Fatal Chocolate Obsession (Death by Chocolate Book 5) (18 page)

He stopped, blinked a couple of times, then frowned. “Your mother? I don’t know your mother.”

I drew in a deep breath, marginally relieved, though this guy was so out of it, I still wasn’t certain. “You said you got rid of Mother.”

He blinked again then smiled. “Not your mother, sweetheart. My mother. She didn’t take care of me. You’re going to be a great mother. You’ll never let anybody hurt our children.”

Our children?
I grabbed his leg and brought him tumbling down beside me. He scrambled around and pinned me to the floor, looming over me. “You worthless tramp! You’re a pig who wallows in the mud with the other pigs! You kissed that man on your porch in front of me! He called you in our home!” He turned loose of my arms, grabbed my head and pounded it against the floor. “I’m going to kill you!”

I believed him.

Rage brighter and hotter than an oil well fire in west Texas burst over me at the thought that this man could end my life, make Henry an orphan with nobody to feed him or give him catnip, keep me from Zach’s high school graduation, take me away from Trent before I got up the courage to tell him how I felt about him. I would do whatever it took to get away from this monster. I would survive, give Henry some extra catnip, make more moldy cookies for Zach, and tell Trent I loved him.

My hands shot to his arms, but I forced myself to be calm, to think rather than react. Instead of trying to pull them away, I stroked his arms. He stopped banging my head. When this was over, I was going to have to spend a week with my chiropractor.

If I lived through this.

I looked into Brandon’s crazy eyes and said the first words that came to my mind. “I thought you were cheating on me like Rick used to. I was trying to get revenge.”

He opened his mouth then closed it and frowned. Slowly Psycho Brandon receded. “I’d never cheat on you. I love you.”

“I know that now. I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you. It’ll never happen again.”

He smiled but made no move to get off me.

“I’d really like a cold Coke and a hot pizza to, you know, celebrate our—”
Puke.
“Love.”

He rose, opened the refrigerator door and took out another Coke, popped the top and handed the can to me. “Straight up, no ice, just the way you like it.”

“Thank you.” I took a drink, letting the cold bubbles flow over my tongue and down my throat. It cooled my tongue and soothed my throat but did nothing to dampen the anger boiling inside me.

My feet were sticky from the spilled Coke, but I didn’t want to bring that up. If he could ignore it, so could I. “This house, somebody lives here. You didn’t rent it, did you?”

“Oh, no, we own it.” He lifted the receiver from the wall phone. “What’s the number for pizza delivery?”

I told him the number and he punched it in.

“We own this house? Is this where you and your father live? Lived?”

“I’d like a large double pepperoni pizza.” He gave the address then hung up and turned to me with a proud smile on his face. “The house is ours now. He killed Mother and now he’s dead too so we own it.”

His father killed his mother? Hadn’t he just said he’d killed her? No, he said he got rid of her. So his father killed her and he got rid of the body? Two generations of murderers. What a terrific heritage for those children Brandon was planning.

I sat down at the kitchen table. The chairs were wooden. I felt much better about sitting on them than on the soft sofa that oozed up around me. “Did you just say your father killed your mother?”

He opened a can of Coke for himself and joined me at the table. His expression was grim but not crazy grim. How many personalities did this guy have?

“He cheated on her, hit her, bullied her, hurt her and made her cry.”

“And then he killed her? Was it an accident?”

He sat rigidly still for a long moment. I tensed, wondering if my questions had set him off again, if I’d survive the next attack. I squared my jaw. I would survive the next attack. And the next and the next. I would get out of this alive though I might have to get dentures afterward.

He looked over my head, staring at the wall. Or maybe he was just gazing into his own sick mind. “She didn’t stop him from hitting me. She didn’t love me. Daddy said it was all her fault because she got pregnant with me. He said he never wanted to be married. So I gave her lots of her pills. She died but he kept hitting me anyway.” His gaze returned to mine. “It was his fault she had to die. And now he’s dead. He’s never going to hurt you or our children.”

Those children again! Before this was over, I’d make sure he’d never be able to have children. Or I’d die and at least he and I wouldn’t have children together. “I think you’re probably right about your father never hurting anybody again.” I took another drink of Coke, a long one.

He laid his hand over mine on the table and gazed at me with those puppy dog eyes. I might never be able to have a dog after making that association.

I shot to my feet, yanking my hand away. The front door and garage were out as escape routes. But there had to be other possibilities. “I need to go to the bathroom. That Coke, it just goes right through me.”

“Does my baby have a tiny bladder?”

“About the size of a walnut. Gotta go.”

He led me down the hall past the bedrooms to a bathroom at the end. “I cleared a space under the sink for you to put your shampoo and all that stuff women have.”

“You’re so thoughtful.” I walked into the tiny room. No window to crawl out. Damn. I closed the door behind me, relieved he didn’t follow me in, but there was no lock on the door to keep him out.

A tub with a shower. Small sink with a soap dish holding a new bar of soap and a glass with an old toothbrush and a new one. I assumed the new one was for me. I wiggled the loose tooth again. If he hit me a few more times, I wouldn’t need that new toothbrush.

I looked under the sink. Men’s cologne. Shampoo. Plastic hair dryer. Nothing even remotely resembling a weapon.

“Lindsay? Are you okay?”

“Nervous bladder. First time in a new place. Just need a few minutes.”

He chuckled. “But not the last time!”

I opened the medicine cabinet. Pay dirt! Drugs. If it had worked for Brandon, it could work for me.

I reached over and flushed the toilet to cover the noise of the pills rattling when I took out the brown bottles to look at the labels. I had no idea what they were but found one that said,
Do not drive or operate machinery while taking this drug. May cause drowsiness.

The prescription was five years old. Did drugs lose their potency with age?

There were fifteen or twenty small white capsules in that bottle. I didn’t take time to count. I put them all in my pocket, opened the door and smiled at Brandon. That time my smile was genuine. I planned to give a whole new meaning to Death by Chocolate.

“I have a great idea,” I said. “Let’s have some hot chocolate.”

He frowned and I tensed, one hand on the bathroom door, ready to jump back inside and slam the door if the demon reappeared.

“I don’t have any hot chocolate mix,” he said.

I breathed again and waved a hand dismissively. “We don’t need that. Did you forget I’m a chocolatier? I never use a mix.” That wasn’t even close to true, but it was no bigger lie than telling him I’d be a better woman because of him.

I scooted past, dodging his attempts to touch me. The man had grown at least four extra hands since we’d entered that house.

“I need sugar, cocoa and milk,” I called over my shoulder as I raced down the hall toward the kitchen.

A brown puddle stained the floor. I’d forgotten about the spilled Coke. I grabbed some paper towels and began cleaning as fast as I could. I didn’t want the mess to remind Brandon of my attempt to smash his head. It might make him go nuts again. Worse, it might make him so cautious I wouldn’t be able to poison him.

“Let me help.” He squatted on the floor beside me.

“Not necessary.” I stood. “All done. Now for the hot chocolate.” I began yanking open cabinet doors. He came up behind me and I tried to open a door into his face, but he ducked. I continued opening and closing doors and pretended it didn’t happen.

Suddenly he wrapped his arms around me from behind. Crap. He didn’t believe the door incident was an accident and was going to punch me again.

He lowered his head to my neck and nuzzled. If I’d had a choice, I’d probably have chosen the punch. “My silly darling,” he murmured. “We have lots of time for hot chocolate this winter. I have plenty of Cokes for now.”

I touched my pocket with its reassuring small bulges and forced myself to endure the nuzzling. “No, I need hot chocolate. Now. Surely you know I’m addicted to chocolate. I could go into withdrawal if I don’t get some chocolate soon.”

He laughed, his breath hot and humid on my neck.

I shivered and, inspired, continued the involuntary movement by twitching first one arm then the other. “See? The DTs are already starting.”

He stepped back and gave a fond sigh. “Whatever my baby wants. I’ve got milk.” He opened the refrigerator door to show me a carton of skim milk. I preferred regular, but it wasn’t as if I expected this hot chocolate to taste good.

“Great. I assume you have sugar in one of those canisters. Now all we need is cocoa.

He looked blank.

Damn. How could he think to buy Cokes but not cocoa when I specialized in chocolate? What kind of stalker was he anyway?

“Sometimes Mama used to make hot chocolate for me after Daddy hit me.” His voice was soft, his expression distant as if he was looking into the past. He walked slowly to the pantry and opened the door. I’d already looked in there. Canned peas, coffee, boxes of macaroni and cheese. Nothing useful.

He reached far in the back of a high shelf and emerged with a familiar and beloved maroon colored container. My spirits soared. The poisoning event was on.

He extended the box to me tentatively. “It’s old. It may be spoiled.”

I accepted the cocoa with a smile. “Cocoa doesn’t spoil.” I didn’t know that for a fact as I’d always used my cocoa long before it had a chance to reach possible spoilage date. “Why, they’ve found cocoa in Aztec tombs that made quite excellent hot chocolate.”

“Really?”

I had no idea, but it sounded plausible. “Of course! Now you just go relax in the living room and watch TV while I make us some hot cocoa.”

He sat down at the table. “I want to be with you. I can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

“Neither can I. Where are the saucepans?”

He smiled and pointed to one of the lower cabinet doors. “In there.”

I opened the door. A jumble of pots and pans, all old and light weight. No iron skillet. Damn. I’d hoped to find one in case the pills didn’t work. Or in addition to the pills.

I selected a saucepan and turned around. “Found it!”

I took a spoon from the silverware drawer, mixed cocoa and sugar with a small amount of water and set it on the stove.

“I love watching you cook,” Brandon said.

I kept stirring. “Where are the cups?”

“I’ll get them.”

I did not want him near me where he could watch too closely. I turned and showed my teeth. “Oh, no, I want you to just sit there and let me do this for you.”

He beamed. “All right, sweetheart. The cups are in the cabinet over the coffee maker.”

“Thank you.” I batted my eyes and opened the cabinet door. Three of the white mugs had messages on them.
I (heart) chocolate
.
Life is short; eat chocolate first
.
Lindsay’s mug
.

Holy crap. Suddenly Grady’s flirtation with me made more sense. He must have known about his son’s obsession. Possibly he had tried to get me to hook up with him in an effort to torment his already-abused son. I felt a little sorry for Brandon. Not sorry enough to let him live, however.

I took down my mug and the
I (heart) chocolate
one.

While I mixed the drugs with the cocoa, I needed to divert his attention from my cooking, find something he was obsessed with besides me.

“What do you think about those Royals?” All men were obsessed with football.

“You mean the baseball team?”

I measured two cups of milk into the saucepan using the heart mug so it would have a little milk in the bottom. “Whatever. Think they’ll make it to the Superbowl?”

He laughed. “My silly lady. The Superbowl is football. You don’t have to pretend to be interested in that stuff. I know you don’t watch sports.”

I shuddered, imagining him outside my window, watching me watching
Castle, Bones,
Person of Interest
and
Big Bang Theory
but no ball games.

“I thought you might be interested. You look like maybe you played football in high school.” I stirred the hot chocolate with one hand while the other hand slipped some of the capsules out of my pocket. I pressed against the white coating with my thumbnail, trying to split it.

“I didn’t like high school.” He sounded irritated. Damn. What could I talk about that wouldn’t upset him?

“How many children do you think we should have?” Blasted capsule was tougher than it looked. I have no trouble piercing the plastic seal on a can of cocoa with that thumbnail. I finally made a slit and dropped the whole thing into the quarter inch of milk in the bottom of the cup. The capsules were made to dissolve in someone’s stomach. With any luck, they’d dissolve in the milk.

“I think two, a boy and a girl.” He sounded happy. I’d found the key. Feed his delusions. “But if you want three, we can talk about it.”

Tina had three. What would those boys do without their mother? My anger gave extra strength to my thumbnail. I burst open a capsule and dumped the contents into the cup then put the shell back in my pocket. Capsules weren’t so strong when I was appropriately angry. I added two more then a little extra cocoa and sugar to hide whatever taste the drugs might have.

The beverage began to steam. “Almost done.” My voice rose to a falsetto. “I hope you like it. I’ll make it for our son and daughter one day.”

“You know I’ll love it.”

I dumped another couple of capsules into the heart cup then poured in the steaming chocolate and stirred Brandon’s special blend very fast. “You know what would make this really good? Putting it in a blender until it’s all foamy.”
And the pills are completely dissolved.

“We don’t have a blender, but I’ll get you one tomorrow.”

I’d have to settle for extra stirring. I set both cups on the table, the doctored brew in front of Brandon, then sat down and sipped from my cup.

Brandon frowned.

I froze in mid-sip. What had I done now?

“That’s my cup.”

Damn! “It has my name on it.”

“I always drink out of that cup.”

“I’ve already drunk out of it.”

He smiled. “I don’t mind drinking after you.”

I tried to imitate a puppy begging for a treat. “Please? I want to drink out of the cup you drank from yesterday.” I held the cup under discussion between both hands and tilted my head to one side. I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right since I don’t have a dog. I only have a cat who looks at me threateningly when he wants a treat. I didn’t think a threatening look was likely to get me anywhere with Brandon.

He melted. “If that’s what my baby wants, that’s what she’ll get.”

“Bottoms up!”

I lifted my cup to my lips and watched Brandon take a drink. He grimaced. Guess the taste of drugs trumped the taste of chocolate.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Do you like my cocoa?”

“It tastes—”

“Yummy! I know!”

I drank some more.

He didn’t.

“Don’t you like the chocolate I made for you?”

“It’s not as good as the desserts you make at your restaurant.”

“It’s the skim milk. I always use whole milk or half and half at the restaurant.”

“It tastes…funny.”

I sniffed and wiped my eyes then let out a loud wail. “You don’t like my cocoa! I can’t bear it!” I laid my head on the table and made sobbing noises.

“I do like it! See, I’m drinking it!”

I lifted my head. “I’m so glad. I couldn’t stand it if you didn’t like my cooking. I live to cook for you. I’ll be your own personal chocolatier from now on. You’ll see. We’re going to be so happy. Just you and me and Brandon Jr. and little Lindsay.” I hoped the drug took effect rapidly. I wasn’t sure how many more absurdities I could spin.

He drained his cup then looked inside. “You didn’t get all the sugar stirred up. No wonder it tasted funny.”

I snatched the mug away from him. “How could I be so careless?”
So careless not to get all the pills dissolved.
I hoped he’d swallowed enough to take him down. “Here, have some of mine.” I offered him my cup.

He took it and sipped then smiled. “I love putting my lips where yours have been.”

Yuck. “Drink up and let’s go to the living room and hold hands until the pizza gets here.”

“I’d like that.”

He followed me to the living room where my gory purse rested on the coffee table on top of my wallet and lipstick. I averted my gaze and steeled myself to sit on the musty sofa and hold his hand for—how long? Ten minutes? Fifteen? I could do anything for that long. I once held a frog for five minutes. Of course, I was in the third grade and Ronnie Duncan dared me at recess.

I sat on the sofa.

He sat beside me and took my hand.

Frog. It was like holding the frog. The drugs would kick in soon.

But what if I hadn’t given him enough?

What if the pills had lost their potency?

What if he reacted differently than normal people and didn’t get sleepy at all?

The hand holding mine relaxed its death grip. That was a good sign.

I yawned. “Hot chocolate is so soothing. Makes me want to curl up and take a nap. How about you? Feeling a little sleepy?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m wide awake.” His words came slowly, like Zach’s when he’s tired but doesn’t want to go to bed.

“This sofa is so cushy and soft. Makes me want to sit back and close my eyes for just a minute. Why don’t we do that?”

“Whatever my baby wants.” He dropped his arm around my shoulders and we settled back on the musty, dusty sofa. His arm got heavier and his breathing slowed.

The doorbell rang.

Brandon sat upright, blinking. Pizza delivery guy had really bad timing.

The doorbell rang again followed by pounding on the door. “Open up! Police!”

“Trent!” I shouted.

“No! He can’t have you! You’re mine!” Brandon slurred. He stood, swayed, and staggered toward the door. Stumbled. Fell flat on his face.

Finally!

A crash sounded and the door splintered.

I raced across the room, careful not to touch Brandon’s motionless body. The hand holding had been quite enough physical contact.

Fred and Trent rushed into the room. Trent held a gun. It was big and black and the most beautiful gun I’d ever seen. I ran to them, tried to fling myself into all four of their arms at once.

“Omigawd, Lindsay!” Trent held my shoulder and examined my face.

“What happened to you?” Fred asked.

I grinned. “You should see the other guy.” I stepped back so they could see Brandon.