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

It was possible. Not likely, but possible.

I went home and Henry met me at the door with a small furry gift. “Thank you.” I forced a smile.
It’s the thought that counts.

He laid the little mouse body at my feet and sauntered inside. I followed him and retrieved a plastic bag from the kitchen then returned to the porch and scooped Henry’s gift into the bag. I’d buried the first ones he brought home but realized early on that I’d run out of yard before Henry ran out of mice. I carried the evening’s gift to the trash can and tossed it in. “Rest in peace,” I said and closed the lid.

When I went back inside Henry was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He gave me a questioning look.

“It was delicious. Thank you.”

Apparently happy with that answer, he went upstairs to the bedroom.

My sleep that night was uninterrupted. I woke with the alarm and got up without hitting the snooze button even once.

***

When I pulled into the alley behind Death by Chocolate, I noticed that the crime scene tape was gone. I was glad I didn’t have to see it, but I wondered if that meant the cops had stopped working on the case, if it had gone cold already.

I parked and headed for the door. The windows of the shop were dark. That meant I was there before Paula, something that didn’t happen very often.

I fumbled with my keys as I approached the door, trying to find the right one, and stumbled over something.

My heart rate accelerated to roughly the speed of light. I grabbed at the door handle to steady myself.

What had I tripped over? What lay in front of the door to my shop? I didn’t want to look down. Logic told me it was not another body. It was too small for that. But standing in a dark alley at three forty-five in the morning was not conducive to logical thinking.

I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and looked down. Okay, I guess it didn’t count as
looking
when my eyes were closed. I forced them open, forced myself to look at the object lying at my feet.

It was a bottle of wine. Red Head Merlot.

And a note attached with a piece of ribbon.

I was furious—with myself for being terrified by a bottle of wine and with Rickhead for leaving it there.

I didn’t hesitate
.
I marched over to the dumpster and tossed in the bottle and the note. The bottle hit the bottom with a satisfying crash.

When it came to gifts, I preferred Henry’s dead mice to Rickhead’s offerings.

When Paula arrived ten minutes later, I was making cookies and fuming about Rick’s latest intrusion into my life. I told her the whole story, including the roses, the fact that I’d actually planned to keep them, and how Henry had disagreed and disposed of them.

She kneaded and rolled dough quietly, allowing me to rant until I finally wound down. I shoved a pan of chocolate chip cookies into the oven and slammed the door. “I’m going to call and tell him he had better back off! No, I’m going to go to his house and threaten to beat him with my iron skillet if he doesn’t leave me alone!”

Paula calmly spread butter over her dough. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. That’s what he wants. Your attention. You should just ignore him. After all, it doesn’t hurt anything if he leaves gifts and notes at your home and work.”

“
Doesn’t hurt anything?
Excuse me? I nearly had a heart attack this morning!”

“If you’d been paying attention to where you were going, you would have seen the wine and you wouldn’t have been frightened. If he leaves anything else, throw it away and forget it. Ignoring Rick is the cruelest thing you can do to him.”

I opened my mouth to protest. I was angry. I didn’t want to just forget it. I wanted to take some kind of action. Recycle Henry’s furry gifts to Rick’s front door. Send Fred after him with a machine gun…again.

But, much as I hated to admit it, Paula had a point.

I threw my pot holder onto the counter. “Fine. I’ll just freaking forget it. Let him get away with being a stalker.”

Paula knows me too well. She recognized my grudging capitulation for what it was…capitulation. She ignored the
grudging
part. “That’s wise. Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he got your attention.”

I felt angry all over again, this time at myself for getting sucked into his game. I marched back to the counter and took out the ingredients for chocolate marshmallow pudding. “He will call eventually, you know.”

“Maybe, or maybe he’ll get diverted by another woman before that happens.” She looked up and smiled. “But if he leaves you any of those Christopher Elbow Artisan Chocolates he used to bring, you can always re-gift them to me.”

Paula was right. I hate it when that happens. I was letting Rick get to me. If he left gifts in the middle of the night and ran away without so much as ringing my doorbell, no harm done. If he left more flowers, I’d bring them to the shop instead of leaving them home with Henry. I regretted tossing the wine. Rick had expensive taste. It was probably a very nice wine.

But if he left me chocolates, I’d have to eat those. It’s a crime—a felony, I think—to waste chocolate, especially Christopher Elbow Artisan Chocolates.

I tried to put Rick out of my mind and focus on measuring, stirring, whipping, and, of course, taste-testing my desserts for the day. I wanted to get everything done as quickly as possible so I could leave early and get to A-Plus Construction before it closed. I felt certain Fred would go with me, but if he didn’t, I would do it anyway. I knew the routine. I could do it on my own if I had to.

We were crazy busy with the breakfast crowd when the business phone rang. Paula was standing at the register, ringing up a customer, so she grabbed it with one hand while handing the man his change with the other.

I was across the room refilling coffees, but I could almost feel the force of her gaze. I turned and saw that her eyes were narrowed and her lips thinned. Had to be her ex-husband or mine. Hers was in prison.

She mouthed, “Rick.”

I shook my head and filled another coffee cup. Darn. I’d been hoping he’d leave the chocolates before his ghost gifting ran its course.

I crossed the room, returned the empty coffee pot to its place and picked up the full one.

“He wants you to call him.” Paula took the full pot from me. “He says it’s important.”

“Really? Important to who? Not to me.”

She frowned and looked unusually serious. “He sounded rattled.”

I shrugged. “Sounding rattled is part of his salesman’s persona. He uses it on an as-need basis.”

A new customer sat down at the counter and I went over to take his order.

Rick called again an hour later when we were preparing for the lunch crowd. Unfortunately I answered the phone.

“Lindsay—”

“I’m busy! Do I call you at work?”

“Please, I need to talk to you.” He sounded frantic. He does
frantic
just as well as he does rattled, charming, sad, pitiful, interested…the appropriate emotion for the moment. “It’s about Ginger!”

“I know all about Ginger. She came by my house night before last. I can’t believe you told her you and I are getting back together. Why can’t you ever be honest? Why couldn’t you just tell her you’d found somebody else? You are the lowest kind of scum!”

“I can explain!”

Across the room I saw a customer look up from his menu. I had to get back to business. I hated to be rude so I said, “Have a nice day. Goodbye,” before I slammed the phone down. One must observe the civilities.

***

There’s something invigorating about the busy times. We rush through the cycle of serving food, clearing tables and serving food again. It requires an intense focus, complete concentration on every customer’s progress and needs. I was in the zone, bringing happiness and chocolate to the lunch crowd. That’s my only excuse for failing to notice Grady Mathis sitting at the counter until he spoke to me.

“I’m here for the best chocolate in town.” He grinned and winked.

Though it was an innocuous statement, he made it sound lascivious.

I waved a hand at the menu on the chalkboard behind me. “Today’s special dessert is chocolate marshmallow pudding.” I almost bit my tongue for telling him. If he got the pudding, he’d eat it from a dish using a spoon. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get either the dish or the spoon clean again. “We always have brownies with and without nuts and chocolate chip cookies with and without nuts. We’re famous for the chocolate chip cookies with nuts.”
Please get the cookies!

“Then I’ll have the turkey sandwich, French fries, a glass of tea, and two chocolate chip cookies.” He winked again. “With nuts.”

“Coming right up.” I turned away to fill his order…and to breathe air he hadn’t breathed.

Poor Brandon! And now his disgusting father had even invaded his chocolate space. If he came in at his usual time, that would leave an hour for Grady Mathis to eat and leave. It would not be a good thing for both of them to be there at the same time.

By one thirty the crowd had thinned and the senior Mathis still sat at the counter sipping his third glass of tea and making stupid comments every time I got close. I gave him the check when I gave him his food, but he didn’t take the hint.

I thought about asking Paula to cover the counter but was concerned he’d be just as obnoxious to her. I figured I could handle it better. I have the ability to be a little obnoxious myself when the occasion calls for it. Unfortunately, Mathis took everything I said as a joke and seemed to think I was being flirtatious. I quit responding and did my best to avoid him.

Finally he pushed his ticket and a twenty dollar bill across the counter. I snatched it up and went to get his change.

“So when are you bringing that hot car in for me to work on?” he asked.

I plunked his change down on the counter in front of him. “I’m not sure. I need to coordinate my schedule with my boyfriend, Detective Adam Trent.” When sarcasm fails, play the cop card.

Mathis lifted a shaggy eyebrow and grinned. Actually, it was closer to a leer than a grin. “Got a cop for a boyfriend, eh? You are a feisty little thing!”

I am neither little nor feisty, but I let it go. “Excuse me. I think someone needs chocolate.” Though I didn’t see any particular person signaling for dessert, everyone always needs chocolate. I took a brownie from the display case and strode across the room.

I met Paula as she headed for the kitchen with a tray of dirty dishes. She looked at the brownie, at me and then in Grady Mathis’ direction. “Table four could use a complimentary dessert.” Paula’s practically psychic. Sometimes that’s a good thing, and sometimes it’s downright annoying. In this particular instance, I was glad.

I took the brownie to table four and presented it to the quiet, fortyish lady who dined with us so often I actually remembered her face. She looked up from her book when I approached.

I smiled. “Compliments of the house. To thank you for being a loyal customer.”

She returned my smile and blushed. “Why, thank you!”

A good thing had come out of Grady Mathis’ visit.

I heard the bell over the door and turned to see if he was leaving.

Brandon came in.

I could tell the moment he saw his father. He stopped in midstride and his face turned dark and stormy. Damn. Were we going to have a shootout at the Chocolate Corral?

Brandon drew in a deep breath, continued toward the counter and took a seat next to his father.

Grady Mathis slid off his stool and slapped his son on the back. “Good choice. Enjoyed the food. See you back at work.” He sauntered across the room.

I watched him the same way I watch the occasional snake slithering across my yard…creeped out but unable to look away. I shouldn’t have done that. He paused at the door, saw me looking, pointed a finger gun at me, grinned and winked.

That broke the spell. I spun away and returned to the counter. “Hey, Brandon. Good to see you. How does a BLT sound today?”

His lips were compressed into a thin line, his eyes dark, angry slits. “What did he want?”

I spread my hands. “It’s a restaurant. He came in to eat.”

“What did he say?”

I did not want to contribute to a fight between father and son. Wouldn’t bother me if I contributed to a fight between Trent and Grady Mathis or Fred and Grady Mathis. I’d enjoy seeing the slaughter. But I didn’t want to make Brandon’s life worse. “He said he wanted a turkey sandwich, French fries, a glass of tea and two chocolate chip cookies.”

“And you gave it to him?”

Brandon and his father did not have a storybook father-son relationship, and I was on Brandon’s side. However, I wasn’t going to let my restaurant become a battleground for the two of them. “Of course I gave it to him. That’s what I do here. I serve food to anybody who comes through the door. I’d even serve my ex-husband if he came in, though I might have to put a little cyanide in his cookie.”

Brandon smiled. Crisis averted. “Yeah, okay, I’ll have the BLT, an iced tea, and whatever your special dessert is today.”

“Chocolate marshmallow pudding.” I caught my eye halfway through a wink. Oh no! Was obnoxicity contagious? I hurried to the kitchen to put together Brandon’s order. Feeling irrationally guilty for serving his father, I added an extra piece of bacon to his sandwich. Bacon runs a close second to chocolate when it comes to soothing the troubled soul.

Paula came in with another load of dishes. “What was that little drama all about? Who was that disgusting man?”

“Brandon’s father. Owner of Mathis Paint and Body. I gave Brandon an extra piece of bacon.”

Paula turned on the faucet in the sink to rinse the dishes. “With a father like that, he’s going to need all the extra bacon he can get.”

I took Brandon’s sandwich and iced tea to him.

The place was quiet, only a few people left, so I lingered to chat with him, give him that extra bit of attention. “How’s the sandwich?”

“Very good. My favorite sandwich. Everything you make here is great.”

“Thank you, but I have to give Paula credit for cooking the bacon. I’m just the chocolatier.”

He smiled. “The best one in the world.”

“That might be overstating it. Maybe the best in the city. Well, the country. Okay, I’m good with
best in the world
.”

The front door burst open and Rick charged inside, his blond hair wild, his eyes wide. His tie was even askew.

That’s what always happens when I ignore Rick. He shows up at my front door or, on one occasion, in my shower.

What had I just been saying about serving my ex-husband? And me fresh out of cyanide.

He strode up to the counter and slammed his hands down. “Damn it, Lindsay, when I call you at work, it’s because it’s important! Don’t just blow me off!”

I forced myself to remain calm. There were still a few people in the restaurant. If I killed him, a chocolatier with blood on her hands would probably not increase sales for desserts made with those hands. “You have my attention. What is this important matter you want to talk to me about?”

He ran a hand distractedly through his hair and swallowed. “Ginger’s been murdered.”