A Ghostly Affair: A cozy mystery series (Death by Chocolate Book 3) (6 page)

Jake looked annoyed as he took the coffee and cookie from her. “I don’t know what your game is but you’re not going to stop us protesting.” He took a bite of her cookie. “Although I’ll admit you do bake a dam fine cookie.”

“I’ve already told you what my ‘game’ is,” she said exasperated. “I can’t help wondering why you’re protesting now though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “There’s a better time to protest? Early morning, late at night…”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “No, but they’ve already built a huge number of houses. Why didn’t you try and stop them before hand?”

“It shouldn’t have been necessary,” he said stiffly. “Environmental approval should never have been given.”

“But it was,” she said shortly. “Now you’ve got millions of dollars in development, people are already moving into their new homes and you start protesting. Why?”

“So that’s what you’re really doing here.” He headed towards the table and she followed him.

“What? I’m curious.”

“Remember what happened to the cat,” he muttered under his breath.

Maxine stopped in her tracks feeling goose-bumps run up and down her arms. “What did you just say?” she asked incredulously.

“I’m not going to repeat myself,” he said dismissively. “Whoever sent you to snoop, it’s not going to work. Go back and tell them we can’t be scared off that easily.”

Two spots of color on her cheeks betrayed her anger. “I’m not reporting back to anyone,” she said. “I wanted to make it a little easier for everyone out today. It’s not a day I’d want to spend standing around in the rain.”

There was a low murmur of agreement and she noticed no one was in a rush to put down their coffee and cookies to resume protesting. Heath came up beside her. Jake Jones looked furious.

At six feet three Heath projected an aura of calm. He also had the size that made most people decide they really didn’t want to mess with him.

“What was it you just said?” he asked softly.

Jake Jones looked at them both with anger in his eyes. But he didn’t appear to want a confrontation. “You must be mistaken,” he said softly. “I didn’t say anything, except that if she’s trying to find out what we’re doing here she’s wasting her time. Everything that needs to be said, has been said. On the news if you want to check it out.”

Then, seeming to make a decision he said, “you want to know more, give me a call later. I’ll show you what’s at stake. Maybe you can get some of your rich friends to give a dam.”

She stiffened at his words, even as she pulled her phone out. “My friends aren’t all rich,” she said hotly.

“Maybe not but most people hiring caterers have at least a few shekels.”

“I didn’t know that was a crime.”

“It’s not,” he said dismissively. “But it doesn’t give them the right to destroy the environment or my people’s heritage.”

She could see protestors nodding in agreement.

“Just to make it clear,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I had someone tell me they planned to go destroy the environment that afternoon or stomp all over someone’s heritage.”

“Some people are good at saying all the right words while carrying on their own agenda,” Jake Jones said, his face stone-like.

“Then I’ll be happy to meet with you and hear your side,” she said sweetly, taking his phone number. They spent another half an hour there passing out cookies and cards along with hot coffee.

At least in the presence of Jake Jacobs the protestors were all towing the party line. How dare developers destroy the environment? Why build on an eagle’s nesting site and they were desecrating native burial grounds. But something felt off and Maxine wasn’t sure what.

She did know she was happy to be driving back to Victoria, Heath by her side, in her little red smart car.

“So what did you think?” she asked now, hoping Heath would shed some light on the subject.

“Why now?” he asked. “And what’s Jacob Jones doing back here instead of finishing his degree?

Good questions. And ones she intended to find the answer to. Sooner, rather than later. But for right now she needed to make sure everything was closed up tight in the shop before going over the judging criteria for the Haunted Houses at the art gallery the next morning.

Voting had been open for the past two weeks so the public had had a lot of opportunity to get their votes in. Now it was up to her and two other judges from the community, both professional chefs.

“Ninety per cent of what you’re voting on is appearance. There is no right or wrong,” Heath said.

“Maybe not but I don’t want to be the one everyone’s looking at, going, “how’d she come up with that decision?”

“So, what are the criteria,” he said, skepticism in his voice.

“I can’t remember. That’s why I’m going to go over it tonight in more detail. And your plans?”

AC Gamers is holding a Halloween Gaming Fest. I’m meeting up with a couple of friends after work and we’ll be going to Save-On Foods Memorial Center.”

“It must be a big event if they’re using the arena.”

“A whole weekend of gaming fun. They’re releasing a new game. I think this is their way of getting a jump on the competition.”

“Makes sense,” she said but she had to admit part of her was miffed. With a games roll-out they must need a caterer. And she hadn’t heard a word. So much for being the best and the only caterer they could really trust.

She didn’t let that bother though as she sent Heath on his merry way. “Don’t worry about it. Jane will make sure the shop is closed up properly and I’ll just pop in to make sure Marcus and Ally haven’t missed anything upstairs.

But when she checked everything was in its proper place.

“So, did we miss anything?” Marcus asked, beaming as she checked to make sure all chocolate making supplies had been put away properly and the chocolate making area was as clean as clean could be.

“Looks perfect to me,” she said smiling at Marcus. A friend of Heath’s from cooking school he’d been a welcome addition to their team. He beamed at her now.

“You got plans for the night?”

“Nothing major,” she said laughing. “I thought I’d stop by the Art Gallery and make sure the exhibit is good, then I’m going to have a quiet night at home and go over the judging notes.”

“Aw Maxine, ya got to get yourself a man. You’re way too young and hot to spending Saturday night doing homework.”

“Homework,” she said appalled. “I’m just making sure I don’t fall flat on my face tomorrow.”

That was what she was doing, she thought determinedly as she parked her little red smart car in the parking lot. Usually there were more cars here. But she’d known she was stopping by after hours. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see her car was the only car there.

As she opened the door to the art gallery and let herself in she couldn’t help but think it would be nice to have someone with her. Someone like Patrick. She pictured him now. Six feet two with broad shoulders that tapered down to washboard abs and long, muscular legs, it was his eyes that really got to her. A deep, sapphire blue they seemed to see into her soul, sometimes asking questions she really didn’t want to answer.

They were friends, that was all. But what if…

She didn’t see the blow coming. She’d barely entered the Art Gallery when someone hit her from behind, as if they’d been waiting behind the door. She stumbled, putting her hands up to protect herself but whoever it was ran past her out into the night.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, she told herself as she swayed in the doorway, feeling woozy, her purse and contents spread out in front of her. Who would do such a thing? And were they alone?

“Hello,” she called out as she bent down retrieving her purse. Her voice echoed throughout with no returning sounds. Didn’t the gallery have a security guard? Someone? She felt herself on the edge of hysteria. “Hello,” she called again but no one came. She reached up feeling the back of her head and came away with something hot and sticky on her hand. Blood, she thought, her blood. She could smell the heavy, coppery smell.

Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe. She pulled out her phone. 911? But she wasn’t in immediate danger. At least she didn’t think so. She called Patrick.

“I, I’ve been hit. I”

“Where are you?” His voice came over the phone, angry and abrupt.

“At the Art Gallery, Patrick I,”

“Don’t move,” he told her. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

Her lips quivered. Tears spilled from her eyes. It wasn’t as if she’d expected to be attacked. He didn’t have to be so angry. Sniffling she started to pick up the contents of her purse. A lipstick and papers were strewn across the doorway along with her wallet. Her attacker hadn’t stopped to take a second look.

And where was the security guard? She was sure they had one. Because at any minute she was going to lose it big time. Where was everyone? Surely it wasn’t too much to expect someone to be around, someone to make sure she was all right, the museum was all right?

Oh, this might not be the Royal London museum or the Louvre in Paris. They might not be guarding the Hope diamond or paintings from Van Gogh but it was still an art gallery filled with art.

Precious art, even if sometimes only in the eye of the beholder. She saw in her mind’s eye a misshapen and wobbly haunted house built with much exuberance and enthusiasm as she had watched the previous afternoon. Oh please she thought, don’t let his or his fellow artists’ houses be ruined. They’d be devastated.

For that matter what of the exhibits? She could hear the scream of police cars approaching. If she listened to Patrick she’d wait. Right where she was. Since when had something like that ever happened?

Besides what possible harm could there be in checking on their exhibits? She walked in the direction of the exhibits, feeling more than a little shaky. One quick look to make sure everything was all right.

But everything was not all right. Their display had been upturned. By someone in a hurry to escape or was it more targeted? She gave a small cry of despair, tears coming to her eyes. All that time spent designing the house, carefully putting the walls and turrets together. And the witches and warlocks, so carefully designed by Heather, had been works of art.

She turned on the lights looking around carefully. An older man came up behind her. He looked as startled to see her as she was him.

“Miss, I’m Rod Stone, security for the gallery. Are you all right?”

She shook her head, feeling a little light-headed. “Someone attacked me and the display, the display…” she gestured at it feebly while holding her head, napkin pressed in place to stop the bleeding. “I’ve called a friend, he’s on his way.”

“You’d better take a seat,” Rod said, not unkindly. “I’ll phone the police and let them…”

That proved unnecessary as a pair of policemen followed closely by Patrick came running through the door. “Are you OK?”

Patrick stopped in front of her. He led her carefully to a bench by the door, cursing softly. “You have to be more careful. I don’t want to lose you.” But the concern in his eyes took the sting out of his words as his hands probed the wound area closely.

“You don’t seem too badly hurt. The paramedics are on their way.”

“No, that wasn’t necessary.”
“Better safe than sorry,” he said gruffly. “What made you decide to come here now anyway? The gallery’s closed isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I had some keys because I’m helping with the haunted house competition. Oh Patrick! The house we built is destroyed.” She leaned into his chest, a sob escaping, as she drew strength from his presence.

He held her close for a minute. “And the others?”
“I haven’t had a chance to look yet. I was attacked entering the doors. I just…”

The security guard was right beside them. “I’d gone down to the art storage area. One of the lights on my security board started blinking indicating there might be a problem. I couldn’t see anything wrong down there, but next thing you know I hear sirens so I came back up which is when I spotted your lady friend.”

Patrick frowned. “How many keys are given out?”

“I don’t rightly know,” the guard said. “All the board members have them as well as the director. I’ve warned them before that it’s a security breach but they felt they knew best.”

“Did all the exhibitors have one?” he asked.

“Oh no. Still, this is the first time I was aware of your lady friend having one.”

“It was to make it easier for me. I wanted to make sure everything was ready for tomorrow and Brad Melchor, the director said he didn’t see any problem.”

“Normally there wouldn’t be,” Patrick said frowning. “But from the sound of it almost anyone could have had a key or copy of a key.”

The security guard nodded glumly. “That’s about the size of it.”

“Stay here a minute,” Patrick said. “I want to take a look around, talk to my partner. If the paramedics clear you I’ll give you a ride home.”

She’d have preferred to stay glued to Patrick’s side, even as she nodded obediently. On the other hand she felt so shaky she wasn’t sure what would happen if she stood up suddenly. For now she decided to wait where she was, holding a clean cloth with ice-pack, courtesy of the security guard, to her head.