Fatal Chocolate Obsession (Death by Chocolate Book 5) Page 3

  However, Henry woke me with his jungle-cat noises an hour later. He stood with his paws on the sill of the window, looking out at the street and making the noises he makes when someone he doesn’t like comes around.

  I wasn’t even surprised at this third intrusion into my slumber.

  I dragged myself out of bed and headed downstairs. Again. Henry marched alongside me. Either the new visitor had catnip or my cat thought I needed protection.

  What foul creature awaited me on my front porch? Rick? His son, Rickie? A zombie? Of the three, I was hoping for the zombie.

  I peered through the peephole and saw no one, but Rickie’s only nine years old so he’s short. He could have been hiding.

  Henry wasn’t trying to claw through the front door so I assumed the visitor had probably left already.

  Cautiously I eased the door open.

  A huge bouquet of red roses waited on the porch.

  Henry growled deep in his throat.

  My thoughts exactly.

  I stepped onto the porch and reached for the card. I had no doubt they were from Rickhead.

  Henry growled again.

  The noise sent shivers up my spine. I scanned my surroundings, looking for shadows in the moonlight, movement in the bushes, a figure darting behind somebody’s house. Then I realized Henry was growling at the flowers.

  I pulled the card from its plastic holder. By the romantic light of the full moon I read the words printed in messy block letters:

  The first time I saw you,

  Your eyes met mine,

  And I knew you then

  For all of time.

  Your soul mate now and forever.

  Oh, puke.

  Chapter Three

  I looked at the flowers. Huge moral dilemma. Make a grand gesture and throw them in the trash or take them inside and enjoy them without concern for their origin? Strictly speaking, they originated from a greenhouse. Rickhead’s intervention between their life on a rosebush and their appearance on my porch didn’t change the blooms in any material way.

  I picked them up and started toward the door.

  Henry growled again.

  “Hey, the flowers are innocent! They didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He snorted, turned his back on me and went upstairs.

  I took the flowers to the kitchen and set them on the table. The blossoms were lovely, untainted by Rick’s intrusion into their lives. The card, however, was a different story.

  I ripped it into tiny pieces, marched upstairs and flushed it down the toilet.

  Soul mate? Oh, please!

  ***

  The next morning when I pulled into the parking lot behind Death by Chocolate, the street light illuminated the yellow police tape surrounding a chalk outline approximately where Bob had stood when I handed him food and congratulated him the day before.

  I got out of my car and walked through the predawn darkness to the outline. The crude drawing depicting a human form was empty and bore no resemblance to my friend. I wanted to hurry inside and not look, but I couldn’t be a coward. Bob deserved better than that.

  I slid under the yellow tape and stood beside the outline. An image of Bob lying there, dying alone and helpless, flashed across my mind. A dark puddle, black in the dim light, surrounded the head on the sketch.

  I swallowed and forced myself to look more closely, to see if I could discern any clues in the outline, in the blood spatter pattern. I don’t know anything about blood spatter patterns, but I felt certain Fred would. I took a picture with my cell phone.

  “I’m glad I had the chance to know you, Bob.” I hoped he could hear me.

  I took a couple more pictures and went inside. I couldn’t do anything else for Bob, and people would soon be needing chocolate.

  Paula looked up from slathering butter onto the dough for cinnamon rolls. “Did you see the yellow tape and chalk outline in the alley?”

  I nodded.

  “Please tell me there hasn’t been another murder.”

  I bit my lip and nodded again. “Bob.”

  Her eyes widened. “Bob? Our Bob?”

  The words our Bob brought a weak smile to my lips. Paula isn’t as detached as she’d like everybody to believe. “Yes, our Bob.” I cleared my throat and tied on my apron, giving myself a minute to work up the courage to repeat what Trent had told me last night. “Blunt weapon. His head.”

  She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it then went back to buttering dough she’d already buttered. “Do they have any idea who did it?”

  “I don’t think so, but you know how Trent withholds information from me. I took some pictures of the crime scene. I’m going to send them to Fred to study and also have him see what he can find out about Bob’s associates. Whoever did this will pay.”

  Paula was quiet for a long moment. “I’m sorry I called him odd.”

  “We can all be odd under the right circumstances. You were a little odd when I first met you.”

  She smiled. “Point taken.” She went back to her cinnamon rolls.

  I retrieved eggs, brown sugar, flour, butter, vanilla—all the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. I also planned to make chocolate sheet cake, but the cookies were a staple, something I could make without thinking. “I have a happier story. Maybe it will help restore your faith in human nature.” I told her about Brandon hitting my car, taking the blame and offering to give me a paint job for half price.

  She slid a pan of rolls into the oven and looked at me, a frown creasing her forehead. “An automobile accident is not exactly a warm and fuzzy, feel-good story. I hope you don’t plan to trust your car to this man until you check him out.”

  Her faith in human nature remained blighted. “I gave Fred his card last night. By tonight I’ll know everything about Mathis Paint and Body Shop, including what kind of toilet paper they use in the bathroom.”

  I refrained from telling Paula about the roses that appeared on my porch in the middle of the night. Not that I was keeping secrets, but I knew she’d narrow her eyes and think very loudly that I should have tossed them in the trash. I didn’t want to talk about it. I planned to go home that evening and pretend the beautiful flowers had magically appeared on my kitchen table.

  We finished with the breakfast crowd then made lunch, feeding chocolate to the masses. My chocolate sheet cake was a resounding success. When Brandon came in at the end of the lunch rush, I only had one piece left.

  I greeted him with a big smile as he took a seat at the counter. Again he wore blue jeans and a T-shirt, and again they looked clean and crisp. Either he was a meticulous painter or he changed clothes before he left work even at lunch. “Good afternoon!” I set a glass of water in front of him. “Nice to see you under more pleasant circumstances, Brandon.”

  He returned my smile and even blushed slightly. Cute. People love it when you remember their name. “Hi, Lindsay. It’s nice to see you too.”

  “Can I interest you in a corned beef sandwich or maybe a slice of quiche and a bowl of tomato soup?” Enough chitchat. Paula was in the kitchen, and a guy across the room had an empty sandwich plate and a desire for chocolate writ plainly across his face.

  “Corned beef sounds good.” He looked at the chalk board on the wall behind me. “And a piece of chocolate sheet cake. I can’t wait to try it.”

  “You’re in luck. I have only one left.” I set the last piece in front of him.

  His smile widened. “The last piece? You saved it for me?”

  “I did. I’ll get that sandwich to you shortly.”

  I came around the counter and headed toward the man sending chocolate vibes.

  “So we’re okay?” Brandon asked. “You’ve forgiven me for denting your car?”

  “Of course,” I called over my shoulder. “Can I get you some dessert, sir?”

  Brandon dallied over his dessert until the last customer left. Paula gave him a meaningful look, a Hurry up and finish so we can close look. I introduced them, they di
d the Pleased to meet you thing, and Paula took a load of dirty dishes to the kitchen.

  “So,” I said, “hope to see you in here again tomorrow.” I can’t see you again until I no longer see you now.

  He smiled. “I’ll be here.” He took three colored cards from his pocket and spread them on the counter. “I need your opinion. I think this one—” he indicated the card in the middle— “would be perfect for your car, but these other two are also nice shades of red.”

  He was right. All three colors were great, much brighter than my car’s faded hue, but the middle one screamed speed.

  He slid the cards toward me. “Take them with you. Think about it.”

  I picked up the color samples. “You pretty much nailed it.”

  A wide grin spread across his pleasant face. “Come by the shop when you close here. I’ll work up an estimate, and I promise you’ll be happy with the numbers.”

  I nodded. “I’ll be there.” Going in for an estimate wasn’t making a commitment. I wouldn’t do that until I heard back from Fred, though I was impressed with Brandon’s ability to choose exactly the right color.

  He put some bills on the counter beside the check. “I’ll be waiting.”

  He left and I locked up behind him then gathered the remaining dishes and headed back to the kitchen.

  Paula stood at the sink rinsing plates.

  “Look at this.” I held the red cards in front of her. “What do you think about one of these for my car?”

  Paula gave the colors a cursory glance. “You don’t think you’re visible enough to the traffic cops already?”

  I snorted. “That’s a myth about red cars getting more tickets. I got just as many tickets when I had a silver car.”

  “Did Brandon bring those to you?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to take my car by his shop after work and let him give me an estimate.”

  Paula frowned. “He seems nice enough, but you don’t really know anything about him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I know about my car. It already has a lot of dents and scrapes. You think he’s going to somehow make it worse? Didn’t we just have a discussion this morning about how suspicious and cynical you are, and you admitted you were wrong?”

  “No, we did not. I admitted I shouldn’t have called Bob odd. That does not qualify as a discussion or an admission of the error of my ways.”

  I shrugged. “Okay, maybe I was paraphrasing. But you are way too suspicious and cynical.” I could have pointed out that her suspicious attitude had almost caused her to lose the new man in her life, Matthew, but since their relationship was still tentative, I decided to keep my mouth shut on that one. For the moment.

  “And you’re too trusting” she accused. “Call Fred and get his report before you go over there.”

  I slid the color cards into my jeans pocket. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  I did call Fred as soon as we had the restaurant cleaned up and ready to open in the morning.

  “Sorry about Bob,” he said.

  “How did you know about Bob? Have you got my house bugged?”

  “Don’t be silly.” I noticed he didn’t deny it. “When Detectives Trent and Lawson showed up at your door in the middle of the night, I knew something was going on so I checked the police reports. Robert Markham, murdered in the alley behind Death by Chocolate. Had to be your friend Bob.”

  He made it all sound so normal and innocuous. There’s nothing normal or innocuous about Fred. Either he has the entire neighborhood—maybe the entire city—bugged or he has supernatural powers.

  “I took pictures of the crime scene. I thought you could analyze the blood spatter pattern.”

  “You’ve been watching CSI again, haven’t you?”

  “Dexter, actually. Your surveillance is slipping if you didn’t know that.”

  “No, I’m not going to analyze the blood spatter pattern.”

  I heaved a sigh of deep frustration. “Can you at least find out who Bob associated with? You could start with finding out Nick’s last name. Nick’s the guy who offered him a job. Then we can question him and see if he knows who might have wanted Bob dead.”

  “Lindsay, life on the streets is tough.” Fred’s voice was uncommonly gentle. “Bob was living in a dangerous world. We may never know who killed him.”

  “I can’t believe you have such a defeatist attitude. Do you want chocolate tonight or not?”

  “Since you put it that way, I’ll see what I can find out, but it may not be much.”

  “I knew I could count on you. Now, about Mathis Paint and Body Shop…will my car be safe in their hands?”

  “I think it may be a little late to start worrying about your car’s safety, but Mathis Paint and Body appears to be reputable. They’ve been in operation for twenty-three years and have several four and five star customer reviews.”

  “Great! Thanks! I’ll bring you chocolate when I get home.”

  “Wait a minute. There’s more. The one bad review I found was about the owner’s attitude, the father. A female customer accused him of sexual harassment.”

  “Ewww. Well, I’m dealing with the son, not the father.”

  “And the father has two DUIs on his driving record.”

  “So the guy’s made a couple of mistakes. We’re all entitled to a few of those. I married Rick. Paula married David. I bet even you made a mistake or two in your life, didn’t you?”

  He ignored my probing question. “The son, Brandon, is clean. He doesn’t seem to have inherited his father’s tendency to get into trouble. He’s twenty-four years old and still lives at home. Mother died five years ago. Brandon has worked in the family business since he graduated from high school. Nothing on his record, not even a speeding ticket.”

  “That sounds a little suspicious. I’m not sure I trust somebody who’s never had a speeding ticket, but maybe he’s just never been caught.”

  “Let me know when you get ready to take your car in, and I’ll go with you.”

  “Okay.” That’s my code word for: It’s okay for you to think that and I’m not going to argue with you, but I’m going to do as I please. “Thanks for the information. I’ll send you the pictures I took of the crime scene right now and bring you chocolate later tonight.”

  Paula and I finished cleaning then I drove the two miles to Mathis Paint and Body Shop with visions of a shiny new paint job dancing in my head. The place was on a side street, bordered on the right by an automobile salvage yard and on the left by a rundown storage facility. A good location. Handy parts and no one around to complain about the noise and paint fumes.

  I pulled up to the open entrance and stopped.

  A space alien wearing beige coveralls and a plastic helmet of some sort came out to greet me. The alien lifted the plastic shield off Brandon’s face. “Hi, Lindsay. You can come on in. I’ve already cleared a space for you.” He indicated the right side of the open doorway.

  I drove into the structure and got out. Half a dozen cars in various stages of repair from crunched like an accordion to smooth and shiny occupied bays along the length of the structure. Obviously a legitimate business. I made a mental note to tell Paula her suspicions were once again unfounded.

  Brandon came over to join me. “I’m so glad you made it.” The coveralls were spotted and stained. That was reassuring too, explained how he could stay so clean when he was doing a dirty job.

  I waved a hand toward my battered but beautiful car. “What do you think? Can you make her look all shiny and new?”

  “It will be my pleasure. Why don’t you have a seat in the office? It’s air conditioned.” He indicated a small cubicle in the back. “I’ll have a look at this gem and see what we can do with her.”

  “Works for me.” I started toward the office.

  An older man emerged from another room in the back. His father? He was a little shorter than Brandon but had the same brown hair and eyes. I could see a faint resemblance, but the older man was muscular and rough with pock-m
arked skin and bushy brows low over narrow eyes. He looked vaguely familiar—maybe because he looked like Brandon or maybe I’d seen him in Death by Chocolate before.

  When he saw me, he smiled, but the expression didn’t improve his appearance. I could see this man collecting DUIs and getting accused of sexual harassment. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Brandon’s looking at my car.” I motioned toward my vehicle where Brandon stood, his face expressionless, watching us. “Paint job.”

  “Well, you’ve brought it to the right place. I’m Grady Mathis, the owner here.” He extended a calloused hand.

  “I’m Lindsay Powell. Nice to meet you.” I accepted his hand and immediately wished for a Handi Wipe.

  I was overreacting. The man’s hand was clean and dry. I forced a smile and gave myself a mental slap. Grady Mathis was being polite. If Fred hadn’t told me about his background, I’d probably have thought he was a perfectly nice man.

  Or not.

  “We’ll take good care of you, Lindsay.”

  I flinched. Why did he say we’ll take good care of you and not we’ll take good care of your car? Why was I being so silly? “Good. Great. I’ll just wait in here.”

  I fled to the small office, dropped onto the cracked vinyl covered seat of one of the two chairs and picked up a tattered People magazine. I opened it but didn’t look at the pages. Instead I watched Grady Mathis walk toward Brandon where he stood beside my car, making notes on a form on a clipboard. Brandon looked up and the two men started talking.

  I should have closed the door. I didn’t. Instead I strained to hear what they were saying. Pretty boring. Not worth the effort expended. A lot of technical terms about repairing the dents in my car and how the paint job should be done.

  Then the subject of cost came up and Brandon told him the deal he’d struck with me. The older Mathis’ voice got really low and I could no longer hear even the occasional word. However, I could tell from his tone that he was angry. Darn! Suddenly I felt guilty. Yes, guilty because somebody hit my car.

  When Mathis shoved Brandon, I’d had enough.

  I dropped all pretense of looking at the magazine and marched toward them. The conversation ceased and both men looked at me. Brandon smiled tentatively and his father leered.