Deadly Chocolate Addiction (Death by Chocolate Book 6)

by Sally Berneathy

  I was too stunned to react.

  Ransom had beaten her? Stalked her? He was a formidable figure, but he’d seemed gentle.

  She leaned closer. “Why did you call him Ransom? Did he tell you that was his name?” She shook her head and sighed. “He’s such a liar. Why did he come to see you? What did he tell you about me? More lies, I’m sure.”

  What had he said about his wife? Not much. That she liked him better when he was drunk and didn’t know what she was doing.

  What had she been doing, other than spending the night with my boyfriend?

  Trent laid a hand on her shoulder. Again with the touching. “Kathleen, please wait in the other room. I know you’re upset, but this is official police business.”

  Official police business? I didn’t like those words, but I did like that he was ordering her out of the room.

  She turned to him and smiled. “Of course, Adam. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause problems for you.”

  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause problems for you.

  Gag.

  I’d like to cause problems for her. Shove a stale cookie down her throat and watch her choke. I wouldn’t do the Heimlich even if I knew how.

  “Just go out front,” Trent said. “Paula will get you a Coke or something.”

  That woman was going to receive the hospitality of my shop? I finally found my voice. “Tell Paula I said to take care of you.” Surely Paula would know I meant for her to take care of that woman permanently. Give her an arsenic Coke.

  No, we don’t really keep arsenic around, but it was a pleasant thought.

  Trent ushered her through the swinging doors. Gently. But firmly. Then he turned back to me.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded.

  “I was hoping you could tell me. You may have been the last person to see Jeff Gabler alive.”

  The last person to see Jeff Gabler alive? When had I lost touch with reality? Since Victoria/Kathleen/That Woman walked through the door, things had become curiouser and curiouser, and, unlike Alice on her trek through Wonderland, I hadn’t been eating any mushrooms. “Who? What?”

  “The man in the picture, Kathleen’s husband. I don’t know why he told you his name was Ransom. It’s Jeff Gabler. He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Surely I could come up with sentences of more than one word. “He’s dead?” Well, two words were twice as many as one.

  “The maid at his hotel found him this morning when she went in to clean.”

  I leaned back against the counter. Actually, I kind of fell back against it. “Found Ransom?” Two word sentence again. I’d try for three next time.

  He nodded. “He was stabbed several times, and his throat was slit.”

  “And you think I was the last person to see him…” I gulped. “Alive?”

  “We don’t have exact time of death yet, but it was sometime last night. What time did he leave here?”

  For a moment I wasn’t sure the counter would hold me. “I don’t know.” I drew in a deep breath. “Yes, I do. It was after closing time, around 3:30, maybe closer to 4:00. We were talking. I don’t remember the exact time.”

  Trent’s cop gaze softened. “Do you want to come down to the station after you close? I’m sorry. I thought this would be a five minute conversation. I had to follow up on the box of desserts in his room, but I figured he was just a customer you wouldn’t remember. I didn’t realize you talked to him.”

  “We talked. He ate three desserts. He said…” I hesitated. I didn’t want to believe Ransom had abused Kathleen, but his alcoholism might explain that. And he hadn’t sworn me to secrecy before he told me. “He said he’d become a chocoholic instead of an alcoholic. He used to drink.”

  “A chocoholic? Good for him. Yeah, he was always a social drinker, but after he and Kathleen married, it got bad.”

  I could understand why he’d been driven to drink after he married her. But there was something odd about Trent’s comments. “You knew him?” Had he been friends with his ex-wife’s new husband? Was Rick’s suggestion not as bizarre as I thought?

  “Jeff and I grew up in the same neighborhood. He was the best man at my wedding. We were friends until Kathleen left me and married him.”

  “Oh.” That went a long way to explaining his grim expression when he came in. “Do his parents still live here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know them?”

  “Yes.”

  Trent’s not verbose. But in that single word I heard echoes from his childhood—playing cops and robbers with his friend, running in and out of each other’s houses, bonding with both sets of parents.

  “Do they know?”

  He nodded. “I told them just before I came over here.”

  “Oh.” That completed the reason for his grim expression. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why don’t you come down to the station after you close and give your official statement?” he suggested for the second time.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll see you then.” He turned to go.

  “Are you taking that woman with you?”

  He looked back. “That woman? Kathleen? She came in her own car. She’s already been in to give her statement. There’s no reason for me to take her with me.”

  I pushed away from the counter, fully recovered from feeling sorry for him. “Is she going back to your apartment?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t know. I guess.”

  “She doesn’t need to hide at your place anymore since her dead husband can’t hurt her, right?”

  “She’ll have to get her stuff, but she can do that whenever she wants. I gave her a key.”

  My mouth opened then closed. I drew in a deep breath. “You gave her a key to your apartment?” Either a pan of cookies was burning or smoke was coming through the top of my head. I hadn’t put any cookies in the oven recently. “I gave you a key to my house, but you never gave me a key to your apartment!”

  He must have seen the smoke too. He took a step backward. “She asked for one since I leave for work early and she wanted to sleep late. You…you never asked for a key. You’ve only come to my place two or three times.”

  “Two or three? It was four!” I snatched a dish towel off the counter. “I’ve got to help Paula. The orders will be backed up by now.”

  As I strode past him, he reached for me. I slid away and went through the door into the main area.

  Paula, standing beside the cash register, gave me a frantic look. I wasn’t sure if it was because she had to handle the rush crowd by herself or because she had to serve that woman who sat at the counter drinking a cup of coffee and looking evil. She also looked gorgeous, but the evil part predominated. Especially now that I knew she had a key to Trent’s apartment.

  Paula edged past me to the kitchen.

  Trent edged past her into the main area.

  Kathleen slid off her stool and strode toward Trent.

  Trent looked at me. “Uh, Lindsay, I’ll see you at the station around five.”

  I nodded and watched them leave.

  Together.

  Something was stuck in my throat even though I hadn’t eaten anything in hours.

  Was Trent still in love with his ex-wife?

  I’d thought I was still in love with Rick for a few weeks after we separated.

  Weeks. Not years.

  But some men love forever.

  Trent was that kind of man.

  I just thought it would be me he loved forever.

  “Lindsay?” Paula peeked out of the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I hurried back to help.

  Paula handed me three of her tickets and I began making sandwiches.

  “What was that all about?” She laid slices of avocado on top of turkey.

  “Ransom’s dead.”

  She halted with a slice of bread a few inches from the top of the sandwich. “What happened?”

  I gave her a quick summary.
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  Paula’s good at remaining calm. She didn’t faint or gasp or freak out, not even when I told her about that woman having a key to Trent’s apartment.

  She hefted a tray loaded with four plates. “Did you tell Trent about Rick’s visit?”

  “No, I didn’t even think about it. With everything going on, Rick never crossed my mind.”

  “You probably should tell Trent. Rick and Ransom had an unfriendly encounter and then Ransom was murdered.”

  I cringed. I didn’t want to tell Trent about Rick’s insane suggestion that had led to our argument and the unfriendly encounter between Rick and Ransom. “Rick’s visit had nothing to do with Ransom’s murder. There’s no point in bringing it up.”

  She looked at me for a long moment. “At least Trent didn’t keep his ex’s visit a secret.”

  My jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you just said that! It’s not the same thing! Rick did not spend the night with me, and Trent didn’t tell me about Kathleen voluntarily. She charged in here like a Victoria’s Secret model on meth. He had to tell me!”

  Paula ignored me and pushed through the door.

  I picked up my tray of food and followed.

  As usual she was right. I had to tell Trent about Rick’s visit and why Ransom had run him off.

  Damn.

  Chapter Four

  I went to the police station after work to tell my boyfriend about his ex’s second husband’s run-in with my ex. It sounded like an episode from a television talk show. Could my life get any more melodramatic?

  The official interview was conducted in a totally official manner in an official interview room with Trent’s partner, Detective Gerald Lawson. When it was over, I left before Trent could become unofficial. I’d had my quota of confessions for the day.

  I got home late. King Henry was waiting. He gave me an icy blue stare then turned and stalked haughtily toward the kitchen. He knew I was late. He can tell time, though I think he only looks at the digital readout on the DVD player. I don’t think he can tell the time on a regular clock.

  But I’m not certain.

  I followed him. “I have a good excuse.”

  He sat beside his empty bowl. He wanted food, not excuses. I gave him both. He ate the former and ignored the latter then asked to go outside and play with the neighborhood mice.

  I let him out, grabbed some cookies, and went to Fred’s. No need to call him. He’s either psychic or has every house in the neighborhood bugged. He’d be waiting for me.

  He was.

  He opened the door before I could ring the bell. “I’m sorry about your friend,” he said.

  I entered and handed him the bag of cookies. “Are you talking about Trent or Ransom?”

  His eyes widened slightly behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Trent?”

  “Aha! You don’t know everything.” It was a small victory in a day of losses.

  He closed the door behind me. “Of course I don’t. What’s going on with Trent?”

  I crossed Fred’s immaculate hardwood floors to his immaculate leather sofa, sat and picked up the crystal glass of red wine waiting on a coaster on the immaculate oak coffee table.

  He retrieved his half-empty glass and sat in his recliner.

  I sipped the wine. Excellent, of course. “How did you know I’d be coming over and would need wine?”

  He arched a white eyebrow toward his immaculate white hair. “Last night you told me a story about a new friend and today that new friend is dead. I wasn’t sure what time you’d get here, so I opened red wine instead of a chilled white.”

  He always tries to make his psychic abilities sound normal.

  “Trent’s ex-wife is sleeping with him and he gave her a key to his apartment and they got a divorce because she left him for his best friend who was murdered today and maybe he’s still in love with her.” I chugged the wine and set my empty glass on the coaster.

  Fred stood, poured me another glass, and sat down without a word.

  “You didn’t know that, did you?” A triumphant but painful gloat.

  “Of course I didn’t know that until you told me. Where did you come by this information?”

  “He told me.”

  The arched eyebrow rode higher. “He told you he may still be in love with his ex?”

  I drank more wine. “Not exactly.”

  “When you say Kathleen Gabler is sleeping with him—”

  “How do you know her name?”

  “I checked Trent thoroughly when you first showed an interest in him. Surely you didn’t think I’d let you become involved with someone I didn’t approve of.”

  Should I be flattered that he cared or insulted because he didn’t trust my judgment in men?

  That was an easy one. Who’d trust my judgment after Rick? Certainly not I!

  I sat forward, cradling the bowl of my wine glass in both hands. “What did you find out about her? Did her husband really abuse her or did she abuse him? Was she ever in a mental hospital?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t check on her. You weren’t involved with her, and I didn’t find any communication between Trent and her after the divorce. She married Jeffrey Gabler immediately, he got an offer to set up a branch law firm in St. Louis, and they moved.”

  I sat back. I’d hoped he’d have some dirt on that woman. “Trent said he and Ransom grew up together. Ransom was his best man when he married Kathleen. And I thought my divorce was the stuff of soap operas.”

  “Most divorces are.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?” Had he been through a soap opera divorce? Was I finally going to learn something about Fred’s past?

  “I’m speaking from watching the Investigation Discovery channel on TV. The term friendly divorce is an oxymoron.”

  “There’s nothing friendly about that woman. I think she killed Ransom. Easier than another divorce. She spent the night with Trent. She’s using him for an alibi, and he’s letting her.”

  “If she was with Trent when the murder occurred, how could she have done it?”

  Sometimes I hate it when Fred’s logical. “I don’t know how, but I intend to figure it out.”

  “It’s unlikely she killed her husband. The room was torn apart, his wallet and watch stolen. It appears it could have been a simple robbery. Somebody he met in the hotel bar, maybe.”

  “He wouldn’t have gone to the bar. I told you he quit drinking a year ago.”

  Fred shrugged. He didn’t seem very interested in helping me prove Kathleen was guilty of murder. “He was from this area, grew up here. I’m sure he still has friends and family. He could have arranged to meet somebody in the bar even if he wasn’t going to drink.”

  “Why would his friends or family kill him? No motive. Kathleen had a motive.”

  “What motive?”

  “So she wouldn’t have to get a divorce. Maybe they had a pre-nup and she wouldn’t get anything. If we can prove she did it, Trent won’t let her stay with him.”

  “Yes, I suspect that is a true statement. That brings us back to my original question. When you say Kathleen Gabler is sleeping with Trent, are you using the word sleeping in a literal sense or as a euphemism for sexual interaction?”

  I blinked. Twice. Took another drink of wine. Fred and I had never discussed the “s” word. “I don’t know. There’s only one bed in his apartment.”

  “He also has a sofa.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Most people do. Does he not?”

  “Yes, he has a sofa.” I knew where this was going. He was taking Trent’s side.

  “As I recall, Trent slept on your sofa until your divorce from Rick was finalized.”

  I gazed at my almost empty wine glass and nodded.

  “Trent has an extremely well-developed sense of honor, of right and wrong.”

  I nodded again.

  “He won’t even fix your speeding tickets because it would be wrong.”

  I glared at Fred. “It would not be wro
ng. Are you defending him or trying to make me even madder at him?”

  “I find it unlikely that a man so fixated on doing the right thing would sleep, in either definition of the term, with his ex-wife while he’s in a committed relationship with you.”

  He was making sense. I wanted to believe him. But I wasn’t through being mad at Trent for letting that woman inside his apartment. “Why would he give her a key? He’s never given me a key.”

  “Did you ask for one?”

  “No.”

  “She probably asked.”

  “She did, and he gave it to her.”

  “If you ask him for one, he’ll give it to you.”

  “That is not the point!”

  “Did you tell Trent about the key Ransom left for you?”

  In all the drama of the day, I had forgotten. The only key on my mind had been the one Trent gave Kathleen. “I didn’t even think about it.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Still in the pocket of yesterday’s jeans.”

  “Since Ransom was murdered hours after leaving that key with you, it could be important. You should give it to Trent.”

  “Whatever.” I’d deal with that later. “Let’s get back to the key we know about, the one Trent gave Kathleen. Can you find out if they’re…you know.”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  Of course he knew. Fred was being deliberately obtuse. That did not improve my mood. “Sleeping in the same bed. Having sex.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The only way I could find out about that would be if I put a camera in his bedroom.”

  I finished my wine and set the glass precisely in the center of the coaster. “Okay.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I have lasagna in the oven and homemade bread for garlic toast. Are you interested?”

  “Of course.”

  He didn’t say he would put a camera in Trent’s bedroom, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t.

  Chapter Five

  It was dark and moonless by the time I left Fred’s. With the combination of his common sense advice, lasagna, and wine, I felt better about everything. Well, everything except Ransom’s death.