Playing with Bonbon Fire

by Dorothy St. James

  “I need to run an errand,” she called over to me. “I should be back before lunch.”

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  Although I was sure she’d heard me, she acted as if I hadn’t spoken. With car keys in hand and purse slung over her shoulder, she hurried out the door.

  My first instinct was to run after her, but I couldn’t leave the shop. Instead, I called Althea and told her about the mysterious phone call that had upset her mother. Althea promised to go looking for her and to make sure everything was okay.

  I checked my watch: ten thirty. I still hadn’t seen or heard from Tina. This morning she’d grunted at me when I’d told her I was heading to the shop. I’d taken the grunt to mean she’d come down for breakfast as soon as she woke up.

  Certainly, she was awake and moving around by now. Concerned, I texted her.

  She texted back, “On my way.”

  A minute later she texted, “What’s wrong with your cat?”

  “Bertie’s cat,” I corrected. “Nothing’s wrong with Troubadour.”

  “His fur fell out. That’s not normal.”

  “It’s OK,” I wrote. “He’s hairless.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know. Born that way.”

  A few minutes later the door swung open as if pushed by a strong wind. The copper bell above the door tinkled a wild staccato tune. “Hey, Tina,” I called without looking up from the order I was filling. It was a large box of classic chocolate-covered cherry bonbons for Arthur Jenkins, the slightly hunched octogenarian from the Pink Pelican Inn. He was buying the bonbons for his (hopefully) soon-to-be fiancée. Orders like these were some of my favorites. “I’ll be done with this in a minute.”

  “No rush,” a deep voice answered. Definitely not Tina.

  I looked up to see Harley Dalton coming toward me. He was dressed casually in dark green board shorts that showed off his muscular legs and a white rash guard shirt that showed off his buff chest. My heart did its stupid double-pitapat whenever I saw him. And seeing him dressed like a surfing god made my heart beat extra quick. I stopped what I was doing and heaved a slow, deep breath as a way to tell my silly heart to settle down.

  “Good morning, counselor.” Arthur shook Harley’s hand. “I see you’re taking the weekend off. Good for you. Good for you.”

  “I promised Gavin a day on the waves,” Harley answered, referring to his son. “But I do have a few pieces of business that need my attention first.”

  “And here I thought it was my chocolates that lured you here,” I teased.

  “Son, her chocolates are delicious. Nearly as good as Mabel’s, God rest her soul. And she’s got such a pretty face too. If I lived upstairs from this shop like you do, Harleston, I’d be too big to fit through that door over there in no time.”

  “You’re too kind, Mr. Jenkins.” I tied a shiny gold bow to secure the box and carefully handed it to him. “Give my best to Miss Harris. And you’ll have to let me know how things turn out.”

  “After she eats a few of your chocolate-covered cherries, there’s no way she’ll say no.”

  I smiled as Arthur sauntered happily out of the store, but it was a melancholy smile. Everyone gave me credit for the truffles and bonbons we sold when in reality they were Bertie’s creations, not mine.

  Oh, how I wished they were mine.

  “What can I do for you today, counselor?” I asked as I handed Harley a to-go coffee cup.

  “Thank you. I heard back from Florence. She wants to meet with you. This afternoon. In your apartment. At three. I told her that you work during the day and that you would require more advance notice. But you know Florence. She doesn’t take no for an answer. So here I am, telling you when she wants to meet. Just say the word and I’ll tell her you’re not available. And if you’d feel more comfortable, I can arrange for the two of you to meet at my office and not at your apartment and at a time and day that works for you.”

  My initial reaction was to tell Harley that he was right, three o’clock today wasn’t a good time. I had the festival and Bixby’s safety to worry about. At the same time, I didn’t want this meeting dangling over my head like the sword of Damocles, always wondering what spiteful thing Florence had to say to me.

  And why did she need to say it in private?

  All I wanted to do was find my mother. Why couldn’t Mabel’s children understand that?

  “Tell her I’ll meet with her.” It actually hurt to get those words out of my mouth. Why was I so worried about meeting with Florence? She couldn’t upset me any more than she already had. And perhaps, just perhaps, she might even be able to help me in my quest to find her missing sister Carolina, who had to be my mother.

  “Penn, you don’t have to do this,” Harley said quietly.

  I shook my head. “No. Today. At three. Might as well get it over with, right?”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I’m sure.” Yes, I was sure. I needed to do this.

  “If you’d like, I can sit in on the meeting with you. We don’t know what she has to say. I hope she’s coming to offer an olive branch—”

  “But given our past encounters, we all know that’s unlikely,” I finished for him. “You don’t mind coming? Even on your day with Gavin?”

  “Not when it’s for you.” He reached over the counter and put his hand over mine. “Besides, Gavin has plans to meet up with his friend Tom after lunch.” He sighed. “That boy of mine is growing up too fast. He doesn’t want to hang out with his dad all the time anymore.”

  “Kids these days,” I said with a half smile.

  Things had been so awkward between us for months that it felt odd (nice, but definitely odd) to have him hold my hand and talk to me. Really talk to me.

  “I don’t know why—” I started to say at the same time he said, “I know that we’ve been—”

  Before either of us could voice what had been left unsaid for months, Tina came crashing through the shop’s front door with the force of a hurricane. The ends of the colorful red, white, and blue silk scarf she’d skillfully wrapped around her head like a turban fluttered in the breeze she’d kicked up.

  “Hey, sis,” her voice boomed. Her arm was tossed over Bixby’s shoulder. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows bounced up and down as she looked at me, then at Harley, who was still touching my hand, and finally at Bixby. Apparently she was as incorrigible as Althea in her attempts to set me up with a man. “Lookie who I brought with me.”

  Chapter 19

  I wondered, and not for the first time, if people who grew up with a mother in their lives found themselves in this kind of trouble. And when I say trouble, I mean man trouble. I’d always figured mothers taught their daughters some secret tricks—passed down through the generations—on how to talk to and manage the male of the species.

  I wished someone had taught me something—anything—in that regard, because in that moment, as I bit down hard on my bottom lip, I felt like a fish flopping around in a marsh flat at low tide. I had no clue what I needed to say to Harley, who I was convinced had been about to bear his soul, or to Bixby, who Tina had assured me was my perfect match.

  “I see you’ve been down to the beach already,” I said to Tina, deciding to ignore the men who were staring at each other while at the same time pretending they weren’t.

  “I took a little stroll,” she said. She was dressed for a day at the beach in a red bikini top with white polka dots and blue short-shorts with a sporty white stripe outlining the curve of her hips.

  She looked stylish, as always. I sometimes wished I had just a thimbleful of her fashion sense. I also wished she’d wipe that goofy grin from her face. “I thought you were sleeping in.”

  “I never sleep in.” She laughed as she said it.

  I shook my head and smiled at her absurd lie. Just the day before my not-so-early phone call had woken her up from a deep sleep.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “my stroll just happened to lead me to
Bixby’s beach rental. We started catching up.” She hugged his arm to her side as she pulled him over to the front counter and crowded Harley out of the way.

  “That rude woman pushing at you is my sister, Tina.” I swatted her on the shoulder before adding, “Harley Dalton is my …” Maybe I wouldn’t have stumbled over what I wanted to say in that moment if I’d had a mother to guide me on how to act around men. Since I didn’t even know my mother’s name (it had to be Carolina, didn’t it?), I ended up sputtering, “… m-my lawyer. He’s my lawyer.”

  This description of what he was to me felt inadequate and not at all fair to Harley. He was more than my lawyer. He was my neighbor, my friend, and someone who made my heart race like a frightened jackrabbit’s.

  “Lawyer?” Tina scoffed. “You look more like a surfer than a professional anything. From what I’ve heard, my sister has some complicated legal matters, including a lawsuit for this place. Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

  “He is a surfer. But that doesn’t mean he’s brainless. Harley knows this island and the law. So I’ll thank you not to question his abilities. I’m happy with his services and that should be enough for you.”

  Tina smiled sheepishly and held up her hands. “Of course, silly bean.”

  Did I detect a mischievous twinkle in her eyes?

  “Thank you for your vote of confidence, Penn,” Harley said as he headed toward the door with barely a nod in Tina’s or Bixby’s direction. “I’ll see you at three.”

  “What’s at three?” Tina asked.

  Instead of answering, I pulled a plate from one of the shelves behind the counter. “You didn’t get a chance to taste any of the chocolates last night. Do you have time to sit down and have a snack?”

  I started to fix a plate of chocolates, making sure there’d be enough for everyone to have at least three pieces.

  Bixby’s entire face brightened at the sight of them. “I always have time for chocolate.” His voice deepened as he added, “Especially your chocolate.”

  “You are such a shameless flirt,” I said as I carried the tray to a nearby table.

  It was past the morning rush. The only customers we had at the moment were the red-haired Fox and unnaturally black-haired Alvin. The two band members were sitting on the café sofa while downing coffees with their heads pressed together in serious conversation. They’d been that way for more than an hour.

  Since they didn’t need me to wait on them, I sat down with Bixby and Tina and indulged in a creamy white chocolate raspberry rosewater bonbon.

  “Did you enjoy my concert last night?” Bixby asked after he gobbled a sunflower buttercup (shaped like the flower and filled with sunflower butter instead of peanut butter). He then tossed one of Bertie’s sea salt caramels into his mouth.

  “I wasn’t able to come. Police were here and all,” I said, surprised he’d forgotten about last night’s arson attempt. Tina had called and warned him about it after the police had released us and the building from their investigation.

  “Oh … right … sorry about that.” His cheeks turned slightly red as he realized his blunder. I quickly forgave him. He was a big star, after all, and had more important things worrying his mind than an arson attempt at some unimportant chocolate shop.

  “I heard it was a good concert,” I said, handing him a dark chocolate ginger bonbon. I’d made these—with Bertie guiding every step of the way—from a recipe I’d found tucked away in the back of Mabel’s master cookbook. Although the ginger had a bite to it, it didn’t satisfy my vision of creating “Bonbon Fires” for the shop.

  He nodded as he chewed. “Wow, this is delicious. You’re really good at this chocolate-making thing.”

  “Bertie’s the expert. I’m still learning,” I said. Neither Bixby nor Tina seemed to hear me. They were both too busy enjoying their chocolates.

  “Whoa!” Tina grabbed the edge of the table and heaved a deep breath. “This doesn’t taste like anything I’ve ever had before.”

  I’d made sure she’d gotten one of the Chocolate Box’s special reserve 100% Amar chocolate truffles. To say they were amazing would be an understatement. The pleasure they gave the palate bordered on the obscene.

  “It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” I said. I went on to explain the history of the rare Amar bean and how my mother’s family had formed a partnership about a century ago with the tiny Brazilian village that grew it.

  Tina’s eyes widened. “You need to move this shop and expand your operations. You could make millions of dollars—hundreds of millions—selling this chocolate.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not what Mabel wanted. The bean is rare not just because no one other than the villagers grow it, but also because the harsh conditions where it’s grown are key to the flavor. Grow it anywhere else and you’ll lose its complex taste. We barely have enough of the bean to satisfy what we sell in the shop. Most of the chocolates we make have only a small percentage of the Amar bean mixed in to enhance the flavor.”

  “Then charge hundreds of dollars for each truffle and sell them only to the rich,” Tina said, as if it were that easy.

  Bixby had reached over and taken the second special reserve 100% Amar chocolate truffle from the plate. After tasting it, he started nodding in agreement with Tina. “You’d be famous.”

  “I’m already famous.” Well, my family was. “Has it made me happy? No.”

  “But this is crazy good,” he pressed. “You need to transform this shop into an exclusive but national brand.”

  “You should,” Tina agreed. “Father could help you launch—”

  “I’m happy with this little shop as it is,” I said sharply before she could finish that thought. The last thing I wanted was for my father’s side of the family to get involved with what I was doing here. This was my shop, not theirs. “Why don’t you let me run the business how my grandmother wanted me to run it? If that doesn’t work out, I’ll take your advice and change the business plan.” I tried not to sound offended by their well-meaning advice. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t already had the same idea: charge a hundred or two hundred dollars for each chocolate bar we made and wholesale them only to high-end boutique bakeries. But that would involve constant travel to hand-sell the brand as well as national (but targeted) advertising. It would involve leaving Camellia Beach.

  Although my absence would make Police Chief Byrd a happy man, I’d miss this place.

  “You like this life?” Bixby asked.

  “Love it,” I said.

  He looked around at the mismatched cups and saucers crowding the shelves on the walls and gave me a sad little smile. “I see.”

  Neither of them said much else. I’m sure it was because they were both too polite to tell me I was crazy. I decided to change the subject. Since Bixby seemed to like the spotlight so much, I doubted he’d mind my shining the light back on him.

  “You know, Bixby, we really shouldn’t have stayed quiet about that first rock Candy tossed through the shop’s window. It might have saved us and your eyebrows if we’d reported it to the police right away,” I said. “I can’t believe I thought—”

  “I’m sorry about what happened last night.” Bixby shrugged as he said it. “I’ll pay for the damage.”

  “You can’t just throw money at this problem. Not and expect it to go away.”

  Tina nudged him. “This is why she’s perfect for you. She won’t hold back. She’ll always tell you what’s on her mind.”

  “Of course I won’t hold back. He could have been killed when the grill exploded.” I shook my head. “Well, mister, that’s not going to happen. Not on my watch.”

  Stan had already died. Had Candy killed him?

  Bixby stroked his eyebrows. They were no longer singed and missing in some places. They were thick and perfect. How had he managed to get them to grow back like that overnight? “No, I don’t think the issue we had with the grill could have seriously hurt me. The explosion wasn’t that big,” he said. “Candy wants at
tention. And the more attention we give her, the more she’ll do stupid things and make your place look like this.” He gestured toward the shop’s interior, which caused me to frown and look around.

  Bertie and I had worked hard to make sure everything was returned to normal before the shop opened. The interior was cute and kitschy with a touch of midcentury modern. Did he think the blending of styles made it look as if a crazy stalker had wrecked it?

  Oh, it didn’t matter. I squinted as I looked at his perfect eyebrows again. “How in the world did you get those to grow back so quickly?”

  “His eyebrows? They’re prosthetics,” Tina answered for him.

  “Prosthetics?” Who knew such a thing existed?

  “Always have to give my best to the fans, even if it means getting falsies.” He stroked his eyebrows as if they were fluffy pets. “I have to say that my surprising everyone by singing last night was a brilliant idea.” (It had been his idea.) “I can’t remember when I had so much fun.”

  I glared at Tina. How could she think Bixby and I would make a good match? Sure, his good looks made me want to weep with joy, but he clearly cared more about himself than about anything or anyone else.

  “We sang all these oldies songs,” he was saying. “The crowd sang along.”

  Since I doubted he would say anything that would help me figure out how to stop Candy from doing any more harm, I continued to glare at Tina.

  “You should have heard the fans. They went nuts at the first few chords of many of the Ocean Waves songs. Did you know your partner, Bertie, used to sing with The Embers?”

  I broke eye contact with Tina and whirled back toward Bixby with dizzying speed. “Wait. What?”

  “Did you know your—” he repeated, speaking much more slowly and enunciating every word.

  “Yes. Yes. I heard what you said. Who told you about Bertie’s singing past? And why was anyone talking about her anyway? It wasn’t as if she went to the concert last night.”