Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry

by Denise Swanson

  Skye reached out her right hand to shove the prize to the side, and was surprised by the weight of the marble award. Grunting a little as she pushed, she said, “I’m here as the police department’s psychological consultant.”

  “Is there news about Ms. Alexander’s unfortunate death?”

  “Well, we have put some pieces of the puzzle together, but still haven’t quite found that final part—the name of the murderer. Which is why I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You think there’s something I can do to help?”

  “I hope so.” Skye wrinkled her brow, choosing her words carefully. “Once we learned about CB International’s interest in Fine Foods, and the fact that they would buy the company only if it had an exemplary reputation, we figured that whoever killed Cherry did so to stop the sale of the business.”

  “No.” Mrs. Fine toyed with her Montblanc pen. “I don’t believe that for one minute.”

  As Skye tried to decide the best way to respond to the older woman’s denial, she was startled by a loud whistle. “What was that?”

  Mrs. Fine put down the pen and smiled, seemingly relieved at the interruption. “It’s just quitting time.”

  “Right.” Skye nodded to herself. “You don’t run an evening shift anymore.”

  “Not for quite some time. That’s one of the reasons it would have been good for us to sell to CB International. They would have expanded our sales by three or four times, and we could have gone back to running around the clock.”

  Skye filed that piece of info away, then asked, “Who was familiar with the conditions of the transaction with CB?”

  “The only ones who knew about their stipulations were the family.” Mrs. Fine paled under her artfully applied makeup. “The only ones with anything to gain or lose are Fines.”

  “Would any of the workers not want the factory sold?”

  “They were all assured that no one would lose their jobs, and, in fact, it was highly likely that more positions would be created.”

  “In that case, who didn’t want the transaction to be completed?”

  “No one.” Mrs. Fine’s voice cracked. “I was the only one who was the least bit against the sale, and Jared and JJ convinced me it was for the best.”

  “What about Brandon and Tammy?”

  “They don’t have a say in the matter. Tammy has nothing to do with the company, and Brandon is only Jared’s stepson. Although we allow him to use the Fine name, Tammy had Brandon before she married Jared. He was already six months old at the time of their wedding.”

  “Jared never adopted Brandon?”

  “No, not officially. Brandon and Tammy aren’t really Fines. My husband left fifty-five percent of the company to me, thirty percent to Jared, and fifteen percent to JJ. He felt strongly that only blood relations should own Fine Foods.” Mrs. Fine closed her eyes, lines of pain etched in her forehead. “Which is why I didn’t want to sell it to CB International.”

  Skye refrained from pointing out that Mrs. Fine wasn’t a Fine by blood either, and instead asked, “If the company is sold, would Tammy and Brandon get a share then?”

  “Well, Tammy would have access to Jared’s money, but I doubt Jared or JJ would give any significant amount to Brandon. They just aren’t that close. And I’m leaving all my money to the Fine Foundation for the Arts.”

  Interesting family dynamics, not that Skye was surprised. After several years as a school psychologist, she’d seen a lot worse. “So, you can’t think of anyone who had anything to gain or lose if the company was sold?” She knew she was on the right track and was frustrated that she couldn’t figure out what she was missing.

  “No, but I’ll think about it and give you a call if something comes to me.”

  “Thank you.” Skye pushed back her chair and grabbed her tote bag; then as she got up she remembered Ashley, and asked, “I know you’ve already said no, but is there anything I can say that will convince you to reconsider, and allow us to search the factory for the missing girl?”

  “What missing girl?”

  Skye explained, ending with, “So the last time she was seen was outside your factory.”

  “No one told me about this. Of course you can search for her.” Mrs. Fine rubbed her temples as if she had a headache. “I can’t imagine how she’d get in here or why she’d stay, but feel free to look around.”

  “That’s wonderful. Can I do it right now?”

  “Certainly.” Mrs. Fine reached into a black lacquer box on the desk and took out a key. “I have to leave for an appointment in the city, so you’ll need this master to look around and to get out—the guards lock up when everyone goes home for the night.”

  “Everyone’s already gone?” Skye looked at her watch. It was only four thirty.

  “The building empties out fast once the whistle blows. Even the guards are gone by this time.”

  “You don’t have twenty-four-hour security?”

  “Not inside the building. They have a booth near the gate and patrol the perimeter of the property.”

  “Oh.” Skye nodded. “What should I do with the key once I let myself out?”

  “You can drop it off tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Fine walked with Skye as far as the lobby. “If you need to use the phone, the only one that works after hours is the one in my office. Help yourself.” She waved, unlocked the front door, and left.

  Skye paused to figure out what to do next, then decided the best course of action was to return to Mrs. Fine’s office and call the PD for help with the search. The factory was just too big, with too many nooks and crannies to look through all by herself.

  As she walked back, she read the nameplates on the doors she passed. Jared’s office was closest to the front, then the business office, then the legal department, then …

  She stopped and stared at the door. Suddenly the memory of what Pru Cormorant had said, added to what Mrs. Fine had just revealed, and what she and Trixie had figured out about the killer coalesced and she blurted out, “That’s it! Brandon killed Cherry because—”

  Before she could finish her thought, someone grabbed her arm and she shrieked. Brandon Fine loomed at her side, a scowl on his face. Had he heard her? She had to quit talking out loud to herself—a habit she had picked up since adopting Bingo.

  She quickly ran through various mental scenarios and decided that if he hadn’t heard her, maybe she could distract him. “Uh, hi, Brandon. I, um, was just getting permission from your grandmother to search for a missing teenager.”

  “Shut up!” His fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arm, and her tote bag thumped against her hip. “I thought you were supposed to be so smart. Who do you think turned down the cops in the first place?”

  “Oh.” Great, he wasn’t just the murderer; he had something to do with Ashley’s disappearance as well. “Anyway, your grandma said yes, and the cops will be here any minute, so I’d better get to the door to let them in before they break it down.” Skye’s laugh was forced.

  “Drop the act. I was standing at my grandmother’s secretary’s desk when you called earlier this afternoon. I’d heard how nosy you are and that you ‘help’ the police, so I hung around and found out you were coming here to talk to Grandma. I’ve been following you and eavesdropping on you since you got here.”

  Skye fought to keep her face expressionless. If she played dumb, maybe she could convince him she thought his brother was the killer. “But why would you do that? Are you protecting JJ?” She slipped her free hand into her jacket pocket and grasped the small can of pepper spray.

  She read the hesitation in his dark eyes as he considered what she had said, and whether he could put the blame on his half brother. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she jerked her left arm free and used her right hand to empty the pepper spray directly into his eyes.

  He howled, clawing at his face.

  Now what should she do? He stood between her and the exit, and she was afraid he would recover before she coul
d get around him and unlock the dead bolt. She had only one choice: She dashed into the factory and was frantically looking for a door when she heard Brandon’s footsteps thundering toward her. She quickly hid behind the giant mixer—ironically the same one he had demonstrated during last Friday’s tour.

  A second later Brandon came into sight. He paused, looked around, then approached the huge machine. As he leaned over the rim and peered down into the enormous bowl, Skye darted from behind the control panel and shoved him with all her strength. At first he teetered, then nearly regained his balance, but one more thrust from her and he fell inside. She whirled around, flipped the switch to the ON position, and ran.

  Skye came to a dead end in the area Brandon had called the Boneyard. Here ancient machinery was piled against the rear wall, and there was a feeling of longtime disuse and abandonment. She anxiously scanned the equipment for a hiding place. Draping the straps of her tote bag across her chest, she wiggled behind an apparatus bristling with rusting steel hooks. As she stood holding her breath, she examined the spot she had wedged herself into.

  The walls were puke green, and there were no windows or doors. Her gaze dropped to the wooden floor and stuttered to a stop on a section to her right where the seams didn’t seem to meet evenly. It probably didn’t mean anything, but just as she always had to check the coin tray when she passed a vending machine, knowing it would be empty, she scooted over and nudged the wood with her toe. Had it wobbled just a tad?

  It was a tight squeeze, but Skye managed to get down on her hands and knees. She found a nail file in her tote bag and slipped it into the irregular area. She could feel a definite wiggle this time as she used the file as a lever.

  For a heart-stopping moment nothing happened; then a square of the wooden floor swung upward … and stuck halfway open. It had caught on a piece of equipment shoved against it. Skye braced herself against the hook machine and pushed.

  The door moved only a few inches, but Skye thought she could fit—maybe. She peered over the edge and saw a ladder nailed to the wall. Slithering into the small space like a dancer going under a limbo bar backward, she managed to get her foot on the first rung.

  She was still half in and half out when she heard the mixer stop. Had Brandon escaped or had the motor burned out?

  Ignoring the painful scraping of the skin on her back, Skye jerked herself through the opening, blindly stepping down until she could shut the door. She’d been prepared for total darkness, but once her eyes adjusted she could see a light coming from somewhere beneath her.

  As she descended, she prayed for help. She was afraid to take her eyes from the ladder, so she was surprised when her foot encountered solid ground. Stepping away from the wall, she saw that she was in some sort of storage basement.

  Now what? Her only hope was that if Brandon had escaped from the mixer he wouldn’t find the trapdoor, which he wouldn’t see unless he stood in the exact place Skye had been standing. If he only gave the area behind the old machinery a cursory look, he wouldn’t notice it.

  At first all she could see were old file cabinets, desks, some boxes, and bookcases, but as she took a few steps farther into the area, she swallowed a scream. Lying on a worn leather sofa, eyes closed, perfectly still, was Ashley Yates.

  A tear slipped down Skye’s cheek. Ashley was dead. She was too late to save her.

  But a husky voice penetrated her grief. “Is that you, Ms. Denison? How’d you find me?”

  Skye’s head jerked up, and she ran to the sofa. “It’s me, all right.” She knelt beside Ashley. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” The teen started sobbing. “I think my leg’s broken, and I’m hungry and thirsty.”

  Skye lifted the strap of her tote bag over her head and plunged her hand inside. Grabbing the bottle of water she always kept there, she opened it and handed it to Ashley, cautioning, “Drink this slowly, or it will make you sick.”

  In between sips, Ashley said, “I ran out of water and food yesterday.”

  Skye found her emergency candy bar and handed over the Kit Kat. Ashley tore off the wrapper and stuffed a piece of chocolate into her mouth.

  Skye had met the girl’s basic needs for food and liquid, but there was nothing she could do for Ashley’s leg.

  After giving the teen a few seconds to compose herself, and remembering to keep her voice low, Skye asked, “What happened? How did you get here? I mean in this basement. I know how you got to the factory.”

  “Xenia told you?” Ashley followed Skye’s lead, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. “When Xenia showed me the pictures Friday morning, I knew my parents would kill me, so I decided to run away. I thought I could hide in the factory while I figured out where to go, but all the doors were locked. I was about to give up when a semi pulled away and I noticed that the big door it had been backed up to was still open. I climbed up onto this kind of wooden deck thing and suddenly I was inside. I spent most of the rest of the day hiding in a storage closet, and then I spent the night in the employee lounge.”

  Skye examined the area they were in as Ashley talked. She was listening to the teen, but also searching for a way out. So far there was no sign of Brandon. Had she killed him by shoving him in the mixer and turning it on?

  When Ashley paused, Skye asked, “Then what happened?”

  “I figured I’d have the place to myself on Saturday, since the factory would be closed, but way early I started hearing noises. First an old lady came in with a middle-aged guy. They went to the front part of the plant and into separate offices. Then I saw this younger guy unlock the back door where the workers come in and put on one of those white jumpsuits they wear. He went into the warehouse, and I could hear all kinds of rattling and clunking.”

  Skye nodded to herself. That must have been when Brandon sabotaged the cooking contest. No doubt he arrived early on Friday, too, and substituted ingredients, messed with timers, and switched the dials on the ovens.

  Ashley had paused to lick chocolate from her fingers, but continued, “Next this redheaded woman slips in and it’s quiet for a while, but suddenly it sounds like a battle of the bands. So I sneak in and that’s when I saw it.”

  “Saw what?” Skye glanced nervously upward. Had she heard footsteps?

  “The guy in the jumpsuit hit the redheaded lady over the head with this hammerlike thing my mom uses to flatten meat. After he hits her, he dumps her in this fountain and holds her under.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ducked into one of the little kitchens.” Ashley took a swig of water. “I could still see what was happening through the gap where the partitions went together.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I heard a noise in one of the other little kitchens; then Mayor Leofanti came around the corner. When he spotted the woman in the fountain he ran up and bent down to help her; then Jumpsuit Guy threw a tablecloth over his head, spun him around, and stabbed him in the stomach with this little knife he had in his pocket. Blood gushed out like a geyser.” Ashley took another drink. “That’s when I screamed.”

  “And?”

  “And Jumpsuit Guy must have followed the sound, because he found me and tried to kill me.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “He really tried to kill me.”

  Skye patted the girl’s hand. Most teenagers had no concept of their own mortality, but Ashley had looked the Grim Reaper in the face and seen her own death in his expression. “Is that how you broke your leg?”

  “No.” Ashley took a deep breath and went on. “He came after me with that hammer thingy, and just as he swung downward with it to hit me I fainted, and it must have just grazed my forehead. He obviously thought I was dead, because when I came to I was wrapped in a sheet and lying in the back of one of the Fine Food vans. As I was getting out I spotted Jumpsuit Guy coming toward me, so I ran the other way around the van and circled over to the side of the factory.”

  Skye patted her again and made an encouraging sound.

  “My head h
urt and I was dizzy, but I knew he’d kill me if he found me. I was looking for someplace to hide when I saw these windows.” Ashley pointed up.

  Skye looked at the row of windows near the ceiling of the basement. Weren’t basements supposed to have low ceilings? This one had to be twelve or fourteen feet high.

  “The locks were all old and rusted, and I was able to push one open. Just as I was climbing inside I heard the guy coming, and I miscalculated, so instead of stepping in and hopping down, I crashed to the floor. Luckily the window must have snapped closed behind me, because Jumpsuit Guy walked right by and never found me. I think I passed out again, because when I came to it was dark and I couldn’t move my leg.”

  Skye sucked in her breath, feeling the pain and terror that Ashley must have experienced. “And you’ve been trapped here ever since?”

  “Yes. I was able to drag myself around using that.” She pointed to a wheeled stenographer’s chair. “But I couldn’t climb the ladder you came down, and I couldn’t get back up to the windows, and my cell battery died before I could get a signal in here.” She took a teary breath before going on. “At first I tried screaming. Then I realized: What if Jumpsuit Guy was the one who heard me yelling? There’s a bathroom over in the back there, but after the second day the faucet stopped working. I had a bottle of water and some energy bars in my backpack, but I ran out yesterday. I thought I was going to die here.”

  Skye opened her mouth to reassure Ashley, but before she could come up with any comforting words, the teen asked, “So, how did you get here, and how do we get out?”

  CHAPTER 22

  Frost the Cake

  After Skye explained to Ashley how she had found her, Skye tried to come up with an answer to the girl’s second question. How could they get out?

  Pacing the length of the basement, Skye searched for an exit. She found evidence of a door that had long since been bricked over, but there was no way to remove the concrete blocks.