He paused then shook his head with finality. “No use. Rheumatic Fever from when I was a kid. Damaged my heart. My sad lot in life.” He added the last part in barely a whisper.
“Let’s get back to Carlotta, Howie. I hear you had a fight with her a few days ago.”
“She fired two of the employees because Ronald told her to; Frank and Sissy. That wasn’t right. Said they didn’t need to spend money on any janitorial help; we could clean up after ourselves. Frank’s just a kid, not even fourteen, helping to support his family. Sissy’s trying to get a high school diploma. I know why he said to do it.” Howie’s voice got dark, accusing. “They’re colored. That’s the reason he wanted to let them go. The man’s a bigot. He likes to talk down to people.”
“Then you got demoted. That must have ticked you off.”
“Sure, she demoted me, but I can get by. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out she needed me, not just to run the place but to make the chocolate, especially now that she changed the formula. It’s not as easy as it looks, especially the milk. If you don’t mix it right and at the right time, it’ll curdle or taste funny. Milk chocolate takes a delicate hand. It --”
“Let’s shelve how you make the stuff, fascinating though it might be. The clock is ticking.”
She tilted her head in the direction of the guard who was leaning against a wall. Howie glanced his way. The guard met his gaze and with a surly smile, tapped his watch.
“Howie, I’m going to ask you questions. Try to keep your answers short and sweet.”
He nodded, with a chastised look on his face.
“You got anybody in mind as to who might have done her in?”
“Of course not. She came across mean sometimes, but I don’t think she was. I think she was just...”
“Randy.”
“Looking for happiness, Percy. Like everybody else.”
Leave it to Howie to put the sweeter spin on things. Aloud Percy said, “Might have got her killed. This Ronald Bogdanovitch, his name sounds familiar. How long has he been around?”
“Two or three months. At first we were relieved. She left us alone, but after awhile she started turning everything over to him and things went bad, you know?”
“How so?”
“For one thing, we kept coming up short on supplies and when I complained about it, he said one of the ‘dago’s’ was taking them. So disrespectful,” Howie muttered.
“Any chance of that?”
“No. These are good people and they need the job. They wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. Most of them can’t even speak English well enough to work any place else, like Vinnie.”
“This Vinnie, he a friend of yours?”
“Sort of. He’s in a tight spot.”
“Another one of your rescues?”
She grinned at him. He grinned back. For that moment they were merely two old friends.
“He’s a good man, Percy. He’s scared to death he’ll lose the job and won’t be able to get his wife’s parents out of Italy. You know what’s going on over there. I give him money from time to time to send to them.”
The guard cleared his throat. They both glanced in his direction. He tapped his watch again and held three fingers up. Percy looked at Howie again.
“Why were you covered with chocolate when they found you?”
“I was trying to pull her out. I thought I could save her. Maybe she wasn’t drowned or...cooked.” He turned away with an appalled look on his face. “But she was too slippery. I kept losing my grip on her and the chocolate was hot, burning. Much hotter than it’s supposed to be. I never turn the heat up that high. I almost fell in once, myself. I would have never gotten out without bad burns.”
Percy was shocked. “Just how big are these pots of chocolate?”
“This one can hold a hundred and fifty gallons. We’ve got two more kettles, one at fifty gallons, the other at twenty-five. We do large batches at a single time. Saves time and money, but it’s tricky. You can’t leave it alone for two minutes. That’s why I got put on the three a.m. shift to get the chocolate ready for the workers coming in the morning. Someone has to do it. She used to do it herself, but that was before she turned it over to me.”
“So that might explain what she was doing there. Old habits. What’s with such a big pot? Sounds like something from Hansel and Gretel.”
“We just got the big copper pot, special order. Cost a fortune. Carlotta was talking to department stores, hoping they’d carry her chocolate, as well as the small shops she already sells to. It would have been a big deal. That’s why she changed the formula.”
“You mentioned that before. What does that mean, she changed the formula?”
“She wanted to give Hershey a run for its money in the tri-state area. She wanted to be ready for Valentine’s Day. But chocolate’s hard to come by with the war on. She had the idea of diluting the chocolate with ground up hazelnuts. I didn’t approve, but --”
“So she was expanding. Interesting. Howie, the cops said when they found you, you were hiding in a phone booth a half a block away.”
“I wasn’t hiding.” His voice rose in volume and pitch. He looked around and lowered it, leaning in again. “I wasn’t hiding. I was trying to phone for help. When I couldn’t get her out of the vat, I ran to the office. That’s where the only telephone is. The door was locked. I didn’t have a key. I ran outside looking for someone. There was no one else around, no stores open, nothing. So I went down the block to the phone booth.”
“They say the phone had been ripped out of that booth months ago.”
He gave her a wounded look and opened his arms wide to the world at large. “But I didn’t know that. I’d just gotten there when a police car showed up.”
“They give you that black eye?”
Ashamed, Howie nodded and looked down. “They said if I told anyone, they’d say I lost my balance and fell.”
“Right into someone’s fist, right?”
“They were trying to make me say I did it.”
“But you didn’t admit to killing her, did you?”
“Of course not.” Howie sat taller with an indignant air. “Because I didn’t.”
“How do you suppose they got there so soon? I mean, three o’clock in the morning. Odd time to show up at a Brooklyn phone booth.”
Howie shrugged then looked up at her, as it dawned on him. “Maybe somebody called them?”
“Maybe somebody did, Howie. Where are your clothes and shoes?”
“They took them for evidence.”
Percy stood and stretched. She hadn’t realized how hunched over she’d been sitting side by side on the bunk, asking Howie questions. Her back hurt from being in an awkward position.
“Are you going to help me, Percy?”
Howie sounded vulnerable and alone, much the same as he had decades ago when he’d found an injured dog too big for a small boy to carry. Percy came to her friend’s rescue then as she would now. After they carried the dog home, Howie nursed it back to health and named it Butch. Butch became the Goldberg family dog until he passed away of old age.
Percy put one foot up on the bunk mattress and leaned in on her bent leg. “Howie, did you know you’re the reason my son wants to become a veterinarian?”
He shook his head slowly, not quite seeing where this was going.
“You, Jude, and Pop, each one of you gives Oliver something he wouldn’t have otherwise. Pop gives Oliver his wisdom and common-sense. Jude gives him lofty ideals and the joy of education, but you, Howie, you give Oliver his heart; his compassion for the world. You’ve helped my son find his way since the beginning when Leo the Louse took a powder. So you betcha I’m going to help you.”
She moved to the cell door, just as the guard was approaching. Percy reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a book, and turned back.
“Almost forgot. Brought you Pearl Buck’s Dragon Seed to help you while away the hours. Pretty good. If any of these lugs can read around
here, give it to one of them when you’re done.”
She tossed him the book and he caught it in both hands. Percy gave Howie an encouraging smile.
“And try not to walk into anybody else’s fist until I get you out of this.”
Chapter Seven
Dear Diary,
It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, but as Shakespeare says, things proceed apace. After so much waiting and planning, it’s finally time for part two. The groundwork has been laid. I’ve let nothing get by me, down to the last detail. Of course, if anyone gets in my way, they will regret it.
Chapter Eight
Dozens of porcelain platters held artfully arranged pieces of chocolate candy behind the large plate glass of the storefront window. The platters rested on miniature marble columns of varying heights lending a sober and neo-classic look to the sugary treats.
On the floor of the window display, candy dishes brimmed over with hand-decorated light and dark chocolate. Tiny pink birds and red flowers dotted the platters and dishes adding to the ethereal yet grand look. Percy couldn’t tell if the birds and flowers were made of marzipan or ceramic. She’d have to pop one in her mouth to make sure.
To finish off the decor, silver bells hung from pink ribbons, twirling this way and that on miniscule currents of air. Atop the window, and painted in similar shades of red and pink, a banner read: Carlotta’s Chocolates, Wholesale and Retail.
Percy had visited Howie and his friend, Ralph, at their apartment three blocks away on occasion. This was the first time she’d been to Howie’s place of work in the two years he’d been employed there.
Pretty fancy schmancy place for a factory in Brooklyn, even one selling gourmet chocolates.
A ‘closed’ sign figured prominently on the plate glass door but when she turned the handle, it opened readily. Once inside, a strong smell of burnt chocolate assailed her nostrils. Nevertheless, Percy felt her mouth water.
Pavlov’s dog, that’s me. Wave chocolate under my nose, even if it’s burned, and watch me drool.
She called out, “Anybody here? Hello?”
A small, swarthy, dark-haired man pushed aside a pink and red gingham curtain hanging in the doorway. Jaw and chin already wearing a five-o’clock stubble, he seemed out of place in this feminine setting. The man stepped into the room hesitantly and looked the tall woman up and down. Percy followed suit.
“You Vinnie?”
She offered a smile. He blinked rapidly before he answered.
“The shop, she is closed. There has been a dead. We no open now. You come back later.” He spoke with a heavy Italian accent, stumbling over the words as if the English language was newer to him than the chocolate-stained apron tied around his waist.
“Yeah, I know about that. I’m a friend of Howie’s, Howie Goldberg.”
The blinking stopped and for a split second his face broke out into a smile, only to be replaced by a sad shake of his head. Then he reached behind him, pulled at the curtain, giving a quick glance to the back of the store. Vinnie dropped the cloth before going on in a whisper.
“Howie no do this terrible thing. I no care what polizia say. Howie good man. He good man.” While following his words was difficult, Percy understood the underlying intent well enough. Here was an ally.
“I agree. Mind if I come in and talk to you a little about it?”
She stepped forward but paused as he stuck out his hand in the universal signal to stay back. He shook his head. Percy didn’t move forward but stood her ground.
“He come, the boss. I no can talk now.” Vinnie’s voice was hoarse and urgent, fear coloring his words.
The delicate fabric was jerked aside. Vinnie, looking as though he had been physically struck, stepped away.
“I thought I heard voices out here. Who the hell are you?” The man speaking was tall, nearly Percy’s height. High cheekbones and pale coloring showed a man probably of Slavic origin. Sharp blue eyes screwed up as he stared at Percy. She returned his stare with her own cool assessment.
This must be Ronald Bogdanovitch. Handsome but nasty. Wait a minute. He looks familiar.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the man continued with his tirade, turning to the shaking Vinnie.
“What the hell did you let her in for? Nobody’s supposed to be here, you stupid Guinea.”
“Vinnie didn’t let me in.”
Percy’s tone was sharper and more emotional than she liked. She wouldn’t let this man get under her skin, no matter how much she hated racial slurs. She forced a smile.
“The door was unlocked. I turned the handle and walked right in. In fact, Vinnie was just in the process of telling me to go, but --”
“So go, lady,” Ronald ordered.
Percy studied him for a moment then shrugged. “Okay, I wanted to talk to you first, but I guess I’ll have to go to the coppers and talk to them instead.”
Ronald stepped forward, nearly colliding with Vinnie, who got out of the way just in time. “What about? Talk to the coppers about what? Who are you, lady?”
“My name is Persephone Cole and I’m a private investigator.”
He looked at her and sneered. “Don’t give me that. Since when are broads detectives?”
“Since now, buster. And if you don’t like it, I can take my business elsewhere.” Her voice was harsh, matching his tone. Then she smiled again. “Only I thought, all things being equal, you’d like to talk to me first. Might be worth your while, Bogdanovitch. Mine, too.”
“How’d you know my name?”
“I get around.”
He licked his lips as he thought, his face revealing indecision and distrust. It took him a moment or two, but he made up his mind.
“Okay, okay. Come on back to my office.” He turned and pushed the curtain open again. “I’ll give you five minutes, dick lady. No more.” Before passing through, he stopped for a moment. “Lock that door, Vinnie, and if you know what’s good for you, don’t let nobody else in.”
Percy followed but paused at Vinnie’s side. Beads of perspiration covered his forehead.
“We’ll talk later, Vinnie.”
Vinnie’s eyes started rapidly blinking again and Percy felt a pang of pity for the man. She touched him on the shoulder in a comradely way, but said no more.
As she trailed behind Ronald Bogdanovitch, she thought about what she would say to him when she got to his office. She was winging this and had to come up with something fast.
Chapter Nine
While following Bogdanovitch through the large industrial room, Percy gave it a quick once over. A twenty-foot or so high ceiling wore stark white water pipes and large ducts for heating. The same white paint came down the sides of the walls. Unimaginative, but clean looking. On the outside wall of the building, a row of high side-by-side glass-paned windows allowed what sunlight there was to fill the room.
Under the windows were white tin storage bins, some dented and missing paint here and there, but otherwise clean and orderly. The opposite wall was white-painted brick, floor to ceiling.
A large red and black sign reading Hopson’s Feed and Grain bled through the white paint indicated that at one time, this was the outside wall of a building. Under Hopson’s Feed and Grain was a row of metal cabinets, probably used by the help to store their uniforms and personal things.
This part was added on fairly recently. I wonder if Carlotta owned this building? I’ll have to find out.
Percy followed Bogdanovitch through the rectangular room, and toward a back staircase that led up to the office. They passed machines and equipment similar to those used on war-time assembly lines, now still. One lengthy conveyer belt was laden with hundreds of pieces of fruit and nuts, visible under a transparent, thin sheet of gauze. Nearby, two long slabs of counter-high white marble gleamed rich and spotless, basking in the morning’s sunrays.
Big bucks have been spent on this joint.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a section near the end of the conveyer b
elt, containing a stainless steel industrial stove, copper pots and pans, and wooden spoons, all larger than life. Splattered, dried chocolate covered much of the stove and some utensils. Tiled flooring was interspersed with dark brown footprints going every which way. The scene added a sense of untidiness and confusion to an otherwise orderly room.
The errant chocolate was being washed up by a slender, young woman on her hands and knees wielding a scrub brush. As she heard footsteps nearby, the woman looked up. Percy paused and studied her, arrested by her beauty.
Here was one of the most exquisite, Madonna-like faces Percy had ever seen. Most likely Italian, any Renaissance painter would have killed for a model with such hauntingly perfect features. There was something tell-tale in her face, however, showing that despite the classic features, she was not much more than a child; certainly no older than fourteen or fifteen.
The girl sat on her haunches for a moment then stood, tall and rigid, not seeing Percy but watching Bogdanovitch. Hatred filled those beautiful and expressive brown eyes, so palpable Percy felt a jolt of shock. Then the girl turned her attention on the detective, features softening to a scared, guilty look. With a small hesitation, she returned to scrubbing the floor.
On silent feet, Vinnie came to the girl’s side, dropped down, and reached into the sudsy bucket for a brush. He didn’t look Percy’s way at all. Neither one glanced at her again, but scrubbed with vigor. Percy’s mind raced.
Jesus Christ, you’d think the son-of-a-bitch climbing the stairs was Mussolini or something. Maybe he’s an American version. If he is, I’ll fix his wagon.
The detective followed Bogdanovitch up the flight of stairs at the back of the factory. At the top of the staircase was a landing and a door. To the left, a large, rectangular glass window looked out over the work area below. Most likely Carlotta Mendez watched her employees at their jobs and wanted them to know it.
Filing this in her mind, Percy stepped into a small, office containing little more than two desks. Pale green walls were empty save a wall calendar behind one desk, and a framed but poor copy of Gainsborough’s Blue Boy behind the other.
The Chocolate Kiss-Off (The Persephone Cole Vintage Mysteries Book 3) Page 4
