Deadly Chocolate Addiction (Death by Chocolate Book 6)

by Sally Berneathy

  Ransom was quiet for a moment. I wondered if he was going to get on my case about my driving. “I can tell by the look in your eyes when you talk about him that he’s pretty special.”

  I shrugged and maybe blushed a tiny bit. “He is.”

  Ransom slid off his stool. “Lindsay, I think you’re a really nice person. I hope you and Detective Trent have a lot of happy years together.”

  “Thank you. And I hope you and your wife can work things out, whatever those things are.”

  He lifted his left hand and looked at the ring. “We won’t, but I appreciate the thought.” He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. “If you’ll give me a ticket, I’ll pay for this incredible chocolate then leave and let you close.”

  I lifted both hands in protest. “No! You don’t owe me a thing. After what you did for me, I’m in your debt.”

  He opened his wallet. “It was fun, being an ex-con named Ransom and taking down a jerk. I insist on paying for that privilege as well as the best-in-the-universe chocolate.”

  I shoved the box of goodies toward him. “I insist you can’t pay. Don’t forget, I have connections with the local law. You mess with me and I’ll call in the cops.”

  “The cops. Detective Adam Trent.” The way he said Trent’s name with a combination of nostalgia and respect made me wonder if they’d had a run-in during Ransom’s drinking days. He picked up the box. “Thank you very much.”

  I took the front door key from the cash register and walked around the counter.

  He didn’t follow immediately and I looked back. He was putting his wallet into his pocket. He smiled guiltily when he saw me watching.

  I didn’t see any money on the counter, but I’d be willing to bet he’d put it under the plate. Might have known he’d figure out some way to pay.

  He picked up his box of chocolate goodies and came to the door then stopped, his gaze fixed on something or someone outside. His lips compressed and his eyes narrowed.

  I followed his gaze, expecting to see a terrorist wielding a bomb or a madman with a machine gun or—worse—Rick.

  Ordinary people on the sidewalk and ordinary cars in the street.

  “I forgot something.” He returned to the counter, set down the box, and stood for a moment with his back turned.

  Maybe he hadn’t left cash before and was doing it now.

  He came to the door again. “I’m glad I got to meet you, Lindsay.”

  “Me too, Ransom. Now that you’ve found the best chocolate in the universe, I hope you’ll return.”

  A cloud scuttled across the weak October sun and drew a shadow over his face, turning his tanned skin pale. “I hope so too.”

  He walked away.

  I hope so too? That was an odd thing to say.

  Or maybe it wasn’t.

  Maybe Rick’s visit had made me paranoid. Maybe I was reading things into Ransom’s actions and the way he said Trent’s name.

  Detective Adam Trent.

  Wait a minute.

  I looked down the sidewalk. Ransom had vanished.

  Making the leap from cop to detective, I could understand. But I had never mentioned Trent’s first name. When he and I met, it wasn’t under the best of circumstances. I called him by his last name to be disrespectful. It stuck. I never think of him as Adam.

  Had Rick called him Adam? I wasn’t even sure Rick knew Trent’s first name.

  Ransom knew Trent’s first name.

  He knew Trent was a detective, not an officer.

  He knew Paula’s name.

  He knew a lot of things for a stranger.

  I didn’t know anything about him, not even his real name.

  If he came back, I was going to ask some questions.

  I locked the door and returned to the counter.

  Under his plate I found a fifty dollar bill. I’d been right about the money. That was sweet. Maybe I was being paranoid after all. I’d been around Rick too long, absorbed some of his suspicious nature.

  I picked up the money.

  A small brass key lay beneath it.

  I lifted the key and studied it.

  Perhaps the key had been in his wallet and it got stuck on the bill when he took it out.

  He’d looked out the front door and seen something or someone that…what? Startled him? Angered him? Freaked him out?

  He’d gone back to the counter.

  Had he left the key on purpose?

  I couldn’t return it. I didn’t know where he lived or what his name was. Even Fred couldn’t track down someone based on a phony name I’d given the man. At least, I didn’t think he could.

  What did the key unlock?

  If Ransom had wanted me to find something, he’d done a poor job of leaving clues.

  I put the key in my jeans pocket and the fifty dollars in the cash register.

  Surely he’d return for more chocolate and then we could have a proper introduction and talk about the key.

  Chapter Two

  The evening was uneventful. Rick called five times. I didn’t answer five times.

  Trent didn’t call, but that wasn’t unusual. Murder doesn’t keep regular hours.

  Fred was disappointed I’d given all the leftovers to Ransom, but I made him some fresh chocolate chip cookies—with gluten and nuts—and he was happy.

  My cat, King Henry, could have cared less about the lack of chocolate goodies, the mysterious key, or my trauma with Rick. It was fall and mice were scurrying around everywhere, preparing for winter, their activity making them easy prey. He brought me one. I have no idea how many he kept for himself. I didn’t ask.

  At work the next morning I made a new dessert, Chocolate, Chocolate and More Chocolate Cake.

  Lunch rush peaked around twelve thirty. The place was filled with people indulging in chocolate so they could make it through the afternoon business meetings, the censure from their boss, their boring workload, or maybe so they’d have the energy to censure their employees.

  I looked up each time the bell over the front door rang, hoping to see Ransom. I wanted to give him back his key as well as see what he thought of my latest chocolate du jour.

  The bell rang again.

  I looked up again.

  It wasn’t Ransom again.

  A woman in tight designer blue jeans and a low cut red silk blouse strode in. She was beautiful, so beautiful several people—especially men—stopped eating and stared at her. She paused and looked around as if appreciating the effect she had on people. People of the male variety. Her blue gaze—a gaze brilliant enough to put Rick’s contacts to shame—settled on me.

  She strode across the room in my direction, her blond hair swaying smoothly on her shoulders with each step. She was about Paula’s size, but the four inch heels on her boots made her appear taller and unnaturally thin, as if a bite of chocolate had never crossed those collagen-enhanced lips. With the heels and her Triple D boobs, I was impressed she didn’t tip over.

  There were no empty stools. She pushed between two male customers. They didn’t complain.

  “May I help you?” I asked.

  Her collagen curled upward in a phony smile. “You must be Lindsay.”

  I wasn’t admitting to anything, not even my name, without a lawyer or two present. “We’re full. Can I get you a to-go order?”

  The short, balding man on her left slid off his stool, leaving his chicken salad sandwich half-eaten. “You can have my seat, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” she purred, “but I’m not staying.”

  Thank goodness for small favors.

  A woman at the far end of the counter waved. I hurried down to her. With her medium brown hair and tailored business suit, she was much easier on the eyes than the artificially enhanced Victoria’s Secret model wannabe who insisted I must be Lindsay.

  “Would you like some dessert?” I asked the normal woman.

  “I would. Can you tell me about the Chocolate, Chocolate and More Chocolate Cake?”

>   “I’d be happy to. I start with a very moist—”

  “Lindsay, we need to talk about your relationship with my husband.” Victoria’s Secret had a low-pitched voice with sharp edges that cut through all the conversation in the room.

  I stopped in mid-sentence and thought of the married men I had relationships with. There was my mother’s husband…my father. Unless my sedate father had gone crazy and become a bigamist with very bad taste in women, that wasn’t the right husband.

  Trent was single.

  Although I know nothing of King Henry’s past, he’s the wrong species for her.

  Fred—ah, Fred. For all I know of his past, he could be married. He could be a bigamist or even a trigamist. He is an over-achiever.

  “Tunnels of chocolate fudge in the middle, chocolate chips and chocolate whipped cream for the frosting.” I finished the description of the dessert, speaking as rapidly as possible. “Would you like a piece?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I had to pass Victoria on the way to the dessert case. “I’ll be right with you,” I said.

  “You’d better because the police are on their way, and they’re going to want answers to my question.”

  She had my attention.

  Fred has never admitted to crossing any legal boundaries, but he does hang out with gangsters, hack into government databases, and God only knows what else. In fact, I suspect even God isn’t sure about all the things Fred does.

  I, on the other hand, occasionally exceed those illogical speed limits posted on ugly signs that deface the landscape. Had I gone over some kind of threshold on the number of tickets a driver is allowed? Was I going to be locked away as a repeat offender? Who’d open cans for King Henry?

  I cut a piece of the cake and served the normal lady then came back to Victoria.

  She looked at me and smiled.

  My mouth had gone quite dry. I desperately needed a Coke. But even more desperately, I needed to know what this woman wanted.

  Cops and Fred have a trick when they question people. They remain silent until the person being questioned blurts out something. It always works on me. This time was no exception.

  “Is Fred your husband?” I spoke softly, hoping my words would be drowned out by the background conversations.

  She folded her arms, lifting the triple Ds so high they threatened to spill out of the front of her blouse. “Fred? How many husbands are you involved with?” She did not speak softly. I hoped my customers liked my chocolate even if they thought it was prepared by a baker with a giant red letter A for Adultery on her apron.

  “Do you need to take a break?” Paula stood beside the counter holding two plates with desserts on them.

  I did. I needed to drag Victoria into the kitchen and have this conversation privately. But I wasn’t going to. I didn’t want to leave Paula alone with the crowd, and I didn’t want to be alone with Victoria.

  “Thanks, but I’m good.”

  “Could I get my check?” The man two stools over.

  I wasn’t sure if I was frustrated or happy about the further delay in my conversation with Victoria. “Would you excuse me?”

  I complied with the gentleman’s request.

  The bell over the front door jingled. I glanced up automatically to see who had come in. The way things were going, it would not have surprised me to see Rick again.

  My heart did a happy dance when I saw Trent.

  The dance ended with a stumble. He would only interrupt during rush hour for business reasons, cop business.

  His grim expression confirmed that this was not a social visit.

  Victoria had said the police were on their way.

  Had Trent been assigned to haul me off to jail? He had warned me more than once about my driving habits. Well, one particular driving habit.

  The woman gave me a smug look then turned and moved swiftly toward the door.

  Trying to escape?

  She flung herself at Trent.

  Ridiculous. He was twice her size. She’d never get past him.

  She wasn’t trying very hard to get past him.

  She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest.

  I flinched. Trent has no problem tracking down the bad guys, hauling them in, beating them with a rubber hose until they confess. Okay, maybe not that last, but he’s tough. However, he doesn’t know how to handle women in distress. I speak from experience.

  I waited for him to push her away.

  He slowly detached her but kept an arm around her waist. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see her.”

  He shook his head but let her snuggle against him as they made their way across the room toward me.

  Paula stood at a table in the corner, clutching an empty plate, gaze locked on Trent.

  Nobody spoke. Nobody even chewed a bite of food. I’d have heard them in the intense silence.

  Victoria’s words replayed through my brain in an endless loop while my stomach bounced up and down on the floor. Lindsay, we need to talk about your relationship with my husband.

  Trent?

  Had he lied about being divorced?

  Not Mr. By-The-Book.

  But that would explain his appearance during rush hour and his expression…bleak but determined.

  He wouldn’t have lied, but he could be wrong about being divorced. That’s been known to happen. Somebody thinks the proper documents were filed, but they weren’t.

  That didn’t seem likely either. He was a cop. He had access to all sorts of legal documents.

  Had he flown to Las Vegas last night, had too much to drink and…

  Not possible.

  I prayed it wasn’t possible.

  “Lindsay,” he said, “I hate to bother you, but we need to talk. In private.”

  Chapter Three

  We need to talk. In private.

  Nothing good ever begins with those words. They’re right up there with: May I see your driver’s license? Do you own a red Celica? Is this cat yours?

  I walked back to the kitchen on feet that weighed fifty pounds each.

  “Miss?” a customer called as I passed.

  I ignored him. My need to talk to Trent was greater than the customer’s need for chocolate.

  I entered the kitchen and turned to face Trent. He stepped inside but before the swinging doors closed behind him, that woman followed him in.

  Trent looked uncomfortable. I felt uncomfortable. Victoria clutched his arm and smiled. She looked completely comfortable.

  “Lindsay, this is Kathleen Gabler. Kathleen is my…” He stopped and cleared his throat.

  My own throat closed and my stomach knotted. His what? His wife?

  This could not be happening. Trusting Trent with my heart had not come easily after my experience with Rickhead. But I had finally given in, admitted to him and to myself that I loved him.

  “…my ex-wife,” he continued.

  Oh, God! He’d said it! She was his wife.

  No, that wasn’t what he said.

  “Your ex-wife? You’re already divorced?” That was good, wasn’t it? Though it still didn’t explain the marriage in the first place.

  Trent looked confused. “We’ve been divorced for years. You knew that.”

  “Oh. Yes. Your ex. Of course.” The one he’d dismissed so cavalierly when we first met.

  We got married, we lived together for three years, then we got a divorce and stopped living together. Well, actually it was the other way around. We stopped living together and then got a divorce.

  What had happened that he suddenly felt the need to introduce me to his ex? I swallowed and prepared to be polite. “Nice to meet you, Vic—I mean, Kathleen.” I considered extending my hand to see if she’d turn loose of Trent’s arm to shake it.

  Nah. Much as I wanted her to release Trent, my aversion to touching her was stronger.

  “I just got back in town yesterday.” She looked up at him adoringly. “We’ve
been getting reacquainted.”

  Trent blushed. A hardened cop blushed. Was he embarrassed because she was hanging onto him like a hungry person would hang onto one of my chocolate chip cookies or because I was watching her hanging onto him? “Kathleen’s been having some problems.” He cleared his throat again. “She came to me for help.”

  I crinkled my eyes and crunched my lips. I doubt my expression looked anything like a smile, and I didn’t care. “That’s nice.”

  “He is nice, isn’t he?” She turned her gaze from him to me, from adoring to triumphant. “Adam’s letting me stay with him.”

  Adam had a one-bedroom apartment. I glanced at the carving knife lying on the counter beside me.

  Trent wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders and looked down at her. Seriously? In front of me with a carving knife lying close enough to grasp? “I understand this is a really bad time, Kathleen, but it’s going to be all right.”

  She made a couple of sobbing noises though no tears marred her perfect eyelashes. God didn’t make those eyelashes. They were as phony as her boobs.

  Trent patted her shoulder. “Why don’t you wait in the other room? You don’t need to go through this.”

  I glanced in the direction of the knife.

  She shook her head and sniffled. “I have to face it sometime.”

  He pushed her away gently and reached into his jacket pocket. Was he pulling out his gun? I had only glanced at the knife. I hadn’t made any movement to pick it up. Surely he couldn’t read my mind.

  He withdrew an eight by ten photograph and extended it to me. “Do you know the man in this picture?”

  I was glad it wasn’t his gun, but it’s not a good thing when a homicide cop asks if you recognize someone in a picture.

  The photograph showed a smiling couple with palm trees and the ocean in the background.

  I recognized both of them.

  Ransom and the woman standing in front of me, the one holding my boyfriend’s arm.

  “Yes, I know him. It’s Ransom. He was a customer in here yesterday.” I looked at Trent. He wore his cop face, revealing nothing. “Did he do something wrong? He seemed like a nice man. He liked my chocolate.”

  That woman thrust herself between Trent and me. “He did a lot of things wrong. He beat me and threatened my life. He followed me from St. Louis. He was stalking me.”