Death by Chocolate

never missed an opportunity to see, speak to, or touch him in hopes that
his sexual orientation might be reversed by the sheer power of her feminine
wiles.
    “No, you can’t ask Ryan. He
and John aren’t actually in the bureau anymore, and we ask them for enough
favors as it is. Dirk owes me one.”
    “Dirk owes you a million.”
    “True, but we have to
collect one at a time so as not to shock his system.” She looked back toward
the studio and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”
    “What?”
    “I could swear I smell
chocolate. The recipe Eleanor’s doing tonight is a cake called Death by
Chocolate. If we go in and keep quiet like good little girls, maybe they’ll
give us a bite.”
    When they reentered the
studio, Savannah saw to her delight that their timing was perfect. Lady Eleanor
was indeed dishing up pieces of a decadently rich dark chocolate cake to
members of the crew.
    At first Savannah was
surprised with the grace and generosity she was displaying as she served up her
creation. Then she saw that the cameras were still rolling. This “feeding of
the hungry multitudes” was just part of the act.
    Deciding to be one of those
fed, Savannah jostled her way to the front and nabbed a plate.
    In a display of utter
selflessness, she offered it to Tammy, who was standing behind her. Tammy
graciously declined, as Savannah had known she would—otherwise she never would
have risked it.
    This chance of a lifetime.
This opportunity to sample, firsthand, the creation of a chocolate goddess. To
sink her teeth into—
    It was awful.
    Savannah stood there, her
mouth full of dry, bitter, nasty cake and nowhere to spit it, except back on
the plate—which Granny Reid had distinctly taught her was a no-no under any
circumstances. Repressing a shudder, she swallowed and wished in vain for a
glass of anything—even quinine—to rinse it down with.
    She glanced around and saw
that no one, except for Lady Eleanor herself, was actually eating any of
theirs. Kaitlin Dover was watching her from the other side of the set, a
knowing grin on her face.
    Apparently the crew had
wised up long ago and knew a secret that the world had yet to learn: Lady
Eleanor, Queen of Chocolate, was a rotten cook.
    No wonder the recipes
Savannah had tried at home had failed miserably. They were lousy recipes!
    Following the lead of those
around her, she discretely stashed her still-full plate on top of a piece of
equipment.... any equipment... and casually watched the rest of Eleanor’s
performance.
    “Now, dear viewers, be sure
not to overbake this delicate confection,” she was saying to the camera, “or
you’ll lose its subtle flavor.”
    Overbake it? Savannah
thought. You couldn’t burn that brickbat with a blowtorch.
    And as for the subtle flavor,
she had never personally chewed on a burned truck tire, but she would expect it
to have the same delicate piquant.
    “Good?” Tammy whispered in
her ear.
    “Delicious,” she replied
dryly.
    “Yeah, I had a feeling.”
    Tammy chuckled and Savannah
elbowed her in the ribs. “Shush, or they’ll kick us out again and—”
    The words left Savannah’s
brain as she turned to see why Lady Eleanor had abruptly stopped speaking. The
cameras were still rolling, but the star of the show was frozen, standing
still, eyes and mouth wide open, her face turning an alarming shade of purple
beneath her auburn wig.
    “What’s wrong with her?”
Tammy whispered. “Is she choking?”
    Half a dozen possibilities
raced through Savannah’s mind as she hurried toward her client, her heart
pounding, no longer concerned about whether or not she interrupted the taping.
    By the time she reached
Eleanor’s side behind the faux kitchen counter, she had narrowed it down to a
stroke or heart attack.
    Eleanor was leaning on the
range in front of her, sweat pouring down her face, her hands clutched over her
chest.
    Savannah grabbed her by the
shoulders and eased her to a sitting position on the floor. Instantly they were
surrounded by a tight circle of crew members, including Kaitlin.
    “What is it?” the producer
was shouting. “What’s wrong?”
    “Back up and give us some
air,” Savannah said as she loosened the buttons of Eleanor’s high-necked lace
blouse. She glanced up and saw Tammy beside Kaitlin, her cell phone already in
her hand. She was punching 911.
    “Can you talk to me,
Eleanor?” Savannah asked. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
    Eleanor shook her head,
then gasped out the