Part 13 (1/2)

Horowitz sensed he was on to something. He lifted his pen, waiting for her to continue.

”My daughter Zoe, the youngest, had an after-school job here for one day.” Lucy shrugged. ”It didn't work out.”

Horowitz wasn't about to let it go. ”How come?”

”She's just a kid, she just turned fourteen. She wasn't ready for a job.”

Horowitz looked skeptical. ”I think there's something you're not telling me.”

”I didn't want Zoe working here but Tamzin went behind my back and hired her but didn't bother to get the work permit... .”

”And why didn't you want Zoe working here?”

Lucy didn't want to be the one to tell Horowitz about Tamzin's reputation, it was bad enough the woman was dead. ”Like I said, I thought she was too young. She should concentrate on her schoolwork.”

”Oh, right, and the moon is made of green cheese,” said Horowitz.

”Okay, okay. I saw Tamzin in a compromising situation with a neighbor of mine, a man who happens to be married.”

Horowitz didn't actually exclaim ah-ha; it was there but unspoken. ”Name?”

Lucy sighed. She didn't want to involve Brad and Chris but she knew Horowitz wouldn't give up. ”Brad Cashman,” she said. ”But he wouldn't have anything to do with something like this.”

”That's for me to decide,” said Horowitz. ”Anything else you don't want to tell me?”

”No, but I have some questions I'd like to ask you,” said Lucy, as the crime scene workers began arriving, shouldering her aside.

”No comment,” snapped Horowitz. ”I may need to talk to you some more, so don't leave town.”

”Darn,” said Lucy. ”You mean I'll have to cancel my Caribbean vacation?”

Horowitz grinned. ”If I don't go, you don't go.”

Released from questioning, Lucy left the store and headed for her car, only to discover strips of yellow crime-scene tape were fastened to the antenna.

”Uh, what's going on?” she asked the nearest officer, who happened to be Todd Kirwan. ”Why can't I drive my car? It's not connected to the crime.”

Kirwan looked down at her from his lofty six-feet-plus. ”It's just temporary,” he said. ”There wasn't anything else to attach the tape to.”

The sleet was still coming down and Lucy was half soaked and cold. She wanted to get into her car, crank the heat up as high as it would go, and drive home where she would hop into a steaming hot bath. Instead she sighed and reached for her camera, snapping a few photos of the crime-scene techs going into the store. Then she walked on down the street to the Pennysaver office.

Phyllis looked up when she entered. ”What's going on down the street?” she asked.

Lucy noticed immediately that Ted's desk was empty. ”Where's Ted?” she asked.

”He's at some conference or other in Portland, he told me but I don't remember.” Phyllis bit her lip, coated in Tangerine Tango. ”Might be the freedom of information act, or maybe wind power. He's gonna be gone all day.”

”Figures,” muttered Lucy. ”He's here when you don't want him and he's gone when you need him.”

”Why do you need him?” Phyllis and Lucy had long ago come to the conclusion that Ted was mostly a nuisance, except for signing their pitifully small paychecks. ”Whatever's going on down there,” she tilted her head in the direction of Chanticleer Chocolate, ”you can handle it. What is it? A gas leak?”

Lucy plopped herself into her desk chair and swiveled it around to face Phyllis. ”Somebody killed Tamzin Graves.”

Phyllis's orange mouth got very small and her turquoise-shadowed eyes got very large. ”No!”

Lucy nodded and pulled off her hat and gloves. ”Yes. I saw the body.”

”I can't say I'm sorry,” admitted Phyllis. ”For one thing, I didn't really know her and for the second thing, well, now I don't have to worry about her stealing Wilf.” She tapped her lip with a finger tipped in matching Tangerine Tango nail polish; her diamond wedding set glittered, catching light from the antique gooseneck lamp on her desk. ”Come to think of it, I bet a lot of wives and girlfriends had a motive for killing her. Do you think a woman did it?”

Lucy had unzipped her jacket and pulled off her boots; she shoved her feet into the battered boat shoes she kept underneath her desk and shuffled over to the coat tree, where she hung up her parka. The hat and gloves she arranged on top of the cast-iron radiator.

”Maybe,” said Lucy, going back for the boots. ”She was coated in chocolate.” Lucy bent down to set the boots in front of the radiator and shove the toes beneath it.

Behind her she heard a crash. The sudden noise made her heart jump and she whirled around, adrenalin pumping. ”What was that?”

”Nothing. I dropped my Rolodex.” Phyllis was on her knees, picking up scattered index cards. ”What do you mean, coated in chocolate?”

Lucy heard her but her mind was busy adding up this and that and coming to a conclusion she didn't like. ”She was naked and coated with chocolate,” she said, thinking that was clue number one. ”It made me think of Max, the way he was found. The killer was making a statement.” That was the second thing she didn't like, because she could only think of one person who had a motive for killing both Tamzin and Max.

”I wonder,” mused Phyllis, who was now seated at her desk and putting the cards back on the Rolodex. ”How would you even go about coating somebody in chocolate? I mean, I can barely get the stuff to stick to strawberries. Coating an entire body would be a huge project.” She paused, whirling the Rolodex. ”And messy, too.”

”There was no mess,” recalled Lucy, thinking that there was only one person in town who knew enough about chocolate to manage such a trick. And that person, the same person who had a motive for killing both Tamzin and Max, was known for her wicked sense of humor.

Chapter Thirteen.

Lucy went back to her desk, sat down, and opened a new file. She typed, slowly, recording her recollections of the crime scene. She made no attempt to write sentences, she simply wrote down her recollections as they occurred to her: the cloying scent of chocolate, her frustration with the dispatcher, the detached professionalism of the crime-scene technicians. She felt it was important to make a record while it was all still fresh in her mind and she could remember everything exactly the way it happened. She typed almost automatically, finding herself emotionally detached. It was as if she were seeing it all through a thick gla.s.s. It didn't seem like something that had really happened, it was more like a lurid scene from a TV show or a movie.

Oddly enough, she discovered, it was Roger she found most puzzling. Not his original reaction; the unexpected discovery of a body would unsettle anyone. It was later, when he attempted to leave the scene. Why didn't he want to talk to the police? And did he really lose consciousness due to shock, or was it feigned? Why did she think there was something dodgy about Roger?

She was sitting there, hands poised above the keyboard, when the door opened and Corney breezed in, clutching an armful of red and white Valentine's banners. ”What's going on at Chanticleer Chocolate?” she demanded.

”Tamzin's been murdered,” said Lucy.

”Coated in chocolate,” added Phyllis, with a prim nod.

Suddenly, the banners clattered to the floor and rolled every which way, followed by a fluttering cascade of brochures. ”Oh ... my ... oh!” exclaimed Corney, at a loss for words.

”Yeah,” said Lucy, stepping carefully over the scattered banners and coming to her side. ”Are you okay?” she asked, reaching for a chair and sliding it toward Corney. ”Maybe you better sit down.”

”Thanks.” Corney lowered herself onto the chair and watched while Lucy gathered up the flags, with their big red cupids against a wavy pink and white background, and propped them against the reception desk. ”I don't know what came over me.” She clutched her purse to her chest and turned to Phyllis. ”Did you say she was coated in chocolate?”

”That's right.” Phyllis couldn't wait to tell the rest. ”Naked, too.”

Corney's jaw dropped. ”How?”

”I have no idea. The crime techs are there, I suppose they'll figure it out,” said Lucy, who was on her knees, gathering up the brochures.