Death by Chocolate

floral
fabrics, delicate lace doilies, fresh flowers in milk-glass vases, * and
sepia-toned family portraits in silver- and gold-leafed frames hanging in
clusters on the walls.
    Sitting in a rocking chair
across from her, Marie was also drinking tea, a large yellow tabby cat curled
in her lap. It was the first time Savannah had seen her wearing anything other
than her black-and-white housekeeper’s attire. She had changed into a soft pink
fleece pullover and a pair of cream slacks. Her eyes were red and swollen, as
though she had been crying, but when Savannah had knocked at the cottage door,
Marie had warmly welcomed her inside and offered her refreshments. Having
skipped lunch, Savannah welcomed the sugar boost.
    “I still can’t comprehend all
that’s happened,” Marie was saying as she stroked the sleeping cat. “I couldn’t
even believe that Miss Eleanor had died, and now to hear that someone killed
her....”
    “We don’t absolutely know
that for sure,” Savannah said. ‘Try to shield your heart from that grief until
we find out what really happened. There’s no point in suffering over something
that may not be true.”
    Marie nodded and sniffed.
“I understand.” She hesitated, then added, “But at the moment, you think that’s
what happened?”
    “Yes,” she said gently. “We
think it’s a strong possibility.”
    Savannah watched the
housekeeper over the rim of her cup as she sipped the fragrant tea. Marie had
looked pale, even fragile, the first time she had met her. She seemed even more
so now. Savannah guessed she was in her late thirties or early forties, but she
looked as if her years had been hard ones. Deep lines in her face, a sallow
complexion, and dark circles under her eyes gave the impression she wasn’t
terribly healthy. But she did radiate a certain quietness of spirit that led
Savannah to believe she was content with her life.
    Or at least that she had
been, before Eleanor had died, changing everyone’s world around her.
    “What will you do now?”
Savannah asked.
    Marie shrugged her thin
shoulders. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if Louise will keep the house, or if she
does, if she’ll want me to stay on.”
    “Did you like working
here?”
    “Yes, actually, I did. Miss
Eleanor could be demanding sometimes, but I love the house and I enjoyed
keeping it.”
    “You did a good job.
Everything was spotless. I’ve done enough housecleaning to appreciate what a
lot of work it is.”
    She smiled. ‘Thank you.”
    “We searched Eleanor’s
bedroom suite....” Savannah paused, wondering how to word her question.
    But Marie said it for her.
“And you wondered why those rooms are such a mess.”
    “Something like that.”
    “Miss Eleanor would hardly
ever allow me in there. Maybe once every few weeks to change the sheets and
clean the bathroom fixtures.” She hesitated, as though considering how much she
should divulge, then continued. “Miss Eleanor had problems, serious problems,
with depression. Sometimes she found it difficult to function, and she would
stay there in her room for days at a time. She’d pull the drapes and—”
    “Eat and drink?”
    Marie nodded. “Yes, mostly.
Then she’d get it together and come out and tape her show and catch up on all
her overdue business. But it didn’t last long. A few days later, she’d hole up
in there again. She would have me just leave the food—and bottles—on a tray
outside her door.”
    “How did you communicate
with her?”
    “On the house phone.”
    “Do you know what she was
so depressed about?” Marie gave her a quick, guarded look, then went back to
petting her sleeping tabby. “First one thing and then the other,” she said.
“Family problems. Everyone has them.”
    “True. But some are worse
than others.” Savannah broke one of her cookies in two and took a bite, chewing
thoughtfully. “I understand that Eleanor and her husband were recently
divorced.”
    Marie gazed out the window,
not meeting Savannah’s eyes. “That’s right.”
    “I know you’re a
professional, Marie,” she said, “and I’m sure you’re a discreet employee. I
hate to put you in a difficult position, asking you to reveal confidential
matters. But I’m a professional, too, and my job is to find out what happened
here.”
    “I understand.” She took a
deep breath. “Ask whatever you need to. I’ll answer as best I can.”
    “Thank you.” Savannah
pulled a small notebook and pen from her purse. “Don’t