Sweet Revenge (Cocoa Narel Chocolate Shop Mysteries Book 1) (7 page)

“Great,” I said, not meaning it.

Carl hurried back over. “Who else was bullied badly?” He pointed to a boy sitting next to Tom. “What was his name again?”

“I’d forgotten about him!” I explained. “Royston Jackson, wasn’t it?”

“Of course! How could I forget Royston? And you say your memory’s not good! The Populars were really horrible to him.”

I tried to remember what had happened to Royston. “Sorry, Carl, but I can’t quite remember what they did to him.”

“It was ghastly, Narel! Do you remember when he was in the school play?”

I shook my head. “I don’t even remember a school play.”

“There were lots of school plays, but this was
the
school play, given how it was talked about for years afterward. It was a big production, and on opening night, all the parents and everyone had come. One of The Populars pulled Royston’s pants down on stage. He was left standing there, commando. He must have been in shock, because it took him a while to run off stage. The Populars who did it said they had tripped, so they didn’t get into trouble, but Royston had to take several weeks off school because he was so traumatized. That was the story going around, anyway.”

“That’s horrible!” I said. “Whatever became of Royston?”

“He’s in game design now, too,” Carl said. “I sometimes run into him in the business, when I have to go to Sydney or Melbourne.”

“I’m glad he made of success of things, then,” I said.

Carl nodded. “Yes, he sure has.”

“Go and write him on the suspects list, Carl.”

Carl did as I asked. “He’s not back in town though,” he said. “He’s in Melbourne at Game Jam.”

“What’s that?” It sounded like some sort of food to me.

“It’s a big game convention they have once a year in Melbourne,” Carl said. “He might not come back to town for the reunion.”

“We need him as a suspect, nevertheless,” I said. “And who else did they bully?”

Carl looked at the book again. “There was this boy, Frederick Flowers. Do you remember him?” Without waiting for me to answer, he continued. “They bullied him pretty badly.” He hurried back to the whiteboard to add his name to the suspects list.

“Perhaps we should look at younger kids, too,” I pointed out. “The Populars used to bully the younger kids as well.”

Carl groaned. “I’m going to need more whiteboards for that.”

Chapter 10

I’d had a hard time selecting the chocolate color of paint at the local hardware store. I hadn’t realized that there were so many different types of chocolate colored paint. They had names such as Milk Chocolate, Dark Chocolate, Bittersweet Chocolate, Belgian Chocolate, and French Truffle, but I finally settled on a color called Double Fudge. It was a rich deep chocolate color, whereas most of the others had a pinky or even a gray tinge.

The kindly man at the hardware store had offered to deliver the paints for me immediately, and soon I was armed with chocolate colored paint, paint brushes, rollers, and paint trays, and even a huge drop sheet. I had never painted before, so I watched a couple of YouTube videos on it. How hard could it be?

I soon found the answer to that question—very hard. Still, I managed to get into the swing of it, although I found that holding the paintbrush or the roller above my head made me tired rather quickly. I stood back to have a break and to admire my handiwork. I had to admit, it did look good and I felt justified in my decision to go with that color.

I was keen to paint some more, but while the spirit was willing, my body was far too weak. I thought I should just pop next door to the café and have something healthy like a cup of green tea and something unhealthy like a triple fudge brownie or two. After all, half way healthy was better than nothing.

It took me a long time to rinse the brushes and the roller. In fact, it seemed to take longer than it had to paint. I sort of enjoyed painting, but I sure didn’t enjoy cleaning up after it. I washed my hands in the tiny bathroom and saw I had brown paint smears on my face. I chuckled, but they would not come off with just water. I shrugged. Who cares? I was only going next door to the café and was unlikely to see anyone I knew.

I was pleased to see that no one else was in the café, apart from a man in a bright orange shirt, sky blue socks, and a black hat sitting at a table, bending over his computer. I took my seat at the opposite table. The tables were small, brown, and square, and the chairs were all made of white plastic. The little café walls were lined with timber, as was the countertop. The amber lighting gave the store a cozy feel.

“The usual?” Mary called from behind the counter.

I smiled and nodded. “Yes, please.” Mary and Tom were new to town; they had opened the cafe during the time that I was in the hospital. I was pleased that they hadn’t known my former self because that avoided any awkward questions. Tom and Mary were also pleased when I had told them that I had no intention of offering coffee or cake in my store, purely chocolate. They had said that I would be a good complement to their business as would theirs to mine, and I agreed.

I stared aimlessly at the blackboard with the menu written on it in white chalk, thinking that Carl would probably like it, given his penchant for whiteboards, when Mary brought my order. One cup of hot green tea, and three triple chocolate fudge brownies. I was pleased to see that she was no longer raising her eyebrows at my standard order.

I thanked her and immediately popped the first fudge brownie into my mouth.

“Narel.”

I looked up with some horror to see the handsome face of Borage Fletcher standing at my table. I was embarrassed that my cheeks were full of the brownie. I really had to learn to eat small portions at one time. I did my best to swallow it as fast if I could, but that only made me choke. Borage patted me on the back, and called for water.

Mary hurried over with a glass of water. “Are you all right, Narel?” she asked worriedly.

I nodded my head. Tears were streaming down my eyes from the near choking episode. I pulled a tissue from my purse and dabbed at my eyes. I then proceeded to act as if nothing at all had happened. “Hi, Borage,” I said in what I hoped it was an even tone. “How are you?”

It appeared to me that Boris was doing his best to hide his amusement. “I’m sorry if I scared you. You were deep in thought.”

More like deep in chocolate
, I thought. Then I remembered the chocolate paint marks all over my face. Could I be any more embarrassed? I hurried to explain. “This is paint on my face, not dirt,” I said hurriedly. “I’ve been painting the walls in there.” I pointed next door to my store.

Borage laughed. “I can see that you’ve been painting,” he said with a chuckle.

I looked down at my right hand to see it was entirely chocolate brown. Oh well, at least Borage realized it wasn’t dirt. “Would you like to see it?” I asked him without thinking, and then instantly regretted it.

“Sure!” he said.

I looked at him with narrowed eyes, wondering if he was just being polite and really didn’t want to see it or whether he genuinely did want to see it, but there was no way I could tell.

“I see you’re just starting your meal,” he said.

I shook my head. “Oh, it’s not a meal. “It’s just a cup of tea and some fudge brownies.”

He looked amused again. “Well, I was going to get myself some coffee. Can I join you, and then you can show me your progress next door?”

I nodded, feeling instantly horribly shy. I had never had coffee with an attractive man before, unless you count Carl, and I thought of Carl as my best friend. Of course, Carl was gay, so it was just as well I thought of him like that. Oh, unless you count Guy, but he blew up.

Borage sat next to me, and ordered a skinny latte. “So, how’s it coming along?” he asked me. Before I had a chance to answer, he said, “Will the café owners mind that you’ll be competition?”

I shook my head and smiled. “No, I certainly won’t be competition, not at all. I won’t be doing coffee or cake or anything apart from chocolate.”

“So you can fill an entire store with chocolate?” He seemed quite surprised. “How many types of chocolates are there?”

That was exactly what Carl had asked me earlier. I suppose that I’d get that sort of question all the time. “Well, apart from there being dark chocolate, milk chocolate, and white chocolate, there are also gift boxes of chocolates, bars of chocolate, chocolates with soft fillings, chocolates with hard fillings. In fact, there’s a huge range of chocolate.”

“You mentioned you were doing gift lines. Will they be non-chocolate?”

“No, they’ll be things like organic cocoa powder, chocolate shavings, chocolates in heart shapes, chocolates in teddy bear shapes, chocolates in koalas shapes, and things like chocolate roasted spreads and chocolate salted sauce—sometimes in combination with other flavors with flavors like caramel hazelnut—and chocolate-coated coffee beans, chocolate-coated roasted almonds, chocolate-coated roasted hazelnuts, chocolate-coated roasted macadamia nuts, chocolate-coated caramelized coconut buttons, chocolate-coated orange buttons…” I stopped to draw breath and just then, Borage’s phone rang.

“Excuse me; I have to take this,” he said.

I walked over to the other side of the room in attempt to look discreet, and stared at the floorboards.

“Yes, Hamilton, I’m happy to meet after working hours. Yes, seven at the pub. Sure, I’ll meet you there.” Borage hung up and then walked over to me. “I had no idea there were so many types of chocolate.” He laughed. “Well, that just shows that I don’t have any idea about chocolate.”

“You do you like it, though, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Oh yes, I absolutely love chocolate. You seem to like it more than I do, I suspect.”

“You’re right there,” I said fervently. “I’ve been obsessed with chocolate for years. “

He shot me a penetrating look, and looked as though he were about to say something, but changed his mind. “Come on then, let’s go and see what you’ve done with the store so far.”

I had a feeling that that wasn’t what he had originally intended to ask me.

Borage exclaimed with happiness when he saw the new color. “Wow. I absolutely love it!” he said. “It really suits a chocolate shop. I hope you do a roaring trade, Narel.”

“So do I!” I said. “There’s so much passing tourist trade with this being a major highway going through our little town, but when I build up the business to a degree, I’m going to start it online.”

“Online?” Borage asked. “Can you still do that in summer? What if the chocolates melt?”

“No, these days they have a pack that protects the chocolates and keeps them cool. It’s kind of ice wrapped inside a thermal package, and there are thermal packaging materials as well.”

Borage appeared to be genuinely interested. “How long would it keep the chocolates cool for?”

“The packs are guaranteed to keep chocolates cool for five days,” I said. “That means I can safely send them to anywhere in Australia, even in very hot weather. Anyway, I think that’s where the bulk of my business will be, and then it won’t matter if I ever leave town.”

“Yes, it must be hard coming from the city to such a small town,” Borage said thoughtfully.

I bit my lip. Of course, Borage didn’t know that I was in fact a long-term resident. “Did you find it difficult coming to this town to live?” I asked him.

Borage’s eyes shifted, as did his feet. He folded his arms across his chest and looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Yes, you could say that,” he said quietly, avoiding my eyes.

I was left with the distinct impression that Borage Fletcher was hiding something, something rather big indeed.

Chapter 11

I hadn’t slept well the night before, presumably as there had been two recent murders, and one a short distance from my house. Not to mention the fact that the other one had happened right in front of my eyes. And then there was the worry about Mongrel. I had left a dish of cat food in the middle of my kitchen, and it was gone by morning. Yet Mongrel stayed in his carrier basket in daylight hours. I had still only seen his face, and that was not a sight I would forget.

I had thought I would sleep well when I was away from the hospital, but then again I suppose I had not expected people around me to be murdered. I awoke before seven and was doing my best to get back to sleep, when there was a loud knock on my door. I leaped out of bed and flung my robe around me. This couldn’t be good—no one arrives at someone’s house before seven in the morning to give them good news. I hurried to the door. “Who is it?” I called out.

“It’s me.”

I recognized the voice as Carl’s, and opened the door. “What’s happened?” I asked him.

His face was white and he hadn’t taken the time to get himself well groomed. “Oh, Narel, there’s been another murder!” Carl hurried past me and I closed the door behind him. I followed him into the kitchen, where he turned on my coffee machine. He slumped over my countertop. “I just can’t believe it,” he said.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know where to start!”

I sat at my little kitchen table. “Just start at the beginning.” My breath was coming short and hard, and I didn’t feel well. There must be a serial killer on the loose.

“I couldn’t sleep very well last night,” Carl said. “You know I’m always like that after I eat a curry.”

I nodded, and waved him on.

“It was just awful, Narel.”

“What was?”

Carl shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep so I tried to get back to sleep, but I couldn’t, so I turned on the news. And there it was!”

I wanted him to come to the point, but I knew that speaking would only delay matters, so I stayed silent.

“And then I saw on the news that someone had been killed on the railway crossing.”

“Who was it?” I said unable to keep silent any longer. “Was it someone we knew?”

“Yes,” Carl said. “It was Hamilton Howes.” The coffee machine had now heated and Carl poured coffee into two mugs.

I was somewhat in shock. “Hamilton Howes? That’s another of The Populars!”

“Exactly,” Carl said. “Three Populars in a row.”

I bit my fingernail. “I don’t mean to sound selfish at such a time as this, but I’m glad I was nowhere near him. This is the first of three murders that had nothing to do with me.”

Carl and I sat in silence for a while. “How did you say he was killed?” I asked him after an interval. “Railway crossing? Was he in his car?”

Carl shook his head. “That’s just it; the TV said a train hit him and didn’t mention the car. The reporter said that the driver and all the passengers weren’t hurt, but I suppose they wouldn’t be if they ran over a person and not a car.”

I put my hands over my ears. “Stop, Carl! It’s just too gruesome!”

Carl ignored my plea and continued. “Yes, it was gruesome all right! The TV showed what was left him being wheeled away on a gurney. That poor guy, his brown jeans were in such poor taste. My mother always said that if you don’t wear your best underwear, whatever would happen if you were run over, and then your underwear was on display for all the world to see? But poor Hamilton was wearing horrible brown clothes as outer clothes. The man had no taste, and now he’s dead.” He shook his head sadly. “The reporter said he was drunk, but I don’t know how she knew.”

“The police probably told her,” I said. “No one in their right mind would stand on a railway line waiting for a train to get them.” Then a horrible thought came to me. “You don’t suppose he was tied to the lines somehow?”

Carl looked shocked. “No, surely not. The reporter probably would’ve said if he had been. But it’s the northern crossing, the one with no lights, and it’s a long walk from town. What would he have been doing out there at night? It would’ve been dark, but he would’ve easily seen a train coming with its lights on, and all the noise and everything.”

“Yes, he would’ve had to have been pretty drunk not to notice that.” I said. “And what was he doing on foot so far from town? You wouldn’t think it make it that far if he was drunk.”

Carl drank a full cup of coffee before answering. “You know, we’re not making any sense because it’s so early in the morning and we haven’t had enough coffee yet. We’ve been talking as if it was an accident, but he was obviously murdered. Someone must have driven him to the train line and put him on the tracks. They must have got him extremely drunk or perhaps even drugged so he couldn’t move, because even a very drunk person would get out of the way if they saw a train coming for them.”

“Yes, that does make sense,” I said.

“We should go back to my place and make notes on my whiteboards.”

I shook my head. “Maybe later. Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?”

“Don’t ask me questions so early in the morning,” Carl said, rubbing his temples and sighing. “I have a Level Five caffeine deficiency.”

I tapped my chin. “Hamilton Howes. Obviously he came back to town for the reunion, because I haven’t seen him since high school, have you?”

“No.” Carl poured himself another cup of coffee, and I declined a second cup. I was still sipping my first coffee and eating a dark chocolate salted brownie bar.

“So what do the three victims have in common?” I asked him.

“Well, obviously, they were three of The Populars.”

I sighed. “Yes, but was Hamilton worse than any of the other Populars? Lucinda and Mandy were really nasty Populars and they’re still alive,” I pointed out.

“So far,” Carl said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they’re alive
so far
. Perhaps the murderer is going to work his way through all The Populars.”

“The murderer could be a woman, you realize, Carl,” I said.

“I wasn’t being sexist,” Carl said. “You were the only girl they bullied really badly, and since you’re not the murderer, the murderer must be one of the boys.”

“That’s assuming that the motive was revenge for being bullied,” I said.

“This is all too much for me so early in the morning,” Carl said, rubbing his forehead once more and sighing dramatically.

A loud knock on my front door interrupted us. We exchanged glances. “Who could that be?” Carl asked me.

“We’ll know in a few seconds,” I said, as I made my way to my door. I opened the door to see Detectives Rieker and Clyde standing on my doorstep. Their expressions were grim.

“May we come in?” Rieker said, pushing past me. Both detectives were in my house before I even had the chance to speak.

At that moment Carl appeared. I saw Rieker and Clyde immediately focus their attention on him.

“Can we talk?” Rieker said.

I showed them into my small living room. We all took a seat. “I have a cat in that carrier basket,” I said. I was worried that Mongrel might come out and so something untoward, like biting their legs.

Rieker ignored me and wasted no time in coming to the point. “Were you here all night?” he asked me.

“Yes, I was,” I said.

Rieker looked at Carl. “And you are?”

“Carl Smith.”

Rieker nodded. “Yes, we haven’t got around to questioning you yet.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re on our list.”

I thought Carl would be worried, but instead he turned to Detective Clyde. “And am I on your list?” He winked at him.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I could not help but be amused. Clyde shifted awkwardly in his seat and stared at a point on the floor.

“And were the two of you here all night together?” Rieker asked us.

“Heavens no,” Carl said. “She’s not my type.” With that, he winked once more at Clyde.

I saw the light dawn on Detective Rieker’s face. “Well, when did you arrive? It’s early in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep and I saw what happened to Hamilton Howes on the news. Of course, I raced straight over to tell Narel.”

“Of course,” Rieker said dryly. “Why didn’t you simply call her?”

“Well, it was such shocking news because we all went to school with Hamilton.”

“So did you think she would be upset?” Clyde asked him.

“More like shocked than upset,” Carl said. “After all, Hamilton was one of The Populars.”

The two detectives exchanged glances. “Ah yes, the famous Populars,” Rieker said in a tone that hinted of sarcasm. “And were you bullied, too?” He addressed the question to Carl.

Carl nodded. “I wasn’t bullied as badly as Narel or some of the other kids.”

Rieker turn to me. “And did Hamilton Howes bully you?”

I thought before I answered. I didn’t want to implicate myself. “All The Populars bullied me. The girl Populars probably bullied me more than the boy Populars.”

Carl snorted rudely. “Don’t forget Hamilton did that terrible thing to you!”

I shot Carl a quelling look, which had absolutely no effect whatsoever, much to my dismay. He gleefully continued. “I think the worst thing Hamilton ever did to you was when he invited you to the prom. Don’t you remember, Narel? At first you thought it was a trick, like when Guy Smith invited you to the restaurant and made you wear a pig suit and took a photo of you in front of that chocolate shop, but Hamilton was so convincing, that you finally did believe him.”

I cleared my throat loudly, and Carl did hesitate then, but Rieker waved him on. “Please continue.”

Carl launched back into his story. “Well, Hamilton invited Narel to the prom. He told her he liked bigger girls. She was suspicious at first, but he kept asking her and he even sent her flowers. Both of us finally thought he was legit. Anyway, poor Narel was so excited to be going to the prom with a real live date, but he didn’t call for her. She waited and waited, and I was waiting with her because I didn’t have a date. Finally, we both went to the prom, and there was Hamilton with another girl. Narel asked him what was going on, and he made a big scene which humiliated Narel badly. It was all big set up by The Populars to humiliate Narel.”

“But weren’t you suspicious?” Clyde asked me. He appeared to be getting into the story.

“Yes, of course I was at first,” I explained. “But he wasn’t one of the worst Populars, and I hadn’t known him to bully anyone too badly before. I suppose I was just grateful that someone had asked me on a date.”

Clyde continued. “But what, a pretty girl like you? I can’t imagine you had any trouble getting dates.”

Carl snorted again and then burst into raucous laughter. “Narel looks stunning now because she had a terrible car wreck and months of plastic surgery—you know, the reconstructive stuff. She used to look like a chocolate pudding before that, a big, round, chocolate pudding.”

I was aware that my face was flushing beet red. “Carl!” I said. I was awfully embarrassed.

“So who were the worst bullies of the group you call The Populars?” Rieker asked Carl.

Carl shrugged. “Guy Smith, Ridgewell Dugan, Lucinda Shaw-Smythe, Mandy Makim, and Hamilton Howes.”

Clyde spoke up. “I thought you just said Hamilton wasn’t as bad as the others?”

“So sue me, handsome,” Carl said. “After what he did to Narel, he got worse, even though there wasn’t much time left in high school by then left. He became as bad as the others in that short time, even more so.”

No one spoke for a few moments while Rieker read through his notes. “And do either of you have anything else to add about Hamilton Howes?”

Carl and I both shook our heads.

“Was he known to drink?” Rieker asked us.

“Not back in our high school days,” I said. “No more than anyone else, but we haven’t seen him in years.”

“And when was the last time you both did see him?”

“Not since high school,” I said.

“Yes, me too,” Carl added.

Rieker stood up, and Clyde did also. “All right, that will be all for now, but please call us if you think of anything else.”

I shut the door behind them and leaned against it. “It doesn’t look as though they suspect me for this murder, at least,” I said to Carl.

“Be thankful for small mercies,” Carl said. “I really do think that everyone we went to high school with would be a suspect in the eyes of the police. I don’t want to scare you, Narel, but I’m beginning to be a bit frightened. It seems as though there’s a serial killer on the loose, and they’re working their way through our high school class.”

“Only through The Populars,” I pointed out. “I really think that the murderer is someone who was bullied.”

Carl looked thoughtful. “You know what we have to do, don’t you, Narel?”

I had a bad feeling about what he was going to say. “What?”

“You’re going to have to go to the school reunion.”

“No!” I yelled. “Please don’t make me! Then they’ll all know that I used to be Narel.”