Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 04 - Chocolate Mousse Attack (2 page)

He strode to the open closet door and I followed.

The closet was large for an old house. On one side, shirts were grouped by color, fabric and long sleeves versus short sleeves. On the other
side, slacks and jackets were arranged the same way. He had a shoe rack that held polished shoes and a tie rack with ties, sorted by color.

Sophie huddled in one corner at the very back.
She sat with her face between her knees, a dark curtain of hair flowing over her arms which wrapped protectively around her head. A silky white gown spread around her.

A beautiful woman in a nightgown hiding in the bedroom closet of a man in pajamas. If it had been anybody but Fred—

“Sophie?” I spoke softly.

She flinched and tightened her arms around her head.

I turned to Fred. “How did she get in your house? I feel certain you had the door locked.”

He straightened his glasses. “At 1:33 a.m. my security system told me someone was on my front porch. I went to investigate and saw her trying to get in. I opened the door and asked if I could be of assistance. She walked past me, straight up the stairs and into my bedroom closet. I believe she’s sleepwalking, but I can’t seem to wake her or persuade her to come out.” He removed a cookie from the container and bit into it. His hand shook slightly. I was glad I had brought the cookies. He definitely needed a fix.

I took the container from him. Maybe Sophie would respond to a cookie. Chocolate has restorative powers.

I handed Fred my Coke and moved into the closet, pushed Fred’s pants aside and knelt next to her. “Sophie, it’s Lindsay. I’m your neighbor. Remember me? Chocolatier?”

She shivered but didn’t look up.

“Would you like a chocolate chip cookie? I made them myself.”

Nothing.

There’s something very wrong with anyone who turns down one of my cookies.

I touched her arm.

Her head flew up and she shoved my hand away. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror. “Carolyn! No!”

I had a bad feeling it was going to take more than a few cookies to help that woman.

Chapter
Two

“Who’s Carolyn?” The question came out of my mouth automatically. I didn’t really expect a response, but Sophie blinked a couple of times and awareness came back to her eyes.

“Carolyn?” she repeated. Her gaze darted from side to side, from shirts to pants and back again. “Where…? What…?” Eyes wide, she scrambled to her feet.

“It’s okay.” I hung onto a pair of gray slacks as I got up to stand beside her. “It’s me, Lindsay, your new neighbor. Remember?”

She looked at me, her expression wild and confused. “Yes, Lindsay, I remember. Where am I? How did I get here? What’s going on?”

Fred stepped inside the closet. “We were hoping you could tell us.”

She gasped at the sight of Fred and clutched my arm convulsively. He doesn’t usually have that effect on women.

“I told you not to get those black framed glasses,” I said. Never pass up a chance to say
I told you so
.

Sophie relaxed her grip. “You’re Fred Sommers. You live across the street. I…” She looked around her again, studying the categorized clothing, then swallowed audibly. “Is this your house?”

“Yes. Would you like to come out of the closet and sit down?”

“I have cookies.” I held out the container. Whatever the circumstances, offer food or beverage. My mother taught me manners.

“I…”

Fred held out his hand.

She looked at it doubtfully.

He stepped back from the closet. “If you’d like to go downstairs, I’ll make some coffee and we can discuss this.”

She shivered and looked down at her gown. “I’ve been sleepwalking again.” Her voice was quiet, without emotion, resigned.

Sleepwalking was a little weird, but
I supposed it was better than having a neighbor who was psycho.

“I’ll get you a robe and then we’ll go downstairs and have coffee and some of Lindsay’s cookies.”

He disappeared and she looked at me. “I’m sorry. This hasn’t happened since I was a child.”

I shrugged. “The stress of moving, meeting new people. Don’t worry about it. Fred needs a little excitement in his life. Nobody’s tried to kill him in a couple of months.”

Before she could ask what I meant, Fred returned with a white terry cloth robe and handed it to Sophie.

We went downstairs to the breakfast nook. The large bay window looked out on a wonderful view of trees whose leaves disappeared into thin air before they could fall to the ground and birds that never pooped. Of course it was dark so we couldn’t see all that, but I could feel
the tidiness pressing against the window, trying to get inside and attack me.

While Fred made coffee, Sophie and I sat at the polished oak table that absorbed crumbs before they had a chance to settle on its surface.

“This isn’t necessary,” Sophie said. “I should go home. I’ve disturbed you all enough already.”

“It’s okay, really. I get up at four anyway to go to work, and I’m not sure Fred ever sleeps. I think he’s part robot.”

“I’m standing right here. I can hear you talking about me.” Fred set two cups of coffee and a fresh Coke on the table then took a chair across from Sophie.

I picked up the Coke. “The robot theory explains the super hearing.”

Sophie wrapped her hands around the mug Fred had set in front of her. “I’m so sorry I woke you two.”

“Who’s Carolyn?” Fred asked.

A beautiful woman with a mystery. Fred was hooked.

And I was mildly curious.

Sophie frowned. “I don’t know anyone named Carolyn. Why do you keep asking me about that name?”

I took a sip of Coke and studied her. She seemed genuinely puzzled. “When I tried to wake you, you called me that name.”

“I did?” She shook her head. “It’s a common name. I’ve probably known a Carolyn somewhere over the years.”

“Do you remember what you were dreaming?” Fred asked.

“Yes.” She bit her lip, her forehead furrowed and she shook her head. “It was scary. There was a man with a knife and…blood.” She gave a slight shrug and attempted an even slighter smile. “A nightmare.”

“It’s unlikely a man is going to be named Carolyn,” I said. “Was there a woman in your dream?”

“No.”

Her answer came so quickly I didn’t quite believe her.

She toyed with her cup, studying the dark liquid as if it were a crystal ball where she could find answers. She hadn’t taken even a sip. I’m a Coke and tea person myself, but I was certain Fred made good coffee no matter how oxymoronic that term sounded to me.

“So you had problems with sleepwalking when you were a child?” Fred asked.

She looked up and shrugged. “It’s pretty typical for kids, I guess. I grew out of it.”

“When you lived across the street
as a child, did you know the people who lived in this house, maybe come over to visit sometimes?”

Sophie bit her lip. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember who lived here. I believe the place was vacant. I was very young when we moved away.”

“But you remembered living here. You wanted to come back to your old house.”

She gave a tight smile. “My parents died not long after we moved to Nebraska. My memories of living here are…” She spread her hands as if searching for the right words. “I have only vague memories of childhood, memories of a happy home with my parents. My aunt, my mother’s sister who raised me, was wonderful, but I never forgot my mother and father. When I decided to start my own interior decorating company and discovered my old house was for sale, it seemed like a sign. So I made the decision to move here.” She rose stiffly. “I do apologize. I promise to lock myself inside every night from here on out so this won’t happen again.”

Fred and I stood also. “No problem. I was going to ask you over for coffee anyway.” He smiled.

Sophie relaxed noticeably, her
own smile becoming more genuine and less forced. “I’ll bring your robe back tomorrow.”

Fred walked her to the door, and he and I stood on his porch until she was safely inside her house.

“Well,” I said, “that was strange. Remember when people kept trying to get in my basement to get the money that wasn’t there? Maybe there’s hidden treasure in your house and she came over to find it. Maybe she wasn’t really sleepwalking. Maybe somebody buried gold here and she needs to find it to pay for all the renovations on that house.”

Fred sighed and shook his head. “You have quite an imagination.”

*~*~*

I didn’t see any point in going back to bed so I dressed and went in to work early. By the time Paula got there, I’d already made up a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough and eaten a substantial part of it. After a hard night of hauling strange women out of the closet, there’s nothing like a breakfast of cookie dough and Coke.

“Come in early to take advantage of the cooler morning?” she asked as she tied on a heavy apron.

I pulled out a mixing bowl to start a Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake. “Repair guy should be here by nine. We can survive until then. No, I’m up early because Fred had a woman in his closet and couldn’t get her out.”

Paula paused with one hand holding her blond hair back and the other positioned to secure it with an elastic band. Her forehead creased in a frown. “Is this one of those strange euphemisms men are always coming up with?”

“No!” I broke bittersweet chocolate into small pieces in a bowl and told Paula about the night’s events.

She took out the dough she’d left to rise overnight in the refrigerator and began preparing cinnamon rolls. They’re not chocolate, but they’re pretty darn good. Extra cinnamon, extra butter. Our customers love them and I even sneak a few bites from time to time when nobody’s looking. I don’t want word to get out that I’m eating something other than chocolate. I have a reputation to uphold.

“Sleepwalking is more common than you might think,” Paula said, “especially when the person’s under stress. I’m sure our new neighbor will be fine. But you might want to remember to lock your doors at night, just in case.”

Paula’s always the voice of reason. The only time I’ve ever seen her get upset was when her psycho ex-husband kidnapped her son Zach. He’s in prison now. The ex-husband, not Zach. He lives with his mother next door to me. I’m his “Anlinny.” That’s kid-speak for Aunt Lindsay. He can say my name now since he’s all of three years old, but he still calls me Anlinny.

I put chocolate and butter into the microwave to melt. “I think I saw Rick parked in the street last night, watching my house.”

Paula smacked the dough with a rolling pin bigger than her arm. “That doesn’t surprise me. Rick’s not the type to give up just because you have papers saying you’re divorced. That man is seriously nuts.”

“Your ex is seriously nuts. Mine’s just crazy nuts. Rick would never try to kill me like yours did.” I stirred the melted chocolate and thought about that for a minute. “But I would not be willing to sign a notarized statement to that effect.”

The air conditioning guys came to fix the air conditioning, my Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake came out perfect, and I made a lot of people happy and full. It was a good day. 

Near closing time, I was cleaning off tables when I looked up to see Paula standing at the counter, talking to the only guy left in the place. Of course, she talks to people all the time, taking orders, asking if they need anything else, but she actually seemed to be having a conversation with this guy.

Paula has a lot of scars—physical and emotional—from her marriage to Zach’s father, and she doesn’t make friends readily. It took me almost a year, working with her every day, to convince her to discuss more than the menu and how much flour we needed to order.

But she looked relaxed and
was actually smiling while talking to this guy.

I couldn’t tell a lot about him from his back. He wore a white shirt with dark slacks and he had blond hair—natural, not highlighted like Rick’s. I moved closer to the counter, trying to get a better look and be unobtrusive while carrying a tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen. The smears on his plate indicated he’d had a piece of my Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake and had eaten every bite. But that didn’t
really mean anything. Even Rick likes my chocolate.

I angled through the opening on the other side of the cash register and leaned around to study his face. Damn dishes leaned too. Slid right off the tray and crashed to the floor. I got a good look at the guy’s face when he and Paula both jerked their heads in my direction.
My initial impression of him was that he looked startled.

Paula rushed over. “Let me help you.”

While we were picking up broken glass and greasy food, the bell over the door jingled. I flinched and almost cut my finger on a piece of chocolate covered glass. I hoped it wasn’t the sound of Paula’s guy leaving.

I stood and looked around.
The stool where he’d been sitting was empty.
Way to go, Lindsay! Paula finally shows a little interest in a man, and you run him off!

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Paula put the last of the big pieces back on the tray. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve dropped more dishes than you have.” She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a broom.

“No, I mean because your friend left when I created the big bang.” I stood with the tray of broken glass and garbage.

“He wasn’t my friend. I’ve never met him before.” She swept energetically at the mess. A bit too energetically?

“But he might have become your friend
if I hadn’t interrupted.”

Her blue eyes were clear and guileless, but her cheeks had a tinge of pink. A blush? From Paula? “He was a customer. I was being polite. That’s all.”

I looked toward the empty stool and noticed a business card lying beside the plate. Aha! He’d left her a way to reach him!

I
hurried toward the kitchen to dump my mess then come back and grab the card before Paula had a chance to throw it away without even reading it.

The bell jingled again and I
turned back to look, hoping he’d returned.

It was Rick.

“We’re closed.” I went on to the kitchen and tossed the mess into the garbage can.

Paula followed me with the contents of her dust pan. “He just sat down at the counter.”

“Of course he did.” I grabbed a mop, filled a bucket with water and cleaner then returned to the front.

Rick was sitting on a stool next to the dirty dish, holding the business card. “A history professor? Are you branching out from cops to men with brain
s?”

I snatched the card from him and stuck it in the pocket of my cutoffs. “I’m going to take some classes. Not that it’s any of your business.” I ignored the remark about
cops
. Now that Rick and I were divorced, I was dating Detective Adam Trent of the Pleasant Grove Police Department. Actually we’d been sort of dating for over a year while those papers were pending, but he refused to be the official man in my life until I was officially unmarried. He’s burdened with a lot of high moral standards that drive me freaking crazy sometimes. Not only did he make me wait that year, but he refuses to fix any of my speeding tickets. Sometimes people carry those moral standards a little too far.