The Diva Steals a Chocolate Kiss (6 page)

“Thank you, Sophie. I’m sorry I’ve been such a basket case, but I’m sick over Daddy. You know, deep inside I hoped he might walk in tonight, all smiles, and surprise us. Now I’m devastated.”

Nonni patted Coco’s arm. “Joe will come home. You will see.”

Coco smiled at her grandmother but raised her eyebrows at me in a way that said she thought her grandmother was out of it.

“I hope he comes back soon.” What else could I say? “They’re almost done packing up. I’ll do a quick swing through the yard and the guesthouse when they’re finished, and then I’ll be taking off, too. Um, for what it’s worth, under the circumstances, I thought it went very well.”

They thanked me again. I said
good night
and walked out onto the patio. All of the outdoor lights shone. Spotlights mounted on the ground highlighted the lions on the garden gate pillars, and accented the branches of select trees. It was both lovely and a little spooky at the same time. The rush and calamitous sounds of breaking down the event were over. I was the only one left.

I collected my flashlight and a trash bag. It was such a small gesture but I knew my clients appreciated it. No one, not a homeowner or hotel employees, wanted to find the property trashed after a party. I had never understood why
someone would toss garbage on someone’s deck or pour out a drink on a hotel carpet. I bet they didn’t act that way at home.

I walked the perimeter of the garden, shining my light toward the grassy middle and then flicking it at the bushes and flowers that lined the yard. Sure enough, I found plenty of little wrappers and paper dishes that had been used to serve food. One champagne glass, intact, thank heaven. A matchbook with a phone number written on it. That one cracked me up. I wondered if the recipient ditched it on purpose or would be sad when he or she realized it had been lost.

Something moved in the dark just ahead of me. I raised my light and shone it on Cheryl Maiorca.

She shielded her face with her hand. “Hi, Sophie.”

I strode toward her. “I thought everyone had left.”

She cocked her head and made a funny face. “I walked all the way back to the hotel before I realized that I left my purse here. Have you seen it?”

“Sorry, but I haven’t. Where do you think you left it?”

“Right about there.”

I aimed my flashlight at the bushes and caught a glimmer of something. Crouching, I saw the handbag tucked under a butterfly bush. I grabbed the strap and pulled out a white purse.

“There it is! Thank you, Sophie. I was beginning to panic because it has my wallet in it!”

“No problem. Should I call a taxi for you?”

“I’ll walk with you!” A woman’s voice shouted in the dark.

I scanned the garden with the flashlight. It landed on Lori Speer, who hurried toward us. “Let’s not take a cab. It’s so pretty here at night. I love peeking in all the windows. The houses are so close to the street that I just can’t help looking inside.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you in the dark. Have you been here the whole time?” I asked.

“No. I . . . I was hoping I could find the little card with my name and recipe on it. As a keepsake.”

“Too bad I didn’t think of that.” It dawned on me that the caterer must have left my cardholders. “Maybe it’s not too late. Follow me.”

We quickly located the box where the caterer had stashed everything that wasn’t his. All the name cards were intact. “Do you want to take them to the hotel and pass them out?”

“Can we?” Lori asked. “I know everyone would love it.”

“Bet that’ll buy us free drinks all night,” laughed Cheryl.

The two of them gabbed like old friends. Even when they were out of sight, I could hear them carrying on about something.

I went back to work collecting garbage. The far end of the garden contained no litter at all. Clearly not many people had wandered back that far. They all stayed close to the food, not that I blamed them.

I turned to make my way back on the other side of the garden, when my light caught two glowing orbs. Certain that I must be mistaken, I repeated my turn but slowly. And there they were—two cat eyes staring at me from deep in the bushes. Probably Joe’s cat spying on his personal jungle now that it was quiet again.

Collecting bits of garbage, I made my way up the other side of the garden, and then proceeded to the guesthouse.

I straightened up a little. Evidently some people had made themselves comfortable in the small living room. The guesthouse had been updated but they had wisely left what looked to be original beams in the ceiling. The stone fireplace bore signs of age, too. The guesthouse was quaint and charming, no matter what Natasha thought.

I threw away napkins and forks that had been left in the downstairs bathrooms and collected champagne glasses. In the little kitchen, I poured out leftover champagne and stored the empty glasses in a box to return to the caterer–until I found one flute with tablets dissolving in it.

I held the glass up to the light. Medicine? Antacids? Who took meds with champagne? Shaking my head, I was about to pour out the tablets, when I thought better of it. No one was sick. I hadn’t heard any complaints. Still, I had been involved in enough odd situations to make me wary. I stashed the glass, complete with tablets and remaining champagne, in the box. It was silly of me, but maybe it would be best to take precautions and preserve it in case one of the guests complained of being sickened.

Leaving the box in the kitchen, I headed for the stairs. Long and narrow, they were typical of historic homes in the area and were probably part of the original structure. But the door at the bottom of the stairs was locked. Who would have done that?

For just a moment, I wondered if someone was staying in the guesthouse. But I had placed flowers upstairs in the morning and hadn’t noticed any personal belongings.

I should probably ask Coco. Maybe someone was staying over. But it was late, and I was tired, and as soon as I checked the upstairs I could go home. I knocked on the door. “Hello?” I studied the doorknob. Nothing vintage about it. It was the kind my parents had in their house. It could probably be unlocked with a straightened paper clip.

Sighing, I gazed around. A small writing desk! In the top drawer I found pens, paper, and one paper clip. That was all I needed. I unbent one end of it and slid it into the hole in the doorknob. I felt it hit the tumbler inside and pushed gently. It made a little popping sound. I turned the knob and the door swung open.

Dear Sophie,

I’m so upset. I was melting chocolate to bake brownies and suddenly it turned into an impossible clump. I had to throw it out and start over. What went wrong? Did I buy bad chocolate?

—Baking Mom in Lumptown, North Carolina

Dear Baking Mom,

Your chocolate was fine. It just seized, a very common occurrence when water, or even steam, comes into contact with melted chocolate. Next time, don’t throw it out right away. You might be able to rescue it by stirring in a little bit of cream, milk, or vegetable shortening. It will be thinner than plain melted chocolate, so you may wish to reduce a liquid ingredient in the recipe slightly.

—Sophie

I flicked on the lights and walked up the old stairs. The bedroom looked fine. Someone probably hit the lock by accident. I hustled into the small bathroom.

In the dim light that floated in from the bedroom, I could make out a man collapsed over a tall claw-foot tub. I drew in a sharp breath in surprise. His head and shoulders weren’t visible, only his backside. Was he sick? “Hello?” I choked out. “Do you need help?”

When there was no response, I pushed through my instinct to bolt, and walked toward him. Gently prodding his back, I said, “Hello? Are you all right?”

He was bent at the waist over the high side of the old-fashioned bathtub. His legs didn’t look right to me. He wasn’t kneeling. They were at an odd angle. I dashed out of the room and down the stairs as fast as I could go.

My heart racing, I sprinted to the house and burst into Joe’s kitchen. “There’s someone in the guesthouse.”

The Merano family looked at me with unconcerned faces. Why weren’t they understanding me? “In the tub. With the lights off.”

Okay, I wasn’t making sense, no wonder they regarded me so strangely. I took a deep breath. “There’s a man collapsed over the bathtub upstairs in the guesthouse.”

Coco breathed, “Daddy!”

Dan jumped to his feet and ran out, with me right behind him.

We dashed up the stairs. I felt much braver in Dan’s company. He barged into the bathroom while I turned on the lights.

Dan gasped and stepped back, right into me.

I was reeling myself. “Do you think he’s alive?”

“Hey! Buddy!” Dan touched the guy’s back. “Hey! Are you okay?”

Still no response. I edged next to Dan, relieved to see there was no water in the tub. I dared to reach down to shake the man’s shoulder. Nothing. One thing was for sure—it wasn’t Joe. The man was too large.

“There’s a phone by the bed,” said Dan. “Call 911.”

I dodged Coco and Mitch as the rest of the family arrived, grabbed the phone and dialed.

They had just answered when Dan called out, “Don’t just stand there, I need some help.”

“Coco! Here.” I handed her the phone. “Give them the address and tell them we need an ambulance.” I circled around Nonni and Stella.

Mitch blocked my way into the bathroom. “What are you trying to do?” he asked Dan.

I could see exactly what Dan intended. He needed to lift the guy’s shoulders out of the bathtub. I pushed past Mitch and jumped into the end of the tub to grab one of his arms. “Did you find a pulse?” I asked.

“No, but he’s doubled over so I’m not sure. Mitch! Get out of the way already,” Dan shouted.

Mitch moved as though he was in slow motion—as though he couldn’t quite cope with the situation.

Dan and I heaved the man up. I hated to think it but the words drifted through my thoughts—
dead weight
.

“Step aside!” Dan barked at Mitch.

He squeezed against the wall so that Dan and I could shuffle out of the bathroom and lay the man on the floor. No small feat given his size.

Coco leaned over him. “His neck! Do you see that?”

I did. A straight, dark bruise ran around the front of his throat.

Stella shrieked and clasped a hand over her mouth.

“Who is he?” asked Mitch.

“He was a guest here tonight,” said Dan. “I recall talking to him.” He felt the man’s neck. “I’m not getting a pulse. I’ll start CPR.”

I knew who he was. None other than the Frenchman who had tried to pick me up at the hotel on Thursday night. “I think he’s one of your recipe winners.”

“No!” breathed Mitch. “No, no, no.”

“The poor man.” Coco looked at me. “Do you know his name?”

“I haven’t a clue. All I know is that he spoke with a French accent.”

It was Nonni who finally stated the obvious. “Somebody kill him.”

Through clenched teeth, Mitch muttered, “Thank you, Nonni. He must have some identification on him.” Mitch bent over and felt the man’s pockets. “Here we go.” He flipped open the wallet. “Oh no! This just went from nightmare to catastrophe. It’s Arnaud Turnèbe, the Belgian chocolatier.”

“You mean the guy who is opening Celebration of Chocolate?” asked Dan, not bothering to try pronouncing the name of the store in French.

“The very same,” Mitch groaned. “It’s going to look like we tried to kill the competition.”

“How can you say that?” Coco cried. “Have you no heart? This man had a life and people who loved him.”

“Fine. It’s
your
family’s business. So what if it goes down the tubes? Excuse me while I go call an attorney.”

“He look familiar,” said Nonni.

Coco cocked her head like a puppy. “He does.” I could have sworn she stifled a little cry.

I was glad to hear the siren of the approaching ambulance. I had a hunch that poor Arnaud could not be resuscitated, but I hoped that the trained responders could work some kind of magic.

I left the family and ran to the garden gate to show them the way. Three uniformed Emergency Medical Technicians followed me upstairs. One took over CPR immediately.

A male voice behind me asked, “Anyone know who he is?”

Unfortunately, I knew that voice. Wolf Fleishman, my old boyfriend, the homicide investigator. Why, oh why, did he have to be the one to respond to the call tonight?

“Hi, Wolf.”

He nodded at me. “Sophie.”

“Apparently it’s Arnaud Turnèbe who is . . . was supposed to open a new chocolate shop. Give him the wallet, Coco.”

She handed it over to Wolf. “How could this possibly have happened?” asked Coco. “There were hundreds of people here. Someone must have noticed something.”

“He was lying here on the floor? Who found him?” asked Wolf.

I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers.

“I should have known.”

I explained that I had been gathering trash when I spotted Arnaud doubled over the side of the bathtub.

Wolf sighed. He kept his calm, though. Typical Wolf. “If you wouldn’t mind, everyone, except Sophie, please return to the main house. I’ll come and speak to each of you.”

He watched as they walked away. “This crime scene is a mess. Pulling him out of the tub? You know better than that.”

“You’re kidding, right? We weren’t even sure he was dead. What would you have done?”

One corner of Wolf’s mouth turned up in a suppressed grin. “The same thing, I guess.”

“Wolf?” called one of the EMTs. “We’ve got petechiae.”

I frowned at Wolf. “What’s that?”

“Spots of blood in the eyes. Usually means strangulation.”

I sucked in a noisy breath of air. I’d known he was probably dead but somehow that made it so much worse!

“Who was here tonight?” asked Wolf.

“All kinds of people. I can print off a list for you.”

“That would be very helpful, thanks.”

“Somebody must have done it fast is all I can say. I saw Arnaud during the tasting, so we know he was alive then.”

“What do you know about these folks?”

“They’re the Amore Chocolates family—”

“This is Joe Merano’s place?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“He’s a great guy. A big supporter of our youth league. You know, the program that gives kids something to do to keep them out of trouble.”

“He went missing sometime Thursday night,” I said, thinking about how outraged Mitch would be that I spilled the beans.

Wolf nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

Wolf always had a poker face. I guessed that was good for a cop, but he seemed too calm. “Don’t you think there could be a connection? One chocolatier goes missing and another turns up dead in his guesthouse?”

Wolf wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently. “Always playing the sleuth. You should have been a cop, Sophie. Now get out of here.” He turned away.

“Wolf? It may not be anything at all, but when I was cleaning up I found a glass with medicine of some sort dissolving in the champagne.”

“Show me.”

He followed me down the steep stairs and into the kitchen.

I pointed at the box, and Wolf peered into it.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you were here. Most people would have dumped it. I’ll have the forensic guys take a look. Can you leave the rest of the glasses until we’re done?”

“Sure.”

“Now go home so you won’t trample any evidence. Man, I hate these nighttime crime scenes. I’ll pick up the list of guests from you tomorrow morning, okay?”

I walked down the stairs, grabbed my little card holders and my briefcase, and hightailed it out, but not before I saw Dan watching me from a window in the main house.

I trudged home thinking about Arnaud. It should have been a happy time in his life. Expanding his business to
America had to be a big deal. But then I wondered if he was always a smarmy lush who tried to pick up women. I guessed being a drunken cad wasn’t mutually exclusive with being a fine chocolatier. Had he crossed the wrong woman? If his behavior toward me was standard, a wife might have been driven over the edge. Or maybe he was single and totally inept with women. Maybe I was being too hard on him. The poor man was dead.

I unlocked my front door, scooped Mochie up, and held him tight. His purring calmed my nerves.

Exhausted as I was, I had trouble falling asleep that night. I kept thinking of the tomato-faced man and wondering what had happened to Joe.

I had almost drifted off when I sat bolt upright in bed. Cheryl Maiorca and Lori Speer! The two recipe winners claimed to have returned to the site of the party. What if one of them killed Arnaud while the others left? It wouldn’t have been difficult. There were so many of them! It would have been easy enough to hang out in the guesthouse and kill Arnaud during the party or the cleanup. No one would have noticed a thing.

In the morning, the sun shone in a clear blue sky, making the events of the night before seem impossible. I knew they were true, though.

I lingered in the shower, glad that I didn’t have to rush off anywhere. The contest winners had the day off to explore the area on their own. Dressed in a sleeveless pink cotton shirt, a white skirt, and cushy sandals, I walked downstairs with Mochie and put on the kettle for tea.

Mochie sat next to his food bowl, watching me with interest. I debated whether his look meant fish or chicken and decided shredded chicken in gravy sounded good. I was spooning it into his dish when I heard tapping on the window of my kitchen door.

Nina was early. I hadn’t even started the quiche yet. She had probably heard about the murder and wanted to know more.

I swung around with a big grin but stopped dead when I saw Mitch Ross peering through the window in my door.