Death by Chocolate

Savannah
closed her eyes, savoring the possibilities. “To meet the great lady herself,
to walk, even for a moment, in her sweet, chocolate-dipped world. To taste
heaven on earth and not even have to go to the mall to buy Lady Eleanor’s
Confections. To see the place where the Raspberry Delight Truffle and the Lemon
Chiffon Kiss began...”
    “To pig out on everything
chocolate you can get your mitts on,” Dirk added, “and then walk around here
griping because you gained ten pounds.”
    Savannah sighed. “Oh, shut
up, Dirk,” she said with a kind of quiet resignation born of self-knowledge,
“before I smack you upside the head with my walker.”
     
     
    Savannah’s candlelit bubble
bath in her Victorian claw-foot bathtub did the trick that night. Ah, she
thought, as she soaked in the iridescent, lavender-scented splendor of
mountainous bubbles, nothing like feeling a scumbag’s tendons snap as you twist
his arm out of socket to put everything right in your world.
    To be the instrument of
justice, even for a moment, was a fine, fine thing. Almost as fine as the
Hazelnut Cocoa Cream in her right hand. Almost, but not quite.
    Savannah, along with the
rest of the nation, had acquired yet another vice about two years ago, when the
self-tided Queen of Chocolate on the Gourmet Network had opened a chain of mall
stores known as Lady Eleanor’s Confection Shoppes. Like the lady herself— who
wore Victorian garb: long skirts and leg-o’-mutton-sleeved high-necked blouses,
button-up boots, and a Gibson girl updo with dainty curled tendrils about the
face—the clerks in the turn-of-the-century-decorated shops served up candy
morsels that sent the happy taster into fits of gastronomic ecstasy.
    Since the opening of those
stores, Savannah could swear she had gained fifteen pounds. But what the heck,
it was all on her butt, which simply made her life that much more cushy.
Besides, she prided herself on wearing only the best on her heinie. And Lady
Eleanor’s confections produced, undoubtedly, the very best fat that money could
buy.
    One candy at bathtime....
and another at bedtime, just to ward off any nasty midnight sugar lows.... and
life was good.
    A little later, as she
snuggled between rose-spangled flannel sheets, a Double-Dipped Praline poised
in front of her mouth, the thought crossed her mind that her dentist certainly
wouldn’t approve of this nightly ritual. But he was all about teeth and gums
and warding off cavities; what did he know about feeding a famished soul? One
had to be well-rounded in this world.
    At least, that was her
story and she was sticking with it.
    “Thank you, Lord, for
chocolate,” she prayed as she slipped into a blissful sleep. “Thank you for
good friends like John, who recommend me to wonderful people like Lady Eleanor.
And most of all, thank you for helping Dirk and me end that robbery today
without getting our hides—or anybody else’s—perforated.”
    Yes, Savannah had a lot to
be grateful for. Hers was a peaceful, sated soul.
     
     
    Ring. Ring.
    The shrill pealing of a
bell pierced her ears and ripped her out of that dark, safe cocoon of sleep.
    Ring. Ring.
    “What? What the hell?” She sat
up in bed and grabbed for the phone, missed it, and knocked her three-pound box
of “assorted nuts and creams” onto the floor.
    The square red numbers on
her digital alarm clock told her it was 2:12 A.M.
    “Damn it, this had better
be an emergency, ‘cause if you’re a wrong number, you’re dead,” she mumbled as
she flipped on the nightstand lamp and picked up the receiver. “Who is this and
what do you want?” she demanded, every trace of her sugar high and good mood
gone.
    “This is Eleanor Maxwell,”
said a nasal, grating voice. “Is this Savannah Reid?”
    Eleanor Maxwell? Eleanor
Maxwell?
    She didn’t know any Eleanor
Maxwell. And the only Eleanor she knew... or knew of... had a delicately
modulated British accent that fell lightly on the ears of her television viewers
like a soft spring rain. This woman’s voice was more like the screeching of a
Styrofoam egg carton when you closed it.
    And she was calling at 2:12
in the friggin’ morning!
    “This is Savannah Reid. I was
sound asleep. Who are you and why are you calling me at this hour?”
    “I need a bodyguard. Right
away. I spoke to a friend of yours, John Gibson, and—”
    “Oh, yes! Of course!”
Instantly Savannah was wide awake, her emotions sunny-side up. “Lady Eleanor!
I’m such a fan of