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  Death By Chocolate

  A Josiah Reynolds Mystery

  Abigail Keam

  Worker Bee Press

  Death By Chocolate

  Copyright © Abigail Keam 2013

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author.

  The history is true.

  The artist is or was a real person, but the art may not be.

  The characters are not based on you.

  So don’t go around town and brag about it.

  Josiah Reynolds does not exist except in the author’s mind.

  ISBN 978 0 9893745 5 2

  Published in the USA by

  Worker Bee Press

  P.O. Box 485

  Nicholasville, KY 40340

  eBooks created by www.ebookconversion.com

  Acknowledgements

  The author wishes to thank Al’s Bar, which consented to be used as a drinking hole for my poetry-writing cop, Kelly, and Morris Book Shop. www.morrisbookshop.com

  Thanks to my editor, Patti De Young.

  Thanks to the Lexington Farmers’ Market, which has given me a home for many years.

  www.lexingtonfarmersmarket.com

  Artwork by Cricket Press

  www.cricket-press.com

  Book jacket by Peter Keam

  Author’s photograph by Peter Keam

  Also by Abigail Keam

  The Josiah Reynolds Mystery Series

  Death By A HoneyBee I

  Death By Drowning II

  Death By Bridle III

  Death By Bourbon IV

  Death By Lotto V

  Fantasy

  Saga of the de Magela Family

  Wall Of Doom I

  Wall Of Peril II

  Wall Of Glory III

  To John and Bunny,

  who bought the first book.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books

  Dedication

  Map

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Preface

  Walter Neff was nursing a drink at Al’s Bar on the corner of Sixth and Limestone. He intended to do more than nurse it. He was going to get stinking drunk.

  Neff was bitter. He was bitter because he had been cheated out of millions by a dame he liked. It was hard to lose the money, but the money and the woman both? It made him feel like a chump. Neff just hated to come up empty.

  His mind raced with a thousand schemes. The money was lost, but maybe he could still have the dame. It was worth a shot.

  Anger and jealousy gnawed at him. He knew deep in his heart that the woman was out of his reach.

  Neff slammed the bar countertop in frustration with his fist.

  “Whoa there, partner,” drawled a handsome blond-haired man. He looked like Tab Hunter. “Got problems?”

  “None of your business, pard-nar,” sneered Neff.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, partner.”

  Neff swiveled to get a good look at his companion. “What makes you say so?”

  “I would say that we have mutual friends. Perhaps mutual experiences as well?”

  “Sure we do, buddy.” Neff turned back on his stool and took another sip of his drink.

  The blond man leaned in closer. “I’m very serious. I’m always serious with people who have been burned by a certain redhead.”

  Neff faced the younger man and wavered for a moment. “Okay. I’ll throw caution to the wind. What’s your pitch?”

  “I know that a woman with red hair and green eyes cost you millions of dollars. Money that is now being wasted on Lexington’s terminally down and out.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I make it my business to know. Let’s just say I’ve had previous experiences with the lady in question.”

  Neff squinted while tapping his forehead. His mind was fuzzy but still worked when he concentrated. “I know who you are. You’re that loser that went crazy and tried to . . .”

  “If I’m a loser, so are you. Perhaps you would like to discuss how to become a winner. You know, revenge is a dish best served cold. I have a plan that will serve it on a platter. Would you like to hear it?”

  Neff hesitated for a moment but his anger was stronger that his common sense. “Let's talk where there ain’t so many ears.”

  “That’s all right with me. By the way, my name is O’nan. Fred O’nan.”

  Neff shook his hand. “I have the feeling that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  “So do I,” cooed O’nan, studying Neff like a wildcat does a careless rabbit. “So do I.”

  Prologue

  In a corner booth at Al’s Bar sat a young woman with short ash blond hair. She was preening into a compact mirror while powdering her nose, which drew attention from the gadget resembling a smart phone recording O’nan and Neff.

  When O’nan and Neff left the bar together, the woman nodded to two men sitting at the bar.

  Taking their cue, they sauntered out into the street and followed the pair.

  Another man immediately scooted into the booth with the woman. “Put eyes and ears in both their apartments. I want each room available. Make sure you tag their cars as well,” she ordered.

  “Sure thing, Asa. Cars are already booted,” he said in a thick Cockney accent.

  Asa frowned at the use of her name. Her tone turned very chilly. “I want their every movement tracked.”

  Getting the message, the man reminded her, “This is gonna cost a bundle, boss.”

  “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take care of everyone. Just do your best.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’ve seen O’nan’s psychological profile. If it were your mother, what would you do?”

  “He would already have been neutralized. Made it look like a
car accident, ma’am.”

  Asa nodded in agreement. She wasn’t ruling that option out.

  She threw a twenty on the table and left with her employee.

  Outside they parted.

  Asa got into a black SUV with government tags and pulled off her wig. “Take me home,” she said to the driver.

  “To the airport?”

  “Sorry, no. Take me home to the Butterfly. I need to see my mother.”

  Before the SUV could take off, the back door was wrenched open.

  “What are you doing, Asa?” asked Officer Kelly, leaning in. “I was sitting in the back watching you watching O’nan. Don’t do anything stupid. The city would love to see your mother trip up so they don’t have to pay her the rest of the settlement. And don’t think they don’t know you’re here. There were three other cops at Al’s bar tonight.”

  “I must be getting sloppy,” admitted Asa. She smiled sweetly at him.

  Kelly’s eyes grew soft. “Asa. Asa.”

  Asa leaned forward and kissed Kelly, holding onto him tightly.

  He passionately returned her kiss, winding his arms about her. Asa pulled Kelly into the back seat and mouthed to her driver – “GO!”

  “Where’re we going?” asked a bewildered Kelly.

  “Shut up,” replied Asa tenderly. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

  1

  Linc and I were hulling black walnuts for a wedding cake when someone began banging on the front door and ringing the doorbell.

  My heart jumped into my throat. I told Linc to take Baby to my bedroom and lock the steel door. He was not to come out until his grandmother, Eunice, told him it was okay.

  Linc, thrilled at the prospect of danger, did what he was told with relish.

  Baby, thrilled at the prospect of being with Linc, did what the boy commanded and followed happily, especially when Linc promised a treat.

  Turning my attention to the front door, I watched Eunice hurry to the security monitors. In addition to the monitors, I had had several panic buttons installed in the house and was sitting next to one, ready to press it, when Eunice exclaimed, “Why it’s Ginny Wheelwright! She looks fit to be tied. You want me to tell her you’re home?”

  “She must have news about her boy,” I replied. “Let her in, by all means.”

  Eunice had barely opened the steel double door when Ginny barged passed her.

  “Josiah. Josiah!” she called, looking in the kitchen.

  “I’m over here.”

  Ginny looked a mess. Her face was blotchy and her one good eye was red from crying. To make her look totally alien, her glass eye had flipped over, showing only the gold side but then would flip again when she twitched.

  I guess my face showed astonishment at her appearance.

  “I know I look a mess. Can’t help that.”

  “Ginny. They’ve found Dwight’s body?”

  “If only. That would give me some peace on the matter. Oh, Josiah. That wife of his has petitioned to have Dwight declared dead.”

  “You have to be missing seven years in order to be declared dead.”

  “That’s what I thought, but if she can prove extenuating circumstances, then the courts will give an earlier approval.”

  “What’s the rush? Dwight’s only been missing five months. Give the detectives a little longer to work the case. Dwight might be stumbling around somewhere with amnesia. It’s been known to happen.”

  “That’s what I said, but she said she wanted to get on with her life.”

  “Her childhood sweetheart goes missing for only five months and she wants to forget him so soon?”

  “My sentiments, exactly. I think it’s awfully cold.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “She told me to mind my own business.” Ginny began crying again. “My son is my business. Where is he, Josiah? Where can my baby be?”

  Ginny blew her nose with a used tissue and then continued lamenting, “And that business partner of his, Farley Webb, has moved all of Dwight’s things out of his office. He just packed them up and took Dwight’s things over to Selena. Then she took his things to Goodwill. It’s like they both are trying to erase my boy.”

  Eunice brought a tray of coffee, tea, cookies and a fresh box of tissues. Then she discreetly vamoosed into my bedroom with Linc, giving Ginny some privacy.

  I’m not a touchy-feely person. I’m not given to hugs or kisses, but I did reach out and pat Ginny’s hand.

  Ginny grabbed it and tugged. “Ya gotta help me, Jo. The investigation’s going nowhere.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “NOOO! I’m not going to get involved with issues like this anymore.”

  “This isn’t some issue. This is my boy who used to play with your girl right there on that patio. You babysat him. You cooked for him.”

  I tried to pull away.

  “When Asa went to trial, who was there for you? Me. When Brannon left, so did most of your friends, but I stuck by you. Now it’s payback time. You gotta help me.”

  Jumping Jehosaphat!

  Why did I have to stick my hand out to her?

  I was in no shape physically or emotionally to solve another mystery. That’s what police and shamuses were for. I should have thrown Ginny out right then and there.

  Instead, I asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  2

  My name is Josiah Reynolds.

  I’ve worked hard all my life. I was a tenured art history professor at the University of Kentucky until I took up beekeeping. It wasn’t that I wanted to retire from teaching. I loved it, but my personal life got in the way.

  Mainly I was chased out by the constant gossiping in the office after my husband left me for a younger woman and colleagues stabbing me in the back when I was a candidate for the Department Chair’s position.

  I hate office politics. Good riddance was what I said as I turned in my resignation. I didn’t have to put up with those jerks’ smug knowing looks or cruel remarks – just loud enough for me to hear. Screw them!

  Bees are how I make my living now . . . if that is what you can call it. They are much more civil creatures. The honeybees just want to collect their nectar. They don’t have a back-story. They don’t bring baggage to work. Their only agenda is to make lovely golden honey.

  Every Saturday, I sell their honey at the Farmers’ Market.

  I have other sources of income. I rent out my house, the Butterfly, for tours and weddings, which makes a tidy little profit for me now. I also board horses, mainly racing Thoroughbreds. That money goes back into the farm.

  My vices are cut flower arrangements, having my hair done every so often and my animals. I love animals. I have sheep, chickens, a couple of goats, lamas, peacocks, two rescue racehorses, numerous barn cats and one mangy lazy slobbery English Mastiff named Baby.

  I live in a large iconic house called the Butterfly because its second roof looks like wings from a distance.

  It is a modern-style house that was an experiment in complete sustainable living from the cradle-to-the-grave. There are no steps in the house and the hallways are extremely wide.

  The entire back of the house is bulletproof glass overlooking the Kentucky River. The bulletproof glass was installed to protect the residents, mainly me, from stray bullets shot across the Kentucky River by drunken deer hunters.

  The house sits on a cliff overlooking the Kentucky River. This area is called the Palisades, which is one of the most fragile and sensitive environments in the world. I do everything I can to protect it, but it seems everyone from developers to the Kentucky Department of Transportation wants to destroy one of the great wonders of the world.

  Greedy moneymen can’t wait to get their hands on a failing horse farm so they can turn it into a tacky little subdivision. It’s like the devil is pushing folks out of one of the last paradises on earth so they put up another strip mall.

  Speaking of the devil, last year I had an accident. Accident – hell! I was thrown off the cliff at m
y house by a cop who hated me. Anyway, that’s another story.

  While I recovered in Key West, my daughter, Asa, along with my best friend, Matt, had the entire estate upgraded. Things had gotten a little shabby after my husband left and took our money with him. I guess he figured that if he had already stabbed me, he might as well gut me, too. That’s in the figurative sense.

  Anyway, he died of a heart attack leaving me with nothing but a headache.

  His girlfriend, Ellen Boudreaux, thinks their child should have some sort of legal interest in the Butterfly, as it was Brannon’s masterpiece.

  Actually, it was my idea and design. He just built it. His specialty was restoration of antebellum homes.

  I guess Ellen thinks that since she got my money, some of my couture dresses and my best jewelry, she should have the roof over my head as well. She threatens all the time to take me to court. “Well, get on with it, girl” is what I say.

  But I don’t want to talk about Brannon. I get riled up just thinking about him. It was with our daughter, Asa, that I currently was having a hissy fit. We were having a discussion in the great room. No, it was more like an argument.

  “You simply must not see Kelly anymore,” I demanded.

  “I don’t think that is going to happen, Mother.”

  I held out my hands. “Asa, he has a wife and two young children to consider. He loves his wife.”

  “He loves me too.”

  “If you loved Kelly, you would not make him choose between you and his family. You could have had him, but you left him high and dry after high school without even saying goodbye. Since then he has made a life and you shouldn’t break that up.”

  “So, because I made a mistake when I was young, I should suffer the rest of my life? He should suffer?”

  “There are other people to consider now.”

  “Lots of people get divorced who have children and they get on with their lives.”

  “But Kelly is happily married. There is no reason for a divorce.”

  “He will be happily divorced then.”