The Peppermint Mocha Murder

by Colette London

  “Danny!” I called in an undertone. “Come here!”

  Was I about to witness an attack? Could Zach really be dangerous? My heart leapt to my throat as I signaled for Danny.

  He was beside me in an instant, holding aside the curtain.

  “What’s the matter?” He looked at the scene, then at me.

  I couldn’t believe he didn’t see the threat. Worriedly, I pointed at Zach. “He’s got something behind his back.” I zipped my gaze to Danny. “Should we go down there and intervene?”

  “You shouldn’t.” His expression was wary but unworried.

  A few seconds later, I saw why. Zach did creep up on Ophelia, but she clearly knew he was coming. She sneaked a peek just before he reached her . . . and produced a gaily wrapped gift.

  Ophelia’s expression of astonishment seemed genuine all the same. Maybe she’d been picking up acting tips from Tansy at the Christmas in Crazytown rehearsals? Her face positively glowed. So did Zach’s, for that matter. He presented his gift.

  For a moment, the two of them seemed frozen in that tableau, like a couple on the front of a Christmas card. Coyly, Ophelia accepted Zach’s gift. Holding it at arm’s length, she admired its fanciful wrapping. It appeared to be a velvet bow, wrapped around elaborate paper, both of which caught the light.

  Zach came nearer, then pulled Ophelia into his arms.

  I gawked. Albany’s little sister . . . with Albany’s exboyfriend? Until now, I’d assumed their rendezvous was entirely innocent. I’d reasoned that they were together because of a party at the B&B or a holiday event they’d both volunteered for. But as my B and B’s host and Ophelia came together in that radiant Christmassy light, alone in that late-night world of silent snowfall, their togetherness seemed anything but chaste.

  I watched the two of them canoodle for a minute, then realized I was shivering. I hugged myself and sidled closer to Danny, who threw off warmth like a portable furnace. The heat must have gone out along with the lights, I realized tardily. The power had been restored, obviously, but the furnace was taking its sweet time warming up the place. It felt distinctly nippy in here.

  “So why are we watching these two make out?” Danny asked.

  “At first, I thought Zach was sneaking up on Ophelia,” I told him. “Now . . . I don’t know. Do you think they’re an item?”

  Below us, the couple in question were locked in an embrace.

  “If they’re not, they’re giving a good impression of it.”

  I agreed. Surprisingly, I felt indignant on Albany’s behalf. Everyone knew that exes were supposed to be off limits.

  Also, I couldn’t help thinking that Ophelia was in over her head with Zach. She was younger than him and far more gullible. Given her competitive feelings toward her sister, I shouldn’t have been completely surprised this had happened, but I was.

  First, Joe Sullivan and his apparent sleeping around when he was supposed to be working. Now Ophelia Sullivan and her clandestine relationship with Zach. Was there something in the eggnog in Sproutes that nudged people toward indiscretions?

  Maybe I just wanted to believe that to cover my own tracks. I couldn’t be sure, and Danny definitely wasn’t helping.

  Down in the yard, Ophelia and Zach finally parted. The young woman gave my B and B’s host a flirtatious fingertip wave; then she pranced just to the edge of the Christmas lights’ glow.

  She blew him a lip-glossed kiss, then darted away, out of sight—off, I assumed, to catch the Sproutes city bus home.

  I looked at Danny. He answered my unspoken question.

  “There are no municipal cameras on the transit lines.”

  I was about to turn away and try to get some shut-eye when another movement outside caught my attention. I looked down.

  Albany had emerged from inside the B and B. Wrapped only in a heavy sweater, she hurried to Zach’s side. The two of them shared an affectionate look. They embraced. I stared at them, unable to believe my eyes. I’d forgotten, temporarily, that Albany was staying at the B and B. She was accessible to Zach at any time.

  Day or night, as Danny was fond of saying suggestively.

  “Hmm.” He crossed his arms beside me. “Interesting.”

  I glanced at him. “Interesting, as in you have an idea?”

  “Interesting, as in that looks like a weird arrangement to me.” Danny frowned. “Albany had to have seen Zach and Ophelia together. She doesn’t seem to care, though.” He switched his gaze to me. “In my experience, sisters can be competitive.”

  At his deliberate understatement, I laughed. I remembered a few specific instances that had given him that idea.

  “Especially those two,” I agreed, thinking of Albany and Ophelia. The Sullivan sisters were anything but mutually supportive.

  If nothing else, Albany’s memoir had proven that much.

  So what were they up to? It would be bizarre for me to go downstairs in the middle of the night, I knew. I couldn’t confront anyone at the moment. But when morning finally dawned . . .

  Watch out, Zach Johnson, I thought. I’m coming for you.

  Twenty

  If I told you I have an insatiable yen to know how things work, what’s going on behind the scenes, and what might happen next, you wouldn’t be surprised. That’s why the next morning, I was awake before sunrise, determined to get a jump on things.

  Bleary-eyed, Danny blinked at me. “What are you doing?”

  “Reading Donna’s tablet.” I lifted the electronic device to show him. I felt weird about doing it, but I was hoping to find some clues. I’d curled up in one corner of my room’s sofa with a mound of throw pillows, a knit throw, and Donna’s purring cat on my shoulder. “Go back to sleep. I’ll fill you in later.”

  My bodyguard buddy required zero convincing. He slept.

  While he did, I flipped through Donna Brown’s schedules, getting familiar with the way she handled things. Judging by the myriad reminder schemes, organizational apps, and complicated filing systems and filters in her e-mail program, the teacher had been juggling a lot of priorities—and she’d been determined to ace them all. To say she seemed like a perfectionist was putting it mildly. Donna had had a system for everything in her life.

  Tellingly, hanging her Christmas lights had indeed been broken into multiple segments, one for each area of her home. There’d been one day for preparation and bringing down all her decorations from the attic. One day for double-checking her neatly spooled lights and replacing any broken bulbs. One day for sourcing her Christmas tree and stringing lights; another for placing ornaments on the tree and distributing knickknacks.

  Donna’s to-do lists were never-ending. Literally. Most of the events and tasks she’d scheduled were set to repeat at defined intervals, like clockwork. As far as I could tell from scrutinizing her records, she hadn’t missed a thing for at least three years. In fact, that was when Donna had first gotten serious about becoming systematized. Her routines put Travis to shame.

  I felt a kinship with my financial advisor, actually, as I sorted through all the details with my Moleskine at my side for my notes. Examining the specifics of Donna’s life offered an insight into her days that nothing else could have done, short of speaking with her. Since that was no longer an option, I kept on going. Gradually, I assembled a picture of a woman who was conscientious above all else—a woman who wanted to be flawless.

  The reason Donna hadn’t been at the Sproutes playhouse on the morning of her death, I discovered, was that she’d had an existing appointment. She’d planned to finish her Christmas lights on that fateful morning. The Donna Brown I now knew would not have been swayed by Christmas in Crazytown. She would have finished what she’d started or what she’d planned, then gone.

  Sadly, she’d never had the opportunity to do that. Even her task of hanging her backyard Christmas lights would remain unfinished now, a black mark on her otherwise spotless record.

  I hesitated, then touched the screen. A tick mark appeared, designating th
at task as complete. That felt better. With a glance at the cat—Georgie was her name, listed in multiple tasks and appointments—I also ticked off feeding and litter-box duties.

  As I did so, I felt a subtle zing of accomplishment. I smiled, understanding then why Donna had kept so many lists and calendars. It was rewarding to see everything fall into place.

  A multitude of upcoming meetings remained out of reach, however. I couldn’t mark all of them as finished; they wouldn’t be. There were crafting get-togethers and parties, volunteer commitments and doctor’s appointments—even a more cryptic activity, coded to recur every Wednesday evening. Indefinitely.

  I puzzled over it. Why the code? Did Donna have a lover?

  If Zach, Ophelia (and Albany) were any indication . . . maybe.

  I blinked, suddenly aware I was being watched. Danny had gotten out of bed. He eyed me as he lowered himself companionably onto the sofa’s opposite side. Georgie, the feline traitor, abandoned me to paw her way across his lap and onto his chest. She had the discourtesy to cover his incredible six-pack abs. Too bad.

  Danny gave me a sleepy look. “What are you up to?”

  Wondering if I dreamed . . . everything. I set aside the thought. For now, I’d have to be comfortable not knowing, the same way I was trying to be relaxed about the hole in my memory caused by the Santa-gnome-shaped blow to the head I’d taken yesterday.

  “Wondering if Donna Brown had a secret lover.” I showed Danny the tablet’s screen. “If so, they both loved punctuality.”

  He studied her calendar. “That’s not a lover. It’s A.A.”

  I was startled. I turned the tablet around. “As in rehab?”

  “As in the program, yeah.” He pet the cat. Georgie purred. “Have you got anything to eat around here? I’m starving.”

  “Just the fudge you dismantled last night.”

  “Ugh.” He made an “I hate sweets” face. “No, thanks.”

  I stared at him. “That’s it? You drop a bomb like meek Donna Brown was in A.A., then start scrounging for breakfast?”

  “It’s not a big deal. How about the minibar? Any chips?”

  Given his hopeful, handsome face, I hated to disappoint him. However... “I asked housekeeping to clear all the food from the minibar,” I confessed. It was one of the ways I made room on the road for higher-priority snacks. Like all things chocolate. “But Zach should start serving breakfast in an hour or so.”

  When he did, I intended to have a few words with him. I wanted to know what he’d been doing with Ophelia and Albany.

  I wondered if Travis knew his friend had had a rendezvous.

  I tapped Donna’s tablet screen. The appointment I’d puzzled over contained nothing more than the date, an address, and the initials A.A. I suppose I should have guessed what that meant.

  “It could be Albert Anderson,” I said. “Arturo Alvarez?”

  “It’s an A.A. meeting.” Danny moved the cat, then got up. He was shirtless, stripped to his boxer shorts. I’m not sorry to report that I ogled him. “I recognize the address,” he told me.

  I dragged my gaze from his flexing muscles. Danny had a way of pulling on a pair of low-slung jeans that was fascinating.

  “You recognize the—” He’d been there? “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  He frowned at me. “It’s treatment. It’s not embarrassing.”

  I was still taken aback. “But we’ve been drinking. We just went to the Santa pub crawl together. How does that jibe with—”

  Your in-depth knowledge of meeting places for alcoholism treatment programs? Danny’s deepening frown stopped me from asking.

  Surely I would have known if my friend needed help?

  “It’s not for me. But I know how the program works.” He waved at Donna’s tablet. “All that stuff, it’s how some people deal with their recovery. By controlling everything.”

  “Donna’s strict schedule was meant to keep her sober?”

  Kindhearted Donna had been in ongoing treatment for addiction issues? I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea.

  “Could be,” Danny said. His fingers made short work of the button fly on his jeans. He hauled on his sweatshirt. “I have clients in the program. Friends too.” He frowned. “Not me.”

  Whew. I thought of all the times I’d offered Danny a beer or a tumbler of something stronger—including last night—and felt relieved. I believed him, too. Danny’s friends from his bad old neighborhood included all kinds of people. Of course, his celebrity clientele was sometimes dealing with addiction issues, too. I’d forgotten about that aspect of his work.

  It would be like Danny to plan for the possibility of needing to take a client or a friend to a nearby A.A. meeting.

  I switched course. “Do you think Donna was buying drugs from the dealer you saw at the Sproutes Motor Lodge?”

  Danny shook his head, then tucked his wallet and keys into his pocket. “Not if she was actively in treatment, I don’t.”

  Hmm. That made sense. Mulling it over, I glanced at Donna’s tablet again. “It’s too bad,” I mused. “Donna was a generous person. She would have made someone a wonderful sponsor.”

  Danny scoffed. “Yesterday you thought she was a murderer.”

  “That was before I knew she had problems like these,” I informed him. “The kinds of problems that make you meet with a bunch of strangers week after week to talk about your troubles.”

  “You’re right,” Danny deadpanned. “You’d never make it.”

  “I would if I wanted to,” I disagreed. “Or needed to.”

  “Nope. People in recovery are supposed to avoid drama in their lives. You love drama.” My buddy’s grin told me he was joking. “Come on. Let’s go break into the B and B’s kitchen.”

  “Danny!”

  “What? You didn’t mind a little rule breaking last night.”

  Was that a reference to what might have—or might not have—happened between us? I couldn’t tell. He had the gall to grin.

  “You know I don’t have to break in,” I settled on saying. “Zach gave me free access to the B and B’s kitchen, remember?”

  Danny smiled. “I remember everything,” he taunted.

  My frustration that I didn’t must have shown, because he stopped with one hand on the door. He studied me, then shook his head. “Nothing happened, Hayden. Nothing big, anyway.” Another curious look. “You were pretty out of it. You didn’t really think I’d take advantage of your concussion, did you?”

  Hmm. When you put it that way... “No! Of course not.”

  “Because I didn’t. All I did last night was tuck you in.”

  I remembered kissing him. Leading him by the hand to the bed. “There had to have been a little more to it than that.”

  “Okay, slightly more,” Danny acknowledged. He gave me a wicked look. “You were . . . enthusiastic. Let’s just say that.”

  “That sounds like me.” I was attracted to him, after all.

  “But I managed to keep things in line—the way you would have wanted if you’d been thinking straight.” A pause. “Right?”

  “Right.” Right? I felt . . . vaguely disappointed.

  Danny wasn’t all gentleman, though. “Don’t worry. When it happens between us, you’ll definitely remember,” he promised.

  Then he swaggered out the door and, with that settled for now, led the way to our soon-to-be (stealthy) breakfast.

  * * *

  I was staring at a partially unwrapped box of Christmas chocolates, thinking about my unfinished chocolate houses, when it happened—the call came in that would have interrupted me and Danny last night, just when things were getting steamy.

  Danny’s phone didn’t ring. He always kept it on silent. I did hear it vibrate, though, thanks to the B and B’s unusually quiet kitchen. It seemed that no one was awake yet, except for Zach.

  I’d spent a few minutes alone with him. It had been an enlightening conversation, but I still wanted to confirm a few details. For that, I would nee
d Albany and her sister, Ophelia.

  “Yeah, I understand.” Speaking into his phone, Danny shouldered shut the open refrigerator door. He’d been staring into it, looking for something to nosh on, when the call came in. His gaze met mine as he spoke to whoever had called. “No, don’t worry about that. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Tansy?” Assuming it was his client, I raised my eyebrows while Danny pocketed his phone with his back still to me. “Yesterday you said you needed only twenty minutes to get to her,” I reminded him. “Those are ten extra billable minutes.”

  The instant Danny turned, I regretted joking with him. Something was seriously wrong. His face looked drained.

  “That was Josh. He’s at the hospital with Tansy.”

  * * *

  The Sproutes Regional Medical Center was a modest hospital, quiet and antiseptic, with a friendly staff. Danny and I arrived in record time, having sped through the silent, snowy streets.

  Hoping to keep up Danny’s strength for the drive, I’d grabbed the box of chocolates I’d seen in the B and B’s kitchen. But when I offered my security-expert pal a bonbon, he blanched.

  “Are you kidding me? Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

  I had to take his word for it. I held on to the chocolates, anyway, in case of emergency. What can I say? A chocolate whisperer has to be prepared. I stuffed them into my tote bag as we made our way inside the hospital. There, Tansy’s ward seemed nearly deserted. We found Josh at her bedside, looking stricken.

  My gaze shot to Tansy. She lay unmoving in her hospital bed, just as beautiful as ever, sound asleep. At least I hoped she was asleep. I listened to the myriad monitors nearby. The actress seemed to be resting, not dying. That was a relief.

  I rushed to hug Josh. “What happened?” I asked him.

  “Tansy woke up ill early this morning,” Josh explained to me and Danny. “She was woozy, vomiting, headachy. It was so bad, I brought her here.” He sent her a devoted, concerned look. “She was fine when we went to sleep. I don’t know what happened.”

  “What do the doctors say?” Danny asked.

  “They think it’s some kind of food-borne toxin.”