The Diva Steals a Chocolate Kiss (8 page)

Dear Sophie,

My girlfriend and I have a bet about which country produces the finest chocolates. I say it’s Germany, and she thinks it’s England. Who’s right?

—Chocoholic in London, Ohio

Dear Chocoholic,

The two countries that vie for the title of best chocolate are Belgium and Switzerland.

—Sophie

“Are you sure?” Nonni had been clear as a bell so far. But now I had to wonder if she was confused.

“I recognize him. Coco, too.”

“But his wallet. Didn’t his identification say Arnaud Turnèbe?”

Nonni shrugged. “He is Arnie Turner from England.
Many, many years ago he was in love with Coco. He left her, breaking her heart. But now he comes back! Surely out of love for Coco, but he is killed, and their love will never be.”

“That’s so sad!” Nina sagged in her chair. “Imagine the love of your life coming back for you after all those years. But now he’s dead.”

“Is tragedy,” Nonni shook her head.

For a minute, I thought Nina might cry. I wasn’t quite as moved. Of course, I’d had a slightly different experience with Arnie, if that was his name. Granted, he was mightily intoxicated, but I had to wonder if a man who returned to see his long-lost love would have bothered trying to pick up a stranger in a hotel.

“How do you know the dead man is Arnie?”

“He look like Arnie. Older, no more beautiful blond hair. Big belly.” She smiled. “Not the pretty Adonis of his youth. But Coco isn’t the slender signorina she was, either.”

Nonni stretched her arm toward me and clasped my hand in hers. “For me and for Coco. You find Arnie’s killer. Yes?”

“Sophie, we have to.” Nina cocked her head like a puppy pleading with me.

Nonni and Nina were incurable romantics. I didn’t dare tell Nonni how Arnie had acted toward me. There was no point in ruining her fond memories of him.

I didn’t want to upset her more, but the odds were pretty good that a family member had offed Arnie.

I swear a mischievous twinkle came to Nonni’s eyes. “The policeman, he likes you. I see it in his face.”

Nina burst out laughing. “They used to date.”

“He likes her cooking. This is how I won my husband. I make you a deal, Sofia. You help me find Arnie’s killer and my Joe, and I teach you to make tiramisu.”

How could a girl pass up an offer like that?

Nina nearly bounced out of her chair. “Yes!”

“You don’t even cook,” I pointed out.

Nina eyed me. “But I eat.”

I made sure Nonni knew I wasn’t a professional, she wasn’t hiring me to do anything, and that sometimes the truth wasn’t what we wanted to hear.

In the end, I agreed to do a little snooping around. Who could possibly turn down that adorable little lady?

By the time we were finished, the sun was high in the sky, and it was way too hot for her to walk home. I insisted on giving her a lift.

Before we reached Joe’s house, Nonni made me stop the car.

“I walk from here.”

“I can drive you right up to the house, Nonni.”

She clutched my hand with cool fingers. “Is better if Coco does not see me with you.”

“Does she live at Joe’s house?”

“No. But she is always around—and she might be upset that I tell you the story of Arnie.”

She hopped out and waved good-bye.

As I drove home, I considered the situation. It seemed to me that in order to find out who might have had a beef with Arnaud or Arnie, I should find out for sure if he even was Arnie. Nonni could very well be mistaken.

I drove home, parked the car, and trotted across the street to the house catty-corner from mine. Bernie must have seen me coming. He opened his front door before I could knock.

“To what do I owe this lovely visit?” He bowed and gestured for me to enter with a graceful swing of his arm.

“I guess you heard about Arnaud Turnèbe?”

“An ugly business, that. He seemed a decent chap. We spoke for a bit at the tasting last night. He was supposed to come by the restaurant for dinner tonight.”

I followed Bernie into his kitchen.

“Iced coffee?” he asked. “I was just making some for myself.”

“Sounds perfect. Bernie, I realize this will sound insane,
but when you talked with him, did you think he was Belgian?”

“Funny you should ask that. He mentioned spending a lot of time in England. Knew some of the places I like in London. I thought it was because he had a store there.”

“Any chance he was really a Brit?”

Bernie ran a hand through his sandy hair, ruffling it. “You mean faking the Belgian accent?”

“I guess so. It sounded French to me.”

Bernie handed me a tall glass of iced coffee and led the way to the shady side of the porch that wrapped around his house. We settled into rocking chairs, watching the world go by from a slightly elevated viewpoint. His three cats lounged on the railing.

“Arnaud used some words that Americans don’t typically say. He called potato chips
crisps
, for instance. But I assumed that came from spending more time in England than in the United States.”

“You were talking about potato chips?”

“He said it’s all the rage to mix them into chocolate. You know, that sweet-and-salty thing that’s so popular.”

“Do you know anything about changing a name in England?”

“I don’t recall it being a big deal. My mom went through quite a few surnames what with all her marriages.”

“So Arnie could have just called himself Arnaud Turnèbe.” I slumped a little bit. “How will I ever be able to confirm that?”

“Let me get this straight. You think Arnaud was British, not Belgian, and that his name was really Arnie?”

“Right.”

“You could ask Wolf.”

“Like he would tell me.”

“He will when it’s public knowledge.”

I sat up straight. “You know what? I’m not sure it matters.
If Nonni and Coco think he was Arnie Turner, then other people probably did as well.”

“Good point. People have been killed before because of a mistaken identity. Wonder if he has a British passport?”

I emptied my glass. “Feel like taking a walk down to Célébration de Chocolat with me? I bet some of the employees are gathering there today as they hear the news.”

“You’re on. Scoop up Snowball, and I’ll bring in the other two pusses. I don’t like to leave them outside when I’m not home.”

Snowball, Bernie’s long-haired white cat, stared at me with big blue eyes but didn’t protest when I picked him up. In fact, I thought he might have been happy to sit on my lap and snuggle with me.

With the cats safely indoors, Bernie locked up, and we walked down the steps to the street.

Nina ran toward us from my house. “Sophie! Sophie!”

She caught up to us and bent over panting. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Her chest still heaved when she straightened up. “I think I know where Joe is!”

Dear Sophie,

I went to a lot of trouble to bake a German Chocolate Cake for my new mother-in-law, who is from Germany. She was very complimentary but insists that there is nothing German about German Chocolate Cake! Is she already jerking me around or is she off her rocker?

—New Bride in Germantown, Tennessee

Dear New Bride,

She isn’t jerking you around, nor is she loony. It was originally called German’s Chocolate Cake in honor of Sam German, who developed a dark baking chocolate. The possessive
S
in
German’s
has been dropped, leading many to think it’s a cake of German origin when it was actually the creation of Mrs. George Clay of Dallas.

—Sophie

“Now promise you won’t be mad at me.” Nina tilted her head.

“That’s a fine way to start,” I grumbled. “What did you do?”

“Remember when you sent me into Joe’s house with the signs?”

I nodded.

“Well, I might have sneaked up the stairs for a little peek.”

“Nina!”

“Don’t get upset. Nobody saw me. Although Dan’s girlfriend, Stella, nearly caught me. But maybe it was a good thing I snooped because I think they’ve locked up Joe!”

“Right,” I said sarcastically. “Why would they lock him up?”

“I don’t know
why
. I’m just saying that they have someone locked in a room upstairs.”

“You tried the doorknob to go into a room?”

“See? There you go making it sound like I did something awful when it was really quite innocent. I just wanted to peek in the bedroom. I dodged into another room when Stella walked out. But when she went downstairs, the door was locked, and I’m certain I heard someone inside.”

“Maybe it was someone who was changing clothes, Dan for instance, and was saying ‘go away,’” suggested Bernie.

“It wasn’t like that. More like someone moving around. I didn’t really think much of it at the time. I was more concerned about being caught, so when I heard the noise inside the room, I skedaddled back downstairs fast. I didn’t give it any more thought until this morning.”

I frowned at her. “But that doesn’t make sense. If they know where he is, why would Coco be so upset? Why would Mitch ask me to find him?”

“Unless Coco is upset because she’s afraid someone will find out,” suggested Nina. “Or maybe Mitch doesn’t know that Nonni locked Joe in a room.”

“Nina! She’s the cutest little old lady. Nonni wouldn’t do
anything like that. Besides, that would mean Coco was playacting the whole time. Somehow, I doubt she’s that good an actress.”

Bernie squeezed one eye almost closed. “How do you know it wasn’t their dog or cat? They might have locked him in for the party so no one would accidentally let him out.”

“That’s right! They have that beautiful Maine coon cat. I saw him after everyone left but not during the tasting. I bet that’s it.” I let out a big breath of air. “You had me scared for a moment!”

Nina sagged. “You’re probably right. But I still think we should find a way to sneak into the house and see. Just to be sure.”

Bernie pretended to knock on a door. “’Ello, Mrs. Ross. Confined Person Inspector here. I’ve just dropped by to see if your old dad is still locked up.”

Nina wrinkled her nose at him. “All I know is that Joe is missing and something was locked in a room upstairs. Sophie can figure out some way to get inside.”

“Sophie will do no such thing,” I said. “We’re headed over to Célébration de Chocolat. Want to come?”

Nina checked her watch. “Sure. I’m picking up a foster dog in an hour, but she’s in that direction.”

We walked the few blocks. A crowd gathered around the store. Above their heads, cream lettering on a dark chocolate background proclaimed
Célébration de Chocolat
.

People murmured reverently. I heard a few people ask if the store would still open. No one seemed to know.

We wiggled our way through the little crowd. I gazed through the glass door in search of an employee. Nothing moved. The interior colors were reversed. Cream walls and cases showed off an incredible selection of chocolates. Simple shelves on the walls held chocolate-shaped dogs and bunnies as well as chocolate bars in brightly colored wrappers. The most amazing part of the shop, though, was the glass cases where chocolates were displayed in a seemingly
endless variety of shapes. It appeared they were ready to open the door and sell their wares.

Bernie nudged me.

I looked where he was pointing. A sign on the front window read
Monday’s Grand Opening has been cancelled.

“He died two days before he opened the shop,” said Bernie.

“Kind of makes you wonder if someone wanted to prevent him from opening. A rival, perhaps . . .” whispered Nina. And then she squealed.

Still whispering, she tugged on the tail of my blouse. “Sophie! Don’t those look an awful lot like the chocolates you’ve been getting?”

They did. A chill shuttled over me. “So the chocolates were a promotional thing after all?”

“Why didn’t he label the chocolates?” asked Nina.

“Nonni and Coco must have recognized Arnie’s chocolates at my house. That’s what they were talking about in their kitchen yesterday. They knew he was here. They just didn’t know Arnie was Arnaud.”

“Looks like one of them did,” said Bernie.

“How so?” asked Nina.

Bernie’s eyebrows shot up. “Somebody wanted to get rid of him. One of them must have known his real identity.”

I steered them away from the storefront so other people wouldn’t hear us. “Someone else might have murdered him for being Arnaud, or Arnie, for that matter. We don’t know that it was someone connected to Amore.”

“Sophie!”

I turned to see Lori and Cheryl waving at us. We joined them, and I introduced Nina and Bernie, who immediately gushed about Cheryl’s chocolate cake recipe.

“Are you having fun on your free day?” I asked.

Lori Speer quickly said, “Cheryl’s cousin died.”

“I had planned to attend the grand opening of Célébration de Chocolat,” said Cheryl. “It was perfect timing for me to
come here because the owner is a distant cousin. Now, since I’m already here, I’m the one who’s been tapped to make arrangements for Arnie—Arnaud’s body.”

“So you knew that Arnaud was really Arnie?” Nina elbowed me.

“Oh, sure. We were second or third cousins. Our families visited a few times. I remember him as the annoying kid who tried to kiss all the girls.” Her lips pulled back in disgust. “I was only in grade school. I’m sure you remember how revolting boys could be at that age.”

“Apparently, he didn’t change much,” said Lori.

Cheryl flushed. “Arnie was a worm.”

“He was your cousin!” Nina exclaimed in a scolding voice.

“Worms are usually related to someone. I’m afraid Arnie was the black sheep in the family.”

“Tell them what he did,” Lori egged her on.

“It’s so embarrassing. He scammed everyone in my family who had two dimes. Never paid them back one penny.
Avoid Arnie
was the big joke in the family. I’m sad that he’s dead—no one wanted that—but his unscrupulous behavior caught up with him in the end. The irony is that no one wants to pitch in for his final expenses! I hope he had some cash I can access.”

“He probably had a will,” I said. “Surely it provides for his final expenses.”

“Can his company pay?” asked Bernie.

“No one knows yet. I may need to stick around after Amore quits paying the bill,” said Cheryl. “The hotel is beautiful but too expensive for
my
budget.”

“We checked out the Honeysuckle B and B a couple of blocks from the hotel.” Lori pointed in the general direction. “It’s very cute.”

“So Arnaud really was Arnie?”

Cheryl nodded. “When you’re a slime weasel, things catch up with you. At least that was the guess in my family.
Belgium isn’t very far from England, but it must have been far enough to start fresh. They say his chocolates were fantastic.”

“I don’t think they could have been better than Lori’s!” I said. “I could hardly tear myself away from them.”

“Thank you. My family has always enjoyed them. My brother came up with the original recipe. I’ve just updated some of the fillings.”

“Your brother is a chocolatier?” asked Bernie.

“He was.” She gazed off in the distance. “Chocolates can be a pretty ruthless business. He’s a school counselor now.”

Cheryl regarded her with curiosity. “Why didn’t
he
enter his chocolates?”

“I guess you could say the whole business left a bitter taste in his mouth. He makes them for the holidays and special occasions but just for the family. He didn’t want to enter anything in the contest. But I love to travel, and I know how great his recipe is so I jumped at the opportunity.”

I was still reeling from the fact that Cheryl and Arnie were related. “Cheryl, did you have a chance to talk to Arnie before he died?”

“No. More’s the pity. I figured I would see him at his grand opening. Besides, I was having such a good time being wined and dined and entertained by the Merano family that I didn’t think about Arnie.”

“I think you might have been staying at the same hotel,” I said.

“You’re kidding! Gosh, talk about a small world. I wish I had known.”

Nina looked at her watch. “Ack! I’m going to be late for my appointment. Nice meeting you.” Nina waved as she hurried away.

“We’d better get back to the hotel. We’re meeting up with some of the others,” said Cheryl.

Amid a flurry of good-byes, they left Bernie and me standing on the sidewalk, watching them walk away.

“Would you have admitted to being related to Arnie?” I asked Bernie.

“You mean if I had killed him? Maybe she thinks it’s better to get that fact out in the open so people won’t think she has something to hide.”

A good twenty yards away, Cheryl and Lori stopped walking.

Lori turned suddenly and jogged back to us. “Pretend you’re writing your phone number and giving it to me.” She handed me a pen and a piece of paper.

“Do you
want
my phone number?”

“Might not hurt. I really came back to tell you that, much as I like Cheryl, she’s lying about not talking to Arnie earlier. There is no doubt in my mind that she had a heated exchange with Arnie in the hotel garden on Saturday morning.”