Death by Chocolate

coming for the
briefing,” Tammy said as she pulled her long, straight blond hair back with a
scrunchy and sat down at the desk. “It would only take a second to ‘brief’ them
on the phone. ‘Nothing’s happening. No clients. Not a one.’ End of briefing.
They’re coming over for the chocolate.”
    “Of course they are. That’s
why I’m having the briefing.... an excuse to bake something chocolate. At this
point in my life, it’s my foremost fleshly delight.”
    Tammy threw the switch on
the computer and, once it had booted up, began to enter the accounts, brief as
they were. That was one thing Savannah loved about her: Tammy assisted, even
when there was nothing to assist with. And that quality nearly made up for the
fact that Tammy was young, energetic, bouncy, and thin as a runway model.
    “This time, I swear, I’m
going to get it right,” Savannah said. “No more disasters like that Triple
Chocolate Soufflé that turned out more like pudding. I’m going to do it exactly
the way the Queen of Chocolate does, and it’ll be a culinary triumph.”
    “Famous last words,” Tammy
muttered.
     
     
    “This sucks.” Savannah
looked down at the slice of cake on her plate and around the table at her
faithful friends, who had gathered to discuss the non-details of the detective
agency—which Savannah owned, but they all participated in from time to time—and
to sample her latest experiment.
    “It isn’t that bad,
Savannah,” Ryan Stone said—always kind, always breathtakingly gorgeous as he
graced the end of her table radiating “tall, dark, and handsome.”
    “It’s tasty.... if a
tad.... chewy,” added John Gibson, Ryan’s life partner who always sat to his
right and sipped Earl Grey tea in that quiet, dignified manner that only
British aristocracy could achieve. About fifteen years older than Ryan, John
sported a full head of snowy white hair and a luxurious silver mustache. He was
the only man Savannah had ever known who actually wore tweed hunting jackets in
California. And his genteel English accent gave her shivers. John, too, was
kind.
    Dirk wasn’t.
    “No,” he said as he shoved
yet another forkful into his mouth, “overcooked steak is chewy. This is just
plain tough.”
    “Well, I don’t see you
turning it down,” Savannah said, grabbing the plate out from under his nose.
“If you don’t like it, don’t feel obliged to—”
    He snatched it back. “Hey,
gimme that. Food’s food.”
    “Especially if it’s free,”
Tammy grumbled, making an adolescent “little sister” face at Dirk. “That’s your
number one criteria, isn’t it, when critiquing a dish?”
    “It helps,” Dirk said,
munching heartily.
    Savannah dropped her fork
onto her plate. ‘That does it. My jaws are tired. It’s going into the garbage.”
    “Maybe you oughta stick
with pecan pie or peach cobbler,” Dirk volunteered. “Something more in keeping
with your Georgia heritage. Hey, don’t throw that out. I’ll take it home with
me.”
    Savannah stepped into the
kitchen, got the coffeepot, and set about refilling everyone’s cups.... except
John’s. He had his own Dresden teapot and cozy at hand.
    “Speaking of the Lady
Eleanor, the Queen of Chocolate,” John said, “occasionally our paths cross, as
they did last evening at a benefit held at the Stardust Ballroom. She mentioned
that she’s in need of a personal security expert, and I recommended you,
Savannah. I hope you don’t mind.”
    The playful twinkle in his
eyes told her that he knew she wouldn’t mind. Mind? Mind?
    “Really? I mean.... Lady...
Eleanor... bodyguard... me?”
    “Yes. I told her you were a
highly qualified professional, charming, and, above all, delightfully
articulate.”
    “Not in front of
celebrities, she’s not,” Tammy said as she left the table, wandered into the
kitchen, and began searching in the refrigerator crisper. “She loses her cool
and starts babbling like an idiot. Say, don’t you have anything alive in here,
like an apple or a carrot?”
    “There’re some golden delicious
in the basket on the counter, nature girl. I was saving them for dipping in a
chocolate fondue, but you go ahead and help yourself.” She turned to John. “Do
you think she’ll call? Did she act like she was interested or...”
    Ryan chuckled, reached over
and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, Savannah. I was there, and after the sales
pitch John gave her, I’d bet that you’re in.”
    “I’m in. I’m in.”