Dark Chocolate Murder (21 page)

Detective Montagne
peered at his fellow cop through distrustful eyes.  All along he had suspected that Buchet had somehow been involved in a cover up.  Montagne had combed Belinda’s Chocolate Boutique for evidence too, and he had turned up empty handed.  How was it that Buchet had been the one to unearth a bottle of cyanide? And why was it that Buchet had treated Belinda Rockland so disrespectfully and prematurely named her a suspect? It seemed too far fetched to be a coincidence, and Montagne’s suspicions were intensifying.

“I want to talk to you about the case too,” Montagne replied warily.  “Did you hear that Philippe Debauche has already cashed in on his inheritance and made a run for the border?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” David Buchet thundered, pummeling his fist on Montagne’s desk.

Montagne’s suspicions
sky rocketed into full fledged conviction about Buchet’s involvement.  The man’s reaction was too emotional for him not to have some sort of stake in the case.  As calmly as he could, Montagne replied, “Yes, his lawyer called the police station with a tip earlier today.  André Leaufre apparently represented François Debauche and handled his estate.  According to Leaufre, Philippe had been in a hurry to collect the cash.  The attorney found that unusual, to say the least, considering how recently Debauche’s relatives passed on.”

“This Andr
é Leaufre should be debarred!  He had no right to pass that information on to the police.  That violates the confidentiality agreement between attorney and client!” Buchet boomed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat to prevent himself from using them in a more violent fashion.

“Under normal circumstances, it would violate the confidentiality agreement.  But these are not normal circumstances,” Montagne’s eyes bore into those of his colleague.

Averting his gaze to the floor, Buchet demanded, “What the hell are you trying to say?”

Detective Montagne pulled a white envelope
from his desk drawer.  “A more detailed report came back from the lab today.  The tiniest smudge of Philippe Debauche’s fingerprints was found on the box of Fatally Sweet truffles.”

“
Of course, no kidding!  Philippe was the one to give the box to his aunt and uncle!” Buchet blurted out, instantly regretting his outburst and biting his thin lower lip nervously.

Montagne raised his eyebrows and smoothed the tie on his suit.  “Is that a fact?  In the case notes, it says that Fran
çois picked out the chocolates for his wife.”

“Oh, yes, yes, that’s right!  Of course he did!” Buchet tried desperately to recover his faux pas.

“No, I believe it was indeed Philippe who selected the chocolates.  An anonymous tip was called in by a gentleman who claims he saw Philippe Debauche purchase the chocolates in cash at Belinda’s Chocolate Boutique.” Detective Montagne referred to the slightly skewed clue that Pierre had remembered to call in after arriving in Italy with Belinda.

“Oh, hell, I don’t know! This is
a confusing case! I, um, uh…” Detective Buchet stammered, unable to string a coherent sentence together as his colleague stared him down like a tiger in the jungle.

Feeling like trapped prey, Buchet looked wildly around him as two officers strolled into Montagne’s office.  One of them pointed t
o a chair, indicating for Buchet to sit down.  Heavily, David Buchet sank into the seat, fearing that his day of reckoning had come.  And he hadn’t even received a single euro from that slimy weasel, Philippe Debauche!  It had all been for naught.

Coolly, Montagne informed, “This is a police interrogation that may be recorded for purposes of evidence at trial.”

As the officers surrounded him, Buchet swallowed painfully and hung his head in his hands.

*****

“Boy, am I out of shape!” Belinda
quipped under her breath as she plodded to the Italian-Monégasque border.  Sweating inside her heavy wig and breathless from climbing countless hills, she still felt infinitely better than she had sequestered in the hotel room.  Belinda was proud that she had reclaimed control of the situation rather than huddling on the bed like a frightened child.  In a matter of minutes, she would hopefully dodge any administrative requirements and slip into Monaco undetected.  Initially, she had considered taking a taxi but feared that the cab driver might recognize her from all the Wanted posters scattered around.  So, here she was, getting more exercise than she had in the past decade.  As she inched closer to the edge of Italy, the walk became invigorating, and Belinda basked in the sweet summer air.  Pierre still hadn’t returned her call, but she tried not to focus on that upsetting detail.

Belinda smiled in relief as she
uneventfully crossed the border and began walking the remaining eight miles to France.  In total, she would walk more than twenty miles by nightfall.  But the odyssey was well worth the exertion because it would lead her back to the man she loved more deeply than she had realized before their separation.  Picking up her pace as the sun lowered across the horizon, the scenery became a blur.  With only a vague conception of how to access Pierre’s town outside of Nice, Belinda reached for her cell phone and placed a call to Nathalie.

Fortunately, Pierre’s sister answered the phone
on the third ring.  “Nathalie! Hello, it’s Belinda!”

“Oh, hello!
How are you?” Nathalie asked in a distant voice that cracked with emotion, instantly alarming Belinda.

“You sound like you’ve been crying!  What’s wrong?  Is it Pierre?  How is Marc?” Belinda stopped dead in her tracks, listening breathlessly for Nathalie’s reply.

“Marc is in the hospital!  Pierre didn’t tell you?”

“No, he didn’t!  I haven’t heard from him at all!”

“Oh, well, I guess he is too upset right now.  Marc’s fever went above 105.  He was starting to have hallucinations.  In the hospital, he’s been in and out of consciousness.  It doesn’t look good right now.” Nathalie’s voice broke again on those last words.

Stifling a sob, Belinda implored, “Which hospital is he in?  Please!  Tell me!  I have to be there for Pierre.”

“I’ll text you the name and address of the hospital after we hang up.  Thanks for caring so much about my brother.  He’s lucky to have you, Belinda.” Nathalie softly hung up the phone, leaving Belinda to wait frantically for her text to come through.  When she read the information, she knew she would have to take a taxi no matter how risky an enterprise it might be.  Without an escort, she would never find the hospital.  Besides, with the adrenaline rush fading, her feet were starting to burn and blister.

Half an hour later, Belinda paid the cab fare in a frenzy and scurried out of the car.  Even as her feet screamed at her, she ran to the reception desk and addressed the nurse
at the computer.  Hiding behind dark sunglasses, Belinda could still perceive the odd expression the nurse flashed her.  Praying the nurse didn’t recognize her as the infamous double homicide fugitive, Belinda asked in her most eloquent French, “Where may I find a patient named Marc Cédaire, please?”

The nurse typed the name into the computer and brusquely replied, “The patient is on the f
ifth floor.  Room 515.  Sign in and take a guest pass.”

Belinda hurriedly scrawled a pseudonym on the sign-in sheet and snatched the guest pass, making a dash to the elevator.  As she ran, she could feel the nurse’s suspicious eyes
needling into her back.  Ignoring the tightness in the pit of her stomach, Belinda rushed off the elevator and down the corridor to Marc’s hospital room.

In the doorway stood a long, lean woman with messy blonde hair and a tear-streaked face dripping with blue mascara.  It took Belinda more than a moment to register that this woman was Marc’s mother, Juliette Fontaine.  The actress appeared even more gaunt than she did in photos, and she was not nearly as pretty as Belinda expected her to be.

“Who are you?” Juliette demanded, wiping her wet face with a tissue.

Belinda faltered, unsure of how to introduce herself to Pierre’s ex-wife.  To her relief, Pierre emerged from the hospital room and intervened.  “Belinda!  What are you doing here?” He shouted before catching himself and whispering fiercely, “You are supposed to be in Italy!  It’s not safe for you to be here.  How could you take such a foolish chance?”

Juliette glared more darkly at Belinda, apparently sensing the intimacy between the strange woman in the brunette wig and the man who was once her husband.  Dismissing Juliette’s hard stare, Belinda whispered back to Pierre, “You didn’t answer my voicemail, and I was getting so worried.  I had to come back here!  And then I called Nathalie and she told me about poor little Marc!  How is he doing?”

“Not well,” Pierre replied gravely.  “The doctors can’t seem to be able to lower his fever.  I’m getting really scared.”

“Yes, and so is his
mother
, “Juliette gritted.  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your
friend
, Pierre?”

The two
women faced off like fiendish opponents in a fencing match as Pierre stepped between them and said swiftly, “Juliette, this is my girlfriend.” Turning to Belinda, he explained, “Juliette flew in from New York last night after she heard that Marc was in the hospital.  We’ve been keeping a vigil here ever since.”

“Oh, Pierre, I’m so sorry about all of this.” Belinda circled her arms around Pierre, knowing that Juliette was watching the embrace with scathing eyes.  He welcomed
her touch and held her tightly the way she had missed so much over the past few days.

“Our son needs us,” Juliette interrupted contemptuously.  “Or would you rather stay in the hallway and make out with your girlfriend?”

Pierre shot his ex-wife a look of reproach as he released Belinda from his arms.  “Come in and see Marc.  He’s sleeping, but at least you can hold his hand.” Pierre led Belinda into the hospital room.

In furious protest, Juliette blocked the door and crossed her arms over her chest.  “Your girlfriend is not welcome in my son’
s room!”

As though Juliette were invisible, Belinda inquired of Pierre, “Why is she acting this way towards me?  I thought you’ve been divorced for
more than two years.”

Juliette seethed, “Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean the love isn’
t still alive!”

Belinda flinched at her
stinging words and turned to Pierre for reassurance.  Before he had a chance to respond, a quartet of uniformed police officers stormed the hospital room.  At the sight of the officers, Belinda’s gut instinct was to run like hell, but she knew that would only worsen her predicament.  Belinda gasped as one of the officers violently ripped the wig off her head, revealing a tangled mass of reddish brown hair.

“Belinda Rockland, you decided to come back and
face the music.  Good choice,” the officer said sardonically.

Tears of fear and humiliation stung Belinda’s eyes. 
This could not be happening, but somehow it was.  The nurse at the reception desk must have called the police.  She could not be carted off to jail for a crime she had nothing to do with!  Her head spun as she contemplated various nightmarish scenarios of what could befall her in police custody.

“Your girlfriend is the chocolate murderer?” Juliette spat in disgust.  “You exposed my son to a killer?  How dare you!”

“She’s not a killer!” Pierre defended.  “Officers, Belinda Rockland is not the person you want to pursue in this crime.  You need to find Philippe Debauche!”

Ignoring Pierre’s pleas, the officers yanked Belinda’s arms behind her back and placed her
roughly in handcuffs.  Belinda did not resist the arrest physically, but mentally she was aflame with indignation and shame.  Desperately, she looked at Pierre, startled by the stoniness of his features and the paleness of his usually bronzed skin.

“Please, o
fficers, listen to me!  She is innocent!  Belinda Rockland is not a murderer!”

“T
he evidence would say otherwise,” the cop who had torn off Belinda’s wig said simply, dragging her down the hall.

Pierre looked from the hospital room where his son lay unconscious to the elevator where the woman he loved was being manhandled. 
Dual loyalties created an agonizing tug of war in his heart.  But he would follow the police car to the jail; he couldn’t let Belinda go through this alone.  Juliette could stay with Marc for a few hours, and Nathalie would be there soon, he reasoned.  As Pierre was about to sprint to the elevator, Marc’s pediatrician approached, looking unnervingly grim.

*****

Inside the cramped jail cell, Belinda struggled to breathe as hyperventilation and panic threatened to overtake her.  Sitting on the edge of a cold
iron chair, Belinda squeezed her eyes shut.  If she opened her eyes, she would have to look at the filth and garbage on the floor.  She would be forced to see the menacing guards who stood outside the cell.  Opening her eyes would make reality---real.  But even with her eyes closed, she could still smell the stench of human body odor and hear the ramblings of imprisoned women in adjacent cells.

She knew it was wishful thinking to imagine that Pierre would come to rescue her.  Under other circumstances, she had no doubt that he would be there for her, but with his son so ill, it seemed unlikely.  A flashback of Juliette’s chilly demeanor made the draft gusting through the cell even more harsh.  Why had that woman behaved so possessively over Pierre?  Belinda had assumed that any feelings between Pierre and his ex-wife had disintegrated long ago, the way her feelings for Daniel had disappeared.