Read Behind Chocolate Bars for Free Online

situation. Once we had them around the corner, Erica answered her phone and listened intently.
    I took a few steps away from the group. “What’s happening?” I asked when she hung up.
    â€œMarino’s almost here and as much as he’d love the publicity for himself, he wants to keep Dylan away from the cameras,” she said. “So he’s going in to arrange for Dylan’s release. Then he’ll exit through the front door, and make a statement to draw their attention, while I take Dylan out the back door. You bring the car there and wait, so we can jump right in.”
    â€œSounds good,” I said. “What about the kids?”
    â€œHey, guys.” She moved into the center of the pack. “It may be a while, but we’re taking Dylan out another way and bringing him to our house until his dad shows up. Can you keep those reporters toward the front of the building? And, Quinn and Tommy, can you get back to your car on your own?”
    The group responded with enthusiasm and I slid away to move the minivan into position while Erica went back inside. As I waited behind the police station, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dylan. He was only sixteen and already had todeal with so much. He shouldn’t have to handle being accused of something so terrible.
    And he was a good kid. A hard-working employee, genuinely helpful to customers. The way his friends rallied around him was proof. Then I thought about their reluctance to answer questions. Were they hiding something?
    Erica walked out with Dylan in a dark sweatshirt with the hood pulled around his face. They both rushed into the car and I took off as fast as I could go.
    â€œYou okay?” I asked Dylan as he pulled his hood off his head and squished himself into the back corner of the car, seeming even smaller than before.
    He answered with an automatic “Yes” that he couldn’t possibly mean.
    â€œMarino’s the best,” Erica said over her shoulder. “He’ll fix this.” If I knew Erica, she was already figuring out how to find out more about the victim, the first step toward uncovering suspects other than Dylan.
    â€œThanks for calling him,” Dylan said politely. He certainly didn’t look like a murderer, with his hands scrunched up in his jacket pockets and his brown shaggy hair falling into his eyes.
    â€œI missed you this morning,” I said.
    He looked surprised, as if he’d forgotten all about coming in. Then his phone rang and he looked down at it. His face hardened. “I’m out,” he said into the phone, his tone flat.
    I could hear that it was Oscar’s voice, but I couldn’t make out his words.
    â€œI’m fine,” Dylan said. After a few “okays,” he hung up.
    â€œWas that your dad?” Erica asked.
    â€œYes,” he said. “He’ll meet us at your house.”
    There was something definitely wrong between Dylan and Oscar, but now was not the time to pry.
    We made it back to the house and walked into the kitchen. Erica gestured for Dylan to sit at the table and she sat opposite him.
    â€œHot cocoa?” I asked.
    â€œNo, thanks,” he said.
    When I just stood in front of him, surprised, he relented. “Okay, sure.”
    Erica started in gently. “Dylan. What did Detective Lockett tell you about . . . what happened?”
    He shrugged his shoulders, in that teen way guaranteed to drive adults crazy.
    I moved over to the stove and put my cow teakettle on to boil. My Tropical Cream hot cocoa was Dylan’s favorite, sure to soften him up for Erica’s questions. I used the best cocoa powder, measured in only enough sugar to make it this side of sweet, and added dried orange zest and a little cayenne pepper for kick. It was like a warm chocolate volcano in your mouth.
    Dylan took a deep breath. “He said a woman named Faith Monette was killed at the community center of Cuesta Verde, I