In Cold Chocolate

by Dorothy St. James

  “I suppose your keeping a gun in the house is akin to Jody wanting to develop this island while still caring about the sea turtles. It’s not what you’d expect. So she has a gun. Or rather, two guns.”

  “Most people around here do have more than one,” Althea was quick to point out. “Some have complete collections that could number in the hundreds.”

  I shivered. “That’s more than I want to know.” I turned around on the sandy trail and headed back toward the shop.

  Stella refused to follow. She tugged at the end of her leash. She sniffed the ground as if searching for treasures. She scraped the rocky sand with her tiny paw. She then sniffed again. A moment later she started scraping the ground again.

  “If it makes you rest any easier, most of the residents don’t tote guns around on their hip like some gin-swigging, card-swindling outlaw. This isn’t the Wild West.”

  “It doesn’t make me feel better.” I bit my lower lip. “What did you find there?” I asked Stella. She’d stopped digging. She was now chewing on something she held between her front paws. I reached down and got my hand on what she’d found. Stella snapped the air. But I knew my dog well enough and to move my hand away before her little teeth clamped down on me.

  “What is that?” Althea asked.

  “Isn’t it one of those stress relieving spinners?” I asked as I brushed away the sand coating the red plastic item.

  Althea took it and turned it over in her hand. “It does look like one of those.”

  “Do you remember seeing Gibbons pull something red and plastic that looked like this out of the sand at the crime scene?” Was it a clue? “He had a tech put it into an evidence bag.” Did the killer carry these around with him?

  “Sorry, I don’t remember seeing anything the detective was doing. I was too busy worrying about the nest. The eggs still haven’t hatched. They should have hatched by now.”

  I put my arm around Althea. “I’m sure the baby turtles are just waiting for the perfect time to make a dramatic entrance.”

  Althea pulled away from me and hugged herself as if she suddenly felt cold. Stella, sensing something was wrong, sniffed Althea’s leg before tugging on her leash to head back home.

  “I don’t think they’re late bloomers,” Althea said, still hugging herself. “I’m going to dig up the nest first thing tomorrow morning to find out what happened. That’s the protocol. Seventy days after the eggs are laid, the team opens the nest.”

  “Maybe they hatched when no one was looking?” I said, sounding hopeful.

  Althea shook her head as if I’d just uttered the stupidest thing in the world, but when she looked at me she said, “Maybe.”

  “Let me come with you tomorrow.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Just to observe. And to be your friend.”

  She gave a tight nod. “You should to talk to Jody.”

  “What?” Why did I need to talk to Jody about the sea turtles?

  “If you want to help Gavin, you need to get Jody’s side of the story about what happened last night.”

  “I already tried,” I said. “But when I called the jail, the nice lady who answered the phone told me I couldn’t see her. She was emphatic about it.”

  “You’ll have to talk to the next best thing, then.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew who she wanted me to question.

  Althea waggled her eyebrows. “Har-ley,” she sang. “That boy is sweet on you.”

  “Now isn’t a good time to think about that, not when he has his hands full working to protect his son from what’s happened to his mother.”

  “He’s been too busy to talk to you?” Althea guessed.

  “Yeah, I’ve been trying to get him on the phone or talk with him in person all day. But he’s not been around, and he’s not returned my calls.”

  We’d reached the back of the shop. Althea nudged my side and nodded toward the second-story porch that ran along the length of the building’s back elevation. The two upstairs apartments opened up onto that porch.

  Bertie and I shared one apartment. Harley and his son lived in the other.

  Harley, still dressed in his business suit, stood on the porch. With his elbows perched on the railing, he leaned toward the marsh. He didn’t notice us. His gaze was trained on some point far beyond the horizon.

  “You could talk with him now,” she said as she gave me a gentle push. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll try to talk your mama into making pancakes for breakfast for us.”

  “Chocolate chip?” she asked.

  “Is there any other kind?” I replied.

  We parted then. She took the trail that led toward her small but tidy cottage several blocks away. I walked around the back of the Chocolate Box’s building. Stella yapped and growled as soon as we reached the back stairs landing. Obviously, she’d spotted her favorite nemesis: Harley Dalton.

  “I thought you might be out walking your noisy fluff ball tonight,” Harley said as he pushed away from the railing. He straightened to his full height. He was a bit taller than me, which given my height, was something that I noticed. I also took note of his strong jaw, tanned skin, and kind eyes. When he smiled in my direction, there was no real joy in his expression. Only exhaustion. He loosened his red tie.

  “She fusses if I don’t keep her schedule.” When Stella and I reached the top of the stairs, I tossed her a handful of treats to get her to stop acting like a rabid alligator.

  “How’s your shoulder?” he asked. He took a step toward me as if he wanted to touch me, hold me, kiss me. My heart beat harder as I let my mind stray in that silly direction. Of course he didn’t want to kiss me.

  “It’s fine as long as I don’t move it.” I glanced toward Harley’s apartment’s door. “How’s Gavin?”

  “It took him a while to settle down. But after I let him play a few video games, he was finally able to fall asleep. He’s worried about what’s happening with his mom.”

  “I can only imagine.” I said.

  “I wish I could give Gavin a better life. First there was the divorce, then the constant battles, and now this.” He shook his head as if trying to chase the truth away. “As much as I want to, I haven’t been able to shield him from any of it.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. This is all Jody’s doing. No one forced her into waving that gun around as if she was Annie Freaking Oakley.”

  “No, but she loves Gavin.” He gazed out over the inky darkness in the marsh. “Despite the war she’s waged between us and the damage that does to our son, I truly believe that overall she’s a good mother. She loves my son.” He started to say something else, but seemed to change his mind. Instead he quickly said, “I hired the best defense lawyer in the state for her this morning. The first thing she told him was that she’s innocent. She won’t even talk about taking a plea deal. She claims she didn’t know who owned the gun you found her holding. The second one, that is. It’s unregistered. She said she saw it on the ground and picked it up.” He dredged his fingers through his hair.

  He then said in one long burst of frustration, “Can you believe that? Despite all the evidence they have against her, she won’t even admit to doing what she obviously did in a fit of anger. She also says she shot you by accident, that the gun must have had a hair trigger because it just went off in her hand. She told the lawyer I’d hired that she planned to fight for an acquittal on all charges. When he’d tried to talk her out of it, she fired him. That woman is so dang stubborn, it’s maddening. She fired the best defense lawyer in the state.”

  “Jody is insisting that she’s innocent?” I asked.

  He grunted.

  “But you think she’s guilty?”

  “Of course I don’t want to believe it. For Gavin’s safe, I don’t want to believe anything they’re saying about her. But we all know how quickly she flies into her rages. And we’ve all witnessed her temper when things don’t go her way. Why are
you asking these questions?” He leaned toward me. “Does this mean you plan to investigate?” He didn’t sound pleased about it. I couldn’t figure out why he’d be surprised.

  “I told your son I would.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ve explained to Gavin that you were being nice, that you were trying to comfort him. He understands.”

  “No.” Gavin might understand, but I knew the pain that borrows into a child’s bones when one’s mother is accused of being a monster. (Heck, even I was guilty of accusing Jody of being a monster.) “When I give my word, I keep it. I aim to find out what really happened last night on the beach.”

  Harley’s lips compressed as if he were swallowing an entire dictionary of bitter words. “You do what you need to do,” he finally managed to say. “If you don’t investigate, that boy of mine might try to do it himself. But, please Penn, stay safe. If you run into any kind of trouble, promise me that you’ll stop.”

  “I won’t run into trouble.” Famous last words? I hoped not.

  “If by some miracle you can prove that Jody is innocent, I’ll be forever grateful.” He drew a shuddering breath. “If anyone is overdue for a miracle or even simply a turn of good luck it’s that sweet boy of mine.”

  “Just call me the miracle-maker.” I tried out a smile. “The master of the impossible.”

  “For Gavin’s sake, I hope you’re right,” Harley said, grimly.

  Chapter Eight

  Impossible. That’s what everything felt like the next morning as I dragged myself out of bed. It was a dark and obscenely early Saturday morning—five days before Gavin’s first day of school—and far too early for rational people to be stirring.

  Stella snored softly on the froufrou pink and white paisley dog bed I’d set up next to my own. She didn’t wake up, not even when I started opening and closing dresser drawers as I donned pale pink shorts and a pale yellow cotton blouse.

  A little while later, I moved around in the kitchen like a clumsy zombie, accidentally clanging my coffee mug against the counter and then banging the coffee pot against the stovetop. Bertie came out of her room, moving with a slight limp. I frowned. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her limp. She usually did it whenever she was tired or whenever she thought no one was looking.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  “Of course I am.” She wrapped her housecoat tightly around her. The limp disappeared. “What’s going on?”

  Her hairless cat, Troubadour, followed her. His tail, held high in the air, twitched as he glanced in my direction with the level of disinterest only a cat can manage.

  “Althea is opening the nest this morning,” I explained. Seventy days had passed since the mother turtle had laid her eggs there. “I told her I’d be there for her. I also told her you’d make her favorite chocolate chip pancakes. Do you mind?”

  “You want me to make pancakes in the middle of the night?” Bertie yawned into her hand before filling Troubadour’s kitty bowl with dry kibble.

  “No, it’s morning. I need to leave now to meet her on the beach.” While slipping on my sandals, I managed to slosh half my coffee out of my cup and onto the linoleum floor. Troubadour dashed over and started lapping at the puddle.

  “Sorry about that.” I put the mug on the kitchen table and fetched a damp rag.

  Bertie took the rag from my hands. “I’ll get this.” She gently moved Troubadour away from the coffee puddle. “You go and help my daughter. I’ll have the pancakes ready by the time you return.”

  I thanked her before stumbling sleepily out the door, banging into nearly everything I encountered.

  A dim gray glow on the horizon hinted that the sunrise was on its way. I walked sleepily toward the beach. A wave crashed loudly against the sand a moment before I spotted Althea waiting at the beach walkover. Harriett and Lidia had already arrived. They were standing next to Althea, sipping what smelled like coffee. My mouth watered. I’d only had a couple of hours sleep over the last couple of days. If I’d been more awake, I wouldn’t have spilled mine. But if I’d been more awake, I wouldn’t need coffee so desperately.

  Harriett offered a hushed welcome as I approached. No one seemed awake enough to converse as we made our way toward the carefully cordoned off nest. The three of them—official sea turtle volunteers—were wearing their bright yellow shirts.

  On the way to the nest we passed Cassidy Jones’ ruddy red beach cottage. It looked dark and forlorn. The rising sun cast an eerie amber glow on the pair of large sliding glass doors that opened to the ocean side deck. The glow resembled red eyes glaring out at us.

  Seeing it made me shiver.

  Althea looked at the house and then at me and then back at the house. Her brows dipped lower. “You feel it too, don’t you? That’s why you’re shivering. I wouldn’t be surprised if in the next couple of days his restless spirit starts making all sorts of trouble for us.”

  “Restless spirits? Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped, and then immediately regretted it. I was there to lend support, not argue with Althea. In an attempt to soften my blunder, I said the first thing that came into my head while still transfixed by the house’s red eyes. “Ethel told me she and several others in town had seen Florence Corners visiting Cassidy there, in his house. Ethel had assumed Florence was meeting with Cassidy so often because my mother is … looking to buy property on the island to … um…”—I coughed—“be closer to me.”

  Althea whirled toward me. Her dark eyes widened. “We both know Florence would never do that. I mean, no offense to you. It’s just that Florence, wicked woman that she is, has made it clear what she wants and doesn’t want.”

  “She wants my building, she wants her mother’s money, and she doesn’t want anyone to know she has a daughter,” I said.

  Both Lidia and Harriett seemed to hold their breaths as they watched me.

  “Don’t look so worried,” I told them. “I’m not pining away waiting for Florence to love me. I’ve done just fine without a mother in my life for the past thirty-seven years. Ethel may have seen Florence going into Cassidy’s house, but we all know it wasn’t to look at real estate.”

  “You mean to suggest … You mean that Mabel’s daughter—that Florence…” Harriett sputtered, apparently unable to say the words aloud.

  I had no trouble saying it. I crossed my arms over my chest. “I think my mommy was one of Cassidy’s many lovers.”

  Harriett gasped.

  “That makes her a suspect,” Lidia’s voice boomed.

  “So it seems.” A wicked part of me smiled as I said it.

  “But she’s so, so, so proper,” Harriett barely managed to get out. “She presents herself as the finest hostess in historic Charleston. She runs the cotillion with an iron fist. She controls the invitation list for nearly all Charleston society events. One slip in propriety can get a person banned from Charleston’s high society for life.”

  “I heard from Mama what she did to you,” Althea said softly. She patted Harriett’s arm, causing the older woman’s face to turn every shade of red possible.

  “What did she do?” Lidia demanded.

  Harriett looked at Lidia and then at me. “I heard you promised that sweet little boy to get his mother out of jail, Penn. Why would you do something foolish like that? You know you’re only going to break his heart. There’s no question about who killed Cassidy.”

  Her clumsy attempt to change the topic surprised me. What could Florence have done to Harriett? And why didn’t Harriett want to talk about it? “That’s not what we were talking about,” I said.

  “It’s what we should be talking about. You don’t have children. You don’t understand how fragile they can be, especially young boys. He needs to start accepting the mistakes his mother made instead of clinging to the fantasy you’re creating for him.”

  I knew her maneuver. I’d used it more than once myself. She was trying to upset me. She probably hoped I’d vehemently start defending myself and we’d all forget about wha
tever trouble she’d had with Florence.

  Since I had no interest in playing her game, I shook my head and simply said, “You’re right.”

  “What?” Harriett’s head snapped back with surprise.

  “What?” Lidia echoed as she cupped her ears.

  “I said you are right. I should have never made a promise to Gavin I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I could keep.” What I didn’t say was, crazy or not, I believed in Jody’s innocence. It didn’t matter that we all found her holding the murder weapon. It didn’t matter that she’d shot me. And yes, that did sound crazy.

  I kind of felt like a football fan who always roots for the losing team. At the start of every game, that fan honestly believes that tonight would be the night. Despite what we all thought we saw that night, Jody was innocent. For Gavin’s and Harley’s sake, I needed Jody to be innocent.

  “You’re right,” I conceded, though. “I know how crushed Gavin will be if I fail him.”

  “Well, then.” Harriett chewed her bottom lip until she realized what she was doing. She quickly straightened her spine. “We’re not here to gossip like a bunch of old hens. We’re here because the sea turtles need us.”

  We all followed Harriett as she marched toward the nest. I shot a questioning glance in Althea’s direction. How had Florence hurt Harriett?

  “Later,” she mouthed.

  Soon we were standing silently around the area that had been carefully marked off with bright orange tape. We stared at the nest as if our combined forces of will could get the babies to emerge. Down the darkened beach, a dim light turned on in Bailey’s house. Several minutes later he walked up to greet us. He was still dressed in his chef’s uniform. His eyes looked tired.

  “I was just getting in from work when I spotted the four of you out here,” he said. He released his hair from the tight bun he wore at the nape of his neck. “The baby sea turtles, have they…” his voice trailed off.

  Althea shuddered as she shook her head. I went to put a comforting arm around her shoulders, but Bailey was there before me. He pulled Althea close.