Chocolate Covered Murder Part 21

There was a long pause before Horowitz spoke. "You've really done it now," he said. "Off the deep end. Completely crazy. My advice is to take two aspirins and call a psychiatrist."

Lucy was disappointed, she'd really expected a bit more enthusiasm. "I'm probably not explaining it well. I'm sure I'm on to something."

"It's more like you're on something," said Horowitz, ending the call.

"What did he say?" asked Corney, as Lucy pocketed her phone.

"He told me to seek professional help," said Lucy, chagrined.

Corney laughed. "I think you may be making a mountain out of a molehill. According to the newspaper article, the Mexican authorities were convinced Teasdale's death was an accident."

"I doubt they really conducted any sort of investigation," said Lucy. "Bill's mom and dad have a time-share in Mexico and they say the police are notoriously corrupt. They make phony traffic stops and threaten to arrest you, but if you give them fifty bucks they let you go." She chewed her thumbnail. "Don't you see? Max and Trey knew each other, there's a connection. They have a shared past in Mexico and I think they were involved in more than gathering chocolate recipes."

"That doesn't necessarily mean that Trey killed Max," said Corney, yawning. "I'm beat."

"Oh, sorry," said Lucy, hopping to her feet. "I'd better let you get some rest."

"Thanks for everything, Lucy," said Corney, giving her a hug.

"Make sure you lock the door after me," advised Lucy, reaching for her coat. She had zipped up and was digging for the car keys in her purse when she found the card Larry Graves had given her.

Should she call him? she wondered, as she left the house and made her way to the car. He had seemed very interested in Trey Meacham, she remembered. Of course, Tamzin had probably mentioned Trey to her ex-husband. The two were friends, he said. They probably communicated regularly. It was natural to talk about your job and your boss. But Graves had particularly asked about Trey, as if he had a special interest in him. Jealousy? Maybe, but he seemed to have put that behind him. It was easier to be her friend than her husband, that's what he said, and Lucy took it to mean he wouldn't be hurt when she went with other men.

In the car, Lucy waited for the engine to warm up and fingered the card. Graves was a tough guy and she wasn't sure what his reaction would be to this new information. She didn't want him to go off half-c.o.c.ked and do something he would regret. On the other hand, she didn't feel she had a right to withhold information he might find valuable. He had loved Tamzin, after all, and clearly felt a need to resolve her death. Lucy didn't think he was motivated by revenge as much as the desire to achieve justice. Somebody had killed Tamzin and desecrated her body and he wanted to make sure that person paid for the crime.

And, face it, she told herself, she didn't owe Trey a thing. His behavior to Corney was inexcusable-and suspicious. Trey might seem like a nice guy but his treatment of Corney had revealed another side to his personality. There was definitely something a bit off about Trey. Coming to a decision, she dialed his cell phone but Graves didn't answer; the call went straight to voice mail.

Disappointed, she s.h.i.+fted into drive and headed for home. Today was Valentine's Day and she couldn't help hoping there might be something special waiting for her; Bill usually had some little surprise for her. She had a card for him-one of the big, expensive ones-and was planning a special dinner, his favorite meat loaf, with b.u.t.terscotch brownies and ice cream for dessert.

Pulling into the driveway, she stopped the car by the mailbox, irrationally hoping to find some red envelopes. She smiled, finding one, hand-delivered and signed with a crayon scrawl, from Patrick.

When she went inside the kitchen, she found a vase filled with a dozen perfect red roses in the middle of the kitchen table, with a note from Bill. It was one word: ALWAYS. She pressed the card to her chest and bent down to inhale the flowers' scent, savoring the moment. He loved her, he really, really did. He'd remembered. She felt as if she were floating on air as she took off her winter jacket and danced around the kitchen, humming a little tune. "Love, love, love," she sang, gathering b.u.t.ter and brown sugar and walnuts to make the brownies. She was just about to grease the pan when her cell phone rang.

She half expected it to be Bill, checking to see if she'd found the flowers, but it was Larry Graves.

"I found a link between Trey Meacham and Max Fraser," she said. "They were in Mexico about twenty years ago."

"Tamzin called me, terrified, just before she was killed," said Graves. "A big package from Mexico came to the shop and when she opened it she found cocaine. She was going to take it to the police, but she never made it."

Of course, Lucy thought, drugs. The chocolate business was a perfect cover. Suddenly, an image popped into her mind. It was Trey, standing in the dry cleaner's shop. She'd said something about how he was selling a lot more than chocolate. She'd meant that the chocolates were something special, a luxury item that implied the discriminating consumer deserved only the very best. But his expression had implied something very different; he'd looked shocked and had hurried out of the shop. It was as if she'd hit a nerve, and she was pretty sure exactly what that nerve was. He was selling more than chocolate; he was selling drugs. And she was willing to bet he was making a lot more money from the illegal drug operation than he was from his overpriced chocolates.

"I called the police but they didn't believe me," said Lucy.

"I don't want to go on record with this, it's just between you and me, but I'm on my way to Rockland, to the factory," said Graves. "Could be quite a scoop for the town's best reporter."

Lucy was suddenly energized; she felt like a racehorse waiting for the gate to open. "I'll bring my camera," she said.

This was better than roses, thought Lucy, as she followed the road up hill and down dale to Rockland. She felt exhilarated, chasing down a story that wasn't some stupid puff piece a.s.signment from Ted but one she developed herself, following her hunches and taking the initiative. And what a story it was! Everything was coming together. She was not only solving two murders, and clearing Dora in the process, but nailing Trey would cut off the supply of drugs that was pouring into the region. Not forever-she wasn't naive enough to believe that-but long enough that a lot of users would have time to go to rehab and get themselves straightened out. She couldn't wait to see Ted's face when she presented him with the story of the year, complete with photos. And best of all, it was her story.

They'd know soon enough, of course. NECN and CNN and the Boston stations and newspapers would be all over it, but that would be later. She was breaking this story, a story that was going to be big, really big. Maybe they'd even interview her. She could just see herself chatting with Deborah Norville. "How did you break this story?" Deborah would ask. "Well, it was nothing more than good investigative reporting and a little bit of luck, Deborah," she'd say. "I followed a hunch and learned the luxury chocolates were a front for illegal drugs from Mexico."

But when she arrived at the old waterfront sardine factory, the parking lot was empty. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, Larry Graves had been pretty vague, but she'd definitely gotten the feeling that something was going to come down. A raid maybe? She drove around the building, looking for the major, but there was no sign of life at all and she was beginning to wonder if she'd misunderstood and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

The five-story building was handsome; she had to admit Meacham had done a terrific job restoring the cla.s.sic nineteenth-century factory. The brick had been cleaned and pointed, and the windows, which were lined up in symmetrical rows, had been repaired. Even the tall bell tower that once called workers to their s.h.i.+fts had been restored. The plowed parking lot was freshly paved and lined, dotted here and there with hardy young trees, and a handsome carved wood sign with the trademark rooster identified the former cannery as the home of Chanticleer Chocolate.

Somewhat frustrated that Graves had turned out to be a no-show, Lucy decided that rather than waste her time, she might as well snap a few photos of the factory. She found the structure surprisingly photogenic in the slanting afternoon suns.h.i.+ne: the ranks of windows offered an interesting visual, the tall bell tower made a dramatic image shot from its base, and the original doors, now freshly painted, featured elaborate hand-forged hinges. She was just focusing her camera when the door opened and Trey stepped out.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. His tone wasn't exactly pleasant and Lucy felt uneasy.

"Just taking photos," she said, with a big smile. "I can't believe what you've done with this old place. It used to be such an eyesore, all covered with grime, most of the windows cracked or broken. Ted wanted a photo for the paper, for an article on repurposing older buildings."

"Oh," he said, sounding mollified. "Why don't you come in? The machinery is pretty interesting, too, especially the big copper kettles."

Considering her suspicions about Trey, Lucy didn't think that was a good idea. She made a show of glancing at her watch. "Actually," she said, stepping backwards, "I'm running late. Maybe another time."

"It will only take a few minutes," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her toward the door. "Believe me, it's worth the time. You're going to get some great photos."

Every instinct told her to run, but Trey had maneuvered himself so that he was beside her and was exerting pressure on her back, pus.h.i.+ng her through the door. She tried to pull away but his arm tightened around her shoulders when he felt her withdrawing. It was extremely awkward; Lucy wasn't sure if Trey really wanted to show her the machinery or if he was abducting her. Looking over her shoulder for some means of escape, she saw a number of police cars arriving with lights flas.h.i.+ng and realized the raid had finally materialized. The timing couldn't have been worse; now she was in the middle of it. She made a desperate effort to escape, shoving Trey and pulling away, but he only tightened his grip on her.

"Don't move or I'll shoot," he said.

Lucy felt cold metal pressed against her temple.

The police cruisers-there were four of them-came to a stop about thirty feet away, where a row of evergreen bushes provided some cover. A door on the first one opened and Lieutanant Horowitz stepped out.

"Stop!" yelled Meacham. "I've got a gun and I'll use it."

Horowitz's arms went up. "We can work this out," he said. "There's no need to shoot."

"I've got a hostage. You make any moves and I'll shoot her."

"n.o.body's moving," said Horowitz.

Caught in Trey's grip, Lucy's teeth were chattering. She noticed that he was s.h.i.+vering, too, and the hand holding the gun was shaking. The next thing she knew he had dragged her inside the building and the thick wooden door had closed behind them.

"Did you call the cops?" he demanded.

Lucy shook her head. "No! I only came to take pictures."

He jabbed the gun into her back. "Move. We'll go in the office."

Lucy obeyed, walking woodenly in the direction he indicated, toward a door with a frosted gla.s.s panel painted with the word OFFICE. Once they were inside the large room, which was filled with old-fas.h.i.+oned wooden desks and had big windows overlooking the parking lot, he pushed her into a chair and snapped a handcuff on one arm. Lucy wondered if they were the same pair he'd used on Corney.

He looped the other cuff around the arm of the chair and when he snapped it shut she realized how helpless she was and a huge shudder ran through her body. She was a hostage, entirely at the mercy of a twisted killer, and she could only hope the police outside knew what they were doing. Trey gave the wheeled chair a shove, placing her in front of one of the big windows, where she was a sitting duck. She had a clear view of the parking lot, where a steady stream of police vehicles was arriving and a group of black-clad SWAT team members were taking up positions surrounding the building.

If shooting broke out, Lucy decided, her only chance would be to try to tip the chair over and fall to the ground. That plan was flawed, however, because she'd have to survive the first volley of shots and her exposed position made that unlikely. Mind whirling, she remembered hearing somewhere that if you ever found yourself in a hostage situation you should try to develop a friendly relations.h.i.+p with your captor. It was worth a try, she thought. "I'm supposed to be making brownies and meat loaf," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"This wasn't exactly on my agenda," muttered Trey, sounding nervous.

She decided to keep up the small talk. "Do you have a date for tonight?" she asked. "It's Valentine's Day."

Trey had positioned himself behind a heavy oak filing cabinet, probably a relic from the sardine cannery, and was staring out the window.

"I was going to call my mom."

This whole situation was surreal, thought Lucy, and getting even weirder. "That's nice," she said, feeling a bit more confident. "I was going to make meat loaf for my husband, it's his favorite. With mashed potatoes and gravy. And I was going to have ice cream for dessert. We have two daughters... ."

"I have a bad feeling about this," said Trey, just as the phone rang. "Answer it," he said. "Put it on speakerphone."

Lucy slid the chair closer to the nearest desk and reached for the phone with her free hand, getting it on the fourth ring. "h.e.l.lo," she said.

"I'm Brian Sullivan. I'm a trained negotiator." A warm, relaxed voice filled the room.

"I'm Lucy Stone," she replied, looking at Trey for permission to continue. When he nodded, she said, "I'm the hostage. I'm handcuffed to a chair."

"We're going to get you out of this, Lucy. Are you the only hostage?"

Getting a shake of the head from Trey she replied. "I don't know."

"Who is with you?"

Lucy looked once again to Trey but this time he drew his finger across his throat. "I have to go," she said, and hung up.

Develop a relations.h.i.+p, she reminded herself. "He sounded nice," she said.

"Nice!" barked Trey. "They want to put me in jail for life."

"Not for life," said Lucy. "You don't get life for dealing."

He looked at her. "I think we both know I did more than that."

"There were mitigating circ.u.mstances," said Lucy. "Max tried to blackmail you, didn't he? He knew what happened in Mexico, with Wes Teasdale."

"Wes? Wes drowned. He was a lousy surfer." Trey scratched his chin with the gun. "No, Max wasn't blackmailing me. He wanted in on the drugs."

"He knew about the drugs?" asked Lucy.

"Yeah. From Mexico. We did some stuff together a long time ago. He knew the chocolate business was a good front-I used the cocoa s.h.i.+pments to smuggle in c.o.ke, heroin, even oxy; you can get it cheap down there."

The phone rang again, but Trey shook his head, signaling she shouldn't answer it. The rings continued for a while, and Lucy could hardly stand it. She felt panic rising in her chest with every ring and tried to concentrate on breathing, just breathing. Finally the rings stopped. "That was annoying," she said.

"Yeah," agreed Trey.

"It was really clever, the way you killed Max. The cops thought it was an accident."

"Max helped, he was really drunk. It was easy."

"Did you plan it?"

"No. We'd set up a meeting on the ice, he liked to fish at night. Said he'd show me how it was done. One thing led to another. He got mad, took a swing at me. I swung back and he went down, fell on his gear, and got tangled up. That's what gave me the idea to kind of embellish his body."

"The thing I wondered about is how you got him through the ice-how'd you do that?"

"I knew there was that punky spot and I just slid him over-the trick was not to go through myself. It was a near thing, I almost did."

Lucy wished he had, she wished it more than anything she'd ever wished, but she wasn't about to let him know that. "That was lucky," she said, trying to sound as if she meant it.

"I don't think you really mean that," he said, with a crooked smile. Lucy almost liked him, she realized, wondering if this was that Stockholm syndrome she'd heard so much about.

"What about Tamzin?"

"She opened a package of cocoa beans and found a brick of c.o.ke. She said she wouldn't tell anyone but I didn't trust her, she was always talking about that ex-husband of hers and what a hero he was. I couldn't risk it."

"Why the chocolate coating?" she asked.

"I wanted to make it look like Dora did it," he said.

"Very clever," said Lucy, as the phone started ringing again.

Trey was looking out the window, where the parking lot was filling up fast with official vehicles with red and blue flas.h.i.+ng lights. "It's like Christmas out there," he muttered. Then, in a tone of amazement, he added, "Look at that sky."

A spectacular winter sunset had tinted the overarching sky a gorgeous shade of pink and a handful of fluffy white clouds were rimmed with gold. It seemed as if G.o.d himself could reach down and touch the earth, making everything right.

"I'm not going to jail," said Trey. His voice was low and decisive. "If I'm going out, I might as well do it in a blaze of glory."

Then he was gone and Lucy was left alone with the ringing phone. She answered it. "He's left. I don't know where... ."

Just then a dark shape tumbled past the window, landing with a heart-stopping thud.

She sat, absorbing what had happened, and waited for the SWAT team to release her.

"He was up on the tower," one of the officers told her, as he unlocked the handcuffs. "He climbed up on a ledge and stood there, facing the sun. Then he stretched out his arms and just stepped off."

"Is he dead?" asked Lucy.

"Oh, yeah."

She stood up and stretched, then, feeling woozy, thought better of it and sat back down.

"Do you need a medic?" the officer asked.

"No, I'll be okay," she said, noticing Larry Graves standing in the doorway. "Where were you?" she asked. "You were supposed to meet me here."

He shrugged, a sheepish expression on his face. "I got lost. The GPS didn't work." He paused, studying her face. "I'm really, really sorry."

Lucy tried standing again and this time she didn't feel dizzy. She felt good, she decided. It was definitely good to be alive.

"Don't be," she said. "You were right. I got a h.e.l.l of a story."