Caramels With A Side Of Murder

by Meredith Potts

My eyes widened. “Wait a minute. You got flowers and chocolates on the same day? What’s the special occasion?”

  “I guess it’s just my lucky day,” Shannon deadpanned.

  “I don’t think I have ever seen someone look less excited to receive roses and chocolates.”

  “Like I said, I don’t want to sound unappreciative. I mean, this time last year, I would have been blown away if I had gotten flowers or chocolates from a man, much less both.”

  “And now?”

  “I got flowers from one man and chocolates from another.”

  I grimaced. “The dreaded love triangle strikes again.”

  Shannon groaned. “Who knew math would come back to haunt me after all these years?”

  “Trigonometry is vengeful like that,” I joked.

  Shannon sighed.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t think of a better math joke.”

  “This situation isn’t your fault,” she replied. “It’s just something that came out of nowhere. The crazy thing is, the day started off well enough. Shortly after I opened, Joe brought in this box of chocolates. Talk about sweet, huh?”

  “No pun intended,” I joked.

  “Pun very much intended. These chocolates were so delicious.”

  My forehead wrinkled. “Were?”

  Shannon opened the box. Surprisingly, it was empty.

  “You ate the whole box?” I asked.

  She blushed. “I didn’t mean to. But like I said, it has been a beast of a day.”

  I chuckled. “I’ll say. What about the flowers?”

  “Gavin came in with the bouquet a few hours after Joe left.”

  “How about you? Have you decided which guy you’re going to pick?”

  “I polished off the whole box of chocolates trying to figure that one out.”

  “And?”

  “Let’s just say that it’s a good thing that there isn’t another box of chocolates around here, or I would make quick work of that one, too.”

  “How are the guys handling your indecision?” I asked.

  “They aren’t exactly thrilled,” she replied.

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Honestly, they are getting downright impatient,” Shannon said.

  I grimaced.

  “I don’t blame them,” Shannon added. “I wouldn’t want to be strung along. Yet that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  “Is there one that you are leaning toward more than the other?”

  “I have been leaning toward Joe.”

  “So what’s holding you back?”

  “I keep thinking about what the psychic told me. That I would choose the wrong guy.”

  “Do you think Joe is the wrong guy?”

  She shook her head. “No. I think he’s the right guy.”

  “Then go with him.”

  “But what about what Miss Terri said? If I go by her logic, then Gavin should be my choice.”

  I bit the corner of my lip. “Not necessarily.”

  Shannon scrunched her nose. “What are you talking about?”

  “Have you always leaned toward Joe?”

  She shook her head. “No. For a while, I was leaning toward Gavin.”

  “Was this before you went and saw Miss Terri?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  I squinted. “Just hear me out, all right?”

  “I’m all ears,” she replied.

  “What if Miss Terri could sense that you were leaning toward Gavin when you showed up that night to get your reading?” I asked.

  “Okay.”

  “And what if Gavin truly is the wrong guy for you?”

  “All right.”

  “So by telling you that you were going to choose the wrong guy, Miss Terri’s words made you think about picking Joe instead.”

  Shannon’s face strained. “That’s possible.”

  “Do you have a better explanation?” I asked.

  “No. But I do have plenty of doubt.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “I just keep worrying. What if it’s my destiny to choose the wrong guy, no matter what?”

  “Don’t think like that.”

  “How can I not? She told me I would pick the wrong guy.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to see her.”

  “I have been thinking that, too. I mean, the only reason I went to her was to get answers. Instead, I only have more questions.”

  “Why don’t you just follow your gut?”

  Her face contorted. “But what about Miss Terri’s prediction?”

  “Shannon, are you really going to put all your faith in the words of a psychic?”

  “She wasn’t just any psychic. I mean, look what she told you. Do you think she was right about your sister?”

  I stared out into the distance. “Yes. I do believe Jessica will be found one day.”

  “If Miss Terri was right about Jessica, why wouldn’t she be right about me?”

  I remained quiet.

  “Exactly,” Shannon said.

  I took a deep breath. “This is a tough one.”

  Shannon leaned on the counter and stared at me with a look of desperation in her eyes. “Sabrina, you have amazing instincts. What are they telling you?”

  “That I need to find a way to solve this case,” I said.

  Shannon’s nose scrunched. “I meant about my situation.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m having a little trouble with my instincts right now.”

  Shannon stared at the ground. “That’s a shame.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said. “I thought I would have solved this case by now. And if my instincts were a little sharper, maybe I would have.”

  “So this case has been a bear, then?”

  I nodded. “A grizzly bear that has been mauling me with its razor-sharp claws.”

  She gave me a wry smile. “That sounds familiar.”

  “What can I say? There’s a lot of bearish behavior going on,” I deadpanned.

  “You’ll figure out the answers. I know you will.”

  “Right back at you,” I said.

  “I hope so. All I know is that I need to make a decision soon. I can only keep Joe and Gavin waiting so long.”

  I nodded. “Time isn’t on either of our sides at the moment.”

  Shannon turned back to the grill. “I may not have an answer for you, but I do have a grilled cheese sandwich.”

  I smiled. “At least my stomach will be happy.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Shannon said.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Doodle, I’ve been throwing the ball for five minutes. Don’t you ever get tired?” I asked.

  All I had to do was glance at my corgi to see what a dumb question that was. Snickerdoodle dropped his favorite tennis ball at my feet and wagged his tail relentlessly. As I looked at his tongue hanging out of his wide-open mouth, his joy was undeniable.

  “What am I talking about?” I asked. “You’re a dog. You never get tired of playing. You would be perfectly fine playing fetch until midnight.”

  I picked up the ball and threw it down the hallway for Snickerdoodle. He scampered after it with the energy of a child on a sugar high.

  My lips curled up as I watched the little guy retrieve the ball. It was such a simple act, just throwing a ball over and over for Snickerdoodle, but it meant the world to him. My days were filled with so many plans, but this game of fetch was Snickerdoodle’s entire itinerary.

  There was something so simple yet heartwarming about that. So despite the fact that I was running on fumes, it was hard for me not to get wrapped up in his exuberance.

  Snickerdoodle carried the ball back over to me and dropped it at my feet once more. From there, he gazed at me with his puppy dog eyes.

  I chuckled. “You’re lucky that you’re irresistibly cute.” I grabbed the ball. “All right. One more toss. But that’s it, because your mom’s tuckered out.”

  I threw the ball down the hallway again and headed over to my plushy couch. Before I had t
he chance to plop down on the sofa, I heard a knock at the door.

  I exhaled. “Just kidding. I didn’t want to sit down anyway.”

  I approached the door as I heard a second round of knocks. Whoever was at the door was certainly impatient.

  Before I reached the door, my muscles clenched. A sense of dread came over me. This wasn’t like the days of old. I had made enemies of a number of people recently. What if one of them had decided to pay me a visit?

  My breath shortened. It felt like my heart stopped beating for a moment while I debated whether to open the door or not. I ended up settling on the idea to grab the can of pepper spray from my purse in case danger awaited me on the other side of the door.

  Before I could put that plan into action, there was a third round of knocks at my door.

  That was followed by the sound of my grandmother’s voice calling from my front doorstep.

  “Sabrina, if you’re in there, will you please open up?” Betsy asked.

  Phew.

  I could let my guard down. A few seconds later, my breathing restored to normal. With relief washing over me, I moved to the front door, opened it, and was treated to Betsy Daley’s smiling face.

  My eighty-year-old grandma was wearing a long floral-print sundress and held a small metal tin in her hand.

  “Grandma, what are you doing here?” I asked.

  “There’s a rumor going around that you could use a pick-me-up,” Betsy replied.

  My grandma opened the lid of the tin, revealing a dozen chocolate truffles inside.

  It took all the restraint that I had to keep my mouth from watering. Chocolate, sweet chocolate—what a sight those truffles were. Was there a better way to end a day than with a cocoa-based treat? The truffles looked delicious beyond words. Then again, the presence of chocolate rendered words unnecessary.

  Moans were a completely different story. “Mmm.”

  “I guess that means you’re in the mood for chocolate, then,” Betsy replied.

  “When aren’t I in the mood for chocolate?”

  Betsy laughed.

  My eyes were as wide as saucers. “Are those caramel truffles?”

  Betsy nodded.

  I placed my hand over my chest. “Oh my.”

  “I guess I picked the right recipe.”

  I nodded. “Chocolate makes everything in life better.”

  “Well, go on. Don’t just stare. Have one,” Betsy said.

  I grabbed one of the truffles and took a bite.

  Betsy watched my face closely. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

  I smiled widely. “It’s absolutely amazing. Thank you so much.”

  “Your smile is all the thanks that I need.”

  I glanced at the truffles again. “I can’t believe you made these yourself.”

  “Anything to cheer my granddaughter up. Especially after how stressful your life has become.”

  “That’s so sweet of you. I just figured that with your busy schedule, you wouldn’t have time to do something like this.”

  “I put my social calendar on hold. During times like this, family comes first.”

  “Tell that to Terri’s family. They seem to believe that family should get stabbed in the back first.”

  “That’s a real shame. No wonder you are so stressed out. I guess I made these truffles just in time.”

  I took a second bite of the truffle. Mmm. It was just as delicious as the first. “You sure did.”

  Betsy got swept up in chocolate fever as well. She gazed longingly at one of the truffles in the tin. “Do you mind if I have one?”

  I shrugged. “Why would I mind? You were the one who made them.”

  Betsy grabbed a truffle and made quick work of it. As she chewed, a look of absolute delight came over her face.

  “I think you like those truffles even more than I do.”

  “At the risk of tooting my own horn, that may be the most delicious thing I have ever made.”

  “In that case, why don’t you have another?” I asked.

  Betsy shook her head. “Nah. I shouldn’t.”

  “Grandma, you’re eighty and in fantastic shape. You don’t have to worry about things like watching your weight.”

  “I know. It’s more that six truffles are my limit.”

  My forehead wrinkled. “Six? But you only had one.”

  She became sheepish. “That’s not exactly true. I had five earlier.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “Grandma—”

  “Okay, so it hasn’t been the best day for me when it comes to willpower,” she said. “It has been a pretty wonderful day for my taste buds, though.”

  I chuckled. “I’ll say.”

  “As you can see, I made the truffles as much for myself as for you. I had the biggest sweet tooth earlier, and with Andrew Stewart’s chocolate shop no longer in existence, there’s a serious void in town when it comes to savory treats. That’s when I realized that if you want something delicious, sometimes you need to bake it yourself.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir here. I wish we could convince the Stewart family to reopen their shop. The chocolates at Zabrinski’s just don’t measure up.”

  “Tell me about it. If the treats at Zabrinski’s were even half as good as they were at Stewart’s, I could have grabbed a dozen truffles at the store and saved myself hours in the kitchen this afternoon. But one thing I’m not going to do at my age is waste calories on mediocre chocolate.”

  “That’s a good motto for any age.”

  Betsy pushed the tin forward again. “When it comes to good chocolate, though, the sky is the limit.”

  “Or six truffles, in your case.”

  Betsy laughed. “By that token, you have some catching up to do.”

  “I guess I should say good-bye to my diet.”

  Betsy scoffed. “Diets need not apply on a night like this.”

  I laughed. “It’s a good thing you never went into high-pressure sales.”

  “Less talking, more chocolate savoring,” Betsy said. She handed me another truffle. “Now, just so you know, I’m not leaving tonight until I make you feel better.”

  I gazed at her. “That’s why you’re the best.”

  Betsy smiled. “There’s something I can never hear often enough. Keep the compliments coming.”

  I laughed.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Just as she had intended to, my grandmother was able to cheer me up. At least for the night. When morning came, my mind was still saddled with the same unanswered questions. Not to mention, a trip to the gym was now in order to burn off the calories in those truffles.

  It turned out that I would never make it to the gym that morning. As I was getting dressed in my workout clothes, I got a call from my boyfriend that threw my entire plans upside down.

  “Hello,” I said into the phone.

  “You won’t believe what just happened,” David replied.

  So much for pleasantries. David clearly wanted to get straight to the point.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  His answer made my jaw drop.

  ***

  When I got off the phone with David, I immediately headed over to Rick Lutz’s house on Oakmont Lane.

  As I arrived, it looked like the entire police department was there. Various deputies and members of the forensics team were everywhere I looked. I parked on the street in front of Rick’s house and approached David, who waited for me at the base of the driveway.

  My boyfriend escorted me to the living room of the house, where Rick’s corpse was hanging from the ceiling. A noose was around his neck. A wooden chair was positioned on the floor directly behind where Rick’s body was hanging.

  I winced and turned my head away the moment I spotted the corpse. What an awful sight.

  David put his hand on my shoulder. “I know. It’s pretty disturbing.”

  My eyes widened. “This is crazy. I can’t believe he killed himself.”

  David picked u
p an evidence bag that was on a nearby coffee table. Inside was a piece of paper. “According to this suicide note, the guilt he felt over murdering Terri became too much for him to live with.”

  My forehead wrinkled. “But we just talked to Rick a few days ago. He didn’t seem the least bit suicidal.”

  “A lot can change in a couple of days.”

  I read the note, including the murder confession. But it wasn’t the contents of the note that stood out to me as much as the fact that the letter wasn’t handwritten. Instead, it was printed out, like it had been typed on a computer.

  “This is so odd. Who types out a suicide note?” I asked.

  “Very few people,” David said.

  “So this isn’t completely unheard of, then?”

  “Most of the time, there isn’t a note at all. When the deceased does leave a note, it tends to be handwritten, but I have seen the occasional typed suicide note.”

  I scrunched my nose as I looked at the note again. “Has the forensics team pulled any prints from the letter?”

  “Now that you mention it, no.”

  “That’s curious,” I said.

  David nodded. “It is.”

  I bit the corner of my lip. “By the way, how did you guys know to come over here in the first place?”

  “The 9-1-1 operator got a call about an hour ago. Apparently, the caller was taking a jog on the street and spotted Rick’s body through the front window.”

  “Did this caller identify themselves?”

  David shook his head. “No. They wanted to stay anonymous.”

  “Why would they want to stay anonymous?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Have your men been able to trace the number?”

  David shook his head. “Apparently, the call came from a blocked number.”

  I scoffed. “Of course it did.” I took a deep breath. “There are a lot of strange things going on here.”

  “That’s what I have been thinking.”

  “Do you think this really was a suicide?” I asked.

  “Right now, I don’t know what to think.”

  I grimaced. “My gut is telling me this wasn’t a suicide.”

  “Is your gut telling you anything else?”

  I shook my head. “Not at the moment. By the way, has the forensics team found anything else that may be of use?”