Deadly Chocolate Addiction (Death by Chocolate Book 6) Read online

  Deadly Chocolate Addiction

  Copyright ©2017 Sally Berneathy.

  http://www.sallyberneathy.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental (except Fred and King Henry).

  Original cover art by Cheryl Welch, http://www.mywelchdesign.com/

  Chapter One

  My ex walked through the door of Death by Chocolate at ten minutes before three o’clock. Too early for me to close, only a few customers remaining. I couldn’t lock him out and I couldn’t claim to be too busy to talk to him.

  He wanted something. He always wants something and he usually gets it. He’s a good salesman. An awful human being but a really good salesman.

  On the far side of the room, Paula handed a check to the one couple remaining at the tables. I stood behind the counter watching the last guy there finish his sandwich. I didn’t mind watching him. He was hot in a subdued kind of way. Tall, tanned, angular features, but in spite of his casual gray knit shirt and slacks, he could have come straight from a business meeting.

  Rick paused inside the door. His blue gaze—a blue as close to the color of the prairie sky as contacts could make it—focused on me.

  I focused my attention on the man at the counter. “Can I get you some dessert?”

  “Absolutely.” He looked over my shoulder at the chalk board menu. “What do you recommend?”

  Rick took a seat two stools down from my customer.

  “Have you been here before?” I asked the man.

  His lips tilted upward in an expression almost but not quite a smile and his dark eyes turned hazy. “Years ago, when this place was still Percy’s Bar and Grill, I used to come here a lot. It was more bar than grill in those days. Very different menu.”

  “Percy’s Bar and Grill. Yeah, I remember seeing that name as a previous owner when I bought this place. That was a while ago. I’ve been here for five years, and it was vacant before that.” Vacant and kind of a mess. Rick got me a good deal. I suppose I should give him credit for that, but he used up that credit a long time ago. “Was there really a Percy?” I didn’t care. I just wanted to keep the conversation going so I could avoid Rick as long as possible.

  Percy’s former patron nodded. “There was. A short guy with white hair and beard. Friendly enough until somebody got out of hand. Story was, he was a Green Beret in Viet Nam. He never talked about it, but watching the way he dealt with anybody who got out of line, I’d say the story was true.”

  “I had no idea this place had such a colorful history.”

  He smiled for real this time. The expression softened the rough angles of his face. “Your place is definitely a change for the better. I like the smell of cookies and brownies better than the smell of cigarettes and stale beer.” He looked up at the menu board again. “So, back to dessert. What do you think?”

  “For a first timer, I suggest the chocolate chip cookies. We’re known for those. We have them with or without nuts, regular or gluten free.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll have one with nuts and gluten.”

  “Good choice.” I served him a large cookie from the display case on the end of the counter.

  He took a bite, chewed, and rolled his eyes in ecstasy. “That’s really good.”

  “I could use one of those.” Rick’s smile beamed from one side of his face to the other. It was so brilliant, it almost flowed into his sun streaked hair…hair that stayed streaked even during the winter months when there was no sun.

  I took another cookie from the case, set it on a plate, and shoved it down the counter toward him.

  He caught the plate as it slid by. “How are you today, Lindsay?”

  You know those anonymous phone calls that begin with How are you today? You know immediately it’s an annoying sales call. Rick wrote the training manual for those folks.

  “I’m fine, thank you. Kind of busy.” I gathered up dirty plates and took them to the kitchen. It was only a brief escape. Rick wasn’t going away easily.

  Paula met me in the kitchen with her load of dishes. “Let me know if you need help.” She scraped the food from the plates and set them in the sink then picked up a chef’s knife and lifted an eyebrow.

  I laughed.

  Paula’s tiny, seven inches shorter and several pounds lighter than I am. I’m a fierce red-head, she’s a peaceful blonde. She’s a mother, I own a cat. Well, a cat owns me. Paula’s soft-spoken, I shout insults with the best of them. But Paula’s the one to be scared of. Just ask her ex-husband who now resides in prison.

  “Did the people at the table leave?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Everybody’s gone except your guy munching on his cookie and, of course, Rick.”

  “If I can’t get rid of Rick in the next five minutes, you’re welcome to swoop in with that knife and cut off his…um…hand.”

  She turned the knife from side to side, studied the blade, and smiled sweetly. Rick would never know what hit him.

  I returned to him and my customer.

  The guy who once drank alcoholic beverages in my shop before it was my shop looked up from his empty dessert plate. “That was the best chocolate chip cookie I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Thank you.” I reached for his plate.

  He held onto it. “I’ll have a piece of your chocolate du jour, the Chocolate Caramel Shortbread.”

  “Sure thing.” The guy was tall, dark and handsome to begin with, and he was getting handsomer with every dessert. Yes, Adam Trent is my one and only, but I do like to see a man enjoy my chocolate. I gave him a square of Chocolate Caramel Shortbread.

  “Lindsay.” Rick had crumbled about half his cookie, but he wasn’t eating it. He doesn’t really care for chocolate. That alone should have told me marrying him was not a good idea.

  I moved slowly, reluctantly, down the counter to stand in front of him. “What do you want?”

  “Robin said she’d like for you and your cop boyfriend to meet us for dinner one evening.”

  “No, she didn’t say any such thing. That’s totally your idea.”

  He smiled again. I swear sparks brightened his hair that time. “Maybe. But it’s a good idea. She likes you.”

  “And I like her.” First time I’d been able to say that about any of his revolving door list of girlfriends. “She’s intelligent, attractive, nice. She’ll leave you before long.”

  Rick didn’t bat an eye at the insult. When he’s closing in on a sale, he ignores anything that might get in his way.

  “We’ll go to Pierpont’s, my treat.”

  “No.” I got closer than I really wanted to get to him and lowered my voice so my customer couldn’t hear the melodrama. “Going to dinner with my ex-husband, his new girlfriend, and my boyfriend is beyond creepy. That’s not going to happen. Just tell me what you want, I’ll say no, you’ll leave, and we can save a lot of time.”

  Rick leaned forward, so close I could smell his expensive cologne. I stepped back. Better the world should hear our discussion than I should get that close to him.

  “You and I have history,” he said. “We’ve been together a long time. It’s only natural we should want our new friends to know each other. We’ll m
eet for dinner, have a nice steak, a bottle of wine. Of course their desserts won’t be as good as yours, but their crème brulee with fresh berries is pretty darn good.”

  Had he really just said darn? He was totally into his clean-cut salesman’s act.

  “No, we won’t. That whole idea is not natural. It’s as far from natural as the color of your eyes. Just tell me what you want.”

  He blinked the eyes under discussion but kept his cool. “You said you like Robin. I might like Trent if I got to know him. I want that opportunity.”

  “The only way you and Trent will get to know each other is if he arrests you. I can see the two of you spending quality time together at the police station, you in handcuffs, him reading you your rights.”

  Rick laughed. “You have such a terrific sense of humor. You and Robin are going to get along great.” He rose and laid a twenty dollar bill beside his plate. “I’ll make reservations for Saturday. Around seven?”

  “NO!” I slammed my hand on the counter so hard the dishes bounced.

  Damn. Percy should have built a sturdier bar.

  Rick’s expression became serious. “Lindsay, this is important. I’m trying to help you.”

  Now we were getting down to it. “What is it this time? You want to buy my house and search for buried treasure? You want me to sign off on some scam that could get us both blown up? Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

  Rick sighed and molded his features into a semblance of sad. “Lindsay—”

  “Miss?” The voice of my sole remaining customer. “Those brownies look really good. Do you have one of them with nuts and gluten?”

  I moved back down the counter. “Of course.”

  He gave a knowing wink when I served him the brownie. What a nice guy! He not only loved my chocolate, he was trying to rescue me from Rickhead. It was a gallant though futile effort.

  I stomped back to where Rick stood. “Trent and I are not going to dinner with you and Robin. Period. End of discussion. Please leave.”

  He got that You’re being ridiculous but fortunately I’m a patient man look on his face. “Now, Lindsay—”

  “I believe the lady asked you to leave.” Mr. Tall, Dark and Chocolate was no longer eating his brownie. He stood next to Rick. Loomed over him, actually. Rick claims to be six feet tall, but he’s actually five eleven and a half. This guy was a good four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier, all of it muscle. I hadn’t noticed his biceps when he was eating, but now they bulged from his short sleeved shirt quite menacingly…and attractively.

  Rick gave him a disdainful look. “You need to stay out of this, buddy. This is a family matter.”

  “The judge unfamilied us two months ago.” I shoved a finger into his chest. “Leave. Now. Before my friend—” I didn’t know my new friend’s name, but neither did Rick. “Before my friend, Ransom, gets violent. He just got out of prison and he misses the place. Wouldn’t mind going back. A violent assault could get him there.”

  Ransom lowered his eyebrows and folded his arms. The muscles popped. “Three squares a day and plenty of time to work out. Not a bad place once you establish yourself as top dog, and I’m pretty good at doing that. Ever been in the joint?”

  Rick scowled and said nothing. No way would he admit he was intimidated, but his lack of response told me he was.

  “Show him your prison tats, Ransom.”

  “Anything for you, Lindsay.” Ransom started unbuckling his belt.

  Rick stiffened. “I have to leave now. I have an appointment. But we still have something important to discuss. I’ll call you, Lindsay.”

  “I won’t answer, Rick!”

  The door closed behind him. I looked at Ransom. He looked at me. We collapsed into laughter.

  Paula came over to join us. “Ransom?” she asked. “Where on earth did you come up with that name?”

  “Hey,” Ransom protested. “I like that name. I’m a Ransom kind of guy. But I’m glad your ex left before I had to show my prison tats. People have been known to faint when they see them.” He returned to his stool, took a bite of his brownie and chewed slowly, savoring the flavor.

  “Thanks for the help with the ex,” I said. “He’s like a bad penny covered in used bubble gum. Hard to get rid of.”

  Ransom shrugged. “No problem. It’s the chocolate. It gives me super powers.”

  Paula chuckled. “It must have. Getting Rick to leave is quite a feat. Nice to meet you, Ransom.”

  I opened my mouth to introduce her, but before I did, he extended a hand over the counter. “Nice to meet you, Paula.”

  How did he know her name? I didn’t recall mentioning it.

  Paranoid Paula didn’t seem fazed by his knowledge. She shook his hand and headed back to the kitchen.

  If she wasn’t worried, I shouldn’t be.

  I took down our largest to-go box. “You need more chocolate in case you encounter a mass murderer or a serial killer on your way home.” I opened the display case and began filling it with desserts.

  He laughed, the sound deep and rich as my brownies with chocolate chips. “You just met me and already you understand my addiction.”

  I squeezed one more cookie into the box and set it in front of him. “We get a lot of chocolate addicts in here. I suppose I could start a Chocoholics Anonymous chapter, but why would anybody want to quit?”

  Ransom ate the last bite of his brownie and drank the last of his tea. He set the glass on the counter and stared at it. “Yes, I’m a chocoholic. I’m also an alcoholic.” He spoke the words calmly, without inflection, but deep emotion resonated in his comment.

  I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing. Yes, that’s a rare occurrence.

  He looked up and grinned wryly. “Serving chocoholics is definitely the better choice. I bet you don’t have many customers who get into bar fights and break tables or bring out guns and shoot people.”

  “Yeah, nobody’s died in here since I took over.” Okay, Rodney Bradford ate chocolate in my place, but he died on the sidewalk out front and he didn’t break any tables or shoot anybody so that doesn’t count. And Bob died in the back alley before he ate the chocolate I gave him. During my reign, nobody actually died inside the restaurant or as a direct result of my chocolate.

  Ransom lifted the lid of his to-go box and peeked inside. “When I used to go to AA meetings, they all drank a lot of coffee. They said an addict is an addict, and caffeine is a better choice of addiction than alcohol. I don’t like coffee so I turned to chocolate. No more dancing on the bar or coming home late and passing out on the neighbor’s lawn. Now the worst that happens is a smudge of chocolate on my shirt that everybody notices except me.” He closed the lid. “I haven’t had a drink in over a year.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Surely he was.

  Maybe he wasn’t.

  He reached into his slacks pocket and brought out a bronze medallion. “One year.”

  “Oh. Wow. Congratulations. That’s wonderful. Are you serious about the chocolate part? Substituting chocolate for alcohol?”

  He slid the medallion back into his pocket. “Yep.”

  “So you returned to your old haunt, got to eat the best chocolate in the universe, and I got to see my ex running away with his tail tucked between his legs.” I paused. “You did know this place had changed ownership and type of beverages served, right?”

  His gaze focused on a spot somewhere between my chocolate cream pie and my gluten free brownies. “I knew.”

  I knew. Two simple words. A statement of fact that was true for every person who came through my door. It was certainly no secret that Death by Chocolate sold chocolate. Why did Ransom’s comment sound off-key?

  “Do you live around here?” Maybe he’d seen the sign as he drove past on his way to the organic grocery store down the street. He looked like an organic food kind of guy.

  “No. I used to live close, but I’ve been in St. Louis for the last six years.”

  From h
is expression, I guessed that St. Louis had not made him happy.

  His plate and glass were empty. It was closing time. I should let him take his goodies and go. But he’d run off my ex and he loved chocolate and he looked forlorn. I gave him another glass of tea. Chocolatiers and bartenders also function as amateur therapists.

  “What took you to St. Louis?”

  “Work. So you’ve only been divorced a couple of months?”

  Apparently he didn’t want to talk about St. Louis.

  “Legally, yes, but we were separated over two years before Rickhead finally signed the papers.” After Fred threatened him with exposure of some of his illegal activities. I looked at the ring on Ransom’s left hand. It was scratched, not new and shiny. “Wife stuck with you through the drinking?”

  He twisted the ring and gave a brief snort of laughter. Or maybe it was just a brief snort. “She liked me better when I was drinking, when I wasn’t paying attention to the things she did.” He dropped his left hand to his lap as if he wanted to hide the ring from me…or from himself. “Sounds like you had a bad run too.”

  I nodded. “Being married to Rick was not the best time of my life.”

  “But you’ve found somebody new. A cop? Different sort of guy from the ex?”

  Obviously he’d overheard my conversation with Rick. “Yes, he’s very different. He’s a good guy. Nothing like Rick. Over-the-top honest. Well, I guess you can’t be too honest, but he thinks all rules are made to be followed. Like those silly speed limit signs.”

  Ransom grinned. “Lindsay, don’t tell me you drive too fast.”

  “Never!” I straightened and tried to look innocent. “Never too fast. Only as fast as I know I’m capable of going safely. I don’t understand why people get so excited about arbitrary numbers painted on a sign.”

  “But Detective Trent gets excited about those numbers.”

  Detective? If one has an argument in a public place, one must expect others to listen. I didn’t recall referring to Trent as a detective, but maybe Ransom was just using it as a generic term since Rick had referred to him as a cop. “Yes, he gets upset. You’d think I’d broken the law or something.”