Chocolate Chocolate Moons (31 page)

One month later, Craig invites Izzy Torquemada to tea in a small room that had been a storage closet. The warden comes with an assistant. He barks that he has only five minutes. But before he enters, the smell of old stones and melted wax infused with the perfume of fresh garden herbs reaches his nostrils. He takes a deep breath. His pace slows. He looks up at the golden shafts of light drifting in from two small skylights.

“Welcome to the Monks’ Inn,” Craig says. He leads them to a colorful round table painted by one of the inmates in a design that weaves the prison’s name into an elaborate Celtic pattern that the rich might buy in an expensive shop.

A tall, thin inmate, handsome from one angle and sharp-featured from another, dressed as a monk in a tailored brown bed sheet greets them. He bows. His prison identification number is embroidered in brown buttons that run diagonally across his chest to keep his robe in place. He pours two cups of a liquid that has hints of orange rind, raisins, smoke and wood citrus. He waits as its aroma wafts toward Izzy’s nostrils and moves into every sensory site in his brain. The inmate makes a deep bow and retreats. Another places a plate of éclairs filled with delicate vanilla cream next to each of them. Izzy takes a bite and lets the dark chocolate melt on his tongue. Soft cream slides down his throat. He smiles. His mood lifts.

The following month Craig Cashew invites the press and every politician running in and out of office, along with Sandy and Solaria, to a grand opening of the prison’s new café. Craig contacts Cortland and asks if the Lunar Tunes would perform. Cortland updates Elvis Presley’s “Jailhouse Rock” for the event. The twins wear black and white striped dresses with the red words “Mars Mafia” on the back.

When we arrive we see that Craig has strung blinking lights around the prison’s barbed-wire fences, making the barbs look like stars. Everyone drinks tea, eats pastries shaped like little revolvers and knives, munches chocolate handcuffs, and shakes hands with the warden, to whom Craig wisely gives all the credit.

Society columnists report that the Monks’ Inn is the charity of the year. They describe sitting on the candy electric chairs as a sweet buzzing experience. Crime rises briefly, since people want to learn gourmet cooking and know that if they go to Sang Sang, they will get a good free education because the state pays for everything. Judges are offered bribes to find ways to extend sentences. Solaria announces that the prison will no longer be called things like the Big House or Sang Sang but will officially be known as the Monks’ Inn.

When Craig’s community service is over he is hired to run the restaurant permanently. In time, the Monks’ Inn overtakes the Culinary Institute as the preeminent cooking school and restaurant complex in the solar system.

42

CC
LUNGES TOWARD
me, but I step to the side. She whizzes past then turns and glares. I hold out the charm for her to see, dangle it in front of my face, then put it in my mouth.

“You wouldn’t,” she cries. “No! NO!”

Gulp!
Gone in a swallow.

“I can’t believe you did that! Only you would do that!” she screams. “What kind of person are you?” Then she glowers. “No wonder Drew left you!”

I turn and run as fast as I can. I have barely enough energy to move. CC must also be tired because at first I am able to put some distance between us. I make good time, but then the ground becomes hilly and difficult. CC picks up her pace. The gap narrows. I make a sharp right and head for my rover hoping the motor had cooled off. But when I reach the cart and press start, I hear the same sputtering sounds.

Panting and sweating CC grabs the back of my head. She gives my hair a sharp yank and drags me from the cart. She twists my arm so hard that it feels like it’s coming out of its socket. We struggle. She shoves me to the ground, gets on top of me, and shoves her fingers down my throat hoping I will gag, hoping the charm will emerge.

I bite down on her hand. She screams and jerks it away. She removes a red shoe, raises it high over her head and zings the heel toward my head.
Thud!
Jagged stars. Another thud. Then nothing.

When I open my eyes, I see Jersey standing over me. “Feel better?” she says looking at my dilated pupils. “You got quite a wallop.”

I touch the back of my head. It’s damp, sticky, and has a huge lump. When I take my hand away there’s blood on it. My voice is barely audible. “What happened? Hey! Were you following me?” Jersey helps me sit. “Not so fast,” I caution. “I’m nauseous.”

“You probably have a concussion,” she says.

I make groaning noises and pull myself to a sitting position. My arms feel like they are in one place, legs in another, and my head split down the middle.

“As a matter of fact, I
was
following you. I had a feeling you were headed for the cacao trees and thought the chances were good that you might spend the whole day there. So I decided the only way you would cover more ground was if I helped you move it along, so I reversed my direction and followed you.”

“Good thing,” I mumble.

“After you eye-cammed the holos to Lamont, he knew something was wrong because you didn’t respond to his next call. Then he contacted me. I got to you right after she knocked you out with her shoe. What an ugly style. If I had her money, I never would have bought it. Did you see that decorative strap? So passé.”

“Please, Jersey, then what happened?”

“
Shazam! Kapow!
I gave her a right cross followed by a left hook. When I added a side kick to her lower leg she folded. Too bad you were unconscious; you missed all the action. Anyway, I contacted the head of the San Andreas Farms security team, who came running. CC is beingheld until Lamont arrives.”

“I was going to recommend in my report that they get more security cameras,” I say. “How often do you think those security holos are reviewed?”

“Glad you asked that question,” Sandy Andreas says striding toward us with three people in white coats with a stretcher floating next to them. “I’ve already retrieved the security holos and sent them to Mars Yard. We’ll have the results shortly. Meanwhile, these gentlemen will wheel you to our infirmary and check you out. And, in appreciation for all you and your partner did, I am sending both of you free fresh produce of your choice to your homes every week for a year, starting with a case of blue watermelons.”

“I was so worried,” Cortland says finding me in the infirmary sitting on a white sofa with a glass in my hand. “Jersey called and told me what happened.” He puts his arm around my shoulder. “I’m so relieved you’re all right.”

I smile weakly.

“Are you drinking a Top of the Ninth?” he asks.

“My third one. It’s complimentary. I think I’ll have another.”

“Is it Passover, Easter, or Ramadan-strength?”

“You’re asking? I can’t believe you’re asking. It’s Ramadan-strength. CC is very strong. She could have killed me!”

43

“Y
OU WANT ME
to help you catch Scheherazade?” Drew asks Lamont. “We didn’t exactly part on friendly terms.”

“I’m sure a clever guy like you can think of something that will renew your friendship.” Lamont opens a box of Chocolate Moons that has bright red lettering that says
new, pure
and
improved
on the front. He offers one to Drew.

“Thanks,” Drew says taking one. “You’re sure it’s safe.” He puts it in his mouth.

Lamont waits while Drew lets the chocolate truffle center melt in his mouth. Then he gives a sideways smile and says, “Depends on your definition of safe.”

Drew swallows knowing that Lamont needs him alive rather than dead. “Who were the other three people who took the poisoned anti-flavonoids?” he asks.

“One is the scientist Decibel Point. He says he took it because he created the anti-flavonoid and he knew that Congress Drugs never finished testing it. When people were poisoned, he realized that their symptoms matched the symptoms of animals used for the first early tests. He took it because he needed a fresh sample to make an antidote.”

“I’ve met him at Congress Drugs, but we only said hello. And the others?”

“One other was Colorful Copies.”

“CC?” Drew’s eyes widen.

“Yes, and we had good help solving this from Molly Summers, her partner at the Culinary, Jersey, and Jersey’s husband, Trenton. Molly found a valuable piece of evidence, a charm of CC’s plus a rainbow-colored eyebrow linking her to the crime right near a chocolate refining machine at San Andreas Farms.”

“Do you have the charm?”

“Yes and no.”

“And that means?”

“We know where it is.”

“Where?”

“Molly swallowed it.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Molly and CC fought over the charm. Molly told us that this was the only way she could keep CC from getting it.”

Drew tries to imagine his two former girlfriends in a catfight. He can’t. But when he thinks of Molly swallowing the charm, he finds it easy to visualize.

“Jersey called us from San Andreas Farms where she and Molly were doing temporary security work and told us what had happened. After CC knocked out Molly, Jersey knocked out CC.”

Drew hikes his eyebrows, says nothing.

“We spot-checked the area and found traces of the anti-flavonoid on the ground where Molly found the charm. This definitely links CC to the chocolate poisoning. After we picked CC up and questioned her, she admitted everything because she wanted you to know.”

“Wanted me to know what? We had a relationship many years ago. It ended badly. I don’t think that had anything to do with this.”

“Wrong,” says Lamont. “She told us that she did it because she wanted to ruin your reputation. Apparently she never forgave you.”

“Ruin my reputation? How?”

“She said that when Sandy Andreas investigated the theft of the missing anti-flavonoid from Congress Drugs, one way or another your name would emerge. And when it did, she, with all her media access, was in a perfect position to give that a big spin filled with innuendos that linked your name with the crime. Even if you were innocent, your credibility as a salesman would be tainted, possibly ruined.

“She suspected that the anti-flavonoids could be dangerous after she was told by Decibel Point, when she visited Congress Drugs, that he felt that there were not enough tests done on some of their new products. But she didn’t know exactly what the stuff could do. No one at that point did. She threw it in the chocolate refinery in the hopes that it might contain a substance that would give some reaction that would dramatize the event and got more than she bargained for.”

Drew crosses his legs and gives a very serious look. “Well, she was right about that. You said there was a fourth person? Who could that be?”

“Still working on it. Whoever took it left no trace. We only know there was someone else because of the weight discrepancies in the anti-flavonoid between what was reported and what was actually there.”

Drew comes home from Mars Yard haggard and distraught. He pours himself a tall Hadron Collider and carries it to his sofa. If he ever needed his particles accelerated this was the time. He stares at the view of River Area below. Then he turns and looks at the copy of the Giacometti on his marble table, admires the craftsmanship, and gets an idea. He codes Scheherazade’s number and leaves a message. “I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I couldn’t help admiring the craftsmanship that went into creating the Giacometti copy. I’ve decided I would like to buy more art from your factory. Let me know when I can come back and see your complete line. This is strictly business.”