Truffled to Death (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (15 page)

It also didn’t help that I’d pissed off Kona. All I did was ask some innocent questions about Carlo.

“You think he’s going out with me just to find out about your investigation?” she’d asked, her brown eyes flashing.

When I’d backpedaled, she hadn’t given me a break.

“I know he’s out of my league,” she said.

“He is
not
out of your league,” I’d responded, dismayed. “He’s lucky to have you.”

At her stunned expression, I’d tried, “Not
have
you–have you, but be dating you.” Then I’d given up. “Never mind. I won’t ask again.”

She stayed out of my way as much as she could. I even caught her checking the clock several times, as if she couldn’t wait to get out of there. I felt terrible, but had to focus on the big project of the day—finding out what the Rivers’ housekeeper knew about the robbery and Dr. Moody’s death.

I’d met Deirdre only once, when we were both reaching
for the same ear of corn at the grocery store. She’d been shy as we both insisted the other one take it, and we both moved on to another ear.

I remembered her as medium just about everything. Medium height, which was certainly taller than me. Medium weight, shoulder-length brown hair, and timid brown eyes.

Zane had uncovered some interesting facts about her. She was a total gamer, and had achieved a ninety level, whatever that meant, in World of Warcraft. What was more fascinating to me was that she and her mother shared a really big investment account that had been steadily growing for many years. I didn’t want to know how Zane learned that. Maybe they got their financial advice from one of the Rivers.

“What’s going on?” Kayla asked when she arrived right before noon. “Are you having some kind of Saturday sale I don’t know about?” She yawned and finger-combed her blond curls so they fell even more adorably over half of her face.

Kona handed her a black coffee. “I have no idea, but get moving.”

Kayla good-naturedly took a gulp, and then set it down to tie on her Chocolates and Chapters apron.

May peeked in and waved me over to the door. Today she was wearing a white shirt with large daisies on it. I felt the urge to buy a bunch of daisies, so the not-so-subliminal cues were working. “Sorry. I just snuck out for a second. Gary was insisting, so I moved the kittens a little early. They’re in the back of my store. Coco only scratched me once. Come by and see them.”

I felt a surge of need to see the kitties. May had let me name the boys Mocha, Truffle and Nibs, and she named the girls Lily, Poppy and Zinnia. The list for adopting them was
so long, the Humane Society was sending May emails of all the kittens they had up for adoption.

Then May stage-whispered, “Is she here yet?”

“Who?” I asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Deirdre Cash,” May said. “I heard through the grapevine that she’s coming here to spill all the River family secrets.”

“What?” I looked around at the customers eyeing the front door as if Ed McMahon was about to arrive. “How do you know about that?”

“Everyone knows,” she said. “We can’t wait to find out what she says.” Someone stopped to look in her flower store and she held up a finger for them to wait a minute. “She refused to say anything to the police but you’ll get her to talk. You’re like Oprah!” The potential customer picked up a bouquet of yellow roses and May went to help her.

I found Erica in her office working on a publisher’s online order form. “Everyone knows!” I hissed, looking over my shoulder.

“Knows what?” she asked.

“That Deirdre is coming in to talk to us,” I said. “They’ll scare her off.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No!” I said, my voice rising. “How did they all find out about it?”

“Hmm,” she said. “Could Deirdre have mentioned it to someone who unfortunately spread the word?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s almost noon.” I shook my head. “Our best lead is going to fall apart because someone opened their big mouth.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I’m gonna call Jake,” I said. If this many people knew about our little talk with Deirdre, he was sure to have heard something. I went back to my counter and pulled out my cell.

He answered after the first ring. “The Ear. Ready to listen.”

“Hi, Jake,” I said. “It’s Michelle at Chocolates and Chapters.”

“Hey,” he said. “You getting ready?”

“For what?” My eyes were on the door.

“The big reveal,” he said. “Deirdre Cash is coming over to tell ya all about the River family skeletons, right?”

“How does everyone know that?” I kept my voice down but still managed to sound shrill.

“No idea how it started, darlin’, but it was all anyone was talking about last night. How she won’t talk to the cops, but she’s coming in to see you.”

I swore. “Sorry,” I added.

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically, the clink of glasses in the background. “’Cause I never heard that before.”

When I didn’t say anything, he added, “You done?”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said.

“Let’s hope she makes it,” he said. “Depending on what she’s got, they might just knock her off before she gets there.” He hung up.

Great. Something else to worry about.

Erica walked back to her cash register right at noon. I gave up any pretense of working and stood by the counter tapping my fingers and staring at the front of the store, willing our guest to arrive. At 12:01, Deirdre marched up to the store and opened the door, sending the bells jingling.

I drew in a breath.

She paused in the doorway, noting all the customers but
not reacting. With one long look over her shoulder, she straightened as if making a big decision and then stepped inside, turning around to gently close the door behind her.

Deirdre looked like she’d aged a lot since I’d seen her in the grocery store. She couldn’t be more than a few years older than me, but had gray streaks in her hair. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, which emphasized the fatigue on her face. I should let her go home and take a nap.

“Deirdre,” I said, as if she was a long-lost friend. I made myself appear calm, hoping my face wasn’t betraying how quivery I felt inside.

She walked through the gaping townspeople as if they weren’t there.

“Have a seat.” I gestured toward the counter stools as if I was Vanna White. “Would you like to try some Pumpkin Treats? Most people love the rush of allspice.”

She barely glanced at the plate. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

“Sure.” I suddenly felt even more uncertain. “We can use Erica’s office in the back.”

She nodded and followed me down the hallway.

“How are you holding up?” I asked, and then the front door slammed open with enough force to send the bells slapping against the frame.

“Ms. Cash!”

It was Adam River, looking frantic.

I
stole a look at Deirdre as he made his way across the store and saw satisfaction spread across her face.

He took her hand. “I’m terribly sorry.” He turned to me. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Did he mean me? No, he meant Deirdre. “Sure,” I said, not sounding sure.

“Not here.” Deirdre dropped his hand.

“Of course.” His voice oozed relief. “I’ll take you back to the house.”

She scowled. “Not yet.”

Was she playing hard to get?

He blinked at her, realizing he wasn’t out of the woods yet. “Okay.”

Deirdre looked at me, her back ramrod straight. “Thank you for your offer. But now is not a good time.” She turned
to walk out and Adam silently followed her. He sent me a look as if trying to figure out what I was up to. At least he didn’t threaten me like he had in the park with Jennie.

I had no idea what the hell was going on, but for some reason, I was rooting for Deirdre.

Our customers erupted with dramatic discussions and long looks at me. Erica joined me as I stood staring at the now-empty doorway.

“What just happened?” I was a bit bemused.

“We’ve been played,” she said, her voice low.

“Really?” My voice squeaked my surprise and I cleared my throat.

“Deirdre must have been the one to spread the word that she was coming in to reveal the long-lost secrets of the River family. I imagine they waited to see if she’d really follow through and then made the call to hire her back.”

I took a minute to think that through. “So she knows something. Something big enough for Adam to kinda humiliate himself publicly.”

She nodded. “Maybe she wanted to get him back just a little, for firing her and kicking her out of the only home she’s known.”

“So, what are they hiding?” I asked. “And what does it have to do with stolen Maya art? And maybe murder?”

Erica kept her eyes on the now-empty doorway. “That’s the big question, isn’t it?”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

J
ake called me less than an hour after Deirdre left. “I hear you’ve been duped,” he said. “Very Pink Panther.”

“Didn’t he always get his man in the end?” I reminded him.

He laughed and I was about to hang up on him when I realized he might be calling for a reason. “Have you heard anything else?”

“Just that she’s safely back in her apartment on the River estate,” he said. “You probably won’t have another chance at her.”

I was already mad, but that sent me over the top. I stomped over to talk to Erica. “We need to go all out,” I said. “We’re no further along than when we started.”

“That’s not true,” she said. “Just think what we learned last night at El Diablo. And we’ve eliminated some possibilities.”

I waved my hand around. We still didn’t have any idea who actually killed the professor. “We can’t do anything about Carlo until Vince calls us, but nothing’s stopping us from going after Santiago Diaz.”

Erica stared at me. “I wasn’t sure I should tell you this, but Zane found some information on both of them that concerns me.”

“What?”

“Except for an outdated website about Carlo’s art business, nothing.”

I waited for a moment. “So?”

“Do you know how hard it is to have nothing on the Internet?” she asked. “Neither one of them has any information online.”

“That’s impossible,” I said. “Maybe they’re not using their real names?”

“Possibly,” she said. “But Zane is working on it with his comp sci professor.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “But I have another way to find out more about our secretive Santiago.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

W
e decided not to wait until May and Nara met that night in the store for their weekly pre-manhunting, lucky-chocolate-eating visit, so I called Nara to let her know that she should come over early to test my new Caramel Apple Milks for her customers.

“Yum! I’ll be over as soon as my newlyweds go back to bed.” She chuckled. “Which should be in about five minutes, the way she’s eating that whipped cream on her strawberry waffles.”

Great. Now I wanted strawberry waffles. I popped a Raspberry Surprise to compensate.

I wondered if whipped cream would work on Bean. Who was I kidding? I wouldn’t be able to pull that off without laughing.

It didn’t take very long for Nara to arrive. “I was wrong. Three minutes.” She was wearing a sari in a brilliant blue, which she hitched up to sit at the counter.

“You look gorgeous,” I said. “Your parents here?”

“Oh yeah.” She wore traditional Indian clothing only when her parents visited from New Delhi. “It’s been just a
lovely
visit.” It was no secret that her parents disapproved of her choice of occupation, her divorce, and especially her disregard of her heritage.

“That bad, huh?” I asked. “Maybe these will make you feel better.” I pushed her plate closer, along with her favorite Masala tea.

She took a small bite of the Caramel Apple truffles, with their tiny chunks of tart dried green apples. “Hmm, this is heavenly.”

Erica joined us and folded her long legs under the counter. “Hi, Nara,” she said. “How are things at the inn?”

“Fine,” she said. “Lots of reservations coming in for Columbus Day weekend.”

“Great,” Erica said. “Need any more coupons?”

“Not yet.” Nara sipped her tea.

“How do your visitors like the Hemingway room?”

Nara had convinced the owners to give each of the rooms a literary theme, and Erica had helped her with the subtle finishing touches including the teapots decorating the Alice in Wonderland room, Georgian fabrics in the Jane Austen room, and colorful exotic plants in the Dr. Seuss room.

“They love it,” she said. “Especially the quill and ink pot on the desk.”

“Oh, good,” Erica said. “I heard you have a very handsome man in there now.”

Nara stopped midbite. “Wait. Are you guys trying to question me? You know I have a strict privacy policy with my guests.”

Actually, that was so not true. She
said
she had a privacy policy but she still managed to sneak little gossipy tidbits into any conversation. I imagined she told May just about everything that happened at the inn when they went out on their manhunts.

“I know,” Erica said in her
soothing yet tell me everything
tone. “But that’s with upstanding, law-abiding guests. You may very well be housing a known felon.”

Whoa. We didn’t know that for sure. Erica was pulling out the big guns right away.

Nara’s eyes opened wide. “What? I didn’t . . . realize.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” I said, taking the good cop role. “Who wouldn’t trust such a charming man?”

“He seemed really nice,” Nara said. “What did he do?”

Erica patted her hand. “Well, I don’t want you to panic, but we think he may be involved in art smuggling.”

Nara laughed in relief. “Oh, that’s all.”

“Mr. Diaz may have graduated to more violent crimes,” Erica said, her voice getting lower.

Nara gasped. “The professor?”

Erica shrugged. “Could be.”

“What should I do? Ask him to leave? He might get mad.”

I took over. “No. Don’t do that. We just want you to let me join your cleaning staff tomorrow morning and make sure he’s not involved.”

“You mean search his room?” She looked at me, worried. “But what if you get caught?”

“She won’t,” Erica reassured her.

She looked at her watch. “They’re still working today.”

Shoot. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that yet. Then I thought about Deirdre’s duplicity.

Erica met my eyes. “No time like the present.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

A
t first, I thought that the worst thing about cleaning hotel rooms was the uniform. I considered telling Nara that this shade of mustard was simply ugly. And the polyester was itchy. What was she thinking?

But the absolute worst thing was that people are totally gross. Even though I joined the cleaning crew late, I couldn’t arrive to “clean” only Santiago Diaz’s room. I’d put on a baseball cap,
hoping not to see anyone I knew, and kept it pulled down as low as I could.

I’d brought my heavy-duty up-to-the-elbow rubber gloves but wished I’d brought some farmers’ up-to-my-shoulder, industrial-strength gauntlets for birthing cows. Or a hazmat suit. Or a full-body condom.

I imagined I’d be making beds and cleaning out trash, which was bad enough. But Nara’s head housekeeper was not happy about my addition to her crew and she put me in charge of bathrooms. Which were disgusting.

Finally, we came to the end of the third floor, a spacious corner nook room with windows looking out over the side and back gardens. The Hemingway room was decorated in early Florida, with palm-covered wallpaper, wicker furniture and sea blue carpet. I closed the door behind me, a total no-no, but I was planning to claim forgetfulness. The housekeeper always knocked several times before entering, especially after we’d “surprised” the newlyweds who must have been so involved they didn’t hear our knock. Too bad they didn’t miss our mutual gasps when we opened the door and then slammed it shut again. Nara knew what her newlyweds were doing; she had to work on her communication with her staff.

As soon as I stepped into the room, I noticed the same men’s cologne Mr. Diaz had worn at the reception. Very unique. I started at the tiny desk, which held a laptop. I quickly opened it but had no chance at guessing the password, so I gave up. Rifling through the papers on the desk, I realized I was at a distinct disadvantage not knowing Spanish. I pulled out my phone and started taking photos of what looked like business papers. Following what I’d seen on TV,
I pulled the desk drawers out and looked underneath and behind them. I repeated the process on the two small nightstands.

Nothing.

I scanned the room for possible hiding places. The armoire looked promising, but inside it held only a pole with a few dark suits and starched white shirts. Tiny shelves on the left held just a few other clothing items, stacked neatly.

Behind it though, I thought I saw something. I turned on the flashlight app on my phone and saw a small black pouch just beyond my reach. I strained to reach it, pressing my face against the side, sure I’d have a wood imprint on my face. I got it!

Just as I’d tucked it into one of the long pockets in my cargo pants, I heard a masculine voice say, “
Perdóname
,” out in the hall by the door.

I had just enough time to dive into the bathroom and turn on water in the sink before the door opened. I peeked out and saw Santiago Diaz look intently around the room. His eyes narrowed as he looked at his desk, and then they met mine.

I popped back into the bathroom like a gopher diving into its hole, hoping he hadn’t recognized me in my baseball cap, and the head housekeeper spoke to Santiago from the hallway. The pouch felt heavy in my pocket.

He responded in Spanish, and she came into the bathroom. “Hurry up,” she ordered in English. “He’s going downstairs for twenty minutes and wants you to be done by then.”

When they both left, I breathed a deep sigh of relief that he hadn’t recognized me. I finished cleaning the bathroom and when I came out into the room, I saw Santiago had left a folder on the desk.

With one look toward the door, I opened the folder. It
contained pages of a spreadsheet, the words in Spanish. I used my cell to take photos of every page, closed it the way I found it, and got the heck out of there.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

S
omehow I made it all the way back to the store before opening the pouch. Shoot! It didn’t seem like it was something that belonged to Santiago. At least, I didn’t think so. It was an expensive tortoiseshell-colored manicure set, most likely left behind by another guest who was female.

My only hope was the photos on my phone.

Of course Erica knew enough Spanish to start interpreting the documents right away. She was most interested in the spreadsheets with dates and amounts in what might be dollars or euros. Each entry had jumbled-up letters that we had no idea how to decipher.

Then May popped her head into Erica’s office. “You girls need to see the kittens. I swear they’re getting cuter by the minute.” She glanced at the spreadsheet on top. “What’s that?” she asked and then answered, “Oh. Art sales.”

Erica and I stared at her. “How do you know?” I asked. It may have sounded a little unbelieving.

May shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I used to do bookkeeping for an art gallery and the owner used codes like that.”

Erica jerked her head in a
get her out of here
way.

“Thanks so much, May,” I said, taking her arm. “I’d love to see the kitties now.”

We entered the flower shop through the back hallway we shared. The kittens were all asleep after their big move. May had provided a lovely box filled with soft towels, food and
water, and a litter box. Coco raised her head once when the chime announcing the front door opening sounded, took note that I was there and promptly went back to sleep.

The kittens were turning into pudgy balls of fur. Cutest things ever. I sat on an overturned flower bucket and watched them sleep until May finished with a customer who wanted a purple arrangement.