Bonbons and Betrayal: Book 3 in The Chocolate Cafe Series

by Valley Sams

  “Would it matter if I said it or not?” he asked. Despite his tone, Mac could tell he was trying not to smile.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mac batted her long lashes fetchingly.

  “Stay…in…the…car,” he said. “No matter how much you want to snoop around, I need you to stay put. No wandering off.”

  “Can you leave the window open at least? Give me a bowl of water? You know how quickly the temperature rises in locked cars?” Louis rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll look for you in the pound should someone call the SPCA.”

  ****

  If someone had asked Louis what the man who answered the door was a professor of, he would’ve guessed it in a second. There was never a man who looked more like he had a PhD in computer sciences. From his thin neck and the shadow of a mustache attempting to grow on his upper lip to his rapidly balding head, he was a living stereotype.

  When Louis shook his hand he couldn’t help but wonder how many times the poor guy had to endure wedgies throughout his life. From the look of his home however, they were worth it.

  “Shall I take my shoes off?” Louis asked, pausing at the entranceway.

  “Please.” the man said, his soft Persian accent making everything he said sound slightly melodic. “The rainwater is very damaging to the wood.”

  Louis scanned the house quickly. Unsurprisingly, it was just as heartlessly elegant inside as it was on the outside. It was beautiful certainly, but more like a furniture showroom than a home. It didn’t smell as if anyone had ever cooked a meal or slept a night there, even though the walls were covered in pictures of the man and his apparently happy family.

  “I’m Louis,” he said, offering his hand. “From the Mackenzie…actually from the NYC police department.” He deftly flicked his ID at the man, exposing just enough of his holstered gun at his hip to ensure the man knew it was there.

  “Yes, your chief called me ahead of time to say you were coming. I’m Sayeed Mehyar, but I suppose you knew that as well.”

  Without waiting for the detective to finish slipping his shoes off, Mehyar turned and made his way toward the back of the house where it opened up to what looked like a dining room.

  “I don’t have much time for your questions, Detective, which is quite convenient as I don’t have a lot to say on the subject or frankly, much patience for it either.”

  “By the subject you mean Paul Creed,” Louis said, impressed already by Mehyar’s miserable tone. This could be even more interesting than he had initially thought.

  Still not looking over his shoulder, Mehyar made a dismissive gesture and padded through the archway into the dining room. Louis followed, his expert gaze taking in every detail as he went. He wouldn’t be surprised if 'A place for everything and everything in its place' was the family motto. Nothing was out of order and everything was immaculate.

  Mehyar made his way on softly padding feet to a sunken living room that looked out on a large backyard complete with swimming pool. He gestured to one of the oversized chairs that were arranged perfectly around the fireplace.

  He sat, crossing his lean legs and templed his fingers in front of his mouth. Louis sat opposite him, waiting for his response.

  “He wasn’t my favorite person in the world. I make no apologies for that,” Mehyar said. “Nor am I shocked that someone finally got the nerve to end his life. I’m sure you’ll enjoy writing that in your little notebook.”

  Louis smiled one of his most charming, feckless smiles.

  “No little book here, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’ve been doing this long enough that I haven’t the need for one.”

  Mehyar grunted and looked away.

  “If it makes you more comfortable I’m sure I can dig one up for you.” Louis said, watching Mehyar’s expression in that gentle, predatory way of his. Not a smile. Not a single reaction.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “How long did you know Creed, may I ask?” Louis questioned.

  “Far too long. We were roommates all through college and then, unfortunately, colleagues in the department.”

  “Was he well liked?”

  Mehyar laughed dryly, uncrossing and crossing his bird-like legs as he did so.

  “By certain people. And by ‘certain people’ I mean those who were stupid enough to believe his drivel. Or women. Women followed him like rats did the Pied Piper.”

  “So it’s safe to say then, that you did not particularly get along. Would you say there was history between the two of you?” Louis’ purposeful understatement worked perfectly. Mehyar’s dark eyes flashed and he leaned forward in his chair.

  “When we were roommates we were working on our MA graduate projects at the same time. Actually, more correctly…I was working on my MA graduate project. The only thing Creed was working on was stealing my concept and making it his own.”

  ******

  The only time Mac felt even a little guilty was when she stepped past Louis’ shoes to make her way toward the stairs. He was a lovely man on every important level and if she was a good person even remotely deserving of him, she should’ve stayed in the car.

  But she didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

  She could hear their voices in the other room as she made her way up the sweeping staircase.

  “You’re saying Creed stole your idea?” Louis’ voice, unmistakably soft and soothing was muffled, but still audible. She paused halfway up to hear the answer.

  “Absolutely. I had no idea he had done so until the day the assignments were due. As a result, I had to ask for an extension and completely redo months worth of work in only a few weeks. He was an appalling man and it is still appalling that he got away with it.”

  “Surely you confronted him about it.”

  “I did more than confront him. I gave him a black eye and went to the head of the department about it. Of course she was sleeping with him, so in essence she was fully anesthetized.”

  “Did he receive any punishment?”

  “Would you consider a tenured professorship a punishment?”

  As the interview heated up, Mac took her opportunity to continue up the stairs. The walls were lined with bland family portraits of the man with his two little boys and wisp of a wife. There were one or two of an older couple that Mac concluded were his parents, looking out proudly from a frame that probably cost more than their home.

  He wasn’t smiling in a single one of them, which wasn’t surprising when Mac took his foul tone into account.

  Now at the landing, Mac made her way down the hallway to what appeared to be an office at the end. She probably had less than ten minutes and couldn’t be bothered with opening any of the many shut doors that lined her path. Besides, she had done this enough lately that she knew one squeaking hinge could be enough to give her away.

  Her heart wasn’t even beating rapidly any more. Apparently her tolerance for falsehood and subversive activity was increasing. It might be time for a detox.

  She slipped into the office, listening constantly to the drone of the men’s voices below.

  Like the rest of the house, there was something overly scrubbed and impersonal about the man’s office as well. His large desk was the focal point of the room. It was covered in computer equipment with a large monitor in the center. Mac stopped herself from clicking the mouse that softly pulsed with light on the mahogany. What if there was some kind of alarm hooked up to it? She couldn’t take the risk. In addition, her computer skills weren’t exactly stellar. She’d have more luck getting information the old fashioned way – rifling through drawers.

  She opened the first drawer and found only a collection of expensive pens, change and a few misdirected staples.

  The second drawer was deep enough to function as a filing cabinet. Mac was disappointed to find nothing but credit card statements, gas receipts and medical information.

  Downstairs, the conversation continued. Mac couldn’t help but half listen as their v
oices drifted up through the overly filigreed heating vent beneath the desk.

  “Deena Shelat was the head of the department at the time, was she not?” Louis’ voice as lighthearted and charming as usual.

  “And Creed was the head of her, to be blunt. You see, the man was a sub-par student and a sub-par teacher. There was no way he would’ve attained any of his degrees without stealing ideas from greater minds than his. There is certainly no way he would’ve been employed without Shelat’s help either.”

  Mehyar’s voice was almost a hiss of pure hatred. It was obvious, even to Mac one floor above, that he had no love for Creed and that his patience for Louis’s line of questioning was growing thin.

  “Do you remember how long Shelat and Creed were seeing each other?” Louis asked.

  Mac froze, midway through a pile of papers she had found beneath a crystal paperweight.

  Deena Shelat. The tear-sodden middle-aged woman from the party the other night. Of course. No wonder she had gone out of her way to frighten the three of them off Paul. They had been lovers, and not the blissful kind.

  “As long as it took for him to get what he wanted. Did you know she quit her position as soon as he ended their affair? Not all of us have the strength to see the person we hate every day. She just couldn’t take it. Look…how long is this going to be? This is a waste of my time.”

  Finally, Mac’s heart rate began to increase. Perhaps she didn’t have quite the window of opportunity she had initially believed. If Louis came back to the car and she was gone…

  Her heart beginning to thump in her ears, she moved quickly through the papers in her hands. What was she looking for exactly? Anything about Creed, she supposed. Or maybe she couldn’t resist being part of the action.

  She came across a black and white newspaper clipping and stopped. Dated three months ago, it was a short article accompanied by a photograph of the unmistakably magnetic Paul Creed.

  He was smiling at the camera, his Nordic good looks in stark contrast to the group of shabby students that surrounded him. On his right, a young man no taller than Mac smiled awkwardly at the camera. His hair, overlong and greasy looking, hung to his shoulders and even in the blurry newsprint, his eyes appeared haunted. Paul was holding the young man’s hand in the air in an exaggeratedly triumphant pose, like they were athletes rather than computer science nerds.

  Beneath the photo was the caption ‘Celebrated Computer Science Whiz Professor Paul Creed Offering Mentorship to Tomorrow’s Tech Game Changers’

  Mac began to read further when she heard Mehyar’s voice begin to take on a reedy, furious tone.

  “…At home. Exactly what I told your superior and exactly what I’ll tell you. I won’t however, tell you again. I have an alibi and those have all been checked out. I hated the man, I won’t lie. I won’t pretend I felt anything even resembling respect for him, but I am not a murderer. I did not give up my life to spend the rest of it behind bars over yet another privileged, pompous idiot.”

  This was where she made her exit. Mac hastily folded the article and shoved it in her cardigan pocket. She could hear Louis calmly trying to placate Mehyar but from his rapidly amplifying tone, she had a feeling she was down to seconds to make a successful escape.

  Holding her breath and maneuvering her way down the long hall, Mac counted those seconds. Just get to the door and get out. Yes, she had now added theft to her list of criminal deeds, but she had a feeling there was something in that article that was going to make it all worth it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  He didn’t yell. He was far too British for that. What he did was even worse. In fact, it was the most uncomfortable five minutes of Mac’s life.

  He stared at her.

  He stared at her the same way he stared at convicts, suspects and those he was simply too disgusted with to waste words on.

  Mac felt like the sheer force of that silent, cutting stare was pushing her back against the Toyota’s steamy windows. There was no love in those eyes. No respect either…

  She held the stupid piece of paper between the two of them like a peace offering. It trembled slightly as she did her best to explain her actions. That was the worst part of the stare, for every moment that he didn’t speak she spoke more – unwinding the rope that he was handing her to hang herself with.

  “I think it’s important. Honestly, I do. We need to…I mean you need to look at all possibilities, right? I mean it had to be someone he knew…no signs of a struggle, right? These were his students the semester… this… this guy… Randall Eisenhower… apparently was his star pupil. See? Would you? Louis, would you just look? I’m sorry… Here, just take a look...” Mac practically shoved the paper in his face. Anything to get him to stop staring at her that way.

  Without expression, without even a sigh of annoyance, Louis finally took the trembling news clipping from her hand and read it.

  The mood in the car immediately changed. He was pushing up his glasses to get a better look, but his hand froze. His mouth softened from its impenetrable slash of disappointment.

  “This kid. I met this kid in the alley that night. Randall Eisenhower.”

  Mac felt flooded with relief. Yes, thank god… Maybe she hadn’t sacrificed her relationship for nothing.

  “He was incredibly drunk and had nothing good to say about Paul… he was one of my red flags.” Ignoring Mac’s satisfied smile, Louis took his phone from the pocket of his jacket.

  There was silence as he dialed the station and waited.

  “Yes, hello. It’s me. Listen, can I trouble you for the address of a Randall Eisenhower? Yup…”

  Louis gestured at Mac to grab her pen and the same napkin that she had scrawled Mehyar’s address on earlier. It was hard for Mac to control her happiness. It was hard for her to control a lot of her emotions around this man.

  Louis parroted the address and hung up the phone. There was another loaded pause and he turned to her.

  Was he going to kick her out? Was she going to end up walking home? Shelling out a cool hundred for a taxi back to Mackenzie Bay?

  “Don’t think that I’m overly impressed.”

  “So you’re a little impressed?”

  Louis turned the car on, avoiding eye contact as much as he could.

  “A very small amount. Nothing to get excited about. And I am absolutely serious this time…when we get to Eisenhower’s house, I am locking you in the trunk. No bowls of water. Nothing. You’re very naughty. It’s infuriating.”

  Mac’s face twisted up into her impish smile, her strangely beautiful face practically glowing with triumph.

  “But impressive. Infuriating but impressive.”

  ******

  One lock opened, the dull click loud enough to almost echo down the hallway.

  Another click as another lock was undone.

  Then another.

  Despite himself, Louis took a few steps backward. Not that he thought there was anything behind the door that he couldn’t handle. He’d seen enough in his ten odd years as a homicide detective to prepare him for even the most unthinkable of surprises.

  In his experience however, it always made sense to give oneself a little extra space when there were that many locks on an apartment door.

  Two more locks later and the seams of the doorway protested as it opened.

  Only as far as a few chain locks, of course.

  Louis was immediately hit with the dank smell of rot, strong enough to make its way through the small crack into the hall.

  A single eye stared out at him. It was blood shot and wild. Whomever was the lucky owner of that eye, was hanging by a thread, that was obvious.

  “Randall Eisenhower?”

  There was a pause and then a crackling noise in the man’s throat, as if he hadn’t spoken in months.

  “Who wants to know?” he gurgled.

  Louis flipped open his ID, holding it up to the rank smelling crack in the door.

  “I’m with the NYPD. I need to ask you
a few questions.”

  “I know you,” the voice said. “Let me see your badge.” Hesitantly, Louis stepped closer. Two thin fingers snaked their way out of the door. The nails were bitten to the quick, the cuticles swollen and crusty with blood. Craig took Louis’ ID in a pincer grip and it disappeared into the dark behind the door.

  Louis sighed, staring down at his shoes while he waited for Eisenhower to be satisfied that he was legitimate.

  After an inappropriate length of time, Louis heard the remaining two chain locks being rattled back. The door opened into a dark apartment, the rank smell strong enough to be almost palpable as it rolled over Louis and into the hall.