by Morgana Best
“And?” Rieker asked.
“Well, we saw them together.” I raised my eyebrows, hoping to get the point across.
“They are neighbors, Miss Myers,” Clyde said as he shrugged. “Why or how is that unusual?”
“They were more together than usual,” Carl said.
“How so?” Rieker asked, clearly becoming more and more impatient.
“They were together. Very together,” I explained. “Enjoying each other’s company much more than friends do.”
“Oh. Oh!” Clyde said, leaning back in his seat. “I see. That’s actually quite helpful, but it bears repeating that while it’s not any kind of evidence that could hold up in a court of law, we’ll look into it,” he said with a smile.
“To be clear, you’re still a suspect, Miss Meyers,” Rieker said as he looked me straight in the eyes. “Don’t go playing detective, either. I understand that you might stumble across information, and I’m going to be friendly and assume that’s what all this was, but spying on people isn’t something we’ll abide by.” His tone was stern.
Clyde nodded at us, and I suspected he would have explained it with more tact.
Carl and I nodded, though I’d have said anything to get out of the building at that point. I was overjoyed that they agreed to look into our leads, but I had hoped for something more concrete, even if I didn’t know exactly what.
Chapter 22
Carl left me outside the large white building, wished me luck, and promised to return for me when I called him. It was my first business owners’ meet and greet for the local town, and I was a little nervous. I had not heard from Borage since Sunday, although I’d had three missed calls from him since then. When I had called back, he hadn’t picked up, and I hadn’t liked to leave a message. After all, that might come across as desperate.
I didn’t know how to feel about the whole Borage situation, given the mysterious woman.
It had also been a busy day at the shop, and while that was good for me financially, it had left me tired. I had the added stress of Borage and the mysterious woman, and even more so, the fact that the police saw me as the instigator of Peter Prentiss’s death. I just wished my life would become nice and boring once more.
I also wished that Carl had come with me to the meeting, but he had said that those meetings were boring enough to kill him. I supposed I had to be a big girl and go by myself. My business was new, and I needed to network. After all, I was sure all those business owners ate chocolate—who didn’t? Certainly no one in their right mind would not eat it.
I was greeted at the door by an overly talkative, overly enthusiastic woman, who looked like one of those women on the shopping channel who throw their head back and laugh, flashing large and impossibly white teeth, while flipping their equally impossibly long hair extensions over their shoulder. “You haven’t forgotten your business cards, have you? You’d be surprised how often this happens!”
I dug in my purse and fished out a business card, which I handed her. “Excellent,” she said, peering at the business card. “Well, if you want a professional business card, Normie Grogan, the graphic designer, is inside, and I’m sure he’d be grateful for your business. He’s a stoner, though, so I don’t know how much that’s affected his mind.”
“A stoner?” I asked, puzzled. The woman threw back her head and laughed like a horse who had eaten too many oats.
“You know, he smokes a lot of dope. You know, pot, marijuana. He smokes cigarettes, too. You’ll find him easily enough—there’ll be a cloud of smoke around him.” She snorted. I was surprised she didn’t stamp her foot.
I thanked her and tried to get away as fast as I could, but she grabbed my arm and thumped me on the chest. I was alarmed, until I realized that she had fixed a nametag to me. She had spelled my name the wrong way, but I wasn’t going to point that out. I thanked her and headed for the food table.
I wondered who their caterer was. I could surely do better. There was a big urn of hot water, as well as plates of sugar packages, teabags, and instant coffee. I didn’t even know that people drank instant coffee in real life, only in movies. It was certainly against my religion. Still, I supposed it was good in a pinch, but I sure wasn’t going to have any now.
There was no wine, which I found strange. I had expected wine and cheese platters, especially when I had paid the princely sum of ten dollars for a ticket. And for what? Stale pastries and overly iced cakes. I preferred the icing to the cake, but I grimaced when I looked at this oozing white and luminous pink icing. It looked positively radioactive. It seemed to me as if all the cakes had been scraped out of some primeval ooze in a trashcan. And perhaps they were—who knows?
And to my dismay, there was not a chocolate to be seen. My stomach growled loudly in protest. This night was going downhill rapidly.
I picked up what looked somewhat like a chocolate cake and put it on a plate. I broke it open and it looked rather disgusting inside. I stuck my finger in a little bit of the frosting and tasted it only it find that it tasted like chemicals, nothing more. This was really bad. I really would have to find out who the caterer was. I was bending over the plate examining the cake, when I heard a deep, masculine voice behind me. “How are you?”
I swung around to see Borage. I put the plate with the cake on it on the chair beside me. “I’m good,” I said awkwardly.
“Have you heard from the police again?”
I shook my head. For some reason, I always felt tongue-tied in his presence.
“Why don’t we sit down?”
I nodded, and sat down on the seat. I instantly realized that I had sat on the cake, icing and all. I held my breath and tried not to squeal. I plastered what I hoped was a normal look on my face. How incredibly embarrassing, not to mention uncomfortable! I would have to think of a way to make him leave first, so I could head to the bathroom and scrape the cake from my skirt.
Borage smiled at me. “Since our dinner was ruined the other night, I was wondering if you would have dinner with me again?”
“Yes,” I gushed, followed by a slower and more reasoned, “That would be lovely, thank you,” in what I hoped was a less enthusiastic voice.
Borage looked pleased, and my heart fluttered. Then I caught myself. Was he two-timing that woman? And why wasn’t she here tonight? No doubt he had told her he was going to a business meeting. But who was she? I dearly wanted to ask, but I could hardly do so.
I jumped as a booming voice spoke into a microphone, accompanied by the usual screeching sounds from the microphone at such events. “Everyone please take your seats, as the talk is about to start.” It was the woman from the front door. Clearly she was managing the event.
Borage stood up and motioned for me to follow him. I stood up. “I just have to go to the bathroom,” I said.
Borage nodded, but kept his eyes on me. I backed away from him, smiling and nodding, and feeling like a complete idiot. I think I was all out of options. Either I would turn around and go to the bathroom with a large cream cake dripping from my skirt, or I could back up and smile, all the while nodding. I chose to do the latter, although I wasn’t sure it was the better choice.
Borage frowned and clearly wondered why I was acting so strangely. When I reached the corridor, I turned around and hurried as fast as decorum permitted to the bathroom, where I wiped the excess cake from my skirt into the trash. I swung my skirt around me to face the front and held it in the wash basin, scrubbing it. Now it was clean, but it was soaking wet. Never mind, I would dry it in the hand dryer. I ignored the strange looks of the other women in the bathroom and headed for the hand dryer. To my dismay, it was one of those new ones where you dip your hands in and out rather than have a constant stream of dry air rushing down. I carefully lifted the skirt so no one could see my underwear and held it in there until it was dry.
I stood in the mirror to survey my handiwork. I was quite pleased with what I had done. I swung my skirt around me to face the correct way and walked back
into the room.
The speech had already started, and Borage motioned to me. He had kept a seat beside him for me. And why wouldn’t he? I asked myself. After all, if he wanted to date me while keeping his girlfriend, that is exactly what he would do. I shook away the moment of disquiet and took my seat next to Borage. As I did so, our elbows brushed briefly against each other and a small jolt literally ran through my body. I wondered if he had felt the same. I did not look at him, but kept my eyes on the speaker.
The speaker was a man of an undeterminable age. I guessed he was in his fifties, although I was better at guessing cats’ ages than human ages. He droned on and on and on about cash basis accounting, variable expenses, operational expenses, and fiscal years, and drew diagrams on a whiteboard. Math was never my strong point, and I found myself drifting off to sleep. At one point, my head fell on Borage’s shoulder and he gently shook me awake.
I was mortified. “I’m so sorry, Borage.”
Borage smiled. “He very nearly put me to sleep, too, don’t worry,” he said in a whisper.
I smiled widely in response, and then took out my iPhone and googled chocolate wholesalers.
It was a blessed relief when the man finally stopped speaking, a sentiment I am sure shared by everyone in the room. Everyone stood up and stretched and yawned, and then made their way to the food table. “Can I get you a drink?” Borage asked me.
“Do they have wine?” I asked eagerly.”
“I wish!” Borage said fervently. “No, sadly. It’s only ever tea and coffee here, and bad tea and coffee at that.”
“So I noticed,” I said, “and bad cakes as well. I’ll have to ask that lady who their caterer is.”
Borage laughed. “They don’t have a caterer. They just go out and buy these cakes at the local supermarket.”
“And I bet they’re on sale, too, because they all seem stale,” I said.
Borage nodded his agreement. “Narel…”
I never had a chance to finish, because the mystery woman appeared at the door. She was sobbing, and she made her way to Borage, who looked mortified when he saw her. She hurried over to him and clutched his arm. “I need to talk to you,” she said in a voice that boarded on hysterical.
“I’d like you to meet Narel Myers,” Borage said to the woman.
She looked at me with puffy eyes and nodded. I felt guilty, as if I had been caught with her boyfriend. And perhaps I had been. She did not appear to hold any resentment toward me however, that puzzled me.
“It’s urgent,” she said. She didn’t seem angry, just sad.
“I’ll be in touch,” Borage said to me, as he hurriedly followed the woman out of the room.
My stomach churned. Was she in fact his girlfriend? Saying he’d be in touch was something one would say to a business associate, not to someone who one was dating. Sure, we weren’t dating, but he had asked me out twice to dinner. He didn’t say he’d call me, which would’ve been normal in the circumstances.
Chapter 23
I looked at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes to go before opening. I still had time to sample the chocolates that the new wholesaler had sent me. He had kindly provided three of each type: Biscotti Gelato Truffle, Almond Praline Truffle, Hazelnut Cream Raindrop, Rocky Road Parlor Truffle, Foiled Covered Chocolate Stars, Praline Crescent, Caramel Heart, White Praline Embrace, Coconut Pyramid, Raspberry Caramel Truffle, Dark Chocolate and Raspberry Vanilla Mousse, and Coffee Chocolate Sorbet Truffle. I couldn’t decide which samples to try first, so I ate them all.
I still had five minutes until opening, so I decided to open the other box of chocolates that he had sent. This was an Australian native range of chocolates. I was stuffing the first of the lemon myrtle chocolates into my mouth, when I saw the time. I would have to open now. I walked to unlock the door, popping a wattleseed and wild lime chocolate soft center in my mouth.
I had no sooner turned my back than Borage entered the shop. I didn’t know how to feel about that. I, of course, had not seen him since the business owners’ meet and greet the previous night, when the mystery woman had turned up and taken him away. If she was his girlfriend, then surely he wouldn’t have the nerve to come and speak to me so soon after?
My stomach turned, and it wasn’t from all the chocolates I had just consumed.
“You look pale, Narel. Are you all right?” were Borage’s opening words.
I realized I had been holding my breath. “I’m fine,” I said. I was dismayed to hear my voice come out as a squeak.
What was I to do? I wanted to come straight out and ask who the woman was, but I didn’t quite have the nerve. And what if he said, ‘That’s my girlfriend?’ What would I say then? And I was sure that the disappointment would show on my face. No, it was better to remain silent. Yet if I remained silent, I would never find out who the mystery woman was, and I would not be able to continue my relationship with Borage. I could hardly go to dinner with him again or anywhere with him if he indeed had a girlfriend. That was a recipe for disaster.
I looked up to see Borage looking at me strangely, so I popped another chocolate in my mouth to give me fortitude.
“We never did have that dinner,” Borage said. “Would you like to have dinner tonight? I can call for you at seven.”
“That would be good,” I said, “but who is that woman you’re with? Is she your girlfriend?” I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth, but now that they were, I stared at him to gauge his reaction.
Borage looked shocked. He was speechless, and I wondered whether he was shocked that I had caught him out two timing. “Why, she’s…”
At that point, a woman with three children hurried into the shop. “I need a gift to give a teacher who’s leaving today on maternity leave,” she said all in one breath, clearly not caring that she had interrupted a conversation. “I just want something for about twenty dollars and I need it in a hurry.”
I gestured to a nearby shelf. “What about one of these chocolate gift boxes? We have these ones here. They contain two crème brûlée chocolate, two red velvet cake chocolates, and two tiramisu chocolates.”
The woman turned to tell her children to be quiet before answering. “Great,” she said. “It’s for my youngest son’s teacher, and I thought she was leaving next week on maternity leave, but you know what kids are like! He didn’t tell me that she’s leaving today until we were on the way to school, and so the oldest two missed the bus.” She swept her hand toward the oldest two, who to me looked more than happy to have missed their bus. “The teacher’s name is Mrs. Carter. She’s a nice teacher, much nicer than the other teachers at the school, so I’m sad she’s going. If the other teachers left, I wouldn’t give them so much as a goodbye,” she huffed angrily.
I showed her other boxed sets of chocolates, but she didn’t seem to care. She just wanted something for twenty dollars. After she decided to purchase the chocolates I had originally shown her, I started gift wrapping, but she stopped me to ask how much the gift wrapping cost. When I said it was free, she was more than happy for me to continue.
It was the fastest gift wrapping I had ever done—probably the fastest gift wrapping in the history of the world. I wanted to hear what Borage had to say about the mystery woman. As soon the woman with her three children was out the door, I turned back to Borage expectantly.
His face was still white. “She’s…”
A man hurried into the store clutching a large bunch of long-stemmed red roses wrapped in silver paper. “I’ve had a terrible fight with my wife,” he gushed, “and I need the largest box of chocolates that you’ve got.”
I showed him my largest boxes of chocolates.
“Is that the sort you would advise me to give a woman after a fight?” he asked me solemnly. “You’re a woman, so you should know.”
I gestured in the direction of the more expensive chocolates. “Obviously your wife likes chocolates—who doesn’t?—but do you know if she likes any particular type of chocolate
?”
He shook his head.
“Then I’m sure she would be impressed with this luxury drawer gift box of fine Belgian chocolates. There are fifty milk, dark, and white pralines, so there are sure to be some in there that would be her favorites.” I showed him an illustration of the contents.
“I’ll take them!” the man said happily.
“And it’s free gift wrapping too,” I said.
The man looked quite happy. “It’s not the first fight I’ve had with my wife,” he said forlornly. “At least I know where to come now to make up. I usually get her jewelry, but this is cheaper. We had a fight over her mother. She likes her mother to come and stay with us, but I can’t stand my mother-in-law, and it’s mutual! Her mother is an old hag! She’s always trying to break us up. She didn’t want us to get married in the first place. She wrote my wife a horrible long letter telling her she shouldn’t marry me and my wife got it the very day before we were married. I’ve tried to put up with the woman, but try as I might, she just brings out the worst in me.” He sighed loudly and swiped his card before hurrying out with the chocolates.
I turned to Borage, and waited with bated breath to hear who the mystery woman was.
“Do all your customers tell you all their problems at such length?” he asked me.
“Yes.” I didn’t want to say any more, because I wanted him to get back to the matter at hand. I hesitated and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Oh yes,” he said. “She is…”
A young woman burst into the shop, and I felt I would go mad with frustration. Right then, Borage’s phone rang. He looked at the Caller ID, and then said, “Sorry, Narel, I have to take this. Speak to you later?”
“Sure,” I said. I let out a long sigh. I had been so close to finding out who the mystery woman was, and now I wouldn’t find out until goodness knew when. No matter what happened, and no matter how many interruptions, I was determined to ask Borage the very next time I saw him, customers or not.