Chocolate Covered Murder Read Free Page A

Christmas.”
    Lucy was tempted. “It’s a start.”
    â€œI’m pretty sure Pam’s got all the fixings: stuffing, cranberry sauce, canned yams.”
    â€œThrow in a bag of frozen shrimp and you’ve got a deal,” said Lucy.
    â€œYou’re a tough woman, Lucy.”
    â€œI’ve got hungry kids at home.”
    â€œHow soon can we do this?” asked Phyllis, as a gust of wind rattled the door in its frame.
    â€œI’ll call him right now,” said Lucy, reaching for the phone.
    â€œMight as well set something up with the chocolate guy, too,” reminded Ted. “What’s his name? Meeker?”
    â€œMeacham, Trey Meacham,” said Lucy, as she started dialing.
    A sudden burst of static from the police scanner on Ted’s desk caught her attention and she paused, finger in the air, waiting for it to clear. The dispatcher’s voice finally came through, ordering all rescue personnel to Blueberry Pond.
    Lucy looked at Ted. “Are you going or should I?”
    â€œYou.” He paused. “I’d go but I’ve got a phone interview with the governor’s wife in half an hour.”
    â€œReally?” asked Lucy.
    â€œYeah. She’s calling for a renewed effort in the war on drugs.”
    â€œStop the presses,” said Lucy, sarcastically, as she began pulling on her snow pants, boots, scarf, jacket, hat, and gloves. She checked her bag and made sure she had her camera and notebook, also her car keys.
    â€œYou better hurry,” said Ted. “You’ll miss the story.”
    â€œYeah, well, I don’t want to be a frostbite victim,” said Lucy, stepping out and making sure the door caught behind her.
    A frigid blast of wind snapped her scarf against her face and she pulled her hood up over her hat, blinking back tears as she struggled across the sidewalk to her car. Inside, the air was still and cold, and she checked to make sure the heater was set on high as she started the engine. While the engine warmed up, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes, then dug a tube of lip balm out of her bag and smeared it on her lips. She flipped on her signal and cautiously pulled out into the snow-covered road.
    The sun was bright and sparkling snow squalls filled the air as she drove down Main Street and out onto Route 1. There was little traffic, except for a police cruiser and an ambulance that passed her, lights flashing and sirens blaring. She followed them, eventually reaching the unpaved road leading to the pond, where a cluster of vehicles were scattered in the clearing that served as a parking area. She recognized Max’s huge pickup among them, with his snowmobile in the back.
    She turned the engine off, regretting the immediate loss of heat, and climbed out of the car into the icy blast blowing off the pond. She clutched her hood tight around her head and hurried down the path that had been trodden into the snow by booted feet. Ice fishing was a popular pastime this time of year, and several fishermen had even built shacks on the pond. Lucy had never quite understood the attraction of hanging out on treacherous ice waiting for a trap to spring, indicating a bite on the line, but then she didn’t understand why people played golf, either.
    Reaching the pond, she hesitated. She didn’t like walking on ice; she didn’t trust it. But there was a small group standing about a hundred feet from the shore, so it seemed safe enough. The temperature had been well below freezing since Christmas, she reminded herself, imagining the ice must be several feet thick. They used to cut huge chunks of ice from this pond, in the days before refrigeration. She’d seen photographs at the historical society of the ice cutters, with their horses and sledges loaded with enormous blocks of ice that were packed in straw and stored in ice houses until needed in summer.
    The ice was slippery underfoot and she walked carefully, leaning forward