Sweet Revenge (Cocoa Narel Chocolate Shop Mysteries Book 1)

by Morgana Best

  “He says he’s a bouncer, but what if he’s an assassin?” I teased, realizing as I said it that the possibility was more scary than funny.

  “That’s true, I guess,” Carl admitted. “I’ll keep him at the top of our list.”

  I sipped my coffee slowly as we sat, thinking. “What about Susie Marington?” I asked. “I don’t remember her too well, but I’m sure she had a problem with them as well. She was younger than we were, but The Populars targeted her for some reason.”

  “Ah, no, I looked her up already,” Carl said flatly. “She’s living abroad. In Italy, actually. She was a suspect considering what happened to her, but as far as I could tell she’s still there. Pictures of her in Italy have been uploaded to Facebook and everything over the last few days, so I don’t think she’s here.”

  “She could have hired someone,” I suggested.

  “True, but that’s hardly a lead. Anybody could have hired someone to do it.” Carl sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m not sure coffee’s a stiff enough drink for this,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” True to his word, Carl returned moments later with a bottle of what seemed to be vodka. Tracking down a murderer from our past definitely felt like the kind of activity that warranted hard liquor, so I didn’t protest.

  Carl spoke up. “What about Tom, um, Borage Fletcher?” he asked. “I know you have a mega crush on him, but how’s your memory as far as he’s concerned? Can you remember what The Populars did to him?”

  “Oh, I think I remember. He was on an excursion, and one of The Populars pretended to be Tom during roll call, right? So the school left without him, and he ended up being stranded at the camp until some strangers found him and called the school,” I said, remembering it sadly. “What was wrong with them?” I asked for the umpteenth time. As far as I knew they mostly had good home lives, so I couldn’t understand what made kids do such horrible things. I sighed loudly and took a drink. I grimaced as the vodka burned; Carl hadn’t skimped on cheap stuff.

  “Yeah, that’s right. What’s worse is that it was in Port Arthur, Tasmania. Everybody had flown out by the time the people that found Tom called, so his parents had to go fly there to collect him themselves, poor guy.” Carl looked a bit put out.

  Carl pulled some wool from Tom’s name and attached it under Hamilton Howes’s magnet.

  Our Suspects List was already significant. We had Wayne Sidebottom, who was beaten up and had his money stolen routinely. There was Royston Jackson, who had his pants pulled down during an all-too-public performance, and Frederick Flowers, who similarly had photos of him on the toilet uploaded. Susie Marington, who we knew precious little about, but seemed unlikely. Finally, we had Tom Fletcher, who was abandoned in another state because of their actions. It was a long list, but didn’t lead to anything other than circumstantial evidence.

  “I’m not sure this has gotten us anywhere,” I admitted, feeling upset. “If anything it’s just made me feel worse about all this.” I sighed.

  Carl nodded softly in agreement. “I can’t think of anybody else,” he said, taking another drink. “Then again, there were a lot of kids that were on the receiving end of their bullying, and I don’t remember nearly all of them.” He sounded defeated.

  I thought for a moment about what we could do. “Maybe it’s worth taking this information to the police,” I suggested. “I mean, it’s not exactly concrete evidence, I’ll admit. But maybe they already suspect one of these people, and this is what they’re missing.” I was started to feel hopeful. I figured that if the police suspected one of these people, maybe this was all they’d need to investigate further.

  Carl was silent for a moment before he spoke. “After thinking back on all of this stuff, I’m not even sure if I want them to be arrested,” he said, shrugging at my look of shock. “I mean, think about what they’ve gone through. We went through hell, but it wasn’t as bad as some of these kids.”

  “Carl, people have been murdered. Being bullied is awful, as we both know all too well, but that doesn’t excuse murder,” I said, surprised I had to explain this at all.

  Carl sighed and nodded. “You’re right, of course. Maybe I’ve just had too much vodka. Speaking of which, if we’re going down to the station, we should probably either walk or get a taxi.” He laughed.

  We decided to take a taxi. It was a reasonable distance to walk, but after a bit to drink and carrying a whiteboard each, we decided something a bit quicker and easier would be best. After a short wait and a shorter drive in a taxi, we arrived.

  Once we arrived, the receptionist directed us to sit and wait. The waiting room was busy, with almost every seat filled. I was already feeling nervous about presenting what we knew to the detectives, and being surrounded by strangers like this didn’t help. After about fifteen minutes, Detectives Rieker and Clyde rounded the corner and greeted us.

  “You were told to stay put, Miss Myers,” Rieker said bluntly, flaunting his typical lack of tact. “You have something for us?”

  “I hope so,” I said sincerely. “Can we show you somewhere a little more private?” I asked, looking at the people sitting around us.

  “Fine. Follow me,” Rieker had begun to walk away before he’d even finished speaking, with Clyde, Carl, and myself in tow.

  He led us into an interrogation room. I was the last to enter, and Rieker closed the door behind me. I swallowed hard and laid my whiteboard on the table in the center of the otherwise bare room. Carl put his whiteboard next to mine.

  “These are all people who have been harassed by the victims in the past,” I explained, pointing to the list of names. “All of them—well, except Susie—were in town when the murders happened, too.” I looked up to see Clyde and Rieker wearing completely blank expressions.

  “Go on,” Rieker said flatly.

  “Um, err, that’s about it,” I stammered.

  “You think that when notorious bullies are murdered, we don’t look at their victims?” Rieker asked, his voice rising. “We’re detectives, for goodness sake. We’ve looked at all of these people and have no reason to suspect...”

  “The details of the case are confidential,” Clyde interrupted. “You understand. We appreciate that you’re trying to help, but none of this information is new to us. If you come across any new information, then please let us know immediately, but don’t go looking for leads yourselves. That’s what we’re here for.” Clyde said it with a warm smile, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Clyde and Rieker had now decided to go for some kind of ‘good cop/bad cop’ routine. Rieker had his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face, which told me I was better off not pursuing the topic further.

  “You could swing by my house, Detective Clyde,” Carl said with a smile. “I probably have some material from school around somewhere, if you wanted to look at them over dinner or a drink.”

  Clyde managed to maintain his smile, though he shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

  The detectives ushered us out of the station and Rieker warned me not to leave Carl’s house under any circumstances. It felt like we were back to square one, but the truth was that I felt even worse than when we’d started. It didn’t seem like there much hope of us figuring out who did it.

  Chapter 20

  The following morning, I was alone in Carl’s house. I had a strangely uneasy feeling, but I supposed it was just because I was alone and the detectives obviously thought I was in some kind of danger. I’d had the vibe that they knew who the murderer was, and were just collecting evidence to charge whoever it was.

  Therefore, putting two and two together, I had been the intended victim of the arrow. Well, perhaps Borage had been too, but the point was that whether Borage was included in the attempt or not, the cops obviously thought that I, at least, was one of the intended victims. That put a whole new light on the case, and now I had an urge to solve the mystery.

  Carl had gone for supplies. His house was bereft of essentials: no chocolates, no chocolate cake. Even his liquor supplies w
ere low. And of course, Carl liked to eat things that other normal people liked to eat, non-chocolate type of things. I couldn’t relate, but each to their own.

  I did yet another lap of Carl’s house, checking that the windows were firmly shut, and that the back and front doors were both locked. Louis the Fourteenth was once more asleep on Carl’s bed, so I shut Carl’s bedroom door. Having satisfied myself that everything was secure, I gingerly opened Mongrel’s basket door and walked once more to stand in front of the whiteboards.

  I removed the Suspects whiteboard from the chair and put it behind one of Carl’s white sofas. I no longer thought that any of the suspects could have done the murders. These people were all victims, like I had been, and so would have no reason to murder me. No, there must be an entirely other reason, one that Carl and I had not considered.

  Still, common sense dictated that the murderer was someone from our school group. One hundred percent of the victims and intended victims had been from our high school class. That meant that I had to look at everyone with fresh eyes.

  I fetched three new whiteboards and set them on chairs, for once grateful for Carl’s obsession with whiteboards. I picked up a marker, and then my mind went just as blank as the empty whiteboard in front of me. I couldn’t think of a single suspect now. Okay, what did I know? I tried to think of facts. I wrote down the names of the victims: Mandy, Guy, Ridgewell, Hamilton.

  I decided to research each one of the victims, because surely there was a link there somehow. I went to Carl’s laptop, which was of course white, and googled Mandy Makim. There were a lot of news articles about her being married to Guy Smith and both of them being murdered. She was only married to him for a short time, however. It listed her other five husbands. To my surprise, it said she had been married to Lucinda’s ex-husband, Henry Shaw, and divorced him five weeks later. I walked back to the whiteboard and wrote the names of Mandy, Guy, and Lucinda’s husband, Henry. Then I wrote Lucinda’s name, and I connected the names with arrows.

  My head was already spinning and I couldn’t make any sense of it yet, but I had already decided that I would just write as many facts as I could on the whiteboards, and when Carl came back, we could brainstorm for answers.

  I drew a blank with both Ridgewell and Hamilton. The news articles just went on at length about how successful they were. They had won all sorts of awards and they generally seemed very popular. I didn’t write anything next to their names on the whiteboard, because I didn’t find out anything useful about either of them.

  I decided to google Lucinda, because she was the first intended victim. Well, that was a surprise! She had boasted at the reunion that she was a successful dentist, but she had been struck off for dealing in prescription drugs. She had even done jail time for it. My jaw fell open with shock. That was something I hadn’t heard before, and Carl hadn’t told me. Perhaps we hadn’t heard about it because it had happened interstate and some years ago.

  I looked out the window, but there was still no sign of Carl. After a brief check of his kitchen to make sure he didn’t have a secret chocolate stash, I walked once more to the whiteboards. Surely I was missing something. I decided to google the victims once more. I started with Guy Smith because he was the first victim. Apparently, after graduating from medical school, he returned to town and had been a successful doctor ever since.

  I looked at new articles about him, but the first few pages were all about his untimely demise. On page five, I found an old article. It was only a paragraph long, but it actually mentioned Lucinda. It said he had given evidence against her for dealing prescription drugs.

  There was a motive right there! Lucinda would have reason to resent Guy Smith, but it was years ago. What’s more, it didn’t explain the other killings. Sure, perhaps Lucinda was upset that Mandy had married her ex-husband, so that could be a motive for murder, but what about Ridgewell and Hamilton?

  I started tapping away at Carl’s laptop once more. This time, I started with Ridgewell who had been shot with an arrow. Then it dawned on me—while I had been the school archery champion, Lucinda had always been second to me. She was looking more and more like the murderer, but I still had nothing to tie her to either Ridgewell or Hamilton.

  Nevertheless, I wrote Lucinda’s name at the top of a fresh whiteboard. I wrote the names of both Guy and Mandy under her name and then wrote the possible motive next to their names. Under that, I wrote the names of Ridgewell and Hamilton with a question mark next to each of them.

  I looked out the window for Carl. Again, there was no sign of him, so I sighed and went back to his laptop. I typed in Ridgewell Dugan’s name once more, and resigned myself to wade through dozens of pages.

  I finally found what I was looking for on page fifteen, although at first I didn’t think the news article held any significance. Ridgewell Dugan was awarded an honorary doctorate at the nearest university for humanitarian works. In the small newspaper article, Lucinda was interviewed. In fact, most of the article was about her complaining that she wasn’t the recipient of the honorary doctorate. She said she did plenty of humanitarian work. The example she gave was that she allowed her poorer patients time payments with “only” thirty percent interest.

  Was she for real? She was so ridiculous that she was almost comical. But was that a motive? Jealousy that Ridgewell Dugan was successful and she wasn’t? He was a lawyer, so I wondered whether he had any connection with her prescription drug dealing conviction.

  It took me another half hour to find it. He had in fact represented her in the case, and had lost. I walked over and wrote a note next to his name on the whiteboard.

  Now there was only Hamilton Howes, who had been hit by the train. What possible motive could the murderer have had in his instance? I googled and googled, but couldn’t find a thing. Then I remembered what Lucinda had said to me at the reunion. She had said that Hamilton was wearing a diaper-brown color when he died.

  Lucinda told me that she’d recently had eyelid lifting surgery, so would she even able to watch TV? I doubted it. Of course, someone could have told her that Hamilton was wearing brown jeans in the news report, but who else but Carl would even notice such a thing? And then there was the fact that she had seen Hamilton with Borage that night. In the photo that Borage had shown me on his phone, Hamilton was wearing a black suit. Borage was with Hamilton for over an hour, so if Lucinda saw Hamilton after that, why had he changed into comfortable clothes?

  That was when I realized why the murderer had shot two arrows into Ridgewell’s back, and why the murderer’s arrow missed me.

  Chapter 21

  I looked around Carl’s living room for the wool that he used for connecting the magnets. Why was his place so pristine? There wasn’t even any cat hair, and that was a miracle, given Louis the Fourteenth’s long coat. My place was a mess, but I was always able to find something quickly. Perhaps Carl shoved everything out of sight, and that’s why he was able to keep his place so clean. My mess was always on display.

  I finally found some black wool. I was amused for a moment, but I supposed that white wool would not show up on the whiteboards. I grabbed the wool and the scissors with it, and headed to the whiteboard. The afternoon sun was streaming through the window and I positioned the whiteboard in front of it. I cut some pieces of wool, and attached them under the magnets. Then I stood back to admire my handiwork.

  I was sure I had solved the murders, but for one thing, or rather, two things, I still didn’t have a motive for the murder of Hamilton Howes, or my own attempted murder.

  Next to the name of Guy Smith, I wrote, ‘Gave evidence against Lucinda for drug dealing.’ Against Ridgewell Dugan’s name, I wrote, ‘Represented Lucinda in the trial, lost the case.” Under that I wrote, ‘Received an honorary doctorate instead of Lucinda.’

  Against Mandy’s name I wrote, ‘Married Lucinda’s ex-husband, and was probably cheating on him while he was married to her. She was probably jealous of him.’ Then I wrote, ‘Hamilton Howes.’ I
wrote three big question marks next to him.

  “Lucinda is the murderer!” I said to Mongrel, or rather, to his cat basket as he hadn’t so much as stuck his nose out yet. “If she hadn’t opened her big mouth and said Hamilton was wearing brown when he was murdered, I never would’ve put two and two together. I’m going to call those detectives and tell them right now. The only thing is, I can’t understand the motive for murdering Hamilton.”

  At that moment, a shiver ran up my spine. I had the uncanny feeling that I was being watched. I spun around, but there was no one there, only an empty yard. I shuddered and drew the curtains. Now where was my phone? I remember—I had left it in the kitchen while looking for a stash of chocolates. I reached for the phone, when a voice came from behind me.

  “Don’t touch that phone.”

  I swung around, and there, to my horror, was Lucinda. “How did you get in?” I asked her. I was sure I had locked everything and double, even triple, checked it.

  “When you do time, you pick up some nice little tricks,” she said smugly, as if it were something to boast about. “I had lessons in picking locks, lessons from the best in the business.” She giggled.

  I summed up the situation. It didn’t look good. She was clutching a large shoulder bag to her, and while it wasn’t big enough for a bow, it was more than big enough for a gun. Although surely she didn’t have a gun, as none of the victims had been shot. “Carl will be back any minute,” I said.

  Lucinda shrugged and looked unconcerned. “I’ll hear his car coming on the gravel. I’ll have more than enough time to do away with you and get out that window.” She pointed to the big window directly behind me, and then turned her attention to the whiteboard. She made a strangling sound that was halfway between a laugh and a choke. “I can fill in the blanks for you. You think you’re so smart, but you didn’t see why I had to kill Hamilton.”

  “No, I had no clue at all. Why did you kill any of them?” I wanted to humor her, but I didn’t know whether or not it was a good idea to keep her talking, given that she intended to kill me the second that she heard Carl’s car.