Dangerously Dark (10 page)

“After this, Declan's funeral is going to be a major downer!” Carissa chortled. She quaffed her drink. “More, please!”

Janel rushed to oblige, but I couldn't take any more.

“Sorry. I'll be right back,” I muttered, then I made my escape to the ladies' room and left the macabre party behind me.

If I knew Danny, he'd catch my signal and follow me. I wanted to know what he was doing there, but I didn't want to cause a scene—or interrupt his tête-à-tête with Lauren.

At least now I knew why he'd been unreachable earlier, though: because he'd been on a plane on his way to see
me.

 

 

I was trying to shake out a second (and hopefully more effective) dose of an over-the-counter analgesic from the bottle in my bag when the door to the ladies' room whooshed open behind me.

I dropped everything in fright. My bottle of painkillers clattered to the floor, spilling extra-strength caplets like confetti. My purse followed, dropping like a stone into a soapy splash of water on the floor, just as someone walked in.

I swore and bent to retrieve everything. I'd perched my bag on the edge of Muddle + Spade's square, polished-concrete sink basin. That obviously meant it hadn't had a chance. Wishing I still owned my trusty crossbody bag—which had seen me through more countries than I could count without nose-diving into some soapsuds—I scooped my things into my inferior backup bag.

This was why restaurants should quit installing those trendy, unusual-shaped sinks. They were impractical at best and nonfunctional at worst. A sink that failed at the essential job of helping to hold up your possessions while you washed your hands was no good to anyone.
You had one job, sink,
I thought as I glowered up at it.
Now I can't even take care of my headache.

I didn't think a single caplet had stayed in the bottle.

“Oh, I'm so sorry! Did I startle you?” The newcomer bent alongside me to gather a few strays. “Here, let me help you.”

Lauren.
I recognized her seductive, striptease-worthy voice. Not to mention her high, pointy-toe pumps and the 1950s-era spangled dress that went swimmingly with it. On anyone without her verve, the whole ensemble would have looked silly.

On her, with her bodacious bod, it looked fantastic. I'm not the sequins-and-sparkles type, but I almost wanted to be.

I couldn't help wondering if she'd purposefully followed me to keep me and Danny apart a little longer. They'd looked
really
cozy earlier. Lauren obviously hadn't cared that my erstwhile bodyguard had announced himself as my date for the brunch.

“Lauren! Thanks, but don't worry. I've got this.”

She helped me anyway, cheerfully risking her flawless manicure in the process. I couldn't stop sneaking glimpses at her equally impeccable hair and makeup. The effect was artificial, sure, but coupled with Lauren's genuine aura of vulnerability and kindness, it somehow worked. I wanted to dismiss her as a cosplay Dita Von Teese, but I couldn't do it.

“Here. Take some of mine.” While I'd been dissecting her look, Lauren had been searching in her own vintage handbag for something. She pressed a couple of pain reliever tablets into my palm, then gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. Her fretful gaze met mine. “Let me guess, rough night last night?”

“I'd say so—or I would, if I remembered it more clearly.”

I'd apparently whooped it up all afternoon, then slept all night and partway into the morning to make up for it.

Lauren gave me a sympathetic, red-lipsticked moue. “You've got to watch it when Tommy's tending bar. He's been known to mix the drinks a little stronger—or weaker—depending on the needs of the day.” She gave me a commiserating look. “He's our very own
gorgeous
Dr. Feelgood,” she purred, “making sure we all feel just as good as we possibly can. He's sweet that way.”

“Yeah,
sweet.
” I risked swallowing the analgesic she'd given me, reasoning that nobody would try to kill me
now,
just steps away from where Declan had (maybe) been murdered. It would look too suspicious. “I'd rather have known about Tomasz's unconventional bartending theories
before
he served me, though.”

“Oh, Tommy doesn't roll that way. Not if he's decided you're one of us.” Gaily, Lauren waved. Her slightly husky voice wrapped me in its sultry embrace, making “Tommy's” philosophy sound perfectly reasonable. Considerate, even. “It's his way of taking care of everybody. You get used to it after a while.”

Maybe. But I didn't think I'd get used to Lauren calling a grown man “Tommy.” Berk probably liked it, though. Some men went in for that baby-talk routine. Even men . . . like Danny? He'd seemed pretty into Lauren a few minutes ago at the brunch table.

As soon as we were out of here, he owed me some answers.

“So . . .” Lauren glanced over her shoulder, her husky voice echoing off all the porcelain, concrete, and tile in the bathroom. “I just thought I'd sneak in here to warn you—you know, girl to girl.” Her voice lowered to an even more intimate timbre. “Watch out for Austin, okay? You don't know him, but—”

I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it.
“Austin?”

I couldn't imagine what I had to fear from helpful, endearing, guy-next-door Austin Martin. I mean, yes, I'd been suspicious of him earlier, that's true. But hearing Lauren voice similar reservations somehow laid all mine to rest.

“He's not someone you want to mess around with,” Lauren insisted. “Carissa's already had more than one run-in with Austin. He seems harmless, but he tends to get attached easily.
Too
easily. Then, when a girl doesn't return his feelings . . .”

She let her voice trail away ominously, leaving me to draw my own (seemingly inevitable) conclusions.

Was she intimating that Austin was
dangerous
?

“I wouldn't have said anything,” Lauren assured me, “except I saw the familiar way you two looked at one another out there.”

I remembered Austin giving me the
drinky-drinky
sign to let me know he thought Carissa had taken something to get her through today's brunch. I wasn't sure how he would know that, though.

Unless Carissa had friend-zoned him. Then Austin would know all the details of how Carissa was coping. Or maybe Austin's acquaintance with Declan's family meant he had the inside scoop?

Lauren edged closer, frowning at me. She could probably tell that I wasn't taking her seriously. I'm afraid that putting a polite front on my disbelief was impossible for me, especially on an empty stomach. I don't exactly sport a poker face.

What
I
have is a “tell me everything” face—a face that seems to invite friends, strangers, people on buses, workers in airports, and everyone in between to confide in me. It's a useful quality when drumming up business or troubleshooting a particularly recalcitrant brownie recipe, but under circumstances like these, I wished I looked more forbidding.

I didn't want to gossip with Lauren about someone I liked.

“Austin told us about how he went over to your place this morning,” Lauren added. “He looks harmless, I know. But I really think he might have
killed
Declan!” she stage-whispered, letting her serious gaze search mine. Her breath feathered across my face, smelling strongly of champagne and orange juice. “After yesterday, I don't want anything to happen to anyone else.”

I had to ask: “Why would Austin have killed Declan?”

“Because he wanted Carissa for himself,” Lauren told me in another harsh whisper—even though it was unlikely we'd be overheard. “He wanted Declan out of the way. Believe me, I know when a man is into a woman. Austin is
way
into Carissa.”

“But she doesn't feel the same way,” I said, playing along.

A nod. “Be serious. Who would?”

Well, that was kind of mean. My estimation of Lauren went down a notch. There was no reason to take potshots at Austin.

“Every man has the potential to go a little crazy if the woman he has the hots for doesn't feel the same way about him,” Lauren went on, undeterred by my non-response. “You
must
have run into that scenario a few times. I mean, just
look
at you!”

She did exactly that, at length, then waved her arm in apparent acknowledgment of my . . . irresistibility, I'm guessing?

Was Lauren
flirting
with me? I was flattered, but not interested. “Fine. I'll be on the lookout,” I promised.

“Don't accidentally lead him on,” Lauren cautioned. She seemed serious. “It's still possible that Austin meant to kill Carissa and got Declan, instead.” She looked away. “Poor Declan.”

For a heartbeat, Lauren's composure faltered. I recalled that I'd detected champagne on her breath not sixty seconds ago. It was probable that Carissa wasn't the only one who'd needed chemical assistance to get through Declan's memorial brunch.

If Lauren was this upset over Declan's death, that meant that the Cartorama vendors were even closer than I'd thought. Because while Lauren looked more pulled together today than she had yesterday when she'd been crying at the bar, she still seemed distraught. I could detect puffiness near her eyes. She'd probably been crying. Her shoulders slumped slightly, too, as though she was overtired. From weeping instead of sleeping?

When she caught me studying her, she straightened. Her smile shined out at me, vivid and practiced. I wondered if she
did
perform burlesque somewhere in Portland. She had a performer's knack for putting on a happy face, no matter what.

Either that or Lauren was (maybe) a sociopathic killer.

I shivered, watching as she pulled out a compact to powder her nose. After that, she reapplied her scarlet lipstick.

If Lauren really
was
secretly dangerous, there was something I had to do. So I whipped out my own “lipstick” (it's ordinary clear lip balm, let's be real) and applied it while meeting Lauren's gaze in the mirror, just-us-girls style.

“So while we're sharing warnings, you should probably stay away from Danny.” Casually, I recapped my lip balm. “He just got out of jail.” It was a minor fib—an exaggeration. He's been out five or six years now. He's completed his parole and everything.

Still, when warning away a prospective murderer, details could be finessed. Now Danny would be safe. Thanks to me.

After all, most women bugged out when they heard “ex-con.”

Lauren brightened. “Really? Where? My uncle did some time at Columbia River Correctional Institution. Now he's on parole.”

Oops. Her upbeat tone jarred me. It was as if I'd made Danny
more
attractive to her, not less. Maybe Lauren was into the whole “bad boy” thing. Or maybe she was just extremely open-minded, given her family circumstances. What were the odds?

I wish I could have told you that Lauren's uncle's jail time made no difference to my opinion of her. But under the circumstances, it did. I know it's not fair to stereotype people (especially based on their family ties), but what's that saying? “The apple doesn't fall far from the tree”? That's a truism for a reason. Maybe, I decided,
Lauren
was the dangerous one here.

Maybe
she'd
liked Declan and he hadn't liked
her.
Maybe all her theories about Austin were actually veiled hints about her own pain, her own motivations, and her own killer impulses.

Maybe Lauren was throwing shade on Austin to deflect attention from her own guilt. It could happen.

Stuck, I made up something about where Danny had served time. He'd be furious if he ever found out about what I'd done. It wasn't that he was embarrassed by his wrong-side-of-the-tracks upbringing or the various (sometimes illegal) ways he'd coped with it. It was that Danny was private. Super private.

Even as I attempted to fib my way out of trouble without giving myself away by breaking out in hives, I remembered what Janel had said to me yesterday. It had major implications here.

I know she knew about Lauren,
Janel had quipped about Carissa before suggesting a name, a logo, and a theme song for the women who'd slept with Declan.
No matter what she said.

It was obvious what Janel had been alluding to, but before I could gather any further intel, Lauren snapped shut her compact. She stowed it away, then smiled brightly at me.

“Good talk,” she said. “Try the mocha-chocolate-chunk muffins. They're
fab.
Tommy gets them delivered from a local bakery.”

Then she touched up her hair, gave me another smile, and whisked herself away with me still gawking behind her, wondering exactly how many women there were in Declan's Dozen—and how many of those women might have wanted Declan dead because of it.

Six

It wasn't easy trying to keep up with a woman who was stress-eating her way through an erstwhile engagement brunch. But for Carissa's sake, I did my best. I wanted to support my friend: to be there, to listen to her, to comfort her. But the more I tried to talk to Carissa about how she was coping, the more food she piled onto my plate. It was getting ridiculous.

“Ooh! You haven't tried the chocolate-swirl sweet rolls yet? You
must.
” Carissa plucked a spiraled roll from a Jadeite glass cake plate, then added it to my overflowing plate amid the chocolate chip pancake, chocolate-stuffed French toast,
pain au chocolat,
and ramekin of brûléed steel-cut oats with cocoa, which she'd already served me. “They're
so
good. I can't get enough.”

Dutifully, I took a bite. The roll
was
delicious, but it seemed to turn to chocolaty sawdust in my mouth. I was worried about Carissa. Too worried to enjoy Declan's memorial brunch.

“Come on!” she urged perkily. “You're in Portland now—home of some of the most decadent food ever created! It's time to cut loose, Hayden.” She waved at my plate. “Do it for Declan.”

I stopped chewing, appalled.
Was she serious?

“Let's
all
do it for Declan!” Carissa smiled at her friends, waving her arms to include them all.
“Mangia! Mangia!”

“Was Declan Italian?” I asked when she'd returned to me.

I was hoping to coax Carissa into sharing some more details about her fiancé. I thought remembering Declan might help her feel better. But she seemed to be doing fine without me.

“Declan? Nope. I don't think so.” She made a face. “Umm—”

“Irish?” Declan Murphy was an Irish name, after all.

“Sure. Probably.” Carissa shrugged, unbothered. She forked up another bite of waffles covered in chocolate sauce and whipped cream. “Declan and I didn't talk much about our pasts.”

Her tone was carefree. Her expression, however, wasn't.

Tellingly, Carissa's gaze swerved to Lauren. Narrowed.

Had
Lauren and Declan slept together?
Did
Carissa know? If so, that would explain why she seemed less than heartbroken today over Declan's death. It was probably easier to cope with the loss of an unrepentant cheater. On the other hand, Carissa
had
been prepared to marry Declan in a few weeks' time, so maybe all my conjecture was misguided. It wouldn't be the first time.

“You and Declan didn't talk about the past? Why not?” I asked lightly. “Declan wasn't into Greek life?”

As far as I knew, that had been the focus of Carissa's life on campus after I'd gone to Bruges. But now she disagreed.

My friend snorted. “I'm
more
than a sorority sister now, Hayden. Please. Give me a little more credit.”

“Of course.” I glanced at Danny, wishing I'd had a chance to confront him about his sudden arrival. When I'd returned from the ladies' room, he'd been chatting with Tomasz. Now he was listening raptly to Lauren. “Declan wasn't in a fraternity, then?”

I don't know what made me harp on the subject. I might have been knocked for a loop by my bodyguard's apparent fascination with sequins, scarlet lipstick, and dual sleeves of tattoos. (Lauren had more visible tattoos than Danny did.) Plus, I was still flummoxed by his presence there. Despite what he must have told Carissa (sparking her
“You didn't tell me you were bringing a plus-one! Especially a cute one!”
comments when I'd arrived), I
hadn't
invited Danny. I'd left him in northern California.

“I don't know. Declan and I were happy to leave the past behind us.” Nonchalantly, Carissa knocked back her mimosa. She waved her glass for more. With gusto, she added in an aside to me, “I know it sounds bad, but I'm
so
glad not to be dieting anymore. I swear, it was killing me working around all this chocolate every day and not having any of it. But Declan wanted us to look our best for the debut of Chocolate After Dark.”

I blinked, startled. “You mean for the wedding?”

She frowned. “That's what I said.”

“No, you said—” I was about to clarify when Tomasz arrived. He did
not
bring another mimosa refill for Carissa, despite her appeals for more alcohol. Instead, he set a wonderfully aromatic cup of coffee in front of her. I guessed he was caretaking again. I watched as he squeezed Carissa's shoulder, then slipped away. “Was Declan dieting, too?” I asked, wondering about him.

I still didn't know if he was good to Carissa or a chronic philanderer, if he was hopelessly vain or simply blessed with good looks. I was starting to share Janel's surprise that Carissa hadn't gushed more about the man she'd planned to marry.

Carissa chortled. “Declan didn't have to diet, the bastard. Nothing he ate stuck to him. Of course, he
did
work out, so that's probably why. I mean, you don't get to be that shredded by accident.” She gave a wistful sigh. “I'll miss those abs.”

I must have stared at her in dismay, because she amended herself right away. “I mean, I'll miss
him,
of course! I will.”

She dug into her plate of food again, then elbowed me with her mouth full. She nodded at my chocolate roll—akin to a cinnamon roll, but with chocolaty filling—something like an individual chocolate babka. She gestured for me to eat more.

Unwillingly, I took another bite. I wanted to help her, but I didn't know how. It seemed that Carissa was still in shock. She simply couldn't—or wouldn't—accept that Declan was gone.

I wondered what it would be like to love someone that much.

I found myself glancing at Danny again, then rolled my eyes as Lauren cooed something in his ear. Surely, he wasn't falling for her bombshell shtick? He was smarter than that.

Evidently, Tomasz—aka Tommy—thought so, too. I noticed him watching Danny and Lauren with an expression of amusement. Maybe this wasn't the first time Tomasz had witnessed Lauren's seduction routine in action. Maybe she'd used it on the barman. Or on Declan. Tomasz Berk probably knew
everything
that went on at Cartorama. Muddle + Spade seemed to be the cart pod's preferred gathering place. I bet dramas unfolded here regularly.

If I were clever, I'd ask him about a few of them, I realized. I caught Tomasz's eye. He winked at me. I smiled.

No, I
wasn't
planning to talk to Tomasz just because I thought he was good-looking. I was
investigating.
Intelligently.

“Speaking of Declan, I brought his iPad for you.” Carissa withdrew a darkened iPad from the tote bag she'd slung on the back of her chair. She handed it to me. “I couldn't find his phone to get the contacts for you the easy way, but everything is on here for Chocolate After Dark. The reservations list, the investor mailing list, the schedule of culinary-tour stops, all of it. Plus all the financial software for walk-ins and people who didn't pay in advance. It's dead easy to process payments.”

I nodded, accepting the iPad while trying not to think about Carissa's (probably unconscious) use of the words “dead easy.” Earlier, she'd said that not eating chocolate was “killing” her. That lingo couldn't be accidental. She was obviously troubled. I wished I could do more. “You must have been close, if Declan shared so many details of his business with you.”

It wasn't my best effort, but I was commiserating with her.

“Of course we were close.” Carissa's annoyed gaze shifted from me to Janel, who was still circulating—shortly and blondly—with the mimosas. She frowned at her. “We were getting married.”

“Yes! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.” I wondered if she was giving Janel the stink eye because she knew that Declan had slept with her. Once. More? The timeline was admittedly fuzzy. “I just mean, sometimes couples keep their work lives separate.”

“Declan and I could never do that.”

“Because Declan was helping you with Churn PDX?”

I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I swear I didn't. I was only continuing our (admittedly stilted) conversation.

“Declan and I worked together, yes,” Carissa said heatedly. “But despite what you may have heard, he did
not
do all the brainwork. I came up with my liquid nitrogen machine myself.”

She shot a disgruntled glance at Austin. He noticed and shrank in his chair with comical oversolicitousness, slurping away at an avocado smoothie with candied cacao nibs and muddled mint.

The rumor going around Cartorama is that Declan designed that equipment for her,
Austin had told me that morning.
I'm pretty sure Declan started the rumor.
Undoubtedly, Carissa knew that Austin had been to see me. They probably all did.

“How did you do it?” I asked. “It sounds so technical.”

But Carissa was in no mood to satisfy my curiosity.

“You can't believe everything
some people
say,” she told me. “Around here, the gossip gets pretty thick. Some people don't have anything better to do. It's sad, really.”

Wow. That was mean. Why all the enmity toward Austin?

Belatedly, I noticed Janel White hovering over Carissa's shoulder. Clearly, she'd been about to refill her mimosa.

She'd overheard her rant instead. Janel stomped away, then set down the mimosa pitcher on the bar with a thud that made Tomasz glance up in surprise. He watched with evident concern as Janel beelined toward what had to be Muddle + Spade's back room.

Janel was really at home here at the bar. That was interesting, especially for an apparent outsider at Cartorama.

Tomasz quit making the Bloody Mary he'd been preparing. He wiped his hands on a bar towel, then frowned and went in back.

Oblivious to the drama around her, Carissa sighed. “I just wish I could rewind the clock, you know?” She glanced at me, her eyes brimming with tears. Her lower lip trembled. She nudged away her brunch plate. “I was so mean to Declan the last time we saw each other. I can't believe that's the last thing I'll ever say to him. I mean, how am I supposed to get past that?”

Her heartache touched me. “He knew you didn't mean it.”

“But I
did
mean it!” Carissa's gaze wandered to Lauren again—maybe just because that tattooed temptress was laughing loudly while touching Danny's knee. “I was
so
mad at Declan.”

“Wedding planning is stressful,” I comforted Carissa. “Believe me, I know.” I'd never gotten past it. “It's normal.”

I told her a little about my three exes. She perked up.

“I forgot all about them! That makes me feel better, Hayden. Thanks.” Carissa gave me a sniffly smile. “I mean, you seem to have it all together these days. So if
you've
struggled with this relationship stuff, that gives me hope.”

“The trick is to remember the good times.” I felt hungrier now that I was helping her. I tried some of the chocolate chip pancakes.
Yum.
“I'm still good friends with my exes. I just couldn't settle down with any of them, that's all.”

I should have left it at that. I know I should have.

But I couldn't. I had to try investigating a bit more. Otherwise, how was I supposed to find any peace of mind?

“You and Declan must have had a lot in common,” I mused.

“Oh, we did.” Carissa snapped up the bait I'd shamelessly dangled. “Declan liked all the same things as me. Romantic comedies. Broadway musicals. Shopping. Doing DIY around the house. Even eating soul food!” I remembered that Carissa was originally from Mississippi. “You wouldn't have expected it of a guy like him, but Declan could really polish off a plate of fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, hush puppies, okra, and a big ole mess of greens, with sweet potato pie for dessert.” She gave a nostalgic sigh. “Like I said, he worked out a lot, though.”

I had the feeling Carissa was mourning the loss of Declan's muscles again. I didn't enjoy thinking my friend was so shallow.

But if the shoe fit . . . I nodded, equipped with yet another (disparate) list of Declan Murphy's likes and dislikes. How could one man have produced so many conflicting opinions?

“Anyway, I'm
so
glad you're taking over the tour temporarily, Hayden. Now all of Declan's advance publicity efforts won't go to waste. His customers and investors won't be disappointed, either!” Carissa broke into my thoughts with a new sense of vitality. Maybe I'd helped her feel better? I hoped so. “We'd brainstormed about maybe bringing in experts, like you, to guest host the tours sometime later, after Chocolate After Dark was established. Declan didn't want to do it, though.”

“So you talked him into it?” I joked fondly, remembering Carissa's knack for persuading professors to give her more time to complete assignments when we were at university together.

I wished we could have had the reunion I'd hoped for. I'd been busy crisscrossing the globe, but I'd still missed her—despite our success at keeping in touch via bits and bytes.

Carissa chuckled, then tossed her auburn hair. “Chocolate After Dark was Declan's baby. I tried not to interfere—even when he was on the verge of doing something
really
boneheaded.”

I smiled. “That couldn't have been easy. It's tough to stand idly by while someone you love does something dumb.”

My gaze meandered to Danny and Lauren. I couldn't help it.