Dark Chocolate Murder (23 page)

Stiffly, he walked over to the nightstand where a remote control perched.  He mechanically switched on the television, flipping through the channels as Juliette
shot him a rebuke.  “Turn that off!  How can you even think about watching TV right now?!”

“Be quiet, Juliette!” Pierre ordered, turning up the volume as a run-down of the
day’s news flashed on the screen.

A mug shot of Philippe Debauche appeared above a caption that read:
Double Chocolate Murderer Finally Caught
.  “Well it’s about damn time! They finally figured out who they really need to put behind bars! But where is my Belinda now?” Pierre hissed.  Urgently, he cranked up the volume, holding his breath as the reporter told the story of how Philippe had briefly held Belinda hostage on the street and stabbed her in the neck before finally being surmounted by police.

“Oh my God! Did you hear that? 
That thug stabbed Belinda!  I have to get to her!” Pierre raced to the door and grabbed Juliette by the shoulders as she tried to prevent him from leaving.

“You’re not leaving me alone with our son in this condition!  Don’t you know how to be a good parent?!” She screamed irrationally.

Pierre shot her a deadly glare, astonished by her audacity.  “You’re criticizing my parenting skills? 
You
?  The drama queen who couldn’t exit center stage even for the first few years of her baby’s life?  I have been both father and mother to Marc.  He barely knows who you are.  When he wakes up, I don’t even know if he’ll recognize you.” He finished his statement with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders like she didn’t matter at all.

Juliette bit her lip angrily, bitter tears streaking down her mascara-stained face.  “You have no right to talk to me like that!  Just because you’re the one with custody of our son doesn’t mean you’re the only one who matters!”

A soft knock at the door and a conspicuous clearing of the throat interrupted the former couple’s spat.  Pierre and Juliette turned in unison to greet a somber-faced nurse with a thermometer in her hand.  “I’ve come to check on your boy,
Monsieur et Madame
.  I see he’s still sleeping.”

“Yes,” Pierre and Juliette replied at the same time before exchanging a mutual glower.  Pierre boldly spoke up, “Yes, nurse, Marc is still asleep.  But he seems more peaceful now.  Before he was delirious and tossing and turning.”

“And mumbling?” The nurse surmised.

“Mumbling incoherent things
in his sleep,” Pierre detailed.

“That’s what the fever does.  I
f he’s peaceful now, that could be a very good sign.  I don’t want to get your hopes up, but all his tests so far have come back negative.  We can’t find anything wrong with him other than the chicken pox and the high fever.” The nurse hovered over Marc’s bed, raising the boy’s limp arm and inserting the thermometer in the crevice.  A few seconds later, she retrieved the thermometer and smiled.  “99.4 degrees.  That’s a low grade fever!  He’s out of the danger zone!”

Pierre felt his knees buckle as his heart pondered the joyful news. Releasing a torrent of tears that had been building up since Marc had
entered the hospital, Pierre put a grateful arm around the nurse.  “
Merci beaucoup.  Ah, mon Dieu
!  Thank you so much!  My boy is going to be okay!  He’s going to be okay!” Pierre shouted jubilantly, tempted to jump up and down right there on the hospital floor.  Juliette, meanwhile, stood a distance from her son’s bed, staring off into space again.

The smiling nurse sobered as she cautioned, “Yes, I do believe this is a very encouraging sign that Marc will be okay.  But you must let him continue to rest.  I’m sure the doctor will want to keep him at least one, maybe two, more nights after the ordeal the child has been through.”

“Of course!  I’m not trying to check Marc out of the hospital!  I’m just so happy, so relieved…” Pierre’s deep voice cracked and he faltered, placing a gentle hand on Marc’s forehead.

The nurse wrapped Marc more snugly in his blankets and explained, “It’s crucial to keep him warm now as his body temperature is dropping.”

Pierre nodded before venturing, “Nurse, could you tell me if another patient, Belinda Rockland, has been admitted to the hospital?” From the periphery of his vision, Pierre could see the murderous gleam in Juliette’s bloodshot eyes, but he ignored her.

“
Ah oui!
  That poor woman they accused of being the chocolate murderer!  That’s all anyone in the hospital is talking about.  She was in the emergency room earlier tonight, but now I think they’ve moved her to intensive care,” the nurse informed proudly, apparently excited to be part of such an infamous criminal case.

“Thank you,” Pierre whispered gravely before bolting out of the room and stomping furiously over to the elevator.  “Come on, come on!” He gritted impatiently, pressing both the up and down buttons outside the elevator.

Unwilling to wait another moment to be at Belinda’s side, he raced to a stairwell, grabbing a map of the hospital.  In his haste, Pierre tripped over two stairs and flew with a heavy thud onto the landing.  “
Merde
!” He swore as his lower back slammed into the hard tiled floor.  Scrambling to his feet, he hurried down another flight of stairs until he reached the floor where the intensive care unit was located.

Completely winded, he gasped for breath as he implored the first nurse he passed, “Belinda Rockland?  Where----where is she?”

Startled, the young, mousy haired nurse pointed down the corridor as Pierre took off in that direction.  Nearly running down a man on crutches, he reached the corridor and peered inside every room.  It was now well past two in the morning, and the entire ward was silent except for the insistent footsteps of the nurse who had indicated where to find Belinda.

“
Monsieur, Monsieur
, wait!  You can’t be here right now.  Visiting hours will resume tomorrow morning at 9:00,” the frazzled nurse said while chasing after Pierre.  When he didn’t heed her instructions, she ran faster and said urgently, “Please,
Monsieur
!  You’ll get me in trouble!  I was not even supposed to tell you where the patient’s room is, but you caught me by surprise!”

Pierre didn’t slow down but instead continued his perusal of every room in the corridor.  As he frantically searched for Belinda, he clipped, “I’m not dangerous! Just here to see my girlfriend!”

A heavy iron door separated one half of the corridor from the other.  As the nurse shouted for him not to go through that door, Pierre yanked on the knob and ran through.  This half of the hallway was abuzz with sounds and activity.  Pierre frowned as he saw a throng of reporters with microphones and video cameras surrounding a room at the end of the hallway.  Immediately, he knew that the media circus was stationed outside of Belinda’s hospital room.

Protectively, Pierre pushed his way through the hungry circle of journalists and blockaded Belinda’s room with his body.  A white-robed doctor stood in the middle of the media mob, urging them to come back in the morning.  But the journalists persisted, throwing invasive questions at the doctor and trying to bypass Pierre to enter the hospital room.

Making himself a human shield, Pierre gripped either side of the doorway and stood spread eagle, his strong legs creating an impassable barrier.  From the doorway, he could hear Belinda murmuring in her bed.  Quickly, he ran into the room and slammed the door shut, pressing a chair against the door to prevent the reporters from entering.

“This isn’t entertainment! Get out of here!” Pierre shouted.

Belinda’s eyes snapped open after hearing Pierre’s outburst.  Disoriented, she looked frantically around her, instantly calmed when she recognized her lover’s face.  Cautiously, she tried to sit up in bed, but immediately collapsed against the pillows, still too weak to hold her head up.

“Yes, lay down, Belinda.  Don’t try to do anything.  You need to recover,” Pierre soothed, sitting at her bedside and taking her hand.

“He stabbed me.  That monster Philippe Debauche, he stabbed me,” Belinda muttered, her mind feeling cloudy from the pain medication she had received.

Pierre grimaced, wishing Debauche were in front of him so he could wring his puny neck. 
Caressing Belinda’s soft hand, he vowed to pay the low life a visit in prison and give him a piece of his mind.  He wouldn’t be able to get his hands on the rodent, but at least he could force him psychologically to be accountable for his misdeeds.

“I know, sweetheart.  But he can never hurt you or anyone else again.  He’s going to spend the rest of his miserable life in prison.  I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to stop him from hurting you,” Pierre said, mentally tormenting himself for not doing a better job of keeping his beloved safe.

“No, you had to be with Marc.  How is he, Pierre?  Please tell me he’s okay now.”

Pierre smiled wanly and replied, “As a matter of fact, he is okay.  His fever finally broke and he’s resting comfortably.  We should be able to take him home within a couple of days.”

Belinda winced at the mention of “we” as she wondered who Pierre was referring to.  Him and her?  Or him and Juliette?  Her features scrunched up in dismay, and Pierre mistook her expression for physical discomfort.

“Sweetheart, are you in pain?  Do you need more painkillers?” He asked with deep concern.

“No, I’m fine.  I was just wondering who you meant when you said ‘we.’”

“You and me of course!” Pierre replied like a reflex.  Seeing his Belinda in this fragile condition after a tumultuous separation made him want to gather her up i
nto his arms and take him to his house right now.

“Oh.  But Juliette seemed so---jealous.  Is she still in love with you?” Belinda ventured, the words leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

Pierre laughed heartily.  “No, she is definitely not in love with me! What you witnessed was classic Juliette.  I even told her myself tonight that she’s a drama queen.  She thrives on being the center of attention.  She’s an actress in every aspect of her life, and she can’t bear to be upstaged.  Your beauty and the love I feel for you threatened her ego.  But that’s all it is.  Pure ego.  And those were crocodile tears she shed.”

Belinda wasn’t fully convinced but she pursued the subject no further.  “When am I going to be getting out of here?”

“When you’re well enough,” came Pierre’s stern reply.  “There’s no rush. I’ll be spending all my time in the hospital going back and forth between your room and Marc’s until you’re both released.”

“You’re a good man,” Belinda whispered, her hazel eyes warming to a
cappuccino shade as she gazed at him.  Smirking, she admitted, “When I first met you, I thought you were an insatiable rogue!”

“Well, I am,” Pierre chuckled, “Insatiable, that is.”

“Yes, you certainly are! I’ve missed you.  How many days has it been?” Belinda asked, not even sure of what the current day was.

“Too many,” Pierre whispered, softly kissing her on the lips before retreating and staring angrily at the bandage on her neck.  “Are you hurting?”

“Not anymore.  Now that you’re here, all my pain is gone,” Belinda sighed, drawing Pierre’s face down to hers for another kiss.

Outside, a collection of fists pummeled the door as the reporters still fought to get in.  Belinda pulled back, frightened by the noise.  “Pierre, who’s pounding on the door like that?”

Tightly, he replied, “Those TV reporters!  They’re trying to break into your room to get a story.  I don’t know why the hospital hasn’t called the police.  I’ll have to do it for them,” Pierre whipped out his mobile phone and dialed the police.

Belinda wore a half-amused look on her face as she pondered, “So I’m still famous?  First, everyone thought I was a murderer!  Now I’m just some poor woman lying injured in a hospital bed!”

“You’re not ‘just’ anything, Belinda Rockland.  You are the love of my life.  And get used to me because I will never leave your side again.”

Chapter
Eighteen

The seaside promenade was peopled with
dog walkers, children, and romancing couples.  As a vermilion sunset bled across the sky, Pierre and Belinda strolled hand in hand along the
Promenade des Anglais
.  The summer air was crisp and the horizon bathed in varying pastel shades reminiscent of a nineteenth century painting.

“I didn’t think it was possible to see a more beautiful place than the ones you’ve taken me to already, b
ut this walkway is absolutely dazzling.” Belinda looked up at Pierre with shining eyes as he intensely returned her gaze.

“This promenade is famous.  French painters like Marc Chagall and Henri Matisse have walked here and created paintings inspired by this scenery,” Pierre
educated Belinda as she listened avidly.

“My f
irst art history lesson.  I love it!” Belinda giggled into Pierre’s ear as he moved his hand to her waist.

“I just like that you’re her
e with me and feeling better,” he murmured.

In the two
weeks since Belinda and Marc had been released from the hospital, both had made tremendous strides towards recovery.  Marc was a fresh little boy bearing no sign of his prior illness and possessing only vague memories of the ordeal. With the exception of minor soreness and a light scar at the spot where Philippe’s knife had grazed her, Belinda was also feeling brand new.