In Cold Chocolate

by Dorothy St. James

  “T-took a while to f-f-finish what I started,” he said as he smacked his lips nervously.

  “Didn’t you see? I closed up early.”

  “I-I saw that. I-I also n-noticed the ch-ch-chocolates aren’t put away. Th-the t-t-tables need cleaning.”

  “Just a sec,” I said to him. I tossed Stella some bacon to try and calm her. She gobbled it, but kept barking at Fletcher so vigorously her front legs lifted off the ground. “Shush, shush.” I crouched down to try and calm her by petting her tiny chest.

  She bit me.

  Hearing Lidia’s stern voice in my head telling me that I needed to take control of the situation and my dog, I quickly stood back up. In a firm voice that I hoped sounded like Lidia’s, I said, “Stella, sit.”

  Amazingly, she sat.

  I praised her and tossed her a handful of treats while Fletcher looked on. He’d twisted his face into an extreme expression of distaste.

  “Don’t you like dogs?” I asked him.

  “Love them,” came out of his mouth without so much of a stutter. “B-best thing that h-happened to m-man.”

  “Not sure it’s the best thing.” At least my little beast had stopped barking. “Good dog,” I said and tossed her a few more treats. “I can put her in the shop’s office while we properly close up.”

  “Th-this isn’t charity. I-I’m on the cl-clock,” he warned.

  “Of course you are. But I’m not paying you for the time you spent running your errand. Being shorthanded was one of the reasons I had to close up early.”

  “Uh, uh, Penn, I heard you closed up because the Maybanks came by to harass you,” he whispered in a singsong voice. “And it upset you. You had to run away.”

  “You seem pretty knowledgeable for someone who wasn’t around this afternoon.” I tilted my head to one side. “What were you doing?”

  He shrugged. “C-c-can’t stop the g-g-gossips from t-talking.” He drew a deep breath and then sang, “Cursed nuisance, ain’t it?”

  “Gotta love small towns.” I quickly sent a text to Harley, FLETCHER HERE. ALONE WITH HIM. AT CHOCOLATE BOX. CAN YOU JOIN ME?

  After hitting “send” for that message, I unlocked the back door, settled Stella into the office, and got to work.

  Fletcher, as usual, worked diligently. He seemed to always know what to do even before I asked him. And if he didn’t, he asked. I couldn’t believe such a conscientious employee could be a cold-blooded killer. How could such a thing be possible?

  While he was emptying the coffee urn, I worked up my courage to question him. Forget what Gibbons had said. Someone on the island was a killer and while I thought I knew the why, I still hadn’t worked out exactly who so had cleverly set up Jody. “I’ve heard some things about you around town too,” I said as I watched him closely. “I heard you were seen at Cassidy’s house the night of the murder. That you were arguing with him.”

  “Th-that’s small towns for y-you, huh?” he said as he started to scrub the inside of the urn. He hadn’t even bothered to look up at me. He kept his head down and kept working.

  Frustrated with his reluctance to share what he knew about the murder with me, I blurted out in a rush, “Someone saw you with Cassidy. The police found one of your anxiety-relieving spinners next to the murder weapon. Cassidy made you lose your job. He’d pressed charges against you for the slap fight he’d started. You were going to lose everything financially fighting that charge. His death solved all that.”

  “Th-the ch-charges are st-still p-pending,” he ground out.

  “Oh.” I chewed my bottom lip. “His death didn’t solve your troubles, did it?”

  “Hardly.”

  “But he knew something else about you. Something that would cause you even more trouble,” I guessed.

  Fletcher wrinkled his nose. “S-s-someone’s been l-lying to you.”

  “Were you there that night?” I asked and then quickly added, “The version of the events I heard from … someone … doesn’t fit what I saw that night. I’m hoping you can help fill in some of the details because I don’t think Jody killed Cassidy.”

  He slammed the urn down onto the counter and turned toward me. Red-hot rage had colored his entire face. “You’re walking dangerous ground with questions like that.” He sang the angry words. His Southern accent grew as thick as the weeds that grew along the marsh trail. “I’m a-warning you. You gonna get those around you killed dead.”

  He charged toward me. I raised my hands, prepared to defend myself, certain I could defend myself against a man with his short height.

  He didn’t attack me. Instead he looked straight through me as if I were already dead as he hurried past. He went straight to the display case and took the tray of salted sea turtles. “I-I’m going t-to p-put these away now.”

  He marched down the hallway that led to the cooler in the back. I remained in the front of the store. I stood there like a useless statue, wondering how I could coax him to open up to me. He returned a few moments later, glared in my direction, as if daring me to say something stupid.

  I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  That seemed to surprise him. “I’m s-s-sorry I y-yelled.”

  Encouraged by that minor victory, I pulled out a chair and then sat down in the one next to it. “I am glad you’re working here. Bertie and I were going to hurt ourselves trying to keep up with the crowd. Please,”—I patted the chair—“sit down for a moment.”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  “Because I want to tell you what I know about that night. You don’t have to tell me anything. But if you know or saw something different from what I saw or heard happened, you can tell me if what I know is wrong. I’m trying to get the facts of Cassidy’s murder straight. I don’t think Jody killed Cassidy. Please, I need your help.”

  He flicked a glance at the chair. “You don’t get it.” He pulled out another tray of chocolates. This one was filled with my perfectly rounded chocolate moon benne wafers. Without saying a word, he walked back down the long hallway.

  A few minutes later I heard a crash.

  A muffled Stella started barking like crazy and scratching on the office door.

  I jumped up from my chair and ran as fast as I could down the hallway. I tripped to a stop when I saw the tray and chocolate cookies scattered and broken as if they’d been violently thrown to the ground.

  “Fletcher?” I called. Stella kept barking.

  The back door was open and swinging in the afternoon breeze. Fletcher was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I was still standing with my hands on my hips dumbfounded by why my benne wafers were scattered all over the floor when Harley came in through the open backdoor. He looked at the ruined cookies and then at the confusion I knew must have been written all over my face, and froze.

  “What happened here?” he asked, slowly. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded.

  Stella kept barking and scratching at the office door. I opened the door, but caught her before she could grab any of the chocolate-covered cookies. While chocolate was the food of the gods and heaven on earth for some of us mortals, it was poison to dogs.

  “What happened here?” Harley asked again.

  “Fletcher,” I said as I gave Stella a piece of bacon as a consolation prize. “He was putting the chocolates into the coolers. I heard a crash. And when I came here, he was gone.”

  “Gone?” Althea poked her head through the open backdoor. “He smashed your chocolates and ran off?”

  My jaw clamped shut at the sight of her. Childish or not, I wasn’t ready to talk to her. I wasn’t ready to pretend she hadn’t hurt me.

  “He was putting away the chocolates while Penn worked out front to close up the shop,” Harley said when I kept my mouth clamped shut. “She heard a crash and found this.” He pointed to the wrecked benne wafers.

  Althea frowned.

  “Was that the first tray he’d take
n back here?” Harley asked.

  I shook my head. Talking in general seemed to break the no-talking-to-Althea rule. But that was crazy. “He brought the salted sea turtles back to the cooler first.”

  “How was he acting?” Harley asked while Althea edged around him to poke her nose into the storage room where the coolers were.

  My eyes stayed on her. I watched her with the intensity that someone would watch a thief. “He seemed agitated. I asked him what he was doing the night of Cassidy’s murder.”

  “You mean you asked him what he was doing at Cassidy’s house?” Althea asked as she opened one of the coolers’ doors.

  Since I still wasn’t talking to Althea, I said to Harley, “My talking about that night made his face turn bright red. But he kept working. He carried the turtles back here. He returned for the benne wafers.”

  “Are you sure that’s what happened? Your turtles aren’t here,” Althea said as she opened all of the coolers’ doors.

  “What?” Harley and I both demanded.

  Althea pointed to the cooler in front of her. “Your turtles, Penn. They’re not in here.”

  “What?” I ran over to see for myself. “They’re gone? Again?”

  “Well, if that doesn’t beat all.” I looked up to find Bertie standing in the back doorway with her hands on her hips. She’d changed out of her work clothes. She’d donned a flowered dress she usually only pulled out of her closet for Sunday services. “Why would Fletcher want to steal those chocolates so fiercely? They’re good and all, but they’re not worth-going-to-prison-over good.”

  “I don’t know that he stole them,” I said. Why would he take the turtles but throw the benne wafers all over the hallway floor? And what about that crash I heard?

  “Do you think any of this was caught on your security camera?” Althea asked.

  “I only bought one camera,” I answered, momentarily forgetting that I wasn’t talking to her. “It takes video of the front of the shop. I don’t have coverage back here.”

  We all headed to the front where I’d installed the camera. It was still there recording everything. Not that the footage would be any help to me right now.

  Harley’s frown deepened as he looked at the camera. He then went back down the back hallway that led to the back door, storage rooms, office, and kitchen.

  “Did Fletcher say anything to you, Mama?” Althea asked. “Did he give you any indication that he was your chocolate thief?”

  Bertie shook her head. “Other than running off and leaving us in the lurch—unprofessional, if you ask me—that boy worked hard and had an excellent singing voice. I was going to ask if he wanted to join the church choir.”

  “He had no way of knowing I would hire him,” I pointed out.

  “You had no way of knowing you were hiring your thief,” Althea said, her voice growing even more excited.

  “I’m not talking to you.” I crossed my arms and turned away from her. “Where did Harley go?”

  No one knew.

  “Harley?” I called. Stella squirmed in my arms as I walked down the hallway. Had he disappeared the same way Fletcher had? “Harley?”

  “I’m right here,” he came out of the kitchen. “I was looking around to see if I could find Fletcher.”

  “And?” Althea demanded. “Did you find him?”

  He shook his head. “He’s gone. Looks like he ran out the back door with your chocolate turtles, Penn.”

  “I knew it!” Althea slapped her hands together. “You asked him about the night of the murder, and he ran like a cockroach running away from the light. I told you and told you. You hired a killer.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  As night fell, the sea breeze stopped. The air stood still, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting. I stood in the wet sand waiting too. The waves rose and fell with gentle, rolling swells. Silver shimmered on the dark surface. The water was so calm I felt like I was gazing out over a lake in the Northwoods of the Midwest instead of a vast ocean.

  I stood shoulder to shoulder with Harley. His fingers twined with mine. I looked down at our hands and smiled. There’d been a time when I pulled away from his touch. Right now I was grateful for it.

  “You know I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said.

  “Tomorrow is Wednesday,” I pointed out even though I was sure he knew the clock was ticking ever louder on our deadline to get Jody out of jail in time for Gavin’s first day of school Thursday morning. “Gavin needs Jody to be out of jail by tomorrow.”

  “There’s a good chance she’ll be out on bail by then.”

  “Gavin is a smart boy. He’ll know the difference. It might even be worse, because he’ll be constantly worried that someone will come and take her away.”

  He squeezed my hand. I took that as his way of agreeing.

  “You do know you misunderstood my first text? We are spending the night on the beach to catch the killer and not do anything else.” He’d come equipped for a romantic night on the beach with a heavy blue and green plaid beach blanket neatly folded over his arm. At his feet was a picnic basket packed with cheese and crackers, wine, and even a thermos of coffee.

  “There’s no better cover for a stakeout on the beach than romance,” he said. He had a point. Only perverts paid any attention to couples enjoying a little kissing under the stars. Beach blanket romances were nearly as common as the creamy white ghost crabs that darted here and there on the sand.

  “It’s a good cover,” I had to admit. But the way his eyes had crinkled with pleasure and the way his voice had deepened just a notch as he explained the purpose for his romantic setup, made me wonder just how much kissing we would be doing while lying side-by-side on that soft beach blanket of his in order to maintain our cover. It also surprised me how eager I was to find out.

  “Let’s go. The new turtle nest is this way,” I said and kicked off my leather flip flops. I dropped them into my own beach bag, which included essentials such as a beach towel, camera, cell phone, and the unloaded gun Bertie stored behind the flour tin in the kitchen. I then bent down and picked up the heavy picnic basket.

  Harley silently lifted the burden from my hands and followed as we headed down the beach toward its undeveloped southern end where the beach was narrow, the currents dangerous to swimmers. In this area of the beach every sea turtle nest had to be moved to higher ground.

  “Althea told me—that is when we were still talking—that the turtle crew found the nest this morning and moved it up into the dune above the high tide mark,” I explained. “If the thief follows his pattern, he’ll take the eggs tonight.”

  “And what makes you think the turtle thief has anything to do with Cassidy’s murder?” Harley asked as we walked along the edge of the surf.

  “Detective Gibbons told me today that I was wasting my time focusing on small details when the big details of the case against Jody painted such a clear picture. He then said something interesting. He told me that what they don’t find at a crime scene is sometimes more important than what they do find. He’d meant it as a way to discourage me from investigating Cassidy’s murder. I’m sure he’d hate to know how it made me think about the stolen sea turtle eggs in a new way. That nest was close to Cassidy’s house. When he stood on his deck he had a direct line of vision to the nest.”

  “And he was someone who noticed things,” Harley added.

  I nodded. “He noticed everything that happened around him. And I’m betting he noticed someone digging up the turtle nest the night after the turtle team had moved it to higher ground.”

  “So you think he confronted the egg thief?” Harley asked.

  “I do. I think he taunted the thief. I think he told our egg poacher more than once that he had the power to destroy him. Stealing sea turtle eggs is a federal crime.”

  “Not only that, taking those eggs would also be an unforgivable sin in this town,” Harley added. “I’ve never been to a town that put more pride and value in its sea turtles th
an Camellia Beach.”

  “I agree. Even Sunset Development financially supports the turtle team. At first this confused me. But now I understand. The turtle nests are a big deal to the town. No one in Camellia Beach is going to stand by and let someone sabotage it.”

  We walked a little farther on down the beach. “Chief Byrd has an officer watching Fletcher’s house. They will catch him,” Harley said.

  “It’s not him,” I said.

  “Really? You don’t suspect him even a little?” Harley cried. “You accused me of being a murderer simply because I didn’t say nice things about your friend after he was killed.”

  “I’m trying not to repeat past mistakes,” I confessed. “Plus, I hate to lose Fletcher. When he was working at the shop, he was great. Sure, he ran off in the middle of the day to run some mysterious errand. Sure, he stole the chocolate turtles and ruined my benne wafers. But do you know how hard it is to get good people to work in food service?”

  After Fletcher’s rather stupidly planned theft of the chocolate turtles, Police Chief Hank Byrd showed up and filled out a report. He seemed to take the attitude that Fletcher would eventually show up at his house. There was no need to launch an island-wide manhunt for a chocolate thief.

  Detective Gibbons didn’t even bother to show up. He said he was busy with a new case. But he did listen to my concerns and suggested that Fletcher had sent one of the two threatening notes. But he still firmly believed they already had Cassidy’s killer safely locked away behind bars.

  “It does seem odd that all the other times the chocolate turtles were stolen, no one saw it happen,” Harley admitted. “The thief seemed to be the invisible man. So why would Fletcher take them right in front of you this time? Did he want you to know he was the one taking them? Did he want to get caught?”

  “See?” I said. “Nothing about him or his actions make any sense. There has to be an explanation that we’re not seeing.”

  “Or perhaps he got sloppy … or desperate,” Harley said slowly. We had almost reached the turtle nest. The beach along this stretch of island was dark. The land was too narrow to be developed. The dunes here had formed steep sandy cliffs from the constant erosion that ate at the island.