Dangerously Dark (24 page)

As the rain dribbled its way down and the tour attendees noshed, Carissa surprised me with a disgusted look. “What am I, stupid? Seriously, Hayden. I thought you were smart.”

Her aggressive tone bugged me. “I thought we were friends.”

She sighed. “We are. I'm sorry. It's just that I get a little bent when people act as if I'm stupid. It's my pet peeve.”

I wished I'd never stumbled onto it. Maybe Declan had, too. Maybe he'd wished he'd never started the rumor that
he'd
developed Carissa's patented ice-cream freezing system. Maybe, as a result of it, Carissa had gotten “bent” in a whole new way.

No. Carissa wasn't a murderer. “I'm sorry I upset you.”

“Declan used to act like I was an idiot, too. It was
so
annoying! Of course I meant Declan and
Lauren. They
got it on in my trailer. Lots of times. I suspected when I saw the telltale bruise on Declan's butt, but I knew for sure when Austin started getting all nervous around me.” Her contemplative gaze traveled to the bearded candy-bar seller, all toasty in his usual beanie and flannel. “Austin is about as stealthy as a goldfish.”

Given what I now knew about fish . . . that didn't reassure me.

“I'm sorry Declan and Lauren did that to you.” I was even more unhappy that she'd known about it. There went my “ignorance is as good as proof of innocence” theory regarding Carissa. She was officially a woman scorned . . . and maybe out for revenge? “I don't see how Austin was involved, though. Unless—” I widened my eyes. “Were they having a threesome? In your trailer? Whoa, that takes the cake.”
And a lot more space than Carissa's Airstream offered,
it occurred to me tardily. All three people would have had to be
very
bendy to get any action inside Churn PDX.

But by then, Carissa was already snorting with derision. “A threesome?
As if.
Maybe if Lauren put on a red wig and glasses so she could look like me, then Austin would go for it. But even as my doppelganger, I doubt that skank could pull it off.”

Carissa knew about Austin's feelings for her,
I realized with a sick feeling. But she didn't care. Most likely, she had never cared. Not about Austin. The spark wasn't there.

I didn't think Carissa had to be so mean about it, though. Despite everything, I still liked Austin. And Lauren had been kind to me. But speaking of wigs . . . I felt my gaze pulled back to the mystery woman. Something about her seemed familiar.

“Austin seems to have moved on,” I remarked, watching them again. “So whatever guilt he felt about . . . things”—I still didn't know what
things,
exactly—“he seems to have changed direction now.” I inhaled deeply, gathering my courage. I needed to be tactful. “Speaking of changing direction, Carissa, when you asked me to take over Declan's chocolate tour temporarily—”

She was beginning to upset the attendees. One woman had complained about Carissa's off-topic monologues. Although I'd noticed at least one or two receptive folks exchanging contact information with Carissa after each tour, so maybe it wasn't as bad as I imagined. Yet.

“‘Things'?” Carissa repeated, mimicking me. She arched her brow, ignoring my lead-in about the chocolate tour. “Austin was covering for Declan,” she informed me in a spiteful tone. “He was refilling the liquid nitrogen tanks for Declan. The whole time I was giving Declan credit for being so sweet and helpful, it was really Austin doing all the work—giving Declan loads of free time to get together with Lauren.”

Oh. That explained a few things. Starting with Austin's emotional outburst at Declan's funeral:
It was my fault!
he'd wailed.
I shouldn't have let him. . . . I'll never forgive myself.

He meant he'd never forgive himself for
not
refilling the liquid nitrogen tanks that one final time,
I realized. On that last deadly night, Austin must have refused to cover for Declan for some reason. But had he murdered Declan?

But you had to go and get cold feet,
Lauren had accused Austin after Declan's funeral.
Now Declan's dead and everything is horrible.

Had Lauren been
that
upset about Declan's dumping her? Had she wanted him dead? Obviously, she and Austin had been working together to do something. But I didn't know what. It didn't add up. All I knew for certain was that Austin wanted Carissa, and Lauren wanted Declan. If they'd teamed up to help one another . . .

“I'm not dumb, you know,” Carissa said. “I found out about all the women eventually. If not for Austin covering for Declan, he would have had a
lot
harder time cheating on me, that's for sure. I would have figured out what was going on even sooner.”

No wonder Carissa was so mean to Austin. She partly blamed him for her fiancé's infidelity. I felt sorry for both of them.

“It's probably not Austin's fault,” I hedged. “I mean, he's too nice to say no, that's all. Right? I understand Declan was a pretty charismatic guy, so if he asked Austin to do something—”

“What? Did
you
have a fling with him, too?”

I watched her eyes narrow with suspicion and wisely stopped playing devil's advocate. “
No.
You're right to be angry.”

Carissa seemed mollified. “I was going to break off things with Declan, you know, the night before the engagement party,” she confided in a pleasanter tone. “I even went there, to my ice-cream trailer, to do it. I figured I'd catch him with Lauren—or someone else—and that would be that. Easy-peasy.”

“You didn't want to get married?” That was big news.

“Sure, I wanted to get married.” Carissa shrugged, gazing at one of the alternative cart pod's trailers. “I'm just not sure I wanted to get married to Declan. Once it was almost time to go through with it, somehow that seemed crystal clear.”

I was riveted. “Well, you did have a whirlwind romance.”

“I know, right?” She smiled, seeming to feel that I understood. I didn't, but there was no way I was letting on. “It all happened so fast. By the end . . . well, I wasn't even sure I liked Declan very much. He hurt me a lot. I'd finally had it.”

On that ominous note, I felt chills race through me.

Then Carissa added, “But then he died. And I was free!”

I swallowed hard, trying not to give away my sudden uneasiness. Beneath my bandages, my palms started sweating. My cuts still hurt, but that was nothing compared with wondering . . .
Had Carissa been fed up with Declan enough to
kill
him?
She'd had a motive (multiple instances of unfaithfulness), a means (her own liquid nitrogen tanks, which—if her frequent reminders about her own intelligence were correct—she'd known like the back of her hands), and an opportunity (Carissa could have
definitely
gotten into Churn PDX on the night in question).

Danny had been right, I realized. More than anyone else at Cartorama, Carissa had had reasons to want Declan dead.

I suddenly felt I didn't know my old uni friend at all.

“Yes,” I said in a parody of supportiveness. “
So
free.”

Carissa nodded, gazing at me with pert interest. “So, a minute ago, you were telling me something about the tour?” she prompted. “Something about your taking over Chocolate After Dark temporarily?” She tilted her head inquisitively. “You're not trying to quit early, are you, Hay? Because I'm not done with you yet. Believe me, when I'm done with you, you'll know it.”

Despite her smile, I felt
threatened.
I wished I could have been sure Carissa was joking. She sounded semi-serious. Suddenly, all I could think about was Carissa tiptoeing into my Airbnb house, finding me sleeping, bashing me in the skull with a fireplace poker, and then calmly putting it back before leaving. After all, everyone at Cartorama knew my temporary address. It had been posted on their shared social-networking group's site.

I didn't want to die at thirty. I hadn't even created my own original confection, tasted a rare 1926 Macallan whiskey, or found out if there was
really
a lifetime quota of passport pages (as I'd heard whispered about in gridskipping circles) yet. I didn't want to die before finding out what had happened to Declan, either. I'm obstinate that way. I wanted answers.

Serendipitously, that's when I got at least one.

Carissa looked at the time on her phone, then nodded toward Austin and the unidentified blonde. “We'd better round up Austin and Janel,” she said. “It's almost time for the next stop.”

I gawked at her. Then at the blonde. It was . . .
“Janel?”

“Yeah, I think she's trying to circumvent the restraining order.” Carissa sneered at her. “It's sad, really. As if I wouldn't recognize that sad-sack posture of hers. I think it comes from never wearing high heels. Anyway, I don't mind. Having a full house makes the chocolate tour seem superpopular.” She sniffed, then raised her chin. “Ready?”

I wasn't. I was still stymied by Janel's appearance there.

I didn't think she'd gone undercover to evade the civil protection order against her. Because after all, that order technically prevented Janel from seeing Declan, not Carissa. Also, Janel wasn't stupid. She must have known her disguise wouldn't fool anyone who knew her well, like Carissa. Or Austin.

Aha.
Now I knew why Austin had staged a confrontation with me at the first Chocolate After Dark tour. He must have been running interference for Janel, so she could board the bus.

I was embarrassed that his diversion had worked on me. I knew better. Wasn't attention to detail my bread and butter?

A little peeved, I studied the two of them. They were still hanging out together, talking in the rainy glimmer from the cart pod's overhead string lights. As I watched them, Austin said something. Janel laughed in response. Austin's face glowed.

Carissa noticed, too. “Ugh. Gross,” she said, quickly looking away. “Nerds in love. They deserve one another.”

It was obvious why Declan had hidden being a gamer geek. Carissa wouldn't have approved. But right now, Austin and Janel had it all over both of them. They seemed to be wholeheartedly being themselves—which was ironic, with one of them in disguise.

Maybe Lauren had been right, it occurred to me. Maybe she and Declan
had
had all the honesty they needed while cosplaying.

“I'll go get them,” I volunteered, slightly afraid of what Carissa might do or say if she was the one who did it. My friend wasn't the woman she used to be. I didn't know if it was her grief talking (that seemed unlikely at the moment) or if she'd simply changed. “I'll meet you at the van in two minutes.”

Then I headed over to where Austin and Janel were standing.

“Hi, you two!” I called. “Time for the next stop.”

They broke apart. Austin blushed. Janel shot me a startled, cautious look. Now that I knew who she was, I recognized her blue eyes and slightly turned-up nose. I didn't let on, though.

I didn't want to. But I did wonder . . . if Janel wasn't hiding from Carissa (who'd recognized her) or Austin (ditto) or me (who'd been likely to catch on sooner or later, I told myself determinedly), then who was she hiding from? And why?

If I wanted to find out, I had to stick with it. After years of troubleshooting recalcitrant chocolates, I'm good at perseverance. So I trailed Austin and Janel to the chocolate-frenzy van, boarded right along with them, and stayed within listening distance all the way to the next stop.

Unfortunately, I didn't learn a thing.

I needed another bright idea, and fast. There was one place I knew I could get one. It was time to check in with Danny and Travis and find out what they'd uncovered about Cartorama's vendors.

Fourteen

Danny came home to our shared temporary accommodations early that evening. I'd had only time to brush and floss away some of the sugary chocolate goodness from my teeth (the result of a dental-related promise made to my dad when I'd entered into chocolate whispering), open the unexpected overnighted package that had been waiting for me on my front porch, and then . . . “Here.” Danny threw something to me. “I got you something.”

I caught it. It looked like . . . “My cell phone?” I cracked a smile. “That's sweet, Danny, but I didn't get you anything.”

“Not
your
cell phone. Declan's. They're the same model.”

I looked at it in bafflement. “Where did you get this?”

“You left it on the kitchen counter this morning, locked up tight.” My security expert gave me a cocky look. “Didn't you wonder why you'd locked yourself out of your own phone?”

“I . . .”
Didn't want to talk about it.
I realized too late that I must have somehow snatched up
Declan's
phone from the back-room floor at Muddle + Spade the other day, not mine. Then I'd stashed them both in my bag and mistakenly pulled out Declan's when I'd been ready to use it later. “It's been a tough week. And anyway,
your
‘gift' can't hold a candle to Travis's gift.”

Danny ignored my purposely incendiary remark. If I'd hoped to distract him from what I'd thought was an embarrassing tech mistake, well . . . I hadn't. That much was clear. He strode nearer.

“
I
wondered why you'd locked yourself out of your own phone.” He sat on the chair nearest to my position—curled up on the sofa with my pashmina. He rested his brawny forearms on his knees and leaned forward, pinning me with an analytical look. Getting lucky agreed with him. “That's why I picked it up and had a crack at it. I figured it was a silent cry for help.”

“What? I
never.
” Not that I'd admit, anyway. I valued my independence. As much as I think about wanting a hearth and home of my own, I could never give up globe-trotting. I could never hang up my couverture spoons for good. “Anyway,” I said eagerly, about to pounce on my own news, “about Travis's gift—”

“Last year,” Danny reminded me brusquely. “Your laptop.”

I scoffed. “I left the chewed-up power cord with that hotel concierge to mail to Travis for reimbursement. It wasn't a thinly veiled cry for help.”

“Last month,” he went on. “Your tangled necklace.”

“That?” I gave a
pshaw.
I couldn't help it if Danny had clever, talented hands that were good at working knots out of fine gold links. “I just took it off and forgot it, that's all.”

“In a pool hall? On the pool table? Before
my
turn?”

I shrugged. “You can't prove anything. Anyway, Travis—”

“Last week,” Danny persisted. “Your locked wheelie bag, left on the floor of your hotel room—which adjoined mine.”

There he had me. “
That
was an ethics test. You bombed.”

But my bodyguard only laughed. “You need me. Admit it.”

“I
won't
admit it, but I'll show you this fab gift. Look!” With great fanfare, I pulled out the thing I'd found in the express-delivered package on my porch. “It's my crossbody bag!”

Danny only harrumphed. “A purse doesn't trump a broken-into cell phone. There's no universe where that's true. Especially if that phone belonged to a dead guy who password protected it.”

“It's a perfect replica.” I hugged it, feeling all gooey and appreciative inside. “Travis had it made for me secretly last year, after I said how much I liked mine. He knew I might want a replacement someday, so he tracked down the vendor.”

I couldn't
believe
how thoughtful that was. Also, ingenious. My bag had been one of a kind, bought from a street seller on the Bahnhofstrasse in Zurich. Travis was
amazing.

I really had to make time to get up to Seattle to see him sometime. Privately, I thought the bag was an apology for the way Travis had creeped me out with that carnivorous guppy story when we'd last talked on the phone. If so, apology accepted.

I caught Danny's downhearted look and throttled my glee back a notch or two. “But cracking Declan's ‘boobies' password again is great, too,” I told him reassuringly, admiring the phone to demonstrate it. “I mean, Declan was a tricky guy.”

He practically growled at me. “I don't want your pity.”

“Plus, I really should concentrate, anyway.” With effort, I peeled myself away from my new favorite bag. Seeing it had been like being reunited with an old friend . . . one who'd been given an expert face-lift. “I think I'm getting a handle on this whole ‘Declan's murder' thing,” I told Danny. “I talked to Carissa—”

“I think Travis is into you,” he interrupted. “Otherwise, why set you up in such a huge place? Why send you gifts? Huh?”

Aw. His competitive streak was riled up. Poor Danny.

He could take it. I put on my best, most gushingly girly expression. It wasn't a natural fit, but Danny wasn't paying too much attention. “
Squee!
Do you
really
think Travis likes me?”

Danny's attention swerved to me. Held. “Very funny. I can promise you, if that shelf had squashed you the other night,
I'd
have been sadder to see you crushed to death. Way sadder than Harvard would have been. He's half machine. Speaking of which—”

“Speaking of Travis's bionic arms and robo brain?”

“No, speaking of your ‘accidental' near maiming.”

I didn't want to talk about it. Danny and I had had a brief review session afterward. That was enough. “We decided I'm not in any
real
danger, as long as I keep my eyes open. Remember?”

“No,
you
decided that. Because you're too stubborn to quit,” Danny reminded me. “Every one of your suspects was nearby that night,” he pointed out. “Anyone could have hurt you.”

“The joke's on them, then. Because I'm
more
determined now, not less.”

“Including Tomasz Berk,” my bodyguard continued relentlessly. “Don't you think it's weird that Berk is
always
there, just hanging around, when things go wrong at Cartorama?”

“‘Hanging around' at the bar he works at? No, I don't.”

“Don't you think it's weird that he wears those shoes?”

“The good ones? No. Women like men with nice shoes. It shows he's grown-up enough to take care of his things. Probably grown-up enough to take care of a house,” I said. “And kids.”

“That's a lot to infer from a pair of fancy oxfords.”

“You know what they're called! That's progress,” I teased. “Next you'll be debating slingbacks versus espadrilles with me.”

“Fat chance, Cinderella.”

“Also, ‘fancy' shoes aren't a luxury when you're on your feet all day working as a bartender,” I reminded Danny. That's why Tomasz had excellent shoes but thrift-store clothes. “You're just being suspicious because I'm going out with Tomasz later.”

While I appreciated overprotective Danny wanting to vet my dates for me, I didn't need help with my love life. I could handle myself. Besides, I still hadn't had a chance to reschedule that date, so debating it now was a nonissue.

“He talks too fancy for a bartender, too,” Danny grumbled.

I laughed. Then I remembered Danny's wrong-side-of-the-tracks upbringing and got serious. My security expert might have two college degrees and more than his share of street smarts, but he still had a chip on his shoulder. Sometimes it showed.

“Portland is the capital of overeducated slackers,” I told him lightly. “Around here, your barista probably has an MBA.”

“I think Berk is playing you,” Danny persisted. “All that stuff he said about you being ‘intimidating'?” He shook his head. “Come on. That's a reach, and you know it.”

I knew nothing of the kind. “I can be intimidating.”

I liked the idea. It made me feel powerful. In charge.

“You like the idea of being intimidating. That's why Berk said it.” Danny focused in on me. “It's a con. It works.”

I scoffed. “You're just jealous you didn't think of it first.”

“You're being gullible. Seriously, Hayden. Haven't you ever laughed at a guy's lame jokes or squeezed his biceps and let out one of those girly
‘ooh!'
squeals, even if he was a ninety-pound weakling? Just to make him feel good?
This
is the same thing.”

I grinned at Danny's over-the-top, demonstrative
“ooh!”

“Women like to feel powerful,” he told me in earnest. “They like to have that side of them acknowledged by someone else. It doesn't happen often enough. Not every woman, every time, but—”

“But
me.
This time. With Tomasz.” I considered it. Then I shook my head. “He's a bartender. To him, I
am
intimidating! I have my own consulting business. I've traveled the world. I'm independently wealthy. . . .” Although Tomasz didn't, it occurred to me, seem especially interested in my income stream. “Hmm.”

“‘Hmm'?” Danny raised his eyebrows. “Hmm, what?”

“Tomasz doesn't care about my fortune,” I said. “Most of the time, if a man is the least bit sketchy, he gets all bug-eyed when I flash a little cash. But I've been tipping
really
extravagantly for all my drinks and the rounds I've bought at Muddle + Spade. Tomasz has never even batted an eye.”

“See? You were testing him,” Danny said. “And he failed.”

“Actually, he passed. I don't want to be wanted for my money.” I hadn't even done anything to earn it. “I never have.”

Danny looked away, obviously uncomfortable. We didn't see eye-to-eye on Uncle Ross's generous trust fund—
or
the hoops I had to jump through to get it. I told myself that Danny didn't resent my money, merely the unusual stipulations of my uncle's will. To keep my income stream flowing, I had to log at least six months' travel time per year—a provision that had to be verified by my sexy-voiced trustee (aka keeper), Travis Turner.

Any good friend would have resented seeing me always on the run, right? It wasn't that Danny begrudged me my good fortune. It was that he wished he could see me more often . . . see me
settled.

“I still don't think you should date Berk,” Danny said.

“I don't think you should date Lauren. So we're even.”

We stared at each other. Were we really going there?

Nah.
I looked at Declan's phone's screen. “Anyway, about Declan's phone. What did you find out after you cracked it?”

Danny looked indignant. “I didn't look at it.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sure.” I flipped through the screens, examining apps and email. It wasn't easy with my still-bandaged hands. After scanning innocuous apps and an in-box full of marketing come-ons, reminders for Declan to renew a porn site membership, and some spam from the PRODIGY GROUP (FYI, sending emails with all-caps tends to shoot them straight to the spam folder), I moved on to Declan's pictures. “Whoa!” I threw the phone, shuddering.

“What?” Frowning, Danny retrieved it. “What's wrong?”

“Declan was fond of selfies.”

“So?”

“
Intimate
selfies.” I grimaced, squicked out. “Now I hate my eyeballs for making me see that. Especially by surprise.”

“Come on, you prude. It can't be that bad.” But Danny didn't, I noticed, open Declan's photo gallery. He probably didn't want an eyeful of our murder victim's “equipment,” either.

“There are a lot of texts on here.” Danny thumbed through them, obviously having no compunction about snooping now that I'd had a chance to go first. “Ignored messages from Austin and Tomasz. Reminders about wedding stuff from Carissa. Your basic stalker-y threats from Janel . . .” He scowled. “
And
Lauren.”

“Lauren couldn't have been stalking Declan. They were already seeing one another.” I'd shared everything with him about my conversation with Lauren. “Plus, Carissa told me
how
they were seeing each other, with Austin as their cover story.”

We had a few things to catch up on, Danny and me. Such as the news about Austin being the one who'd usually refilled Carissa's liquid nitrogen tanks for her—which meant Austin had a motive (rivalry with Declan), a means (those tanks he'd written the software for), and an opportunity (he'd admitted being right there at Churn PDX that morning). I also wanted to tell Danny about Janel attending the Chocolate After Dark tours in all those kooky disguises—especially since
Danny
hadn't recognized her, either. (That made me feel slightly better about my own oversight.) As of tonight, I reflected, Janel was my number one suspect. She was weird, unpredictable, and potentially unhinged.

Lauren, of course, had earned aces in every category, too.
Motive?
Rejection by Declan, stirring up all her “not quite good enough” feelings.
Means?
Liquid nitrogen, which Lauren was more than familiar with after her improperly made cocktail incident.
Opportunity?
Well, obviously, Lauren had a way to get into Churn PDX, or she wouldn't have been able to meet Declan there.