Dangerously Dark (6 page)

If you think I was overreacting, well . . . maybe you're right. But you weren't there when Adrienne Dowling died. I was.

I still couldn't quit seeing Declan Murphy's yellow, frost-tinged face. It haunted me. I wanted to know more about him.

“If that's true”—
and Declan wanted bacon more than he wanted you
—“then maybe being ‘dumped' by Declan was the best thing that ever happened to you.” I raised my chocolate porter in a toast. “Good for you for rallying. That's not always easy.”

Janel's expression turned sardonic. “It's easier when the guy you're into turns out
not
to be who you thought he was.”

“Better to know sooner than later, though, right?” I have my share of exes. We're on friendly terms, but I've never had to deal with one of them being dead. I sobered. “I'm sorry, Janel. I don't mean to be flip. Sometimes I go glib under pressure.”

“Me too.” She clinked glasses with me, then drank.

I guessed we were all good. So . . . “It probably wouldn't have lasted between you and Declan, anyway,” I surmised with a nod at her telling T-shirt. “Him with the Meatpocalypse, you at the PETA rally. . . .” I paused, searching for an appropriate analogy.

But Janel was having none of it. “There's more to veganism than PETA, dude. It's about avoiding suffering, not ending fun.” As evidence, she lifted her (animal-free) rhubarb shrub.
Most liquor was indeed vegan,
I realized,
however accidentally.
More importantly, so was chocolate. Especially dark chocolate.

I felt a sudden craving to do something nice for the animal kingdom—such as snack on a scrumptious peppermint truffle.

“Okay, point made,” I said. “You must be a real rebel.”

Janel cocked her head at me, looking puzzled.

“Your Midwestern accent,” I clarified. “Wisconsin?”

“The land of cheese,” she confirmed with a laugh. “A lot of Portlanders are transplants to the area. My cheesehead parents still think not scarfing dairy is responsible for stunting my growth.” She caught my glance at her small stature and shook her head. “My mom is five-two, at most. My dad, five-eight. My short-but-deadly ways are all natural, dude. Believe me.”

“And Declan? Where was he from?” I asked casually, fishing for more. “Was he a ‘transplant,' too?”

Janel wasn't biting. “You were never with him, were you?” She studied me. “Why all the questions?”

No. That only made me sound paranoid, however true it was.

“Carissa is one of my oldest friends,” I said instead. Honestly. “I'm curious about the man she was going to marry.”

I stumbled over the sentence, remembering only too late that the wedding was now off. After Declan's tragic death, there wouldn't be any engagement party weekend. It would be canceled, starting with the gala engagement brunch that was supposed to take place—privately—at Muddle + Spade tomorrow morning.

Janel seemed taken aback. “Carissa didn't fill you in on Declan? I'm surprised she didn't tell you everything about him, right down to his preferred underwear style and size.”

I raised my eyebrows. Questioningly.

Janel played along. “Boxer briefs. Medium.”

I wasn't surprised she remembered. She seemed smart.

Shouldn't she have been more rancorous about her breakup with Declan, though? It was obvious she still had feelings for him. Her tears when she'd first said his name told me so.

“Carissa told me about Declan.”
But online isn't real life, and emails aren't heart-to-heart chats.
“But I was looking forward to meeting him in person.” I explained to Janel about my past with Carissa and our long-distance friendship. “I was looking forward to spending time with Carissa in person, too.”

I fell silent, realizing that might never happen now. At least not for a while. Carissa would doubtless be too upset to reminisce with me about our university days.

“That's handy,” Janel observed. “You being here just when Declan could use some advice from a veteran chocolate expert.”

To launch Chocolate After Dark,
I realized, catching her drift. As a transplant to the area, Janel was probably more cynical than the average earnest Oregonian. But I disagreed.

“I wasn't here for that. This was strictly a fun weekend for me. I'm here to support Carissa, not consult with anyone.”

“Hmm.” Janel seemed unconvinced. “Too bad for Declan.”

“You're not really suggesting that Carissa contacted me just to line up a free consultation for Declan, are you?”

I would have done Carissa that favor if she'd asked.

I figured there was no point beating around the bush with Janel. She and Danny weren't the only ones who could be forthright. I could be, too, given the right circumstances.

“Maybe. Did you know that you're the
only
one of Carissa's friends from college to be invited this weekend?” Janel studied me. “Don't you think that's weird? No childhood friends, no work colleagues—aside from us Cartoramians, of course—no cousins, no sorority sisters . . . No one else from Carissa's past was invited.”

“Well, she and Declan
did
get engaged in a hurry. They had a whirlwind romance.” I had to defend Carissa. I'm loyal to a fault. Just ask Danny. Or his former parole officer. Frankly, I wouldn't have invited Carissa's daffy sorority sisters, either. “Maybe Carissa didn't have time to organize anything bigger.”

Janel disagreed. “Carissa had time for everything that really mattered to her. Some of the time, it was Declan.”

Some of the time?
I silently repeated. Her resentful tone could not be missed.

On a ten-second delay, the obvious answer hit me.

“You weren't invited, either, were you?” I asked Janel in a gentle voice. I didn't want to hurt her. All I wanted was to find the truth. “That's why you're over here, all on your own.”

I was right about her. She was an outsider.

Janel raised her chin. “I'm ‘over here' because I'm busy.” She nodded at her laptop, books, and notebooks. “I have a lot to do, and not nearly enough time to do it all in. Especially now—”

“You're ‘over here' because you spent the night here last night, and you know it,” Tomasz interrupted, showing up with another chocolate porter for me and an expertly made rhubarb shrub for Janel. “This place is practically your second home.”

He gave us both a genial smile, then slid into the booth beside me. At his arrival, Janel brightened. I guess I wasn't the only one who found him attractive. But only one of us had actually
spent the night here last night, and you know it.

I was too busy boggling over Tomasz's casual statement to register anything else at first. Were he and Janel a twosome? Muddle + Spade was his place. If Janel had stayed at the bar last night, that definitely suggested they were an item.

And Janel had had the nerve to call Declan a “slut” a few minutes ago. It looked as though she got around herself.

A second later, Tomasz's warmth touched me. So did his left thigh. My thoughts scattered like chocolate jimmies on an ice-cream sundae. Maybe I was tipsy, but I knew what had to be done.

Reluctantly but responsibly, I slid away, moving a fraction closer to the wall. This was practically an improvised wake for Declan. I had to show some respect. Now wasn't the time to get all hot and bothered over a soulful bartender with perfectly groomed beard stubble and an excess of personal magnetism. No matter how much I wanted to. And I did want to. After all,
I
wasn't in mourning for Declan. I was just sad that he'd been lost so tragically. And suspiciously. I was more than ripe for distraction in the form of one Tomasz Berk. Starting now.

Have I mentioned I have a knack for procrastination?

It's possible that my ninja-level ability to stall on necessary tasks was working overtime just then. Because I was
supposed
to be getting ready to lead the Chocolate After Dark tour in a couple of days. It would have been sensible to leave Muddle + Spade and start preparing my tour guide patter. Or, given my concerns over encountering
another
potential crime scene, it might have been smart to investigate more diligently.

Say, by cornering Lauren Greene and questioning her.

Ogling Tomasz was a lot more fun, though. It was too bad he was (maybe) spoken for. I liked his shoulder-length bohemian hair. His oceanic blue eyes. And his knack for caretaking, too.

He must have noticed things were getting tense between me and Janel. So he'd whipped up some drinks and intervened.

Not that I minded. That chocolate porter was delicious.

He eyed us both with bonhomie. “What are we talking about?”

“Declan,” I said loudly, to be heard over the crowd.

“You and your excellent timing,” Janel wisecracked at the same time. She raised her shrub (containing fruity drinking vinegar spiked with spirits, in case you've never tried one) and nodded. “You're going to go broke spoiling us all, Berk.”

Aha.
No wonder Tomasz was well-liked in the neighborhood, if today's largesse was any indication of the kind of man he was. Everyone liked the guy who picked up the tab. I'd leaned on that shortcut myself a time or two, especially in the early days of my inheritance. I couldn't fault Tomasz for treating us.

Or Janel for appreciating the gesture. I didn't think she was wearing patched-up jeans with her piglet T-shirt as a fashion statement. I thought she was too thrifty to give up clothing that still (technically) functioned. I've been there.

Not recently, but still. I understood her position.

However (and more interestingly), Janel's use of that man-to-man nickname (Berk, the same as Austin had used) didn't sound romantic to me. It didn't sound like a pet name lovers would use, for instance. I felt more uncertain about them than ever. Seeing Tomasz and Janel together didn't enlighten me, either.

Her up-front demeanor didn't change. She didn't go all flirty and giggly, the way some women did when a man entered the picture. But maybe Janel was just too down-to-earth for that?

Tomasz nudged his knee almost imperceptibly closer to mine. That move was no accident. Neither was the way his gaze touched me. “It feels good to be generous,” he said with a shrug. “I like treating everyone. Here at Cartorama, we're a family.”

I scooted another inch farther away and distracted myself by thinking that it was a good thing Travis wasn't there. He would have pointed out to Tomasz that the members of a self-made “family” didn't qualify as tax-deductible dependents.

Sometimes my financial advisor can be a little
too
literal. Travis is lovable, anyway, though. He's always got my back.

Especially if I need advice on derivative instruments.

“Have you always been close at Cartorama?” I asked, tuning back into the conversation with another tasty sip of porter.

“Sure. For the most part. We were almost split up last year, though,” Tomasz confided, pulling a sad face. “A group of real-estate developers tried to buy out the property that all our food carts are parked on. They wanted to build one of those huge apartment complexes on our corner.” He aimed a grateful smile at Janel. “Janel led the effort to save us all.”

She actually blushed. I couldn't believe it. She got tongue-tied, too. “Well, maybe. I mean, okay, kind of,” Janel stammered. “I guess. But I couldn't let our stupid landlord sell out and take away my only means to see Declan, could I?”

I swear, my eyebrows reached my hairline. Janel noticed.

“Settle down, dude. He's on my mind today.
Obviously,
I meant my only means to get chocolate stuff at Cartorama.”

She gave a derisive snort, then gulped down some shrub.

I examined her a minute, then let it go. If she was obsessed with her ex-boyfriend, she wouldn't be the only one. Oftentimes people have trouble letting go of lost relationships.

I wasn't immune myself. I'd hung onto Carissa all these years, hadn't I?

I wondered how she was doing. If her parents were with her.

But we'd been apart for too long for me to be the one to lead the charge to her doorstep with a wreath of flowers and a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. We weren't that close anymore.

“How did you stop the developers?” I asked instead.

“Petitions. Protests. Media pressure.” Tomasz ticked off those tactics on his fingertips—his evocative, skilled-looking fingertips. “The usual. Oregonians have a history of battling unwanted developments and winning—if properly led, of course.”

His affectionate glance at Janel was ambiguous at best. I still couldn't tell if they were more than friends.

“Our landlord was hard to get to—they're a consortium called Common Grounds, not really a single person we could target. The whole thing dragged on awhile,” Janel told me. “We were all pretty nervous. Vendors rely on cheap rents for spaces to park their food carts. If they had to pay the full costs of running traditional restaurants, most of them wouldn't make it.”

Tomasz nodded, glancing somberly between the two of us.

I was glad for them, but... “The land must be worth a lot more now than it used to be, though,” I pointed out, remembering all the construction I'd seen earlier. “I can't believe your landlord didn't decide to cash in. This area is booming.”