The Sugar Hit Page 5
“Hi, Narel, it’s Borage.”
“Hello,” I replied flatly.
“Um, I just wanted to check up on you. With the investigation and everything, I wanted to see if you were doing okay,” he asked, sounding sincere.
“I’m fine,” I replied, keeping my tone consistently low. I didn’t have time to be dealing with Borage, even if he was just trying to be nice. After seeing him with that woman, I wasn’t sure if I could deal with this on top of running a business, pursuing a murderer, and owning a possibly evil cat.
“Okay, well, you have my number, so feel free to call me if anything comes up. Hope you’re handling it all right,” Borage continued, sounding pained.
“I have to go, Borage, I’m very busy.”
“Of course, sorry Narel. Have a good night. I’ll talk to you later,” I hung up the phone without replying and slammed it back onto the table.
“Whoa, Narel, what was that about?” Carl asked with wide eyes. “It was like somebody had called up and told you to stop eating chocolate. What’s got you so upset?”
“It was Borage,” I admitted, sitting down in a chair and sighing. “I didn’t mean be so rude, but it’s not something I can deal with right now.”
“I get it, Narel, I do,” Carl said sympathetically. “But you can’t be this mad at him, especially when you don’t even know if that woman is his girlfriend.”
“Oh, come on!” I said. “What else could she be?”
“An ugly boyfriend?” Carl teased, though I wasn’t in the mood for his humor. “Sorry, Narel. I mean she could be a relative or something, right? There’s no reason to get so upset when we have so little facts. You’re into investigations, so I thought you’d be more understanding of circumstantial evidence.”
I sighed again and leaned back in the chair. Maybe Carl was right. I’d assumed off the bat that the mystery woman was Borage’s girlfriend, but maybe that was unfair of me. Then again, they had been awfully chummy, and I thought that perhaps I didn’t even really know Borage that well. For all I knew, he had several girlfriends. “Either way, I wasn’t lying when I said that I’m too busy to worry about this kind of thing. You could be right about all this, but at the moment I have bigger fish to fry,” I said, thinking about everything that was going on. Just opening the business was stressful and difficult enough, but having to deal with a murder case and whatever was happening with Borage was simply too much for me.
“That’s fair enough,” Carl admitted. “It’s probably best to avoid him until you get a nicer place anyway.”
Chapter 8
I was busily scrubbing fingerprints off the glass cabinets. I seemed to spend more time doing that than I did anything else, but I wasn’t about to complain too much. This was just part of running a chocolate shop, and I supposed it showed that my displays were enticing enough to make people want to press their dirty hands against it and peer in.
I was a little tired from the dinner the night before. I still felt as though I were being watched, although why would anyone want to watch me was beyond me. I had already been awarded the settlement. That was all done and dusted by now. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to watch me, yet I was just as sure that someone had been.
The police had not been back in touch, and I had not heard that any arrests been made in the case, so that could only mean that they hadn’t apprehended the murderer. The fact that someone had been murdered in my store, coupled with the fact that I thought I was being watched, made me more than a little uneasy.
I was so deep in thought that I didn’t notice a man coming to the store. “Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked him.
He was smartly dressed, in a suit and quite shiny shoes, and he was carrying a large bag. “Actually, would you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
I was puzzled. “Are you a new detective on the case?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m David Miller, from the Sydney Daily Inquirer.”
“You’re a journalist?”
He nodded. “Yes, I’m here about the murder last Saturday night. It happened here, didn’t it?”
I crossed my arms. I didn’t know how I felt about being questioned. “Yes,” I said tentatively.
The man leaned down and looked at one of the displays. “I’ll buy those two boxes there.” He pointed to two expensive boxes of mixed chocolates. “I have a sweet tooth, and I’m staying in one of the local motels. I expect I’ll be in here frequently buying a lot of chocolate.”
I smiled. If that was his way of bribing me to give him information, then it was sure going to work. I took his money and placed the boxes of chocolate into a gift bag. “What would you like to know?”
“So you don’t mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Go ahead,” I said.
He pulled out a pen and paper, which surprised me, as I would have expected him to record me. Not that I cared either way.
“So you were a witness? You saw everything?”
I shook my head. “The lights were out when it actually happened. When the lights came back on, everyone saw him. Do you have any idea who did it?”
He countered with the question of his own. “Do you?”
I let out a long breath. “Well, of course there was his wife, who stands to inherit everything but don’t quote me on that! And then there’s Todd Cambridge.” I noticed the reporter’s eyebrows shoot up at the mention of the name. “So you know about Todd Cambridge?”
“Of course,” David said. “He’s just been released from jail and he publicly threatened the victim, Peter Prentiss.”
I nodded. “I suppose it can’t be him because that would just be too obvious.”
David was silent for a moment and I guessed he was wondering whether to tell me something. I offered him a macadamia nut chocolate. “Care for a sample?”
“Thanks.” He ate three of the samples. He was telling the truth—he really did have a sweet tooth. “Todd Cambridge had an alibi.”
I sighed. “I suppose that eliminates him as a suspect.”
“Not at all! He could easily have organized a hit. Alibis mean nothing when dealing with these criminals.”
I took one of the chocolate samples and ate it while thinking this over. “That makes sense,” I said. “That’s what I would do if I were going to murder someone and had just gotten out of jail. I’d make sure I had a good alibi. Do you know if the police have discounted him, Mr. Miller?”
He shook his head. “Please, call me David. The police are being unusually tight-lipped on this case. They usually are tight-lipped with me but never to this degree. There’s obviously more going on than we know.”
I thought that over, and I also considered the fact that he had a flirtatious tone. I did not have much experience with men flirting with me. Since I’d gotten out of the hospital, I had only had eyes for Borage, not realizing that he had a girlfriend. I looked at David Miller. He was quite attractive, but there was just no chemistry with him, not like the chemistry I had with Borage.
I ate another chocolate to force that thought from my mind. I looked up to see David staring at me.
“Would you mind if I took some photographs?”
I thought that over for a moment. “You do realize it actually didn’t happen in my shop? It happened in the next-door building, and I don’t have access to it now. I wouldn’t like you to take a photo of me or my shop, because that could drive customers away.”
“I think you’ll find it will attract more customers,” David said.
I shook my head again, more strongly this time. “No, I really wouldn’t like photos of me or my shop,” I said. “He died next to a chocolate fountain. Perhaps you could get photos of a chocolate fountain.” I knew it was a silly thing to say as soon as I said it, but I was hoping to push any ideas of photographs of me or my shop out of his mind. He looked doubtful, so I pressed on. “You could take photos of the outside of the next-door building, because it all happened in that building.”
I didn’t trust him; I was sure he would take photos of the front of my shop. Then again, he was from a Sydney paper, not a local paper, and I didn’t know how many people in town read the Sydney paper. I myself only got my dose of news from the side column on Facebook, whether I liked it or not. I had no idea how other people got theirs. I remembered the newspaper clipping that said Clint Stockland had accused Peter Prentiss of planting evidence on him. “David, I read somewhere that the victim was accused of faking evidence for trial. I suppose you know all about that?”
David frowned. “He was never charged with it, and I have to be careful what I say in the paper. I know the public always says we make stuff up, but there are plenty of journalists hit with lawsuits these days. I wouldn’t be able to say that because it was never proven.”
“But you have heard of it?” I pressed him. “You’re sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Well, if he did it to Clint Stockland, was he accused of doing it to anyone else?”
David frowned. “Allegedly.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s just in my business, I’m used to saying ‘allegedly.’ If he allegedly did it to Clint Stockland, there is a chance he allegedly did it to someone else.”
“Sure,” I said. “There were rumors about him, but I haven’t been able to dig up to much on the man.” I offered David another chocolate sample. I didn’t think I could get any more information out of him, but I didn’t want him to use a big picture of the front of my shop in his story.
I stood there awkwardly while David ate the chocolate, and just then, Borage entered the store. “Borage!” I said in horror, and then realized that my tone was not quite normal.
Borage raised in eyebrow, and then looked from me to David and then back from David to me. Had I not known about his girlfriend, I would’ve sworn he was jealous. No one spoke, so I thought I should introduce the men to each other. “Borage, this is David Miller, a journalist from the… Oh sorry, David, I forgot what paper you’re from.”
“The Sydney Daily Inquirer,” David said.
“Yes, and this is Borage Fletcher…” My voice trailed away awkwardly. How would I introduce Borage? As a friend? A realtor? I felt the need to pigeonhole him, but I had no idea just how to do so.
The two men shook hands. “I can come back later,” Borage said.
“No, that’s okay. I was just leaving,” David said. He hurried out of the shop.
I watch through the window as he pulled a camera from his bag and took photos of the front my store. “Why, that…” I bit my tongue just in time before I called him a few rude words.
“What was all that about?” Borage said. “Was he hassling you?”
“Not really,” I said angrily. “I did ask him not to take photos of the front of my shop, and he’s out there right now doing just that.”
“Do you want me to go and stop him?” Borage said.
I was touched. “No, but I do appreciate the offer. Anyway, what can I do for you?” I assumed he was there to buy chocolates, given that he had a girlfriend. Borage looked awkward. The color left his face, and he shifted from one foot to the other. “I just wondered what you were doing tonight?”
I thought that was a strange question. “Nothing, as far as I know. Carl came over for dinner last night, so I’m just gonna have a quiet night at home, and watch Game of Thrones.”
Borage looked at me strangely as if that was not the answer he was expecting. “Oh, I meant if you’re not doing anything else, would you like to have dinner with me?”
To my embarrassment, I gasped. Dinner with Borage? But what about his girlfriend? For a moment I was afraid that I had said that out loud, but I obviously I hadn’t. What would I do? Was he two-timing his girlfriend? Or what if Carl was right, and she wasn’t his girlfriend? I couldn’t think who else she could possibly be, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Okay, thanks, yes,” I said lamely.
Borage looked delighted. “I’ll collect you at seven?”
“Sure. I suppose I can record Game of Thrones.”
Borage looked at me strangely and then left the shop. I couldn’t believe I had said something so stupid.
“You what?” Carl screamed as soon as I told him.
I held the phone away from my ear. When I put it back, I said, “But you said that she might not be his girlfriend.”
“I was lying, of course,” Carl said. “I was only trying to make you feel better.”
“Gee, thanks, Carl!” I pulled a face at the phone. “Well, what am I going to do now?”
“You’ll have to go to dinner with him, obviously.”
I sighed. “What if he’s doing this behind his girlfriend’s back?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t have a girlfriend after all,” Carl said.
“Are you just saying that again to make me feel better?”
“I’m so confused,” Carl said. “Who would ever know what was going on in a man’s mind? Anyway, forget the moral dilemma. Your only dilemma should be what you should wear. Wear something tight and sexy.”
I shuddered. “I don’t think I have anything tight and sexy.”
“Do you want me to come around and find something for you to wear?”
I pulled a face. “No. Thanks for the offer, but that would make me more nervous. Anyway, I better go and look through my closet.”
“Call me the second you get back from dinner,” Carl demanded. “No matter how late it is.”
“I promise.”
“Better still, text me while you’re there.”
I sighed again. “How am I going to explain that away? Texting you at the table!”
“Go to the bathroom and text me,” Carl said. “Only text me if you find out about his girlfriend.”
“So you do think she’s his girlfriend!” I said accusingly.
There was silence for a moment and I thought he had hung up. After a moment, he spoke again. “I’m in two minds about the girlfriend situation now, Narel, but I’m dying to find out! The second you find out something let me know. Promise!”
I hung up and then went to look in my closet. Mongrel was lying stretched out in front of the closet doors. I opened one door gingerly to see if he would move, but he shot me an evil look and showed all his teeth. He growled so deeply that I could swear the ground shook. I backed away. He might lie there for hours. What would I do? I went to the kitchen, got a can of his cat food and banged the can with a spoon. Nothing happened.
I walked into my bedroom and lowered the tin to his nose. He jumped up in a flash, his teeth grinding loudly. I sprinted from the room. I could feel his breath on my heels. In one swift move, I emptied the can into his cat food bowl, just as he leaped upon the cat food bowl and proceeded to kill his food. I sprinted back to my bedroom and flung open my closet door. Thank goodness I had outsmarted Mongrel. Now my only problem was what I should wear.
Since I was many sizes smaller than before the car collision, and I had not been on a shopping spree since, that left me with scant choice. I sighed.
Chapter 9
I was sitting at the restaurant with Borage. When he had called promptly at seven to collect me, he had said I looked wonderful. I wasn’t used to compliments about my appearance, so it had started awkwardly. I had finally settled on a V-neck lace overlay dress with a circle skirt. And judging by the men who stared at me, I figured I must look good.
The muted glow of the lighting, the gleaming silver on the crisp white linen, the hushed tones of the discreet service, all combined to give the restaurant a softly romantic ambience.
And was this a date? I had never been on a date before, apart from that one time when the man had yelled at me and then gotten into his car and exploded. This was my first real date. Yet, was it a date?
Perhaps Borage had invited me to discuss the selling of my house and the buying of a new house. After all, we had discussed that
before, but surely realtors didn’t take their clients to dinner. To say I was confused was an understatement. I had seen Borage with that woman and they had seemed intimate, so surely this couldn’t be a date? I rubbed my temples. I had to enjoy the night, and not put my foot in it by saying anything embarrassing. I would just have to hedge my bets and walk the thin line, and all those other clichés. Borage was indeed being attentive to me, so perhaps he’d heard that I had received a large settlement and wanted to me to buy a very expensive house. Perhaps he did wine and dine clients when large sums of money were involved.
This was getting me nowhere. I turned my attention to the menu, and then realized that Borage was already talking. “This place is amazing. The meals are so beautifully presented, and the chef’s a master blender of subtle flavors.”
I nodded and smiled, not knowing what I should say. Finally, I said, “That’s great.” I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.
Of course, I would be enjoying this dinner with Borage if it was in fact a date, but the fact that I didn’t know whether or not it was a date was making my stomach churn. I had no appetite at all—apart from chocolate that is, but I didn’t know whether I should order two desserts. Usually, I ordered a dessert as the main, but since I was in such an uncomfortable situation, I didn’t know what to do.
Borage was still talking. “Do you see anything that takes your fancy?”
You, I thought, and was grateful that I had not said that aloud. I stared at the menu once more. “What are you having?”
“I think I’ll have the pan-fried butter pumpkin gnocchi. What about you?”
“I’ll have the chocolate hazelnut pot with coffee soil and crème brûlée,” I said automatically.
Borage’s brows knitted together. “But what about a main?”
I felt my face flush and I shifted awkwardly in my seat.” I am having that as a main,” I said in a small voice.
Borage appeared to recover quickly. “What a good idea.” He smiled at me and my heart fluttered.
If only I knew who the mystery woman was! I would just have to be patient and wait to see if he brought up selling my house and buying a new, expensive one. I wondered at which point people started talking business at business dinners. Surely it was before the main course arrived. I decided to turn the talk to houses to see if that would prompt him. The sooner I found out where I stood, the better.