“If I’m going to do this right, I need to get proof. There’s no way Detective Gibbons will believe me otherwise. Not again. But I can’t gather the proof I need alone. Not safely.”
He chewed on that thought for a moment before asking with a laugh, “You want me to help you?”
“I do.” I sighed. “Besides, this involves you as much as it does me.” I then told him everything I knew about the events leading up to the murders.
After listening, he nodded gravely. “So what do you need me to do?”
Chapter 30
The church, located in the center of historic Charleston, was one of many significant houses of worship that gave the place its nickname, “the Holy City.” Its ancient stone spires reached up toward the fading blue sky. For the last part of her life, Mabel had driven into the city from Camellia Beach every week to attend Sunday services. And now the church was holding a special Wednesday service in her honor.
Upon entering, I recognized many faces from Camellia Beach in the pews. The nave was so crowded, overflow seating had been set up in an adjacent courtyard.
Great, I thought. This was my chance to avoid Mabel’s family altogether. However, when I moved toward the chairs in the courtyard, Althea caught my arm. Keeping a tight grip on me, she ushered me up the aisle to a row of pews at the front reserved for Mabel’s family.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I protested in a harsh whisper, tugging at Althea’s iron grip. “I’m not family.”
“None of us are,” Althea pointed out. “Not by blood. But this is where Mabel wanted us to sit. And since you’re with us, you’ll need to sit here too.”
I tried to wiggle away one more time, but people were starting to stare. To keep from embarrassing myself and everyone around me any further, I sat down and then slid as low in the seat as possible. But then I remembered the impossible plan I needed to set into motion. So I put some steel in my spine and sat up straighter.
This was where the unveiling of a murderer was to begin.
Harley, who was sitting next to Bertie, leaned toward me and gave a nod as more familiar faces took their seats. Jody sat directly behind us. Cal squeezed into our row and sat next to Althea. Detective Gibbons and Police Chief Byrd chose seats in the back row. I glanced around, suddenly feeling as if I were a character in an Agatha Christie novel.
But this wasn’t a book with a guaranteed happy ending. This was real life. I needed more than clever words and wobbly evidence. I needed proof, the kind the police could take into court. So while wringing my hands, I reviewed each part of the plan over and over and hoped everything went as intended.
The church bells started to ring just as an organ began to play. Everyone rose for the procession.
The memorial that followed was a lovely remembrance of Mabel’s life. I dabbed tissue after tissue to my eyes as her family and friends talked about how Mabel loved her community and the chocolates she made. Those two things had been her passion and her life.
What if, like Mabel, I devoted my life to chocolate? What if I kept the shop and started learning everything I could about crafting the perfect chocolate bar? Would that give my life more meaning? Would it make me happier?
Perhaps Mabel’s shop was exactly the kind of passion that was missing in my life.
It was a crazy thought. Certainly I would change my mind as soon as I got away from Camellia Beach and the temptation of Mabel’s chocolate. Besides, I didn’t have time to think about such fantasies. I had a plan to put into motion and a killer to catch.
After the service, as we ambled down the aisle toward the back of the church, I blurted out to Bertie and Althea, “Don’t get your hopes up too much, but I think I’m going to keep the shop. That’s what Mabel would want.”
Althea squealed with glee and gave me another one of her tight hugs. “You won’t be sorry.”
“Won’t I?” I quipped.
Jody, who was standing just a few feet behind both Bertie and Althea, gasped as if in pain. She gripped the nearest pew. Her wide eyes looked at me in horror, the kind of horror someone would display if I’d just stabbed her cat. I expected her to explode into a tirade of foul language or perhaps try to claw my eyes out.
Instead, she abruptly turned away from us and pushed through the crowd toward the nearest exit, rudely shoving aside several of Mabel’s children as she went.
“Keeping the shop is a lovely idea, dear,” Bertie said as she took my hand in hers. “And you know I’ll be around if you require any help.”
I nodded and patted her hand. “I know. But it’s just a crazy idea that popped into my head just now. I might not do it,” I warned. “I’ll probably change my mind by tomorrow.”
“But you might not,” Althea said brightly.
Harley winked at me before moving away to talk with Mabel’s son Edward.
Wait a minute. That hadn’t been part of the plan. He was supposed to stay and watch my back, not wander over to chat with Mabel’s family. Suddenly, I panicked. Trying to trap the killer was the stupidest idea ever. No, believing I could trust someone to watch my back had been an even stupider idea. I had no reason, no reason at all, to expect anyone to be there for me when I needed help.
My mother had left when I was less than a few hours old. My father had left again and again to start family after family, shuttling me off to whatever fresh hell Grandmother Cristobel had arranged for me. Even the Cheese King, who I once thought had cared for me, was currently launching a campaign to ruin my reputation. No doubt his goal was to make sure I’d never work in advertising again. As Tina had warned a few days ago, I needed to deal with that mess as soon as possible.
Walk away, I told myself. Forget your foolish plan and get the hell out of there before anything bad happens. Like getting yourself killed.
I started to do just that when a sharp finger tapped my shoulder. I turned around and found myself standing face-to-face with Mabel’s daughter Florence Corners.
“He didn’t do it,” she whispered. Her voice, gravelly and soft, was so very different from the screech she’d used when accusing me of stealing their inheritance from them. “He didn’t kill your friend.”
“I know,” I said, my shoulders tensing. “Detective Gibbons came and spoke with me yesterday morning. And I’m sorry. You’ve suffered too many losses. No matter what Derek did, he was still your brother.”
I tried to walk away. She gripped my arm like a falcon grabbing onto its prey, her talon trapping me. “You don’t understand. He was working to change his life. He was working to . . .” Tears swam in her eyes as she shook her head. “Because of you, he’s dead. It’s your fault he’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, even though what I really wanted to say was that he robbed from his mother’s shop and then had tried to kill me. And he’d tried to kill Cal too. But she was Derek’s sister. Despite his flaws, she clearly loved him. I had no right to deny her anger or her grief. “I’m truly sorry for your loss. Please, let go of me.”
I tried to twist my arm free, but she only tightened her hold. She pulled me closer. “I’m not going to let you get away with it,” she spat in my face.
“Excuse me. I need to have a word with Ms. Penn. It’s urgent.” Cal did a little dance with Florence. I’m not sure exactly what the moves were, but he managed to smoothly slide my arm out from her pinching clutches.
With his hand planted on the small of my back, he quickly ushered me out of the church and onto the wide sidewalk. Had Harley sent Cal over to me? Or was Cal acting on his own?
I stood on the sidewalk, shifting the weight off my sprained foot while trying to figure out my next step in the plan and if I even wanted to continue what I’d already started.
The late-afternoon sun had settled behind the city buildings, casting the sky into shades of deep reds and blacks. Cars, with their bright headlights creating spotlights on the blacktop road, passed by. A harbor breeze caressed my face with its cool breath, reminding me that winter still had a grip on this part of the coun
try.
It took less than a second for me to take notice of these things. They were everyday things, yet they were things my troubled mind clung to because I was tired of trying to figure out what to do next. I was tired of trying to force the wheels of justice to turn. I was tired of mourning the loss of loved ones. And I was tired of lies, of murder, of disappointing those closest to me. I simply wanted to stand on this street in the middle of this Southern city and think about the weather.
But then I remembered Cal had said that he’d desperately needed to talk with me. “What’s wrong?” I demanded. “What’s the emergency?”
I hoped Harley was okay. I didn’t see him on my way out of the church. He’d disappeared into the crowd. Had he found trouble of his own?
“There’s no emergency,” he said as he wrapped his arms around my waist. “You simply looked like you needed rescuing.”
“Really?” I smiled up at him. “I did need rescuing,” I had no trouble admitting. “Thank you.”
He pulled me a little closer, close enough that his lips could easily brush against mine if I wanted them to. “Would you like to go back to my place?”
I thought about it for a moment. He lived in downtown Charleston, so his place would be convenient. “No.” My voice quivered from a sudden burst of nerves. My heart slammed against my chest. “No, I think I’d rather go back to the Chocolate Box and Mabel’s apartment. There’s the festival that starts tomorrow morning and . . .” I sighed. “I know it sounds silly, but I want to be close to where Mabel lived, close to the things that were hers. Perhaps I’ll be able to feel her spirit lingering in her belongings, you know?”
We unwound from our embrace and walked down an alleyway, past long, narrow clapboard houses that had witnessed the Revolutionary War. The silence between us unnerved me so I blurted out, “With all the work I’ve been doing with the shop, I’m thinking about changing my mind. I’m thinking about keeping it.”
He stopped in the middle of the alleyway. “Keeping what?”
“The shop.”
His mouth dropped open as he stared at me. “You . . . you’re going to keep the Chocolate Box? Really?”
Butterflies danced in my stomach as I nodded. “Crazy, I know. But for whatever reason, it’s what Mabel wanted. And to be honest, I think I’d enjoy the challenge.”
“Wow.” He shook his head. “Wow. We should, I don’t know, celebrate. Mabel would be so happy to know that her legacy will continue.”
I held up my hands. “It’s probably too early to celebrate. I’m still just playing with the idea. It came to me during the service just now. We’ll see how this weekend goes before I make a final decision.”
He stopped beside his black BMW SUV. It was parked in front of a skinny moss-green house that looked to be one room wide. The house was just about the same width as the double porches that ran along the entire left side of the structure. “Yep, that’s where I live,” he said. “I travel, so I don’t get to spend a lot of time here. And I don’t need a lot of space.”
“It’s”—Small?—“charming,” I said.
He opened the car’s passenger door and, like a true Southern gentleman, waited for me to climb inside. I was glad to be able to get my weight off my sore foot. He then rushed around the car and jumped into the driver’s seat. “I don’t care if your idea is crazy or not, we should celebrate it tonight. You know Mabel would like that.”
I leaned across the center console and impulsively planted a playful kiss on his lips. “Yes, I’d like that too.”
Chapter 31
I had no idea where Harley had gone. He hadn’t followed me back to Camellia Beach. I would have heard his car’s broken muffler from more than a mile away.
Unfortunately, alone or not, there was really no going back. I’d already told everyone who would listen that I planned to keep the shop. By now, the entire town should know. Ready or not, all I could do was to wait for the plan to unfold. I hoped it wasn’t about to unravel.
After putting my purse down on the kitchen table in Mabel’s apartment, I hooked Stella’s leash to her collar. Cal accompanied me while I took Stella out for a short, hobbling walk (I hobbled, Stella walked) down to the end of the block and back. Instead of trying to bite my companion’s toes, my normally fearless dog whined and tugged, keeping herself as far away from him as her leash would allow.
“Maybe she’s reacting to the trauma from the other day,” I said, puzzled by her odd behavior. She’d never shied away from Cal before—of course, she’d never witnessed him kill a man before either. I took a piece of bacon from my coat pocket and held it out for Cal to give to Stella. “Bertie makes it for her every morning. She’s a huge fan.”
Stella, with ears nearly twice as big as her head, heard the movement of the bacon coming out of my pocket. She whirled around and wagged her tail at me. When I didn’t immediately give her the treat, she gave an aggravated bark.
Cal frowned at the slightly greasy treat and then at my naughty dog. He lifted the bacon, holding it gingerly between his forefinger and thumb, and quickly tossed it at Stella, who by now was barking full force. She gobbled the bacon but still avoided him for the rest of the walk.
After we returned to the apartment, my little beast started to bark like crazy. “What’s wrong with her?” Cal asked. “She didn’t make this kind of fuss a few minutes ago.”
“I don’t know what’s up with her,” I said, frowning. “If I didn’t know her better, I’d think she was scared.”
Stella whirled around in circles, poking her nose under the sofa, the coffee table, and wherever else she could put it. With a growl, Troubadour darted out from under the china cabinet and swatted Stella across the nose. Stella yelped.
Troubadour, his gaze narrowed with scorn, hissed first in Stella’s direction and then in mine. Apparently satisfied that he’d properly put us in our places, he sauntered into the kitchen with all the pride and self-importance as the Emperor with No Clothes.
I knelt down on the floor and coddled Stella, fussing over her without actually holding or hugging her. I also gave her several treats. As soon as she looked her feisty self again, I led her into my bedroom and locked her in. She barked and scratched at the door for a few minutes before finally settling down.
“Wow, sorry about that. I’m still working on training her,” I said to Cal, who’d been patiently waiting in the kitchen. “Can I offer you some dinner? Bertie has been cooking as if expecting several hungry armies to drop by.”
He looked around. “Shouldn’t we wait for her to get home?”
“She’s going to stay with Althea tonight. It was Althea’s suggestion. She wanted to be close to her mom. So I’ve got the place to myself. Well, there’s Troubadour and Stella, but they don’t take up much space.”
His brows rose at the thought that we would be alone all evening. My cheeks heated at the thought as well. Was I ready to be alone with a man so soon after the Cheese King’s betrayal? Part of me dearly wanted to be ready. Another part, a much bigger part, felt as vulnerable as Bertie’s naked cat.
“Yes, well.” My nerves caused my insides to bounce around as if they were balls on a squash court. “Let’s see what we can find to eat.”
I started taking bowls from the refrigerator and pulling back the foil to peek inside.
“Is that Bertie’s chili?” Cal asked as he peered over my shoulder. His hands landed on my hips as if they belonged there.
My breath hitched in my throat. “It-it looks like chili.”
“It does, doesn’t it? I haven’t had her chili in ages. It’s fabulous. You know she puts chocolate in it?”
“Chocolate?” I sniffed the chili. It didn’t smell like chocolate.
“You don’t taste it, but it makes the chili taste amazing.” He reached around me and took the bowl from my hands. “This is what you’ll want to eat for dinner. Trust me.”
Trust him? I barely trusted myself.
While I reheated the chili on the stove, Cal
set the table. We talked about the funeral and tomorrow’s festival and the weather. Suddenly he looked up at me. “You’re not really going to keep the shop, are you?”
I shrugged as I stirred the chili. The steam rising from the pot teased me with its spicy flavors. “Mabel thought I should keep it. She worried about what would happen to Camellia Beach and the village of Cabruca without her and the shop to support them. I got the feeling she thought both places needed a caretaker.”
“But why you?” he asked, not meanly. He sounded genuinely curious.
“That’s what I keep asking. No one seems to have the answer. Did you know that Mabel wrote me a note explaining it all, but someone stole it from your brother’s office?”
Cal grimaced. “More likely Harley misplaced it. I hate to say it, but he isn’t a very good lawyer.”
“You shouldn’t say that. He’s your brother.”
He lifted his hands. “There’s a reason he’s no longer working in Atlanta, and it’s not because Dad died. That’s all I’m saying. With the divorce and everything else that’s been going on, he’s been having trouble keeping his mind on his cases.”
I spooned the reheated chili into two bowls and carried them over to the table.
Cal patted the chair next to his. “Come, sit down. Your foot must be killing you by now.”
“You’re right about that.” I slid into the chair and picked up a spoon.
“Here’s to new beginnings, whatever they may be,” he said as he lifted a spoonful of chili into the air as if making a toast.
“New beginnings,” I said and lifted my spoon as well. When we clinked them together, chili splattered all over both of our clothes. We both laughed as we dabbed at the stains with water from our glasses.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure why I was laughing. This wasn’t my dress I’d just spilled chili all over. It had to be nerves. I tended to laugh at inappropriate things whenever I felt nervous. And spending this much time alone with Cal and sitting this close to him was turning me into a mess of quivering nerves.
Asking for Truffle Page 25
