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

by Heather Haven

“The cut?”

  With a quick intake of breath, Percy wheeled around, and slammed at the kitchen door. It swung open wide and she hurried through. Once she arrived at the closed door of her son’s bedroom, though, she paused.

  Okay, don’t panic. There’s sure to be some reasonable explanation for this. Give the kid a chance to explain himself.

  Percy tapped on the door, and waited for the youthful voice to say come in. None forthcoming, she pushed open the door and saw her son lying on the bed on his stomach, coloring in his book.

  Legs bent at the knees and crossed at the ankles, they bounced up and down, as if with some secret rhythm in his head. A small, superficial cut on his right cheek was decorated in the pinkish orange of mercurochrome. Other than that, he seemed fine.

  “Hi, sweetie.”

  Oliver looked up and gave her a wan smile. “Are you here to yell at me?”

  “I don’t know. Am I?”

  Oliver put his legs down and swung around on the small bed, coming to an upright position. “It wasn’t my fault. He said bad things about Uncle Howie and when I told him to stop, he pushed me.”

  Percy sat on the bed beside her son and brushed a lock of coal-black hair out of his face. “And who was this?”

  “Benny Culpepper. He’s always picking on us little guys.”

  “Is he?”

  “But this time I didn’t let him. He said his father told him that Uncle Howie was a killer and was going to hang by his neck until he was dead! Then he pushed me.” Tear spurted from dark brown eyes and Oliver swiped at them.

  “And then what did you do?”

  “I pushed him back! He’s always stealing our lunch or pulling us off the slide when he wants to go on it. Just ‘cause he’s bigger than us.”

  “A bully, huh?”

  Oliver didn’t reply but shrugged. After a moment, he nodded.

  “He took ten cents from Freddie the other day. I didn’t see it, but Freddie told me on the way home.”

  “What happened after you pushed him back?”

  “He hit me in the face. So I jumped on him and knocked him to the ground. Then Miss Dennis ran over and grabbed both of us and took us to the principal’s office.”

  “I see.”

  “Miss Dennis said I shouldn’t have hit him back even if he did hit me first.”

  “That’s easier said than done, Oliver. Sometimes you have to fight back. While I don’t think you should ever start anything --”

  “Oh, no ma’am,” Oliver interrupted, a sincere look on his face.

  “Sometimes you have to be the one to finish it. That’s the way of the world.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She pulled her son onto her lap, resting her chin on the top of his head. “Life isn’t always fair, Oliver, and you’re going to come across people like Benny Culpepper now and then. Sometimes you got to let things go; sometimes you got to fight back. You’ll see as you go along. When you feel you have to stick up for yourself, do it. I’ll back you all the way.”

  Oliver thought long and hard. “What if I don’t know what to do?”

  “It’s been my experience, when you don’t know what to do, it’s best to do nothing. It usually keeps ‘til you decide.”

  “Okay, Mommy. The principal called in Benny’s mom and dad. He’s in big trouble. I was told to give you this letter.”

  The small boy got up and went to his desk, strewn with school books, comic books, and his favorite super-hero action figure, Buck Rogers, won at a local fair. He picked up a small sealed envelope and handed it to his mother. Percy opened it up, unfolded the slim paper inside, and read from the neat handwriting.

  “It says here, Until today, Oliver has always been a good boy who gets along well with his teachers and fellow students.”

  Percy read the rest of the note in silence then turned to her son. “The principal’s going to let it go this time, but he hopes nothing like this happens again. I hope not, too, Oliver.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Oliver looked away, guiltily. After a moment, he muttered in a voice almost too soft to be heard. But his mother heard the words.

  “Benny said I didn’t have a father.”

  Even though Percy’s heart clutched in her chest, she kept her voice calm and even.

  “That’s silly. Everyone’s got a father.”

  “Then where is he, Mommy?” Oliver’s innocent face looked up into hers, covered with confusion and hurt. “Did he die in the war?” He gulped after he said the last words.

  Jeesh, he could have, for all I know. I’ve always been so glad he was gone, I didn’t think about where he was. Aloud she said, “I don’t know, Oliver. I haven’t heard from him since before you were born.”

  Thoughts jumbled around in Percy’s head as the realization sunk in. How much to tell her son? How much to burden him with?

  “Didn’t he know about me, Mommy?”

  Yes, he did, Oliver. That’s why he went away. “Maybe not.”

  “Wouldn’t he come back if he did?”

  Probably not, the louse. “I don’t know where he is, son.”

  “But you could find him, couldn’t you? Maybe he doesn’t know how to find us.”

  It’s never been a secret where we are. If he wanted to see you, he knows where to look.

  “After all, Mommy, you’re the world’s greatest detective.”

  “I don’t think I’m the world’s greatest detective --”

  “Yes, you are. That’s what grandmother says. She says you can find anybody, anywhere.”

  I’ll have to talk to her about this. “She’s exaggerating, Oliver. You know mothers always think the best of their children. Like I do of you.”

  “Couldn’t you at least try to find him, Mommy? Couldn’t you?”

  She studied her son’s face, so earnest, so sweet, so innocent.

  Just what I need, another case to solve. And this one looking for Leo the Louse. “Of course, I could.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “All straightened out, dear?” Mother was standing at the sink scrubbing carrots. “I thought I’d make a ginger-carrot soup for supper. I found a recipe in a magazine at the grocery store.”

  “That actually sounds...good, Mother. I’m shocked.”

  “Shocked I’d find a good recipe? Why, Persephone!”

  Percy did some fast thinking. “No, Mother. Sorry. That didn’t come out right. I’m shocked about something else.” She sat down hard on one of the chairs at the rectangular table before she continued.

  “Oliver wants me to find his father.”

  “Good.” Mother started humming one of her tuneless ditties, as she scrubbed another carrot.

  “Good? How can you say that? You know why Leo left.”

  “That was eight years ago, Persephone.” Mother came to the table and sat across from her daughter, carrying three dripping carrots, a paring knife, and a chopping board. “Maybe he’s changed. There had to be some good in Leo or else you never would have married him in the first place.”

  “Maybe. Oh, I don’t know. Remember, he signed all legal rights for Oliver over to me when he left. Jude made sure of that.”

  “I never thought that was quite right.” Mother began to chop the carrots on the board in slow, rhythmic cuts, seemingly concentrating on the job at hand. “Your child is your child. Nothing you sign is going to change that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Percy’s voice was low and challenging, even though her face drained of color and her mouth twitched with strain. “He went so far as to let me change Oliver’s surname to my maiden name. That doesn’t sound like a man who wants to have a son.”

  “You were testing him, Persephone. We all knew that.” Mother looked down at her chopping board. “You would have given anything if he’d refused to sign.”

  Percy picked up cut pieces of carrot, stacking them in careful rows, also looking down. “What if he comes back into Oliver’s life only to leave again? He’s good at that.”

 
; She leaned forward, now staring at the older woman. Mother stopped chopping and stared back at her daughter.

  “Then Oliver will know. You can’t shield him from something like this forever. Leonard is his father and Oliver has the right to see what’s what.”

  “He’s only eight years old, Mother.”

  “I know. So young.”

  Mother gathered the sliced carrots and piled them onto the cutting board. Putting down the knife, she laid a soft hand on top of her daughter’s.

  “Persephone, I’ve learned some things raising my three children. You can only protect them so much. You try to raise them right, you try to be there for them, but sometimes they have to learn things are the way they are.”

  “Oliver and I were just discussing that about a bully at his school.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Life isn’t always the way we want it.”

  “And there you are.”

  Mother rose carrying the cutting board and vegetables to a large pot on the stove. She slipped in the chopped carrots.

  “The recipe calls for chicken stock but I was thinking some sauerkraut juice would give it a little personality.”

  Both women were silent for a span, lost in their own separate thoughts.

  “Okay.” Percy rose with determination. “One Leo the Louse coming up. I’ll start with his mother.”

  “Oh, yes, that sad woman.”

  “I never found her sad, Mother. I always found her to be a bitter, selfish bitch.”

  “Self-absorbed people tend to be so very bitter most of the time, don’t they? And that’s sad.”

  “You’re a wise woman, Mother.” A lousy cook but a wise woman.

  Percy headed for the hallway. “I put a bag on the telephone table in the foyer, Mother,” she threw over her shoulder. “Let it be until I get back.”

  “Where are you off to, Persephone dear?”

  “Our local library. I should be back in an hour. And come lock the door behind me.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Good evening, Mrs. Cobb. I’m looking for the telephone numbers and addresses of residents in Grand Rapids, Michigan and can’t find them. Have they been moved?”

  Percy kept her voice barely loud enough for the librarian to hear. Mrs. Cobb was a thin-faced woman with dyed black hair, wearing large turquoise earrings. Painted red lips smiled at Percy.

  “Hello, Persephone.” Mrs. Cobb lowered her voice before going on. “I haven’t seen you here for quite a while. I was beginning to think you didn’t like us anymore. How often have I heard you say a detective’s best friend was the library?”

  “Where time and eyestrain usually get you results. Unfortunately, I’ve been busy, and haven’t had much time to come here.”

  “Well, welcome back. As to the information you require, yes, all the telephone books have been moved to the QQ shelves near the back of references. We’ve had to make room for a small recruiting center. Of course, with the war and all, we don’t have as many books as we normally do. Probably the latest phone book we have is 1941.”

  “That’ll have to do.”

  “Yes, we all must do our part for the war effort. I can’t tell you when we’ve had a new “Women’s Illustrated” magazine in here. It must be six-months.” Mrs. Cobb picked up a stack of books to set in order and flashed Percy a big smile. “Be sure to give your family my best.”

  “You bet.” Percy returned her smile and moved away to the reference section.

  Percy crossed the faintly lit library, smelling of musty books and wood wax. Her boots clicked against the dark oak floor, as she entered the section of the library she hadn’t been in for several months.

  Ceiling high rows of books filled with every known subject just waited for someone to browse through them. But no one else was there except her.

  Sometimes I think my best friend in the world is Ben Franklin. If he hadn’t invented the public library, I don’t know what I’d do.

  Thirty-minutes later she dialed a number from one of the payphones in the lobby of the library. A tired voice answered on the fifth ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Donovan? This is Percy Cole.” There was still air then Percy heard the escape of breath on the other end of the line.

  “What do you want?” The voice was now harsh and high pitched.

  “I need to speak to Leo. Do you have a phone number or an address where I could reach him?”

  “You broke his heart.” The woman began to sob. “You threw him away and you broke his heart.”

  “He left when he found out I was pregnant with Oliver. I --”

  “You’re a wicked, wicked girl.”

  “Mrs. Donovan, he even signed papers giving up custody of --”

  “You killed him,” the woman interrupted. “You killed him, sure as if you drove a stake through his heart.” Her faint Irish lilt made the words all the more chilling.

  “Killed? You mean Leo’s dead?”

  “These three years now. Drank himself to ruin because of you. Drove his car right into a tree. You did that. You!”

  “Where did this happen, Mrs. Donovan? Where was --”

  But the line went dead. Percy stood for a long time holding the receiver. Then she hung up, pivoted, and went back into the library.

  * * * *

  “Hutchers? It’s Percy.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Percy had never called Hutchers at home. He was grateful. Since the divorce, his children hardly ever visited him, but she knew he liked knowing there would never be a question of another woman telephoning him at home, except their mother.

  “You don’t sound so good, Perce.”

  “Just tired. I was at the library until it closed a few minutes ago. Checking a lot of things. I’m home now.”

  “Your voice is hardly more than a whisper. What’s up?”

  “Listen, Ken, you need to do me a favor.”

  “’Ken’? You never called me Ken in your life.”

  “Well, I’m calling you that now.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t get testy. What do you need?”

  “I want you to look up anything you can on a Leonard Donovan, born 1907 in Grand Rapids, Michigan. There’s a time issue here, and I know you can get the information faster than I can. I’m told he died in a car accident three years ago.”

  “Who says he did?”

  “His mother.”

  “She should know.”

  “Maybe. But before I tell Oliver his father is dead, I want to know for sure.”

  “Oliver’s father?”

  “Yeah.”

  The line went silent for a moment. Hutchers let out a long breath.

  “Sure. Leonard Donovan, 1907, Grand Rapids, Michigan. I’ll get right on it tomorrow morning.” He paused. “You going to be okay, Perce?”

  “That’s the plan. You hear anything more about the case?”

  “I know Bogdanovitch ain’t showed up yet and they put out an APB on him. I heard it on the squawk box about an hour ago.”

  “Don’t you ever take a night off?” Her voice changed, becoming less constricted and friendlier.

  “I took a night off once in 1937. Didn’t know what to do with myself.”

  They both laughed softly.

  “Thanks for doing this, Hutchers.”

  “Aw, forget it.”

  “No. I can’t forget this. Thank you.”

  “I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “And mum’s the word.”

  Percy wrapped her hand around the cradle and pushed down, ending the call. Deep in thought, she clutched the phone for a moment, resting the heavy receiver on her shoulder, fingers still depressing the disconnect button.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  How long she sat, she couldn’t be sure. The sound of the ringing phone startled Percy, bringing her back to the present. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes after eight. She’d hung up on Hutchers only minutes before.
Did he think of something? Did he find out anything so soon?

  She didn’t answer with the usual business patter but muttered a stark, “Hello?”

  “Miss Cole, it’s Fred Rendell.” His voice had an urgent quality to it.

  “What is it?”

  “I found the paintings. Livingston Art Gallery. They weren’t in the backroom of the gallery, with the rest of the art. They were stuffed in the boiler room.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes ma’am, stashed behind shelving, naked as a jaybird in their frames. Shame, expensive artwork like that in a boiler room.”

  “I’m sure that’s only temporary housing, at best. What made you think to look there?”

  “They were acting pretty squirrely when I was looking for the gas leak, didn’t let me go anywhere on my own. I unlocked the back door off the alley when they weren’t looking, waited ‘til they closed, and snuck back in. Found the art not ten minutes ago.”

  “Smart thinking. Where are you now?”

  “Across the street in a phone booth, but I got a good view of the alley. A truck pulled in when I was dialing you. Two men went inside, only the gallery’s been closed for over an hour. I don’t know if they’re there to take the paintings --”

  “Good chance they are. Paintings don’t do so well in dry, hot places. These people know that. Odds are they’re moving them tonight, probably right now.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That crossed my mind.”

  “Rendell, go get the license plate number of the truck. And if you can, let the air out of one of the back tires. But don’t let them see you. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’ll flash my lights twice. Look for me.”

  Percy depressed the disconnect button again. She thought for a moment, picked up a card, and dialed a number written on it.

  “Let me speak to Mr. Sheppard.” She listened for a moment. “Gone where?” She listened again. “The Opera? I’m sure he has box seats in the Golden Horseshoe. Anybody who’s anybody does. I want you to call the Metropolitan Opera House and have this message sent to him in his box on the double, it’s urgent. Got a pencil? No? I’ll wait.” She paused. “Got one now? Good. Here’s the message: Meet me outside at intermission. I need to see you. Pablo might be with me. Signed, Percy Cole. Read it back to me.” She listened again. “Good. Now call the Met and see he gets the message right away. There’s five bucks in it for you. Thanks.”