Death of a Chocolate Cheater: A Food Festival Mystery (3 page)

Talk about bouncing back. What was going on behind those Kewpie-doll eyes of hers? Had her
relationship with George years ago really been more than just friendship? Did she still have feelings for him? If her reaction to the news that the new judge, Polly Montgomery, had hooked up with her old flame, George Brown, was a barometer of her feelings, she was making a serious effort not to let them show.

And if the restaurant world was as interconnected as it appeared to be, the chocolate community was even more so. Just like Cabot Cove.

The theme song from
Murder, She Wrote
played in my head the rest of the day. I wondered if George’s death had anything to do with my earworm. Had he really died accidentally, as reported? Or was it something else, as Aunt Abby seemed to suspect?

My thoughts jumped around like popping popcorn. George’s tragic death. His sudden replacement. The uncompromised competition. And now that my nemesis, Polly Montgomery, was to be the new festival judge, was I jeopardizing my aunt’s chances of winning if Polly found out I was part of Aunt Abby’s team? The woman clearly didn’t like me or the pen I wrote with.

Maybe I should take a clue from one of Dillon’s amateur spy tricks and wear a disguise to the Chocolate Festival. Dillon had a penchant for dressing up like Inspector Clouseau, if not Inspector Gadget, anytime he felt especially paranoid. But I had a feeling I’d just look silly wearing a deerstalker cap and a London Fog trench coat to the event. What would Jessica Fletcher do?

Exhausted by the time we had served our last customer and closed the counter window around four, I
was really looking forward to relaxing with Jake. I’d missed him the past few weeks and hoped we could pick up where we left off. Besides, I craved another one of those new cream puffs he was entering in the contest. Hmm. Maybe if I ate up all of his supply he wouldn’t have any left to submit for competition.

Bad Darcy.

“Quitting time!” Aunt Abby sang out, removing her chili-encrusted apron and dropping it into the portable mesh laundry basket. “I’m making a caprese pizza tonight. Hope you didn’t nibble all day.”

I took off my apron and tossed it on top of Aunt Abby’s. “Actually, I have plans after work.”

“With Jake?” she asked with a bright grin.

Nothing gets past my aunt.

“We’re just having a drink. Maybe go to dinner afterward. I’m not sure yet.” I felt my face flush. “No big deal.”

“Well, it sounds lovely. I was beginning to wonder if you two were still an item.”

“An item?” I repeated with a laugh. “You sound like a gossip columnist from the fifties. I told you, we’re just friends.”

“With benefits?” she asked, her grin widening.

“Aunt Abby! First you talk like a retro news gal; then you switch to teenage slang.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, eyeing me.

I shook my head.

“Just so you know, I have a sense about these things,” she said.

“Yeah, as I recall, you had the same sense about Dillon and that hippy girl he was seeing in college. What did she call herself? Stormy Mountain? Steamy Magpie?”

“Starry Meadow.”

“Yeah, how did that work out?” Before she could answer, I added, “And by the way, where
is
your wayward son? He left right after the lunch rush to get a coffee and never came back.”

“I told him he could take the rest of the afternoon off. Mondays are slow here, and I figured we could handle it. Besides, he’s doing some more digging for me.”

Hacking was more likely, I thought, but bit my tongue. “What’s he looking for now?”

She shrugged. “Just stuff—”

Something caught Aunt Abby’s eye, and she leaned over to have a better look through the school-bus window. After a moment she pulled back, then glanced at me, her mascaraed lashes fluttering madly. Something was up.

I leaned over to see what had shut her up and caused her eyelashes to flap like startled butterflies.

It wasn’t hard to miss.

Jake stood outside his truck talking to a woman. She was drop-dead gorgeous, with long blond hair, expert makeup, and a stylish suit made to fit her perfect curves. It took me a moment before I realized she looked familiar. I recognized Lyla Vassar, one of the feature reporters on Channel 2. She was talking animatedly to Jake.

Uh-oh.

Was she planning to do a special feature on Jake’s Dream Puff truck for the upcoming Chocolate Festival?

Not fair.

Aunt Abby and I continued to spy on the two of them. I wondered what Lyla was saying to Jake but couldn’t hear anything, thanks to the rumble of the food truck motors. Before I could sneak out and listen in, Lyla took a step closer to Jake. I froze as she laid a perfectly manicured hand on his chest. Then she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek!

I felt my stomach drop, along with my jaw.

Since when did TV interviewers kiss their prospective interviewees?

I glanced over at Aunt Abby, who was standing behind me, watching the scene unfold.

She gave me a pitying look and placed her hand on my back. “Darcy, I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”

I stepped away from the window, unable to watch any more.

Aunt Abby continued to peer out. “She’s leaving,” she whispered, as if the couple might overhear her. Before I could see for myself, my cell phone rang.

The caller ID read J
AKE
M
ILLER.

I hesitated before answering, not sure I wanted to talk to him at the moment. I glanced out to see if Lyla was still there, but she was gone. Finally I took the call.

“Hello?” I said, unable to muster up any cheerfulness in my voice.

“Darcy?” came Jake’s low, sexy voice.

“Oh, hi, Jake,” I said, trying to sound casual, if not
completely disinterested. He’d just have to work harder if he still wanted that after-work drink and possible dinner we had planned. It was his punishment for flirting with Drop-Dead Gorgeous.

“Hi, listen, uh, something’s come up. Sorry, but I have to cancel tonight. Rain check?”

My hands turned cold. My stomach dropped. I pressed my lips together. He was actually canceling our plans.

“Oh, sure. I understand,” I lied. “Another time.”

“Soon, I promise,” he said. That was probably a lie too.

“No problem. See you later.” I ended the call and stared at the phone as if it were a Ouija board about to give me an answer to my question.

What was up with Dream Puff Jake Miller and Drop-Dead-Gorgeous Lyla Vassar?

“You okay?” Aunt Abby asked.

“Of course,” I said, trying to hide my feelings after seeing Jake’s flirtation with Lyla and his cancellation of our date. He and I didn’t have any kind of understanding, much less a commitment. We’d been on a few dates, kissed a few times. I’d wanted to take it slowly after my breakup with Trevor the Tool. Had I blown it?

“I guess I’ll take you up on that dinner offer, after all,” I said glumly to my aunt. “I’ll see you at home.”

She patted my back but said nothing. I glanced out the window to make sure the coast was clear—I wasn’t in the mood to run into Jake after his phone call. And I sure didn’t want to see his hot blonde. Awk-ward.

I made a dash for my car in the adjacent parking lot,
feeling wiped out physically, mentally, and emotionally. It had been a long day in the close confines of the school bus, feeding hungry patrons. I felt let down by Jake’s cancellation. And I was worried that my old feud with Polly Montgomery might affect Aunt Abby’s chances in the competition. I hoped a big glass of red wine, half a gourmet pizza, and a few whoopie pies would soothe my aching body and soul. Make that a half bottle of wine.

When I reached my VW Bug, I found a small white box on my windshield. I checked the area for lurkers, but no one was around. Hesitantly, I opened the box and found a lemon meringue cream puff and a folded note inside. I took out the note and read it:

Darcy, sorry again about having to cancel. I was looking forward to seeing you. I’ve missed you. I can’t explain now, but I’ve been dealing with something that’s taking up a lot of my free time. Hope to see you soon.

—Jake.

I smiled at the bittersweet note. Jake sounded sincere, and I wanted to believe him. But I couldn’t shake the image of that woman touching him, kissing him, and even a dozen cream puffs wouldn’t stop me from wondering what was going on. I assumed it had something to do with Lyla Vassar. Maybe she
was
doing a feature on him, but that kiss didn’t look like a thank-you peck.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of
the woman who had been flirting with Jake. She was texting on her phone, just outside her late-model BMW, so I got in my car and watched her from a distance. She frowned as she typed in her message, her demeanor completely different from the one she presented to Jake. I wondered what she was typing—and to whom—and imagined it had something to do with her encounter with Jake.

Finally, she put the phone in her purse and got into her car. With a quick look around, she backed out of the parking spot, then started driving forward.

She was headed right for me.

I ducked down like an idiot as she approached, but it was too late. She’d caught me staring at her. I was certain she would stop her car and confront me, but instead I heard her rev her motor and drive off.

Well played, Darcy,
I scolded myself. She’ll probably text Jake and ask him why that woman from the school-bus truck was spying on her in the parking lot just before she tried to duck down out of sight. I felt a wave of embarrassment pass through me.

Enough!
I told myself. I started the car, backed out of the spot, and headed for the safety of my Airstream home so I could take a long, hot shower and get started on that bottle of wine. Maybe that would help me wash down the bittersweet cream puff from Jake.

*   *   *

Dillon was sitting at the table with his laptop when I entered Abby’s home through the back sliding-glass door. I rarely saw him without an electronic device, except when he was helping Aunt Abby in the school bus.
Even then he brought his laptop and cell phone with him and checked them every chance he got.

“Darcy!” Aunt Abby exclaimed from the kitchen, as if she hadn’t seen me in years.

She came over and gave me a big hug, followed at her feet by Basil, her Doxie, who barked a greeting. She cleared her throat to get Dillon’s attention. He grunted “Hey,” while keeping his eyes on the laptop screen. I sat down across from him, setting the small box with the untouched cream puff on the table. Aunt Abby immediately brought me a glass of Tournesol merlot—her favorite Napa Valley wine. I was tempted to chug it but didn’t want my aunt and cousin to think I had a drinking problem.

“Thanks, Aunt Abby. Smells good in here.”

“The pizza is just about ready. Enjoy your wine. Dillon has something to share with you—don’t you, Dillon?” She rested a hand on his shoulder. Basil barked again.

Dillon blinked as if he were coming out of a trance and looked up at me. “Oh, uh, well. I’ve been doing some more research about the contest.”

“You’re calling it research now?”

“Dude,” Dillon said, “if you knew how easy it is to breach someone’s password, you’d be surprised.”

“Okay, okay, you’re a genius. So did you find out anything else on the judges that can help us with the competition?” I took a sip of wine and felt my legs and arms begin to melt.

“Not about the judges,” he said. “But I did find out a few things about the other contestants.”

I sat up straighter. “Really? You know who they are? I didn’t think they were going to announce them until the night before the competition, at the preview party.”

Dillon smiled. He could be so smug.

“All right, so what did you find out?” I asked, intrigued.

“It’ll cost you that cream puff over there.” He pointed to the box on the table that Jake had left for me at my car.

“How do you know it’s a cream puff?” I asked.

He pointed to the printing on the box that read D
REAM
P
UFFS
. “Duh.”

“Fine,” I said. I hadn’t had the stomach to eat it, nor the heart to throw it away. Now I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. I pushed it over to him.

“Okay,” Dillon said, happy with his payment. “Like, there are five other contestants besides Mom and Jake. Ever heard of Frankie Nudo from Choco-Cheese Delights?”

I shook my head at both the name and the thought of chocolate and cheese combined. Maybe I didn’t know what I was missing.

“Frankie’s quite a character,” Aunt Abby said. “He’s divorced—something about his wife caught him cheating.”

“You know him?” I asked, surprised at the number of people Aunt Abby had met after starting her food truck business.

“Like I said, it’s a small community. Especially among the chocolate people. Frankie was one of the first to combine chocolate with cheese, and it’s become
quite popular. Isn’t it amazing how many foods taste better with a chocolate coating?”

I nodded. “Do you think he has a chance of winning?” I asked.

Aunt Abby shrugged. “Probably not. While some people like the combination of chocolate and cheese, most are like you and won’t even try it. I think you have to have a sophisticated palate to enjoy chocolate-covered Brie, you know?”

“Yuck,” Dillon said simply. “Sounds disgusting. I wouldn’t eat American cheese dipped in chocolate, let alone something like moldy old Brie.”

“That’s good mold, Dillon,” Aunt Abby said. “It’s called
Penicillium candidum
. The bacteria seep into the cheese and turn it into a wonderful, soft, tasty delicacy.”

“A good mold?” he protested. “Right.”

“It’s true,” Aunt Abby confirmed. “There are good molds, like the ones covering soft cheese, and bad molds, like on bread, which create toxins that will make you sick. When in doubt, throw it out, I always say. But not Brie.”

“I’m still not going to eat it,” Dillon said. “Let’s move on. Next, there’s Harrison Tofflemire from Chocolate Falls. His company makes those chocolate waterfall thingies.”

“Chocolate Falls? I love those gizmos!” Aunt Abby interrupted. “That’s the fastest and easiest way to cover foods with chocolate—strawberries, caramels, marshmallows, bacon.”

Dillon winced at the bacon reference. “Anyway, he’s gotten rich off them. Claims he invented them and he
sues anyone who’s tried to copy him. From his Chocolate Falls website, he sounds like a jerk. Whenever he gets a complaint in the comments section, he makes the person sound like an idiot, like whatever is wrong with the thing is the user’s fault.”

“Really?” Aunt Abby said.