Fatal Chocolate Obsession (Death by Chocolate Book 5)

Copyright ©2014 Sally Berneathy.

http://www.sallyberneathy.com

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This is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental
(except Fred and King Henry).

Original cover art by Alicia Hope,
http://www.aliciahopeauthor.blogspot.com/

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Real life Fred with the author

Real life King Henry

Closing time on Monday afternoon always feels like a major accomplishment. For some reason, that day seems longer than any other.

I flipped the sign on the front door of Death by Chocolate to
Closed
and started to lock up. However, before I turned the key, I noticed a red rose stuck in the door.

I would have liked to think Trent, my special cop, happened by and left it, but that wasn’t his style. He’s more likely to show up with a bag of burgers and rings than flowers.

I opened the door and let the rose fall to the sidewalk then picked it up. This was more Rickhead’s style, my annoying ex. Last I heard, his latest bimbo, Ginger, was sharing my former house with my former husband, but Rick goes through women like I go through chocolate. I sincerely hoped the rose wasn’t a sign he was going to renew his salesman tactics on me. He does that occasionally when he’s between girlfriends.

Probably somebody dropped it on the walk in front of my shop then somebody else picked it up and stuck it in the door. It did have a short stem and looked as if it could have been lying on the street and kicked around for a while. Poor rose. I took it inside, locked the door behind me, and put it in a paper cup of water.

Paula came in from the kitchen with a broom. She stopped and scowled at the rose sitting on the counter. “Where did you get that?”

“Front door.” I gathered the remaining dirty dishes from a couple of tables.

“Who put it there?”

“How would I know? Do you want me to have Fred dust it for fingerprints?”

“You don’t know who left it there but you brought it inside?” She walked across the room, giving the flower a wide berth but watching it carefully as if it might suddenly explode, showering the entire restaurant with aphids or anthrax.

She leaned the broom against the wall and began stacking chairs on tables. “You have no idea where that flower’s been, and it’s certainly a little odd to find it stuck in the door.” She began sweeping vigorously…viciously, actually. “Speaking of odd, I saw your friend Bob lurking in the alley. Probably waiting for you to take him some more food.”

Paula tends to be cynical sometimes. Most times, actually. But she’s entitled after her abusive ex-husband hunted her down and tried to take her son as well as kill her best friend, namely me. She has to be cynical and suspicious to protect her three year old son. I don’t have to. I only have a cat, and he’s pretty self-sufficient. Besides, I’m dating a cop, and he’s cynical and suspicious enough for both of us.

I set more chairs on more tables. “Bob’s not lurking,” I said in response to her accusation. “He’s just…well, visiting.”

“He’s a homeless bum.”

“He’s out of work.”

“For five years.”

I thrust my chin forward. “Because his wife died and he lost his company.”

Paula didn’t reply. She really does have a soft heart hidden somewhere behind all that cynicism. She just tries very hard not to let anybody except her son know about it.

I grabbed a bag and tossed in a couple of chicken sandwiches along with three chocolate chip cookies and a chocolate nut cupcake.

Paula raised an eyebrow.

“Leftovers. You know any food we don’t take home and eat tonight will just get thrown away. Bob might as well eat it.” I checked to be sure she had returned to her sweeping then added a can of Coke and a bottle of water. He needed liquids. It was the middle of September and still quite warm out.

Paula didn’t look up. “Leftover Coke and water?” Woman has eyes in the top of her head.

“I’ll be right back.”

I’d noticed Bob a few weeks ago. When I went out to dump the leftovers one evening, he was going through the trash bin, looking for food. I stopped and turned to run that first time. He was a big man with thick dark hair and beard. He hadn’t shaved or had a hair cut in a very long time and he looked quite fierce. But before I could get back inside, he stepped away from the dumpster and mumbled an apology.

Instead of throwing my food in the trash bin, I handed it directly to him. He hesitated then accepted the bag and thanked me profusely.

For the next few days I made sure to leave a bag of leftovers for him to find. At first he waited down the alley and only approached when he thought I was back inside. Before long we became buddies and, in response to my nosy questions, he told me his story. His wife died of cancer five years ago after a long illness. With all the expenses and his depression over his wife’s death, he lost his small construction business…then his house…then his dignity.

Bob had potential. He just needed a little encouragement to get his life back on track. I consider myself good at that sort of thing. Paula says I’m bossy. I say, whatever works. It had only been a few weeks and Bob was already showing signs of coming around, talking about possibilities of getting a job and reclaiming his life.

I clutched my bag of goodies and walked out the back door into the alley. Bob leaned against the wall with his back toward me, but when I closed the door, he stood straight and faced me.

I stopped and blinked in surprise. “You shaved!”

He grinned, the expression quite pleasant now that I could see his face. “And I cut my hair.”

I moved closer and checked him out. “So you did!” He’d even changed the shabby clothes he usually wore for a clean, hole-free pair of blue jeans and a faded work shirt. “You look—” I stopped myself from saying
civilized
or something equally insulting. “Nice. You look very nice.”

The face I was seeing for the first time turned bright pink with pleasure. “I got a job.”

“A job? Oh, Bob, that’s wonderful! Tell me all about it.”

He shrugged but I could tell from his smile and the gleam in his eyes that he was bursting with pride. “It’s no big deal. I talked to an old friend, somebody I used to know when I was in the construction business. He’s going to take me on as assistant superintendent.”

“That’s fantastic!” I rushed forward and gave him an impulsive hug.

He grunted and I realized I’d whacked him with the bag containing the food and drinks.

I stepped back and offered him the sack which by that time contained smashed sandwiches and crumbled cookies.

The flush on his face deepened as he accepted the food. Maybe he’d been blushing every time I saw him and I couldn’t tell because of the beard.

“It’s no big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll basically be a go-fer to start with, but Nick knows what I can do. He said when I prove myself, he’ll put me in charge of a small job and we can go from there.”

“It
is
a big deal! I’m so proud of you!”

“Lindsay, I’m going to pay you back for this.” He lifted the bag. “For all of it. I couldn’t have done this without your help.”

It was my turn to blush, and, being a redhead, I do a really good job of it. “I just gave you what I was going to dispose of anyway.”

He laughed softly. To think I’d actually been afraid of this gentle man the first time I saw him. Appearances can be deceiving. “You fed me and you pushed me into shaping up.”

I started to protest, but I had encouraged him. Actually, once I realized he had marketable skills, I suppose I sort of pushed him. Maybe I was even a little bossy, as Paula accused. But it was for his own good.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You were right. I have to quit feeling sorry for myself and get up and fight. It’s what Linda would want. When she died, I wanted to die with her, but I didn’t. So I guess I have to live. I don’t expect to have the wonderful life I had before, but I’m going to do the best I can to be sure I don’t have to take handouts ever again. Thank you.”

I shrugged. “It’s the chocolate. It gives you energy and will power.”

He laughed. “Your chocolate desserts turn homeless bums into Supermen.”

“That sounds right.” I don’t believe in false modesty.

He left and I went inside to tell Paula the good news. 

***

I swear I was not speeding at the time of the accident. I know how unlikely that sounds, but I was almost home and in no hurry. The afternoon was pleasant and warm. Brilliant yellows and reds blazed among the green in the tapestry of trees. I was driving with my sunroof open, listening to country music, enjoying the day, thinking about Bob and how he was turning his life around when…
bam!

If I’d been speeding, I might have got away from the car before it hit me, which just goes to show, speeding is not necessarily a bad thing. It certainly should not be considered a crime, punishable by tickets and points on my insurance and fees to lawyers and lectures from Trent.

But as soon as I felt that lurch and heard that crunching noise, I knew my record with those stupid speeding tickets would come back to haunt me.

I sighed, turned off the engine and got out.

The attacking car was an older model beige sedan that appeared to have taken the brunt of the accident. However, it had been in better shape to start with so the dent was more obvious. My elderly but still fast Celica already had a few dents and scrapes, and the Kansas City sun had faded its once brilliant red color to a softer hue, a completely inappropriate hue. A car like mine should be brightly colored.

A man wearing faded blue jeans and a work shirt got out of the car behind me. I straightened, readying my defenses as I walked toward him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

That was a good beginning.

We met at the place our cars met and looked down.

He lifted his gaze to mine. Sad puppy dog eyes. “It’s all my fault.”

Beautiful words.

“It doesn’t look like there’s much damage.” If he was going to take the blame and his car had more damage than mine, maybe we could walk away from this with my insurance company none the wiser.

The young man with puppy dog eyes pointed to a dent in the back of my car where his bumper was higher than mine. “I did that. I’ll fix it for you.”

This was the part where we had to exchange insurance information. “Really, it’s not that bad. I’m going to have my car repainted soon, and one more dent won’t make much difference.”

He studied me closely, squinting against the afternoon sun. “You don’t remember me, do you, Lindsay?”

I focused my attention on him rather than on the damaged cars and how this was going to affect my already precarious insurance situation. He was a big guy, but not Sumo wrestler big. More like an overgrown teddy bear. He had brown hair, brown eyes, no scars or tattoos…the kind of guy you could watch rob a bank then be unable to identify in a line-up. But the puppy dog eyes rang a faint, distant bell.

“Of course I remember you!” I didn’t, but since he wasn’t my neighbor and he wasn’t the guy I was dating, he had to either be one of the cops who loved to write speeding tickets for me or a customer at Death by Chocolate. He didn’t act like a cop. “You love my chocolate chip cookies!” Another educated guess. Everybody loves my chocolate chip cookies.

A wide smile spread across his face and sparkled in his eyes. “Today I had your chocolate nut cupcake.”

I returned his smile. “Of course! You come in for lunch, and you always sit at the counter.” I was still guessing but feeling more confident. He looked vaguely familiar.

He beamed and held out a large hand. “I’m Brandon Mathis.”

Despite his meek demeanor, his handshake was surprisingly firm and strong.

“I feel really bad about this,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I saw the red hair and thought that might be you, and I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention to my driving.”

I resisted the urge to release a deep sigh of relief. The worst thing that would come out of this encounter would be another dent in my already dented car. My insurance company and my cop boyfriend need never know. Not that the accident was my fault. Brandon had graciously accepted all responsibility. But somehow insurance companies and cops always seem to place some of the blame on me just because I don’t agree with those arbitrary speed limits.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Seriously, I’m planning to get a new paint job in the near future. When you come in tomorrow, I’ll give you a chocolate chip cookie on the house.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not right. I hit your car and you give me a cookie?” He reached into the pocket of his faded jeans and produced a slightly crumpled business card. “I can take care of this. I fix cars. My dad and I own a repair shop.”

I accepted the card and read the black print on a white background.
Mathis Paint and Body Shop.
The address wasn’t far from Death by Chocolate.

This guy looked too crisp and clean to work on cars. After spending the day in a hot kitchen, I had chocolate in my hair and on my T-shirt, but Brandon had no grease or paint on his clothing. Maybe he had already changed clothes after work.

He walked past me and studied my car more closely. “This is almost a classic. They don’t make these anymore.”

“I know. That’s why I’m having mine repainted. Restored.” That word took my car from old to classic.

“The last one came out in 2006.”