Ganache with Panache: Book 2 in The Chocolate Cafe Series

by Valley Sams

  “I’m not a big coffee fan, but thanks.” Mac said. She stuffed her earbuds back in hastily and made to move around the front of the Range Rover to cross the street. Before she could take more than a few strides, Harper lurched the vehicle forward, blocking Mac’s path once again.

  Mac frowned. She was more than a little annoyed now and was starting to get a little nervous as well.

  “Really?” she asked. “Harper? Are you serious?”

  Olivia leaned forward more, those big white teeth of hers glinting in the dark of the backseat. “We won’t keep you. We swear,” she said.

  Harper lowered her sunglasses and looked at Mac coldly. It was clear she wasn’t going to try to charm Mac into anything.

  “Just get in.”

  How dangerous could these two Botoxed, carbohydrate-starved women be? Not only could Mac outrun them, but she could probably knock them both on their flat backsides with one well-timed slap. She had nothing to worry about, right? What could they be up to?

  Murder?

  Mac pulled her earbuds out again and stuffed them into the interior pocket of her running pants. She hastily wiped some of the sweat off her brow and shrugged.

  “It’s your leather upholstery, not mine,” she said to Harper, fighting the temptation to flick the sweat at her smug little face. Maybe she’d get a chance to really try that one slap theory. That was reason enough to get in.

  Harper made a disgusted face as Mac wiped her wet hands on her tee shirt.

  Mac stepped into the vehicle and slid her moist back against the camel-colored seat. She pulled the door closed, and she heard the automatic locks engage.

  “You’re up early,” Mac said, facing Olivia in the backseat. “Is this official wedding business or is stalking joggers at sunrise a new hobby for the two of you?”

  Olivia attempted another warm smile but once again, failed miserably.

  “I’m afraid our wedding plans have been more than a little derailed,” she said.

  “Murder will do that.” The smile that crawled across Olivia’s face at Mac’s comment was much less forced and considerably more sinister.

  “What can a person expect?” she said, “Conducting your business in that manner, refusing to listen, and throwing little tantrums. It’s the basic tenet of customer service: one does what the customer asks. You ignore those basic principles…”

  “You never work again, right? Isn’t that what you said to Mr. Lau that afternoon? That you’d see to that, isn’t that right?”

  This whole situation—the pseudo-kidnapping mid-jog, the giant sunglasses, the drama—Mac was tired of it already. She had been tired of it before she had even climbed in the SUV. Olivia’s little speech had been on her mind since that afternoon. Yes, she had promised not to interfere but really, wasn’t it self-defense at this point?

  Olivia’s tissue-thin cheeks drained of color. Her mouth, a slash of red lipstick, became tight and she leaned closer to Mac.

  “Now you listen to me. I have had enough of the inconvenience caused by this whole fiasco. I spent eight hours in the police station this week. Me! They took me from my home to question me; they questioned my daughter.”

  Mac was pleased to see Olivia’s chin shake with the memory of her indignity.

  “I said I would be sure he wouldn’t work again and I meant it. That little deviant needed a comeuppance and I’ll be the first to say it. I said the same thing to the police and I’ll say it to you. Good riddance.”

  Harper looked at Mac sideways. The smugness in her eyes was back, making Mac fight the urge to slap the back of her icy blonde head.

  “I now want your designer friend, Vanessa, to design my gown.”

  The urge to slap intensified to a need. Mac was speechless, looking between the two women for some sort of explanation. “How?—”

  “It’s a small town, sweetheart. You of all people know that. We know that you and your little biker friend introduced Vanessa to Amelia yesterday. We know she’s agreed to do her dress and do you know what? That just won’t do.”

  Mac couldn’t help but burst into sarcastic laughter. “Oh my gosh. This is like a bad mafia drama but with washed-up socialites. Look,” it was her turn to turn toward Olivia, her wide-set eyes narrowed with disgust, transforming her from kitten to tiger. “I don’t control Vanessa. You want her to do the dress so badly, ask her your own self.”

  “She won’t take our calls. You two must have said something to her.” Harper whined.

  Mac groaned and dropped her sweaty head back onto the headrest. “Just stop the car. Stop. This little game you’re playing is over.”

  Olivia’s claw-like hand suddenly clamped on to Mac’s arm. Her nails bit into her skin, pressing through the tee shirt fabric.

  “I don’t play,” she hissed. “The Hoods don’t play. Not only will you get your friend Vanessa to design Harper’s gown, but you’ll have your little girlfriend Sabrina focus on our event entirely.”

  “Are you kidding?” Mac tried to pull away from Olivia, but the older woman only squeezed harder.

  “The only wedding party getting catered by your company is ours and the only gown getting custom made in this little hick village is Harper’s. That is the end of the discussion.”

  Olivia nodded at Harper who pulled the Range Rover to the side of the road. Harper reached across Mac, opened the door, and unlocked Mac’s seatbelt. A gust of ocean air filled the car. They were so far down the beach at this point that it would take Mac at least half an hour to get back to town.

  “It would be in all of your best interests to take this seriously,” Olivia announced. “And I am most certainly NOT kidding.”

  Harper suddenly pushed the speechless Mac from the car. Mac tumbled awkwardly out, almost twisting her ankle on the ledge at the side of the car. She stared, dumbstruck, at the two triumphant immobile faces as the passenger door swung shut.

  “Enjoy the rest of your run” Harper said sweetly. She slammed the tank of a car into gear. Gravel from the roadside exploded from the wheels, showering Mac’s still-sweaty body with shards and dust.

  As they drove away, leaving Mac abandoned on the side of the road, Harper rolled down her tinted window. The sunrise glinted off her engagement ring as she waved a graceful goodbye.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The view from Vanessa’s old apartment in the city had been of the back of a government-subsidized retirement home—not the most uplifting of vistas. She had started every morning standing at her own small, cracked window with a cup of tea in her hands. She waited there until she had a chance to wave to at least a half dozen of the tenants. She couldn’t start work if she didn’t. Vanessa needed those toothless smiles. She had to have the slack-muscled waves in order to know her day had started.

  Now, rather than crumbling brick and graffiti, Vanessa had the ocean to greet and inspire her. Not that she needed it. Her one afternoon with Amelia in the magical garden was enough to set Vanessa’s imagination off and running. After ten long years designing for shallow, cruel people, it was a gift to create something that would not only be appreciated, but cherished. She felt a little guilty even taking money for it.

  Vanessa took a deep sip of her warm tea. She had two hours before she had to open the shop which, judging by the amount of ideas she had in her head, would be plenty of time to design a dress worthy of the kind and almost unsettlingly charming Miss Amelia.

  Waving to a seagull (old habits die hard), Vanessa turned to her drafting board and desk. She wrapped her housecoat around her a bit tighter before sitting down. Like Sabrina, she had made the top of her shop her studio. However, she had found the warped old wood and chilly drafts so inspiring that she had lugged her mattress up there as well. It felt like her own little crow’s nest where she could collect all the interesting and beautiful things that caught her eye.

  She placed a piece of spotless paper on the drafting board and clicked the light on above. As she reached for her jar of pencils and watercolor pens, her cell p
hone came alive on the desk beside her.

  Really? At 6:30 in the morning? Everyone she knew in the city would still be sleeping off a night of drinking and being seen.

  Not surprisingly, the caller ID read ‘unavailable’.

  “Hello.” Vanessa said. She put the phone on speaker as she prepared her tools. There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Hello?” Vanessa said again.

  A muffled, slurred voice came through the speaker. “Stay away from Amelia Moore.”

  Vanessa froze, a pencil sharpener in her hand.

  “Who is this?” she asked.

  “Forget designing for her. Stay away and you won’t get hurt.” Vanessa’s heartbeat began to thud, adrenaline making her scalp tingle. She put down the pencil and sharpener and quickly checked the caller ID again. Unavailable.

  “Who is this?” she asked again, her voice growing louder with her alarm. “Won’t get hurt? What do you mean by that?”

  “Stay out of the way and nothing will happen. Keep it up and things are going to get serious. Quick.” The woman sounded gravelly, half as if she was trying to disguise her voice, half as if she had been drinking.

  Vanessa sat down on her stool, unconsciously clutching her robe to her throat.

  “This is your first warning. There won’t be a second.” There was a click and the line went dead.

  Vanessa’s ears felt as if they were filled with blood, pulsing with her rapid heartbeat. She had just been threatened. Who threatens a fashion designer? She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She stood up on shaky legs, jabbing at her phone in a futile attempt to what? Trace the call? She went to her recent call log and pressed on the ‘unavailable’ at the top.

  She had been threatened and she’d be damned if she was going to take it. Thankfully anger had replaced her nerves and she paced as the phone rang, and rang, and rang.

  A sudden knocking at the door downstairs made her jump.

  “Oh my gosh. What now?” Vanessa mumbled. She scrambled over her bed to peer out the window at the street below. She half expected to see a lynch mob with torches below. Instead of a horde of fashion-enraged peasants, she was relieved to see Catharine Mackenzie, drenched in sweat and looking just as nervous as she did.

  Vanessa leaped off the unmade bed and ran to the stairs. Her robe now undone, she jumped down the steps two at time and into the shop.

  “I just had the strangest phone call,” Vanessa said breathlessly, as soon as she opened the door. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Mac, who looked worried before, looked suddenly even more so.

  “Funnily enough, I’ve just been kidnapped and told to make you stop designing Amelia’s gown.”

  Vanessa reached out and yanked Mac by the sweaty shirt into the shop. She locked the door, fighting the urge to look to see if she was being watched.

  “What is going on?” she said, turning to face Mac. “It’s just a dress. What is wrong with people in this town? Murder? Threats? The city was safer.”

  “What did they say on the phone?” Mac was still out of breath and was doing her best to slow down her gulps of air.

  “Are you okay?” Vanessa asked, concerned. She slipped out of her robe and passed it to Mac. “Here, wipe yourself off.”

  Mac took it thankfully. “Olivia Hood and her beast of a daughter Harper. They picked me up on my run and told me they were going to make you design her gown now that Lau was dead. They dropped me,” she drew a few more deep breaths, “half an hour out of town. I ran back to tell you not to bother.”

  Vanessa held up her phone, her round eyes narrowing with anger.

  “Well, someone else beat you to it.”

  “What did they say?” Mac asked. Having only met her a few days ago, Vanessa was momentarily taken aback by the sudden darkness that came over her otherwise sunny new friend. Everything delicate about her disappeared and she took on a brilliant sharpness that she had only ever seen in her most gifted friends and favorite professors.

  “Um…well, it was some woman who sounded, honestly like she’d been drinking or just woken up after a night of it.” Mac nodded. “She told me to stay away from Amelia or things would start to happen. You don’t think?” Vanessa put her hand to her mouth. “You don’t think it was those two women, the Hoods, do you? Would they do that?”

  “Apparently they are capable of a lot more than bridge games and liposuction,” Mac said.

  “Well, we need to do something. We need to call the police.” Vanessa said, turning once more to her phone. She was surprised when Mac reached out and gently stayed her hand. She fixed Vanessa with her icy, almond eyes.

  “Not yet. I think a visit may be in order.”

  “Don’t you think the police would be better…” The intensity in Mac’s eyes grew. There was something obsessive about it that Vanessa found both exciting and a little alarming at the same time. She knew she was about to be whisked off on an adventure and she was certain there was nothing much she could do to stop it.

  “I’m a bit like the girl that cried wolf around here. Let’s just go for a little visit and see if there’s anything we need to worry about before we call in the cavalry.”

  There was a moment where Mac could almost see Vanessa make the decision. She looked down at herself in her pajamas then over to Mac in her soaked running clothes.

  “Thank goodness there are lots of clothes around. We should probably get changed before we start knocking on people’s doors.”

  “I’m starting to think that’s debatable.” Mac said, absently.

  “What is, showing up unannounced in your pajamas?”

  “No,” Mac said. “Whether those two could be classified as people.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mac was unsurprised that the butler who finally answered the Hoods’ door looked about as browbeaten as a punished dog. His eyes, rheumy and hardly focused, flitted over Mac and then to the car parked in the driveway.

  “Are you expected?” he drawled from the side of his mouth, his lips barely moving.

  “No,” Mac said. “Not at all.” There was a brief moment when the two of them locked gazes for a split second. No, she wasn’t expected and frankly, the butler couldn’t care less if she was.

  He stepped back and let her in, motioning with an almost sarcastic gesture for her to make her way up the stairwell and into the ballroom.

  This time, there were no shrieks echoing off the garish gold-framed portraits that hung on the walls. No screaming to shake the imported crystal and tacky statuettes. There was an eerie silence that would’ve normally made Mac nervous if she hadn’t been so enraged. She had had more than enough of the Hoods to last a lifetime.

  Mac strode up the stairs, full of confidence. Of course, Vanessa’s clothes helped a great deal. Before they left, she had chosen an outfit specifically for Mac from the wonderland of perfectly tailored offerings on her racks. All black, sleek, and fitted to Mac’s surprisingly slender legs and perfect runner’s bottom like a custom-made suit, it gave Mac the look of an undercover vixen rather than a university dropout acting on a hunch.

  Mac began to lose her nerve as she approached the top of the staircase. Vanessa was in the car after adamantly refusing to get out. Maybe she had the right idea. She said she would wait for Mac, like a driver of the getaway car, primed to tear out of the driveway at breakneck speeds should it be necessary.

  Mac tried to convince her it probably wouldn’t be, but in all honesty, experience had proven otherwise.

  When she entered the ballroom, she was surprised to find not the Hoods as she had expected, but a tall, handsome man and a tiny, Asian woman who could only be…

  “Oh, I’m sorry…” Mac said. “I was looking for Mrs. Hood. You must be Zachary Lau’s sister.”

  The two of them stiffened visibly as soon as she said his name. His sister, who bore such a strong resemblance that they might as well have been twins, seemed to cringe the most. Her head was shaved as her brother’s had been save for a long stre
ak of bang that had been died an electric purple.

  The sister looked to her companion nervously and then back to Mac. She advanced, nervous as a cat and offered her hand,

  “Kyra Lau.” She said, her voice deep like a man’s. “We’re just…”

  “Helping Miss Hood with her gown.” The man, considerably more polished, stepped forward and practically grabbed Mac’s hand as soon as the sister had completed her halfhearted shake.

  “I’m so sorry about your loss.” Mac said, choosing her words carefully to examine their responses.

  The man brought his hand to his heart and dropped his eyes in what might have seemed like genuine pain. Mac saw something completely different.

  “I’m so sorry,” she asked, “were you close?” Zachary’s sister placed her hand on the man’s shoulder. Mac couldn’t help but notice that not only was her hand shaking slightly, but there was an interesting bruising on the inside of her arm. Bruises now caked with some kind of unsuccessful makeup application.

  “John was his partner,” Kyra said, her voice hushed with what should’ve passed as reverence. It sounded phony to Mac, but then again, most things did.

  John brushed a tear from his eye then made a grand show of trying to contain his misery by blinking furiously at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking, “It’s only been a week.” He sighed and made a show of pulling himself together. “I know we should be out of here by now and getting ready for the funeral,” he paused again. “But Zachary so wanted to help out the Hoods on their special day. I didn’t have the heart.”

  “WE.” Kyra interrupted, placing her child-like hand on John’s broad chest. “We didn’t have the heart to leave. We felt we needed to finish what he started. He would’ve…he would’ve liked that…”

  “Have a seat, Miss Lau.” Olivia Hood’s voice boomed throughout the ballroom. “Ms. Mackenzie has no business bothering you at a time like this.”

  Mac spun around to see Olivia striding into the room. She had changed from the beige Chanel suit she had been wearing during the kidnap escapade to a pink, textured tartan. Did she have a different suit for every hour of the day? Goodness only knew.