Playing with Bonbon Fire Read online

  Harley was looking from me to Bixby and back to me again. His lips twisted into an odd sort of frown.

  I wasn’t sure why the sight of his disapproval made me squirm. It really wasn’t any of his business who I kissed. Even so, I stumbled over introductions and ended up sounding like a squeaky teenager.

  I cleared my throat while the two men squared off as they shook hands. Harley, who was my height—which meant he was about six inches taller than Bixby—seemed to win whatever testosterone-fueled contest they were playing.

  “Now that the matter of my premature death has been cleared up,” Bixby said as he turned back to me, “I was hoping you could help me get in touch with Bubba. I need to talk to him some more about his music. In addition to ‘Camellia Nights,’ there are some other real gems in the band’s songbook. I tried calling the number he gave me, but it keeps sending me to his voicemail.”

  “That’s odd,” Harley said. “Bubba lives with that phone of his glued to his hip.”

  “You don’t think Bubba was the one in the …?” I didn’t want to finish that thought. Luckily, I didn’t have to.

  Detective Frank Gibbons from the Charleston County Sheriff’s Office stepped through the back door of the Chocolate Box to join us on the patio. “Police Chief Byrd tells me you’ve been causing trouble for him again.” Gibbons, a large man, wore his size like a pro. His gray suit fit his pear shape as if it had been cut specifically for his body.

  He stayed near the building where some shade could be found on this humid summer morning. He dug a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow as he gazed at the clear blue sky. “Going to be a scorcher today.”

  “Humidity’s not going to help matters. Last night’s storm only made the air wetter,” Harley said, following the local custom of thoroughly discussing the weather before ever getting down to business. It was a custom that drove me batty, especially now, when I needed to know what Gibbons knew about last night’s murder and why he was looking for me.

  “Good day for—” the detective started to say in that leisurely Southern drawl that never went anywhere quickly.

  “I didn’t see you at the crime scene last night,” I blurted, rudely cutting him off. But honestly I didn’t have the patience to wait for him to dissect the weather conditions before getting around to telling me what was going on.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Had dinner at my wife’s sister’s house. Connie would’ve divorced me if I’d left early. And after thirty years of living with the same woman, I’m kind of used to going home to her scowling face.” He pulled his pocket-sized notebook from somewhere in his suit coat’s interior, and after jotting something down on a page, he turned to squint at Bixby.

  The superstar who’d handled a death threat without even a tremor of nerves suddenly looked as if he wanted to escape. Gibbons didn’t give him the chance. “Aren’t you that Bixby fellow my granddaughters are all gaga over?”

  “Bixby Lewis, sir.” He sounded unusually subdued, nervous almost. “Were they at last night’s concert?”

  He nodded, but didn’t look pleased about it. “I suppose they’ll kill me if I don’t ask for an autograph.” He then turned to me. “Since you and Althea were the ones who found the victim, Penn, I’ll need to talk with you.”

  “Has the coroner been able to identify the body?” I asked.

  He nodded again.

  “It’s not me,” Bixby spread his arms as if showing off his not-scorched-to-death body to the detective.

  “No, it’s not.” His gaze flicked in the superstar’s direction. “The victim was Stan Frasier.”

  Chapter 8

  “Stan is dead?” I asked, my voice slow and measured.

  Not Bubba. Thank goodness.

  “Did you know him?” Detective Gibbons asked.

  “Not well. Just met him yesterday.” Unpleasant guy.

  I didn’t say more. All of the sudden I felt uncomfortable speaking ill of the dead. It must have come from hanging around Althea too much. Her crazy must have started rubbing off on me. Because, really, it wasn’t as if the dead cared what I said about them.

  Gibbons nodded.

  “He was in town with his group, Ocean Waves,” I added.

  “That guy?” Bixby’s expressive brown eyes grew wide, capturing everyone’s attention and reminding us all why he was the big star with hordes of screaming fans. “You don’t mean the guy who was giving Bubba a hard time?”

  I grimaced. “That’s him.”

  His death was going to leave a hole in our festival’s schedule. But that wasn’t what had my teeth clamping down so hard it made my jaw hurt. No, it was something else entirely that had me fearing I’d crack a tooth.

  Last night Bubba had threatened to kill Stan.

  Had he carried through on his threat?

  “What do you know?” Detective Gibbons leaned toward me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing. Really, nothing,” I answered quickly. Too quickly.

  His brows furrowed. “Need I remind you what happened the last time you held back important information? If not for your friend Harley’s quick thinking, you probably wouldn’t be standing here today.”

  And the Chocolate Box would have met the wrecking ball. But that wasn’t a tale that needed to be repeated today.

  Today, I needed to focus on Stan’s murder and on whether or not the president of Camellia Beach’s business association had actually carried through with his threat to kill his former bandmate.

  * * *

  The chocolate. That stupid bag of chocolate bonbons. It was a piece of the crime scene that made absolutely no sense to me. How had Stan gotten his hands on the chocolates the congressman had given to Bixby?

  I’d told Detective Gibbons about seeing the bag of chocolates, which I was sure had made its way into evidence. He’d nodded and written it down in his little notebook but didn’t seem nearly as interested in what it might mean as I was. Instead, he spent most of his time questioning me about who I’d seen the previous night on the beach and if I knew anyone who had a beef with the cranky singer.

  In the end, I told him about the altercation between Bubba and Stan on the pier where they’d nearly come to blows but stopped short of telling him how Bubba had threatened to kill Stan. Gibbons was good at his job. He’d find out about it soon enough. He didn’t need me doing everything for him.

  “Hello? Penn? Do I need to do everything for you?” Bertie scolded in her gruff but never unkind manner less than an hour later.

  “What?” I asked, startled.

  She pointed at the trays of truffles I’d been restocking for the front counter. “You usually do a better job with that.”

  I shook my head with dismay. The coconut truffles had been mixed in with the sea salt chocolate caramels, which had been mixed in with the raspberry bonbons. Apparently, I’d been putting truffles and caramels and bonbons randomly on the trays. They weren’t even lined up in neat rows.

  “Sorry about that.” I pulled off my gloves and popped a caramel in my mouth. Once I finished savoring Bertie’s chewy specialty, I added, “My mind is wandering all over the place.”

  “Clearly.” She slipped on a pair of gloves and started fixing the tray. Her hands moved with a grace and confidence I prayed I’d one day possess. “Is it the shock of finding a body? You do realize anyone who lives on the beach long enough eventually finds one? A body, I mean. Though the poor souls usually wash up onto shore from the ocean; they don’t usually find themselves at the bottom of a …” She shook her head. “It’s understandable that your nerves would be keeping you from being able to think straight.”

  “It’s not that. Well, not just that.” I followed Bertie as she carried the tray back to its display case in the front of the shop. “It’s Bubba,” I whispered. I didn’t want the few customers who were enjoying their morning coffees and pastries to overhear. Although the shop mainly sold chocolate truffles, bonbons, and gourmet chocolate bars, we served th
e breakfast crowd chocolate croissants and assorted pastries that we had delivered in daily from a bakery in nearby Charleston. “Last night. He said he was going to kill Stan.”

  Bertie slammed the tray of chocolates into place and spun around to glare at me. “Child, that was talk. Stupid talk. He didn’t mean it.”

  “You already know that he threatened Stan?”

  “He said it in front of half the town. Of course I know about it. He didn’t mean it.”

  “How do I know that? He sounded … I don’t know … pretty darned determined.” And he hadn’t said it in front of half the town. We were standing in the VIP area. I tried to remember who else had been in the area and close enough to overhear him. “He sounded furious. How do I know he didn’t follow through with the threat?”

  She shook her head again and walked away.

  When I followed, she whirled around to stop me. Her already stern face hardened with anger. “You know it’s true because I told you it’s true.”

  I trusted Bertie, honestly I did. But how could she be so sure? I would have pushed her to explain herself if she hadn’t looked so scary just then and if a new customer hadn’t chosen that moment to walk up to the counter.

  As I filled the lady’s order, I kept glancing toward the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen at the back of the shop, where I presumed Bertie had gone. Why was Bertie so upset by my mentioning Bubba? She and the business association president hardly ever spoke to one another.

  I thanked the customer for her business and had just about worked up the courage to go talk to Bertie when the customer, who had the stamp of a tourist complete with camera hanging around her neck, decided she wanted to stay and collect some local gossip.

  She hugged her bag of chocolates to her chest and asked in a hushed but excited voice, “Did you hear about what happened last night?”

  I decided to play it stupid. “The concert was amazing, wasn’t it?”

  “Not the concert,” she said and then whispered, “The murder.”

  “Yes. It was quite a shock.”

  “I heard the police already have a prime suspect, a former band member. What was his name? Bud?”

  “Bubba?” Please say no, not Bubba.

  Much to my chagrin, she nodded vigorously. “That’s him. Everyone is saying he’s guilty as sin.”

  “Not everyone,” I grumbled.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “I said I hope you’ll be able to enjoy your visit to Camellia Beach despite last night’s tragedy.”

  With her eyes sparkling with excitement, she nodded vigorously again and promised she would.

  Good gracious, I knew that news travels fast in small towns, but the speed at which this tidbit had made its rounds had to have set a record. I’d talked with Detective Gibbons less than an hour ago. And I hadn’t even told him about how Bubba had threatened to kill Stan.

  Camellia Beach had an odd way about it. Sometimes the residents would circle the wagons and refuse to talk with anyone who wasn’t born on the island. Other times, like now, the residents were as gossipy as a women’s church group.

  I hoped Bertie could shed some light on what she thought was going on and why she was so certain Bubba hadn’t carried through on his threat. I started to make my way to the back of the shop again to search for Bertie when the bell above the door rang.

  Congressman Ezell entered with his young nephew following along.

  “Penn!” he called out. Both Trey and Tom were dressed in similar light tan suits and red power ties. Ezell’s pants were creased to knife points. The two of them made their way around the café portion of the shop, greeting everyone and shaking hands. “I need to talk with you,” the elder Ezell said to me as they finally made their way over to the counter.

  “Do you need more bonbons?” I asked, even though I knew he hadn’t yet handed out the ones we’d made for him yesterday.

  “No, but maybe I’ll order some more after tonight’s concert.” With his back to the voting public, his smile faded.

  “Be sure to keep them in a refrigerator. They will melt,” I warned.

  “I will. I will.” He then ordered a chocolate croissant and hot chocolate.

  “Did you enjoy last night?” I asked Tom as I filled the order.

  The young man nodded vigorously. “I did indeed, Miss Penn. Bixby Lewis is an amazing entertainer. I’d love to be just like him.”

  “Do you fancy yourself a future rock star?” I asked as I put the order on a tray and handed it over the counter to the congressman.

  “Of course he doesn’t,” Ezell said. “He’s going to be a politician, following in the footsteps of his ancestors. Did you know that there was an Ezell at the Continental Congress?”

  “That’s impressive,” I said.

  Ezell nodded proudly as he handed the boy the tray. “Tom, please go sit over there.” He nodded toward a small table near the front of the shop. “I need to talk with Penn for a moment.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ezell smiled as he watched the child sit down at the table he’d indicated. “He’s a good kid. Now, Penn, I need to talk with you about—” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s private?”

  “Not really. As you can see, I’m working the front while Bertie is … Well, I’m not sure where Bertie is or even if she’s still in the shop.”

  “I just talked with her outside. She was getting into her car,” Ezell said.

  “She was? Did she say where she was going?”

  “Seemed rude to ask. She did look mighty upset. But then again, after last night, we all are.” He looked around as if trying to figure out what to do. “Are you sure you can’t step away from the counter for just a little while?”

  “No, I can’t. What’s this about anyhow?”

  “I could watch things here for you,” Althea offered. I hadn’t even noticed she’d come in. Dressed in a pale green silk maxi dress that perfectly complimented her dark complexion, she tilted her head toward me and nodded encouragingly, as if she really wanted me to have this private time alone with the congressman.

  “Don’t you have a shop of your own to run?” She owned a store on Main Street that sold “magical crystals” to unsuspecting tourists. Well, the added quotes might not be exactly fair of me. Althea actually believed in her crystals’ powers and felt as if her shop provided a needed service to the community.

  “I hire high school seniors to work in the summer. It gives them a chance to learn about the powers of crystals while they earn money for college expenses, and it gives me a chance to enjoy my summers at the beach. But with everything that happened”—her brows furrowed as she searched for the right word—“yesterday, I thought you might need some extra help around here.”

  She was right. With Bertie gone, I could use the help. I thanked Althea before leaving her in charge.

  “And while we’re gone, please keep an eye on young Tom over there.” I grabbed my purse from underneath the counter. “We won’t be long.”

  “I need to take Stella for her midmorning walk anyhow,” I explained as I led the way to the back door that opened out onto the marsh.

  Ezell seemed pleased. He attempted to hook his arm with mine as we climbed the back staircase to the building’s upstairs apartments. When we reached the apartment, Stella ran to the door to greet me but stopped short at the sight of a stranger. Her huge ears, which were much larger than her head, trembled as she yipped nonstop at the congressman. When she moved, it looked as if clouds of silky fur were floating across the room. It was a stunning example of beauty in motion. Her fur nearly reached the floor. Though she was a mostly white pup, her head and ears were black and tan. She had a dark brown spot at the base of her tail and another on her back.

  My ex-boyfriend, the Cheese King, had given me Stella. He’d mistakenly thought every girl with a huge trust fund needed a small dog to carry around in her Gucci purse. He should have asked whether or not I had acc
ess to that trust fund or if I even owned a Gucci purse. The answer to both questions would have been a resounding no. Plus, I hadn’t wanted a dog.

  When I’d first met Stella, she had bitten my nose. Since then, she had bitten noses, toes, and fingers. She was a menace. And even though I didn’t want her, I didn’t dare give her to a shelter or rescue organization. Dogs with a history of biting didn’t have a good chance at finding a new home.

  “Stella has an odd charm that grows on you … eventually,” I told Ezell, who was eyeing my little beast with dislike. I didn’t take offense. Most people looked at her that way.

  I managed to block Stella’s path to her latest foe. His slacks looked expensive. With the costly repairs I’d been making to the shop, I couldn’t afford to buy him a new pair of pants.

  I tossed my little dog a handful of bacon Bertie had fried that morning just for this purpose. While growling—after all, she was still unhappy at the sight of our intruder—she gobbled up her favorite treats.

  I quickly snapped a leash to her collar before she finished the last piece.

  With Congressman Ezell following along, Stella led the way down an informal path that skirted the edge of the marsh at the back of the island. It was low tide. Shiny black fiddler crabs were out of their holes. Most were scurrying around the pluff mud, doing whatever it was fiddler crabs did in the summer. A few were standing still with one large claw held up as if volunteering for an important task.

  “You found the body,” the congressman said as we walked.

  I nodded.

  “That must have been horrible. Are you okay?”

  I shrugged.

  “What did you see?” He sounded concerned.

  “Mainly the bonfire,” I answered. Did he really think I wanted to talk about last night? To relive the traumatic moment?

  I stopped abruptly, which made Stella start to bark again. I turned toward him. “Last night you gave Bixby one of the bags of bonbons the Chocolate Box had made for you. Did you hand any of the others out?”