The Chocolate Kiss-Off (The Persephone Cole Vintage Mysteries Book 3)

by Heather Haven

  Percy watched her go out the door then turned. She headed again to the corner of the room where the Cole Brothers Investigations office resided. Behind the screen, two small dark oak desks sat, one belonging to her, the other to her father.

  Sitting down, she opened her desk drawer, pulled out the phone book, looked up the Brooklyn police station in question, and dialed the number. Even though it was barely five o’clock in the morning, the phone answered on the first ring.

  “Ninetieth Precinct. Officer O’Hara speaking.”

  Percy heard a world of attitude in those few brief words. Officer O’Hara sounded young, yet already jaded. The low-income residential and factory district had high crime and little love for coppers. It turned even rookies into worn-out cynics fast.

  “Good morning.” Percy tried to make her voice sound business-like but polite. “I’m looking for a Howard Goldberg and wondered if he was brought there this morning? Maybe an hour or two ago.”

  “Who wants to know? This his wife?”

  If I say I’m a private detective, there’s going to be twenty minutes of crapola and then he’ll only hang up on me.

  “Yeah, I’m his wife. Is he there? He called his mother but didn’t call me, the louse.”

  “A real mama’s boy, huh? Yeah, we got him.”

  “What’s the charge?”

  “We’re holding him for questioning on suspicion of murder.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “On the grounds of the victim got found in a big bowl of his chocolate with a rope around her neck pulled tighter than my mother’s girdle. You’d better get a lawyer, lady. It don’t look so good for him.”

  “If he’s around, I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Naw. He’s in his cell by now. It being Friday, he won’t be arraigned until Monday morning. He’ll be spending the weekend in the slammer. Don’t worry, we’ll treat him right, honey.” Officer O’Hara left off with a laugh indicating just the opposite.

  “Thanks.” She hung up then muttered, “And don’t call me honey.”

  Percy reached into the top drawer and snatched a stick of Doublemint gum from a pack. Opening it up, she folded the gum into a wad and shoved it in her mouth, chewing absentmindedly.

  It was an old trick her father showed her years ago to keep Mother from knowing he ‘tipped the bottle’ from time to time. Mother tipping the sherry bottle never seemed to count.

  She dialed her brother, Jude, and looked around at the cramped quarters as the phone rang. Two file cabinets, worn but cared-for, were crammed against the wall into a space too small for the amount of business they were currently doing. She let out a sigh.

  Percy grew up with the room functioning as the office for the detective agency started by her father and uncle. Uncle Gil’s sudden death and Pop’s recent broken leg had taken their toll on business. Cole Brothers Investigations – once thriving – had receded more and more into a corner of the parlor.

  When Percy got her investigator’s license six-months earlier, she assumed the lost partnership position. Despite many people’s initial scorn of a female detective, the business was resurrecting itself.

  Pop was gone on a big case in New Jersey, and she was juggling two other cases, one arriving only the day before. Percy wasn’t sure how she’d fit Mrs. Goldberg in, but she’d do more than that; it would take precedence over the other jobs she had going.

  Shame to toss them aside, though. Good money. And they’re both mostly legwork. Time to spread out and make some changes.

  Her brother, Jude, finally answered on the eighth ring. He didn’t sound as wide awake as Officer O’Hara, but he didn’t sound as jaded, either.

  Chapter Three

  Dear Diary,

  February 5, 1942. This monumental day has come and gone. It took over a year of waiting and planning, but the deed is done. She didn’t deserve to live after what she did to me. Let others make of it what they will. I am vindicated.

  Chapter Four

  Dressed in her dark gray, Marlene Dietrich knock-off pants suit, Percy pulled her long red hair into a ponytail. She grabbed the ever-present bag of pistachio nuts from her bureau, crammed it into a ‘kangaroo’ pocket of her slacks, and headed for the kitchen. It was probably too much to hope no one else was up; Mrs. Goldberg had been loud, especially when wailing.

  Percy cracked open the kitchen door. As usual, the smell of Percy’s least favorite breakfast food, oatmeal, filled the air. Just once Percy would like to push at the kitchen door and have the aroma of eggs and bacon assail her nostrils. No such luck, with the war’s rationing. She paused, listening to the conversation on the other side of the door.

  “Don’t you worry, Rachel,” said Mother. “Everything’s going to be just fine. Persephone and Adjudication would take care of this. Serendipity will help, too. Between the three of them, they’ll get this straightened out.”

  “Uh-uh. Not me,” said Sera. “I don’t know nothin’ about birthin’ babies.”

  “Now, Serendipity, this is no time for an imitation of Lana Turner, even though you do a lovely one,” Mother added as an afterthought.

  “That was Butterfly McQueen. Honestly, Mother, don’t you know anything?”Offense riddled Sera’s voice. It didn’t take much to offend Sera.

  Fifteen years younger than Percy and seventeen years younger than Jude, their kid sister had been a change-of-life baby. From the beginning, she’d been treated like everyone’s child, causing her to rebel by age thirteen. At twenty, she was still rebelling.

  Opening the door fully, Percy saw her mother seated at the kitchen table. Mother’s white-blonde hair was even wilder than usual, lying on her blue and green chenille bathrobe like a fur collar. Percy watched as her mother reached across the table to pat Mrs. Goldberg’s chubby hand.

  Sera stood at the stove. With her dyed blonde hair, heavily made-up face, and pink satin pajamas, she seemed out of place stirring the never-ending bubbling pot of oatmeal.

  Mother looked up and noticed Percy’s entrance. A questioning look came to her face.

  “Is everything all right? What did you find out?”

  Percy put on a small smile and pulled out one of the empty spindle-back chairs surrounding the rectangular kitchen table. Spinning it around, she straddled the seat, facing the two older women. She leaned her elbows on the back of the chair.

  “Okay, first of all, Howie is at the Ninetieth. I also made two more calls. We’ll start with the last. That was to my friend, Detective Hutchers --”

  “You remember him, Rachel,” Mother interrupted. “Such a nice man. He took Persephone to the Policeman’s Ball for New Year’s.”

  “Oh, yes.” Mrs. Goldberg nodded, trying to be agreeable but heavy with worry. Both women looked expectantly at Percy.

  “Unfortunately,” Percy went on, still chewing gum, “Hutchers doesn’t know anyone at the Ninetieth, but is going to make some phone calls; see if he can get the inside scoop. Jude is on his way there right now and --”

  “And there you are,” Mother interrupted, with a self-satisfied grin, slapping the palms of her hands on the kitchen table. Mother stood, relief cloaking her body like wool jersey. She crossed to the stove and took the large spoon from her daughter’s hand.

  “You go sit down, dear. I’ll do this. We don’t want to burn the oatmeal again, do we?”

  “Thank you, Mother,” said Sera. “I find making oatmeal quite gauche.”

  “Serendipity, I will not have you using that kind of language in my kitchen.”

  Mrs. Goldberg was taken aback by her friend’s shift in demeanor. She turned to Percy. “You mean everything’s all right? My son’s --”

  “Not exactly, Mrs. Goldberg.” Percy’s voice was quiet but firm. She spit the gum out in the palm of her hand then tossed it into the sink. “Mother’s jumped the gun a bit on this.”

  “Oh, have I, Persephone? How silly of me. Here.” She thrust the spoon back into Sera’s hand. “You keep stirring this, dear. I’ll tell you
when to quit. And lower the flame.”

  “Aw, gee.” Sera took the spoon with reluctance. “I have to curl my hair before I leave for work. I got a big date tonight. It’s important,” she added.

  “Hush, Serendipity.” Mother crossed the large and homey but well-used kitchen, returned to the table, and sat down. “We’ll be nice and quiet until Persephone’s done, won’t we, Rachel?”

  “Yes, yes,” Mrs. Goldberg stuttered.

  Percy returned her attention to Mrs. Goldberg. “Okay, to continue –“

  “I can’t go with my hair looking like this,” whined Sera.

  “So wear a hat,” Percy said over her shoulder. She turned back to Mrs. Goldberg.

  “Jude is on his way over to the Ninetieth Precinct right now. His hope is to discover just what the charges might wind up being; in other words, why they’re holding Howie at all. In order to arrest a person, the police have to have something called Probable Cause. Over the phone, the cop mentioned an arraignment. If that’s the case, Jude hopes to speed up the process --”

  It was Mrs. Goldberg’s turn to interrupt. “Arraignment? What means this word, ‘arraignment’?” Confusion clouded her face.

  “What she meant to say was ‘arrange’. They’re going to arrange to let him go, right Persephone?” Mother’s dark brown eyes sparkled, looking from her daughter to her dearest and oldest friend. “And they’d better say they’re sorry for frightening all of us like this.”

  “Not exactly, Mother.” Percy’s voice took on more of an authoritative tone. “Listen, why don’t you let me tell it my way and if either of you have any questions afterward, I can answer them. Okay?”

  Both women nodded and Mother, to add to her part of the agreement, raised her fingers to her closed mouth, mimed locking it and throwing away the key.

  “Let’s see how long that lasts,” Sera murmured from the stove.

  “Serendipity, you behave,” Mother said. “And stop interrupting Persephone.” She turned back to her elder daughter. “You go right ahead, dear. Tell us what you’ve learned about this misunderstanding between Howard and the law.”

  Percy turned back to Mrs. Goldberg. “To answer the question about what an arraignment is, it’s a formal reading of a criminal complaint in the presence of the defendant stating the charges against him or her. From what I understand, no formal charges have been made yet. Jude hopes to have them do it sometime today, so we can post bail, and not have Howie spend the weekend in jail.”

  Mrs. Goldberg took in a long breath, coupled with one of her small wails of despair. She clasped her hands to her bosom, her gold wedding band glinting on hands that were chapped and much-used from decades of hard work.

  “My son in jail. My Howie spending the weekend in jail. And for killing someone!”

  Bursting into tears, she turned to Mother’s outstretched arms. Mrs. Goldberg buried herself in her friend’s thin, concave chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Percy stared.

  “Nice going, Percy. Sometimes you can be so gauche.” Sera crossed to her sister’s side, pointing the oatmeal encrusted spoon in her face. A small drop of oatmeal landed on Percy’s thigh.

  “I was just explaining --”

  “Maybe explanations are not what we need right now, Persephone.” Mother interrupted in a whisper over Mrs. Goldberg’s shaking shoulders.

  “Right.” Percy stood and shook out her large frame like a dog after a bath. “I’m going to get Oliver up then head on down to Brooklyn. See if I can get in to talk to Howie and --”

  “Still too much explaining, dear. Off you go.” Mother gestured with her head toward the door.

  “Right.”

  * * * *

  Percy opened the door of her son’s blue and yellow bedroom, and peeked inside. There the child who gave her life meaning lay sleeping on his side, head resting on his pillow. Tousled blue-black hair and a cherub-like face made Percy marvel once again at how a child could look so much like an angel in sleep and be so ‘all boy’ when awake.

  She tiptoed into the room and the short-legged, long-bodied dog that slept at the foot of the bed raised his head and wagged a furry tail. Named after Oliver’s best friend, Freddie, the dog was her son’s constant companion since arriving as a Christmas present.

  Percy had been surprised and delighted at how Oliver took on the responsibility of the care and feeding of his pet. With an eight-year old son, she’d expected to do the bulk of the work herself. Such was not the case. Oliver walked him at least twice daily and made sure his water bowl was full. The family watched every evening as the boy solemnly gathered leftovers to be mixed in with the dry meat-meal dog food he insisted they purchased from a feed and grain store in Queens. It wasn’t surprising when he announced one day he wanted to be a ‘dog doctor’.

  While listening to the dog’s tail thumping on the mattress, Percy stroked Oliver’s forehead and cheek. Her son began to stir.

  “Hey, sleepy-head.” She crooned to him, as she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Time to get up and get ready for school.”

  Eyelids fluttered open and he looked up at her with a smile. “Mommy! Is it morning already?”

  “Yes, it is, sweetie.” He struggled to a sitting position, as she half-embraced, half-pulled him up. “Come on. There’s a good boy.” She watched him yawn and stretch for a moment then stroked his rumpled hair.

  “Oliver, Mrs. Goldberg is sitting in the kitchen. She’s a little upset over something somebody said Uncle Howie did, but I want you to know he didn’t do it.”

  “Then why is she upset?”

  “Sometimes mothers get upset when our children are in trouble. So I don’t want you to bother her this morning. I’m going out now to make sure these people know they’re wrong about Uncle Howie. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Oliver rubbed sleep-filled eyes. “What is it Uncle Howie didn’t do?”

  “I’m not too sure myself, sweetie, but we know him to be an upright kind of guy, right?” Oliver nodded. “When I get home I’ll tell you all about it, I promise. Meanwhile, I want you to walk Freddie, get ready for school, eat your breakfast, and not ask any questions of Mrs. Goldberg or your grandmother, okay? I’ll explain everything when I see you later today.”

  Oliver nodded. “Okay, Mommy.”

  “There’s my good boy. And Aunt Sera made the oatmeal this morning, so if it’s a little burned, try not to say anything.”

  Oliver wrinkled his nose. “She always burns the oatmeal.”

  “I know, but you’re going to let it slide this morning. If it’s burnt, eat around the edges. But be sure to get to school on time. And take your lunch. Don’t forget it like you did yesterday.”

  “I didn’t forget it, Mommy. I didn’t want it. Grandmother made me a mashed potato and grape jelly sandwich. And then for dessert, strawberry potato pudding.”

  Oliver wrinkled his nose again.

  “Yeah, we seem to be having a run on potatoes.” Percy let out a sigh. “I’ll speak to her about it. You like Spam, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll see that Spam is in your lunchbox from now on.”

  “And an apple? I like apples. But not strawberry-potato pudding. Yuk.”

  “Is that so, young man?”

  His mother reached out and began to tickle him under his arms. A giggle burst forth from him, sounding more like the tinkle of a wind chime.

  She repeated her words and tickled him again. He giggled again, slightly louder. Percy laughed and looked down at her son in mock severity.

  “Remember, Oliver, you can’t be criticizing your grandmother’s cooking until you’re older, and then never to her face. But I promise you no more strawberry-potato pudding in your lunchbox.”

  “Okay, Mommy, okay.” He let out a titter. “Now tickle Freddie,” Oliver ordered about the dog that sat beside them, tail wagging, tongue lagging, looking from one to the other.

  Obeying, Percy reached out and scratched behind the dog’s forelegs. “Okay. Tickle, tick
le, Freddie.”

  The dog panted, looking at her. She did it again.

  “Just as I suspected. Freddie’s not ticklish. Now hit the deck, young man, or you’ll be late for school.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Five

  After hugging her son, Percy headed back to the kitchen. Sera was seated, while Mother portioned out the hot oatmeal from the pot into bowls as if it was thick glue, which Percy pretty much figured it to be by then. Their neighbor was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where’s Mrs. Goldberg, Mother?”

  “She had to finish baking the bread for the store.”

  The Goldbergs ran a small mom and pop store on a nearby corner, temporarily managed by a cousin in Mr. Goldberg’s absence.

  “I’ll drop by on my way out and check up on her.”

  Percy watched Sera pick up the small can of condensed milk and pour some on her cereal. Percy made a face.

  “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff undiluted, Sera.”

  Sera shrugged. “I like it.”

  It was Percy’s turn to shrug. “If you say so. I’m going. I’ll call you when I know what’s what.”

  “Have some breakfast before you go, Persephone.” Mother looked at the door. “Where’s Oliver?”

  Percy crossed to the table and grabbed two apples from the large fruit bowl. “Got no time. This’ll do me. I’ll grab a hotdog later. Oliver is walking the dog and then he’ll be in for breakfast. From now on, Mother, ix-nay on the mashed potato and jelly sandwiches for the kid, okay?”

  “Really, Persephone? I think they’re delicious.” Mother seemed surprised and puzzled. Percy kept a straight face.

  “If everybody liked chocolate, what would happen to vanilla?” Percy paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, given what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, that was a little gauche,” Sera said with a simper.