Death by Chocolate

yours! You have no idea how many times I’ve watched your
show, how much of your candy I’ve bought, how...” She realized she was babbling
like a Rolling Stones groupie and reined in her enthusiasm. “I’d be glad to
help you anyway I can,” she added in her most professional tone. “If you need
me to come over right now, I—”
    “Now? Hell no. I’m cooking.
Nobody is allowed in here when I’m cooking.”
    “Oh, I just meant that
maybe... since you were calling in the middle of the night, there was some sort
of urgency or—”
    “No. I’m calling now
because that’s when I’m awake.” And to heck with the rest of the sleeping
world? Savannah thought. But she quickly pushed the unworthy idea from her
mind. Lady Eleanor rude? Why, she was the epitome of—
    “Come over tomorrow and
I’ll tell you what you’re going to do for me.”
    “O... kay.” A few more
unworthy, downright nasty thoughts floated through Savannah’s head. John had
forgotten to mention that, just maybe, Lady Eleanor might be a bit of a bitch.
“Let’s see... it’s now two-fifteen on Tuesday morning, so you’d like me to come
over sometime on Wednesday?”
    “No, I told you,
tomorrow—after I’ve slept.”
    “Oh, I see.” The lady was
one of those people who divided their “days” into the periods after and before
sleep, having nothing to do with the clock or the rest of the world’s schedule.
“And when I shall I arrive? Say, around nine?”
    “Nine? Are you nuts? I
won’t be awake, let alone ready to talk to anybody, before one.”
    Savannah reinforced her
professional persona before opening her mouth again. “Would that be one in the
afternoon, then?”
    “Yes. That’s what I said.”
A long, impatient sigh. “And John Gibson said you were the best he knew. Says a
lot about the circles he travels in.”
    Savannah bit her tongue and
slowly counted to five before replying, “One o’clock sharp, at your home?”
    “Of course at my home. I do
everything from here. You do know where I live, don’t you?”
    “Certainly, Lady Eleanor.
Everyone knows your estate there on the beach. I’ve passed that gorgeous
Victorian home a hundred times and thought—”
    Dial tone.
    The gracious and genteel
Queen of Chocolate had hung up on her. What a miserable, rotten, lousy...
    Savannah glanced down at
the box of chocolates on the floor and for one weird, perverted moment, she was
actually glad they had spilled. Who wanted candy that was probably now covered
with carpet fuzz? Especially if it came from a silver box with a cameo picture
of Eleanor on the cover.
    But the moment passed. She
reached down and gathered the chocolates back into their box. No sign of carpet
residue.
    The Lady might be an
inconsiderate, bossy old bitch who woke people up at two in the morning.... but
she still made a mean truffle.

Chapter

2
     
     
     
    A t five minutes to one, Savannah
pulled her 1965 Mustang onto the cobblestone driveway and stopped at the
wrought-iron gate with the ornate, scrolled “E” in its center. On an equally
elaborate pole to her left was the communications security box with its
assorted buttons and dials. She maneuvered the car close to it, leaned out the
window, and punched the button marked visitors.
    A few moments later, a soft
female voice inquired from the speaker, “Yes? May I help you?”
    “Savannah Reid, here to see
Lady Eleanor,” she replied. Within seconds, the gate swung open and she drove
inside, practically giddy with anticipation. She couldn’t have been more
excited if she had been holding a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate
Factory.
    Hundreds of times she had
driven down Seaside Avenue and glimpsed the peaked tops of the Queen’s castle,
a Victorian-style mansion, one of the oldest and most prestigious homes in the
county—though few of the county’s residents had seen more than the gray roof
with its grand turrets and a bit of its white gingerbread trim.
    As she drove along the
tree-lined road, past the gatekeeper’s cottage and through acres of beautifully
landscaped lawns and gardens, she felt as though she had stepped back in
history, to a more gentle, graceful time. She half expected to see women in
long skirts playing croquet while their girlfriends protected their ivory
complexions by sitting beneath fluttering white canvas pavilions to sip their
afternoon tea.
    Halfway down the drive, she
had to stop the car and wait for a pair of peacocks to cross, their