Truffled to Death (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (21 page)

E
rica screeched to a halt as Santiago got out of his car. He held his hands up to show he wasn’t holding a weapon, and then he pointed to the window.

“Back up,” I told Erica.

“He’ll follow us,” she said. “And maybe do something more dangerous. I think he just wants to talk.”

She pushed the button to lower her window two inches.

“It seems I underestimated you,” he called out and moved closer. “When I fed you that spreadsheet, I didn’t expect you to get this far. My friends at ICE have arrested the infamous Sincero and now they are no longer one step behind me.”

Erica seemed to evaluate what he’d said. “You fed us the spreadsheet?”

He nodded.

“But why?” I asked. “You work for ICE.”

He laughed. “Oh no. Let’s say I’m a consultant.” He paused. “When it’s mutually beneficial.”

“Why are you telling us?” I asked.

He took another step. “I’m making an official request that you cease and desist from your amateur investigation. You’re not only embarrassing the big boys, but you’ve put the bad guys on notice.”

“And?” I asked.

“And?” he repeated. “I like to have my bad guys stupid and unknowing.”

Erica narrowed her eyes. “What exactly is your role?”

“Everyone said you were the smart one.” His tone was admiring. “And your Michelle is the tenacious one. But perhaps you’re learning from each other.” He paused. “I heard a rumor. That dear pillaging Bertrand’s diary contains an amazing Hollywood ending.”

“What do you mean?” I said, a little too quickly.

He smiled, delighted. “So it’s true. He got married and started a family in Belize. I can’t tell you how exciting this news is.” Then he grew serious. “But I must reiterate. Stay far, far away from Carlo.”

“I’ll need something more . . . official if you want us to leave it alone,” Erica said.

In a split second he was at her window. “Listen. I will control the result of Sincero’s arrest, but I need Carlo in place. I know how he works. He must continue doing what he does so I can continue doing what I do.”

“And what
do
you do?” Erica said.

He took a step back. “That’s not your concern. But if you lop off his head, someone new will take his place. And I’m getting too old to learn a new dance.”

He walked back to his car and we watched as he drove away slowly at first. Then he gunned the engine and disappeared over the rise.

“Whoa,” I said. “He really is El Gato Blanco.”

“What is going on?” Erica pulled out her phone. “Zane? You need to find out everything you can about Santiago and El Gato Blanco. Go deep.”

“I guess there’s no reason to remind you that we’re really done with this investigation.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

B
ack at the shop, it was hard to stop thinking about Santiago’s request. He had to know that an official investigation into Carlo was far outside of our control. And why was he so interested in Bertrand’s family?

“I forgot to tell you,” Kona said, as we cleared the remains of the Realtors’ meeting on the back table. “That mom you said was pregnant because she didn’t finish her Mocha Supreme?”

“Samantha?” I asked.

“Yes. That’s her name. She
is
pregnant,” Kona said. “Diagnosis by truffle really works.”

I was feeling pretty proud of myself when Vivian River came through the door.

“Oh my God,” I said to Kona. Maybe she’d heard of our visit with her mother. “She’s never been in here except for the reception.”

Vivian looked around the dining room and chose a small table in the corner.

I gave Kona a gentle push. “You go see what she wants.”

Kona went over with a smile and returned with a frown. “She wants a decaf cappuccino, one caramel, and you.”

I felt my shoulders droop a little. I so didn’t want more drama with the Rivers. I took a deep breath and crossed to her corner. “Vivian,” I said. “How nice to see you.”

She didn’t smile. “Please sit down and join me for a few minutes,” she said.

I did as she asked, feeling like way too many people were telling me what to do lately. “What can I help you with?”

She paused as if considering. “Since turning back time and deciding not to open Pandora’s box is out of the question, I would ask that you and Erica please keep the news of Bertrand’s”—she sniffed—“family to yourself until we have sorted it all out.”

“Sure,” I said. “I don’t think anyone knows except, you know, the police.” I looked over my shoulder to make sure Kona was working on that cappuccino.

“Yes.” Her disappointment in our not being able to keep our mouths shut was clear. “Apparently, they feel that it presents some kind of ‘motive’ in the death of the professor.”

“That’s too bad,” I said, in a tone as if that idea was news to me. “So, I should get back to work . . .”

She looked like she wanted to say something else, and then changed her mind. “Of course. Thank you for your time. And your discretion.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

T
he weather couldn’t have been more perfect for the filming of the flash mob, in spite of the storm warnings from local news stations. I was amazed at how many Main Street shops were open early, getting ready for the big moment. Many of the store owners and workers had bit parts, whether it was to look surprised at the folks running through town
in centuries-old garments, to surreptiously hand out props or to gather at various scenes that needed an active audience. All of West Riverdale was behind the project.

Erica was heading to the high school, doing what she did best: ordering people around in the nicest possible way.

Kona and I delivered free coffee and caramels to the professional film crew that was setting up, with huge lights, screens and some kind of serious dolly that would allow them to track the student actors’ movements down the whole street. They even had a cameraman on a crane by the community center, where the final scene would be shot. I didn’t want to know who was paying for all of that equipment.

Wink and Jolene were in drama-nerd heaven, rushing around to consult with the film director, cameraman and Erica, in between herding actors and gathering costumes and props. I recognized members of Erica’s comic book club—the Super Hero Geek Team—taking some of the leadership roles in the project.

It wasn’t until Bobby and Junior closed Main Street to traffic that I realized how big this venture had become. Mayor Abby stood at her station, blocking off access from White Stone Alley, and members of the town council were all at their assigned spots. Word had spread and the sidewalks were packed with people from neighboring towns.

Then whistles blew up and down the street, the signal for everyone to be silent.

Spanish guitar music floated out from hidden speakers. The entire arrangement had been written and recorded by the school band. Then the Latin beat picked up and the first scenes unfolded. A royal child was held up and subjects rejoiced. At the same time, across the street, slaves worked
with food, a woman wove cloth, scribes wrote on huge books, and a god wearing an elaborate headdress, as tall as his body, demanded obedience.

The cameras captured multiple angles, especially the delighted, surprised and sometimes confused reactions from spectators, always my favorite parts of flash mob videos. Many brought out their own cameras to capture the moment.

The camera moved on to ballplayers throwing and catching a small black ball, wearing their sumo-style costumes, and dancers performing in elaborate feathered back racks as large as a Vegas showgirl’s. A king in animal prints moved between fawning women, and three men of royal birth challenged each other through dance with large plumes of fabric pressing out from their hips.

And then the music changed and the battle began.

Trumpets blasted and banners flew. Combat ensued with spears clashing, soldiers falling, and fake blood flowing.

A captive was on his knees, pleading for his life, the press of a spear to his heart and then his lifeless body on the ground. A new king ascended to power.

I ran as fast as I could to see the finale, and got there just in time to see all of the actors meet their marks. They assumed their positions, looking royal with chins held high, in front of the community center, which held the huge mural they’d painted at the school. It looked just like the photos of Bonampak in the book, an ancient stone edifice rising from the jungle.

A banner unfurled from the top of the building announcing the exhibit information and dates.

The sheer pageantry of the ancient Maya could not have been brought to life any better.

The director yelled, “Cut!” into his megaphone and the students erupted with cheers.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

H
ours later, Jolene was trying to herd the last of the celebrating students out the door of Chocolates and Chapters, telling them once again that no, they could not take their costumes or spears or headdresses home. They had discussed their favorite moments over and over with squeals of laughter and smiles of pride.

The director finally packed up his equipment. He’d kept cameras running all night, hoping that the film of the flash mob would be so popular that people would also click on his “behind the scenes” video.

Erica and I were finally able to close up. The heavy rain clouds that had been promised by the local weatherman suddenly delivered, and the rain was starting to fall.

The lone streetlight bordering the parking lot was struggling to keep back the dark, but nothing could deflate my good mood. As I pulled out onto Main Street, Erica waved me down from in front of her car.

“Coco just came out of her cat door with a kitten,” she said, holding the hood of her raincoat over her head.

“Shoot!” I said. “She’s taking it back to the Big Drip.”

Erica got in my minivan. “Let’s try to cut her off.”

I sped the few blocks to Gary’s coffee shop. “What if she already put one, or more, inside?” I asked. “They can’t be left alone overnight.”

“Maybe we should let her be until Gary opens tomorrow,” Erica suggested.

I thought about the storm warnings. “Gary leaves a key
for his skater buddies to crash there,” I said. “Maybe someone will let us in.” Although if they were anything like the one who was there before, he’d be too far gone to answer the door.

“Okay.” Erica sounded dubious.

I parked the minivan in front of the coffee shop with the headlights shining on the front corner, illuminating the front door and part of the side wall.

I grabbed an empty box I’d used to deliver candy bars and handed it to Erica as she hopped out to huddle under the little bit of roof hanging over the building.

The wind whipped my hood off as soon as I got out of the car. Great. Water was already dripping down my neck. I pulled it back over my head and knocked on the front door.

Nothing.

“I’m going to check the back,” I told Erica as her phone rang. “Don’t answer that—you have to grab Coco.”

She looked at the screen and hit a button. “It’s Zane,” She had to yell a little bit over the sound of the rain. “I’ll call him back.”

The streetlight was out on the other side of the coffee shop, and the dark was a little overwhelming. I was grateful for the feeble porch light over the back door. I knocked again and then tried to see where Gary might hide a key for his buddies. It was pretty easy to spot. A small sign in the shape of a skateboard read
Deliveries only
, and a key on a chain was wrapped around the hook holding it to the wall.

Should I?

It was definitely breaking and entering, but for a good reason. I was picking up kittens, not stealing cash from the register. After a short debate with myself, made shorter by
the rain dripping down my face, I pulled the key off its hook and unlocked the door. Erica would vouch for me if I set off the security alarm and the police came.

I stepped inside, sliding my hand along the wall until I found the switch. The sudden light was blinding, but I blinked a few times and made my way to the storage closet. I opened the door to see that Coco had created yet another nest of torn-up napkins and had already deposited four of her six kittens there.

I heard a noise and stuck my head out of the storage room to see a dripping Erica coming down the hall. “What are you doing?” she said in a stage whisper. “We have to get out of here, now.”

“Just a minute,” I said. “Four of the kittens are here. Give me the box.”

She handed it to me. “I can’t believe you broke in,” she said. “Zane called back. He thinks Gary was supplying Maya antiquities to the professor. We have to get out of here. Fast.”

“Gary?”

She joined me in grabbing the squirming kittens. “Zane doesn’t give up. He figured out how to hack into the Big Drip accounting system. He saw that Gary put in a bunch of cash right after a bunch of the sales on that spreadsheet.”

Now I understood her alarm. Coco stuck her head through the hole in the plaster, a kitten still in her mouth, and then backed up out of our reach.

“Damn it,” I said.

“Let’s go,” she said.