Dark Chocolate Murder (18 page)

Wryly, Pierre quipped, “I speak all the Romance languages, darling.”

“Is that true?”

“No!” He laughed.  “I know some Italian from cooking school.  And I spent a semester studying pasta making in Rome.”

“Ooh, that sounds so exciting!  That would be like me studying chocolate making in Belgium!” Belinda enthused.

“You could
teach
chocolate making in Belgium!  I miss those sweet treats of yours,” Pierre said sadly as Belinda hung her head.  “No, don’t get upset.  You
will
be making chocolates again very soon!  This is just a minor detour.”

As the elevator stopped at the third floor, Pierre gathered Belinda into an embrace, holding the doors shut.
In the whirlwind of their kiss, all business-related thoughts dropped down to the ground floor as her heart ascended to the sky.
 

*****

Ventimiglia, Italy

Five Days Later

Curled up on the king size bed in the stylish Italian hotel room, Belinda should have been relaxed.  After the weeks spent sleeping on a carpet in her minuscule apartment, the bed did feel heavenly, but she couldn’t enjoy it.  She was now an official fugitive in a double homicide investigation. 
Fugitive.
  The word chilled her every time she thought of it.  Even more gravely, she had caused an international police search.  And Pierre, that beloved man, was harboring a fugitive since they had fled the country in his car.  Images of little Marc asking where his daddy was made Belinda’s heart constrict with remorse.  Even though Pierre had volunteered to take her out of the country, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was stealing a father away from his son.

Fiddling around on her computer, Belinda dared to
download an online newspaper.  She had been avoiding the news at all costs, unable to stomach hearing her name in the context of a homicide investigation.  Yesterday, Belinda had risked calling Crystal on the phone, even though they both knew the police could have had the phones tapped and were possibly recording their entire conversation.  According to Crystal, the case had become quite the sensation in Monaco and southern France.  It was not every day that people died after eating a box of chocolates from a supposedly reputable, swanky boutique.  Belinda cringed thinking of all the scandal she had caused.  True, she wasn’t the one who poisoned the chocolates, but she had opened the shop in a circuitous way by allowing Jean-Jacques to sign the lease.

Perhaps if she had done things by the book, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.  In fact, she wouldn’t be in Europe at all, Belinda real
ized.  If she had followed the Rule Book, she would still be in Boston wasting away in that cubicle and enduring daily tongue lashings from Jerry. No, she had to leave Boston.  It had been her destiny to do so.  Otherwise, she never would have met Pierre and believed that she could fall in love again.

Belinda
aimlessly surfed the news sites, not sure what she was looking for, but knowing what she didn’t want to see: her name and face printed on the front of a Wanted poster.  On a whim, she typed the names of the victims into a search engine.  The first results retrieved were news stories, as she expected.  But when she scrolled a little further down, Belinda found a website that caught her eye.  She clicked on it with trembling fingers and called to Pierre, who was in the bathroom shaving.

“Pierre, please come out here! I have to show you something on the computer!”

Instantaneously, Pierre emerged from the bathroom, a layer of shaving cream coating his face.  “What is it?  Did you find out anything new?” He asked urgently.

“Yes, take a look at this!” Belinda turned the computer screen towards him as his eyes widened.

“You found François and Collette’s obituary!” He exclaimed.

“Yes! And read the part about their next of kin,” Belinda prompted impatiently.

Pierre read the French words before exclaiming, “So Philippe is their nephew! And it doesn’t mention any children or grandchildren!”

“Right! So I would assume that means that the couple didn’t have any living heirs.”

“Except for Philippe,” Pierre said slowly, exchanging a glance with Belinda.

“Eureka! Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That Philippe poisoned his aunt and uncle to get to some sort of inheritance since he was the only one in line for it?” Pierre suggested, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, it had to be greed.  Why else would anyone kill this old couple?”

“Come to think of it, the night he was at my restaurant, he said he didn’t have any money.  He kept asking for liquor, and I wouldn’t have given it to him anyway, but he distinctly said he didn’t have money for the drinks,” Pierre recalled, staring off into the distance as the details resurfaced.

“And you know what?  When he pulled out his wallet to pay for the truffles, I noticed it was really worn and shabby looking.  I think this guy must be broke,” Belinda surmised.

“I think you’re right.  Now we have to find out about the finances of François Debauche and see if Philippe was named in the will to receive a fortune.”

She
nodded eagerly.  “Oh, Pierre, I hope we’re on the right track to solving this!  I don’t like being on the run like this.”

“I know you don’t.  But let’s make the best of our time in Italy.  I suggest we go out and clear our heads a little…that is, after I wipe this shaving cream off my face.” Pierre grinned boyishly at her.

She took a playful swipe at his cheek.  “It looks like whipped cream.  Too bad it’s not edible,” she teased.

“Now don’t get me in that mood!” Pierre warned lightly.

“I thought you were always in that mood!” Belinda replied honestly.

“This is true.  But I want to take yo
u out to lunch and to explore. We’ve barely left this hotel room since we arrived, although I can’t say I’ve minded being trapped in here with you,” Pierre teased.  “But we really should go out and explore.  We are on the Italian Riviera, you know.”

First the French Riviera and now the Italian Riviera.  Belinda was quickly crossing off items on even the loftiest bucket list.  And now she wasn’t even trying.  She had made the
conscious decision to go to Monaco and France, but it was a quirk of fate that had brought her to Italy with Pierre.

“I didn’t even think about that!  From what I could see during the drive, it looks even more beautiful
here than the French Riviera, if that’s possible,” Belinda marveled.

“
I think it is more beautiful,” he mused.  “There’s a quaint quality to this part of Italy.  There’s too much---what’s that phrase? Bustle and hustle?  Yes, there’s too much bustle and hustle on the Côte d’Azur.”

Belinda smiled, amazed how the man never ceased to charm her. 
She didn’t bother to correct him and say the proper phrase: hustle and bustle.  Pierre’s English was virtually flawless, but from time to time he did have an endearing slip-up.

As Pierre returned to the bathroom to wash up, Belinda shut down her computer and tried to forget about the sad obituary she had just read.  This time, it wasn’t the case that was nagging at her.  It was what she had learned about the victims.  Apparently, Fran
çois had been a hospital volunteer for more than 20 years, and Collette had baked bread every Sunday for her church and neighbors.  Belinda could not think of two people less deserving of this fate.  And on their 50
th
wedding anniversary...

Belinda fought back a shiver as she bolted from the bed, eager to leave the hotel room and step out into the warm Mediterranean
sunshine, even though she would be incognito.  Meticulously, she slipped on her dark wig and painted her lips a blood red shade that she would never wear under normal circumstances.  With a pair of nerdy, thick-rimmed glasses to complete the disguise, Belinda barely recognized herself in the mirror.

In dark sunglasses and a hat, Pier
re met her at the door.  Belinda wasn’t sure if they made a discreet couple so much as an odd looking one.  “
Andiamo
.” 
Let’s go
.  Pierre opened the door for Belinda as they cautiously set out to explore, looking behind them suspiciously as they walked down the corridor.

Outside,
in the radiant Italian sunshine, their suspicions and fears naturally faded.  When Belinda spotted a gelato shop, she poked Pierre in the shoulder and demanded playfully, “Let’s get a gelato!  We can have lunch later!”

Obligingly, Pierre bought a large cup of gelato for them to share with two spoons.  As they dug into the treat, Belinda had a flashback of the first day she had met little Marc, how she and Pierre had taken him to an ice cream parlor.  One glance at Pierre told her that he was thinking the same thing.

“You miss Marc, don’t you?” She asked sympathetically.  When Pierre remained stubbornly silent, she said, “You must miss him!  Because I do!”

Reluctantly, Pierre admitted, “Yes, I do miss him.  But o
nce I get back to France, I’m going to spend more time with him.  I’m planning to cut back my hours at the restaurant.  I mean, I didn’t hire a manager for nothing, right?  Let him do his job.” Pierre licked the spoon suggestively before adding, “That way, I can spend more time with you too.”

Belinda’s face lit up with pleasure. 
“Oh, I hope so.  This has been so stressful.  I wish we were at your cozy country house right now.” Belinda shut her eyes, envisioning the pastoral home and all the nooks and crannies she still wanted to explore there.

“Shhh,” Pierre hushed.  “Let’s enjoy the moment.  I say we take a drive to the beach. 
We can’t be on the Italian Riviera without going to the beach, right?”

“But I’m not wearing a swimsuit underneath my clothes,” Belinda protested.

Pierre, however, had already deposited their empty gelato cup in a garbage can and was opening the passenger side door of his car.  Patiently, he waited for Belinda to slide into the seat before he chivalrously closed the door and started the ignition.

“You need to be more spontaneous, Belinda,” Pierre observed.

“Really?  You’re saying this to the woman who quit her full-time job and moved halfway across the world to open a candy store?” Belinda laughed, relishing the salty ocean breeze that bathed them through the sunroof.

“True, you did that, and I’m very grateful that you did. 
But other than that, what risks have you taken?” Pierre challenged.

I’ve fallen in love with you
, Belinda wanted to whisper, but she stayed mum.  “Well, I guess I’ll be taking a risk today by going swimming in my clothing!”

“That’s the spirit!” Pierre chuckled.

The beach Pierre selected was secluded from the tourist areas and allowed for a luxury of privacy.  Belinda slung her sandals around her wrists and walked barefoot onto the powdery sand.  Gazing at the shocking blue of the Mediterranean Sea, she recalled how she had spent her 39
th
birthday alone on a beach in Monaco.  With nothing but a bottle of champagne and a blanket, that birthday had evaporated into the sands of time.  Now, she was at an Italian beach with a man whose very presence set her heart wildly aflutter.  And it felt like the most natural thing in the world.  As Pierre laced their fingers together, she made a silent wish that they would be together on her next birthday.  And many, many birthdays after that.

Dragging her out of her thoughts, Pierre sprinted across the sand, forcing Belinda to adapt to his speed.  Breathlessly, she
ran with him until they were standing at the shoreline, their toes tickled by the warm sea water.

“You said you would swim with your clothes on.  And I’m going to hold you to that!” Pierre insisted.

“Is that a dare, Mr. Say Dare?” Belinda teased.

“Yes, it is!” He confirmed laughingly.

With an irreverent smirk in his direction, Belinda strode through the water, not even trying to dodge the waves, but letting them crash over and drench her.  Forgetting about the wig, she dunked her head under water, then quickly surfaced, hurriedly readjusting the hairpiece.  Like a baby dolphin, she splashed around in the water, not caring that her cotton tee-shirt clung to her breasts, outlining them explicitly to any passerby.  As she frolicked in the sea, she also didn’t notice the hard, aroused expression Pierre’s features had taken on.

Without warning, he came up behind her, grabbing her waist and play-wrestling with her in the water. 
Thrashing around in the waves, the lovers shared a salty kiss before swimming deeper into the current.

“Okay
!  I get it!  You do take risks.  But we’re going out too far now, Belinda.  Let’s go back to shore.  This isn’t safe.  There’s not even a lifeguard here,” Pierre shouted urgently against the rushing sound of the surf.

Ignoring him, Belinda swam until the water was neck-deep and her head was barely above the surface.  Pierre tailed her protectively, but she gently pushed him away.

“Belinda, this isn’t cute!  I think you’ve gone a little crazy!” He shouted more angrily this time.

“You dared me!  Just making sure I could fulfill the dare,” Belinda hollered, finally relenting and pushing back towards the shore.