The Diva Steals a Chocolate Kiss (10 page)

Dear Natasha,

What is a Devil’s Food Cake and how does it differ from other chocolate cakes?

—New Wife in Devil’s Lake, North Dakota

Dear New Wife,

Alas, the distinction has been largely lost. Devil’s Food Cake is a very dark color with a deep chocolate taste. It’s generally made with boiling water instead of milk, which makes it moist and airy without diluting the chocolate. But other cakes are made in a similar manner today, as well. You will find that recipes vary widely.

—Natasha

“What’s wrong?” I unlocked the door.

Wolf and I stepped inside. The air was blissfully cool after my walk in the summer heat.

Wolf followed me into the kitchen. “Iced tea or lemonade?” I asked.

“This isn’t a social call.” His lips pulled tight. “Okay, lemonade.”

I poured two tall drinks over ice, and we sat down.

“When did you meet Arnaud?”

I felt as though I was being grilled. “Thursday night at the hotel.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Not much. He was staggering drunk. Loaded.”

“Did you go up to his room?”

I burst out laughing. “No! Not that it would be any of your business if I had.”

Not even a hint of a smile touched Wolf’s face. “Arnaud was murdered. Everything he did is my business. You never met him before Thursday? Are you certain?”

What strange questions. I thought for a minute and responded with great caution because I didn’t know what Wolf was getting at. “I suppose it’s possible that I passed him on the street or met him briefly at an event and don’t remember.”

“Did anyone see you leave the hotel that night? Someone who could confirm the time?”

I inhaled sharply as the implication became clear to me. “You think I went up to his room and slept with him. Eww! In the first place, I am not in the habit of falling into bed with strangers. And in the second place, I’m not so desperate that I have to seek out someone who is stone drunk and doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Wolf gazed at me. “You were overheard telling him to go up to his room, and you would join him.”

I laughed with relief. “Oh, that. No big deal. I do it with intoxicated men all the time to get rid of them. I don’t go up to their rooms. I thought he was one of the Amore contest winners. I can’t be rude to them, even when they’re out of line. I figured he’d go up to his room and sleep it off.” It was my turn to be miffed. “You know me better than that.”

Wolf seemed a little sheepish. “Did anyone see you leave the hotel?”

“Did anyone see me go up to his room?” Hah! They couldn’t have.

“Sophie! Answer the question.”

“Some of the contest winners were talking in the lobby when I left. I have no idea whether they watched me exit. Does the hotel have a camera on the front door? Maybe that would confirm the time of my departure.”

Wolf nodded. He bit his upper lip.

Now what was wrong? “Oh no! They’ve already erased the tapes, haven’t they? Why would I be a suspect? I barely knew the guy. And let me just say that I’m more than a little bit offended that you would even think I would jump into bed with the first revolting drunk who happened by.”

Wolf leaned forward, rubbing his palms. “They wanted me to bring you in for questioning. I’m doing you a favor by talking to you personally, Sophie.” Wolf turned anguished eyes toward me. “There’s something else.”

Oh joy.
“I didn’t kill him. I didn’t know him. I didn’t even know who he was until Mitch looked in his wallet.”

“Then why did he send you chocolates?”

“You mean the mystery chocolates? I honestly don’t know. How do you know they were from Arnaud? There wasn’t a name or a note.”

“Coco recognized them when she tasted one. I think it’s kind of farfetched, but I’m told people can tell the difference between brands of chocolate.”

“Of course they can. I understand that. So she knew they were Arnaud’s?”

“Not exactly. It’s kind of a long story. She thought they were made by a guy named Arnie.”

“The Arnie who became Arnaud.”

He blinked at me, completely poker-faced until he laughed. “That’s the Sophie I know. Always sticking her nose into murder investigations.”

“Let me get this straight. So when Coco tasted the chocolate, she thought Arnie had made it.”

“Right. She thought he must be somewhere in town but didn’t connect Arnie to the Belgian chocolatier, Arnaud.”

“Why would he send me chocolates?”

“That’s my question. You can see why it might appear that you knew him. The guy was sending you chocolates, and you were overheard telling him to go up to his room in the hotel, and you would be there in a few minutes.”

I understood what the police had cobbled together to point a finger at me. “Except I did not go to his room. I only said that to get rid of the guy.
And
I didn’t have a clue that the chocolates were from him. I didn’t even eat one because I had no idea where they came from. You can ask anyone. Nina! Ask Nina. She wanted to try them but I wouldn’t let her.”

“I hope she backs you up.”

“She will. Just ask her if she tried one of the mysterious chocolates.”

“Assuming she backs you up, then it would still beg the question, why was he sending you chocolates?”

“Allow me to point out that this seems like a big assumption. Maybe they came from Arnie and maybe not! I honestly don’t know why he would send me chocolates. He didn’t say a thing about it in the few minutes that I spoke to him.”

“Were you involved in the grand opening of his store?”

“Nope. Wolf, you know me well enough to believe me. If I had
any
kind of contact with him, I would tell you so, whether it was business or”—I wrinkled my nose—“embarrassingly sleazy.”

Wolf didn’t apologize before he left. I knew he was only doing his job and there was no question that I should be grateful he didn’t drag me down to the police station to be hammered with offensive questions. Yet it disturbed me that
the man I had dated for so many years could think for even a moment that I might have behaved in such a coarse manner.

Weeding was not one of my favorite things, but I was unsettled enough to want to yank out the pokeweed plant that had settled in my vegetable garden. I changed into old shorts, a comfy T-shirt that had seen better days, and flowered garden clogs. Pulling on gloves, I marched outside and was merciless on the invaders, all the while thinking of Wolf and Arnaud.

“Is that pokeweed?” asked a gentle voice.

I whipped around. When my backyard had been updated, a gate was installed between my yard and my neighbor’s. Francie Vanderhoosen wasn’t quite as old as Nonni, but she had lived in Old Town almost as long. A devoted bird-watcher and gardener, Francie had spent much of her life in the sun and had the wrinkles to show it.

“Yes. I believe it is.”

She
tsk
ed at me. “Birds love those berries.”

“Help yourself. It has no business in my garden.”

“You’re testy today.” Francie settled on a bench in the shade. Her overprocessed blonde hair stuck out like straw. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with that visit from Wolf, would it?” She chuckled at my surprise. “He asked me if I had seen you. I hear you’re knee-deep in the murder of that chocolate guy.”

I loosened the soil around a dandelion so I could pull it out with the root. “Apparently so. How well do you know the Meranos?”

“You think one of them killed him?” She pondered for a bit. “I don’t know. One would think that people who went through a big tragedy like that would value life and not be inclined to murder. On the other hand, it could also throw a person out of kilter altogether.”

She had my attention now. I tossed the dandelion into my trashcan. “What tragedy?”

“Must have been thirty or so years ago. It was winter. The roads were icy, and Joe’s father lost control of the car in the dark. He died instantly. I think Joe’s wife lingered for a while. It was crushing. You can imagine.”

I sat down next to her. “Coco must have been about twenty. Oh, that’s awful. Gosh, how do you ever get past something like that and move on with life? Did you know them well?”

Francie fanned herself. “Just to say hello. Amore was where I bought hostess gifts and the occasional birthday present. Everyone did. It rocked the town pretty hard. Nonni moved in with Joe to help with the kids. His son wasn’t even out of high school.”

“At their party, Natasha was musing that the people who live in a house like that must have perfect lives. Just goes to show that we never know what’s going on behind the front door.”

Francie laughed. “Oh, honey. That’s always been true. You never know what heartache lies behind closed doors.”

“You didn’t come to the chocolate tasting.” It was more of a question than a statement.

“Meh. Four hundred people all reaching for chocolate and no place to sit. Besides”—there was a twinkle in her eyes—“I have this neighbor who likes to bake, and I’m hoping chocolate cake will be on the menu soon.”

“You must mean Natasha,” I teased.

“Perish the thought! That girl could ruin a decent chocolate cake in a dozen different ways.”

“Mars hates her cooking, too. Funny that the people who watch her show seem to like it.”

“Someone made her chocolate chip cookies and brought them to the garden club meeting last week. They had chunks of bacon in them! You should have seen everyone raving about them. Yuck. Contrary to popular belief, bacon does not improve everything.”

“How about coming to dinner tomorrow night? I’ll grill
something, and we can sit out here and enjoy the summer night.”

“Sounds good.” Francie stood up. “What can I bring?”

I didn’t even hesitate. Francie had great connections. “Gossip about Arnaud and the Meranos.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is there a chocolate cake at stake?”

“There is.”

“Then you got it, baby!”

I watched her toddle back to the gate. She would hate knowing how cute I thought she was. I put away my gardening items, and after a quick shower, slid into a cool azure cotton sheath and white sandals. Now that I had calmed down, it was time to do a little snooping of my own. But I needed something to use as a bribe. Well, not a bribe so much as an inducement.

I opened the freezer and studied the contents. Hmm, the frozen cupcakes would be thawed and ready to eat by the time I got there, but they wouldn’t smell quite as tempting as warm chocolate chip cookies. Especially to a guy who was probably hanging out in a cold basement.

Dear Sophie,

I like chocolate chip cookies that are soft on the inside. My mother-in-law says the trick is to lower the heat and bake them longer. I don’t believe her.

—Cookie Monster in Soft Maple, New York

Dear Cookie Monster,

I tried baking the same raw chocolate chip cookie dough at 325 degrees, 350 degrees, and 375 degrees. The only difference was how long they took to bake. At 350, they required 12 minutes, at 325, they needed 14 minutes, and at 375, they took only 10 minutes. When cool, my expert taste testers, including Nina Reid Norwood, could not tell any difference between the cookies. And neither could I.

—Sophie

Warm chocolate chip cookies in hand, I strolled over to the hotel where the recipe contest winners had stayed. I’d had enough functions and events there to know my way around pretty well. I strode through the lobby, pushed open a door marked
Employees Only
, and trotted down the stairs to the basement.

As I expected, Jack Houser read a newspaper, relaxing in a chair with his feet up on his desk. Not exactly what a security guard ought to be doing. Balding, portly, and always slightly flushed, Jack was a decent sort who mingled with guests comfortably. Most of them hadn’t a clue that he was the house detective.

I rapped on the door as a formality. “Hi, Jack.”

His feet thumped down onto the concrete floor. “Sophie!” He sounded relieved. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” I settled into the pretend leather chair across the desk from him, the basket of cookies on my lap. “You had a guest named Arnaud Turnèbe staying here recently—”

“Not him again. What now?”

“Oh? Did you have trouble with him?”

“Not really. Wolf came by to ask some questions about him. The guy was a lush. He stumbled around and said inappropriate things to women. That kind of baloney. What is that I smell? Cookies?”

“Was anyone seduced by his come-ons?”

“Besides you?” Jack sat back and laughed.

I didn’t even crack a smile. “That’s not funny.”

“I wouldn’t know who else.”

“Since when? You always keep an eye on who’s doing what. I’ve seen you in action. I’ve heard you talking with the other security guys.” I leaned toward the desk and set my little basket of cookies on it. “Why don’t you check the list in your desk that you keep just in case someone claims the housekeeper stole their stuff when it was really strangers that they took up to their rooms?”

His nose twitched. “Chocolate?”

“Warm and gooey chocolate chip, fresh from the oven.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” But he laughed, and I could tell he didn’t mind sharing his information with me. “I don’t have to look. Cheryl Maiorca, also a guest at the hotel, seemed put out with him, so maybe he stole from her, but she was too embarrassed to report it. The one that worried me the most was the blonde.”

“Lori Speer?” The former cop whose brother had been a chocolatier?

Jack frowned at me. “Know about her, huh? She pegged me right away and told me she had been a cop. She’s a wild one, for sure. We noticed that she kept her eye on our buddy, Arnaud. But it was the other blonde that I was watching.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. She wasn’t a guest of the hotel. Never engaged Arnaud in conversation that I saw, but we spotted her watching him more than once. Didn’t look like a hooker. She wore high heels like one, but so does my daughter. She’s gonna break her ankle one of these days. Calls it fashion.”

“Age?”

“Seventeen. They think they know everything. Oh! You mean the blonde. Late twenties. Long, straight hair. Pretty as can be. Never saw her smile, though. Not even once.”

It could have been any of a thousand women. Of ten thousand women! But I had a feeling it might have been Stella, Dan’s girlfriend. “Did she go up to his room with him?”

“Got in the elevator with him. What happened from there, well, I couldn’t say.”

I scooted the cookies to the middle of the desk and folded back the blue gingham napkin that covered them. The heavenly scent infused the air in the small office.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Sophie Winston, but you take care. Hear? I wouldn’t want anything to happen to someone who brings me warm chocolate chip cookies.” Jack bit into one, and as I left, I heard him grunt,
um-hmm
.

I left thinking about Stella. She seemed so young and sweet that I hadn’t given her much thought. Why would she be
interested in Arnaud? Could she be a chocolatier groupie? I chuckled at the thought. Did she work in the chocolate business? I must know someone who could tell me more about her. Bernie. Everyone went to his restaurant, The Laughing Hound, sooner or later. I walked the two blocks to the restaurant.

They were doing a brisk business. The outdoor patio was packed. Fewer people lingered in the bar. I asked the bartender if Bernie was around.

He pushed open a swinging door to the kitchen. “Bernie? Someone to see you.”

Bernie emerged and smiled at me. “I’m glad it’s you and not someone complaining about the food or service.”

“Aw, c’mon. I eat here all the time. I bet you don’t get many complaints.”

“Even one is too many. What’s up?”

“Do you know Stella, the woman who dates Dan Merano?”

The bartender overheard my question and drew closer. “I do. Is Stella in some kind of trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. How do you know her?”

“We used to work together at the Amore store. I think she manages it now.”

I nodded but didn’t tell him how interesting I thought that was. “Do you know where she’s from?”

He flicked a glance at Bernie. “Maryland, I think. Or was it Kansas? I’m not sure anymore. All I remember is that her grandmother passed away while we worked together. It was really hard on her because her grandmother raised her. She never knew her parents. They died when she was a baby.”

“That’s so sad. Poor Stella.”

“Did she have siblings?” asked Bernie.

“I’m not sure. I don’t remember her saying anything about them. She’s really nice, though. Always willing to fill in for somebody or to swap shifts.”

“Was she dating Dan then?”

“They probably met there. Dan’s a cool guy. He was
always bringing in new flavors for us to try. He always said, ‘You can’t sell them if you don’t know how they taste.’”

I wasn’t quite sure how to phrase my next question without sounding very odd. “Did she have a thing for chocolate? Or guys who liked chocolate?”

Thankfully, the bartender laughed. “Nothing weird if that’s what you mean. She was a workaholic and really took an interest in the details of making chocolate. Me, I just liked to eat it. But you know, when it’s in front of you every day, it loses some of the attraction.” He excused himself and strode away to take a drink order.

Bernie walked me out to the sidewalk. “What was that all about?”

“Someone who fits Stella’s description was watching Arnaud at the hotel. It’s not definite that it was Stella, though. Could have been any beautiful blonde about her age.”

Bernie nodded. “Worth following up on.”

“Francie is coming to dinner tomorrow night, want to join us?”

“I’ll bring the appetizer.”

“Deal.” I kissed his cheek and headed for home.

I could hear a cat rowling a loud complaint before I reached my block. The wail grew louder as I walked. And there, at my front door, sat my sweet Mochie, protesting at the top of his lungs.

“Mochie!”

He turned his head and ran to me, complaining.

“What happened? Why are you outside?”

He mewed nonstop, as though he was explaining. I picked him up.

Mochie clung to my shoulder, still mewing. He butted his head up against my cheek, letting me know he was glad I was home.

I tried the side door. It was locked. I pulled out my key, inserted it, and swung the door open.