Truffled to Death (A Chocolate Covered Mystery) (7 page)

I got stuck on “chocolate for every meal.” That sounded awesome.

“So maybe one of their gods demanded a human sacrifice,” the cousin said, wide-eyed. “And someone gave them the professor.”

He’d be my first choice.

B
ean was in my kitchen when I woke up the next morning. Delighted surprise broke through my sleepiness. “Hey,” I said, curiosity in my voice.

He’d made coffee and was waiting at the table. I peeked outside and didn’t see a car.

Bean launched right in. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I started something that I can’t . . . finish. And now I’m in the middle of a story and it just wouldn’t be safe for you to be seen with me. Or for me to be anywhere around here.”

“Why?”

“I may have . . . crossed a line.” He paused. “I made the call to insert myself in this group. Into the story.” He stopped as if not sure what he could tell me. “They don’t trust me yet and I know they’re following me off and on. So I have to stay away from here.”

“Who is ‘they’?” I asked. My thoughts were tumbling
around. Relief that he wasn’t totally blowing me off. Worry because he appeared truly troubled about his undercover role. And dismay that I hadn’t brushed my teeth and couldn’t kiss him hello. Or good-bye. Or whatever this was.

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Be careful, okay?” I tried to put all of my troubled emotions in my voice.

His face softened into a smile. “Yeah, I will.”

I ducked my head and took a sip of coffee, wondering how uncool it would be to scoot out and at least swish around some mouthwash.

“So when this is over,” he started to say.

“Your ‘this’ or my ‘this’?” I joked.

“You’re not supposed to have a ‘this.’”

“How will I know you’re okay?” I cringed at the plaintive tone in my voice.

He didn’t meet my eyes. “You won’t. Unless . . .”

I finished the sentence. “Something terrible happens.”

“Well, that’s one murder you won’t have to investigate.”

When I looked horrified, he grabbed my hand. “Nothing is going to happen.”

I blinked, worried I was going to lose Bean before I even had him. “Okay.” But then I got a little breathless thinking about the “having.”

“I came back for another reason,” he said. “I talked to Bobby and I want you and Erica to stay far away from Dr. Moody’s murder. Given the robbery, Bobby thinks there’s a chance, a small chance, he was involved with some criminals who work with international art traffickers.”

“Erica said that was highly unlikely,” I said, even as his words made me feel shaky.

“This isn’t like those TV shows where rich people with European accents steal from each other. Traffickers are vicious, nasty people who don’t let anyone stand in the way of their profits.” He actually seemed worried. Last time he was encouraging us to investigate the murder.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll be careful. But isn’t what you’re doing dangerous?”

“It’s my job.”

“I know,” I said. “But you could be doing a lot of other jobs in the world where you don’t have to sneak around because you’re in danger.” My breath caught in my throat a little. It would totally suck if something happened to him. He was in actual danger and we were maybe, possibly in hypothetical danger. Wait. Were we having our first fight?

Then I heard Erica at the top of the stairs and rushed out the words. “Um, so Kayla and Kona have this app. I think it’s called Find My Friends or something. Maybe you and Erica can kinda, I don’t know, keep track of each other.” The “or me” was implied. I could almost see it hanging out there in cartoony words hanging between us.

He thought for a moment. “Would it make you feel better?”

“Yes,” I said, probably a little too emphatically. So uncool.

“I’ll check it out,” he said. “If I can hide it so my new buddies can’t find it on my phone.”

Erica appeared in the doorway and her face brightened. “Bean!” She gave him a hug. “Can you stay for breakfast?”

I let them have a moment alone and hurriedly brushed my teeth, but Bean didn’t seem interested in kissing me good-bye when I came back.

He was telling her about a story one of his reporter buddies was working on. “He’s becoming somewhat mythical in Central America.”

“Who is?” I asked.

“He goes by El Gato Blanco,” Bean said. “No one knows who he is. But if even half the stories are true, he’s responsible for returning hundreds, if not thousands, of looted artifacts back to their country of origin.”

“A modern-day Robin Hood,” Erica said.

“Yes,” Bean said. “And just about as violent. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to obtain the art. Sometimes he buys it—so he has considerable resources—and sometimes he simply takes it, even if it means shooting his way out.”

“Where did the name come from?” Erica asked. “The White Cat. It’s not very intimidating.”

“No one knows for sure, but a small town in Belize is alleged to have a white jaguar that they protect from poachers and other outsiders,” he said. “And perhaps the idea of someone in a white hat being the good guy. Supposedly, he’s pissed off enough traffickers that there’s a considerable bounty on his head.”

“But no one knows what he looks like?” I said. “Probably nothing like the fluffy white kitten I was imagining.”

Bean smiled. “How’s the kitten watch going?”

“She’s going to pop any day now,” I said, not liking the image as soon as I said it. “Wait. Do you think El Gato Blanco stole the museum’s display?”

Bean shook his head. “West Riverdale is too far off of his stomping grounds. It sounds like the kind of job he’d do, but he’s never acted on the East Coast. The only time he’s
been rumored to operate in the U.S. is a rash of burglaries in several small museums in California. He certainly has enough work to do in his own part of the world.” He checked his watch. “I gotta go.”

I felt a little lurch in my heart as Erica and I took turns hugging him good-bye. “Take care of yourself.”

He went out the back door with a
don’t worry
smile, but Erica looked concerned. “He parked behind the barn on Whispering Pines, and walked across the fields to make sure he wasn’t followed.”

We stared at each other for a moment. “Life is sure complicated,” I said. “Don’t you think?”

“It’ll calm down,” she said, but I wasn’t sure even she believed that.

I downloaded Find My Friends and got ready for work.

On the way, my phone pinged with a Find My Friends invitation from a “John.” I accepted, only slightly appeased.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

I
stopped at the shop and was happy to see Coco waiting for me outside the back door. She wound around my legs and demanded that I feed her
now
. With so many kitties inside that fat tummy, it was no wonder that she was starving. She let me sit and pet her while she ate some special canned salmon food that May insisted was for pregnant cats, and then wiped her furry little face on my pants. Nice. I had to clean that up before my early morning mission: trying to catch Gary River at his Big Drip Coffee Shop after he opened but before his early morning coffee rush started.

Again, Coco tried to sneak inside when I opened the door, and I had to scoot her out with my foot. May had made
a perfect bed for Coco in the back of the flower shop, but she would never stay there long.

Trying to air-dry the spot on my pants, I locked up the shop again and headed off to check out Gary on the slim hope that he’d spill on his family members.

Somewhere I’d heard that Adam had given Gary an ultimatum to make the coffee shop a success or lose his trust fund. The Rivers were the only “trust fund babies” in West Riverdale. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not
have
to work. I hoped that even with all the money in the world, I’d still want to make my delicious chocolate creations that made so many people happy. Although it would be nice not to worry about meeting payroll during those tough months.

Coco must be psychic, because she met me halfway there, coming out from the tiny alley by the Knit Wits Yarn Store. It was oddly comforting to have her company on my early morning walk through the quiet downtown streets.

The Big Drip was open with lights blazing and I could see Gary behind the counter, placing pastries in the glass case. He’d propped the front door open, probably trying to gather the cool morning air before it warmed up, and Coco followed me right in.

“Hey, Gary,” I said.

“That cat can’t come in here.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to pick her up. She wriggled right out of my hands and went out the door as if she knew she wasn’t wanted. “She just started doing that. Should I close the door?”

He watched her walk away, her tail in the air as if totally offended. “Nah. She’s gone.”

“This place is great!” The shop was decorated in an
upscale retro diner style. Metal chairs with burgundy leather seat cushions surrounded a few chrome tables plastered with postcards of old cars and famous diners from the past and then coated in thick plastic. Shiny red seventies-style barstools cozied up to a shiny counter, while a small couch and love seat made a perfect little corner to chat. Small menus with red frames were placed artistically on the walls.

Photos had been taped in between, and sometimes on the art itself, with little regard for the decorator’s hard work.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I can’t believe I haven’t been here before.” I’d seen advertisements when they first opened “under new management” but never made it over. I should’ve at least checked out the coffee competition. The pastries looked like they were from the grocery store. Kona’s tortes would kick their butt. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” he said with a quizzical look.

“Our coffee machine is broken and I’ll never make it through opening without some caffeine,” I told him. “I can’t wait for Kona to fix it when she comes in.”

“She can fix those things?” He seemed impressed. “Cool.”

I better make sure to tell her she had a new skill. I looked up at the menu in chalk on the wall and then reached out to touch it. “Wow. You painted the wall to be a chalkboard?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Duncan Hardware carries the paint. My sister makes the letters look all cool like that.”

“I’d love a large cappuccino.” I wanted something that would take a few minutes to make. I drifted around the store and checked out the photographs. They all contained skateboarders doing impossible jumps and surfers riding waves
higher than my building. Then I recognized one of the close-ups. “Is that you?”

“Some of them,” he said. “I surf.” He ground some coffee beans and tamped coffee into the portafilter.

“That’s hard to fit in as a business owner,” I probed, keeping my eyes on the photo.

“Tell me about it. Especially with my brother—” He cut himself off.

I gave him a sympathetic look over my shoulder. “I have an older brother too. Man, they can guilt you into anything, right?” I said, while sending silent apologies to Leo who was the lowest-key big brother I knew.

Then Coco strolled in from the back of the restaurant. “Do you have a back door?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said in a
why are you asking me that?
tone. Then he saw the cat. “But it’s closed.” He hit some buttons and the coffee dripped in the small metal pitcher.

“I’ll get her,” I said as I herded her out the back door like a sheepdog. The screen door had a gap at the bottom that she must have squeezed through, so I shut the heavy wooden door. “Sorry about that.”

Gary was working the steamer like a pro, when a group of four skateboarders came in with a bunch of “Yo’s!”

“What’re you slugs doing up this time of day?” Gary smiled, working the steamer with one hand and high-fiving them with the other.

“House of Vans in NYC, man!” the one with the red headband tied around his leg said. “We need the brew.”

He heaved himself up onto the counter to reach over to the to-go cups Gary hadn’t put out yet, tossing them over his head
to another skater in a move that looked well practiced. The four of them filled their cups from the carafes at the end of the counter and began piling in sugar and cream.

“That’s five bucks, guys,” Gary said.

“What?” The red handkerchief guy sounded outraged, and then looked at me. “Sure, dude.”

He dug in his pocket and slapped a few singles on the counter, dropped a quarter in the tip jar, and slammed open the door.

“Friends of yours?” I asked to dispel the awkwardness.

“Yeah. My friends are cheapskates,” he yelled after them. One of them made a vulgar gesture and grinned to show he didn’t mean it. “They pay me back eventually, whenever they have money.” He poured the perfect foam on top of my cappuccino and handed me my cup. Looking at it made my mouth water.

“I have a few friends like that.” I tried to establish some kind of connection. “The ones who come in for free chocolate.”

“I know, right?” he said. “They don’t understand what it takes to run this place.”

“Your shop is really great.” I blew on the coffee. “I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” he said.

Then Coco came in from the back of the shop again. “What the heck?” I asked. “Is there another way in?”

“No.” He stared at the cat as if she was supernatural.

“These old buildings have lots of nooks and crannies.” I shooed Coco out the front. This time she seemed to get the message and headed off toward where lights were coming on closer to Main Street.