Truffled to Death (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (4 page)

Erica really did know everything about everything. “What can do that?”

“Probably Rohypnol,” she said. “It’s a common date rape drug.”

“Where would someone get it?” I asked. Then I realized she believed this robbery was premeditated. “Wait. So this wasn’t just some smash and grab deal. This was planned.”

She nodded. “Someone knew what they were doing.”

She went back into her own brain and suddenly I knew exactly what she was thinking.

“No,” I said, pushing aside the flutter of excitement. “No. No. No. We are not looking into this robbery.”

She went on as if I hadn’t said anything. “There are actually very few possibilities of who it could be.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, feeling the impulse to investigate pulling at me like quicksand. Except for that part where I almost got killed, our last investigation had been an interesting time.

“I’m just agreeing with you. Someone planned this,” she said. “Someone who knew the value of the items and at least some of the security details.”

“Moody sent a press release to the whole art world,” I protested. “Hundreds of people knew they were valuable.”

She nodded. “But a lot less people were invited to the reception. And only a few people knew that the display items would be transported back to the museum last night.” She
raised her hand as I opened my mouth. “They could’ve assumed it. But the security guard trusted someone enough to take food or drink from him, or her. How many people would you trust in that situation?”

I frowned, knowing she was probably on the right track. “That doesn’t mean we should stick our noses in.”

Erica ignored me, moving along her own thought process. “Although, there’s an outside chance that someone in the antiquities trafficking business stole them,” she mused.

“What? Antiquities trafficking? In West Riverdale?” The flutter of excitement suddenly nosedived into batwing flappings of panic.

“Exactly,” she said. “Very low odds. While these pieces are just the high-quality, high-profile art they’d love to get their hands on, they don’t usually operate in the United States.”

“That’s nice to know,” I scoffed.

“They certainly have clients here though,” she said.

My eyes popped open.

“Of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “Private collectors who are willing to pay top dollar for authenticated artifacts are what fuels the international antiquities trade.”

“Like drug users?” I asked. “If there weren’t so many customers, there wouldn’t be Colombian drug lords?”

“That’s more accurate than you’d imagine,” she said.

Uh-oh. She was going into teaching mode. You could take the girl out of college, but you couldn’t take the college out of the girl.

“It’s the opinion of many experts that if the rest of the world wasn’t willing to pay for Maya, Olmec and other pre-Columbian antiquities, the illegal looting of thousands of
locations throughout Central and South America would stop. And then archaeologists could actually study them
in situ
, in place, to more accurately learn about how the Maya lived.”

“Why doesn’t someone do something about that?”

She shrugged. “Plenty of obstacles. Government officials are sometimes in league with the traffickers who are connected to drug cartels. Many of the sites are located in hard-to-reach places and are difficult to protect. Locals are often complicit with the traffickers in order to make enough money to survive. And the local police are simply outgunned.”

My brain was stuck on “drug cartels” until she said “outgunned.” Suddenly, this robbery didn’t seem so simple. “In league with drug cartels? My bowl was stolen by a drug cartel?”

“No,” Erica said patiently. “I think it was someone who knew the security guard. Someone who drugged him and stole a quarter of a million dollars in Maya antiquities.”

A quarter of a million dollars. I couldn’t wrap my head around that amount of money. That was like one hundred and twenty-five thousand truffles!

I was trying to come up with a way to bring up the nasty things the professor had yelled, when Erica said softly, “I’m sorry I never told you.”

“It’s okay.”

She didn’t meet my eyes. “I was embarrassed. And I thought I’d left it all behind.” She paused, a hurt look on her face as if she was reliving something painful.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

She paused. “I told everyone that the politics of academia
were not for me. And that was true. Before I even met Dr. Moody, I was wondering what I was doing. It was all so much more . . . narrow than I’d expected.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “And then Dr. Moody published my research on the Maya codices as his own. Without credit. When I confronted him, he threatened to say I’d made numerous passes at him and he had refused, and that falsely accusing him was my revenge.”

I stood up, my hands closing into fists. “That scum—”

She waved that off. “He
was
scum, but it didn’t matter. I actually could’ve proven that it was my work, but the whole thing was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“A straw,” I said, fuming mad, “is something small. Not something this huge.”

“But I have to thank him,” she said. “Because I’m so very happy to be home.”

That took the wind out of my sails.

“He did me a favor. Instead of trying to climb that slippery ivory tower, I’m in my hometown with my family, my store, and my best friend, who makes the best chocolate in the world.” She smiled.

Her obvious contentment washed away some of my anger and I relaxed my hands.

“Thanks for telling me what happened,” I said. “But now I really wish that Bobby hadn’t stopped me from punching him.”

E
rica seemed fully recovered by the time Wink from the museum arrived. He gave her a big hug and Erica grinned. If he was one foot taller and she wasn’t hooked on Bobby, I’d “’ship” those two, in the words of all the teens who frequented the store and used it to describe wanting a couple to be in a relation-“ship.”

Erica called me over. “Wink, I’d like you to meet my partner, Michelle.”

He surprised me by bypassing my outstretched hand and giving me an exuberant hug too. “So glad to meet you!” he said. “I
so
love your chocolates!”

“Uh, thanks,” I said, smiling. “Are you always like this?”

He gave a delighted laugh. “Absolutely!”

Jolene Roxbury took me aside when she and her husband Steve arrived for the meeting. “You let us know if there’s
anything we can do for y’all, right?” She was dressed up for church in a fuchsia suit and matching shoes. Steve looked uncomfortable in his dress shirt and slacks. I knew he preferred his nerdy T-shirts and jeans.

“Of course,” I told her.

“Because we don’t appreciate nasty people stirring things up with our girls,” she said.

They joined Erica and Wink at the large table in the back, which the whole town used as an informal meeting place. It looked like the flash mob was moving ahead despite the robbery.

Jolene taught math and drama, and Steve taught science at the high school. They both sponsored several clubs and knew how to get the best out of the kids. All four talked in excited tones about “expected production complications” and “authentic costumes” and a lot about a “Bottom Pack mural,” with Erica busy typing away at one of her famous project plans, her absolute favorite thing to do.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

B
y the end of the day, we’d had so many neighbors stopping by to gossip and look at us sideways, that we sold out of Mayan Warriors and End of the World Caramels. “It’s like they were expecting us to pull an ancient Mayan vase from our back pockets and confess,” I said to Erica as we shut down just a little earlier than our usual six p.m. on Sundays.

“Maya,” she corrected absentmindedly while rearranging the books on the shelves in the dining area.

Someone knocked on the front door and I groaned. Who was having a chocolate emergency now?

I peeked through the blinds and groaned again. A more determined knock sounded.

“It’s Reese.” I went back to cleaning up.

“I know you’re in there, Michelle.” Reese’s nasally voice was unfortunately clear.

“Just open it,” Erica said.

When I looked at her like she was nuts, she added, “Maybe she knows something.”

I slouched to the door like a reluctant teen being forced to do the dishes and opened the door. “What?”

Reese came in and started taking photographs of different angles of the couches now covering where the glass case had been. Twisting and turning her long limbs like that made her look like an ostrich trying to stick its head in the sand. “What do you know about the robbery?” she asked, practically upside down.

“It didn’t happen here,” I said in my
you’re an idiot
tone reserved just for Reese.

“I know,” she said. “But the crime scene is closed off. This is as close as I could get.”

Erica looked amused at her contortions. “Actually, Highway 70 is as close as you can get.”

“Don’t you have about a million photos from last night?” I asked. I searched her carefully to make sure she wasn’t using her pen camera.

“They belong to the Rivers,” she said. “I’m not allowed to use them. Well, legally.”

How could I get that kind of contract with this loony-tune?

“Do you have any suspects?” Reese asked. “You’ll be investigating this, right?”

This time she set down her camera, focused her beady little eyes on me, and pulled out a notepad.

“Why would we do that?” I asked, not answering her question.

She made a note. “Because Erica is a suspect, so you need to clear her name.”

“You know, you look like a normal person, and then you open your mouth and everyone starts to wonder,” I said.

She ignored my insult. She’d probably heard them all. “I thought we could exchange some information. I’ve learned more about the security guard, who isn’t a security guard at all.”

Erica raised her eyebrows as if considering the offer. Had she forgotten how miserable Reese made our lives, not all that long ago?

“No,” I said firmly. Working with Reese was a very bad idea.

Reese directed her question to Erica. “What do you know about the museum staff?” Reese said. “Maybe it was simply a publicity stunt.”

I stepped in between them and didn’t let Erica respond. “That’s something only you would do. And it
has
been a slow news month. Did you . . . ?”

She gritted her teeth, and then moved to the side to try to get around me. “I heard what Dr. Moody told everyone this morning. I waited all day to get your side of the story before I write it up.” She sounded like she was doing us a huge favor.

I scowled and raised my voice. “Then I guess you better get the same lawyer Dr. Moody will need when he’s proven wrong.”

She jutted out her chin. “The people of West Riverdale have the right to hear the truth.”

I pointed to the door. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on your tiny, bony ass.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

S
torm clouds were skidding across the sky when I went out to the car. By the time I made it home, the clouds were piling up behind each other as if the one in front had changed its mind on which way to go.

Erica had picked up Chinese food for dinner, and sometime after eating our chicken lo mein and before the fortune cookies, we’d progressed from thinking about possible robbery suspects to actually writing them down. And after a bowl of tiramisu ice cream, I’d even put them up on the whiteboard on the inside of the pantry we normally reserved for shopping lists.

Neither one of us said anything out loud about taking any steps forward in our investigation, until I said, “Maybe it was some kind of inside job. Do you think Bobby would tell you the name of the security guard, and you could ask Zane to look into him? Legally, I mean.”

Zane was getting his computer science degree and had helped us with questionably legal information gathering in the past. The police had sternly cautioned him to never do it again.

“I know his name,” Erica said, not acknowledging that she was making the leap with me to actually taking action on our investigation. “Farley Olsen. We talked for a little while about theater, now that I think about it. He does acting on the side. I’ll ask Zane tomorrow.”

Acting? He looked more like the bouncer type.

“Do you think anyone at the museum . . . ?”

“Not Wink,” she said. “He’s too decent.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

She paused to think. “Someone that dedicated to art education for youth just wouldn’t be capable of planning a crime simply for the purpose of publicity.”

Before I could question her logic, Erica excused herself to answer emails. She often took on research jobs for professors, which she handled at night. She needed less sleep than us mere mortals, and lately, I’d heard her pacing long into the night. Maybe she’d taken on more projects than usual.

My cell phone rang a little after nine. I was already in my pajamas, working on my laptop in bed. I debated answering it, but the Washington, DC, area code made me curious.

“Hi. It’s Bean.”

I sat up straight, shoving pillows behind my back. “Hi.” My voice was a little breathless.

“Sorry I missed our dinner,” he said. “Erica told you what happened, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Your contact was arrested. Did she tell you about the robbery?”

“Yes,” he said. “I talked to Bobby about it too. You’re not going to look into that, are you?” The connection went fuzzy for a minute. He must be in a low-coverage area.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Dr. Moody is making some pretty serious allegations against Erica. Maybe”—I paused—“you should come back.”

“Bobby said he’d handle the professor.” Bean sounded grim. “But it’s not the professor I’m worried about.”

“Okay,” I said, wishing he’d come back for another reason. “What are you worried about?”

“I’ll fill you in—” Then I heard another man’s voice. “Later.” He hung up.

What did that mean?

By ten, I’d convinced myself to focus on my Monday plans to get my mind off Bean. “Later” obviously didn’t mean today.

Monday was my favorite day of the week, when I experimented with new flavors and recipes and planned what delectable treats we’d make in the days following. I made a mental note to check on the supply of Bee Pollen and Fennel truffles, the current favorite of the group of PTA moms who rejoiced when school started again by meeting in our store every Monday morning. They’d heard something about the health benefits of pollen and they loved the hint of licorice flavor.

I decided to get a jump on fall selections, especially the ones that I’d need for Halloween and Thanksgiving. People instinctively wanted different flavors when the first hint of autumn hit. That need for more pumpkin-flavored everything probably started with the Pilgrims.

I’d already bought what I needed to play with pumpkin, sweet potatoes and butternut squash the next morning. Cinnamon and allspice. Apple cider. My mouth started watering at the possibilities.

The annoying beeping sound of Erica’s electric car backing up woke me at midnight. That was weird, but not enough to keep me from falling back asleep.

At one in the morning, I woke with a start. It took me a few minutes to realize someone was banging on the front door so hard the sound was reverberating throughout the house.

“Who is that?” Erica called from the top of the stairs when she saw me heading toward the door.

“I don’t know.” I was still stupid with sleep.

More loud banging.

“Do you have your phone?” I asked.

She held up her cell as a reply.

“Who is it?” I called out without opening the door.

“It’s Lavender Rawlings.” It was definitely her voice and she sounded mad yet again. “Open this door immediately.”

“Why should I?” I asked.

“I know Dr. Moody is in there,” she said. “I need to speak to him urgently.”

I gave Erica a questioning look and she shook her head. “He’s not here,” I called out.

“Please.” Lavender’s voice turned pitiful. “You have to help me.”

“Just do it,” Erica said, and I opened the door.

“What are you doing here at this time of night?” I said like it was the craziest thing I’d heard in a long time. “And how do you know where we live?” Although I could’ve answered that one myself: small town.

Lavender opened the screen door and brushed right by me. “Is he here?” She did a complete circle around the downstairs, slapping open the kitchen door as if we were hiding him from her.

“I already told you that he’s not here,” I repeated, trailing behind her and wondering how crazy she was. Hide-the-knives crazy? Too late, I realized the pantry door was open and our list of robbery suspects was totally out there. I closed it, hoping she was too upset to notice.

She saw Erica and took the stairs two at a time. I didn’t think she could move that fast. “Addison?” she called out.

Erica put her hands up like she was under arrest and got out of her way. I ran and caught up just as Lavender thrust open the door to Erica’s office and stomped in.

“Where is he?” Now that I got a close look at Lavender’s face I could see that she was frantic, not just her usual angry-at-the-world self.

“I assure you I have no idea,” Erica said behind her. “I think we both made it pretty clear we had no use for each other.”

“Why don’t you sit down,” I suggested as Lavender eyed a closed door. “You’re welcome to check out the closets if you like, but really, he’s not here.” I cleaned the pile of books off a ridiculously tiny embroidered antique chair and gestured toward it.

“He’s missing!” Lavender flopped down into the chair, causing it to creak ominously, her distress apparent. “He hasn’t been back to the hotel since noon. I just couldn’t wait any longer to look for him.”

It was only one in the morning. “Maybe he had a date and just didn’t make it back yet?”

She shook her head. “Impossible.”

“Does he always tell you his plans?” I asked.

“Always,” she said emphatically.

“Well, things are a little topsy-turvy right now,” Erica said. “Maybe he just forgot.”

“He didn’t forget,” she said. “Something has happened. Something terrible.”

“Let’s back up,” Erica said. “What did he have scheduled for today?”

“He had a meeting at the museum and then he was coming back to West Riverdale to meet with the Rivers,” she
said. “After that he called me to say he was catching up with a student and would see me back at the hotel for dinner.”

“Did you call him?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “It goes straight to voice mail.”

I couldn’t help but imagine that he’d left the country with the goods from the robbery. Erica avoided meeting my eyes. Perhaps she was thinking the same thing.