Truffles and Troubles: Book 1 in The Chocolate Cafe Series Page 4

“Bitch.” Brie mumbled, low enough for only Mac’s ears.

  “…part of the community.” Mac finished.

  “What’s the name of that American girl detective? She’s plucky, intrepid, a little sassy… all those good things?” Louis asked the table, a silly, drunken grin all too similar to Brie’s growing on his face.

  “Nancy Drew.” Mac said, glaring. “And I’d love another drink.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The light from the camera on Brie’s phone reflected onto the rearview mirror, forcing Mac to readjust it. She scowled. Just because she happened to be the only one mature enough this evening to sober up in time to drive, she was handed the dubious duty of designated driver.

  At the bar, Helen had been slowly sliding down into a giggling puddle by the time she’d finished her fourth drink. Now, she was passed out in the back of the car, her mouth wide as she snored loudly.

  “That’s a surprising volume for someone her size.” Detective Stocker said, obviously amused at Helen’s drunken snorts. Brie had decided that Helen’s ungodly noises had to be documented and had turned her camera on a few miles back.

  “This isn’t breaking any privacy laws, is it, Detective?” Brie smirked.

  “If it is, I’m accessory to it. Make sure you get one of those snorts she does on video.”

  “Turn it off!” Mac growled, “The light is glaring in my rear view!”

  “All right, all right… grumpy.” Brie slipped her phone back in her jacket pocket allowing darkness to take over the car.

  They were on their way to drop Brie back at the cottage she rented in the artsy part of town. Right by the ocean, it was one of the many rental houses that were owned by Victoria Dunleavy. The rent was ridiculously high, and over the years it had only increased. Brie could never be persuaded to move, however, not with the incredible ocean view and frequent squalls that flew up from the beach like banshees. It appealed to her ever-present sense of drama.

  “I wonder what will happen to your rent?” Mac mumbled absently.

  She was concentrating on the road, which this far out of town didn’t have the benefit of streetlights. It was almost pitch black outside the window, the wind-battered forest arching over them menacingly.

  “I hadn’t thought of that!” Brie said. She leaned forward between Louis and Mac, supporting her pretty head on her folded hands. “Maybe we can enjoy twice the savings this month.”

  “Rent?” Louis asked. He was half listening, watching the blue-black stretch of ocean appear and reappear through the trees. He had fully undone his tie a while back and even opened the starched collar of his shirt. He thought that he probably should have been embarrassed at having to hitch a ride but he wasn’t for two reasons. One, he had had a terrible and rather messy day at the Dunleavy house and two, he had the pleasure of sitting beside grumpy Ms. Catharine for a little bit longer.

  “Sabrina’s been renting one of Mrs. Dunleavy’s properties for the last few years.” Mac said.

  “As far as we know, Cameron’s her only heir. She hadn’t married her fiancé yet, obviously, so his family are pretty much a non issue. It will probably fall to him.” Louis responded.

  Brie rolled her eyes, “Oh great. That arrogant jerk. Can’t wait to see who he sends around to…” Brie trailed off. Mac assumed she had just become drunkenly distracted so she continued to chat to the detective.

  “He’s your prime suspect, though,” Mac said, “I can’t imagine he’s going to have the time to collect rent.”

  Louis smiled in the darkness, watching Mac’s profile as she concentrated on the road. That nose and perfect little mouth. A large part of his evening had been spent watching the way it seemed to twist sideways when she smiled as if she found everything ironic. It was clear she was desperate for information about the case and clearer still to him that he was going to end up sharing it.

  “We had to release him.” Louis said. “His alibi was utterly clean. He’d been at his girlfriend’s parents’ house for dinner that night. I spoke to her and her family on the phone. They even told us what they ate. We couldn’t keep him after that.”

  Mac looked away from the road for a second and locked eyes with Louis. He could tell she was trying to dull down her response but was sure that if she had been alone she would’ve clapped her hands with glee at the news.

  “So, the killer is still loose.”

  “I would assume so.”

  “Oh my gosh.” Brie, who had been uncharacteristically silent for the last while, spoke with such intensity that Mac instinctively hit the brakes, slowing the car.

  “What?” Mac asked.

  “Oh my gosh. Why didn’t I remember this sooner?”

  “WHAT??” Louis and Mac asked, each nearly shouting.

  “The night before last, Brad Morris and that handyman guy they always have around the rentals—Jimmy? You remember him, right? They had it out. HUGE fight in my backyard. I heard everything.” Brie scowled at herself. “I am so stupid. I remember Jimmy was supposed to be coming to reattach the cable wire that came off in that last windstorm. He was supposed to be there in the afternoon but didn’t come until after dinner. Anyway, about ten minutes after he shows up, Brad comes tearing up the street like a mad man, parks the car and then like, runs into my backyard.”

  Detective Stocker seemed suddenly perfectly sober and completely awake. He watched Sabrina intently in the darkness.

  “Did you see all this?” he asked.

  “Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it. Mac thrives on this kind of stuff. I had to get the dirt. So, I sat in the kitchen where they wouldn’t see me and listened. Brad was freaking out at Jimmy, accusing him of all kinds of things.”

  “Like?” Louis asked.

  “Breaking into the house, harassing Victoria, drinking on the job, stealing… the whole deal. Jimmy went real dark, real quick. He threatened him back. Oh good grief, I feel so stupid that I forgot about this!”

  Louis shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it takes a while to put these things together. Did Brad and Jimmy always have a bad relationship?”

  “Jimmy has a bad relationship with everyone around here.” Mac said, “He came from a long line of very poor, very angry, and very bad people. I always believed Victoria only employed him for PR reasons. I think she thought hiring people who were struggling would make her look like some kind of philanthropist.”

  “Right,” Brie scoffed. “Maybe her little project turned on her!”

  Now out of the forest and scooting along the open shoreline, they were quickly approaching the turn off to Sabrina’s neighborhood.

  “Could you handle coming into the station in the morning and giving us a formal statement?” Louis asked. “We aren’t working with much, now that Cameron has been cleared. This could be very helpful.”

  Suddenly, the deeply unconscious Helen erupted in a series of snorts that practically shook the windows of the small car.

  “…I have a feeling I’m going to be the only one in the office anyway.” Louis finished.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The weekend was a blur.

  As usual, the chocolate café was absolutely packed with people. Those that couldn’t find seats either waited outside in the rain or stood under their umbrellas on the sidewalks, immobile with delight as they stuffed Brie’s creations into their messy mouths.

  Mac served customers blindly, barely registering them as they came to her counter in an almost continuous stream. Every time she thought there might be a lull, the bell above the door would chime again as another pack of tourists waded in. A couple of good articles in a food magazine and the two friends were on their way to culinary stardom.

  She didn’t really care. Brie looked pleased, however. She periodically thumped down the stairs from her lab practically coated in chocolate herself to see if the crowd had died down. When she saw it obviously hadn’t, she scuttled back up the stairs again to her lab, exclaiming absurdities.

  “I am Wonka!” was Mac’s
personal favorite.

  Mac was on a different planet entirely. All she could think of was Jimmy, the murders, what was to become of Cameron, and—if she would admit it—the gangly, appealing figure of a certain detective.

  Of course, she would never admit it.

  Neither would she admit that secretly, she had been looking forward to the funeral since she’d heard about the murders.

  “Funerals are excellent places for observation,” she whispered to Brie as they approached the large gathering in the center of the graveyard. “People are vulnerable; it takes a bit more effort to hide their emotions.”

  “So what?” Brie whispered back. She wobbled on her unfamiliar heels and clung to Mac for support. “We just watch and see who’s the twitchiest and that’s our killer?”

  “Just keep an eye out. That’s all.” Mac said.

  “Done.”

  The girls made their way toward the throng of people gathered in a tight circle around the two gaping plots. The town had practically shut down for a local day of mourning and it looked like everyone was there. From the host of last week’s karaoke jam, to every politician and town counsel member Mackenzie Bay had ever had—all were appropriately suited and appropriately somber.

  Mac was happy she had remembered her sunglasses for that very reason. She’d been keeping a very low profile after her grandfather’s death. Now she was practically surrounded with acquaintances, all enquiring about the house, about her, about her plans, stopping her progress at every turn, she found her oversized sunglasses made the entire process quite a bit easier.

  When they had at last found a place on the outskirts of the crowd and the ceremony began, Mac breathed a sigh of relief.

  Brie had been watching her friend’s face, strained but so very well trained, as she gracefully navigated what must have been a difficult situation for her. They didn’t talk about the death of her grandfather that much. She squeezed her hand.

  “So.” Brie asked, “See any suspects?”

  “Where’s Jimmy?” Mac asked, under her breath.

  The priest had started the sermon and the crowd was silent save for a few coughs. The girls scanned the crowd for the scraggly head of their prime suspect.

  “Good grief! Is that Cameron?” Brie hissed. “He’s better looking than I remember.” Mac looked to where Brie was nodding, doing her best to be subtle.

  It was and she was right. He was better looking. Mac and Cameron had practically grown up together, but had never had an ounce of affection for one another. It was always who was richer, whose family was more important, whose grade point average was higher… it had been the worst kind of competition.

  He stood next to his mother’s coffin, the collar of his jacket pulled up around his neck and his eyes hidden behind the same strategic sunglasses as Mac. A stocky young man stood beside him, his hands behind his back and his head down.

  “Who’s his friend?” Mac asked. Brie, despite her rebel blood, knew much more about the population of the town than Mac did. Mac’s general disdain tended to get in the way of friendly chatter and town gossip.

  “Some guy. His roommate from Yale, I think. He’s not so bad either.”

  “Seriously?” Mac mumbled, “Keep your legs crossed until the funeral is over, at least.”

  When the minister had finished his sermon, raising his voice as best he could over the intermittent sobbing and occasional Coast Guard plane, the crowd began to move away to the chapel.

  “There’s sandwiches in the basement.” Brie said, “And coffee. What’s a funeral without a stale sandwich, besides…aren’t people extra vulnerable when they’re hungry as well as sad?” Mac hesitated. People walked past them where they stood, a few reaching out to pat Mac on the shoulder and offer a few hushed words of condolences for her grandfather. With their main suspect Jimmy not here, and Cameron obviously bereaved, she knew she’d be the focus of too much attention. She really had no desire to have her own recent loss brought up over egg salad.

  “I don’t know…I’ve got some things to do back at the café and…”

  “Catharine Mackenzie. You’re all grown up.”

  Mac turned around to see Cameron and his ape-like roommate watching her expectantly. Cameron removed his sunglasses, as if to get a better look at her. Immediately you could see he had been crying—his eyes were rimmed with red and still glazed. Reluctantly she took off her own glasses and offered her hand.

  “So have you.” she said. He shook her hand, his palms cold and damp. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Such a waste.” she said mechanically. Without really meaning to, Mac searched Cameron’s face for some sort of response. What she got was less than subtle. Cameron’s eyes misted over and he rubbed them self-consciously, even blinking at the sky for a few moments in order to get hold of himself

  “I’m sure they’ll find the person that did it.” Cameron said, his voice thick with emotion. “They have to. This whole town relied on my mother—they’re going to need justice.” His face wrinkled and pink with sadness, Cameron briefly looked like a little boy. She’d seen that look when he’d cried if he lost a game they were forced to play together, or when she’d pushed him off her at a clubhouse dance years ago.

  “They’ll find him.” The ape spoke, patting Cameron on the shoulder in a grand display of manly support. “You just gotta worry about yourself now.”

  “Looks like it’s just the two of us.” Cameron said, pulling himself together enough to make eye contact. There it was again, the brat she had been forced to befriend, peering out at her from behind his certainly handsome, but shallow veneer. “Founding families.”

  “Founding families.” Mac agreed. Her skin started to crawl. She had no urge to talk about legacy or politics or the future of Mackenzie Bay. The only urge she had was to get away from Cameron before he suggested some kind of bizarre arranged marriage.

  “Are you going in to the wake?” Thank heaven for best friends. Brie could sense Mac’s hesitation and stepped between the two of them, putting her hand through Cameron’s arm. Cameron looked at Sabrina as if he’d never seen her before. Of course he had, but Brie was from another social class entirely. The working one. He might have noticed her in passing, but founding families and all… But Brie had put on her most charming smile and Mac had seen its bunker-busting qualities many times.

  “Of course.” Cameron said, looking down at the pretty woman that had suddenly appeared on his arm.

  “Let me walk with you boys. I hear there’re sandwiches.” She directed them away from Mac and toward the path that led to the chapel. As they walked away, Brie turned her head back and mouthed “Get out of here!” to her friend.

  Relief washed over Mac and she didn’t wait another second. She had had quite enough of death to last her for a while and without Jimmy in the crowd to analyze, all she was left with was a lot of unnecessary attention. If she had only attended her grandfather’s funeral…She felt something like regret in the hard part of her heart she reserved for anything to do with her grandfather but she shut it off. She could use an afternoon of non-obsessive thinking.

  Mac was at her car, fiddling with the keys in the lock when a large hand fell on her shoulder. Mac shrieked despite herself. She leaped out of from under the hand and turned, defensive as an angry alley cat.

  It was Jimmy. He stood in front of her, no taller than her but so wiry he looked to be constructed out of rope. He leered at her, exposing yellowish teeth and breath that reeked of cheap liquor. The hand she had knocked off her shoulder was heavily bandaged and she could see an array of pink and red blossoms where it had bled through.

  “You and your friend stay the hell out of my business.” He growled. Although he had been born in Mackenzie Bay, his voice was heavily accented from a lifetime of alcoholic blackouts, fights, and hard drugs. His hair, long and unwashed, poked out from under a sawdust-coated hat.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Mac said, automatically straightening herself up, adopting the aristocratic
demeanor that was her first means of defense.

  Jimmy put his wounded hand on her shoulder again. He moved closer. “Like hell you don’t,” he spat. “Your little friend got me in a ton of trouble yesterday. Some stupid Brit came to my house and dragged me downtown for questioning.” This close, she could see the yellow in his teeth was reflected in the white of his eyes—his liver was struggling hard to keep up with his lifestyle. He narrowed his eyes and told her emphatically, “I ain’t had nothing to do with any of this.”

  “Like I said. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Sabrina and I have said nothing…” Jimmy grabbed her shoulder with his other hand and to Mac’s horror, brought her closer still. He was inches from her, his capillary-speckled face almost touching hers.

  “Sabrina heard me fighting with Brad and had to go blabbering to that detective. Listen to me.” He took a deep breath and lowered his voice menacingly, “I won’t go back into the clink. You hear me? I don’t care what I got to do. No one… no foreign detective, no rich bitch, no biker chick… no one is putting me back there. Do you understand?” His hands squeezed on her shoulders painfully. Mac took a sharp breath and struggled. Jimmy laughed deep in his throat, enjoying Mac’s useless squirming. “I’m not afraid to do what I got to do to stay on the outside. Remember that.”

  He released Mac and turned away, moving with surprising speed back into the graveyard. Mac watched, her heartbeat ringing in her ears as his stooped form disappeared into the bent trees and monuments.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The wind had been picking up since the end of the funeral. They had parked their car a few blocks down the road. The wind howled up from the beach now, causing the thin, dry grasses to whip around the girls’ legs. Even though the house was a still a few minutes away, they felt compelled to creep nonetheless, walking in the shadows of the cliff that marked where the backyards ended and the beaches began.

  “I still think we should go see the detective. You’re obviously not messing around with a sane man.” Sabrina hissed, as the wind picked up her hair and animated it like Medusa’s snakes. “For the record, for the first time, I’m the one saying this isn’t a good idea.”