In Cold Chocolate

by Dorothy St. James

  Chapter Twelve

  “If you ask me,” Johnny Pane said as he dragged his brush across the ceiling, “someone doesn’t like that you’re asking questions.”

  “What’s that?” I asked somewhat distractedly. The store was about to close for the day. Since the weather continued to be hot and sticky, the Chocolate Box had another busy afternoon selling its milkshakes. As closing time approached, Bertie had given up trying to hide her limp. As soon as I’d noticed, I sent her up to the apartment to take some of her prescription pain pills and to put her leg up.

  The work at the shop was too much for her. I needed to get us additional help. But how? And who? I needed to find someone with experience in food service. I needed someone who wasn’t a complete disaster at the register or with the customers. I’d had so many bad experiences with temporary workers when Bertie’s leg was still in the cast, I was feeling gun shy at the thought of trying again.

  “The theft, Ms. Penn,” Johnny said as his brush moved at a slow, measured pace. “Do you reckon it’s meant to distract you from asking questions about Cassidy’s murder?”

  “Is that what Chief Byrd thinks?” I asked. The shop had been so busy all day that I hadn’t had a chance to talk with Bertie about what happened when she’d reported the theft to the police chief. We’d been too focused on filling milkshake orders to think about anything else.

  Johnny Pane chuckled. “Old Hank thinks it’s a prank.”

  “I think so too,” I said. “It has to be.”

  “Timing is suspicious, don’t you think?” he said and then quickly added, “Not that I’m telling you your business or anything.”

  Johnny was right. The timing was suspicious. And I’d be a fool to think it was unrelated. But if the thief thought stealing a few chocolates from my display case would stop me from helping a little boy get his mother back, well, obviously the thief was someone who didn’t know me very well.

  “Whoever did this could steal all of the chocolates out of the case, and I will still continue to ask my questions.” Nothing would get me to stop this investigation.

  It felt too personal. Whether Jody was flawed or not. A child needs his mother.

  Florence. I sighed. I needed to call my mother. I needed to ask her about what she was doing with Cassidy and if she knew anything about his death.

  I stared at my cell phone. Her number was in the contact list. But I couldn’t seem to get my finger to press on her name. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want anything to do with me, that she didn’t want a relationship or contact from me of any kind. But this was for Gavin.

  I swallowed my discomfort and slammed my finger against the screen to dial her number. After a few rings, it clicked over to her voicemail. I left a brief message, telling her that I needed to talk with her right away.

  I then looked back up at Johnny Pane as he stood on his ladder while he finished painting one corner of the shop. He knew Cassidy. Perhaps he could help answer some of my unanswered questions about the murdered man.

  “Who do you think killed Cassidy Jones?” I asked him.

  His brush came to an abrupt halt. “I already told you, he was a cancer to this town. Jody did us a favor by killing him.”

  “I don’t think Jody killed him,” I said.

  “I know that’s what you think,” he sounded disappointed by that. “We all know that.”

  “What did he have over you?” I abruptly asked him. Should I add my painter to the suspect list? It seemed like a stretch. I had a hard time imagining Johnny Pane moving fast enough to murder Cassidy and make his getaway before we’d arrived on the scene.

  “I didn’t kill him,” he said, his voice turned sharp. “I was having dinner with my daughter’s family at Grilled to Perfection that night. It was her husband’s birthday. We were out so late, she had me sleep over in her guest room after dinner. You can call her and verify that if you need to. And that’s all you need to know about me and Cassidy, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not trying to upset you, and I don’t care about spreading gossip about anyone. I simply need to get Jody home to Gavin before Thursday morning. And if I’m going to do that, I need to get the police to start investigating the other people Cassidy hurt.”

  He gave a sharp nod and went back to his painting.

  “Do you know anything about Ethel Crump and her dealings with Cassidy?” I asked him. “I heard someone at the Pink Pelican Inn suggesting that Ethel should be a prime suspect.”

  “Cassidy was suing Ethel,” he said.

  “He was?”

  “He’s sued practically everyone in the town.” He dipped his brush into his paint can.

  “But why was he suing Ethel?”

  “Because he hit her cat with his car.”

  “Wait.” Johnny Pane had to be confused about things. “Don’t you mean she was suing him?”

  He shook his head. “No ma’am. Don’t mean that at all. He claimed that Ethel’s beloved cat shouldn’t have been roaming loose on the street. He was suing for damages caused to his car.”

  “What?” I could barely believe what I was hearing.

  “That Harley fellow of yours agreed to defend Ethel against the lawsuit pro bono.” Harley wasn’t mine, but I didn’t bother to correct him. “Ethel was terribly worried about what would happen if she lost the case. Cassidy claimed that old clunker he drove was a priceless antique.”

  “And a judgment against her could bankrupt her?” I asked.

  He nodded as he started to climb down the ladder. “She barely gets by on what little she receives each month from her husband’s retirement account and from Social Security. Even a small judgment against her could leave her homeless.”

  “But she’s nearly as old as the island,” I said. “I can’t imagine she’s a suspect. She’s so … so sweet.”

  “The people around here do love her,” he said as he started to slowly clean his brushes. “They love her nearly as much as they loved your grandmother.”

  I doubted Ethel could even hold a gun with those weak hands of hers. So even if she had a good motive, I couldn’t believe her guilty. And with Ethel and Johnny Pane cleared of the crime, that left me with no real suspects other than Jody and the mysterious muumuu woman Harriett was protecting.

  And Fletcher Grimbal.

  I’d nearly forgotten about him. Cassidy had cost Fletcher his livelihood and, if Fletcher loses his criminal court case, Cassidy’s actions could cost Fletcher his freedom.

  “Do you mind locking up behind you?” I asked as I hung up my apron. I knew from experience it would take Johnny Pane at least an hour to clean those brushes of his and to put away his paints.

  He readily agreed. He’d locked up before, so asking him to do so tonight wasn’t that unusual.

  I knew what I needed to do. I needed to find both Fletcher Grimbal and my elusive woman in the muumuu. Which meant I needed to take a trip to the seedy Low Tide Bar and Grill—where islanders with the deepest, darkest secrets tended to congregate.

  Before I could walk out the door, Johnny Pane called out to me, “If you keep doing what you’re doing, Penn, if you keep asking questions about the secrets Cassidy had gathered I fear for you. Whoever stole your chocolates might feel forced to do something worse.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I hated movies where the heroine would do something incredibly stupid and dangerous like walk into a dark basement knowing there was a chainsaw-wielding killer on the loose. “Get a brain already, you stupid ninny!”

  I didn’t want anyone to think I was a stupid ninny. I wasn’t! And while I felt confident in my own self-defense skills, I had enough good sense to know I shouldn’t wander into the Low Tide Bar and Grill alone. I needed backup.

  My heart had beat triple-time when I called Harley. That everyone in town apparently thought of him as my Harley must have been rubbing off on me because I found myself starting to think of him that way too. And truth be told, I sure wouldn’t mind him becoming mine (at least t
emporarily.)

  I had also talked with Bertie about my plans for the night. Harley would need someone to watch Gavin while he was out sleuthing with me.

  Amazingly, both Bertie and Harley readily agreed to help. In a strange way, I felt disappointed when they’d agreed so quickly. Had I wanted them to talk me out of going to the seedy bar? That would be crazy, right?

  I firmly told myself I wasn’t stalling when I decided to take Stella for one more walk that night, just moments before leaving for the Low Tide. I was simply being a responsible dog owner. Stella wagged her fluffy tail as I snapped her leash to her collar. Troubadour, watching from his perch on the back of the sofa, sniffed loudly.

  I led Stella down the narrow trail that snaked behind the building and paralleled the grassy marsh. My little dog ran this way and that while she barked and had a grand time chasing the tiny black fiddler crabs.

  I was about to turn back toward home when the wind abruptly changed directions and started rushing toward a line of thick dark clouds that were advancing on the horizon. Thunder rumbled low and long in the distance. It sounded like a passing train.

  Stella’s ears perked up.

  “Get her attention,” Lidia’s voice boomed as the older woman emerged from the bushes.

  I jumped. Stella spun around, the hair on her hackles raised with alarm.

  “Toss her a treat,” Lidia ordered.

  Nodding furiously, I fumbled with the treats. By the time I’d managed to get the bacon out of the baggie, Stella had already started barking hysterically at Lidia’s sudden appearance.

  “Hush,” I said and tossed my little dog the bacon. She gobbled it up. Bacon was, after all, her favorite food in the world. But she didn’t let a little chewing stop her from barking at Lidia and the coming storm. She did a little dance, stomping her tiny feet on the sandy path while tugging at the leash.

  I couldn’t really blame her. Lidia had startled me as well. “What are you doing here?” I had to shout the question in order to be heard over the barking.

  “Bertie had said I could find you here,” Lidia said in her loud voice. “I came by to help you with those exercises I gave you.”

  “Stella, calm down,” I said as I tossed her another piece of bacon. She gobbled it and started barking harder. Her tugging on the leach grew stronger.

  “Come on, Stella.” I tried to make my voice sound happy. Excitement and distraction, Lidia had told me sometimes works. “Let’s go this other way.”

  My silky pup remained (dare I say it?) doggedly determined to stand her ground and bark until she went hoarse.

  “If you want her to listen to you, you have to stop being so scared,” Lidia demanded.

  “Scared? I’m not scared of Stella.” I wasn’t scared of anything.

  “Then tell her to sit,” Lidia commanded.

  I did.

  Stella kept barking.

  “She won’t obey until you get over your fear.” Lidia sounded as if she was barking too, which only made me more frazzled.

  Was the woman daft? Was she not paying attention? “I’m not afraid of dogs,” I said carefully enunciating each word to make sure she heard me.

  Stella tugged on the leash. Her barks had grown even more frantic. She started tugging so hard, I was afraid she might hurt herself. The last thing I wanted was for her to get hurt.

  “Stella!” I yelled. “Sit!”

  “Don’t shout at her,” Lidia’s voice still boomed, but she’d gentled her tone. “Stay calm. Stay brave. You don’t have to be afraid.”

  “I’m not scared,” I had to shout over my noisy dog.

  “Yes, Penn, you are.”

  “You think I’m scared?” I gestured toward my barking beast. “You think I’m scared of a dog that isn’t much larger than the palm of my hand?”

  Lidia took the leash from me. With a smooth hand gesture and a competently given command, she had Stella sitting by her side. And she’d done it without pulling on the leash. My little dog still shivered with nervous energy as she kept her oversized brown eyes in constant motion. But she was obeying.

  In that moment, I hated Lidia.

  “Penn,” Lidia said with a sigh. “I know you’re frustrated. I know you might not be ready to hear what I’m going to tell you, but I’m going to say it anyhow. Just listen. Think about it. Wait until tomorrow to tell me I’m wrong and crazy. Okay?”

  “I simply need more practice,” I grumbled.

  “I have thirty years of experience working with dog owners. Just hear me out.”

  I pressed my lips together and gave a sharp nod.

  “You’re scared.” She held up her hands before I could tell her … again … that I wasn’t afraid of anything. “Yes, you’re brave when it comes to investigating murders. And you’re brave when it comes to running a chocolate shop with very little experience in the kitchen. But you’re terrified to let yourself bond with anyone, not even with a dog that weighs less than a sack of groceries. I’ve seen it before, Penn. You won’t get results with Stella until you let her into your heart.”

  “She’s just a dog,” I said.

  “True. But dogs feel more deeply than humans. And the sensitive ones can sense things humans can’t.” She smiled down at Stella. “Your Stella might act all tough, but she’s just as nervous as you are. What she needs is for you to stop being scared. She needs for you to let her into your heart. She needs you to show her that you can and will care for her.”

  “I do care for her.” How could Lidia think I didn’t? “I wouldn’t be trying so hard with her if I didn’t care.”

  “Of course you care,” Lidia softened her voice even further. “If I thought you didn’t care for Stella, I’d be trying to convince you to give her up.” She held up her hands. “I’m not telling you to give her to someone else. I’m telling you that you need to stop worrying that the people and animals in your life are going to abandon you. Look at your little dog.”

  Stella was still sitting next to Lidia, but her large brown eyes were now trained on me. Why wouldn’t her eyes be trained on me? I was the one with the bacon.

  “She’s a spaniel. And all spaniels deep down, no matter the size, want to please their owners. Stop worrying that she’s going to end up hating you. Stop worrying that you’re not good enough. She’s a dog. All she cares about is making you happy. Give her a soft word and feel confident in your ability to take care of her, and she’ll feel confident too.”

  I stared at Lidia as if she’d just told me that Stella was an alien from Pluto, which totally should still be a planet. She believed Stella misbehaved because I was insecure? She thought my abandonment issues made my dog bark like a mad dog and bite anyone who tried to get close to me?

  Good gracious, was Lidia right? I wanted to love and be loved. But was I so scared of being rejected that I self-sabotaged all of the relationships in my life? No, she was wrong. I’d grown. I’d changed.

  I’d been so proud of myself that I’d finally let down my barriers when it came to letting Althea and Bertie close to me. But I hadn’t done that at all, had I? They were the ones who were tough enough to laugh off my attempts to keep them at arms’ length. They were the ones who had put up with my prickly moods while working their way past the barriers I’d spent a lifetime erecting.

  Even now, I continued to find ways to make them prove that they aren’t playing me for a fool. I continued to make them prove they truly loved me.

  “Stella,” I whispered. I crouched down and reached out my hand. It wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Fingers, in Stella’s mind, were the perfect size for chomping. She leaned forward, sniffed my fingers, and then as if sensing something important was happening looked up at me with those expressive brown eyes of hers. “I still think Lidia is crazy. I’m not scared, but … I … I do have some work to do when it comes to relationships. I’m going to try to do better.”

  She may not have understood the words, but she seemed to like the tone. Her fluffy tail started to wag. She lic
ked my fingers … then chomped down. Hard.

  “Son-of-a—!” I curled my hand into a fist to keep her from biting any other part of my hand.

  She yip-yipped as she danced around me. Her white fluffy tail wagged a little faster. Her dark brown eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief. Was she … was she laughing at me?

  That little imp.

  My imp.

  I looked up at Lidia, who was shaking her head. “I wouldn’t trade her for the world,” I said.

  Bites and all, I loved my little dog.

  Now I simply needed to learn how to let her … and everyone else in my life know that it was safe for them to love me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Ready to go?” Harley asked a little while later when I answered the apartment door to find him leaning against the jamb. Dressed in a light gray T-shirt that pulled tight across his muscular shoulders, a pair of relaxed-fit khaki pants, and leather loafers with no socks, he looked nearly as delectable as a scrumptious piece of chocolate. Did that scare me? Yeah, I hated to admit, it did.

  Gavin scooted under his father’s arm as he hurried into the apartment. He mumbled a hello in my direction as he passed, making a beeline for the kitchen where Bertie was preparing to bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Troubadour made a happy sound that was a cross between a meow and a purr when he spotted his young friend.

  Stella, who’d also noticed Harley and Gavin, had a completely different reaction. With a low growl in her throat, she darted across the room to confront the pair of intruders.

  Troubadour jumped out at poor Stella and swatted my pup across the nose. Stella stopped and yelped. After a few stunned seconds, she started barking while running in several tight, frustrated circles before disappearing into my bedroom. I followed her and comforted her for several minutes my while she sulked in her bed. Once she seemed happy again—her tail was wagging—I headed off to the Low Tide with Harley.

  The Low Tide Bar and Grill was located at the end of a dark and rutted dirt road. Twisting scrubby oak trees and a thick growth of palmetto trees created a canopy over the road making the stormy night feel that much heavier. Thunder continued to rumble. The wind picked up even more speed, promising one doozy of a storm would hit before the night was over.