the door and walked in. I instantly felt on full alert—whoop whoop—like on
Star Trek
.

“Why’s the door unlocked?” he asked.

“Nice to see you too,” I said. “Would you like to try the yummiest thing you’ve ever eaten?”

“Sure,” he said, leaving a seat in between us. The better to question me I guessed.

I got up to pour him some coffee and give him a small plate, staying on the other side of the counter. “Here, try my caramels.” No one could resist their buttery caramel sweetness.

He took a bite, and a little bit of caramel dripped onto his chin. “Oh my Gawd,” he said. “That is the best thing I ever ate.”

“Not the yummiest?”

“I’ve never used that word before, but maybe I’ll start today.” He took another bite and finished it, his eyes closing for a moment.

“Wait until you try the Spicy Passion,” I said, and then realized what that sounded like. “It, uh, has passion fruit in the ganache,” I stumbled slightly over the words, “and the Japanese salt on top has chili flakes.”

“Hence, ‘Spicy Passion,’” he said, with a hint of a smile.

I handed him a napkin and pointed to his lip. “So what can I help you with? I’m assuming you didn’t come here to get chocolate.”

He wiped his mouth and put the napkin down. “I’m sure you heard about Larry Stapleton.”

“Yes.” I had to clear my throat. “Bean told us.”

He nodded. “During our canvassing, a long-term motel resident said a red-haired woman entered the room with Mr. Russell.”

I gripped the counter to keep my hands from shaking. “Well that leaves me out.”

Of course he noticed my hands and raised his eyes to meet mine. “Howzat?”

“I’m strawberry blond,” I said oh so casually.

“Leaving the scene of a crime like that was pretty suspicious,” he said. “So I asked around.”

I tried to change the subject. “How long did it take you to get rid of ‘axed’? My roommate said it all the time.”

“Ten years away from Pittsburgh to lose that,” he said, but wouldn’t be distracted. “Anyway, it seems that in addition to Mr. Benjamin Russell’s discovery, you and Ms. Erica Russell have been nosing around about your buddy’s murder.”

“Why would we do that?” I asked, trepidation edging up my spine.

“You tell me,” he said.

“Hypothetically?” I asked and he nodded. “If you were one of us, wouldn’t it be in your best interests to find out what you can? We need our shop to get over this crisis. It’s our livelihood. And the whole town needs Memorial Day weekend to be a success.”

He stood up and even though he didn’t move closer, it felt like he was in my face. “Hypothetically? If I was you, I’d be letting the police handle it. Because whoever killed Denise probably just killed again.”

His words seemed to hang there in the air, sounding a lot worse than the theoretical way Erica and I had discussed them last night. Then Kona stuck her head out and yelled, “Where’s the lavender?”

It took me a moment to answer. “I’ll find it.” I stepped back. “Sorry, Detective. We’ll stay out of your way from now on.”

That was probably a lie.

• • • • • • • • • 

E
rica was holed up in her office sending out a press release about our opening, and I was back to stuffing chocolates in boxes when someone tried to open the front door, followed by a brisk knock. I’d locked up after the detective left to keep out more interruptions from the real world. Why couldn’t I just make my chocolates in peace?

“Erica? Michelle?” Mayor Gwen tried to peek through the tiny space left between the wooden blinds and the door frame.

I sighed and unlocked the door. “Hi, Gwen.”

“Oh, it smells delicious in here.” She bustled in. “That chocolate scent just swooshed by when you opened the door. It does my heart good to see you getting ready for the big opening.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Can I help you with anything?”

She turned around to peek out the door. “It’s gone,” she said. “The cutest cat followed me here. Bristol at the hair salon said its name was Phantom.”

“No,” I insisted. “Its name is Coco.”

Gwen blinked at my weird insistence and changed the subject. “We’re planning a press conference for tomorrow and I wanted to include an update on our amazing Memorial Day weekend,” she said. “Is Erica here?”

My shoulders suddenly felt heavy with responsibility. “Yes, I’ll get her.” I pointed to the chocolates I’d been packaging. “Help yourself. There are some caramels and a few Black Forest Milks.”

“Ooh, my favorite,” she said.

Erica was combing through an online book auction site when I walked into her office. She grabbed her huge Fudge Cook-off binder when I told her what Gwen wanted, and we joined her at the counter.

“A press conference?” Erica asked after their greeting.

“Reporters are clamoring for information about the unfortunate death of Mr. Stapleton,” Gwen said. She picked up a napkin to wipe at her mouth. “And even though it happened in another town, because of his connection with Denise, we’ve been pulled into it.” She sounded affronted that Larry had the gall to be killed so soon after Denise. “Of course I’ll let them know that the death of a criminal like Mr. Stapleton, while unfortunate, will result in an even safer Memorial Day weekend.”

“What do you mean?” Erica asked.

Gwen raised her eyebrows, as if objecting to being questioned. “He was most likely the victim of one of his criminally minded friends, as well as a person of interest in Denise’s murder.” She pulled down on her jacket and smoothed it over her hips. “It seems to me like the world executed its own rough justice.”

Erica’s eyes widened. “Are you saying that you think Larry murdered Denise and then was killed by a criminal friend?”

“I know the police will investigate both deaths
thoroughly
, but that would be the best outcome. A chance for all of us to put this behind us.” She spoke in such a reasonable tone that for a moment I believed her.