Dark Chocolate Murder Read online

  Cordially, Jean-Jacques carried Belinda’s bags up to the third floor where the guest room was located. Belinda was astonished. In front of her was a master size bedroom overlooking an open air terrace with a spectacular garden view. Inside the bedroom was a private bathroom with a hot tub and dressing room adjacent. A vibrant garden bouquet soaked in a vase on a handsome mahogany armoire.

  “You guys, this is not a guest room! It’s a luxury suite! I can’t believe it!”

  Belinda thought ruefully of the sad little apartment she had inhabited after her divorce. Located on the first floor of a dilapidated building, the apartment was not only tiny but also incessantly loud. With a grimace she recalled her upstairs neighbor who had played bass guitar off-key at all hours of the night. That apartment had been like a rowdy college dorm, and this suite was a veritable sanctuary in comparison.

  “It’s just the guest quarters,” Crystal shrugged, as though she were unimpressed.

  Belinda reflected how Crystal had become accustomed to a life of luxury and appeared just the slightest bit---spoiled. She hated herself for thinking it, especially with Crystal’s warm hospitality, but it was true. Brushing aside the judgmental thought, Belinda resolved not to be envious of her privileged sister and palatial home.

  “Well, it’s lovely. I am so grateful to have this space to myself right now.” Belinda squeezed Crystal’s hand.

  “It’s all yours. Jean-Jacques and I will leave you to relax for a few hours. Meet us in the garden for lunch at 2:00. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day in Europe, so don’t ruin your appetite with any snacks!” Crystal sauntered out of the room with a grinning Jean-Jacques following her.

  With a pang of sadness whose source she could not identify, Belinda flopped onto the bed and stared out the window at the trees swaying in the Mediterranean breeze. Eventually, the whispering leaves of the trees lulled her into a siesta.

  *****

  On the other side of Monaco, Pierre Cédaire was barking out orders for an upcoming luncheon at his restaurant. Members of the royal family had reserved the banquet room for a private lunch, and Pierre was frazzled to his wit’s end. His staff regarded him curiously; already of a dark temperament, the man seemed to be growing moodier every day. And no one could explain it, least of all Pierre. His restaurant’s success was growing in spades every day, but it did not fulfill him.

  Resisting the temptation to light up a cigarette and go back to his old ways, Pierre walked outside for a breath of fresh air. He knew but would not acknowledge what was really gnawing at him: he needed a woman. Since his divorce, Pierre had been alone, constantly preoccupied with growing his business and raising his four-year old son as a single father. The loneliness was starting to take a toll on him. If he kept acting so insolently, his staff would probably quit, and his professional life would be as desolate as his personal one. Unwilling to allow his budding empire to crumble, Pierre hurried back inside the restaurant and rolled up his sleeves. The head chef looked at him in surprise.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” Pierre said gruffly. “Hand me that wooden spoon.”

  The chef obeyed, and Pierre stirred the pot of creamy béchamel sauce, willing to work alongside his staff to make every detail perfect for the royal family’s luncheon---and to preserve what he had just begun to build.

  Chapter Three

  Belinda awoke a few hours later to the sound of birds chirping at her open window. A feeder perched on the sill to nourish the birds, and Belinda watched in awe. This was yet another sight she had not been privy to in her gritty city life back in Boston. She rose from the bed and took inventory of her reflection in the full length mirror. Creased lines ran like railroad tracks down one of her cheeks, and her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed for a month.

  Freshening up in the porcelain tiled bathroom, Belinda started to mentally run a new checklist. Every moment of the past few months had been devoted to planning her move to Monaco. Now she was here, really here, and she was determined not to rest on the laurels that had gotten her this far. It would be so easy to be complacent and spend weeks lounging around this mansion, being chauffeured everywhere, having her meals prepared by a professional kitchen staff she was certain Crystal had at her disposal. But Belinda had already led a life of complacency, and she would not repeat that mistake.

  “Belinda! It’s past two! Lunch is getting cold!” Crystal called up to her from the garden.

  Belinda walked to the terrace and hollered, “Sorry, I just woke up from a nap! I’ll be down in a minute!”

  *****

  Just as she had suspected, a uniformed maid and butler were serving an elegant lunch of roasted meats, round cut potatoes, and vegetables in a heavy butter sauce. A bottle of red wine sat uncorked on the patio table, and a freshly baked angel food cake awaited as dessert.

  “I sure hope this is the heaviest meal of the day. Because if it isn’t, I’m going to gain ten pounds my first week here!” Belinda exclaimed.

  “Oh, it’s definitely the heaviest. Dinner can be as light as a poached egg for the main course and yogurt for dessert. It’s the European way,” Crystal informed her lightly, as the middle aged maid heaped the fattening food onto Belinda’s plate.

  “Thank---uh, merci beaucoup,” Belinda faltered. It was going to take some getting used to speaking another language all the time.

  “Je vous en prie, Madame,” the maid replied softly.

  “She said ‘you’re welcome,’” Crystal translated.

  “I know! My French isn’t that bad. I’ve been listening to language immersion CD’s for the past three months,” Belinda said proudly. Every day she had spent at least two hours listening to and repeating basic French phrases. Afterwards, she had spent another hour reviewing her dusty high school French textbooks and brushing up on grammar.

  She watched uneasily as Jean-Jacques fed a plump grape to his wife before giving her a kiss. Belinda looked away, staring at the rows of rhododendron plants that led to a cobblestone pathway. Already, she was feeling like the third wheel. She knew she could not stay in her sister’s house for long. Inwardly, she made a drastic decision: she would move out within one week’s time. Hell, even one week at a relative’s house could be too much. Belinda was determined not to outstay her welcome, even if it meant living in an apartment as dingy as the one she had left behind in Boston.

  *****

  One week later, Belinda sat in the garden of her sister’s mansion blowing out 39 candles on a birthday cake. She puffed repeatedly, virtually coughing up a lung in an attempt to extinguish the more than three dozen candles. How the hell had Crystal managed to put all these candles on the cake---and why had she? Plastering a false smile on her face, Belinda huffed a mighty breath and finally blew out the last of the candles. The effort left her winded and mildly choking.

  “Yay! Bon anniversaire, Belinda! And the maid didn’t bake the cake. I did! Just for you!” Crystal said in her signature gleeful way.

  Belinda thought how, in small doses, Crystal was a pleasant sugar rush. But in large doses, like the ones Belinda had been getting lately, she was intravenous corn syrup.

  “Thank you. You guys didn’t have to do all this for me,” Belinda said, more than a little embarrassed.

  Jean-Jacques sliced up the cake, giving Belinda an enormous piece with a candy rose on top of a mountain of marshmallow fluff. As a baker, Belinda knew this was a poor quality cake, and she was surprised that Crystal hadn’t managed to create something a little more appetizing. Perhaps Crystal had forgotten it was her birthday until the last minute and then thrown together this crappy concoction.

  Belinda stared down at the undercooked cake, dipping her fork in and retrieving a slimy bit of batter. This was not how she wanted to spend the last birthday in her thirties. In a flash, Belinda remembered the special excursion she had envisioned for her birthday: lounging on a picnic blanket by the Mediterranean Sea.

  Wolfing down the too-sweet cake, Belinda spoke between mouthfuls, “You
know, I’d like to go down by the sea today.”

  “Oh great! We’ll go with you!” Crystal bubbled.

  “No, actually, I would like to go alone,” Belinda said, flinching as her sister looked crestfallen. “Not that I don’t love your company! It’s just that I wanted a little time alone today---for reflection. Just me and a bottle of champagne,” she finished with a playful wink.

  “Oh, okay.” Crystal said quietly. “Well, the butler can get you a bottle from the wine cellar…”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I can stop at a winery and pick up my own bottle. You guys have already been too generous with me. Really. I want you to know how much I appreciate it, but I also want you to know that I can’t live here any longer,” Belinda paused, fully expecting the offended look that played over her sister’s features.

  “Why not?” Crystal asked, obviously affronted.

  “Because I came here to be independent. I came here to open a business. And I’m going to do just that. This past week, I scoped out some storefronts and found one that I think would be perfect. I also found an apartment nearby.” Belinda neglected to mention that the apartment was smaller than Crystal’s shoe closet.

  “Apartment? Monaco has one of the priciest real estate markets in the world! I know you have some money saved, but it’s not nearly enough to live well here. I shudder to think what your budget could rent!” Crystal shook her head disapprovingly.

  So spoiled, Belinda thought but pasted the fake smile back onto her face. Really, if she stayed here any longer, she was going to end up hating her sister. And she would not let that happen. Maybe Crystal didn’t realize it, but for the sake of their sisterhood, Belinda had to move out. Now.

  “You’re right. This is an expensive market, and I will be living in a small apartment. But I’m just starting out here. When my shop gets off the ground, I could get a bigger place,” Belinda said hopefully.

  “She’s right,” Jean-Jacques interjected. “Monaco is an excellent place to open a high-end chocolate boutique. She could wind up wealthier than us!” He chuckled, but Belinda knew that he was only half joking. The possibilities for an entrepreneur were indeed limitless.

  “You never know!” Belinda smiled, this time genuinely.

  “Do what you want, Belinda.” Crystal threw up her hands in defeat and pouted as she took a lackluster bite of cake.

  “Crystal, please don’t take this personally. I’ve loved my first week in Monaco with you. And we’ll see each other all the time! But I have to do this,” Belinda said firmly, not willing to be talked out of her plan.

  *****

  A few hours later, Belinda lay sideways on a blanket gazing out at the fathomless sea glistening in the sun. Leisurely, she sipped her ice cold champagne and wondered where she would be next year at this time. It would be divine to have someone next to her on this blanket, enjoying this gorgeous scene with her while sipping champagne.

  Reaching into her pocket, Belinda removed a crinkled piece of paper. That afternoon, a letter had arrived from Lenore. She hadn’t read it yet, but she felt guilty because she had yet to send Lenore even an email. Smoothing out the paper, Belinda read the letter.

  Hey girl! Miss Vagabond! Did you think I would forget your birthday? Well, I didn’t. In fact, here’s a poem just for you. I hope you are loving every second of your journey, but if things ever feel like they’re getting tough, hopefully these words will help:

  Patience in the Desert

  Stranded in a cryptic desert

  where answers are like water

  for a thirsty nomad who has walked for days.

  Dry sandstorms blow grains in her questing eyes,

  as she plods forward, bare feet scorched by the feverish earth.

  A minor clue would be like a hand to hold,

  like shoes to soothe her blistered feet,

  and a revelation would be rain to moisten this dire drought.

  Without a camel, oasis or plan,

  the voyager continues, bound to reach her answer,

  only to begin searching for another clue.

  “What a perfect birthday gift,” Belinda whispered, trembling as she held the paper to her heart. Lenore wasn’t just a poet, she was a prophet. This poem had come at the time when Belinda needed it most, and she was very grateful. Raising her glass of champagne towards the Mediterranean Sea, Belinda silently toasted Lenore’s future success as a published writer.

  Gathering up the blanket and rising from the sand, Belinda took a lingering look at the sea. The water shimmered ethereally in the waning afternoon sun. Belinda grabbed a seashell and slid it into the pocket of her jeans: a small souvenir from the most unusual birthday she had ever experienced. As she walked back to land, she took one last look at the water, squinting as a tall male silhouette strode through the waves. Blinking, Belinda watched the male shadow like an apparition of the sea. Was the shifting sun playing tricks on her eyes? The powerfully structured figure of a merman walked towards her until it reached the water’s edge. Then, the vision faded into the distance, and Belinda ran back to land, unsure of what she had just seen.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, Jean-Jacques and Crystal deposited Belinda at the doorstep of her new apartment. Eager for the nosy couple to be gone, Belinda assertively grabbed her bags from Jean-Jacques’ hand.

  Impatiently, she clipped, “Thanks for driving me! I think I can take it from here.”

  “No, let us help you bring your bags inside.” Jean-Jacques protested, taking the suitcases back from Belinda. “What floor are you on?”

  “The second floor. Apparently I’m sandwiched between an old lady on the first floor and some young guy on the third.” Belinda rolled her eyes, already dreading the prospect of an upstairs neighbor.

  “Young guy? Maybe you’ll have to go upstairs and borrow a cup of sugar from him some time.” Crystal winked as Jean-Jacques snickered.

  “I’m a baker. I’ve got plenty of sugar,” Belinda said deadpan. “Besides, the last thing I want is for people to start calling me a cougar!”

  “Oh no! You’re still too young to be a cougar. I heard that only a woman over forty can have that label. Women in their thirties who date younger men are pumas!” Crystal said laughingly as Jean-Jacques snorted until the sound morphed into a vicious hacking cough.

  “Well, I don’t want to be one of those either,” Belinda said darkly. “Believe me, I’d love to find a man my own age. That is, if there are any men my age who want to date a woman their age!” Belinda thought distastefully of her blind date in Boston and the creep’s asinine comment about how old she looked.

  “Oh, I’m sure there are plenty,” Crystal said encouragingly, although she wasn’t so sure. Jean-Jacques was nearly fifteen years her senior, and he had made it clear when they met that her younger age was an asset.

  “Anyway, as much as I’d love to stand here and have this inspiring discussion about age the day after my birthday, I really should get inside and get settled,” Belinda said, anxiously biting her inner cheeks.

  Without permission, Jean-Jacques waltzed in front of the ladies and carried the bags up to the second floor. Belinda felt her face grow hot.

  “Well, I guess the secret’s already out. I live in a dump,” Belinda said to no one in particular.

  Crystal countered, “You can get back in the car right now and come back to live with us. You know the door is open.”

  “I know, but I can’t walk through it,” Belinda said wryly.

  Jean-Jacques reappeared, slightly winded from climbing the single flight of stairs. Did the man get no exercise other than waxing his sports cars and playing a few rounds of golf? He seemed sadly out of shape.