Bonbons and Betrayal: Book 3 in The Chocolate Cafe Series (6 page)

Louis looked away from the view for the first time since Mac sat down. His mouth was a straight line, curving down into a slight frown. His beard hid it well, but lines had been etched along his face to match – worn like water against rock, from years of seeing things that would have sent anyone else straight to the psych ward.

“I used to have that special kind of coldness,” he said, his eyes as hard as his mouth. “I don’t know what’s happened to me.”

Mac took his hand across the table, intertwining her fingers with his.

“Mackenzie Bay happened to you.” He scoffed and looked back at the water. A mist so thick it looked like a stone wall was slowly advancing toward the shore. On the small patch of grass that was Sabrina’s backyard, a congregation of gulls had gathered, seeking shelter from what was apparently going to be quite a storm.

Mac was trying to welcome it. After the night they’d had and the emotional wreckage of the morning, she was reminding herself seemingly every minute that it was good to be sequestered in Brie’s house. Her best friend safely but exhaustedly sleeping upstairs, the sweet, chocolate scented warmth of the old house insulating them… It was probably best to be landlocked until the trauma began to fade.

If only she could convince herself it was true.

She was itching as much as Louis was to get to the bottom of Paul’s murder. Her mind hadn’t stopped running over the events of the weekend, over everything she knew about him, about his friends or lack thereof.

Watching the detective ignore his tea, she felt like grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him into action.

“Louis…” She began, squeezing his fingers slightly with her own.

Louis let go of her hand and took a deep drink of his almost cold tea.

“It’s not my district, so there’s really not much I can do. However…” he sighed. “However, I do have a few contacts. Useful ones apparently.”

Mac’s heart flipped in her chest. He didn’t…did he?

“They’re letting me take part in the investigation.” Mac gasped, her eyes shining. She had to stop herself from clapping her hands together with joy.

“Oh my god…really?”

Louis looked over his glasses at her. There wasn’t a trace of humor in his eyes. His eyes, the kind, brown pools she fell into on such a regular basis, really could be colder than she imagined.

“They’re letting ME take part. Just me. That means no breaking in anywhere, no running up cliff sides after suspects, no provoking madmen for amusement.”

“But…can I ride along with you?” She had missed the point completely. Louis’s broad shoulders dropped and he let his head fall slack with frustration.

When he looked up, Mac was staring at him like a puppy someone had mistakenly said ‘walk’ to. She might as well have had a leash in her mouth and a furiously wagging tail.

Despite his annoyance, Louis couldn’t help but feel a disconcerting flush of love for her. Her odd, elven little face that he could practically fit in one hand, her intimidating intelligence…her inability to take ‘no’ for an answer. He was the wary seagull to her oncoming storm.

“Do you know anyone who can come watch Brie while we’re gone?” He mumbled, his tone resigned and weary.

Mac practically leaped across the small Formica table, slamming her mouth against his in a grateful kiss. His glasses knocked off kilter; he was too shocked to kiss her back, his lukewarm tea spilling over his hand where it had been suspended between the two of them.

Oncoming storm indeed.

Louis’ colleague at the NYC police department had supplied him with the home address of Paul Creed’s old roommate. The phone on speaker, Mac had silently scribbled the street name and house number on the back of an old fast food napkin she had found in the glove compartment. It wasn’t the most sophisticated detective work she’d ever done, but at least it was something.

As excited as she was to go along with him, she felt a little bit embarrassed that she had been so desperate to be asked. There was no way Mac would be so transparent in everyday life. She was far too guarded for that and after six months Louis knew that all too well. In a way, it was as if he had found her weak spot. Even Sabrina didn’t know where that was.

They were parking in the perfectly clean driveway of a suburban dream home about an hour from the University. It was obviously a very affluent neighborhood, but one that was eerily devoid of character. Every sprawling mansion seemed to follow one of three basic designs. Every lawn was cut to the same length and every drive way housed the same, glossy SUV status symbols.

Paul’s roommate had apparently enjoyed more than his share of success. His house was the largest on the cul-de-sac, situated at the end of the loop like a proud patriarch at the family table.

Louis pulled up beside the white Cadillac escalade parked in front of the garage. His beat up Toyota looked like the country bumpkin cousin alongside of the shimmering vehicle. In fact, Mac had the distinct impression that if Louis took too long inside she’d find herself being asked to move along by a local rent-a-cop.

Louis opened the door, one long leg already out of the car. He stopped and turned to Mac, as if in afterthought.

“Would it matter if I said it or not?” he asked. Despite his tone, Mac could tell he was trying not to smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mac batted her long lashes fetchingly.

“Stay…in…the…car,” he said. “No matter how much you want to snoop around, I need you to stay put. No wandering off.”

“Can you leave the window open at least? Give me a bowl of water? You know how quickly the temperature rises in locked cars?” Louis rolled his eyes.

“I’ll look for you in the pound should someone call the SPCA.”

****

If someone had asked Louis what the man who answered the door was a professor of, he would’ve guessed it in a second. There was never a man who looked more like he had a PhD in computer sciences. From his thin neck and the shadow of a mustache attempting to grow on his upper lip to his rapidly balding head, he was a living stereotype.

When Louis shook his hand he couldn’t help but wonder how many times the poor guy had to endure wedgies throughout his life. From the look of his home however, they were worth it.

“Shall I take my shoes off?” Louis asked, pausing at the entranceway.

“Please.” the man said, his soft Persian accent making everything he said sound slightly melodic. “The rainwater is very damaging to the wood.”

Louis scanned the house quickly. Unsurprisingly, it was just as heartlessly elegant inside as it was on the outside. It was beautiful certainly, but more like a furniture showroom than a home. It didn’t smell as if anyone had ever cooked a meal or slept a night there, even though the walls were covered in pictures of the man and his apparently happy family.

“I’m Louis,” he said, offering his hand. “From the Mackenzie…actually from the NYC police department.” He deftly flicked his ID at the man, exposing just enough of his holstered gun at his hip to ensure the man knew it was there.

“Yes, your chief called me ahead of time to say you were coming. I’m Sayeed Mehyar, but I suppose you knew that as well.”

Without waiting for the detective to finish slipping his shoes off, Mehyar turned and made his way toward the back of the house where it opened up to what looked like a dining room.

“I don’t have much time for your questions, Detective, which is quite convenient as I don’t have a lot to say on the subject or frankly, much patience for it either.”

“By the subject you mean Paul Creed,” Louis said, impressed already by Mehyar’s miserable tone. This could be even more interesting than he had initially thought.

Still not looking over his shoulder, Mehyar made a dismissive gesture and padded through the archway into the dining room. Louis followed, his expert gaze taking in every detail as he went. He wouldn’t be surprised if 'A place for everything and everything in its place' was the family motto. Nothing was out of order and everything was immaculate.

Mehyar made his way on softly padding feet to a sunken living room that looked out on a large backyard complete with swimming pool. He gestured to one of the oversized chairs that were arranged perfectly around the fireplace.

He sat, crossing his lean legs and templed his fingers in front of his mouth. Louis sat opposite him, waiting for his response.

“He wasn’t my favorite person in the world. I make no apologies for that,” Mehyar said. “Nor am I shocked that someone finally got the nerve to end his life. I’m sure you’ll enjoy writing that in your little notebook.”

Louis smiled one of his most charming, feckless smiles.

“No little book here, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’ve been doing this long enough that I haven’t the need for one.”

Mehyar grunted and looked away.

“If it makes you more comfortable I’m sure I can dig one up for you.” Louis said, watching Mehyar’s expression in that gentle, predatory way of his. Not a smile. Not a single reaction.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“How long did you know Creed, may I ask?” Louis questioned.

“Far too long. We were roommates all through college and then, unfortunately, colleagues in the department.”

“Was he well liked?”

Mehyar laughed dryly, uncrossing and crossing his bird-like legs as he did so.

“By certain people. And by ‘certain people’ I mean those who were stupid enough to believe his drivel. Or women. Women followed him like rats did the Pied Piper.”

“So it’s safe to say then, that you did not particularly get along. Would you say there was history between the two of you?” Louis’ purposeful understatement worked perfectly. Mehyar’s dark eyes flashed and he leaned forward in his chair.

“When we were roommates we were working on our MA graduate projects at the same time. Actually, more correctly…I was working on my MA graduate project. The only thing Creed was working on was stealing my concept and making it his own.”

******

The only time Mac felt even a little guilty was when she stepped past Louis’ shoes to make her way toward the stairs. He was a lovely man on every important level and if she was a good person even remotely deserving of him, she should’ve stayed in the car.

But she didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

She could hear their voices in the other room as she made her way up the sweeping staircase.

“You’re saying Creed stole your idea?” Louis’ voice, unmistakably soft and soothing was muffled, but still audible. She paused halfway up to hear the answer.

“Absolutely. I had no idea he had done so until the day the assignments were due. As a result, I had to ask for an extension and completely redo months worth of work in only a few weeks. He was an appalling man and it is still appalling that he got away with it.”

“Surely you confronted him about it.”

“I did more than confront him. I gave him a black eye and went to the head of the department about it. Of course she was sleeping with him, so in essence she was fully anesthetized.”

“Did he receive any punishment?”

“Would you consider a tenured professorship a punishment?”

As the interview heated up, Mac took her opportunity to continue up the stairs. The walls were lined with bland family portraits of the man with his two little boys and wisp of a wife. There were one or two of an older couple that Mac concluded were his parents, looking out proudly from a frame that probably cost more than their home.

He wasn’t smiling in a single one of them, which wasn’t surprising when Mac took his foul tone into account.

Now at the landing, Mac made her way down the hallway to what appeared to be an office at the end. She probably had less than ten minutes and couldn’t be bothered with opening any of the many shut doors that lined her path. Besides, she had done this enough lately that she knew one squeaking hinge could be enough to give her away.

Her heart wasn’t even beating rapidly any more. Apparently her tolerance for falsehood and subversive activity was increasing. It might be time for a detox.

She slipped into the office, listening constantly to the drone of the men’s voices below.

Like the rest of the house, there was something overly scrubbed and impersonal about the man’s office as well. His large desk was the focal point of the room. It was covered in computer equipment with a large monitor in the center. Mac stopped herself from clicking the mouse that softly pulsed with light on the mahogany. What if there was some kind of alarm hooked up to it? She couldn’t take the risk. In addition, her computer skills weren’t exactly stellar. She’d have more luck getting information the old fashioned way – rifling through drawers.