Ganache with Panache: Book 2 in The Chocolate Cafe Series

by Valley Sams

  Olivia glared at Mac, clicking across the hall, her expensive heels sounding like demon hooves against the cold floor.

  “I thought we’d seen enough of each other this morning, Ms. Mackenzie.” Olivia announced, “Or maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough.”

  “I don’t see how you could’ve made it clearer.” Mac said, crossing her arms. She was glad for Vanessa’s clothes. For the first time in two days she felt confident enough to handle the confrontation that was rolling her way…it was amazing how booty shorts and sci-fi tee shirts could hold you back.

  Zachary’s partner made his shaky way to one of the couches that had been pulled out into a graceless position in the middle of the room. As previously, it was surrounded by fabric. Unlike last time, however, the delicate laces and tulles had been replaced with fuchsia satins and what to Mac’s uneducated eye looked like a bolt of black PVC.

  “It is opportune, however,” Olivia said, breezing past Mac to where John was sitting on the couch, “that you popped in. Ms. Lau has offered her services to help us create the kind of dress Harper was actually looking for. We’ve found her to be much, much more, forgive me, John, compliant than her brother.”

  There was a subtle click of a door opening and the group turned to see Harper emerging from the powder room that adjoined the ballroom.

  She was radiant. She was smug. To Mac, she was possibly the most inappropriate bride she had ever seen. The tastelessness wasn’t the skirt of the gown, which clung like syrup to Harper’s hips and thighs, so much as it was the bodice.

  “That…” Mac heard herself say. “Well, that’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  What seemed like only a ribbon’s worth of blush pink satin ran up in pleats from the cinched waist to cover Harper’s enhanced bosom. Both of her assets were in full display, with only the most modest amount of fabric to preserve her dignity. Harper swirled in front of them with an unbearably smarmy smile on her face.

  “I love it,” she purred. “Oh my gosh, you are so much better than your brother and I ADORE it.”

  Olivia clapped her dry hands together with enthusiasm.

  “Do you see,” she said dryly, turning her attentions to a thoroughly unimpressed Mac, “This is what happens when you go after what you want.”

  Mac had had enough. How long had she been in this madhouse? Five minutes? Perhaps she was about to set a new record for losing her temper, but today had been trying enough.

  “You mean this is what happens when you threaten people to get what you want.”

  The entire room seemed to frost over. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kyra practically leap out of her seat. Her hands, still shaking from before, seemed to take on a life of their own.

  “What do you mean?” Olivia demanded, drawing her shoulders back in an attempt to look even more intimidating.

  “Did you call Vanessa Wells after you dumped me this morning?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Mac, enraged now, stalked forward and positioned herself inches from Olivia Hood’s heavily made-up face.

  “No, pardon me. Did you call Vanessa this morning and tell her to stop designing for Amelia Moore? Did you threaten her?” Mac watched as a million tiny mysteries flitted across Olivia’s eyes. She was pleased to see the first hint of nervousness.

  “Of course not, I only…”

  There was a pause.

  “You what?” Still inches away from her face, Mac pinned her with her flat stare. “You only threatened me? Was that your quota for the day.”

  “Why do you think we picked you up?” It was Harper’s turn to speak, but unlike her mother, there was no emotion to make her voice waver or her eyes flicker with secrets. “If we had her number we would’ve called her a long time ago. You think we actually WANTED your sweat all over our upholstery?”

  Mac could think of nothing to say. She opened her mouth briefly but nothing came out. Why would they bother to drive her out to the middle of nowhere and threaten her if they could’ve done it directly?

  “Oh gracious, is this over?” John moaned from the couch. He was massaging his temples, his face contorted. Bored, Mac realized, he’s more bored than bereft. “Is Perry Mason going to leave so we can finish this?”

  Olivia turned to Mac again, an unholy pride making her slash of a mouth turn up into the same witchy smile that Mac had seen in the Range Rover earlier.

  “Why bother with some no-talent unknown when you can get the best?” She extended her hand to Kyra who stood and walked toward her as if she were hypnotized. “Harper and I decided not to bother with your crowd and went with Ms. Lau. She’s just as talented as her brother, obviously…” She motioned to her daughter’s obscenity of a gown. Mac had seen adult film stars look more elegant. She couldn’t help herself, and before she could stop it, a snicker emerged loud enough to echo throughout the entire vaulted room.

  “You think it’s funny?” Kyra spoke, her voice rattling in her chest. “This is exactly what Harper wants and unlike my brother,” she motioned toward Mac but John extended his arm to hold her back. They locked eyes and Kyra seemed to calm almost instantly. “Unlike my brother, I’m willing to give the customers what they want.”

  “There’s nothing like the integrity of a true artist.” Mac agreed. Kyra made a sudden, twitching lunge in Mac’s direction. Thankfully, Zach’s partner’s arm was still across her shoulders and he managed to hold her back before she could make it to Mac. Not that she could do anything. As she writhed in John’s arms, her overly processed purple fringe flopping around like a ratty party streamer, Mac couldn’t help but notice her other arm. Both were bruised and scarred in a distinctive way that spoke less of artistic skill and more of profoundly wasted potential.

  “You can show yourself out, Ms. Mackenzie.” Olivia announced. “I think you’ve done enough damage.”

  “True artist!” Kyra shrieked as Mac turned to go, “You two-bit nobody. You rich little…! You have no idea. You have no…” Her back to the drama, Mac could hear Kyra’s voice begin to crack, as tears replaced her shouts.

  Mac did her best not to scuttle out as the shouting and crying continued. She kept her pace as even as possible until she reached the doorway. Before she swung open the double doors to walk out, she happened to look down at one of the small mahogany tables that flanked the exit.

  A lopsided pile of sketches sat on a portfolio, clearly depicting the atrocity of a gown that Harper was currently wearing. From a single glance, Mac could tell that the pile was the original sketches. From the ribbon pleating at the bosom to the carefully constructed bias-cut skirt, it was obviously the blueprints of the gown that Harper had currently squeezed herself into.

  Mac looked over her shoulder quickly to see if anyone was watching. Thankfully, the entire group was crowded around the sofa where the two bereaved were alternately sobbing and comforting each other. Their backs were turned. They were oblivious.

  She was crossing a line. She knew she was crossing a line. This was theft. She was about to flat-out steal. But why not? She already had breaking and entering on her list of felonies; why not add a little theft to the mix? If she could smuggle these pictures out to Vanessa, she could take them home and compare them to Zachary Lau’s sketches on the internet. And what if it happened again? What if that dress Harper had chosen was an exact copy of an early design, long-ago forgotten but still accessible from the depths of the internet? What would that mean for hollow-eyed Kyra and her telltale track marks?

  Before she could stop herself, Mac slipped the drawings off of the portfolio and into the lining of her jacket. It was a seamless motion—a simple sweep of the hand that went completely unnoticed by the crowd. A seamless motion that might mean a great tear in the fabric of this whole fiasco.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “How long has it been since you dropped her off?” Brie sounded very distracted. It was obvious that she was only half listening by the lazy tone in her voice.

  Mac was skippin
g down her stairs to where her car was parked under the archway. As if sensing her urgency, Toby was already up on his hind legs, pawing at the passenger seat window.

  “Almost the entire day!” Mac said, as she clicked the unlock button on her key fob. “I dropped her off at around eleven this morning. “

  “Maybe she got caught up working.” Mac could hear the unmistakable sound of Brie whisking whatever mixture she was experimenting with in one of her many big, steel bowls. “I know how that feels. The whole day falls away without you even knowing it.”

  “No. I don’t think so. Something’s wrong. She would’ve gotten back to me right away with those drawings. I know it.”

  There was a pause as Mac swung herself into the driver’s seat and leaned over to open the door for Toby. He leaped in, almost as quickly as she had, and set about arranging his heavy appendages on the seat.

  “What could it possibly be? One random threat does not a murder make. Have you, I don’t know, considered calling Louis? Does he even know about the phone call?”

  Mac stopped, her hand still on the keys in the ignition. Her heart squeezed in her chest for a moment in that nagging way it did when she was making a stupid choice. Of course she should call him. She should’ve called him days ago. However, did she actually need to? Were hunches and prank calls really the work of the corrections department?

  Toby put one huge paw on the dashboard as if urging her onward.

  Mac sighed. “Vanessa said she was going to cross reference the drawings I took and then get back to me. She said she was certain they were copies, just like the last ones. She wouldn’t forget to call me or get distracted.”

  “Just go.” Brie said, obviously annoyed, “Just go and check it out. But text me when you get there so I know what’s going on.” Mac couldn’t help but smile. When she turned the key and the car roared to life, that nervous feeling was quickly replaced by excitement.

  “I’ll text you. Get back to work”

  “Yeah, you too, Sherlock.”

  ***

  Mac’s instincts were screaming as she pulled up in front of Vanessa’s boutique. The neighboring stores had closed for the night and their dark windows were in stark contrast to the light coming from the backroom of Vanessa’s shop. Why would she leave the showroom dark but the back room’s light on? More importantly, why was the front door unlocked when every thing else was locked up tight?

  Holding her phone in her hand like some sort of weapon, Mac opened the front door and walked into the shop. The bell above rang out into the empty space, echoing up throughout the store.

  “Vanessa?” Mac called, waiting for her eyes to adjust. The racks of clothes were unnerving in the dim showroom, like juries of ghosts, judging her from their orderly displays. “Vanessa, are you okay?” Mac raised her voice only to hear it returned to her like the sound of the bell.

  Her heart beating harder, Mac made her way into the backroom. The light illuminated the narrow steps that led up to Vanessa’s apartment, but little else.

  No broken glass. No signs of struggle. Mac calculated the risk as she began to walk up the creaking steps.

  “Vanessa!” she called out before her. “Are you up there?”

  When she turned the corner on the first landing, her stomach clenched again into a sickly knot. The apartment door was open, but no light spilled out from her rooms.

  Mac stepped into Vanessa’s apartment, holding her phone at her side. She squinted into the dark, searching in the bright spots of moonlight that flooded in from the large window.

  There. By the computer.

  On the floor, half caught in the silver light, was an arm.

  “Oh no, Vanessa,” Mac raced across the room, pushing aside the computer chair that had fallen in an apparent scuffle. Vanessa was sprawled across the wooden floor, practically covered in papers that had been thrown across the room. Her back was to Mac who turned her over carefully. Please let her be okay. Please let there be no blood.

  Mac breathed out in relief when Vanessa stiffened at her touch and rolled over by herself. Groaning, she pushed her long dark hair from her eyes. Mac was relieved to see she was relatively unharmed.

  “Thank goodness,” Mac said, helping to push the hair away from Vanessa’s face so she could check for injuries. “No cuts, no bruises. What happened?”

  Vanessa’s eyes went blank for a moment as she tried to remember. In the half-light, Mac could see them suddenly fill with tears as her memories reknitted themselves.

  “Mac. I… She took the drawings. I was about to call you when two of them attacked me.”

  “Can you sit up?” Mac asked. Vanessa nodded and slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. Patting the back of her head gently, she looked around the paper-strewn mess that was her apartment.

  “Did you get a look at them?” Mac asked.

  “No—they came up from behind me,” Vanessa said ruefully, “I’m such an idiot, I didn’t even hear them come in. There was a man, for sure. And a woman, too. I only saw her arms, though.” Vanessa grimaced as she found the tender spot on the back of her head.

  “Did they take the drawings?”

  Vanessa got to her feet, despite Mac’s yelps of concern. She moved some of the paper strewn across the desk. “It looks like it, they were right here, beside me, while I was searching.”

  Mac watched as Vanessa steadied herself at her desk, rolling her neck gently side to side.

  “You okay? You’re not dizzy or anything are you?” Vanessa turned to her, wiping a tear off her cheek.

  “No, I’m furious. Those weren’t his sister’s drawings, just like the last one. It took me forever, but I finally found them. Those were Lau’s drawings, really, really early ones, but they were his.”

  “Whoever took them really doesn’t want anyone knowing,” Vanessa scowled. “We need to find the druggie punk who did this and figure out what’s going on.”

  Macs entire body stiffened as a flash of adrenaline went through her.

  “Druggie punk?” Mac asked. “What makes you say that?”

  Vanessa was absently cleaning her desk, trying to sort through the overturned pencils and reams of white paper.

  “The arms. The only thing I saw before I was knocked out. They were covered in track marks. Nasty.”

  It took all of Mac’s considerable self-composure not to leap up and down on the spot excitedly. Forgetting Vanessa’s recent trauma, Mac grabbed her by the arm and began to drag her toward the steps.

  “It’s the sister. She’s trying to cash in on her dead brother’s drawings.”

  “Ow…how do you know that?” Vanessa allowed herself to be dragged, still holding the back of her head where the man had clobbered her.

  “I saw her arms when I went up there today. She has obviously been a pretty heavy user. Actually she probably still is, by the look of them.”

  The women raced down the steps, Vanessa’s undone hair still flopping around her face.

  “If she’s crooked enough to steal her brother’s drawings, who’s to say she isn’t crooked enough to have, you know—”

  Mac stopped outside her car and turned to Vanessa, who was fumbling with the code on the shop security system. Under the streetlight, she looked absolutely alive. The shop secure behind her, Vanessa walked to her side, almost magnetized by the sheer brilliance coming out of her new friend’s eyes. Mac’s odd prettiness was only the tip of the iceberg, that was plain to see.

  “She’s crooked enough to have been the one to kill him.” Mac announced.

  “Whoa. Wait. No. We definitely need to get the cops involved.” Vanessa watched, helplessly as Mac rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, I know. We will.” Mac opened Vanessa’s door for her, motioning impatiently for her to get in “I’ll call on the way there.”

  Hesitantly, Vanessa stepped into the vehicle; Toby hustling his hugeness into the backseat. Mac smiled at her in what should’ve been a comforting way as she closed her door.

  “The w
ay where?”

  Mac looked at Vanessa as if she’d just been born. Her jaw even dropped with wonder.

  “To the crime scene.” She spoke as if no one had ever asked such a simplistic question. “Obviously.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mac didn’t call on the way to the Strand Hotel, despite her repeated assurances to her passenger. Rather, she stared straight ahead like a woman possessed, her jaw muscles working as she battled what looked like a pretty formidable demon.

  After a while, Vanessa gave up. She probably should’ve been more nervous but there was something about Mac that gave her the impression that she’d been in the situation before, a couple of times, maybe.

  By the time they reached the hotel, a storm was beginning to roll in from the beach. When they turned the corner into the cul-de-sac that connected the cabins, the bare bulbs that were strung up overhead were swaying ominously overhead with the wind. Although they didn’t give off a great deal of light, it was enough to show that the hotel was practically deserted.

  Except for the police cruiser parked squarely in front of the door to Maple Cabin.

  Mac gasped and cursed.

  “What? Who is it?”

  Leaning against the trunk of the car, arms crossed over his chest, was the owner of the police car. The headlights of Mac’s car caught on the badge hanging off his rain jacket.

  Vanessa couldn’t help but feel more than a bit relieved. “Thank goodness, the police are already here.”

  Mac stopped the car and put it in park. Before she switched off the headlights, they clearly illuminated the man’s face and it was far from welcoming.

  “It’s my boy…my friend.” Mac mumbled. “That’s the guy I was supposed to be calling.”

  Vanessa nodded, the pieces of the puzzle coming together quite quickly indeed—Mac’s enthusiasm for all things crime related, her overconfidence, the bookishly handsome man’s look of great disdain. She had been correct in her assumption that this wasn’t Mac’s first rodeo.