The Diva Steals a Chocolate Kiss (4 page)

The timer on my oven dinged. I pulled out the muffins.

“Gosh, but those smell good. They should bottle scents like that,” exclaimed Nina.

I poured her a cup of coffee and set the muffins on the table.

My kitchen door opened again and Daisy ran to me, wagging her tail as though she had missed seeing me. I hugged my sweet dog and gushed over her.

“You know we’re in the room, too,” said Mars.

“Good morning, Mars. Good morning, Bernie,” I said with mock formality. “Could I interest you in omelets?”

Mars slid onto the banquette next to Nina and picked up a muffin. “These are still warm!” A political advisor, Mars had the good fortune to possess wholesome looks that encouraged people to confide in him. He still had a full head of dark chocolate hair, though a glimmer of gray had moved in just around his ears. I had fallen in love with him because of his humor, which showed in his eyes and the little crinkles on their outer edges.

Bernie, who had been the best man at our wedding and always sounded clever with his British accent, said, “If it’s not too much trouble.” Bernie and Mars couldn’t have been more opposite in appearance. Bernie’s sandy hair was always unruly, as though he had just rolled out of bed. His
nose had been broken at least once and sported a very slight kink. He shared Mars’s sense of humor, though, and had astonished all of us by running the most popular restaurant in Old Town.

I cracked more eggs into a bowl and chopped additional peppered ham while Bernie poured coffee for everyone, and Nina set the table with summery Marlborough Sprays dishes and pink napkins.

We sat down to eat, and I relaxed with my friends, knowing full well that once I dressed and left for Joe’s house, I would be putting out fires until night fell.

“You know Natasha has been a real pill about Amore’s tasting,” said Nina, selecting a muffin. “Why did she have to bad-mouth them? Doesn’t she understand that it makes her look bad?”

Mars sucked in air. “When isn’t she a pill?”

Bernie’s fork fell out of his hand and clattered to his plate. Nina choked on a muffin.

I stared at Mars in shock. He always defended Natasha! “What’s going on?” I asked.

Mars studied his plate. “Life shouldn’t have to be so hard. Everything is going well. I should be the happiest guy on the planet. But with Nat there’s always a drama, always a crisis, always a new plan to break out of the local market and finally become a nationally recognized name in every household.”

“Like Martha Stewart?” asked Nina.

“Just like that. I’m tired of it.”

“Did something happen?” Bernie ate a bite of his muffin but kept his eyes on Mars.

“She wants to become a chocolatier. She even ordered chocolate beans, a roaster, and some kind of special grinder.”

Nina guffawed. “Natasha and The Chocolate Factory?”

I had no idea what to say, and from the startled look on his face, neither did Bernie.

Nina, however, reached over and slapped Mars on the
back. “Well, maybe it’s time you left her to her craziness. I can’t imagine what you were thinking to stay with her this long. Let me know if you need help packing.” And then she smiled at me. “Sophie has an extra room.”

Bernie quickly shifted the conversation back to the chocolate tasting, but the spectre of a major change hung over us. Poor Mars.

While my friends cleaned up the kitchen, Daisy and Mochie bounded up the stairs with me. Experience had taught me to wear clothes that would allow me to handle any catastrophes that came along. I could come home midafternoon to change into clothes more suited to the tasting. I pulled on cotton crop pants in periwinkle blue that, thanks to my short legs, actually came to my ankles. A sleeveless white top looked cool and tidy. A pair of simple silver hoops were all the jewelry I needed. I slid my feet into ultra-comfy white thong sandals with glittering sparkles on top.

When I returned to the kitchen, my three friends had loaded the dishwasher and tidied up. After leaving a bowl of salmon for Mochie to nosh on during my absence, we left the house and went our separate ways.

Coco answered the door at Joe’s mansion and showed me to the guesthouse where the goodie bags had been stashed. Before I started on them, I checked out the path that our guests would use when they arrived. Instead of knocking on the front door, they would step to the side and come through the garden gate. I pounded a sign into the dirt near the front door. It read
Chocolate Tasting,
with an arrow pointing to the right. The garden gate would be open.

The first thing they would see was a group of tall, flowering bushes in front of a huge old tree. The perfect backdrop for the centerpiece table.

That settled, I made quick work of loading each gift bag with a copy of the Amore recipe book. Just as I finished, an older man with a long gray ponytail and a full white beard
arrived with four hundred boxes of Amore chocolates. He wore an Amore baseball cap and an Amore sixtieth anniversary T-shirt and introduced himself as Vince Wilson. He spoke with a very slight speech impediment, as though his dentures didn’t fit quite right.

I thanked him.

“There’s more,” he promised.

I had only stuffed a few of the bags with chocolates when he returned with packages of baking chocolate, hot chocolate mix, and cocoa powder. He retrieved load after load of T-shirts, caps, chocolates in the shape of the Capitol building, boxed truffles, pink chocolate roses on sticks, chocolate-dipped pretzels, and adorable chocolate bumble bees wrapped in gold and black foil with transparent paper wings.

Overload time. I needed help, and I knew just who to call. I heard someone shout my name and headed for the main house while I phoned Nina for reinforcement. She promised to come ASAP.

I strolled into the magnificent kitchen of the main house. I loved my kitchen, but Joe’s was a true dream kitchen, featuring a six-burner Viking stove with a grill, and a walk-in pantry that was half the size of my kitchen. Unlike some mansion kitchens, this one was built to be used by home cooks, not just teams of caterers.

Dan Merano, Joe’s son and head chocolatier of Amore Chocolates, had delivered an unbelievably detailed four-foot-high chocolate sculpture. Three cherubs, one white chocolate, one milk chocolate, and one dark chocolate, held hands and looked so real that I expected them to frolic right off the kitchen counter. Tiny bits of edible gold accented their wings and the wrap around their torsos. They were stunningly beautiful, from the tips of their curls right down to their teeny-tiny toenails.

Nonni beamed with pride. She rattled off something in Italian but I didn’t need a translation. Her face radiated joy, and she hugged her grandson who towered over her.

Dan looked like he could be an outdoorsy type. He wore his beard in the current fashion of two days’ growth. A loose cotton shirt hung over his Amore T-shirt and cargo pants. In his late forties, I guessed.

I gushed over his work. “Clearly this is the centerpiece. I’ll have them place it where it’s the first thing everyone sees when they walk in. It’s fantastic!”

Dan blushed, and Nonni stretched up to kiss his cheek.

I returned to the guesthouse to continue packing the bags. Hearing voices, I stepped outside and had a quick chat with the table rental guy about where to set up. Everything was coming together. As long as it didn’t rain, the chocolate tasting ought to come off perfectly. I was checking out the dark clouds in the sky at the exact moment that I heard a crash.

Dear Natasha,

Why do recipes always say to melt chocolate in a double boiler? I
never
use my double boiler for anything and can’t even find the silly thing. Why can’t I just melt chocolate in a pot?

—At My Melting Point in Meltzer, Indiana

Dear At My Melting Point,

Dark chocolate begins to melt at 95 degrees and burns at 120 degrees. Milk chocolate burns at 110 degrees. That’s a very small window. A double boiler allows the chocolate time to melt without raising the temperature so high that it burns.

—Natasha

I ran back to the kitchen, arriving at the same time as Dan and Nonni. The beautiful cherubs lay in shards on the hardwood floor.

The three of us gazed in pained silence for a long moment.

Dan fell to his knees and tenderly picked up one of the heads. He held it, seemingly in shock.

Behind him, Nonni said, “How can this happen?”

Coco rushed in, breathless. “What was that?”

She took in the scene and pressed her hands against her perfectly coiffed bob. Unlike her slender brother, Coco had the generous curves of a woman who liked to eat. “This is a nightmare! What happened?”

Nonni held up her hand with her forefinger and little finger raised. “It’s the curse.”

The curse?
I knew nothing about a curse.

Coco
tsk
ed at Nonni. “If only that would really ward off evil. Dan, can you make another one in”— Coco checked her watch—“seven hours?”

Dan rose to his feet and heaved a great sigh. “Sure. It only takes a few minutes.”

Coco glared at him much like I would have looked at
my
brother had he said something sarcastic.

Nonni smiled. “Wonderful. You better hurry back and get started on it. I take care of everything here.”

Evidently Dan’s sarcasm was lost on Nonni.

He kissed her gently on the forehead and winked at her. “Just for you, Nonni. I’ll make something else just for you.”

He beat a hasty exit, leaving the mess on the floor.

Coco fanned herself with both hands. “Ohhh. That’s just like Dan. Who does he think is going to clean this up? Nonni?”

Coco hurried to a closet and returned with a broom and dustpan.

She would never be able to clean in that pencil skirt. It fit her perfectly but it wasn’t wide enough around the hips for Coco to kneel on the floor.

I dropped to my knees and collected the larger pieces of chocolate. The fabulous scent wafted up to me.

Nonni held open a garbage bag, which I promptly filled. Between the three of us, it didn’t take long to clean up the
mess. I rose and washed my hands, glad that was behind us, but I harbored serious doubts that Dan could create another centerpiece in time for the tasting.

I turned around just in time to see a paper towel catch fire on the stove. I seized a pot lid and plunked it down over top of the little blaze.

Coco had missed the whole thing. She looked out the window at the garden.

Nonni shook her head. “Coco! What is the matter with you?”

“Hmm?” Coco faced us, chewing on her bottom lip. “I need espresso”—she glanced at the stove—“is something burning?” She wrinkled her nose. With trembling hands she poured bottled water into an aluminum macchinetta.

“Give to me,” said Nonni. “You will burn it.”

If you asked me, the last thing Coco needed was a dose of caffeine. Something was troubling her. I babbled in an effort to provide reassurance. “Coco, don’t worry, we’ll have a beautiful centerpiece. The clouds might be dark but they seem to be passing.”

Coco had insisted that she did not want a tent. She envisioned an upscale casual tasting with people milling through the garden and on the patio. “A garden party that doesn’t look like a wedding,” she had said. I agreed that a tent would change the atmosphere but I had one on standby, just in case she had a last-minute change of heart.

Coco smiled at me kindly. “I guess I should relax and trust you to pull this off.”

Coco didn’t fool me for a minute. She was active in the Old Town social scene and had hosted plenty of parties. A little tasting like this shouldn’t be making a wreck out of her.

She twisted a chunky bangle on her wrist with restless fingers.

I could solve problem number one—the centerpiece—by calling in a favor from a florist. No one had to know that a fabulous chocolate centerpiece had been planned. But I had
about as much control over Coco as I did the clouds. Maybe if I left Coco alone with Nonni, she would confide her problems to her grandmother.

I excused myself and headed outdoors to call the florist. Seated on a garden bench, I gazed at the house.

Joe Merano’s property was one of the biggest in Old Town. The home of everyone’s dreams. Originally built in the 1700s, it had been added to in each succeeding century. The rooms were massive, the furniture classic, the chandeliers and heavy moldings like pieces of fine jewelry accenting the décor. Everything was top of the line.

Most people only saw the property from the outside. The beautiful white brick home had a walled garden seen only by invitation. Inside, where I sat, an impeccable green lawn sprawled with manicured boxwoods, an arcade of arches, charming arbors, and patios with benches. Two stone lions perched on pillars on either side of the gate leading into the yard.

Shrub roses, rose of Sharon, butterfly bushes, and annuals burst with the colors of summer and gave the space a sense of seclusion.

While I talked, my gaze drifted to French doors that opened to a Juliet balcony on the second floor. Someone closed the doors with a snap and drew the curtains. It was probably Joe. I hadn’t seen him since I arrived.

Nina trailed in behind men who were carrying tables into the yard. I finished my call, satisfied that we would have a spectacular centerpiece no matter what happened.

I showed her into the guesthouse. “Thank you so much for coming to help.”

Nina gazed around. “Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted to see this house. It’s beautiful. Are you sure this is the guesthouse? It’s gorgeous.”

I showed her what to do, and we got to work. The tasting was scheduled to begin at six in the evening to take advantage of the cooler temperatures. By one in the afternoon,
the basics were in place. Coco’s adamant instruction that it not look like a wedding had posed challenges. I had debated colors for the tablecloths and finally chose peach verging on pink. Definitely wedding colors, but these days, with brides choosing browns and grays, what wasn’t a wedding color? The round tables and summery white chairs were clustered on the brick patio just outside the kitchen and dining room. They could have gone a little weddinglike but I had kept them plain, avoiding ribbons and other dressy, decorative items. While we expected most people to mingle and eat the tiny tasting portions while standing, we had brought in ample seating around the tables and in the grassy yard as well. To keep people moving, the beverage tables were set up on the patio, near the set of three arched French doors leading to the main house.

When guests arrived, the pastry tasting table with the centerpiece was the first thing they would see in the garden. The rest of the tasting tables were set up around the lawn a decent distance from each other to help spread out the crowd.

Nina hung around with me, pitching in and begging for an excuse to see the main house.

Satisfied that we had done everything we could at that point, Nina and I walked home to change clothes and grab a bite of lunch.

I shared a quick turkey sandwich with Mochie, then dashed upstairs to shower and change. I stepped into a floral dress of cool polished cotton. The fit-and-flare style suited me because the big skirt made my waist appear smaller. The skirt came just below my knees, which meant I could clean up messes on the ground if necessary without worrying about bending over. My two rose-colored bangles and matching earrings were encrusted with a smattering of rhinestones for bling. I slid my feet into flat, strappy white sandals with rubber bottoms that wouldn’t slide on the grass, and I was ready to go.

Nina met me at the front of her house. Her sleeveless turquoise and white color-blocked dress looked cool and summery. She fell in step with me. “I’m glad that I get to eat tonight instead of just admiring how pretty the food is.” She shot me a wicked glance. “And I still want to peek inside the main house!”

When we reached the guesthouse, I pulled signs out of my briefcase and handed them to her. “Don’t go upstairs, okay?”

The signs read
Family Only. Please use restrooms in the guesthouse.
“Post these on the outside doors—”

“Aww, I want to see the kitchen!”

“Let me finish. And attach one to the newel posts on each of the staircases.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and grinned. I couldn’t help laughing. I understood her curiosity. Joe’s house was very special. I would have wanted to sneak inside for a peek, too.

Before long the caterer arrived. As his people set up, I inserted little cards into tall name holders. Each card identified the recipe and stated the name of the person who had submitted it. I divided the tables according to category—cakes, cookies, brownies, savory dishes, ice cream, pastries, candy, desserts, and snacks. The pastries and candies were arranged in beautiful rows on massive platters on the centerpiece table.

The florist delivered gerbera daises in vases for the tables on the patio. His emergency centerpiece turned out to be a huge extravaganza of pink and blush peonies, green hydrangea, purple lilacs, and roses and tulips in colors from blush to magenta and from pink to peach. The mound of flowers arched over the lip of a huge, classic weathered bowl on a wide-fluted foot. I asked him to set it on the cake table. If we needed it as the main centerpiece, we could move it to the pastry table and rearrange the cakes. If not, it would draw the eye and the tasters along to the cake table.

Thanks to the blooming garden, we hadn’t needed much
in the way of flowers, but I’d ordered additional medium-sized vases of gerbera daisies for the three bathrooms in the guesthouse, as well as a larger bowl of flowers for the living room of the guest quarters. Triple ball topiaries already stood on either side of the entrance door to the guesthouse. I had debated dressing them up, but bows smacked too much of a wedding.

Nina rushed toward me. “Did you know they have an elevator? And that kitchen is just to die for. Can you even imagine living in a place like that?” She gasped. “It’s gorgeous out here. The sun is making a reappearance! Hurrah! No rain.”

Everything was on track. I heaved a sigh of relief. Food: check. Favor bags: check. Flowers: check. Beverages . . . ? I looked at the rustic table on the patio. A waiter arranged champagne glasses, tall iced tea glasses, and an ice bucket. Small white dishes held a selection of savory treats for those suffering from chocolate overload—the ingredients of an Italian antipasto platter. Green and black olives, cherry tomatoes on the vine, round slices of bruschetta, smoked mozzarella, salami, prosciutto, marinated mushrooms, artichokes, and zesty pickled peppers. Coffee and tea urns: check.

“Seems like something is missing,” I said.

“I know just the thing. I saw it in the house.” Nina dashed into the kitchen before I could stop her. A moment later, she placed a crystal candelabra on the end of the rough table. “Coco said we could use this.”

“It’s perfect. Thanks, Nina. How was Coco?” I asked.

Her mouth pulled back in concern. “I’m beginning to wonder if there was poison in that chocolate after all. She looks terrible. Pale and shaking like a leaf.”

Oh no! I took off for the kitchen at a fast trot, with Nina right behind me. I knocked as a courtesy but opened the door and hurried inside. I could hear a man say in a kind tone, “Aww, Coco, I’m upset, too, but we have to pull ourselves together.”

I stopped short, and Nina bumped into me. “Who is that?” I whispered.

“Must be Mitch. He came in when I asked about the candelabra.”

Something tickled my ankle, and I almost swatted it before I realized a cat was sniffing me. A large Maine coon cat with a white bib under his face looked up at me before jumping on the counter. A door slammed upstairs.

“Maybe this isn’t a good time,” I whispered to Nina. We hustled out in a hurry. But the view from the patio forced me to stop and admire the tasting setup. Everything was in place.

Dan strolled through the garden gate next to the guesthouse. We walked toward him.

Gazing at the massive flower arrangement on the cake table, he said, “I see you’re more sensible than Nonni and my sister. Didn’t think I’d come through with another centerpiece, did you?”

I didn’t want to insult him! I chose my words carefully. “I always like to have a backup plan. Just in case.”

A thin young woman in a black dress stumbled through the lawn, yanking her long spiky heels out of the grass with each step. Straight, highlighted hair tumbled in her face. She brushed it back, mumbling, “I hate these garden events.”

Dan grinned. “Stella, what’s the problem now?”

“Why must your family always party outside? What’s wrong with a nice restaurant or a hotel? Someplace with a floor and a roof?”

Dan introduced Stella as his girlfriend.

I wasn’t always right about ages, but it appeared to me that she was a good twenty years younger than Dan.

She whisked her long hair back with both hands. “Wait until you see what he brought!”

Vince, the Amore delivery man, and Randy, the guy who nearly ran into me at the Amore offices, carried a five-foot-tall chocolate sculpture of
The Birth of Venus
into the garden.

Dan had re-created the goddess Venus rising from the sea in a scallop shell with amazing accuracy. He might be a chocolatier but he was also an incredible artist.

Coco and Mitch emerged from the house to watch. Joe’s assistant, Marla, was with them. An attractive woman, Marla’s petite figure seemed dwarfed by Coco and Mitch. Heavy streaks of blond shot through her short haircut.

I held my breath, hoping neither Vince nor Randy would stumble. They made it to the pastry table and slid the sculpture onto it intact. We broke into applause.