Dangerously Dark (11 page)

Carissa noticed. She waggled her brows. “You? And Danny?”

I got a grip on myself. I scoffed. “No, it's not like that between us. We're just friends. I've known Danny for forever.”

“I hear friends make the best lovers,” Carissa singsonged.

I think I blushed. I know my face felt hot. Needing a diversion, I grabbed Declan's iPad and tucked it securely into my bag. “I'll take good care of this, I promise. I'll make sure the first few tours go off without a hitch, too. After that—”

“I can do it!” Austin piped up. He nodded at my bag, where I'd stowed all the culinary-tour information. His eager gaze moved to Carissa. “Declan told me about the tour. I can close The Chocolate Bar early and help out. I'd be happy to do it.”

If looks could have killed, Carissa would have machine-gunned Austin on the spot . . . and he would have been happy to bite the bullet for her, too. I didn't understand her enmity toward him.

“I think
you've
done quite enough for Declan already,” Carissa said. Then she got up in a huff and swerved toward the ladies' room, still obviously feeling tipsy (and/or drugged).

Austin and I exchanged an awkward look.

“She's really upset,” he said by way of an excuse.

“She's not herself today,” I added, hoping to bolster it.

Then I glanced down at my (almost empty) plate and realized I'd made a mistake. Carissa
was
herself today, if the crumbs and chocolate-sauce smears on my plate were any indication. Prompted by Carissa, I'd polished off more food than I'd intended.

Plainly, she still had her knack for persuasion. I hadn't even noticed myself chowing down while we'd talked—that's just how effective Carissa was at dropping hints, making suggestions, and (subtly) getting her own way. It was her superpower.

I couldn't believe she hadn't used it on Declan. Especially if she'd thought he was making mistakes. Had Carissa truly resisted interfering with Declan's decisions, the way she'd claimed? Or had Declan Murphy been the only person in the known universe who'd successfully thwarted Carissa's wishes?

If he had, had he paid for that mistake with his life? Could Carissa have changed
that
much, that she'd killed him?

I realized the unpleasant direction my thoughts had taken and jolted myself onto another course. I refused to think of my friend that way. No matter what tragic things were going on, Carissa had to be innocent. She simply had to be. That was it.

 

 

The brunch broke up a short while later, with Carissa's friends and fellow Cartorama vendors milling around in genial clumps, busing their own plates and offering their sympathies to Carissa. It turned out that the engagement brunch-turned-memorial was partly catered by Muddle + Spade and partly potlucked by all the Cartoramians. They'd pitched in to bring their specialties. It was heartwarming how close they all were.

You know . . . unless one of them was secretly a murderer.

But the consensus among everyone except me was that Declan had died accidentally. That he'd doubled back to Churn PDX on the night in question, opened the liquid nitrogen tanks to do Carissa's prep for her for the next day (as he sometimes did), then passed out before realizing that anything was wrong with the safety valves and/or ventilation in the trailer.

As ways to die went, Declan's could have been worse. That didn't mean it wasn't awful, though. Especially since he'd been trying to be nice at the time. That hurt, even if Declan
had
sometimes been a “tremendous jerk” (to use Austin's words).

Declan's funeral was set for the next morning. Since I wasn't due to kick off the first Chocolate After Dark session until the evening—its gimmick being that it began at twilight and featured adults-only cocktails among its stops—I was invited to the service, too.

“Please come, Hayden.” Carissa emerged and hugged me, just as though she
hadn't
huffed off in a bad temper earlier. Since she was going through such a hard time, some volatility was to be expected from her, I reasoned. “Do it for Declan.”

“Declan and I never even met,” I pointed out gently. “You'll be happier with your family around you. You'll be fine.”

“But I want
you.
” Carissa pouted, one step short of stomping her foot. “How else will I be able to brag to everyone that I know a real, live, world-famous chocolate whisperer?”

That was very much beside the point.

Also, I wasn't the type to network at a memorial service.

“Don't worry,” I assured her. “I'll be in town awhile.”

“Oh, all right.” Carissa relented, then turned to Austin. “I'm sorry about before,” she baby-talked, standing pigeon-toed before him. “You know I never mean it, don't you, sweetie?”

The expression on Austin's face when Carissa carelessly dropped that endearment said it all. He hadn't avoided touching me on my sofa because he had a girlfriend. He'd done it because his heart belonged to Carissa . . . whether she wanted it or not.

Poor Austin.
Declan had moved to Portland and immediately pretended he and Austin
hadn't
played hours upon hours of online video games together. Carissa had allowed Austin to troubleshoot her liquid nitrogen software, then—for an encore—planted him squarely in the friend zone. I doubted she even knew she'd done it. It wasn't something most women thought consciously about doing when it came to men they weren't interested in dating. It just . . . happened. Even now, Austin and Carissa's unfortunate dynamic was playing out all over again. She hugged him good-bye. He held on just a
little
too tightly, for a
little
too long.

“Are you
sure
you don't want me to lend a hand with the tour?” Austin asked when they'd finally parted. He gazed into Carissa's face like a starving man looking at a life-saving
taco de lengua.
“I don't mind. I can do it. Declan's not the only one who was good with people. I am, too.” Austin searched Carissa's expression. “Plus, I know chocolate
a lot
better than he did.”

His casual boast silenced the room. Everyone in the bar turned to watch. Even Danny could tell that something was about to go down, and he'd just arrived that morning. It was probably his magical body-language mojo at work, alerting him somehow.

But everyone was disappointed. Because Carissa only patted Austin's arm and said, “You keep doing
you,
Austin. It's cute. But the fact is, Hayden is better at chocolate than all of us.”

Every gaze in Muddle + Spade pinned itself on me. Austin, especially, looked as though he wished I'd vaporize on the spot.

Et tu, Austin?
I tossed him an apologetic headshake. It didn't help. Maybe Austin was more malevolent than I thought.

Danny almost exploded trying not to laugh outright at my self-effacing headshake. He knew me too well to believe my show of “Who, me?” humility was authentic.

“It's a mystery to me why Declan didn't jump on the chance to have Hayden consult for him,” Carissa added, oblivious to the target she was painting on my back. “Her expertise would have done wonders for Chocolate After Dark, and
I
totally had an in.”

Several gazes swerved speculatively to me. I shrugged.

“Someone on her last job wound up murdered,” Tomasz said.

What the... ?
He hadn't even been part of the conversation.

For a chaser, he blithely pulled a bar towel from his shoulder and set to work wiping down the polished bar. It was as if Tomasz's to-do list for the day had read:
(1) make the bar perfectly spic and span,
and
(2) destroy Hayden Mundy Moore's credibility.
He'd accomplished both. I didn't appreciate his stirring the pot. Indie Superstud or not, he was out of line.

I held up my hands, about to explain, then thought better of it. I could do that later. “Carissa, I'm happy to step down if you're not comfortable with me leading the tour.”

“Or
I
could do it, instead,” Janel piped up. I wondered when she'd returned from the bar's back room. “I'm the one who suggested a bunch of the stops to Declan in the first place.”

It was as if she hadn't spoken. No one even looked at her.

That was harsh. Sure, Janel was a little lacking in social graces, but there was nothing wrong with outspokenness.

Into the resounding, uncomfortable silence that followed, Carissa suddenly squealed, “So thanks for a wonderful party, you guys!” She held out her arms as though to hug everyone—everyone except Janel, I assumed. “It's been so,
so
fantastic!”

Hmm.
That was a lot of enthusiasm for what was essentially Declan's wake. Carissa bounced up and down in between hugging each person good-bye, looking for all the world like me at fourteen: the NSYNC fan club years. I was shaken by her erratic emotions—but not as shaken as I was by the way she hugged
me.

Carissa's grip was viselike. I couldn't breathe.

“Don't let me down, Hay!” my friend commanded, using one of those (unwanted) nicknames I've told you about. “I'll be watching you! Don't mess up Declan's tour and make me break both your legs!”

She tittered and released me, grinning oddly. I've been to a few engagement- and wedding-related parties. I didn't recall ever being threatened, Mafia don style, at any of them before.

Still, I was sympathetic to Carissa's heart-rending position. So I did what I could to play along. “You don't fool me,” I joked after drawing in a much-needed breath. “You won't do the job yourself. You'll have your enforcer do it for you.”

I aimed a flippant glance at Austin, underlining my wisecrack. But the look on his face truly gave me chills.

Austin would kill for Carissa,
I thought as I looked into his bleak eyes. The question was . . . had he done so already?

I shuddered and made my getaway. It was time to retrieve Danny and get down to the business of catching a killer. Again.

Seven

When I went to grab Danny, I couldn't find him.

It was as if he was ditching me on purpose. If this continued—with my protection expert
and
with Travis—I was going to develop a complex. They'd never avoided me simultaneously.

Frowning with bewilderment, I made my way through the lingering Cartorama vendors (none of whom seemed in a hurry to open their carts for the day), peering beyond Muddle + Spade's northwest décor to the faces of everyone present. No dice. No one there was tall enough, broad-shouldered enough, or anywhere near tough enough to be my oldest friend, Danny Jamieson.

At first, I wasn't worried. I thought Danny had probably slipped away with Lauren for a more intimate tête-à-tête. The two of them had been canoodling pretty heavily. But then I glimpsed Lauren huskily laughing at one of Tomasz's jokes and got concerned.

People were dropping dead. I couldn't risk losing Danny.

With my heart rate kicking into high gear, I shouldered my bag and headed outside. I felt the weight and rectangular solidity of Declan's iPad thumping against my ribs, reminding me of all the promises I'd made to Carissa. I didn't know if I could successfully lead the Chocolate After Dark tour. I'd need to do some homework first—brush up on any new chocolatiers who'd opened up shop in Stumptown since I'd last been there.... probably a year or so ago, by now
,
I recalled as I left the bar's warehouse-y exterior and traveled across the parking lot to Cartorama.

I'd been to Portland several times before—most notably for the city's annual ChocolateFest, which brought together cacao lovers, confectioners, wineries, distilleries, and chocolate purveyors of all types for an extravaganza of chocolate sampling, competing, and tasting. There were cookies, cakes, fudge, and truffles, plus vinegars, oils, and hand-harvested salts. Also, beverages—hot chocolate, liqueurs, wines, and more.

Most cities host a similar event these days, but Portland's ChocolateFest was special. So, to me, was Danny. Where was he?

The cart pod was still quiet as I made my way past its center picnic tables. On the narrow neighborhood street beyond, a few cars chugged past. Overhead, blue skies and clouds sailed over the trees surrounding Cartorama's lot. I could see why the pod's location was in demand. It was peaceful and cozy, the kind of place developers tried to mimic with planned communities but couldn't quite nail down. A woman walked by pushing a baby in a stroller; a middle-aged man jogged past, panting “hello” to her.

It was all so quaint,
I
practically wanted to live there. Especially once I glimpsed Chow the cat, sunning herself nearby. Ordinarily, I'm a dog person. But that black cat's attitude of calm composure lured me in. Despite being (technically) homeless, Chow appeared absolutely zen. I could have used some of that serenity. Plus, what's not to like about cuddling a cat?

But succumbing to retro nostalgia (and my own sporadic yearnings for a pet and/or home base to chill out in) wouldn't help me find Danny. I stopped outside a coffeehouse that occupied a vintage Routemaster double-decker bus, with seating in the top and a kitchen and ordering area in the bottom, then frowned.

Frustrated, I scanned the bus. It was repainted green, so it wasn't the iconic Bus Red color that tourists would have recognized around Piccadilly Circus or Westminster, but its charm remained intact. My Anglophile mom would have disagreed, of course. But since not all of us currently live in Mayfair, we can't all be quite so picky about our vintage-bus situations.

A rustling sound nearby caught my attention. I started.

A
clunk
came next, followed by the creak of a door.

I wheeled around, temporarily forgetting about finding Danny. I trod mostly silently against the paved blacktop in the middle of the pod, following those sounds toward . . . Carissa's Airstream trailer? Just as I realized what I was looking at, the door swung open a little farther. Instinctively, I ducked.

Whoa!
I almost bashed my head on the menu board hanging off Lauren's cart. I winced, belatedly noticing Sweet Seductions' listing of available treats: Slutty Brownies were fairly self-explanatory, but Screaming Chocolate Orgasm wasn't. Neither were Cherry Bombs, Lick Sticks, or Choco Bliss Bites.

Equating the pleasure of chocolate with sex is pretty common, but it's not my thing. Chocolate is
amazing.
So is sex (of course). But the two of them together? No, thanks (no way). Getting my sheets all gooey with hot fudge or gunking them up with cookie crumbs is not for me. Besides, those edible “chocolate” body paints generally
aren't.
Enjoyably edible, that is.

I once consulted for a company that made that stuff. I still have nightmares about it sometimes. Don't ask me what's in it. I'd rather not say. But
maybe
you should steer clear.

The sound of footsteps thumped back into my consciousness, dragging me out of my mental roundabout. I snapped back to alertness and peeked around Sweet Seductions' menu board.

Janel White hurried in the opposite direction, carrying a bundle of something clear and crinkly in her hands. It looked like . . . a giant wad of plastic wrap? That she'd taken out of Carissa's Airstream trailer? Perplexed, I tried to examine it more closely. Janel was moving too quickly for me to make out details like printed logos or labels, but it was definitely plastic wrap. The foodservice variety was longer, wider, and more durable than the stuff you might buy for your home kitchen, but it's otherwise identical—unmistakable in broad daylight.

Janel wasn't managing one of the food carts. She certainly didn't work at Churn PDX with Carissa. I'd have been surprised if she had a key to the trailer—I knew firsthand how tricky they were to come by. If Janel was strictly a
fan
of Cartorama (and she was), what was she doing with an obvious foodservice item?

“So this is what you're doing for fun now,” Danny said.

His deep voice startled me. I lurched, my heart pounding.

A few feet away, Janel jerked up her head, then ran faster. She must have heard Danny's voice and decided to skedaddle. Now I might never know what she was doing or why she was doing it.

I'd have bet my emergency stash of bittersweet chocolate
carrés
(four-gram individual squares, perfect for a pick-me-up when a whole chocolate bar was too much) that it was something nefarious. That was just the way my week was going so far.

“. . . spying on innocent people,” my lunkheaded bodyguard continued, oblivious to the (potential) drama he'd interrupted.

What
had Janel been doing with that plastic wrap? More importantly, why had she appeared so
guilty
about having it?

I gave Danny a shove. “Thanks a lot, Captain Oblivious! You scared her away before I could find out more.”

“More about what? How to keep food fresh?” Danny chuckled, rebounding with ease. He's light on his feet, like Chow the cat—only a lot less skittish. He seemed pleased to see me. “There are at least half a dozen food carts within shouting distance. People are bound to have plastic wrap around here.”

He didn't understand. “Didn't you see how
suspicious
she looked?” I flailed my arm, exasperated. I watched as Janel disappeared. “That might have been an important clue.”

“
Plastic wrap
might have been an important clue?” Danny crossed his arms, appearing unconvinced. He studied me, unsmiling now. “Travis was right. I was right to come here.”

“Wait a minute.” Incredulous, I stared at him. “Did you just say, ‘Travis was right'?” I shook my head, pantomiming knocking something out of my ear with the heel of my hand. “I must be hearing things, because that's impossible.”

“He was right to call me. I was right to come here.”

“You—” I broke off, speechless with confusion. “You
never
agree with Travis. He
never
agrees with you. Those are laws of nature, like ‘water is wet' and ‘gravity is constant.'”

“And ‘Hayden is procrastinating.'” Danny had the audacity to smile at me. But I didn't want to trade jabs just then.

“Or ‘Danny is late again.'”
Okay, maybe I did.

Then I realized that Danny
wasn't
dead, and I
wasn't
going to stumble across his lifeless body the way I had Declan's yesterday. All the fight went out of me. Temporarily, at least.

Just seeing someone familiar made me realize how tightly wound I'd been. Hoping Danny wouldn't notice my lapse into sentimentality, I scowled at him. Elaborately. With gusto.

He laughed and shook his head, catching on instantly. “You quit arguing pretty quickly there, boss. It's that bad, huh?”

Darn him and his perspicacity. I suddenly felt like crying. That's what being understood does to me. Being truly
known
is pretty rare in my life, given all the places I travel and the strangers I meet. I'm proud of my independence. I cherish my freedom. But Danny knows how to get to me like no one else does.

“So, what's with you and the dead bodies all of a sudden, huh?” Danny's dark-eyed gaze roved over me, seeing all. “Travis said you stumbled onto another one and called him all aflutter.”

“Aflutter?”
Now I was really offended. “I was
never
‘aflutter.' Concerned, yes. Freaked-out, okay. But ‘aflutter'?
No.
”

“Granted, he also said you sounded pretty loaded at the time,” Danny went on nonchalantly. A few of the Cartorama vendors emerged from Muddle + Spade and began walking toward the pod. “Even so, we both decided it would be best if I—”

“Hang on.” I held up my palm. “You ‘both decided'?” This didn't compute. I must have misheard him, just as I had thirty seconds ago. “Are you and Travis
collaborating
on something?”

Danny scoffed. Then he shrugged. “Well, actually—”

“Oh, my god. You are. The apocalypse has begun.”

“—we're collaborating on
you,
” Danny finished with a quirk of his mouth. Some women would have found it attractive. I knew better. “It seems pretty obvious that you're struggling.”

“I don't have to listen to this.” My mind raced a zillion miles an hour. Danny and Travis had
collaborated
? But they were sworn enemies. They always had been. My world had tilted. Nothing good could come of this. I started walking, kidding myself I could somehow outrun it. “You shouldn't have come.”

I remembered the SFPD detective he'd started seeing in San Francisco. She'd been nice. Now I'd accidentally taken Danny away from her—and all for a nonsense mission that he and Travis had concocted. They were too protective of me sometimes.

“I'm here because you need some help. Some perspective.” Danny broke into a jog, easily keeping up with my tromping footsteps. “Maybe some relaxation. Like a trip. A nice, relaxing trip to Aruba.”

I keeled to a stop at the sidewalk. Behind us both, the cart pod was gradually coming to life, its vendors unaware of the world-shattering event happening just a few yards away.

Danny and Travis really were getting along. What the. . . what?

“Aruba is where Travis has always dreamed of traveling,” I broke in, crossing my arms. “You know, if he ever shakes his rampant airplane phobia. Exactly what's going on, Danny?”

He hauled in a deep breath. “We both think you need—”

“You ‘both think'?” I groaned, then stomped onward.

“—a vacation.” Danny pursued me. His athletic strides ate up the ground between us. He'd taken up running while in San Francisco (or sometime before), and it showed. He cornered me at my rented Civic, pinning me between his arms and the driver's-side door. “You've been under a lot of stress lately,” he told me. “That's why you're seeing
murder
around every corner. You need a break.”

“You need to quit being so patronizing.”

“You need to quit being so defensive.”

“Stop overreacting!”

“You go first.” My sometime bodyguard gave me a headshake. “Repeat after me, ‘Nobody was murdered here yesterday.'”

He had a lot of nerve. “You don't know that.”

“I'm pretty sure I
do know
that,” Danny disagreed. “Clue number one? There aren't any police investigating.”

“They didn't investigate Adrienne's death, either.”

“Clue number two? The odds of you stumbling onto two murders in two weeks are infinitesimal. You know that.”

I did. I'd had exactly that same thought myself. Still . . .

“There was an actual death here yesterday! I saw it.”

“And that's why you called Travis. You wanted one of us to intervene—to reassure you before you got carried away.” Danny gave me a sympathetic look. “What happened at Maison Lemaître would have gotten to anyone. You need time to process it. Then the world will stop seeming like such a big, scary place.”

It was my turn to scoff. “I'm not making any of this up.”

“You're upset. I see that.” His voice wound around me, hitting up all the familiar soft spots. “Come on. Let me help.”

I wanted him to. But I didn't trust this unprecedented alliance between Danny and his sworn nemesis. Exactly
what,
I wondered, had I said to Travis on the phone last night?

It had definitely gone beyond “What are you wearing?”