Death of a Chocolate Cheater: A Food Festival Mystery (17 page)

I stood there, speechless and dumbfounded, staring at my chocolate-covered car in the semidarkness.

“Whoa,” Jake said. “What the . . . ?”

I felt anger more than anything else. Someone was obviously trying to scare me off, but I was pissed at seeing my cute VW Bug turned into an ugly mess. Tears suddenly sprang to my eyes. “My car . . . It’s ruined. . . .”

Jake wrapped an arm around me. “No, it isn’t. It’ll wash off.”

“Chocolate’s acidic!” I whined.

“But it’s balanced with alkaline. It shouldn’t harm the paint job. I’m more worried about the note scrawled on your window. Shelton needs to know about this.”

Jake got out his cell phone and took several flash pictures of the car and a number of close-ups of the message written on the front window.

“Do you think they left any fingerprints?” I asked.

Jake peered closely at the window with his flashlight app. “None that I can see left in the chocolate. The techs may find something, but I’m guessing whoever did this probably used gloves.”

Jake phoned Detective Shelton and left a message on his cell phone, telling him about my car. Then he e-mailed the photos to him. Jake’s phone rang the moment he’d finished sending the last picture.

“It’s Shelton,” he said to me, checking his cell phone screen. “Detective,” he said into the phone.

I scanned the area while Jake explained to the detective what we’d found. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the—what? Prankster? Stalker? Killer?—but the place was deserted. Only a handful of cars remained in the lot. I spotted a light on at Reina’s trailer office a few yards away and figured she was working on tomorrow’s festival and contest. I wondered if she might have seen or heard anything.

Jake hung up. “He’s coming over with a couple of crime-scene techs. He said there’s probably nothing they can do if there are no fingerprints, but he’s betting this is related to Polly’s murder and doesn’t want to take any chances. We’ll have to sit tight until he gets here.”

I nodded toward Reina’s office. “Looks like she’s still around. Let’s ask her if she noticed anything suspicious.”

Jake shrugged. “Worth a try.”

We walked the short distance to the trailer and knocked on the door.

I heard noises inside—a drawer slamming shut, footsteps. After a few seconds, a voice called out, “Who is it?”

“Jake Miller and Darcy Burnett,” Jake answered.

The door opened a crack, revealing a chain and Reina’s
right eye. She closed the door again, unlocked the safety chain, and opened the door.

“It’s awfully late,” Reina began, skipping a cordial greeting as she looked at her watch. “Past ten. What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to bother you, Reina,” Jake said. “Have you been here all evening?”

“Yes. Why?” Her eyes widened, and she suddenly looked alarmed. “Is something wrong?”

“There’s been an incident,” Jake said carefully. “We wondered if you saw anything suspicious in the parking lot during the last couple of hours.”

She shook her head, leaned out, and looked in the direction of the lot. “What happened?”

“Someone vandalized Darcy’s car.” Jake pointed toward my car. I followed his gaze and realized Reina couldn’t have seen my car well from her vantage point, even in broad daylight. It was some distance away and somewhat obscured behind a chain-link fence.

“Vandalized?” Reina rushed down the steps. Jake and I led her to my car. When she got a glimpse of it, she gasped. “Oh my God! What is that stuff?”

“Chocolate,” I said.

“You’re kidding!” She shook her head. “Who could have done such a thing? Has anything else been vandalized? Any of the food trucks or vendors’ tents?” She glanced around.

“I don’t think so,” Jake said. “We didn’t see anything else. So far, just Darcy’s car.”

Reina frowned and stepped closer to the car window. “Something’s written here. . . .” She read the words
aloud:
“‘I know what you’re doing.’”
She looked at me. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea.” Although I had a hunch it had to do with the questions I’d been asking about Polly’s murder.

“This is outrageous! Where are the security guards? Where’s Clifford? How could he let this happen?” She pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number. Seconds later she snapped, “Clifford! This is Reina! Where the hell are you? You’re supposed to be guarding the Chocolate Festival area!”

I couldn’t hear his response.

“Well, get over here! Now! A car has been vandalized in the staff parking lot, behind the Big Yellow School Bus!” She hung up. “Did you call the police?” she asked Jake.

“They’re on their way,” he replied. “So you didn’t see anything?”

“No, sorry. But heads are going to roll over this. We simply can’t have any more trouble or the festival will be ruined for sure.”

It was all about the Chocolate Festival for Reina Patel. Was it the money? The prestige? Either way, I had a feeling Reina couldn’t give a rat’s ass about my car.

“Do you have any enemies?” she asked. “Someone who thinks you’re sticking your nose in the wrong place? I’ll bet it has something to do with Polly Montgomery’s death. What have you been doing?”

“Just asking a few questions,” I replied.

Reina shook her head. “I told you two not to bother people, didn’t I? And now look what’s happened.”

I shot a glance at Jake. He shook his head, as if to say,
“Blow it off.”

Clifford the security guard arrived in his little golf cart, just as headlights appeared from down the street. Moments later an unmarked police car pulled into the lot, followed by a white van that read SFPD
C
RIME
U
NIT
.

Detective Shelton got out of the car, two techs jumped out of the van, and all three headed over to us.

“Wow,” Detective Shelton said. “Somebody likes chocolate.”

“Not funny,” I said. “The paint on my car’s probably ruined.”

Jake pointed to the message on one of the windows. “Check this out.”

The detective studied the writing, then signaled for his techs to begin work. They took pictures, examined the outside of the car for evidence, looked around for footprints and other signs of the vandal, and did the usual CSI stuff.

Meanwhile, Detective Shelton asked me a bunch of questions like: When did I last see the car before it was vandalized? Who did I think was responsible? Does anyone have a reason to threaten me? Routine. He briefly asked Reina and Clifford if they’d seen anything, but since they said they hadn’t, he was done questioning them in a matter of minutes.

Thirty minutes later, the detective said, “The guys have all they need at this point. We’ll let you know what we find, but I’m guessing whoever did this covered his tracks well. Meanwhile, Darcy, you need to
keep yourself safe and out of any more trouble. Whatever you’re doing, you’d better stop.”

“I told her the same thing,” Reina said.

“I’m just trying to help my aunt Abby’s friend Wendy,” I argued.

Detective Shelton rubbed his stubbly chin, then asked, “So, how’s Abby?”

“Fine,” I said lightly. “You know, aside from being worried about Wendy and certain the real killer is running around loose and the police aren’t doing anything about it.”

He glanced around, avoiding eye contact with me. “Well, tell her hello for me.”

“Tell her yourself,”
I wanted to say, but I just nodded. “Can I get my car washed now, before the paint begins to peel?”

The detective nodded. “We’re done here.”

Detective Shelton and his techs got into their vehicles and drove off, leaving Jake, Reina, Clifford, and me alone to stare at one another, not sure what to do next.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Reina said. “Another big day tomorrow. Sorry about your car, Darcy.”

Yeah, sure.

“I’ll drive you over there, Ms. Patel,” Clifford said. He patted the passenger seat of his car. “Make sure you’re safe and whatnot.”

Reina accepted the short ride to her trailer.

“Get in your car,” Jake told me. “I know an all-night car wash. I’ll follow you there, then see you home. Unless you’d prefer Clifford . . .”

I laughed. “Thanks, Jake. I’m glad you were here.”

“Me too,” he said. “But I won’t feel good until I know you’re safely in your RV.”

*   *   *

Three car washes later—that’s how many it took to get the chocolate, but not the smell, out of almost every nook and cranny—we arrived at Aunt Abby’s house and my cozy Airstream home. I checked to see if the lights were on in her kitchen, figuring my aunt would be up all night finishing whoopie pies, but it was past eleven and dark inside, aside from the back porch light, which she always left on.

“Looks like Aunt Abby’s gone to bed,” I said to Jake. “No wonder. It’s late and she’s probably exhausted from the busy day.”

Jake nodded and glanced around. I got the feeling he was waiting for an invitation to come inside the RV.

“Uh . . . ,” I said, feeling awkward. I’d never invited a guest into my place and wasn’t prepared to play hostess. “You want a glass of wine or some coffee or something?”

Jake grinned. “Sure. I’ve never seen your place inside.”

I got out my key and unlocked the door to the RV. “It’s not much, believe me. And I have to warn you, my aunt decorated the inside long before I moved in. Be prepared.”

I opened the door and stepped in. The blinds were drawn across all the windows and along the front windshield, giving us complete privacy. At over six feet, Jake had to duck to enter the curved Airstream doorway. I watched him as he took in all the
memorabilia from Aunt Abby’s trips to Disneyland, her garage-sale finds, and her purchases on eBay.

“Wow,” was all he said as he glanced around. He smiled at the Cheshire Cat clock, the four hand-painted animation cells from
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
, the
Beauty and the Beast
teakettle, the seven pillows on the couch featuring each of the Seven Dwarfs. “You must feel like you’re living in Walt Disney’s personal RV.”

“It’s a bit much,” I said, “but Aunt Abby would kill me if I got rid of anything. After all, it’s her RV. I’m only living here until I can find a place of my own.” I decided not to mention that I also needed enough money for a first and last month’s deposit and a regular income to pay the rent.

Jake shoved a few pillows over and plopped down on the fold-out leather couch. “Well, I think it’s kind of fun. Reminds me of my childhood. I used to love going to Disneyland. Pirates of the Caribbean was my favorite ride.”

I smiled at the memory. “Mine too. And the Haunted Mansion.” I opened a tiny cupboard and pulled down a cheap bottle of red wine. “Wine? Or do you want a beer?”

“You sure you don’t want to get to bed?” he asked.

I stared at him. Did he mean what I thought he meant?

He shook his head as if he’d read my naughty thoughts. “I meant, aren’t you tired? You’ve had quite a day. We all have.”

I exhaled a breath of relief. Although Jake was certainly sexy, I wasn’t quite ready to take the next step. “I think I could use a glass of wine. It’ll help relax me.” It
felt as if everything I said was a double entendre. Awk-ward.

Jake smiled. “Wine would be great.”

I poured the merlot into two short water glasses featuring cartoon characters. “You want Goofy or Snow White?”

“Definitely Goofy,” he said, reaching out to take the proffered drink. “I’m not really the princess type.”

Neither am I,
I thought, taking a sip. There was no way I was going to sit around and wait for my prince to come rescue me. I’d learned that the hard way with my ex-boyfriend, Trevor the Tool. If I had to choose a Disney role model at this point, it would be that chick from
Brave
. I admired the fact that Merida was free-spirited and adventurous. Like her, I’d much rather be single than hook up with a boring prince.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Jake asked, interrupting my daydream.

I blinked.
Where did that come from? Must have been the wine,
I thought.

“Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I realized. Maybe this wine is relaxing me a little too much.”

Jake downed the last of his and stood up. “I’m going to let you get some sleep.”

“You’re leaving?” I asked, feeling a tinge of disappointment at his words.

He set his empty glass in the small steel sink. “Let’s meet up early and see what we can find out before the festival begins. Once it opens, we’ll be swamped until the contest and I doubt we’ll get a chance to do much more investigating.”

“Early?” I winced as I rose from the comfortable chair. “How early is early?”

“When you hear the knock on your door. That’s when I’ll be by with cream puffs and coffee.”

I smiled.

He smiled.

I took a step closer to him, which wasn’t hard to do in the small space.

He put his arms around me and pulled me even closer.

He leaned in. . . .

I closed my eyes. . . .

Then something loud hit the Airstream, startling both of us.

“What was that?” I whispered, frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know,” Jake said, releasing me. “Stay put.” He bounded for the door, opened it, and leaped down the steps. I followed him to the door, remaining safely inside the RV.

“What was it?” I called out.

No answer. Jake had disappeared around the back of the Airstream.

I leaned out. No sign of him. “Jake?” I called.

No answer.

“Where are you?”

No answer.

“Jake!”

Jake suddenly appeared around the front of the RV.

“Did you see anything?”

He stood, frowning, at the front of the Airstream, his cell-phone flashlight shining on the windshield.

“What is it?” I headed down the steps and joined him at the front. “What—” I stopped. “Oh no,” I said, my heart sinking. “Not again.”

The front windshield was covered with chocolate. Someone had obviously thrown a large bucket of the liquid on the window. The empty plastic bucket lay on the ground nearby. That must have been what hit the Airstream.