Truffled to Death (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (16 page)

“I told Reese she wasn’t allowed to put that camera in here,” May said. Today she was wearing peach to match her sale on pale carnations. “And to get her flowers online from now on.” She snorted. “She must be feeling very guilty about that horrible blog post, ’cause she didn’t even argue.”

“Leo has his friends protesting on and off all day, and they went around town and returned all of her papers to her storefront,” I said. “At least she hasn’t posted anything crazy lately.”

I used one finger to pet a few kittens while Coco purred in her sleep. Kittens sure were a stress relief.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

O
ur house phone rang again very early in the morning. I didn’t know why we still had the thing, except every time I considered getting rid of it, Leo talked me into keeping it for emergencies.

Confused by the noise, I picked up my cell phone, which said it was 4:32 a.m. Who was calling at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning? By the time I’d stumbled my way into the kitchen, I could hear Erica on her way downstairs, talking into the cordless phone. “Reese, please. Take a deep breath and start over. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I may have been slightly delirious but I thought I heard Reese yelling something about blood.

Erica walked right by me and opened the front door. “Oh my,” she said.

I joined her in the doorway.

Pointy little tubes were scattered on our front porch in a puddle of blood.

“Are those . . . ?” I asked her, willing my brain to start working.

“Stingray spines,” she said. “Used for Maya bloodletting rituals.”

I stared at her. “And for killing Professor Moody.”

I
f I thought Bobby was mad about the diary, he was positively livid when he arrived at our house. When Erica told Reese we had the same display on our porch, she’d hung up on her and called 911. Chief Noonan must’ve pulled the short straw and went to Reese’s house, and Bobby and Detective Lockett were standing on our porch, taking photos.

We hadn’t touched anything, which I thought was very nice of us, and let them do their policemen thing.

It reminded me that Bobby was probably still mad about the whole LibrarySophie thing, and I should be extra careful with him.

Erica immediately brought her laptop downstairs to the kitchen table, and was trying to find where someone could buy stingray spines. Unfortunately, a lot of marine biological supply companies sold them to anyone who wanted them.
And these spines were cheap, not like the murder weapon used on Professor Moody. That had been a special bloodletting tool. A hundred-thousand-dollar genuine antiquity made of jadeite.

I knew the Internet had everything, but selling stingray spines was going too far. And since when did so many marine biological supply companies exist? How many customers wanted puffer fish that looked like they were holding their breath?

Soon the crime scene techs arrived and took fingerprints of everything on the porch. The blood was thankfully red paint, but the intent had surely been to scare the crap out of us.

Detective Lockett knocked on the back door.

I led the way to the kitchen.

“You ladies at it again?” He was dressed in jeans and a black button-down shirt, all slightly rumpled, like he’d jumped out of bed and picked up the closest thing he could find to wear. Of course, I was wearing sweatpants with holes in the knees from sliding into home too often at softball practice.

“At what?” I asked in my most innocent voice.

He shook his head. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Do you have a specific question, Detective?” Erica asked.

He scratched his head and shuffled his feet as if trying to think of something.

“Really?” I said. “Do you think you’re Columbo or something?”

He smiled, but there was something determined behind it. “You do remember that you were almost killed a few months ago.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Here’s the thing I’ve learned about people who kill,” he said conversationally. “If they’ve done it once, they’re much more likely to do it again. Just like what almost happened in May.”

I couldn’t help the shiver that ran up my spine.

“You two should take that warning out there to heart,” he said.

“Not ‘yinz guys’?” I said, borrowing some Pittsburgh-ese.

He looked at me, not distracted at all.

Erica broke in. “It seems like we must be getting pretty close to something important if we’re making somebody, not necessarily the murderer, nervous. I’m not sure a splash of red paint and a few stingray spines equals much more than vandalism.”

“Vandalism?” Lockett repeated. “You think some bratty kid did that?”

“No,” Erica said in her
I’m trying to be reasonable in the face of your hysteria
tone. “It’s obviously a warning, but not necessarily by Dr. Moody’s killer.”

“So you’re saying you don’t have to worry?” Lockett asked.

She didn’t answer him, looking uncertain.

“Right.” He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down at the table. “Let’s just get to the nitty-gritty. Why don’t you tell me what ya learned that might’ve got you two in trouble?”

Erica looked at me and I nodded. She told him what we knew so far, except for the million dollar vase. Or my little field trip to Santiago’s room and the spreadsheets. Because then we wouldn’t have to worry about someone else killing us—Lockett would do it for us.

Lockett wasn’t happy. He even stopped taking notes after
a while and rubbed his eyes with both hands. “Nothing stops you two.”

Erica lifted her chin. “If you were smart, you’d use us.”

“Yeah right,” he scoffed.

“For example, I could offer my expertise on Bertrand River’s diary,” she suggested.

He stood up. “Even if I thought that was a good idea, your boyfriend would stop it in a second.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said. “Not that it has anything to do with my expertise.”

He started to say something about that and realized it might get him into trouble. “This is getting messy. Really, stay out of it.” He went outside to talk to the crime scene techs.

Bobby came in demanding that we promise not to do anything that anyone might consider to be “investigating.” If he could’ve, he would have put us under house arrest.

I leaned over to Erica and said in a stage whisper, “Is he going to break up with you again?”

Bobby stomped out as if he couldn’t trust himself to be around us. It didn’t help that the same scene of stingray spines and red paint was found outside Reese’s storefront, our store, Lavender’s hotel, and even Gary’s coffee shop. It seemed like whoever had done this was also trying to warn off anyone who was known to have talked to us.

By some miracle, we still opened at our normal Sunday time of eleven. I was arranging my Orange Hot Cocoa boxes on a display table when Gary called my cell. “I hate to bother you with everything that’s happened, but the cats are back, and May didn’t answer her phone.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”

I grabbed a box and drove over, wishing I had the
baby-blanket-lined basket that May had used to move them. Different crime techs were finishing up in front of the Big Drip, and I went in through the back, heading up to the front to let Gary know I was there.

Gary gave me an exasperated look from behind the counter. “Same place.”

One of his skater buddies was asleep on the couch. I ignored him and went to the storage room. “Come on, Coco,” I said quietly. She let me grab the little mewing kittens and put them into the box, and then she jumped in with them, complaining loudly.

Gary came back to watch, sticking out a finger to pet one of the kittens. “Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda miss them.”

I smiled. “I can imagine. They’re irresistible.” I pointed to Reese’s webcam and computer still in the closet. “Is Reese taking those out?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve asked her to a bunch of times, but she’s busy. She said they’re turned off.”

I put the box down. “I’ll just clean up in there and go out the back.”

“What’d you do to my brother?” he asked. “He told me not to talk to you.”

Hmm. Did he mean talking to Jennie or trying to get Deirdre to spill the River family secrets? “I’m sorry to cause you to disobey his order,” I said. “You can tell him this time it was Coco’s fault.”

He frowned. “I don’t take orders. From anybody.”

Oh good. He fell for it. “He’ll calm down,” I said. “As soon as they catch whoever did this.” I pointed to the guy on the couch. “Did he see anything?”

“No,” he said, disgusted. “Too messed up.” He snorted.
“Don’t do drugs, kids,” he said and then seemed to relent. “I let them crash here when they can’t see straight enough to drive, but it’s getting to be too much.” He went back to the counter.

I quickly cleaned up Coco’s mess. She’d once again shredded a bunch of poor Gary’s napkins, and the industrial-sized box was pretty empty. I put the last few packages on a shelf and took the box out of the closet to recycle. When I came back in, I noticed a small door with a padlock, probably leading to plumbing that hadn’t been used since the whole building had been repiped decades before. The cement had crumbled around it, leaving a hole barely large enough for Coco to squeeze through.

I was going to tell Gary and suggest that he try to close up the hole on both ends of wherever the panel led, but he was trying to handle a few upset skater boys.

“Dude!” one of them yelled to the passed-out kid. He kicked the couch leg and woke him up. The poor guy looked like he could use a lot more sleep, and a lot of coffee. “You gotta put the key back in the hiding place, you moron. You passed out and we couldn’t get in.”

“Leave him alone,” Gary said. “You did the same thing last week.”

The first irate skater dude saw me holding the box and abruptly stopped talking. I waved to Gary and went out the back door.

May was in her shop when I got back, and I handed her the box of kittens. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said, her hand on her heart. “I got back from church and I was so worried!” Coco circled, meowing her head off, until they were all settled back in their spot.

Kona asked to talk when I got back to the store. She
started to say something and then stopped, looking miserable.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s just, I couldn’t get your question out of my mind and I realized that Carlo had asked me questions about you and Erica last week.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“So he
was
using me to find out what you guys were up to.” She sounded sad and mad at the same time.

“That’s not true,” I insisted. “He liked you the minute he met you, before the . . . whole mess started.”

She shook her head.

“When did he start asking questions?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said, sounding troubled. “He was pretty subtle about it. Like asking how the shop worked and then about the festival and murder investigation stuff around Memorial Day. I totally told him you were
not
getting involved in this Dr. Moody case.” She paused and then admitted with a sideways look. “But I did kinda brag that if you were, you’d figure out who the bad guys were way, way before the police did.”

Great. Maybe Carlo was the one trying to scare us with stingray spines. I tried to keep the worry off my face.

“Can you stay away from him for a few days?” I asked. “We actually are looking into a few things.”

She nodded, no longer resentful of my concern. And not surprised at all that we were investigating. “Yeah. He texted me this morning, but I’m not going to answer.”

I went back into Erica’s office and Zane was there. “We need to find out more about Carlo. Like now.”

“Why the urgency?” Erica asked.

My voice started to shake with outrage. “He asked Kona
about us and if we’re investigating the professor’s murder. He was using our Kona.”

Zane cleared his throat. “Kona told me that last night and I did some digging with my comp sci professor.” He typed on his computer and turned the screen to us. “She’s done some consulting with a few government organizations and reached out to someone. He told her that Carlo has been suspected of international art trafficking for years, but it’s never been proven.”

I sat down hard in a chair. “Oh my God.”

Erica looked upset for a moment and then took a few deep breaths.

“Why didn’t Lockett or Bobby tell us?” I asked. “They have to know that.”

“This might be why Bobby was so adamant about us staying out of the investigation,” she said.

“Let’s back up. If Carlo was responsible for the robbery and the professor’s death, then why is he still here? Wouldn’t he be out of the country by now?”

Erica’s cell phone dinged with a text. “Speak of the devil,” she said. “Vince the waiter said Aviles has been making Feijoada since early this morning. He thinks Carlo is coming for lunch this time.” She told Zane what we’d learned about the professor meeting with Carlo at the El Diablo Restaurant. “Let’s go see who he’s meeting with.”

“It’s already eleven thirty,” I said. “We have to get over there right away.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

T
he idea of staking out a suspect sounded exciting but in reality, it was totally boring. Zane had insisted on joining us. He’d quickly borrowed a van from a friend and
loaded it up with cameras that were now trained on the street outside the restaurant. We all sat in the back of the van, which got stuffy even though we’d parked in the shade and cracked the front windows a couple of inches.

At first, anytime someone walked even close to the restaurant door, we all stared intently at the laptop to see if the person was our target. Vince had texted to let us know that Carlo hadn’t arrived yet, and his special dish was still stewing.

By the time two o’clock rolled around, we were wondering if the whole thing was a bust. And then Zane pointed out a man in a baseball cap on the screen. “This is his second time walking down the street.”

Erica and I leaned forward to look at him closer. “How do you know?”

He zoomed the camera in and brought up footage that had been captured fifteen minutes before. Same man.

“What is that he’s wearing around his neck?” Erica asked.

Zane zoomed in even further. The man wore a large light green necklace that wouldn’t be so obvious except he’d opened his shirt a few buttons past
Miami Vice
–style.

“That’s K’inich Ajaw, the classic Maya sun god,” Erica said.

“Maya?” I said. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“It’s most likely a copy that is pretty common—sold to tourists even,” she admitted. “Unless that’s real jadeite.”

“Jadeite?” I asked. “Isn’t that what the murder weapon was made of?”

“Yes. I’d have to see it closer to be sure.” She stared intently at the screen.