Asking for Truffle: A Southern Chocolate Shop Mystery

by Dorothy St. James

  “Why would you listen to me? You don’t even trust me.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So that answers your question. I know you’re heading to the Low Tide, and I also know it’s in the other direction.” He pointed toward the marsh side of the island.

  The Low Tide was a shack built on top of a rickety-looking dock down on the river. Honestly, I never would have found the place without Harley’s help. The rusty corrugated building was outside the business district and past several elevated Southern cottages with iconic wide porches. It was on the southern side of the island. To get to it, I had to slog down a rutted, muddy road that wound through thick groves of palmetto trees and scrubby oaks.

  Water lapped at the piers holding up the building. A dim light marked the entrance.

  “This place is a dive,” Harley said. He’d followed along a few paces behind me. His voice floated on the air in the deepening winter darkness.

  “But everyone comes here,” I said while kicking large clumps of mud off my poor, abused Timberland boots.

  “That’s true. Everyone comes here.”

  “It’s the last place Skinny was seen alive.”

  “That’s true too.”

  “He was seen arguing with you,” I reminded him.

  Harley didn’t say anything. I turned around.

  He was gone.

  A huge black SUV bumped along the rutted road and slowed as it pulled up beside me.

  “There you are,” Cal said after he rolled down his window. “I’ve been driving all over the island looking for you.”

  “And calling around too?” I kept searching for where Harley might have disappeared to.

  “Please don’t sue me for being persistent.” His smile appeared more relaxed, more genuine than his brother’s. “Let me buy you dinner.”

  “They serve food in there?”

  “Do they ever! A few months ago, their shrimp po’ boys were featured in Southern Living. Right now the oysters are in season. We could share a bucket. You know about oysters, don’t you?” He waggled his eyebrows in such a funny way I laughed and then accepted his invitation.

  The inside of the bar was as dreadful as the outside, with its dark wood-paneled walls, yellow glass and black metal medieval-style lanterns hanging from heavy chains, and a thick haze of cigarette smoke floating in the air. The only redeeming feature was the view of the marsh and the Camellia River beyond. The winter clouds had cleared, and the pale moon reflected on the water. We found a table next to a wall of windows that were actually oversized garage doors. According to Cal, the owners would throw open the doors in warmer weather.

  Cal left me at the table and headed over to the bar to order. After a little while, he returned with two frosty beers. “I ordered the oysters and a side of red rice. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” I said and took a sip of the tap beer. It tasted surprisingly good.

  Soon the food showed up. Fresh oysters were rare in the Midwest. The steaming shellfish piled in an oversized metal bucket tasted fresher than fresh. It was as if they’d been plucked from the surrounding marsh and tossed directly into the steamer. The sweet and salty flavors of the Lowcountry teased my senses with each bite.

  “Now I understand why this place is so crowded,” I said as I licked my fingers after we’d finished off the large bucket of oysters without any trouble. “Delicious.”

  Was this where Skinny sat that last night before his death? Had he eaten oysters? Had he flirted with some of the women at the bar? My gaze roamed the room. If I looked hard enough, I imagined I might find some sign of him, a shadow of his life here.

  “Looking for someone?” Cal asked when he noticed my wandering attention.

  Yeah, my dead friend. “I was hoping I could find someone who might have been here the night Skinny died, someone who saw him, talked with him.”

  Cal placed his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. “I was here that night. So was Derek Maybank. He . . . um . . . likes to party. So did your friend, by the way. He was a wild one.”

  “Really? Derek? He seems so . . . bland.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Cal chuckled. “Perhaps that’s his superpower. Mild-mannered khakis guy by day and animal with an alcoholic drink in hand by night.”

  “And you like to party too?”

  He flashed that innocent, yet somehow sexy, smile of his and rubbed the back of his neck. “Work is demanding. When I have time off, like now, I need to blow off steam. This place is good for that.”

  “I can see that.” It wasn’t my kind of bar, although the food was top-notch. I could tell by how the voices were already growing louder that the action was just getting going. In a few hours, after the diners left, I suspected the Low Tide turned into a party place.

  If you’d asked me two weeks ago if Skinny hung out in dives like this, I’d know the answer. He wouldn’t. He preferred the quiet of early morning waves to the chaos of a rowdy bar.

  After hearing how he’d fooled around with Jody, played dirty tricks on Harley, and enjoyed stirring up nests of hornets, I was starting to wonder if I knew Skinny at all. The Skinny the people in Camellia Beach were describing sounded nothing like the Skinny who’d hang out with me in the school library, reading the latest mystery novels and seeing who could solve the crime first, whispering about our hopes and dreams of the future, and complaining about our dysfunctional families. I’d never known him to be a party animal or a barfly.

  Some people changed, some people hid their true selves, and some people were afraid to see the truth. I feared I fell into that last category. I didn’t see the truth with the Cheese King, and apparently I missed it with Skinny as well.

  Steeling myself to hear the worst, I squared my shoulders and said, “Skinny had left a message on my voice mail, saying he knew why Mabel had lured me to Camellia Beach. He’d sounded excited about it. Not worried. He had told me to pack my bags, because I was going to want to see for myself what he’d learned.”

  “So you think he found out about the will?” Cal asked.

  I took another sip of my beer and nodded. “Yeah, I think he must have. But I’m thinking he had to have learned something else as well. It must have been something damning, at least in the murderer’s eyes, you know? Just knowing about Mabel’s crazy will shouldn’t have caused anyone to kill him, right? I mean, other people knew about it, like Bertie and Althea, and they’re still alive.”

  “That’s true.” Cal seemed to think long and hard before adding, “I hesitate to say anything, but my brother hated Skinny. The night of Skinny’s death, I’d never seen Harley so angry with anyone before in my life. It was . . . scary.” He quickly waved away the thought. “But he wouldn’t have done anything stupid like kill a man.”

  “Wouldn’t he?” I asked.

  “He’s my brother. Of course he wouldn’t,” Cal said. But his brows dropped as his forehead crinkled. He looked worried.

  I pulled out my phone and opened an app that allowed me to take notes. I named the file “Suspects.”

  “Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say Harley quarreled with Skinny and then stormed off to calm down. So nothing happened,” I said even though I wrote Harley’s name on the top of my suspect list. “Can you remember anyone else who was here the night of Skinny’s death? Perhaps someone who saw Skinny leave? Or someone who might have had a grudge against him? Did he ask someone the wrong questions? Did he sleep with someone else’s wife?”

  Cal tapped his stubbly chin. “I don’t think he hooked up with anyone new. I seem to remember Jody had been flirting with Skinny relentlessly that night, hanging on his arm, whispering in his ear, and kissing him like there was no tomorrow.”

  “And he let her?” I’d never seen Skinny welcome public displays of affection.

  Cal shrugged. “Didn’t look like he minded. To be honest, I thought they were going to go home together. But I’m pretty sure I spotted Jody at the bar after Skinny had left.”

&
nbsp; “Pretty sure” wasn’t good enough in my book. I added Jody’s name to my suspect list. Not only did she have a rocky history with Skinny, but she’d acted downright hostile when she heard I’d reopened the Chocolate Box. She’d also lied about having a sister. What was that about?

  “How about Mabel’s kids?” I asked.

  “As I’ve already told you, Derek was here at the Low Tide with me until early morning.”

  “Oh, right. And he seemed to approve of my taking over the shop,” I said. “What about Edward and Florence, Mabel’s older children? Were either of them in town that night?”

  Cal had to think about that for a moment. “Don’t remember seeing Edward that night, not that it would matter. A guy like him wouldn’t get his hands dirty with something like murder. Don’t get me wrong, I suspect he’d kill a man in a heartbeat if it suited his purposes. It’s just he’s the kind of guy who’d hire someone to do the deed for him.”

  “Scary,” I said. But then I remembered how he’d acted at the will reading. “He seemed pretty shocked and upset when he heard I’d inherited the shop, which kind of takes him out of the running of suspects. If he didn’t know about the will ahead of time, he wouldn’t have reason to find Skinny a threat.”

  “I suppose,” Cal said slowly. “Still, he’s a pretty nasty piece of work. I’d be careful around him.”

  While I didn’t jot his name down on my list, I made a mental note to learn more about Edward and why he’d gotten so upset about not inheriting a shop he’d considered worthless.

  “And what about Florence and her sister—what’s her name?” I asked.

  “Peach,” he supplied.

  “Were they around?”

  “Not Peach. She rarely comes to Camellia Beach. She’s more upscale. Her beach of choice is Sullivan’s, the island just north of here where politicians and millionaires keep summer homes.”

  “And Florence? She was furious at me for inheriting her mother’s shop. Had that been shock? Or had she been angry that killing Skinny hadn’t prevented me from coming to Camellia Beach?”

  “I don’t know Florence well. She’s married to some Richie Rich who owns several clothing stores in Charleston’s historic downtown. Can’t understand what she would want with the shop. She’d been bugging her mother for years to sell it and retire to Florida like a normal person. Miss Mabel would laugh and laugh about that. Besides, Florence doesn’t need the money since she has her hubby’s riches.”

  “Yet she’s furious. She told me after the will reading that I’d get the shop only over her dead body.” I wrote her name on my suspect list.

  “She’s nuts, then.” Cal took a long sip of his beer. “Who in their right mind would really want that place?”

  That was the key question, wasn’t it?

  “So that’s everyone?” I asked.

  “Everyone who?” Jody asked. She’d come up from behind and was standing directly behind me.

  “We were just discussing who was around the night of Skinny’s murder and making a list of suspects,” Cal said much to my chagrin.

  My cheeks heated. After all, Jody was the second person on my list. I quickly turned off my phone and shoved it back into my pocket. I hoped she hadn’t seen her name on my suspect list.

  “What about Florence?” Jody asked. “She was at the bar that night. I remember she’d yelled at Skinny for poking around and asking questions about the Maybank family.”

  “She did?” Cal asked, raising a brow. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Wouldn’t think you’d remember much from that night given the speed you and Derek were slamming shots.” Jody pulled up a chair to our table and sat down. She leaned toward me. I edged my chair away when our shoulders touched. “There is someone else to add to that list. Someone no one has seen in ages.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Carolina Maybank, Mabel’s oldest daughter,” Jody said. “Skinny said he’d been trying like crazy to track her down.”

  “Why?” Cal asked. “She ran away when she was a teenager. She’s had nothing to do with this town or her mother’s shop for decades. My guess is she got hooked on drugs or something and died years ago.”

  “If she’s not dead, she’s going to be a very rich woman,” I said, remembering the terms of the will.

  “That’s right. And if she doesn’t show up in the next two years, the rest of Miss Mabel’s children will get quite the windfall.” Cal tapped his chin. “I’d forgotten about that.”

  “If Skinny found Carolina, that might give one of Mabel’s kids a motive for murder. It was a considerable amount of money.” I took a sip of beer as I considered what that might mean. “But what would finding Carolina have to do with me? Skinny had left me a message the night he was killed saying that I’d be excited to hear what he’d discovered.”

  “He left you a message?” In her excitement, Jody grabbed my arm and gave me a shake. “Can I listen to it?”

  Since it was too loud inside the bar to hear the message on the phone, we left a tip on the table and headed outside. We had to go to the far end of the crushed-oyster-shell parking lot to escape the music blaring inside the Low Tide. In the near-freezing weather, we stood under a flickering parking lot light as I pulled my phone from my back pocket. It only took a moment to retrieve Skinny’s last message.

  I’d listened to it scores of times hoping to hear something new—a clue, a hint of who might have killed him.

  “Penn, I need to talk with you.” He sounded out of breath. A car with a bad muffler drove past. It was difficult to make out what he said next. “I know why you won that fake contest. I know who sent the letter. And it’s really cool. No, I’m not going to tell you in a message. Don’t want to miss hearing your reaction. I can tell you this—start packing your bags. You really need to come down here and see for yourself.” He paused. Then came the clop-clop of his feet. “Look, someone’s following me. I’ve got to go. I’ll give you a call first thing in the morning. We can talk then.”

  Jody pressed her fingers against her lips as she listened. Her eyes had grown large as she turned and stared at Cal, who, even in the soft lamplight, I could see had turned pale.

  The wind rattled the palm fronds swaying in the trees above our heads.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It can’t be.” Cal shook his head as if trying to chase away the thought that was clearly haunting him.

  “It has to be,” Jody said.

  “What?” I asked again. “What did you hear?”

  “The car,” Jody said.

  “No.” Cal kept shaking his head. “It can’t be.”

  “You can’t deny it.” Jody’s voice was sharp. Tears filled her eyes. “I knew it. I knew he was capable. But I had hoped I was wrong. Truly, I had hoped I was wrong.”

  “It doesn’t mean he killed anyone,” Cal yelled back, matching Jody’s angry tone.

  “Really? You heard him that night. He’d threatened to rip out Skinny’s throat and dump him in the river.”

  “But that’s not what happened,” Cal said.

  “You mean Harley?” I asked. “You think he—”

  “Yes, Harley,” Jody yelled at me. “That’s his car you hear in the background. He’s neglected to get that stupid muffler fixed for over a year now.”

  I held up my hands. I needed a moment to pull my thoughts together. Slowly the pieces started to fall into place. Harley had a black sedan with a broken muffler just like the one we could hear in the background on Skinny’s message. Also, a black sedan with a broken muffler had tried to run me down on my first day in Camellia Beach. Harley and Skinny had a long history of antagonizing each other. And Harley knew how to bypass the Chocolate Box’s back lock.

  “I have to report this,” I said. My hands shook as I dialed the number for the Charleston County detective who had taken over Skinny’s murder investigation.

  Skinny’s death had nothing to do with illegal drugs. Harley must have planted the marijuana
in Skinny’s pockets after knocking him out.

  I drew a ragged breath. Cal had bent over and was hugging his knees as he shook his head in disbelief. He looked as if he was going to be sick. Jody crossed her arms over her chest. Her expression hardened as she nodded her approval that I was calling the authorities.

  Apparently, Skinny’s death had nothing to do with Mabel’s fake prize letter. Nor did it have anything to do with his trying to find the long-lost Carolina Maybank.

  His death wasn’t my fault at all. I knew I shouldn’t have felt relief at that thought, but I did. My friend, who I apparently didn’t know all that well, had gotten caught up in a deadly love triangle. And it had proven fatal.

  After several rings, the detective finally picked up. I quickly introduced myself and then breathily said, “I know who killed my friend. It was Harley Dalton.”

  Chapter 16

  “You tried to get me arrested?”

  That was the angry greeting I received the next morning when I opened the apartment door to go work in the shop downstairs.

  The looming figure blocking the door, with fist raised, advanced.

  I backed up.

  “Harley, you need to leave. Now.” We performed a strange little dance as I did my best to keep my distance while he followed me inside. Stella, barking furiously, came to my rescue. She charged at his ankles. Grabbing the cuff of his pants, she tugged and growled using her most menacing voice.

  “Stop that,” Harley growled back and gave his leg a shake.

  Stella’s clamped jaws held firm.

  “Don’t kick her!” I shouted.

  “I’m not kicking her!” he shouted back.

  I suppose he hadn’t actually kicked my little dog, just shaken the leg she’d latched onto. Even so, I had every right to defend her. I knew exactly what this guy was capable of doing. Killing someone by dumping him headfirst into chocolate? That was sick. An evil kind of sick. No, worse—a sick kind of sick.

  “I’m sorry you’re upset, but you need to leave. Now.”

  “Not before I get some answers.” Harley looked even worse for wear than he had yesterday morning when I’d found him lurking half frozen outside my motel room door. Dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, wrinkled and smudged with grime, his shoulders drooped nearly as much as the dark bags under his eyes. His brown hair stood up in some places and was matted down in others. If I didn’t know him, I would have mistaken him for an unfortunate homeless man. I probably would have bought him breakfast.