Truffled to Death (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (20 page)

“We’re here to see Rose Hudson,” Erica said.

“How nice.” The rep brought up Rose’s information on her computer and typed in our names. “Rose is in the Vintage Garden outside the west wing.” She handed us visitor badges to clip on, and another uniformed woman came to show us the way.

Rose sat on a wicker chair looking at the beautiful view of rolling hills that met the mountains in the distance. A gardener used small pruners to clip purple flowers from a bush. Other patients sat in groups or alone, all across the lawn and gardens.

“Rose.” Our guide bent down to meet her eyes. “These two young ladies are here to see you.”

Erica took the seat beside Rose as I handed her the flowers. “Hi, Mrs. Hudson. This is Michelle and I’m Erica from Chocolates and Chapters.”

She looked up, her wrinkled face wrinkling even more as she tried to place us. She focused on the flowers. “What beautiful lilies. Adam, can you put those in a vase for me?”

“It’s Steve, ma’am,” the attendant corrected kindly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rose said. “Steve. Of course.” She shook her head at herself and then grabbed Erica’s hand. “How are you girls doing? Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

Erica went right along with her. “It is. And we’re good. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m just fine,” she said. “Viv is picking me up soon.”

“That’s nice,” I said with a sideways look at Erica. We had to move the conversation along fast before Vivian arrived.

Erica took my cue. “We’re so sorry that the display in our store upset you.”

Rose tilted her head. “Upset me? Oh, you mean the curse.” Then she smiled. “It’s okay. Adam told me there was nothing to worry about anymore.”

“Of course there’s not,” Erica reassured her. “What could you possibly be worried about?”

“That Bertrand,” she shook her head indulgently. “He could always stir the pot.”

“That’s actually why we’re here,” Erica said. “To find out more about him.”

Her face became sad. “He’s dead, you know. He was too sad for this world.” She looked intently at Erica’s face. “Everyone said it was a heart attack, but it was really a broken heart. He was in a dark place. The Rivers got that problem all over the place. That’s the real curse.”

“Bertrand?” Erica asked.

Rose laughed out loud, a twinkly laugh that drew a smile from the gardener. “Oh yes, you ladies love my Bertie. But he’s taken, dear.” She looked at her watch. “Viv should be here. We’re going to Sanders for ice cream.”

Startled, I looked at Erica. The Sanders ice cream parlor in the next town had closed ten years ago.

“That will be fun,” Erica said, her voice careful. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

Rose got a confused look on her face, and then she said, “Vanilla.” She nodded once as if confirming the answer to herself.

Suddenly, Steve was at my side. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Hudson has an appointment right now. You’ll have to leave.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Erica stood. “It was lovely to see you.”

Rose grabbed her hand again. “Thank you for your visit. Please come again.”

Steve seemed anxious as he escorted us out, and even the lady at the front desk gave us a strained smile.

“What was that about?” I asked after we’d walked slowly to the car.

“I’d say that someone doesn’t want us talking to Rose Hudson,” she said.

E
rica wanted to check on Bean so she dropped me off at the store.

I walked in to find Detective Lockett waiting for me. Great. I didn’t even bother to say hi, just led the way back to Erica’s office.

“Any idea who just called me and demanded that you and your buddy stop harassing their family members?”

“Joe Jonas?” I asked. “I’m president of his fan club so I’m allowed to contact him whenever I want. It’s in my contract.”

He ignored my joke. “Adam River. Imagine my surprise to hear that you and your buddy were pestering an old lady.”

“Pestering?” I asked. “Who uses that word? You sound like an old lady yourself.”

He assumed his normal long-suffering expression when dealing with me. “First, I keep Bobby off your back about
the librarian suspect. Then you say you’re done investigating. Instead you
pester
old ladies.”

“We weren’t pestering anyone,” I said. “Visiting is not pestering.”

“What were you
not pestering
her about?” he asked.

I debated telling him about the diary, but too much had happened. “We saw the analysis of the damaged pages in Bertrand River’s diary.”

He straightened in the doorway. “How the hell?” He changed gears. “What did it say?”

“That Bertrand fell in love during his travels,” I said. “And got married and had a family.”

His jaw tightened. “You two . . .” His voice trailed off and then he made a decision. “You’re coming with me to the station.” Grabbing my arm, he tugged me through the whole store to the front door.

I sent a wide-eyed look over my shoulder to Kona. “I’ll be back,” I yelled.

“No, she won’t,” Lockett yelled as he dragged me outside.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

L
ucky for me, Detective Lockett was driving a normal sedan and not his state police car. I got in the passenger side, put my seat belt on and crossed my arms while he stood outside and made a call on his police radio.

“What do you hope to gain by acting this way?” I demanded as soon as he got in.

“Just be happy I didn’t cuff you.” He backed out of his parking spot and headed over to the police station. “Did you imagine that the analysis of the diary just might be a motive for murder?”

I huffed. “Of course. That’s why . . .”

“That’s why you ran off to interrogate someone who might be able to provide the police with valuable information. And now you’ve warned the family so they can prevent access to that individual.”

“We never mentioned the diary,” I insisted, feeling guilty.

He glanced over at me and it was like he read my mind. “Only because you didn’t get a chance, right?”

“Sorry.” My voice was a little grudging. “We should’ve told you.”

“No shit,” he said. We pulled up to the white building that served as a police station. Lockett said, “Go back to the lunch room,” before stopping in Chief Noonan’s office to tattle on us.

It didn’t take long for Erica to arrive with her big bag in tow. She pulled out her laptop, looking totally fine about the whole thing. That must’ve been what Lockett’s police radio call was about.

I talked quietly in case someone was listening. “Leo still hanging out?”

She nodded. “Everything’s fine.”

Detective Lockett, Bobby and the chief all came into the room and sat down. The chief spoke. “Okay, ladies. What ya got?”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

E
rica told them everything we’d learned about the murder, Carlo, Santiago and Sincero, even Zane’s breakthrough on the spreadsheet. Bobby still wanted to lock us up until they had someone in custody, but the chief let us go with a
last-chance warning to keep our noses out of police business.

It was totally selfish of me, but I stopped at home before going back to the store. Leo was holding a beer, with his head in the refrigerator.

“You’re not giving that to Bean, are you?”

He smiled over the fridge door. “Nope. It’s all mine.”

“How’s the patient?” I asked.

“Last time I checked, sleeping. Your turn to baby him?” he asked.

“Sorry,” I said, itching to peek in. “I have to get to the store.”

“’K,” he said. He pulled a few bags of cold cuts out, and then folded a few slices of salami over a slice of cheese. “The doc was here and said he wasn’t going to win any beauty contests with the scar he’s gonna have, but there’s no nerve damage or anything.” He took a large bite of his makeshift sandwich.

“Has Bean told you anything?”

“About getting shot?” He took a sip of beer. “Nope. Before he left, he was asking about some paramilitary groups farther out in Maryland, but that’s all I know.” He gestured with his beer bottle to the back door. “I cleaned up his trail out there. All the way to his car.”

“Thanks.” Scrubbing the blood from the kitchen and bedroom had been hard enough. “You doing okay?” I asked. “Not bringing back any, I don’t know, bad memories?”

He smiled. “I’m good. It’s a happy ending, right?”

I couldn’t resist giving him a big hug. “Stay good, okay?”

Bean opened his eyes when I stepped into the room, and gave me a sloppy smile. “He-ey.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Your voice sounds slurry. Should I call Oakes?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Leo gave me some really . . . nice painkillers.” That explained the glassy eyes.

“They seem to be working.” I should probably talk to Leo about modifying the dose.

“Oh yeah.” He patted the bed. “Sit down. Take a load off.” He grabbed my hand and started rubbing my palm with his thumb. “Sorry for the mess.”

“No problem,” I said, not sure how to handle this injured, drugged-up Bean.

He turned his head and blinked as if he had trouble focusing on me. “This isn’t how I imagined being in your bed.”

I gasped. I’d thought the same thing! I felt a deep blush move up my face. “How did you imagine it?”

He looked around as if seriously considering my question. “Sexier. Wa-ay sexier.” His smile was a little loopy. “And I thought both of our ‘this’s’ would be over.”

Leo stuck his head in the doorway. “He lives!” he said in a friendly tone. He must not have heard Bean talking about my bed.

I stood up. “Sorry. Gotta get back to the store.”

Bean’s eyes closed and then opened as if he was fighting fatigue and the effects of the drugs. “Bring me some of those flag ones.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

I
was happy to forget all about murders and burglaries and just work, even taking over making caramel when Kayla took over for Kona.

Kayla had insisted on taking a turn stirring the industrial
sized pot when the flash mob practice ended up near our store. “You have to see it. It’s so cool!”

Students were rushing down the street acting out various scenes—from short battles to elaborate rituals—while “soldiers” with spears stood at attention to keep innocent bystanders out of the way. Luckily, Main Street of West Riverdale didn’t have a lot of bystanders on a Monday evening.

Wink was working with a woman who seemed to be the director, and a camera man who kept holding his hands up to make little squares as if evaluating camera angles while they walked up and down Main Street. Every once in a while, they’d ask the students to run through a scene. They were all having a blast.

May closed up and stood watching with me. “Don’t worry if you see Coco outside. I had to open her cat door,” she said. “She insists on going out, but she always comes back to her babies.”

Rehearsals continued past closing time, and I left Erica talking flash mob business with Wink.

Leo and Star were eating Zelini’s pizza in the kitchen when I made it home. It had been a long day, but seeing the students having so much fun working on something so worthwhile made me feel close to normal.

“We saved you some,” Star said, grabbing another plate and setting it on the table.

“Great,” I said. “I’m starving.”

I pointed to her arm, where her biceps rippled. “You been working out?”

Star was a personal trainer to serious athletes only. She flexed, showing a deep ridge. “I picked up a few new clients and they are kicking my butt.”

“I thought it was supposed to be the other way around,” I said.

She nodded, a little of her hair falling across her face. “Gotta make sure they know I can do what I make them do.”

Leo pushed the hair back behind her ears, in a show of tenderness that made me smile. “We’re going to take off,” he said, getting to his feet and piling the dishes in the sink. “I just gave Bean a pill, so he’ll sleep for a while.”

“Thanks,” I said, and took another huge bite. “I’ll walk you out. Bean’s chocolates are still in the car.”

I finished my slice on the way, said good night and brought in a box of the flag chocolates Bean had requested as they drove away. They were the first chocolates of mine he’d ever tasted. Maybe he was being romantic in asking for them.

I debated leaving the door unlocked. Erica would be home soon, but I decided to err on the side of caution and locked it.

I turned around and Carlo was standing at the other end of the hallway, holding a gun aimed right at my heart.

I
let out a tiny scream.

Carlo made a slow and deliberate
shush
gesture with his finger that was ominous even without the gun pointing into the living room. Did he know Bean was sleeping right on the other side of the wall?

I slid by him into the room, turning the light on. It didn’t make me feel any better.

“Have a seat,” he said.

When I didn’t immediately sit down, he added, “I must insist.”

I sat. “How did you get in here?”

He gave me an “oh please” look. Locks on hundred-year-old doors must be no match for an international art trafficker.

“What are you doing here?” I tried.

“Please put your phone on the floor.” He sat between me and the door. “And don’t try anything. I’m an excellent shot.” He said it almost as an apology.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Because I told Kona to stay away from you?”

“Of course not,” he said. “Kona is, was, a beautiful diversion, but nothing gets in the way of my business.”

“Which business?” I asked. “The legit one or the illegal trafficking in antiquities one?”

His eyes narrowed and I regretted my outburst.

His voice grew hard, with none of his usual charm. “You will end up like the professor if you do not answer my questions. Who are you working with?”

“No one,” I said, ashamed of the slight wail in my voice. “You killed the professor?”

“His death didn’t matter,” Carlo said. “He’d become useless.”

My face must have shown my shock.

He looked at me as if evaluating the best way to proceed. “How did two country mice like you uncover the identity of Sincero? You must have had help.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice shook.

“Come now.” He settled more comfortably into the chair. “You don’t last long in this business without many connections.”

“Connections?” I asked.

“Did you think I wouldn’t hear of your now-famous photo?” he asked. “I have people everywhere.” He let that sink in. “You’re remarkably foolish. I would have paid a great deal to keep that photo secret.”

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“To find out who you are working with.” He moved the gun in a circle. “One way or another.”

“Look,” I said. “We didn’t work with anyone. We just stumbled around and got lucky. It’s how we do things.”

“Solve mysteries and mete out justice from your little shop?” he asked, not believing me.

“No meting out anything,” I said. “Whatever we find, we give to the police. So it’s too late. We gave them everything we know.”

He cocked his head. “If that’s true then you can tell me about your Santiago.”

“He’s not
my
Santiago, and isn’t he one of you? You know, the bad guys?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said. “Did he ever tell you about El Gato Blanco?”

“Really?” I bluffed. “The white kitten? Is that name supposed to be intimidating?”

He smiled as if enjoying my joke at Santiago’s expense. “I would love to attach a face to the El Gato Blanco myth. A dead face.”

And then I heard a creak in the hallway and Carlo whirled around. Santiago stood there, dressed all in black, a gun in his hand.

It was obvious from the way they glared at each other that these guys were not on the same side.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” I said. “You two need to take your little feud somewhere else.” Inside, I was quivering.

“Why don’t we?” Santiago said backing up a step.

Carlo didn’t move.

“The testosterone in this room is getting overwhelming.” I took a step toward the door. “Can I go?”

“No,” Carlo said at the same time Santiago said, “Yes.” They moved in unison into the hall, not quite mirror images. Two handsome bad boys that no one should mess with.

Then I heard sirens in the distance, and I almost wept in relief.

Carlo shook his head. “
Cobarde
,” he said, his voice filled with disgust.

“Looks like I’m getting that vase,” Santiago taunted.

Carlo scowled. “Perhaps. But I’ll get it in the future.” He slipped out the back door and Santiago let him go.

“I called the police,” Santiago admitted. “Knowing he’d scurry away like the rat that he is.”

“So you’re really El Gato Blanco?” I asked. “You couldn’t come up with a more original nickname?”

He smiled as at least two cars screeched to a halt in front of my house. “That’s my cue. Remind them that I’m with ICE, loosely, if they try to shoot me.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

T
he next morning, Junior was relieved of guard duty in front of our house when word got back to the West Riverdale police that Carlo Morales had crossed the Mexican border and that Santiago was not only El Gato Blanco, but surprisingly, was also the consultant to ICE he’d claimed to be. He was something of a Robin Hood, responsible for repatriating thousands of antiquities back to their country of origin, sometimes in cooperation with ICE, but usually not.

“You’re sure he’s really El Gato Blanco?” I’d asked Bobby.

“Don’t romanticize the guy,” Bobby said. “A long time ago, he was a low-level drug dealer in Panama until his
children were wiped out by a rival gang. I guess it’s good that he’s at least trying to make things right.”

The chief seemed to believe that Carlo’s conversation with me was a confession for the professor’s murder, but Erica and I weren’t buying it. It just didn’t add up.

Bean was healing fast, sitting at the kitchen table eating the eggs and toast that Erica had made with one hand. He felt terrible for sleeping through the evening’s adventure with Carlo and Santiago, and was determined not to be a burden anymore.

Overnight, Erica had researched state-of-the-art security systems and one was being installed in our house in a few days. She’d also read quite a lot of Bertrand’s diary and couldn’t stop talking about it. “It sounds like their wedding was beautiful,” she said. “By the twentieth century, most Maya were Catholic, but they still retained a few traditions. The groom had to work for four months in the field of the bride’s father before the wedding. Bertrand’s bride, Maria, wove and embroidered her own
huipil
, and Bertrand bought one from a ritual
compadre
. Bertrand seemed to revel in the Maya customs. He thought it was romantic that they wouldn’t wear their bridal outfits again until their funerals.”

From the sound of Erica’s voice, she found it romantic as well. “You’re adorkable,” I said.

Bean’s surprised laugh burst out of him, and then he cringed as if it hurt. “Adorkable?”

“You okay?” When he took a deep breath and nodded, I defended my word. “You know, the adorable nerd. I’ve heard the kids say it, and I’ve been waiting for the right time to use it.”

“She
is
pretty adorkable,” Bean said with affection.

Erica rolled her eyes. “If you two aren’t interested in Bertrand’s captivating stories, then I have things to do.” She picked up her papers and went upstairs.

A sudden tension filled the room when we were alone. Oh please let it be sexual tension.

“You okay?” he asked. “I know all of this is difficult to say the least.”

“Your ‘this’ or my ‘this’?”

He smiled. “Either. Both. All of the above.”

“It’s kind of a toss-up between you getting shot and international art thieves threatening a shoot-out in my living room.” I tried to sound carefree but my voice shook a little halfway through. I cleared my throat. “So are you going back?”

He shook his head. “No.” He paused. “I’m not sure if it’s because I have enough for the story or,” he looked down at his arm, “because of this rather major wake-up call.”

“And don’t forget bleeding all over my kitchen,” I reminded him.

“Yeah. That too.” He stared at me. “So.”

“So?”

“Wanna go out?” he asked, as if he already knew the answer.

“Like on a date?” I acted surprised.

His smile dimmed. “Yes. Like on a date.”

“I’d love to,” I said.

He grinned and grabbed my hand.

Erica came back in through the door, carrying her cell phone.

Could she have worse timing?

“The Village called,” Erica said. “Rose Hudson is demanding to see us.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

“A
re you sure we should do this?” I asked as we drove out to the retirement facility. “Adam made it clear we weren’t allowed to talk to her.” And I didn’t want to even think about Lockett’s reaction.

“Rose’s attendant said they have strict rules, and if they feel that their client is clear minded, they follow her directions,” Erica said.

Rose sat in the same chair, facing a beautiful view of mountains. “Michelle and Erica,” she said, looking totally clear minded to me. “Thanks for coming back. I’m sorry if I wasn’t all there during your last visit.”

We sat down.

“Adam tells me that you found Bertrand’s diary and the secret is out. I wanted to explain, as well as I could, the bit that I know.”

“Of course,” Erica said. “He was a fascinating man.”

She smiled. “Oh, he was. Especially in person. Why, he’d just light up a room.”

“So what happened? After the end of the diary?” Erica asked.

Rose’s smile disappeared. “You have to understand that it was a different time back then. Our father had grand plans that Bertrand was not interested in at all.” She looked out over the field. “Bertrand came home and told our parents what he’d done. That he’d gotten married.”

She shook her head. “My father refused to give him any money to go back to Central America. Bertrand fell into a terrible depression after that. Our side of the family, well, let’s just say we have a history of that.”

She took a deep breath. “And soon after that, Bertrand up and died. I was very young, but I knew why. He’d called Maria the love of his life. I’m convinced he died of a broken heart.”

Her voice faded, sadness in every syllable. “I tried to help him. He told me to hide his treasures so that he could sell them when our father wasn’t paying attention, and get the money to go back.”

“And did you hide them?” I asked.

Her face became mischievous, looking decades younger. “Oh yes. I hid many of them, but not all, along with his diaries. And they’re still there!” She paused, looking confused. “At least I think so. I don’t know how his diary got . . . out.”

Erica moved forward a little closer to Rose. “Where did you hide them?”

“You’ll never guess,” she said. “It’s a secret hiding place.”

“Who else knows about it?”

She looked shocked. “No one!” Then she paused, as if remembering something. “Except for Bertrand. He visited me.” Then she shook off the thought. “No, that’s impossible.”

“But I can tell you.” She leaned close to Erica’s ear and whispered so low I couldn’t hear her.

She sat back, and then her face became melancholy. “He changed at the end, you know. He met some archaeologists, and started feeling bad, taking all those pots and things away from their homes. He wanted to make things right.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

“W
hat did she say?” I asked as we left the retirement home grounds.

“She told me where she believes the hiding place is,”
Erica said. “Behind one of the furnaces in the basement. But there’s no way the Rivers will let us in there.”

“Can Lockett get a warrant?” I asked. Look at me, trying to walk the straight and narrow.

“I doubt it,” she said. “Their lawyer would say it’s the ramblings of an elderly woman with dementia.”

Something made me check out the rearview mirror. “We have trouble,” I said too late, as a black BMW passed us moving fast and then cut us off.