The Madhatter's Guide To Chocolate

by Rhett DeVane

I laughed. “He might be queer, but he’s our queer, huh?”

  Jake whipped one hand into the air as if to testify. “Honey, you done broke the code!”

  The shop opened promptly at 7 AM, in time for the first influx of state weekend workers trudging in for coffee and sweet rolls. Soon, the little shop overflowed with customers.

  Jake smiled as he studied the room. His white linen sports coat provided a perfect overlay for the blue-striped Polo dress shirt. “Looks like Piddie did a great job of advertising. Oh, remind me to send a ‘thank you’ note to Mary over at the Twin City News for putting the announcement in last weekend’s paper.”

  Since it was a Saturday, most of the townsfolk put in an appearance later in the morning. Evelyn, Joe, and Piddie stayed for a couple of hours. Piddie held court from one of the bistro tables while Evelyn described the curtains’ design and construction to anyone who would listen. A group of my Tallahassee friends drove over as well.

  Kathy boxed me playfully in the arm. “You sure you’re not turning back into a small town gal?”

  “I think I’ll try timesharing the two places. I’d miss all of you guys too much to leave Tallahassee for good. At the same time, I really enjoy the peace and quiet on the Hill.”

  Jake stepped up and joined the conversation. “Hey, ladies! You can always come over and stay at the resort on the Hill. There’s an extra bedroom all decorated for you!” He flitted off to greet another customer.

  Chris slurped her coffee. “I saw Garrett the other day. He was out at Chez Pierre all over some skinny little blonde.”

  “It’s okay, Chrissy. He and I have had a long talk. No expectations. I may call him sometime to meet for dinner when I’m over there. Besides, his daughter, Jillie, is going to be living in my townhouse.”

  Chris rolled her eyes. “He still makes me want to puke. Maybe you’ll meet someone decent over here.”

  “I’m not really looking.”

  Chris grinned. “Right.”

  “Jake had any trouble today?” Kathy asked.

  “No.”

  Kathy looked around the packed shop. “I really don’t think anyone would be stupid enough to try anything with a crowd of people around. None the less, you and Jake better keep up your guard.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Now, convince him!”

  The booming roar of a rusted-out muffler sounded. I glanced toward the street. A beaten-up faded green pick-up crept by. Through the sunlight glare on the front window, I could barely make out the shadowed silhouettes of two people. The passenger hung a hairy arm from the window, yelled obscenities, and fired several vulgar gestures toward the shop. The truck accelerated and sped from view.

  I muttered. “So much for the local color.”

  Chris frowned. “Want I should go after them?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t bother. They’re only out for attention. I’d hate to accommodate them.”

  By the time we closed at 5 PM, the display counter looked like a war zone. I’d seen just about the entire population of Chattahoochee and a few folks I recognized from Sneads, Greensboro, Mt. Pleasant, and the communities over the Georgia line near the lake. Jimmy T. Johnson, the venerable mayor of Chattahoochee, came in for a brownie and a cup of coffee, and most of the police and fire personnel had stopped by as well. Stephanie and Julie from the Homeplace Restaurant came down during their break, and Carol Burns, Rich’s wife, visited with their twin girls. The biggest surprise was seeing Bobby at the counter with an attractive raven-haired woman he introduced as Leigh Andrews from over near Grand Ridge. Could it possibly mean he was starting to forgive me for allowing Jake to move into the farmhouse? Any step toward defrosting our relationship would be welcome.

  “Whew!” Jake blew out a long breath. “I’m glad tomorrow is Sunday. It’ll give me a chance to come up in the afternoon after church and restock! If today was any indication of things to come, I’ll need to bump up the dessert orders and hire some help pretty soon! It’s not like I don’t already have enough to do with the flower shop. What was I thinking?”

  “A little late to pull out now, Jakey. Looks like the sweet shop will definitely pay for itself,” I said. “I can’t believe we sold over thirty copies of the Madhatter’s Guide to Chocolate! Word’s out that it has a lot of town history in it, and people are buying it to see if any of their relatives made the pages. Of course, I know more than a few folks who dove at the chance to get hold of Piddie’s icing recipe.”

  Jake swept chocolate chip cookie crumbs from the top of a bistro table. “It was great to finally meet your friends from Tallahassee. One can never know too many law enforcement officers.”

  Jake cocked his head. “Hey, was that your charming brother I glanced on his way out with a take-out bag?”

  “Yeah. Imagine that?”

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him with a woman. And, now that I think about it, the first time I’ve seen the man smile since forever. He actually looked like he might be having a good time! It’s certainly no stretch to see how he’d flip over her—that dark hair and blue eyes—and those cheekbones! To die for! She must have Native American blood mixed in somewhere.”

  “Miracles happen. Maybe she had something to do with him putting in an appearance.” I sighed. “I wish I could talk to him without starting a fight. He doesn’t seem to like me much the last few years.”

  Jake grabbed a broom. “You ever considered that he might be a little jealous? I mean, there you were with your college education, livin’ a good life with plenty of money, traveling, not tied down—”

  “Hey, he chose to live here and raise a family!” I snapped.

  “Ewww…we’re a little sensitive, aren’t we?”

  “I’m sorry, Jake. It’s just that I get a little tired of being blamed for not staying here and being the good little hometown wife and mother.”

  “And that’s all I really wanted to be! Boo-hoo, always a bridesmaid and never a bride,” he quoted from an old Bugs Bunny cartoon. He grabbed a folded napkin and dabbed dramatically beneath both eyes. “Sister-girl, don’t you worry your pretty little head, blood is thicker than water. Bobby’ll come around.”

  I hesitated. “Did you catch the action on the street?”

  Jake flipped his hand. “Not everyone loves success.”

  “I’m serious, Jake. I’m worried.”

  Jake shook the dustpan into the lidded garbage container. “Don’t be.”

  Excerpt from Max the Madhatter’s notebook, November 4, 1958

  Why is there meanness in the world? I see it reflected in the eyes of some of the folks I share the ward with. Hard places in their hearts where love doesn’t live. Wonder what carved out the holes they fill with darkness?

  Chapter Seven

  THE FOURTH OF JULY

  The City of Chattahoochee, for as long as I could remember, had sponsored an impressive fireworks display over the waters of Lake Seminole. From the intersection of Boliver and West Washington Streets, the curving, hilly road led north for a half-mile before crossing the Georgia border and continuing its route as the Booster Club Road. At the base of a skateboarders’ dream hill, the land spread out, revealing tennis courts, public bathrooms, and a wide-angle view of the expansive tree-studded lake. The tall stands of pines and rolling hills reminded me of the mountains. Any local could explain that this part of Florida was actually part of the foothills of the Appalachian Mountain chain farther north.

  During the fireworks, the south boat landing was closed to traffic, providing a secure launching area. Across a small canal once used for boat slips, the main parking lot held concession stands and a large portion of the population of several surrounding counties. Five small covered picnic tables dotted the grassy periphery, and a massive concrete covered group-shelter stood to the left side atop a wooded hill. Every patch of ground was covered with the blankets, coolers, and chairs of the community waiting anxiously for dusk to turn to darkness.

  “I can’t believe you’re still th
ere working!” I raged into the phone. “I’m almost finished packing our picnic for the fireworks, and you aren’t here yet!”

  “Get your panties out of a wad, sister-girl. I told you it would be a little bit more before I could come home. Miz Lucille is counting on me for these flower baskets for the Jackson family reunion tomorrow.”

  “But we’ll miss the start of the fireworks,” I whined.

  Jake sighed. “If you’ll stop calling me, I can finish. I have one more arrangement to do. As soon as I do that, and load some stuff in the van, I’ll be on my way. I’ll fly. Give me thirty minutes, tops.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait on you for a little bit. But when the sun starts to set, I’m leaving whether you’re here or not!”

  I filled Shammie’s water and food bowl, then went out back to the carport to feed Spam. He sauntered up slowly, and I patted his golden-red fur.

  “Those old hips are hurting you today, aren’t they boy?”

  He woofed and wagged his tail. After I served his food, I sang his favorite song, The Florida Cracker Dog Song—sung to the tune of the theme song of the Beverly Hillbillies.

  “I wanna tell you all a story about a dog named SPAM,

  Florida Cracker Retriever, he said ‘that’s what I am!’

  Late one day, he came walkin’ up our road,

  So, we fed him ’till he stayed

  Best dog we ever knowed!

  Hell-of-a-dog. Full-blooded. Pedigreed.”

  Spam slopped in appreciation as I played air banjo to complete the set.

  I packed vegetable sticks, dip, and stuffed mushrooms into a covered wooden and wicker basket along with a bottle of Merlot and two wine glasses. After forty-five minutes, I called the shop again to no answer.

  How did I end up with a workaholic partner? Wasn’t it enough that I had to go through this whole thing with Garrett Douglas for the past two years?

  After fifteen more minutes, I packed the truck and left the Hill in a huff to drag his butt away from the shop.

  Washington Street was deserted. Only the Dollar Store remained open. Everyone for miles around had already secured a perfect spot on the banks surrounding Lake Seminole to watch the light show. I clenched my teeth at the prospect of fumbling around in the dusk dark, tripping over people, in order to find a decent spot to spread the blanket.

  As I approached the front of the shop, I noticed the lights were off.

  I didn’t pass him coming into town. If he had gone to the lake without me, I would strangle him!

  I swung the truck into the delivery alley. The Dragonfly Florist delivery van stood idle with the side door ajar. The hair stood erect on the nape of my neck.

  I parked and approached the rear door. It was unlocked and slightly ajar. When I pushed the door open and stepped inside, I almost lost my footing on a slick place on the concrete floor. I grappled with the light switch.

  My heart almost stopped dead still. Flowers were strewn in every direction. I stepped cautiously into the room. Total destruction met my shocked gaze: broken glass, earthen potted plants upended and broken, and the words—Fagot. Fagot. Damn Fagot—were scrawled over every wall and surface in black spray paint. Barely breathing, I backed up slowly toward the door, almost slipping again. I looked at my feet. The sticky moisture was dark red.

  Damn it! Why had I never gotten a cell phone? Blindly, I raced to the truck, fumbled with the keys, and almost dumped the transmission taking off in a roar of screeching tire rubber. Fortunately, the streets were deserted, because I didn’t stop at a single intersection between the alley and Jefferson Street. I slammed the truck into park and raced into the Chattahoochee Police Station, leaving the truck door standing open.

  Denise Whiddon looked up from her book.

  “Hattie Davis! Girl, what’s wrong? You’re pale as a sheet!”

  I gasped for breath. “Jake! Something’s happened to Jake! The shop! Blood on the floor. Oh, God!” I sobbed.

  Denise rushed to the radio. “Chattahoochee 220, Chattahoochee 227?”

  Rich’s deep voice replied, “220.”

  “Be 10-51 to Dragonfly Florist, 304 West Washington Street. Possible signal 17, possible signal 55.”

  The sound of a siren filtered through the radio with Rich’s reply. “Copy. 220 in route.”

  A second male voice responded. “227 in route.”

  “Hattie, come on here and sit down. You look like you’re gonna faint!”

  I was already heading for the double doors.

  “Don’t go back over there, Hattie! Rich and Don are only a minute or two away! The suspects could still be there! Hey!”

  Denise chased me out the door, but I beat her to the truck, flipped a quick U-turn, and headed back uptown. Rich’s cruiser screeched to a halt in the alley. From the opposite end of the alley, Don Hall, the second officer on duty, slipped his cruiser into place in front of the delivery van.

  Rich pulled his service revolver and motioned for Don to follow. When he saw my truck, he shook his head hard, and I sat back in my seat. The two officers entered the building cautiously.

  After a couple of minutes, they appeared at the door. Rich came to my window. “Sit tight, Hattie. I’ve got to put in a call out to Lieutenant Harrison and establish a crime- scene periphery. Please go on back to the station. No one else can enter that shop until I can get our crime-scene investigator here.”

  “But, Jake!”

  “Don is calling right now to put out a BOLO on Jake. I need you where we can talk as soon as I get back to the station!”

  Back at police headquarters, Denise fixed a cup of the worst coffee I’d ever tasted. I drank it and made a face.

  “The boys like it strong,” she said with a shrug. “You want me to call anyone to be with you while you wait?”

  I thought of Evelyn and Joe. “No, everyone’s out at the lake. I’ll be okay, Denise. I just feel so helpless.”

  Denise took the seat next to mine. “We’ve got a BOLO—that’s a be-on-the-lookout—to Gadsden County, city of Sneads and Chattahoochee, Florida Highway Patrol, and the Georgia boys. We’ll find him, honey.”

  “How, Denise? We don’t even have any idea who has him or what they’re driving!”

  Denise patted my hand. “You gotta have faith, honey.”

  The radio erupted in a barrage of sound. I caught the code for an ambulance call-out. Denise dashed back to her dispatcher post.

  “Denise! What?”

  “I don’t know, honey. It could be Jake, but we got a load of people out there at the landing. It could just be someone out there needing assistance. I know Rich will come by with information as soon as he knows anything.”

  An hour dragged by. The radio chattered on in code. Something was going on somewhere. Even though I’d been around my law enforcement friends enough to pick up on a little bit of the jargon, I couldn’t understand most of it. Denise was busy chattering back in the same secret language. Finally, I could stand it no longer.

  “Anything?”

  Denise looked up. Her kind brown eyes were rimmed with red. “Rich is on his way back to the station. They’ve found Jake.”

  I began to pace, my mouth sour with the aftertaste of bad coffee.

  The double doors flew open behind me, and Rich rushed inside. “Sit down, Hattie,” he said.

  I perched on the edge of an orange molded plastic chair.

  “A couple of kids found Jake. He’s in route to Tallahassee Memorial Hospital by ambulance. He’s alive.”

  Tears clouded my vision. “Where was he?”

  “A couple of teenagers slipping away from the Fourth festivities found him tied to a tree at Turkey Point lookout by the lake. He’s been beaten up pretty badly, Hattie. He was unconscious when they found him. The kids ran back and informed the Chattahoochee officer who was at the celebration. Luckily, the ambulance was already up there on stand-by, so they got to him pretty quick.”

  “Why would someone take him to Turkey Point? Isn’t that place crawling
with people watching the fireworks?”

  “Usually. A sinkhole took out part of the road a week or two back. The road leading up from the lake was barricaded.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Rich. How’d someone get him in there?”

  He ran his hand through his thick unruly salt-and-pepper hair. “Same way we took the ambulance in—from the back entrance. Two of the barricade barrels had been run over to one side. Those kids walked up there on foot, probably to sit on one of the benches near the water to have their own private show.”

  My stomach lurched. “I gotta get to Tallahassee.”

  Rich’s hands held me down. “You’re in no shape to drive alone right now. Is there any one I can call to go with you?”

  I couldn’t think. “No one except Evelyn and Joe, but I can’t call them. I wouldn’t want to get Piddie upset. She’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Let me phone Carol. If she can get Jan next door to watch the twins till I get off my shift, I’m sure she’ll go with you.”

  My mind raced. “Jake’s insurance information and papers. I’ll need to stop by the house.”

  Rich left, then returned shortly. “Carol’s on her way. You can stop by the Hill on the way, then hit the Interstate. And Hattie, don’t you two get in an accident trying to get there fast. Jake’s in good hands now, and he’ll need you later. It will do no one a bit of good if my two girls get themselves cracked up on the highway.”

  “Oh, Rich!” I sobbed onto his shoulder. “I’m so lucky to have you and Carol for friends!”

  Carol pulled up in the family Jeep Cherokee.

  Rich grabbed my elbows and pushed me gently away. “Leave your truck keys here, Hattie. I’ll pull it around back and make arrangements to get it to you. Now, go! You’re taking the creases outta my uniform!”

  I smiled weakly and wiped my nose with the tissue he offered. Rich blew a kiss to his wife and returned to his cruiser.

  Excerpt from Max the Madhatter’s notebook, November 13, 1957

  What does it mean, really – that it is darkest before the dawn? I stayed awake for three nights to see. Far as I could tell, it was true. The fourth night, Dr. Bruner ordered a sleeping pill.