by Morgana Best
“I’ll check.” The detective walked away and spoke to a woman in a white suit before returning. “They’ve already taken a sample of that chocolate, so do what you have to do. Just make sure you don’t touch anything else at all. I’ll be here, watching you.”
I set the fountain control knob to Heat Only, and waited until the chocolate started to melt.
“Have you finished yet, Miss Myers?” Detective Clyde said, clearly impatient. “This is a murder investigation, you know.”
“Murder?” I echoed, and spun around. “Is Mr Wellings dead?”
Clyde flushed bright red. “Sorry, force of habit. I meant to say it’s an attempted murder investigation.”
His tone was not at all convincing, and I was left wondering if there was something he wasn’t telling me.
Chapter 5
I couldn’t wait to tell Carl. By the time I got to the other room, everyone but Carl had left. He didn’t seem interested in my news. “He probably did mean to say attempted murder, you know,” he said, after I had relayed the detective’s words to him.
I shook my head. “I’m not so sure.”
“Anyway, this could be the least of our worries.”
I was puzzled. “What you mean, Carl?”
“It’s that ghastly reporter, Graham Gibson.”
I had almost forgotten about the reporter. “Oh yes, you two had met, hadn’t you?”
Carl’s face turned a pale shade of green. “It was when you were recovering in the hospital in Sydney. He was here for a month or two, and he seemed to take a dislike to me. He did a big front page article on me at the Mardi Gras.”
“And that upset you?”
Carl’s face turned an even more sickly shade of green. “Narel, you have simply no idea what I was wearing at the Mardi Gras. The photo was taken from a most unflattering angle, and the article was along the lines of, Do you trust this man with your files?”
“Oh Carl, that’s so awful! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Carl made a snorting sound. “I’d hardly tell you, Narel, what with you being close to death and having all those surgeries. I’m so sorry he’s back in town, though, because he’s a real troublemaker.”
The following morning, I found out just how much of a troublemaker Graham Gibson was. I had awoken earlier than normal, probably due to the previous night’s events. Still, Mongrel expected to be fed as soon as I woke up, no matter what time that was. I staggered out into the kitchen and switched on the coffee machine before reaching for Mongrel’s dry food.
I went through my early morning routine like a robot, feeding Mongrel, and then having a light breakfast of coffee and chocolate. I knew I had to get healthy, so lately I had been adding a banana to my morning routine.
I had also decided I needed to buy another house. My current house was tiny and cramped, and I could now afford a nicer house. I had considered renovating this one, but by the time I paid for all the renovations, I would have spent more than the house was worth. It simply made sense to buy a nice new house that would not need anything doing to it. I was always having trouble with the drains here. In fact, I often said for a joke that I kept the local plumber in business.
In my spare time, I had taken to looking at houses for sale online. Of course, it would have been far easier to call on Borage, the local real estate agent, but he hadn’t called since we had been on a dinner date. That was only recently, but it made it all a little awkward.
I had considered going back to bed, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep, and if I did, I was afraid of sleeping through the alarm and not opening the shop on time. I decided to have another coffee and then a shower. I wondered what had become of the Cat Whisperer, and if I would ever hear from him again.
I had just put on my work clothes when there was a loud banging on my front door. I hoped it wasn’t the police. I hurried to the door and flung it open, and then let out a long sigh of relief when I saw Carl standing there. I wasn’t so relieved when I took another look. Carl’s face was white and drawn. “What’s happened?” I asked him urgently.
Carl staggered inside and threw himself on my sofa. “Look!” he said dramatically, thrusting a newspaper into my hands.
I gasped. There, across the front of the local newspaper was the headline, Local Shop Owner Suspected in Heinous Crime. The photo, which took up half the page, was of me shielding my face. “I remember when he took that photo,” I said angrily. “Carl, it makes me look guilty.”
“No it doesn’t,” Carl said lamely.
I threw myself on the sofa next to Carl. “Can I sue him?”
Carl’s jaw dropped open. “Sue? Sue a newspaper? I’m sure they don’t have to tell the truth.”
I shook my head. “Seriously, they can’t make wild accusations like that. Do you think I should see a lawyer?”
Carl looked off into the distance. “Maybe, I don’t know. Wouldn’t you have to prove that you weren’t a suspect?”
My hands flew to my throat. “Carl, you don’t think I’m a suspect, do you?”
Carl stood up. “I need coffee, Narel. This is too early in the morning for me.”
I raised my eyebrows. “But it’s just after eight.”
“Exactly,” Carl said over his shoulder as he staggered in the direction of the coffee machine.
“I think I remembered somewhere that if you can prove a false allegation has negatively affected your business, then you can sue,” I called after him. “At least I have the money to sue.”
Carl downed a short black before speaking. “That would be a waste of money. Just ignore him. I’m sure he wants attention, and nobody in town will believe his outrageous lies. My advice is to go to your chocolate shop as normal and carry on as if nothing has happened.”
“What if people do think my chocolates poisoned him?” I said. “This chocolate shop is my dream.” I read some more of the article, and my throat constricted. “Where did he get all this information?” I jabbed my finger viciously on the newspaper. “He says that Stan Wellings fell to the ground after eating my chocolates. The article says that he’s in a critical condition and the police have ruled it as attempted murder. Carl, what if all my customers leave?”
Carl poured himself another short black. “Oh Narel, I’m sure it won’t come to that. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll come with you to work today. By the way, that Miriam woman did pay you in advance for all those chocolates, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did. I feel sorry for her.”
Carl returned to the living room and took me by my shoulders. “Now, you listen to me, Narel. That woman could be a cold-blooded murderer for all you know. Save your sympathy for yourself and for me.”
“So you think we are suspects then?”
Carl shrugged. “Maybe in theory. Everyone that was at the party would have to be a suspect, in theory. I’m sure those detectives don’t think we had anything to do with it, and they’ll solve the attempted murder sooner or later.”
That prompted my memory of what Detective Clyde had said the previous night. “Carl, I know you didn’t think he meant anything by it, but Detective Clyde went all funny just after he said it was a murder investigation.”
Carl was already back in the kitchen, now looking through my cupboards. “Do you have anything in here to eat besides chocolate, Narel? Okay, I see you have some fruit. That’s a good start. Just because you can’t put on any weight doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be healthy, you know.”
“I know, I know. I’m working on it, seriously. Now, did you hear what I just said?”
Carl gave up his search and sat down with a banana and an apple. “Are you thinking that Detective Clyde knew Stan had already died, but didn’t want to tell anyone, maybe to trick the murderer somehow?”
I shrugged. “That makes sense. I really don’t have any idea. Never mind, Carl—it was probably just my imagination. Anyway, let’s get going to the shop.”
By ten that morning, not a single customer had entered my shop, not
a local customer, anyway. I had several people on their way to the Sunshine Coast, and another set of tourists. Nevertheless, Carl was trying to do his best to maintain an upbeat attitude. “Don’t worry about it, Narel! You’ve made some good money already.”
I shook my head. “Carl, this place can’t exist on tourists alone. I need the locals as well for bread and butter money.”
“Think of it this way,” Carl said smiling, although the smile did not reach his eyes, “it will give you more time to work on your online chocolate store. How is that going, by the way?”
I exhaled loudly and sat on a seat behind the counter. “I’m getting there. It’s just that life keeps getting in the way of my plans. I have to buy a new house too, and I can’t leave it much longer because the old one’s falling down about my ears.”
“The house is an easy fix. Just call in and see your good buddy, Porridge.”
I shook my finger at Carl in warning. “Please never say that word again.”
Carl snickered. “You have to admit, it’s kind of a strange name. I don’t know why he didn’t just stick with good old Tom Fletcher.”
“In a word, bullying,” I said. “Have you already forgotten what The Populars put all of us through in school? I don’t blame him for changing his name.”
“And have you forgotten that all The Populars were murdered?” Carl said. “There’s no reason to keep calling himself Porridge any longer.”
“You’re right.” The deep voice came from behind us.
I could have simply died on the spot. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me, and all those other sayings one uses at such a time as this. To say I was mortified was an understatement.
There, standing behind Carl, was Borage Fletcher.
He looked amused, or that might have been just suppressed anger. “You’re right,” he said again. “I’ve decided to go back to my old name, Tom.”
I just stood there, opening and closing my mouth like a fish, but Carl had the presence of mind to speak. “Good, that’s a much better name. I much prefer Tom to Borage.”
Then again, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea that Carl spoke.
To my great relief, Borage, I mean Tom, laughed. “I didn’t like the name either; it’s just that I didn’t want anyone to know I was that little Tom Fletcher from high school.”
“But all those people who bullied you are now dead,” Carl said cheerfully. I suppose he was trying to be helpful.
“Err, yes.” It seemed as if Tom didn’t know how to take that statement. He turned to me. “How are you, Narel? Sorry I haven’t called. I just got back to town this morning. Do you remember all that trouble my brother and sister-in-law were having?”
I was still unable to speak, so I simply nodded.
“I had to go out west to sort things out. There’s no internet or even phone connection out there. I left in a hurry, and didn’t think I’d be away as long as I was, or I would have let you know first.”
I kept nodding. I felt like an idiot, but I was still shocked that Tom had overheard Carl complaining about his name.
“You know,” Carl said, “I’m so used to calling you Borage that I’m going to find it hard to call you Tom.”
I finally found my voice. “I like both names,” I lied, “but I have to agree with Carl. I’ll probably call you Borage a few times before I get used to calling you Tom again, like I did back in school.”
Borage/Tom waved a hand in dismissal. “That doesn’t matter at all. Call me anything you like.” He winked at me, and my knees went weak. I grabbed the counter top. “How about coffee sometime soon?” he asked me.
“She might as well have coffee with you now, and I’ll mind the store,” Carl said. “There won’t be any customers for the rest of the day if this morning has been anything to go by.”
Tom raised his eyebrows. “Why is that?”
Carl’s hand flew to his mouth. “Oh, you wouldn’t have heard yet, would you? You just got back to town this morning?” Without waiting for Tom to answer, he pushed on. “And you haven’t seen the papers?” After Tom shook his head, Carl said, “Narel provided handmade chocolates for a local ad executive’s retirement party last night, and he had a heart attack or something after he ate one, only it wasn’t a heart attack, it was poisoning. At least, we think it was poisoning because there were no knives or guns involved, and the detectives came. You know, that mean Detective Clyde and that super hot Detective Rieker?”
I held up my hand to stop Carl speaking, as I was sure he was confusing Tom. “Stan Wellings had a retirement party last night at their office. I made the chocolates, and I also made a special box of chocolates just for him. He stuffed his face with those, because he had an argument…”
Carl interrupted me. “He had two arguments, Narel.”
I nodded. “Yes, he had two arguments, but my point was that he stuffed his face with the special chocolates I made and then fell to the floor. The paramedics came and then the cops came, too.”
“You’re involved with another murder?” Tom said incredulously. He must have seen my expression, because he hurried to add, “Not that it’s any of your fault, of course, Narel.”
I pursed my lips. “Quite so. Anyway, we’re pretty sure he was poisoned, because…”
Carl interrupted me again. “Because he wasn’t shot, and there was no knife sticking out of his back. Although perhaps someone stuck a syringe of insulin or something into him when no one else was looking.”
I groaned and rubbed my forehead. “Carl, he probably would have noticed if someone jabbed him with a syringe. Anyway, can I please speak?” Carl waved a hand at me to continue. “Borage, sorry, I mean Tom, do you know what fly agaric mushrooms look like?”
Tom thought for a moment, and then said, “Aren’t they those red ones with the white spots, the ones you see in illustrations with elves sitting on them?”
I nodded. “Yes, that’s right. His secretary had especially asked me to make some like that, but I didn’t put any tops on them. I mean, obviously I put the red and white mushroom tops on them, but I didn’t put anything on top of those. When Stan fell to the floor, there was a fly agaric chocolate next to him and it had a dome stuck on the top. And what’s more, I told the detectives that, but they couldn’t find the fly agaric chocolate at all, and the ones left in the box were missing.”
Tom rubbed his chin. “Yes, that does sound like poisoning. It sounds as if that dome on the top contained the poison which someone had pre-prepared simply to stick on a chocolate. And you say he was helping himself to the box?”
I tried to remember. “I think his daughter might’ve handed him the box, but he was going to eat them at some point anyway, because they were especially for him. In fact, Miriam was annoyed that he was eating them before they were officially presented to him.”
“Who’s Miriam?” Tom asked me.
“Oh, sorry. Miriam Moreton is Stan’s personal secretary. She organised his retirement party and seemed to have a high opinion of him. I later heard he was quite unpopular.”
“He was obviously unpopular with one person, at least,” Tom said dryly.
Carl clearly thought Tom’s remark enormously funny and slapped him on the back.
Chapter 6
I sat with Tom in the nearest café. It wasn’t a particularly romantic café, but it was the closest to my shop. Carl promised he would call if too many customers for him to handle arrived, but I really didn’t think that would happen.
Butterflies went crazy in my stomach as I sat across from Tom. This was one of my first dates, rather a sad fact if you considered my age. It was even sadder that my very first date had said some unkind words to me, got into his car out the front of the restaurant, and then exploded along with his car. My second dinner date was actually with Tom, and on that occasion the police had dragged me away for questioning. I sure hoped this coffee date would pass uneventfully.
I fidgeted and took in my surroundings. I had been in here many times be
fore. It was not particularly intimate, nor did it have any kind of ambience about it. The decor was mostly black and white, with big black square tiles on the floor, and numerous hanging lights, half of which weren’t working. The front wall was entirely made of glass, letting in plenty of natural light.
“Are you all right, Narel?” Tom asked me. “You seem a million miles away.”
“Sorry.” I wrung my hands. “It’s just that the paper did a terrible article about me this morning, and said I was the main suspect in the crime.”
Tom frowned. “Don’t worry, everyone knows the local paper is now just a sensationalist bunch of nonsense. No one will take it seriously.”
I disagreed. “Saturday morning is usually very busy for me, with people out and about at the weekend. Not a single person has come into the shop so far today—tourists, sure, but not a single local.”
Tom shrugged. “That’s probably a coincidence. I bet Carl will call at any moment, saying he’s swamped with customers.”
I forced a smile. “Possibly. I wonder how Stan Wellings is doing. Actually, I wonder who poisoned him. I hope the police solve the crime soon, or I’m sure I won’t have any customers.”
“Weren’t you starting an online business?” Tom asked me.
“Carl asked me that too, just before you came in.” I was beginning to wonder whether the question indicated that Carl and Tom thought an online business would soon be my only income. Truth be told, I didn’t need an income because the settlement had been enough to set me up for life. The insurance company of the drunk driver who had hit my car and nearly killed me had paid me a handsome sum, but I didn’t want to sit around and watch TV all day. I wanted my little chocolate shop to succeed.
Our coffee and cake arrived, and I thought it best to change the subject. “Borage, oh sorry, I mean Tom, I want to buy another house.” As soon as I said it, I silently berated myself. I didn’t want to talk shop—this was supposed to be a date of sorts.
