Chocolate Covered Murder Page 8

  Chris smiled back and cocked a wary eyebrow. “Maybe.”

  “I’m doing one of those man-in-the-street things, and I could really use some help. Just one quick question and a photo. Okay?”

  Brad zipped his jacket, which had been open, and stuck his hands in his pocket. “Shoot.”

  “Say cheese.” Lucy snapped the photo. “What are your plans for Valentine’s Day?” she asked, pulling out her notebook and opening it to a fresh page.

  “Funny you should ask,” he said, nodding at the store. “I’m on my way right now to buy chocolates for my three beautiful ladies.”

  “That would be your wife, Chris, and the twins?”

  “Pear and Apple,” he said. “I can’t leave them out.”

  “How old are they now?”

  “Old enough to know about chocolate,” said Brad, turning up his collar and moving toward the store. “See you around, Lucy.”

  “Thanks,” she said, as he opened the door and vanished inside.

  One down, four to go, thought Lucy, continuing down the street. She was just passing the police station when she spotted her friend, Barney, about to get into his cruiser. She couldn’t help envying his official winter gear, the insulated blue all-in-one that covered him from chin to ankles, plus his fur-lined hat and sturdy boots.

  “Barney!” she called, running to catch him.

  “Hey, Lucy,” he replied, turning to greet her. “What’s up?”

  “Got a moment for a man-in-the-street question? I just want to know what your plans are for Valentine’s Day. Are you getting something for Marge?”

  “Sure am. I always get her a big bunch of pink roses.”

  “Not red?” asked Lucy, snapping his photo.

  “She doesn’t like red. She likes pink.”

  “Because of the breast cancer?” Lucy knew Barney’s wife, Marge, was a breast cancer survivor and pink was the color associated with efforts to raise money for a cure.

  Barney’s bulldog face crumpled, which Lucy knew was an indication of deep thought. “I don’t think so. I think she just likes pink roses.”

  “Pink roses are lovely,” said Lucy, writing it all down. “She’s a lucky lady.”

  “No, Lucy.” Barney was shaking his head. “I’m the lucky one. I don’t deserve a wife like Marge.”

  “She must be thrilled to have Eddie home, safe and sound.”

  To her surprise, Barney’s thoughtful expression deepened. “You know how it is with kids—you never stop worrying.”

  “I saw him at the Quik-Stop,” continued Lucy. “He looks so handsome and fit.”

  “I’m just glad he’s got all his arms and legs,” said Barney. “A lot of these kids coming home are missing ’em.”

  “How’s his mental outlook?” asked Lucy.

  Barney shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. He doesn’t say much.”

  Barney looked so worried that Lucy didn’t know what to say and resorted to the usual cliché. “It’s a big adjustment, it’s bound to take time.” She noticed Barney’s eyes following Max’s old pickup, driven by Lily with Eddie in the passenger seat.

  “Are they dating?” she asked.

  Barney shrugged. “Don’t ask me. He doesn’t tell me anything.”

  Par for the course, thought Lucy, remembering how sullen and uncommunicative Toby had been before he met Molly.

  “She’s a nice girl,” said Lucy. “He could do worse. Which reminds me, how’s the investigation going?”

  Barney looked confused. “What investigation?”

  “Max Fraser, of course.”

  “Oh, that,” he said, adjusting his gloves. “That’s over and done. The guy drank too much and got himself in a pickle. The surprise is it didn’t happen sooner.”

  Lucy shivered, which was her usual reaction whenever she thought of Max drowning in the freezing pond water. “There must have been some sort of follow-up. The ME’s report said he had been knocked on the head.”

  Barney shifted from foot to foot. “Yeah, but he said there was no way of telling if it was intentional or accidental.”

  “Which left it open for an investigation,” said Lucy.

  Barney sighed. “We questioned a few people, didn’t come up with anything suspicious. The last person who admits seeing him alive is Dora, his ex, but she says that was in the evening, well before he went through the ice.”

  “Where did she see him?” asked Lucy.

  “At home. She says she was having trouble with her car and he stopped by to take a look and see if he could help.”

  Lucy nodded. “He was like that, he got me out of a fix when I got stuck in a snowbank.”

  “Problem is, he never did look at the car. She admitted they got in a fight; she wanted money for Lily’s schooling. Last she saw him, he was driving off in a huff.”

  “Bill says Max was up against it lately and owed a lot of people money. That could be a motive for murder.”

  “If you’re saying Max had a lot of enemies, I’d say that’s a lot of hooey. Like I said, he drank too much and got careless. We found an empty bottle of Southern Comfort in his truck.” He paused, making eye contact. “And if he did have a falling out with somebody, and I’m not saying he did, well that somebody isn’t anybody you want to tangle with, Lucy. You’d better stick to asking folks how they’re going to celebrate Valentine’s Day.”

  “Point taken,” said Lucy, her teeth chattering. The mist was beginning to solidify, turning to sleet. “Have a good day.”

  “You, too, Lucy.” Barney opened the door of his cruiser and Lucy dashed across the street to the liquor store.

  Stepping inside, she gave a little shake.

  “Pretty nasty out there,” said the clerk, a fellow in his forties with oversize eyeglasses and a shock of graying hair that fell over his forehead. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Lucy Stone, with the Pennysaver. I’m interviewing people about their plans for Valentine’s Day.”

  “You want to know how I’m going to celebrate?” he asked, with a grin.

  “If you don’t mind.” Lucy produced her camera. “And I have to take your picture, too.”

  He shrugged. “Well, as you might expect, I’m going to bring home a nice bottle of champagne and drink it with my wife.”

  “Say bubbles,” said Lucy, snapping his photo. “What’s your name?”

  “Cliff Sandstrom.”

  “Any particular brand?” asked Lucy, noticing a display of Southern Comfort bottles by the cash register.

  Cliff grimaced. “I wish I could go for the Veuve Clicquot but I think it’s going to be Freixenet this year,” he said. “Business is down, due to the economy.”

  “You’d think people would drink more, to forget their troubles.”

  “Oh, they do, but they buy the cheap stuff. Not much profit in that.”

  “Ahh.” Lucy pointed at the Southern Comfort. “Do you sell a lot of that stuff? I drank it in college once and got really sick.”

  “Sportsmen like it. They say it helps them stay warm. Especially the ice fishermen.”

  “I heard Max Fraser liked a nip.”

  “Yeah.” Cliff nodded sadly. “He was in here the afternoon before he died. He always took a bottle along when he went ice fishing.”

  “Was he a problem drinker?” asked Lucy.

  “Let’s say he was a regular customer,” said Cliff. “Not one of my best customers, if that answers your question.”

  Lucy thanked him and turned to go, noticing that the liquor store was directly opposite Chanticleer Chocolate. Turning back to Cliff, she grabbed a bargain bottle of chardonnay and set it on the counter. “Is this stuff any good?”

  “We sell a lot of it,” said Cliff, ringing it up. “That’s four ninety-nine.”

  Lucy handed him a five. “How’s the new chocolate shop doing?” she asked. “They won the ‘Best on the Coast’ poll, you know.”

  “I saw that.” He handed her a penny, which she put in the dish by the cash regi
ster. “We lost out to the Wine Warehouse in the outlet mall.”

  “Sometimes I think those polls are rigged to favor big advertisers,” said Lucy.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me, though I gotta say there’s a steady traffic across the way.”

  “Well, Valentine’s Day is coming.”

  “It’s a funny thing,” he said with a leer. “The customers sure tend to linger, especially the guys.”

  “Maybe they can’t make up their minds,” said Lucy. “The flavors are quite unique and Tamzin tends to go into detail, explaining them all.”

  “That must be it,” said Cliff, chuckling.

  Leaving the store with her purchase tucked under her arm, Lucy decided to stop in at Chanticleer Chocolate for a chat with Tamzin. The feature was a good excuse and she was sure Tamzin would jump at the chance for some free publicity.

  Lucy looked both ways before crossing the street from habit, but she really didn’t need to bother; there was no traffic on Main Street today. The road was beginning to fill with an inch or two of slushy sleet and she was grateful for her duck boots with their waterproof rubber bottoms.

  A couple of musical chimes rang out when she opened the door, a marked improvement over the jangly bell at the Pennysaver. The shop was dimly lit with mood lighting and carefully placed monopoints that highlighted the boxes of chocolates arranged on little tables, but there was enough light for Lucy to see that Tamzin and Brad Cashman were standing very close. So close, in fact, that Lucy was certain she’d interrupted an embrace.

  “Uh, two small boxes of strawberry blasts for the twins ... ,” he said, stepping away from Tamzin.

  “Bebe or petite?” asked Tamzin, in a cool, professional voice.

  “Bay-bay,” said Brad. “And a grande for my wife.”

  “Assorted flavors?”

  “Yeah,” he said, avoiding making eye contact with Lucy.

  Tamzin floated about the shop in her black boots with killer heels, gathering up the various boxes of chocolates, which she placed on the counter. Then, leaning over to display her décolletage, she began wrapping each box with the shop’s trademark paper. It was a lengthy process involving a great deal of folding and tying, which took much longer than necessary due to the flirtatious chatter she was making.

  While she waited her turn, Lucy began to understand why customers, especially male customers, tended to spend a lot of time at the shop. Finally, Tamzin was bending down, yet again, giving Brad a generous view of her bosom as she reached for a chic little shopping bag. Slipping the wrapped chocolates inside, she slid it toward him. “That will be ninety-six thirty,” she said, with a big smile.

  Lucy’s eyes grew wide as she watched Brad hand over his credit card; she couldn’t imagine anybody spending that much on chocolates. Goodness’ sakes, a bag of premium dark chocolates only cost three ninety-nine at the IGA.

  Then, giving her a quick smile, Brad hurried out the door and Tamzin greeted Lucy with a big smile. “What can I get you? A little extravagance for yourself? A gift?”

  “Actually, I’m working,” said Lucy, explaining her mission. Tamzin was agreeable and posed for a photo, then told Lucy she had no special plans for Valentine’s Day but was hoping that would change.

  “I’d hate to spend Valentine’s Day all by myself,” she said, with a little pout, and Lucy remembered Barney saying that Max had been obsessed with Tamzin.

  “I suppose you miss Max quite a lot,” said Lucy.

  Tamzin lowered herself onto a tall stool and hooked her heels over the bottom rung; she looked like she were about to break into song in a nightclub. “We had some fun,” she said, with a shrug, “but that was all. It was nothing serious.”

  “But a death like that affects us all. And besides, there aren’t that many available men in a town like Tinker’s Cove.”

  Tamzin’s eyes sparkled. “They’re all available, honey.”

  Lucy was shocked at her bluntness, but had to concede she had a point. “I suppose they are,” she said, deciding she’d better make one thing very clear. “Except for my husband. He’s definitely off limits.” She smiled when she said it, but it was a warning, a preemptive strike.

  Not that Tamzin noticed; she was lost in her own thoughts. “Come to think of it, I was going to call you. About your daughter, Zoe. Trey has given the okay for her to work here after school.”

  Lucy knew Zoe was eager to make some extra money, but she didn’t know she’d gone so far as to apply at Chanticleer. She wasn’t at all sure Zoe was mature enough to handle a job in addition to school, and furthermore, she was uneasy about letting her work with Tamzin. The woman was hardly a good influence. Lucy didn’t like the way she dressed and she sure didn’t like her attitude toward men, especially married men.

  “I’m not sure Zoe has time for a job, and besides, she’s just turned fourteen,” said Lucy, hedging until she had a chance to talk with her daughter.

  “Oh, she’s already said she’d take the job. I texted her first thing this morning. She’s going to start today, after school.”

  Lucy felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. She was furious about being sidestepped this way. Tamzin had no business getting a commitment from Zoe before she checked with her parents. After raising four kids, Lucy knew her rights and responsibilities as a parent and she wasn’t about to relinquish them.

  “She can’t start today,” said Lucy, narrowing her eyes. “Zoe’s not sixteen, she needs a work permit from the Superintendent of Schools and it takes a few days to get it.”

  Tamzin rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.” Lucy looked her in the eye. “The child labor laws are quite clear and I will report any violations.”

  “Okay,” said Tamzin, reaching for her phone, “but Trey’s not going to like this.”

  “Then he can hire somebody else,” said Lucy, turning on her heels and pushing the door open. This time she found the little musical chimes really irritating.

  Chapter Eight

  Lucy was so furious with Tamzin that she didn’t even notice the sleet and slush as she marched back to the Pennysaver office. She plunked herself down in her chair and reached for the mouse, then proceeded to strip off her winter clothing, feeling unusually warm as she clicked away, Googling Tamzin Graves.

  “Did you put the heat up?” she asked Phyllis, who was regarding her with amusement.

  “I would if I could, but you know as well as I do that Ted freaks out if the thermostat is a hair above sixty-five,” she replied.

  Lucy shrugged and stared at the screen, but the only thing that turned up was an announcement that ran in the Portland paper a few years ago reporting that Tamzin had achieved black belt status in tae kwan do at the Maine Martial Arts Academy.

  “Typical,” snarled Lucy.

  “What’s got into you?” asked Phyllis.

  “That witch at Chanticleer Chocolate, and witch isn’t the word I want to use,” said Lucy, scowling at the computer screen.

  “But it rhymes with witch, right?” asked Phyllis, chuckling.

  “You said it.” Lucy swung around in her office chair and faced Phyllis. “She hired Zoe behind my back, never even mentioned a work permit. She wanted Zoe to start this afternoon.”

  Just then Lucy’s cell phone rang and she began digging in her purse for it. After a few more rings, she dumped the entire contents on her desk and snatched it up. “Zoe! I thought you might be calling.”

  “Mom, I can’t believe you did this to me!”

  Zoe’s voice was so loud that Phyllis could hear her right across the room.

  “I did what I thought best,” said Lucy.

  “And now I’m out of a job!”

  Phyllis had turned back to her computer, but Lucy knew she was listening to every word.

  “They were taking advantage of you,” said Lucy. “You need my permission to work and I’m not going to let you work illegally. These laws are there for a reason. It’s easy for employers to take advantage of under
age workers.”

  “Mom, it’s a chocolate shop, not some sweatshop.”

  “Then I don’t see what the problem is. They can file the paperwork... .”

  “Then you mean I can work there?”

  Too late, Lucy saw she’d stumbled into a trap. “I guess so. If the permit’s approved,” she said, reluctantly. It wasn’t really the work permit that was the issue, it was Tamzin. She really didn’t want her daughter anywhere near the woman.

  “You’re the best, Mom. Tamzin’s pretty sure they can have everything in order by tomorrow afternoon. She says Trey knows somebody in the Superintendent’s office.”

  “Oh, great,” said Lucy, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

  Looking over at Phyllis, she saw her shoulders shaking with laughter.

  “It’s not funny,” said Lucy, flipping the phone shut.

  “I know,” said Phyllis. “It was just your expression. You looked so pissed.”

  “I’ve been advised not to play poker,” said Lucy, already calling Sue. “Have you got a minute?” she asked, knowing that Sue was working and the needs of the kids at Little Prodigies took precedence. “Can you talk?”

  Getting an affirmative, she continued, in a whisper. “I was over at Chanticleer Chocolate and I saw Brad Cashman in a, well, compromising situation.”

  “Hmmm,” said Sue. “I’ll have to check the invoice.” A few moments later, she was back on the phone. “I’m in my office. Exactly how compromising was the situation?”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Lucy. “I think I caught them kissing. They sort of jumped apart when I went into the shop.”

  “I’ve heard she’s a real flirt.”

  “That’s an understatement. She actually told me she thinks all men are available.”

  “They probably are,” said Sue.

  “How can you think that?” Lucy was shocked. “Does Chris seem upset or worried?”

  “No. She’s the same as always.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t know,” said Lucy. “Or maybe it’s just the way Tamzin treats every man who comes in the shop. I saw her wrap a box of chocolates and it was about as subtle as a pole dance.” She paused. “Maybe you can give Chris a heads-up.”

  “This is awkward—I’ll have to think about it. I don’t want to cause a problem if there’s nothing there, if it’s just a little flirting,” said Sue.