Death of a Chocolate Cheater: A Food Festival Mystery by Penny Pike Page B

the sound of a cell phone. I was trapped on a small boat in a dark tunnel where millions of robotic children were singing “It’s a Small World.” Talk about a nightmare.
    I sat up in the darkness and felt for my cell phone on the small built-in end table next to the bed. Before I could answer, I heard someone pounding on the door of the RV. I grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it on over my nightshirt, grabbed the first weapon I could find—my hair straightener—and called out, “Who’s there?”
    “Me!” Aunt Abby called back. “Who else could it be?”
    I yanked open the door. Aunt Abby stood there wrapped in a Minnie Mouse–emblazoned red robe, her face makeup-free, her hair in old-fashioned curlers. If I hadn’t known it was her, it would have scared the crap out of me.
    I frowned. “Are you all right?” I glanced at the Cheshire Cat. Eleven thirty. Really? It felt much later.
    “Oh yes, sweetie, I’m fine,” Aunt Abby said, climbing the two steps and entering the RV. I could hearexcitement in her voice. “Sorry if I woke you. You weren’t in bed already, were you?”
    Apparently I had hit that pillow hard. “Uh, I was just about to go to bed,” I lied, stifling a yawn. “What’s up?”
    She slid into a booth seat. “Dillon hacked into the SFPD’s database.”
    “What?”
    Aunt Abby made a shushing gesture, as if someone might overhear us in the dead of night in the RV. “He read the medical examiner’s preliminary report.”
    Oh my God. That kid of hers was sure to end up in prison one day.
    I slid into the booth opposite her. “Obviously he found out something or you wouldn’t be here.”
    She nodded. “According to the report, the ME noted something suspicious on the body.”
    “He’s already done with the autopsy?” I asked, surprised. Like Wendy Spellman, almost all I knew about forensics I’d learned from watching cop shows on TV, and while they tended to speed up the time s, this seemed too fast for real life.
    “No. It’s the preliminary exam. And the ME’s a she. Guess what she found?” Aunt Abby’s eyes twinkled, even without makeup. I had a feeling she was enjoying her new role as Jessica Fletcher.
    “What?”
    “A contusion.”
    “A what?” I hated it when my aunt used cop talk.
    “A gash. On the top of her head.”
    I shrugged. “That’s probably where the blade hit her and caused her to fall in.”
    “She noted that the contusion didn’t seem to be consistent with the description of the blade. The blade would have hit her along the
side
of the head, but the gash was right on
top
of her head. And it was jagged, not smooth.”
    I let her words sink in for a moment. “You mean she thinks . . .”
    “. . . Polly was struck on the top of her head
first.
”
    “And then . . . ?”
    “And
then
dumped into the vat.”
    “Which means . . . ?”
    “Polly Montgomery was murdered!”

Chapter 8
    “Oh my God!” I said. “Are you sure Dillon got the information right?”
    Aunt Abby looked as if she’d just solved the case. “That’s what he said. It’s all in the ME’s report.”
    She rose, retrieved the
Beauty and the Beast
teakettle she’d given me, and filled it with water. Aunt Abby offered full hookups for her RV, including a cord for electricity and a hose for water. Mrs. Potts’s smiling face and bright eyes promised a happy cup of tea, and apparently Aunt Abby was going to deliver it. I wasn’t about to get back to bed anytime soon.
    “So, the ME thinks she was murdered?”
    My aunt retrieved two matching Chip teacups from the small overhead cupboard and set them on the microcounter, then rummaged through the pocket of her robe and pulled out two bags of tea. “Peppermint chocolate or chocolate raspberry?” she asked.
    Chocolate? I’d had my fill only a short time ago. Funny how that craving reappeared so quickly. I’m not much of a tea lover, but I’ll drink anything chocolate. “Where did you get those?”
    “Stole ’em from the