Truffles and Troubles: Book 1 in The Chocolate Cafe Series Read online

  Mac gasped loudly despite herself and her hand flew to her mouth.

  “What if he found them?”

  Brie was wrapping her apron around her tiny waist, “Like how… virtually? Through online cameras? He’s like… hundreds of miles away.”

  “What if he was visiting?”

  “What if you tell me more about these men you’re meeting first thing in the morning? That’s way more interesting to me right now.”

  Brie had finished donning her apron and was carefully examining the contents of the display case. She was preparing to immerse herself in her art and Mac could already see she was going to lose her to her lab for the rest of the day. She couldn’t imagine anything more frustrating. Eight more hours of speculation would kill her quicker than any hungover beach run could.

  She walked to the other side of the display case and placed herself directly in Brie’s line of sight.

  “You have a friend down at the station,” she began.

  Annoyed at the interruption, Brie rolled her eyes. “Seriously? I thought you’d be interested in the whole crime thing, I didn’t think you’d freak out about it. I have to work, let the police take care of it. Maybe we’ll save on rent this month.”

  “Your friend,” Mac tried again, “that girl that’s been obsessed with you since high school.”

  Brie’s hand froze over one of her carefully constructed chocolate piles. Her nose wrinkled. “Helen Eger? Ick.”

  “If we head down to the station after work, you can convince her to go for dinner or something and maybe she’ll give us some info.”

  “No, really? That girl is so sad. Why would I?”

  “I…” Mac stood up to her full height, crossing her arms over her chest, “I will tell you all about the guy I puked on if you do this with me…”

  Once again, Brie’s slim fingers halted in the midst of their work. She looked up through the spotless glass of the display case, doing her best to hide the smile that tugged at her lips.

  “Fine. It’s a deal. Now calm down and let me do my magic. You...” Brie stood away from the case and pointed at Mac. “You obviously need to finish that fancy degree of yours.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The way Helen’s eyes lit up when they walked into the station caused Brie to shudder noticeably. If Mac was going to get the info she needed, Brie was going to have to put out just a little bit better than that. She elbowed her friend in the chest.

  “Ow...” Brie mumbled, “Fine.”

  “You guys are here! Hi! How are you! I can’t believe you guys are here at my work.” Helen stood up, the tendons in her thin neck straining with excitement. That smile on her face, almost splitting it in half was so painfully eager, it was all Mac could do not to shudder as well.

  Even though the phone was ringing, Helen ignored it and pushed back from her desk with all the enthusiasm of an affection-starved lover. She rushed over to them, saying breathlessly, “You’re here at my work! How are you?”

  The phone rang forgotten on the desk behind her. It filled the small, bland little office with an incessant buzzing impossible to ignore. Unless of course, you were Helen.

  “Where is everyone?” Brie asked, looking past Helen’s heavily highlighted head into the open doors of the offices.

  “Oh… we had a call this morning. Something serious at the Dunleavy house. But I’m not supposed to… I mean, I shouldn’t say anything to you guys about it.” Helen straightened up a bit as if to remind herself that she held a position of very moderate power.

  “I heard it was a robbery.” Mac said casually. Of course she had no idea what had happened. She was simply getting ready to do what she did best. If Brie’s talent was chocolate, Mac’s was subtle manipulation.

  “Not a robbery, a shooting!” Helen said, her vapid blue eyes wide. “Mrs. Dunleavy and her fiancé! Shot in their beds!”

  The girls glanced at each other, genuinely shocked. After all, Mackenzie Bay was a small town. Mac had been programmed to abhor her family’s rivals since birth and had never liked the woman—but a shooting?—that was another thing entirely.

  “Whoa. So long quiet seaside town.” Brie mumbled.

  “Her son, Cameron. You remember Cameron right? We were all in the same class. Mrs. Brown’s class. Remember Brie, when we were all in…”

  “Mrs. Brown’s class… yes.” Brie could barely stop her eyes from rolling. She looked at her friend, realizing that despite her outwardly calm demeanor, she could see Mac was stunned by the news. Her already pale skin had whitened even more and she was staring into the distance. Brie could hear Mac’s impressive brain whirring away, putting the scant pieces of information they had together to make sense of the whole thing.

  Helen was still prattling on. “Anyway, Cameron is the one who found them this morning. He’s still up at the house talking to the detective sergeant. Cameron found them this morning.” Suddenly, Brie remembered that Helen was constitutionally unable to say something just once. This was the perfect opportunity to press Helen for more details, but Mac was apparently still in shock.

  “You want to come out tonight, for dinner or something?” It was hard enough to push those words past her lips, let alone smile, but Brie somehow managed.

  Helen’s eyes seemed to double in size.

  “With you two? Dinner? Wow. I’d love that, sure. With you two?”

  The phone, which had been silent for a few seconds, began to ring again. It was enough to wake Mac up from her state of shock. Brie watched as she transformed, snapping into action in her deceptively manipulative way.

  “We’d love it, too. We were thinking how overworked you must be. Could we maybe take you for a few drinks? Are you still seeing that Alan guy?” Of course, Mac had no idea who Helen was seeing. She’d chosen a name randomly from the framed pictures of the officers behind Helen’s cluttered desk.

  Helen blushed and reached out to punch Mac playfully on the shoulder.

  “Oh shush, I don’t have a boyfriend!” She giggled. “I’m a single lady.”

  Impatient to leave, Brie clapped her hands together loudly.

  “Right! We’ll pick you up when you’re off and head over to the Crab and Nightgown. You never know, tonight might be your lucky night!”

  Helen continued to giggle, obviously pleased by the idea. “Well, I am a single lady!” she clucked again.

  “Apparently!” Brie said. There was already a tone of impatience to her voice and if there had been a table handy, Mac would’ve kicked her under it.

  “Why don’t we pick you up from your place around eight and we’ll head down. Brie is an excellent wingman; by the time you leave there, your phone will be bursting with numbers.”

  Helen, looking puzzled, asked, “Numbers from who?” The ringing continued in the background.

  “That…” Brie pointed at the desk, “that might be important, you should probably get that.”

  “Get what? Oh!” Helen spun around to her desk. “The phone is ringing, I should probably get that. It might be important. Big business going on today!”

  Mac and Brie managed one last smile and practically ran the few steps out of the station. Once outside, Brie made a strangled howl and slammed her head onto Mac’s shoulder.

  Mac slipped her arm around Brie’s waist and led her down the ramp toward her car. “Do that voodoo that you do so well. Get that girl drunk. Then I’ll do what I do.”

  “Why, WHY do I do these things for you?” Brie moaned into her shoulder.

  “Because you’re the best friend in the world and because…”

  “Because, Nancy Drew, you wouldn’t rest until you got to the bottom of it.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Whether it was the shock of the town’s first murder in decades or the fact that it was Tuesday night, the notorious Crab and Nightgown seaside tavern was almost deserted. Not that they weren’t making an effort. The small stage reserved for the occasional house band was lit up with spotlights and the spiraling twinkle of a d
isco ball set the scene for what should have been an epic karaoke jam. It wasn’t. The crooner was Cliff, the owner of the bakery Mac had sent her obnoxious mother and son team to earlier that day.

  He was obviously more than a little intoxicated and was on his second encore of that evening. Nothing matches Taco Tuesday like a little Credence Clearwater Revival.

  Mac decided that Cliff’s off-key warbling was worth enduring to get a little extra info out of Helen. The police department receptionist was on her third girly drink of the evening and had consumed at least four questionable tacos. She was primed and ready to satisfy Mac’s unstoppable curiosity.

  Balancing three drinks in her hands, Mac made her way back to their booth. She concentrated on not spilling, since she, despite her stomach’s initial protests, was on her third drink as well. She was going to need AA once the drama had settled down.

  Brie looked relieved when Mac approached the booth, and practically snatched the whisky out of her hands.

  “Thank heaven,” she mumbled, desperately swallowing almost half by the time Mac managed to slide onto the cracked leather of the banquette seat. She had barely settled before Helen had draped herself all over her.

  “I am so glad you came back and we’re all together again!’ Helen gushed.

  “Not together. Never together.” Brie spoke under her breath so that only Mac could hear. Mac tried not to choke as she suppressed a laugh.

  “It must be so exciting for you, though. You with your… what was it you were getting a degree in?”

  “Master’s degree.” Mac said, as if it made a difference to the conversation. “In public policy and criminology.”

  “That’s right! It must be so exciting to have a real crime in the town now. Well, not exciting, exactly.” Helen paused to swallow some of her ridiculous drink. She emerged from her glass, a froth of creamy pink alcohol on her upper lip and a small pink foamy dot on her nose. “It’s a tragedy really… so sad.” Mac and Brie made eye contact over Helen’s head. This was the first time she had mentioned the case since this forgettable evening had began. Finally—here was their opening.

  “Very sad.” Mac agreed. “And stressful for you, having to be a part of it. Answer the phones…”

  “Right?” Helen said, relieved that someone was finally appreciating her. “I was answering phones all day! I’m not even supposed to talk about it, it’s so secret.”

  Mac picked the corner off a taco and put it in her mouth, chewing contemplatively. It was like magic really. Sleight of hand. One had to distract the marks so that you could get to the real trickery. Flattery always worked. “You must be exhausted. You pretty much hold that place together.”

  “You know what, I do. You’re so right. I do hold it all together!” By this point, Helen would have agreed that the sky was green; Mac needed a subtler approach.

  “Poor Cameron, too. Finding his parents like that.”

  “You know he was their biggest suspect? Biggest suspect! I’m serious! They brought him in this morning and that new detective, the English guy, he had him in his office for like… two hours.”

  This was more like it. This was just what Mac was looking for. Really? That voice in her head nagged. Why pry? Just because you were taking a few courses…top of my class at Yale…. just because it is your hometown…a town my family founded, you mean…you really have no business poking around. Mac shook her head. It was never a good sign when she started sassing her nagging voice.

  Mac pulled out her cellphone.

  “I don’t think you’re on my Instagram, are you? Are we friends on Instagram?” She asked. Brie let out a big snort of laughter, which Mac chose to ignore. This was an art form, Sabrina needed to watch and learn.

  “Oh my gosh! I love Instagram. I post on it all the time. I tried to friend you but you’re…”

  “Private, I know. Here, let me add you…” She opened the app, catching Brie’s amused glance as she did so. Brie shook her head, awed at her friend’s calculating nature.

  Helen huddled over Mac, carefully spelling out her account name to gain access into Mac’s inner circle. She looked as thrilled as a child at Christmas.

  “How is Cameron doing?” Mac asked casually as she punched in Helen’s Instagram username. “Did he seem okay?”

  “Well, you know Cameron. He’s always been a bit…

  “Moody.” Brie said, downing the last of her whisky in record time.

  “He seemed very upset. But he would be. The detective couldn’t find any reason to keep him, though. He was at his girlfriend’s parents’ place all night. Confirmed alibi and everything. His girlfriend’s parents.”

  “So it would have to be someone local…” Mac began but was suddenly interrupted by a too-loud voice on the stage. Cliff had drawn his one man CCR tribute to a close and another person with more hope than talent had decided to torture the room. Someone with a terrible voice and a very prominent British accent.

  Mac immediately lost her train of thought. Her running companion from this morning, the owl-eyed Mr. Stocker wavered in the spotlight, unsteady on those awkward legs of his.

  Mac’s hand rose to her mouth, her cheeks suddenly burning.

  Brie, even three whiskies down, was as observant as always. However, you didn’t have to be observant to notice the way Mac was so suddenly, so obviously flustered.

  “That’s him.” Brie said slamming her glass down. “That’s puke boy…”

  “That’s the detective sergeant.” Helen said, slightly slurring. “He started working here when you left. He’s British. The sergeant.”

  “No shocker there.” Brie said, a wide smile on her face. Louis gripped the microphone like he was Sid Vicious reincarnated, his cigarette between two of his fingers, sending tendrils of silver smoke up to the ceiling. His brown hair flopped around his forehead as he put his heart and soul into a barely recognizable song.

  “What is he doing…?” Mac spoke from behind her hand. She was transfixed, as were most of the other patrons. It was hard to ignore such an utterly out-of-place creature doing his best to set himself even further apart from the crowd of unimpressed locals.

  “I can’t be sure, but I think your boyfriend is attempting a rendition of Maggie May,” Brie said, highly amused. Mac was about to hiss about Detective Stocker being the farthest thing from a boyfriend when he somehow managed to see her in the dark corner where she sat. They made eye contact and Mac’s heart seized in her chest. Without a moment’s self-consciousness, Louis raised the pint he had been slopping about the stage in her direction, and did his best to wink one of those massive brown eyes. Was he singing louder on purpose? Mac felt like slipping under the table, torn between giggling like a schoolgirl and running for her life.

  “Ooh, this whole evening just became worth it.” Brie said as Louis’s song mercifully came to a close. The karaoke host, his head fitted with a large foam taco hat, took the mic from Louis’s hand. The detective barely noticed, as he was already making his way across the empty dance floor to the women’s table.

  “That was our very own Detective Sergeant Stocker with…” the taco-hatted host shuffled his clipboard, “a song… just want to remind everyone that the Crab and Nightgown is a NON-smoking establishment. So.…” A few of the locals glared as Louis strode past the tables around the stage, his suit jacket flapping open to reveal his holster. Mac’s heart squeezed even harder in her chest. He wasn’t just a charming, disheveled stranger on the beach… he was the real deal.

  Without a second thought, he slid into the seat beside Mac, his weight causing the torn upholstery to balloon the girls up in a wave.

  “Ladies,” he said, “I do hope you don’t mind if I slide right in here. I believe I owe Ms. Catharine Mackenzie, of the founding Mackenzies, a drink for making her ill this morning.”

  “Ha!” Brie clapped her hands together triumphantly for the second infuriating time that evening. “You’re Puke Boy! I knew it!”

  Detective Stocker loosened his tie a b
it further, turning his entire attention to where Mac sat, shrinking inside of herself as much as she could.

  “It’s Puke Boy, is it? What do I have to do to earn Puke Man?” Mac self-consciously adjusted her hair but stopped, knowing damn well that hair fidgeting was one of the first signs that a woman was attracted to a man. Knowing damn well he knew it too.

  “You did some research, detective?” Mac asked, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. “A little online creeping?”

  “I prefer detecting. It sounds better than creeping.”

  “You have to go to school for detecting.” Mac said.

  “She did!” Helen slurred. “Our Mackenzie went to Harvard to study criminology.” She gasped loudly, reaching across the table to touch Louis’s hand. “How was it up there, sir? Was it terrible? Were you there all day?” Helen practically pushed Mac out of the way to get Louis’s attention. Mac and Brie could tell that those three drinks had taken full effect. “Was it terrible?” she said again. She leaned in further. A strand of her hair so streaked that in the dim light it looked striped, dropped into her glass. Brie sneered and slid it out of the way.

  Louis raised his pint glass. Mac saw the same intensity flutter beneath his features that she had seen earlier. He drank the rest of his beer. “Another round?” he said, ignoring the question entirely. “Helen? Ms. Harvard Criminology? Harvard’s friend? You’re in, I’ll wager.” Helen sat up; it might have been the lighting in the bar, but Mac was pretty sure she’d just adjusted her cleavage.

  “I’d love one. Mac and Brie were just asking me about the case.”

  Brie and Mac’s jaws dropped.

  “Helen!” Brie hollered. “You’re not supposed to…”

  “Speaking of creeping,” Louis looked less annoyed and more intrigued. “Is that semi-professional interest?”

  Mac blushed deeply. “It’s a shock,” she said, her words sounding wooden and forced even to herself. “She was a big…”