Sweet Revenge (Cocoa Narel Chocolate Shop Mysteries Book 1)

by Morgana Best

  The winery was in a remote location, and I had a stab at anxiety on Wayne’s behalf. If someone wanted to murder him here, he wouldn’t have a hope. After all, Mandy had been murdered within close proximity to a whole room full of people.

  Wayne came out to greet us, accompanied by three dogs that wanted to jump all over us. “Down, down,” Wayne said incessantly. The dogs took absolutely no notice of him and licked my feet and hands.

  “Sorry about that,” Wayne said. “They’re never out when the place is open. Come inside and have some lunch.”

  We followed Wayne into the main room at the winery. The ceiling was made from exposed corrugated iron with sawn log beams. It was very picturesque. One wall was entirely of glass, overlooking the paddocks, which were quite dry. Some Hereford cattle were grazing off in the distance.

  One table was set with a white tablecloth, and a vase of yellow daisies and a bottle of wine were placed in the center. It looked like an outdoor garden setting brought inside. The floors were polished pine, and the walls were also.

  “Did you start this winery from scratch or was it already here?” I asked him.

  “It was a small brewery and distillery, as well as a vineyard,” Wayne said. “I’ve expanded it to a restaurant and bar, and I’ve planted a lot more grapes. By the way, I cooked the meal today.” He laughed. “As I said, I closed for the weekend, so the chef’s having the day off. You will have to put up with my cooking,” he added.

  “I’m sure you’re a wonderful cook, Wayne,” I said.

  “Have you always wanted to own a winery or a restaurant?” Carl asked him.

  Wayne nodded. “Yes, and so this was the ideal opportunity. They weren’t asking a high price for it, and all my family lives around this area. I thought it would be ideal. I know it’s a little unusual to have a cold weather winery, but it’s very good countryside here, very much similar to the countryside of the Burgundy region in France. It lies at the convergence of the maritime and continental weather patterns.”

  “I like drinking wine,” I said, “but I’d never thought about cold climate wines.”

  “Yes, the grapes grown here produce wines with just the right balance of fruit and acidity. I must say, Tom Fletcher was an invaluable help in buying this place. I recommend him if you’re looking for a realtor.”

  “Tom Fletcher?” I echoed. “I haven’t seen him since high school. Was he at the reunion last night?”

  Wayne shook his head. “No, he wasn’t, but I figure he wants some privacy. I mean, whatever other reason would he have had to change his name?”

  It took me a moment or two to realize what he was getting at. “Not Borage? Borage is Tom Fletcher?”

  “Didn’t you know?” Wayne looked surprised.

  “No, I didn’t.” When Wayne didn’t respond, I added, “He looks so different.”

  “As do we all, I expect.” Wayne shrugged. “You most of all. Anyway, I’ll pop to the kitchen to fetch our lunch. I’ve had it simmering.”

  As soon as Wayne was out of earshot, Carl moved his chair closer to mine. “I bet Tom’s the murderer! He’s a likely suspect, at any rate. We’ll move him to the top of the suspects list.”

  “Why didn’t he let on who he was to us? I mean, he must have known you, even if he didn’t recognize me.”

  Carl snorted. “You signed your real name on the contract—he would’ve known who you were then. If you ask me, that is all very suspicious.” Carl leaned over to look at my face. “Narel, don’t tell me you have a crush on Porridge!”

  “Borage!” I snapped, but Carl went into a fit of giggles. “You’re acting like a Popular,” I said, and that made him stop giggling at once.

  At that point, Wayne emerged from the kitchen with three bowls on a tray, and placed one bowl in front of each of us.

  My fork was halfway to my mouth when Wayne proudly announced, “It’s rabbit stew.”

  Carl nearly choked. “I had a pet rabbit once. His name was Mr. Bunny.”

  I looked at Carl. Were tears forming in the corners of his eyes? Wayne did not seem to notice Carl’s distress and tucked into his rabbit stew heartily. I certainly wouldn’t be able to eat a cute little rabbit. After all, I remembered Mr. Bunny well. Yet how could I avoid offending Wayne? I quickly scanned the room for any potted plants, but there were none in close proximity. I had to find a way to dispose of my lunch without Wayne noticing.

  Unfortunately for me, Carl had the same idea. “What a lovely view you have, Wayne,” he said. “What sort of tree is that?” He pointed behind Wayne.

  “What tree?” Wayne looked over his shoulder.

  At once, Carl thrust his hand into my jacket pocket. “What are you doing?” I said.

  “I’m asking Wayne what sort of tree it is,” Carl said. He looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  Wayne turned back to us. “It’s just a common willow tree,” he said.

  I put my hand in my pocket to see what Carl had thrust in there. I winced as my fingers closed around a horrible sticky, squelching goo. It must be the rabbit stew! I glared at Carl, but he was looking the other way and rapidly wiping his hand on his napkin. Carl had a man-bag, and it was sitting on the ground next to me.

  “Look over there!” I exclaimed. “Those cattle grazing. Are they those rare Highland cattle?”

  Wayne and Carl both looked out the window, and I grabbed my dish of rabbit stew and deftly poured the contents into Carl’s man-bag.

  They both looked back at me. “They’re just Hereford cattle,” Wayne said. “You two aren’t really country people, are you?” He chuckled. “When you finish your rabbit stew, I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

  “I’ve already finished,” I said smugly. “It was delicious.”

  Carl narrowed his eyes. He looked at my face, and then looked down at his man-bag. I watched as realization dawned on him.

  “You started it,” I said. Carl continued to narrow his eyes at me.

  I thought I should distract Carl by bringing up the subject of the murders. “Such a terrible shock, what happened to Mandy last night,” I said.

  Wayne nodded, but he didn’t seem to be terribly upset. “Yes, it seems as though a serial killer has come to town.”

  “Do you think we’re in any danger?” I asked him.

  Wayne chewed some rabbit stew before answering. “No, I don’t think they’re targeting us. I think the murderer is targeting The Populars.”

  “Yes, it seems obvious,” Carl said. “All the victims have been Populars. It had to be a victim of theirs—what other motive could the murderer have, surely?”

  Wayne stared off into the distance before answering. Carl grabbed a handful of rabbit stew and made a move toward my pocket. I grabbed my fork and threatened his hand with it. At that moment, Wayne looked back, so Carl had no choice but to drop the stew in his man-bag. He furiously wiped his hand on his napkin once more.

  “It must be one of the victims,” Wayne said. “But that surprises me. I can’t see any one of us doing it, can you?”

  I shook my head. “No, we were all the victims of bullies. I wouldn’t put it past one of The Populars to be a murderer, but it does seem hard to believe that one of us could commit such a heinous crime.”

  Wayne shrugged. “Well, the things they did to me were pretty bad. I could see how it would drive someone to murder. Did you know they used to shove my head in the toilet bowl and flush the toilet several times? I could’ve been killed!”

  “That’s absolutely disgusting,” I said. “I don’t know why the teachers didn’t do something about it.”

  We all muttered rude things about The Populars for a few minutes. “Come on,” Wayne said. “I’ll give you a tour of the winery. Unless you’d like more rabbit stew first?”

  “No!” Carl and I said in unison.

  “It was lovely, though,” I lied. I wondered why he hadn’t served dessert.

  Wayne led us to a large shed. It was filled with large stainless steel
vats. “This is where the grapes come after they’ve been picked,” Wayne said. “The red grape juice comes into contact with the skins. This is called maceration. Do either of you know anything about winemaking?”

  “No, only about wine drinking,” Carl said. I agreed.

  “Well, I won’t bore you with the process,” Wayne said, but then proceeded to do so. He reeled off some technical terms and then talked for about five minutes about various temperatures. “The juice naturally ferments and this makes the sugar turn into alcohol. This is the time when a red wine will develop its flavor,” he concluded.

  “Is that called pressing?” I said, thinking of movies where people jumped up and down on grapes with their feet.

  “No,” Wayne said. “Pressing is when the juice is separated from the skins. Come and see the cellar.”

  This area, to my untrained eye, looked pretty much like the last area we had seen. “White wine goes in stainless steel tanks, and it’s up to the winemaker whether they do that with the red wines, but often red wine goes into oak barrels. You need to keep the white wine cool at all times, and they have a rather lengthy fermentation. On the other hand, red wine can ferment in just over a week.”

  I nodded politely.

  “You know, I’m a bit wary coming in here by myself with all the murders recently,” Wayne said.

  “Why?” Carl asked him.

  “Because of the stainless steel vats,” Wayne said. “That’s a good way to murder someone.” I’m sure the confusion showed on my face, because Wayne continued. “Fermenting grapes release a huge amount of toxic fumes, carbon monoxide to be precise. Many winemakers have been killed over the years, simply by going inside a vat to clean it out. Others have become intoxicated from the fumes and fallen into vats and drowned.”

  “That is scary!” I said. “Are any of The Populars coming out here any time soon?”

  Carl interrupted me. “Lucinda is the only Popular left.”

  “I most certainly would never invite one of The Populars here,” Wayne said with obvious disgust.

  Carl and I looked at each other. My first thought was that if someone wanted to set Wayne up to take the rap for the murder, then all they had to do was entice Lucinda out there and throw her in a vat. Yet even moments after I thought that, it seemed entirely too far fetched. But was Wayne himself the murderer? Had he told us he would not invite Lucinda out there to cover himself? If Wayne was the murderer, then that would be a wise thing for him to, because then he could invite Lucinda to the winery and murder her.

  I shook my head. Perhaps my imagination was running away with me.

  Wayne let us out of the cellar, and his dogs ran up to me. They immediately stuck their noses in my pocket, the pocket field with the rabbit stew. I rotated my body away from them, but it made them all the more persistent. I clutched Carl’s arm to prevent myself being knocked down.

  “No, no, no, no!” Wayne said in a monotone. “Naughty dogs. You leave Narel alone.”

  The dogs took absolutely no notice of him and continued to leap in me, sticking their noses in my pocket.

  Wayne gave up trying to call them off me. “They really like you, Narel. I haven’t seen them take to anyone like this before.”

  Then the biggest dog noticed Carl’s man-bag. He threw himself at Carl, while the other two continued to jump on me.

  “Run!” Carl said. He took at a sprint to his car. I sprinted after him. It was the most exercise I’ve had since… Well, I think it was the most exercise I’d ever had. Carl rolled his window down to say goodbye to a puzzled Wayne, who kept saying in a monotone, “No, no, no. Stop jumping on Carl’s car. Stop it, you naughty dogs.”

  Carl drove off. I looked behind me, and the three dogs were running down the road after us.

  Chapter 15

  I had been painting inside my chocolate shop for an hour and almost finished one wall. I stood back to admire my work. It looked pretty good, if I did say so myself. I’d had a rather restless night wondering whether Borage could in fact be the murderer. Really, it didn’t pay to discount anyone. Tom—I found it hard to think of him as Borage now I knew his true identity—had been bullied just as badly as the rest of us. Why else would he change his name unless to avoid suspicion as a murderer? Yet the police would know who he really was, so surely he had not changed his name for that reason. Perhaps it was just as Wayne had said after all, that Tom wanted a bit of privacy. I was still surprised that he hadn’t let on who he was to me earlier, or to Carl for that matter.

  Truth be told, I had developed a crush on Tom, and that was somewhat ironic given the fact that I’d had a major crush on him back in high school. He had always been kind to me. He hadn’t been a close friend like Carl, because he had kept to himself. Perhaps that was just his personality, and that could explain why he had changed his name.

  I sighed and turned my attention back to the task at hand. I had watched a lot of home renovation shows during my months in the hospital. I realized after watching countless episodes that I needed to appeal to the majority of people and not simply to my taste. I hoped that I had not made a mistake by choosing the chocolate colored paint. Still, it was a chocolate store. I hoped that no one would look at the paint color and shudder.

  I heard someone clear their throat and swung around. My heart sank. It was Lucinda. Of all the people I didn’t want to see!

  “Whatever possessed you to choose such a color, Narel?” she asked haughtily.

  I was in no mood for her nonsense. “What do you want, Lucinda?” I snapped.

  “I think perhaps a nice pastel blue or pink would have been better there, Narel, but we all know how much you love your chocolate.” She laughed cruelly.

  Her barbs no longer had the power to upset me. “If I want decorating advice, then I’ll pay an expert for it,” I said. I turned my back on her and picked up the brush. Without looking at her, I said loudly, “I’m not open for customers, as I’ve already told you.”

  I heard her footsteps approach me so I turned around again. “I wanted to buy some chocolates to send to Mandy’s family.” Her tone was imperious.

  What did she want me to do about it? She could see there were no chocolates in sight and that the store was only in the early stages. She continued to glare at me. “Lucinda, should you be out in public?”

  She looked surprised. “Whatever do you mean, Cocoa?”

  For the first time, I didn’t mind being called Cocoa. After all, I was naming the shop Cocoa Narel’s Designer Chocolates. “I mean, aren’t you worried that you’re the last Popular left?”

  “That’s a really spiteful name, The Populars,” Lucinda said. “How mean-spirited.”

  Was she serious? “Whatever. Anyway, you’re the last Popular left, so aren’t you worried that you’re next on the murderer’s hit list? He’s got all the others, so he must be coming for you now.” I didn’t feel the slightest bit mean saying that. After all, I was sure it was the truth, and I really didn’t care less at that point if it hurt her feelings or not.

  Before Lucinda could reply, Tom, I mean Borage, walked into the store. Lucinda at once looked him up and down. I wondered whether she knew his true identity.

  “That wall looks amazing,” Borage said. “You’ve made quite a lot of progress in here.”

  “Well, hello!” Lucinda said in a simpering voice. She sashayed over to him, and seized his hand which she shook strongly. “I’m Lucinda Shaw-Smythe,” she said and then giggled.

  I rolled my eyes. She was acting like a schoolgirl all over again. I shot a look at Borage to gauge his reaction to her, um, charms. I was delighted to see that he looked alarmed.

  “Hello,” he said, as he managed to extract his hand.

  Lucinda patted his arm playfully. “I’ve seen you around town. You’re the new realtor, aren’t you!” She continued to pat him on the arm. She looked like the cat that had got the cream. I did my best to resist the urge to slap her hand away.

  “Err, yes,” Tom said, and he
took a step backward.

  I remembered what she had done to him in high school. I’m sure there were more things, but I was still having partial memory problems.

  Lucinda finally removed her hand. “I saw you with Hamilton Howes the other night. Was he buying a property from you, or was it a personal matter?”

  Borage’s eyes narrowed. “Hamilton’s firm invests in commercial property, as you probably know. He was inquiring about a local investment that was for sale.”

  “Are you married?” Lucinda actually batted her eyes at him.

  Borage took another step backward. “No.” He looked alarmed.

  “What a coincidence! Neither am I.” Lucinda burst into raucous laughter.

  She’s completely lost her marbles, I thought. She’s acting completely nuts.

  “I’m just here to speak with Narel,” Borage said.

  “Don’t mind me,” Lucinda said. “Cocoa Narel and I are old friends, aren’t we?”

  She took me by my arm and held it in a vice-like grip.

  “Actually, I wanted to have a word with Narel in private.”

  “Go ahead!” Lucinda said.

  I sighed. Clearly she was so busy being mean at school that she hadn’t learned the meaning of private.

  Borage shrugged. He looked at a loss. I wondered what he wanted to speak with me about. If only that pesky Lucinda would leave.

  “I was just telling Lucinda that I’m surprised she’s out in public,” I said to Borage. “What with all the murders and everything. Her closest friends have all been murdered, so if I were her, I would lock myself in my house.” I was hoping she would take the hint.

  No such luck. “Who would want to hurt me?” Lucinda said. “I’m such a lovely person.”

  I nearly choked. “Are you saying the murder victims weren’t lovely people?” I asked her.

  For some reason, that seemed to hit a nerve. Her expression changed. She appeared to be at a loss for words.