Death of a Chocoholic
Page 7
Bessie waved a lumpy-looking chocolate in front of Hayley’s face.
Hayley didn’t expect a taste test.
But she went with it.
Hayley bit into the chocolate. It didn’t taste as bad as she had expected.
“Hmmmm . . . so good, Bessie. Yummy,” Hayley said stiffly. Her acting talents were never going to make Meryl Streep nervous.
“How would you describe the filling?” Bessie said to Hayley, but the chocolatier was still looking straight into the camera.
“Is that almond?” Hayley guessed.
“No, it’s walnut. Cut!”
Bessie looked at Hayley disappointed. “I guess we should have rehearsed first. Let’s try another take.”
This time Hayley was prepared to guess the correct ingredients; but every time she thought they were done, Bessie insisted on doing another take. She wanted her inaugural video to be absolutely perfect.
Which meant after twenty-four more takes, Hayley had eaten a full box of chocolates.
Hayley’s stomach was churning.
She felt queasy.
And she actually felt dizzy from the sugar high.
“Just one more, Hayley. For safety.”
“Safety? We’ve done it two dozen times.”
“I know. But on that last one, you winced as you ate my chocolate. I can’t have you wincing, Hayley. People will get the wrong idea.”
“I winced because I can’t eat any more. I just can’t, Bessie. I’m about to be sick,” Hayley pleaded.
Bessie just pouted and shook her head as if Hayley were being a kitchen diva.
“I’m sorry . . . I just . . .” Hayley stopped herself. She knew in her gut Bessie was never going to take no for an answer.
Bessie gave her the puppy dog eyes. “Just one more? For me?”
Hayley found herself nodding.
Bessie clapped her hands excitedly and turned to her crew members, who were texting. Her smile faded in an instant. “Focus, you imbeciles, or I tell your teacher you goofed off the whole time and you’ll get no credit!”
The boys snapped to attention; one hit a button on the camera and the other lifted up the boom mike.
Hayley went through the motions while Bessie encouraged her to try her chocolate, and Hayley made sure to keep a smile pasted on her face and tried desperately not to wince as she ate the chocolate. She thought she was doing pretty well at pretending to be over the moon for the chocolate as she chewed and chewed. This one was loaded with sticky caramel.
She felt an odd texture on her tongue.
It wasn’t gooey.
It was something stringy.
What the hell was that?
It was like . . . hair!
Or cat fur!
Oh, Lord, no!
Supermarket Ron was right.
Bessie’s unsanitary kitchen had led to this!
She was eating cat fur!
Hayley gagged, reaching into her mouth with her fingers to try and pull it out.
Bessie never took her eyes off the camera. “Hayley, are you okay?”
Hayley shook her head and then, without warning, she felt bile rising up in her throat. She tried in vain to swallow it, but it was too overwhelming and powerful.
She vomited all over the place.
Bessie screamed.
The pimply kid behind the camera burst out laughing.
The plump one turned green at the horrific sight, dropped his boom mike, and threw up a torrent of liquid goo himself.
Bessie just screamed, “Shut the camera off! Shut it off now!”
Hayley wiped her mouth with her sleeve and just apologized over and over again to poor Bessie, who was nearly catatonic from the shock of Hayley spitting up her delicious chocolates in such a violent manner.
To make matters worse, Bessie’s cats appeared out of nowhere and began rubbing up against Hayley’s leg. Two more jumped up on the island counter and licked a bowl dripping with chocolate. All those cats closing in on her, like a scene from some frightful Stephen King horror novel, made her feel even sicker.
Bessie finally snapped out of her stunned state and hastily grabbed a mop and a pail and began madly scrubbing the floors clean.
The cats just kept on coming, and Hayley couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the fur in the chocolates.
She had to get out of there before she got sick again.
Bessie collapsed in tears, resting her forehead on the mop handle.
Hayley signaled to the two boys to give them some privacy. They appeared grateful and hightailed it out of there.
“Bessie, I’m sorry. But it was only one take. We got a bunch of good ones you can use on YouTube.”
“I just wanted my video to be perfect and show that awful Nina Foster-Jones she’s not the only game in town.”
Nina Foster-Jones was a local caterer, very snooty, who gained a reputation with the wealthy summer crowd for her offbeat hors d’oeuvres and her scrumptious desserts. However, during the winter months when most of her clients had left town and business was slow, she worked part-time at an insurance company.
“Why do you care about her?” Hayley gently asked.
“Because she thinks I’m stealing her ideas.”
“What ideas?”
“Starting a candy business, like she did with those fancy desserts of hers, and doing videos for YouTube, like she did, and calling my new business Bessie’s Sweet Treats.”
“Why? What does she call her company?”
“Nina’s Sweet Treats.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not like people are going to confuse the two. I’m Bessie. She’s Nina. Duh!”
Hayley was in no mood to argue with Bessie, even though it did seem Nina had a point.
“I’m collecting enemies left and right. First Ron at the Shop ’n Save, then that doofus, Cody, at the bank, and Wolf, my obnoxious ex. Then yesterday when I was at the high school renting the equipment, Nina happened to be there because one of her hellions was in trouble again. She saw me and just started yelling at me and warning me to stop stealing her ideas, or else. . . .”
“Or else what?”
“Or else she’d kill me.”
“She didn’t really say that.”
“Yes, she did. Twice. She would’ve said it a third time, but I elbowed her in the throat.”
“You did what?”
“She deserved it.”
“Did she call the police?”
“She was going to, but Principal Harkins didn’t want a scandal at the school. He offered to let Nina’s punk kid off the hook if she just left quietly and forgot all about it.”
“Bessie, you really need to control your temper. You can’t go around hitting people.”
“Nina Foster-Jones is a Rachael Ray wannabe no-talent and I’m not going to allow her to intimidate me. If she wants to try and kill me, I say bring it!”
Chapter 12
The following Monday, Gemma was still not speaking to Hayley after the Beer ’n Bowl birthday party debacle, so Hayley decided to give her daughter some space. She was not about to give up on finding the root of her daughter’s problem; but for now, she felt it best to let Gemma cool off. After all, it wasn’t her most shining moment crashing Reverend Staples’s private event for his daughter, family, and friends. Her history with the kind minister was a checkered one, to be sure.
Gemma skipped dinner and went straight to her room, mumbling something about having a lot of homework. Hayley didn’t believe her, but let it go. Dustin lay on the couch, watching the Disney Channel show Jessie and chuckling, while Leroy slept soundly on Dustin’s stomach, rising up and down with the belly laughs. Blueberry, meanwhile, sat perched underneath the coffee table. His beady yellow eyes stared at anyone who dared walk past.
Hayley sat in the recliner, with her laptop in front of her. She was trying to write her own column after spending so much time trying to finish Bruce’s. She was struggling for a topic. Chocolate, of course, was
on her mind constantly. Maybe a nice mole sauce. At least it wasn’t candy. The thought of candy was still making her nauseous.
Her cell phone, which rested on the arm of the recliner, lit up and buzzed. Hayley checked the screen. It was Bessie. She debated whether or not she should answer it. Guilt got the best of her.
“Hi, Bessie!”
“Good news, girlfriend! Your special chocolates are ready for you to pick up.”
Hayley choked, fighting back the urge to vomit again.
“I think Hayley’s Kisses are going to be a huge seller, but I’ll let you be the judge,” Bessie said.
“Thanks, Bessie. I’ll swing by after work tomorrow to pick them up.”
“Oh,” Bessie said, disappointed.
“I’ve just had my fill of chocolates for one day.”
“No, I understand. I’m sorry about that. That was me being the Type A perfectionist. I never should’ve made you eat that many chocolates. I told the boys to make sure they erase that take so it never gets out.”
Hayley wasn’t sure she was going to trust two teenage boys to follow Bessie’s explicit instructions, but she was not going to worry about that now.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” Hayley asked.
No response.
Just dead air.
“Bessie?”
Hayley heard faint wheezing.
Then there was a click.
Did she hang up?
No. There was heavy breathing.
Bessie had dropped the phone.
Suddenly she had a sickening feeling in her gut.
And it wasn’t her overdose from chocolates.
“Bessie? Bessie?”
Hayley jumped out of the recliner, her phone still pressed to her ear. “I’ll be back, Dustin!”
“Where are you going?” he asked, eyes glued to the TV.
“Bessie’s. I maybe awhile!”
Blueberry hissed as she raced past the coffee table.
Hayley grabbed the car keys off the kitchen counter, jumped in her car, and raced over to Bessie’s house.
All the lights were on in the house.
Bessie’s car was parked in the driveway.
Hayley raced to the door and rang the bell.
No answer.
She rang again.
Still, nothing.
She tried the doorknob.
It was unlocked.
She poked her head inside. “Bessie? It’s me, Hayley. You got me a little worried. Are you okay?”
Hayley walked into the kitchen.
There was a bubbling pot of chocolate on the stove. Some of it was spraying onto the kitchen counter, so Hayley shut off the burner.
A cat jumped up on the counter next to her and began purring.
Another was rubbing up against her leg again.
There was a lot of meowing.
Everywhere Hayley looked, she saw another cat.
“Bessie?”
Hayley left the kitchen and walked into the living room.
More cats.
About seven.
And they were all gathered around a body on the floor. Two were licking the face. One was perched on top of the stomach. A few more nestled between the legs.
Hayley instantly recognized the Garfield tattoo on the neck.
It was Bessie.
The phone was still in her hand.
She was dead.
Surrounded by cats.
Two dozen chocolates wrapped in pink cellophane were scattered about the floor.
Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell
A recent unexpected trip to the Beer ’n Bowl in Ellsworth reminded me of the dramatic events that unfolded last year when my girls’ night out with my friends Mona and Liddy led us to that popular Friday-night local hot spot. The three of us were looking forward to a fun, laid-back evening with some ice-cold beer and amateur bowling, but things didn’t quite work out that way.
Right off the bat, Liddy got into a heated argument with the gentleman in charge of renting out the bowling shoes. She flatly told him that she was going to wear her new Jimmy Choo leather flats to bowl in, because no fashion-conscious patron such as herself would be caught dead wearing the hideous yellow-and-red bowling shoes he held up in front of her. The man informed Liddy she was welcome to wear her own shoes—as long as she wore them out the same door she came in.
Being the peacemaker of the trio, I quickly stepped in and reminded Liddy that this bowling alley actually had a bar that served Cosmopolitans, which might help make those god-awful shoes a little less offensive. Liddy grimaced, but she finally agreed and snatched the bowling shoes out of the man’s hands and stalked off.
As we laced up our shoes, we noticed the place was packed with mostly women bowlers. Then it dawned on us it was Ladies’ League Night. Just what we didn’t need! None of us had bowled in years, and we were about to look foolish in front of a bunch of competitive near professionals. If only it had been Bumper Bowling Day for Kids, then perhaps we would’ve at least stood a chance.
After a rusty start, we actually began avoiding the gutter and knocking a few pins down with each turn. The Cosmos were emboldening us and building our confidence.
We worked up quite an appetite, so Mona fetched us the most amazing chicken burritos with a mouthwatering spicy mole sauce. It was so good she and I ordered extra cups of it to dip our burritos into. Who knew bowling alley food was this good?
Meanwhile, Liddy refused to eat, because she was on yet another one of her diets. None of her diets, of course, ever seemed to forbid alcohol. And on an empty stomach, after four Cosmos, she was getting downright belligerent. We decided to get her out of there before she caused a scene; but sadly, we weren’t fast enough. When one female bowler yelled at Liddy for walking in front of her while she was trying to bowl and her ball ended up in the gutter, Liddy slurred an insult about the the loud, obnoxious Hawaiian bowling shirt the woman was wearing. Unfortunately, all the women on the team were wearing the same team shirt and were also the size of sumo wrestlers. The last thing we needed was a brawl at the Beer ’n Bowl. What kind of example would that be to my kids?
I didn’t see what happened next, but more insults were exchanged. Liddy’s spicy mole sauce somehow ended up on half the team’s Hawaiian shirts; and before Mona and I could react, there was a stampede of angry, big-boned bowlers heading straight for us!
Mona yelled, “Run!” and the three of us hightailed it out of there. We jumped into Mona’s truck and sped off into the night toward the island, leaving seven women bowlers chasing after us, throwing their cups of beer at Mona’s taillights.
We were stunned into silence as we drove home, and none of us spoke for at least ten minutes. But as we crossed over the Trenton Bridge, Liddy let out a bloodcurdling scream, which nearly caused Mona to drive off the bridge into the icy, dark water below. Liddy was pointing at her feet. She was still wearing those ugly yellow-and-red bowling shoes. Mona and I couldn’t help ourselves. We burst into a fit of giggles. Liddy didn’t see the humor. How was she ever going to retrieve her brand-new five-hundred-dollar Jimmy Choo leather flats?
Mona informed Liddy there was no way we were turning around and risking our lives and that she was perfectly willing to sacrifice her ten-dollar Ked sneakers she scored at Marden’s last year. I agreed with her, since I had bought myself the same pair.
When Mona and Liddy dropped me off, my mind was already racing to whip up my own version of the Beer ’n Bowl’s spicy mole sauce, which had tasted so good before our abrupt departure. So in keeping with our chocolate theme, here it is. But let’s first start the evening off with a yummy cocktail recipe, since it’s never fun to cook when you’re thirsty.
With a good mole sauce to put on your shredded, grilled, or baked chicken or beef, nothing tastes as good with it than a nice cold pitcher of Mexican beer margaritas! Olé!
Mexican Beer Margaritas
Ingredients
1 (12 ounce) can frozen limeade
<
br /> 1½ cups (12 ounces) gold tequila
12 ounces water
12 ounces Mexican beer or a
beer of your choice
Ice
1 lime, cut into wedges
In a large pitcher mix together the limeade, tequila, water, and beer and stir well until the limeade has melted. Add lots of ice and top with the lime wedges. Add more water if needed.
Hayley’s Spicy Mole Sauce
Ingredients
4½ cups chicken broth
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup onion, finely chopped
3 tablespoons fresh garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon ground cumin
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
2½ tablespoons chili powder
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 ounces your favorite dark choco-
late, chopped
Heat oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, oregano, cumin, and cinnamon. Cover and cook until onion is almost tender, stirring occasionally for about 10 minutes.
Mix in the chili powder and flour, stirring for 3 minutes. Gradually whisk in the chicken broth. Increase your heat to medium high. Boil until reduced, about 35 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and whisk in the chocolate; season with salt and pepper, if desired.
Chapter 13
Hayley couldn’t believe what Sal was telling her.
“She said what?”
“She’s not doing an autopsy,” Sal said, before struggling into his army green winter parka and pulling a red wool cap over his balding head. “You want to grab a burger and onion rings at Jordan’s with me?”