Death by Chocolate Lab

by Bethany Blake

  “That’s true,” I agreed. “You are the strongest person I know.”

  I was being honest, but my sister had suffered from a small Achilles’ heel. One named Steve Beamus.

  Setting down her mug, she groaned, rubbed her face with her hands, then confessed, “I started to leave, but I couldn’t seem to bite my tongue. I turned back and blurted, ‘Seriously? You can’t even call me? And you’re not going to tell me what’s keeping you so busy? I don’t even deserve that courtesy?’ That’s when the fight started.”

  “Good for you,” I said, raising a spoon to Piper. “You did the right thing by confronting him.”

  She didn’t agree and slumped in her chair. “No. I sounded pathetic.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. In my opinion, Piper’s outburst had been warranted. I wasn’t even officially seeing Dylan, but I couldn’t imagine him disappearing without telling me what he was up to. And, while we didn’t call or text every day, he would never tell me that he was too busy even to be in touch. That sounded kind of cruel, to me.

  Yet I could also understand why Piper was upset with herself. She could’ve acted like she didn’t care what Steve did. That would’ve given her the upper hand.

  But who wanted to play games like that?

  Wasn’t it better to admit she was hurt?

  “I still think you did the right thing,” I told her. “I don’t think you should feel badly.”

  Piper merely slumped lower. Then she narrowed her eyes at me and changed the subject. “By the way . . . where were you last night? And don’t tell me some crazy story about a documentary. I know you don’t have a TV or any other way to watch PBS that I know of.”

  I should’ve been ready for that question, but I wasn’t. Fortunately, before I had to admit that I’d broken into Steve Beamus’s house, been surprised there by Jonathan Black, then spent two hours with the detective, who’d been very unhappy when he’d found out just how far away the nearest open gas station was, a car came up the road.

  “Visitors!” I said, pretending I’d forgotten about Piper’s inquiry.

  But when the vehicle emerged from a canopy of trees, I realized my relief was probably premature.

  The dark sedan approaching Winding Hill had the “trying too hard to blend in” air of an unmarked police car. And sure enough, a few moments later, Detective Jonathan Black and his partner, Detective Doebler, got out of the car.

  Judging by the suits and the expression on Jonathan’s face, I had a feeling they weren’t making a social call.

  Chapter 19

  “Hey, good morning,” I chirped too cheerfully as Jonathan and his partner approached the patio. Artie raced to Jonathan, who didn’t bend down to pick up the dog, in spite of the two having bonded a teeny bit the night before. He had a very grim and purposeful look on his face. I knew we were in for bad news, but I kept acting happy, for some reason. I supposed I needed to compensate for the shadow the two men were casting on the day. “Can I get you two something?” I offered. “Coffee? Tea? I have a great hibiscus blend!”

  Before they could answer, Piper stood up, looking pretty grim herself. And a little nervous. Her gaze darted between Jonathan and Detective Doebler, and she swiped her hands down the sides of her khaki pants. “Detectives . . . What brings you here?”

  As had happened before, Detective Doebler, fidgeting and hot in an ill-fitting seersucker suit, deferred to his partner.

  “The coroner ran a routine toxicology test as part of the autopsy,” Jonathan informed us. “We got the results back this morning.”

  Apparently, we weren’t even going to exchange polite greetings or share a laugh about how I’d spilled the iced tea I’d insisted on buying at the mini-market all over the front seat of his previously pristine truck. I was sure that was funny by now.

  But, no, Jonathan was all business.

  He did finally look at me, though, if only to ask a question that at first made no sense to me, until I linked it to the “toxicology report” comment.

  “You did say that you observed your sister giving Steve Beamus a thermos of coffee, correct?”

  Chapter 20

  “I don’t have any idea where that thermos went,” Piper said, leading me, Detective Doebler, and Jonathan to the barn. “I haven’t seen it since the night before . . . the night . . .” Frowning, she addressed Jonathan. “Did the coroner set a time . . . ?”

  Although Piper couldn’t seem to finish that question, Jonathan understood what she was asking. He nodded in a very official, almost curt way. “Yes,” he said. “The time of death has been established.”

  He’d answered Piper’s direct question but withheld the information she really wanted. Apparently, he was going to play everything close to the vest, which made me nervous for my sister. She was definitely being treated like a genuine suspect. One who might accidentally slip up and reference something that wasn’t public knowledge yet, like the time of death.

  I was also unhappy with Jonathan—or should I call him Detective Black again? Any small rapport we’d established the night before had vanished in the light of day. A part of me understood that he needed to act professionally, but a part of me wouldn’t have minded a joking reference to tofu or even the artwork on my van. Artie, popping along beside Jonathan in hopes of another ride, also seemed disappointed to be shunned, while Socrates kept shaking his droopy head. I knew he was thinking that both Artie and I were fools for having believed we could be pals with a man who might try to put Piper in jail.

  Last but not least, I was angry at myself for mentioning the stupid coffee when I’d been questioned.

  Why couldn’t I ever keep my mouth shut?

  Why was I about to talk right then, when I knew I should just stay quiet?

  Yet I heard myself telling the detectives, “Piper was trying to be nice to Steve by giving him coffee! She didn’t poison him!”

  Jonathan stopped and gave me a dead-level stare. “I didn’t say she did.”

  Piper also shot me a look. A warning one that matched her tone of voice. “Daphne . . .”

  I wasn’t quite finished yet. “He was hit on the head. I saw the wound!”

  “Perhaps the poison didn’t do its work quickly enough,” Detective Doebler ventured, only to earn a silencing look from Jonathan.

  Yup, Jonathan really wanted to keep tight control over any and all information.

  As we reached the barn, Mr. Peachy put down his paintbrush, lifted off his cap, and scratched his head, clearly confused by the arrival of so much company. He took a few steps toward us while Piper hauled open the big door.

  “What’s happening here?” he asked, with concern. He looked among all of us, his gray eyes clouding over as he no doubt recognized the detectives. Then he turned to my sister. “Anything I can help with, Piper?”

  Detective Doebler spoke before Piper could respond. “We’re looking for a silver thermos,” he said. “Have you seen one?”

  Mr. Peachy shook his head. “No . . . I don’t think so. . . .”

  “It was Steve’s,” Piper said. “I filled it for him two nights ago, while he was working here. And since the police didn’t find it in his truck, I thought he might’ve set it down in the barn. Have you seen it around?”

  Mr. Peachy didn’t answer right away. I was pretty sure he was putting puzzle pieces together in his mind and trying to figure out why the thermos might be important. Then he set his cap back on his head and tugged it down to his ears. “I think I have seen that.” Waving his leathery hand, indicating that we should follow him, he shuffled into the barn. “Come with me.”

  We all followed him into the building, which was cool and quiet.

  I should’ve been searching for the thermos, but I found myself watching Jonathan. He didn’t seem bothered by the heat, although he again wore a dark suit, which was paired with a subdued, but classic gray tie.

  For some reason, I tried to imagine Dylan in those clothes, but every time I pictured him wearing the suit, he was
cracking up, like he would don a tie only as a joke.

  Jonathan was not laughing. He seemed to sense me watching him and finally met my gaze. But I couldn’t read his eyes. It was almost hard to picture him grinning, like he’d done the night before, when he had also been working but hadn’t exactly been on duty.

  Or had I imagined the smiles and the glimmers of mischief in his eyes?

  We kept staring at each other, me feeling strangely disappointed, like Artie clearly was. Obviously, the Chihuahua and I couldn’t switch between personal and professional modes quite as easily as Jonathan.

  Heck, I didn’t really have a professional mode.

  “Hey, partner?” Detective Doebler interrupted the weird moment by calling to Jonathan, who, let’s face it, was more of a boss than a partner.

  “What?” Jonathan asked, jolting a little, like he’d been daydreaming, too.

  We both turned to face Detective Doebler, who was holding aloft a silver mug, the handle smothered by a handkerchief, presumably to preserve any fingerprints.

  “Got it.”

  Chapter 21

  Although she’d initially planned to stay home all day, Piper dealt with stress the way she always did: by going to work.

  We both knew that she hadn’t poisoned Steve, but we were also learning to brace for unpleasant surprises.

  I probably could’ve found something productive to do, too, such as balance the books I was supposed to keep for tax purposes. But it had been so long since I’d even opened the computer program Piper had installed for me that I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it.

  Not sure how to occupy myself, I puttered around the kitchen, where two leftover Banana-Apple Pupcakes were still on the griddle. They smelled good enough for human consumption, and I knew that if I sampled one, it would taste pretty good, too.

  Reaching out, I tore off a tiny bite, only to be stopped by a deep and accusing “Woof!”

  Socrates seldom spoke, but when he did, I listened.

  “Sorry,” I said, pulling back my hand and cringing with shame.

  Artie looked disappointed in me, too. His little brow was furrowed, as if to say, “You would really steal our treat? You have a whole refrigerator full of human food!”

  “Sorry,” I repeated, holding up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “It won’t happen again!”

  After shooting me one last disapproving look, Socrates shambled out of the kitchen, his head hanging low and swaying back and forth in a tsk-tsk manner. Artie followed, his recessed chin high and haughty, since he was finally not the one in trouble.

  I watched them wander off.

  Were those two becoming unlikely friends?

  Would somber Socrates ever really accept the smaller, affectionate dog’s overtures?

  Turning slowly, I noticed that Piper’s laptop was open on the counter.

  And speaking of friends who weren’t always friendly . . .

  “I’ll just Google him quickly,” I said to no one in particular. “I’ll look at, like, one result—which probably won’t even relate to him. It’s a very common name.”

  I promised myself all that, but as I typed “Detective Jonathan Black” into the search engine, I knew I was kidding myself. And sure enough, two hours later, I was still sitting at the counter, delving deeper and deeper into the life of a man who turned out to be fairly easy to track down in cyberspace.

  I couldn’t stop myself from snooping, because the story was pretty compelling.

  Not to mention scary in spots.

  I was so absorbed in my research that I initially ignored the phone I’d finally recharged when it boinged to let me know I had a message. At the third notice, though, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a cell that was probably also worse for wear because I repeatedly sat on it.

  I was mildly irritated to be disturbed, until I read the message, which was from Piper, typed in her very formal way, without abbreviations or, heaven forbid, emojis.

  I may be late tonight. I’ve been taken in for official questioning.

  Chapter 22

  “Please, Virginia,” I begged, resting my hand on Virginia Lockhart’s house’s huge crimson front door, which I feared she was about to slam in my face. She hadn’t invited me inside and wasn’t even coming out onto her porch to talk with me. Her face was half hidden in the shadows of her foyer, which was dark, although the day was sunny. “Can’t you please help me . . . and Piper?”

  “I told you, I’m not a criminal lawyer.” Virginia repeated what she had, indeed, told me several times in the past few minutes. “I specialize in divorce and family law.”

  I hadn’t known that. I’d always pictured Virginia stalking around courtrooms, raising objections and bullying witnesses like the lawyers on Law & Order. Still, she must’ve learned about criminal law in school, and I believed she’d protect Piper, who was looking more and more like a real suspect in Steve’s death. Plus, I didn’t know any other lawyers, and we needed one. Quickly.

  “I don’t know who else to turn to, especially on a Sunday,” I told Virginia. “Piper has been taken in for questioning!”

  Virginia hesitated, and while she considered my request, a big head nudged the door open wider.

  “Hey, Macduff,” I said, greeting the leader of the Lockhart dog pack. He stuck his head out farther, and I scratched behind his ear.

  Virginia grabbed the dog’s collar and pulled him back inside, ordering him sharply, “Macduff, retreat!”

  Once again, I thought her choice of a command word was strange. And I didn’t know why she was in such a terrible mood, when I had the sister who was potentially in big trouble after traces of poison had been found in a thermos she’d handed to a man who was later bludgeoned.

  “I’ll give you free pet-sitting services for a year if you’ll help us,” I said, sounding a little desperate. She didn’t look convinced, so I upped the ante. “Two years!”

  “I would bill you for my services,” she reminded me. “I don’t do pro bono work. At least not for veterinarians who can well afford to pay for representation. Piper doesn’t treat my dogs for free.”

  That was true, but she didn’t have to put it so bluntly. I froze for a moment, like she’d smacked me. As I struggled to form a reply, I heard a car door shut behind me. Turning, I saw that Virginia’s husband, state senator Mitch, had arrived and was headed toward me.

  He was a ray of sunshine, smiling like he was at a casting call for a toothpaste commercial. He had his hand extended when he was still ten feet away, and in true politician fashion, he remembered my name, although we’d met only once. Virginia was my only liaison with the dogs.

  “Daphne Templeton!” Mitch said, giving my hand a few hearty pumps that left my shoulder hurting. His bleached white teeth glittered, and his fair hair gleamed, too. He wasn’t exactly handsome—his nose was slightly bulbous, and he was leaning toward a middle-aged paunch—but he would look okay on a campaign poster. Releasing my hand, he added, “What brings you here to rottweiler central?”

  His smile never changed when he mentioned the dogs, but his eyes clouded over just a tiny bit.

  Did he not like the sweet rotties?

  All at once, I recalled some of the things I’d learned about Jonathan while snooping online.

  Or was I misreading Mitch, like I’d recently misjudged another man’s opinion of dogs? At least, I was pretty sure I’d done that....

  “Daphne was just leaving,” Virginia interrupted before I could tell her husband why I was standing on their front porch.

  “With the dogs, I hope? Permanently this time?” Mitch asked, still grinning ear to ear, like he was joking.

  But he wasn’t. I was fairly certain of that, too.

  Virginia obviously agreed. “Not funny, Mitch.”

  She finally stepped outside and shut the door behind herself, like she didn’t want her husband to cross the threshold, either. She crossed her arms over her chest, and her mouth was set in a firm line. When I saw her in the
sunlight, she appeared older and less polished than usual. I tried to figure out why and realized that she wasn’t wearing makeup. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her without lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara.

  I was also surprised to discover that she was wearing a shapeless gray sweatsuit.

  No wonder she’d tried to hide inside. This was a side of Virginia Lockhart that I’d never seen and one that she probably preferred to keep hidden.

  I’d been so busy pondering Virginia’s appearance that it took me a moment to grasp that I was in the middle of some kind of marital standoff. Virginia still had her arms crossed, and Mitch’s smile had finally vanished. The day was warm, but there was a chill in the air on that porch.

  Their spat wasn’t my chief problem, though.

  “Virginia,” I said, drawing her attention to me. I spoke more calmly, but still earnestly. “Won’t you please consider helping Piper, at least until we can hire another lawyer? I think she’s in serious trouble. Steve was killed at her farm, after an argument, and now the police found traces of some chemical in a thermos she handed him.”

  Oh, gosh, that sounded awful, and I wished I hadn’t explained everything in front of Mitch. If he blabbed, that news would be all over town. Some people might actually believe Piper was a killer. But what could I do? I needed to plead my sister’s case to Virginia, and Mitch didn’t seem inclined to step past the barrier that was his wife’s body to enter his own house.

  “Please, Virginia?” I repeated. “Of course, we’ll pay for your services.” I didn’t feel like complimenting her right then, but I added honestly, “I’ve always thought that if I was in trouble, I’d want you as my attorney.”

  Virginia opened her mouth, and I could tell that she was about to turn me down again. But before that could happen, Mitch said softly and seriously, “Virginia, I think you should help Daphne and her sister. It really seems like the least you can do at this point.”

  Mitch had totally shed his political false front, and there was a lot of unspoken backstory related to his comments.