Criminal Confections (31 page)

I understood. “That brings me to the reason I'm here.” As Bernard watched interestedly, I pulled out Adrienne's notebook. With a heartfelt sense of rightness, I handed it to him. “It's not a diary, like you wanted, but I think you should have this.”

“Thank you.” Seeming moved, he ran his wrinkled fingers over the notebook. When he lifted his gaze to mine, Bernard seemed contemplative. “Despite what I told you before, I don't think there ever was a diary,” he confessed. “Adrienne said she was bringing it to the scavenger hunt, full of details about our affair, to show Isabel—to try to force me into making a decision. She wanted me to get divorced, but I was too worried about hurting Isabel.” He gave a sheepish smile. “I guess I shouldn't have been. I'm an old softy like that sometimes.”

I believed him. Plus, now I knew why Adrienne had brought her chocolate notebook with her. Like the one I'd brought to my ill-fated meeting last night, it had been a decoy. A bluff.

Adrienne must have changed her mind about confronting Isabel, I realized. She'd tried, but she had been too kindhearted to go through with it. That explained why she'd seemed so torn about having drawn a Team Yellow T-shirt when I'd first run into her that day. It explained why she'd given
me
her notebook, too.

She'd realized, with Christian bearing down on us both, that exchanging her notebook would make it seem as though she'd needed to consult with me about something work related. That action would have ostensibly explained her presence there (against Christian's rules). It turned out that I'd been Adrienne's cover story for attending the scavenger hunt. Nothing more. I'd been drawn into all the intrigue just by being there.

Way to go, Hayden,
I thought ruefully.
Come for the chocolate—stay for the murder!

With the last piece of the puzzle in place, I smiled at Bernard. “I hear you're back on top at Lemaître Chocolates.”

Bernard nodded. Now that he was unmedicated, he seemed much sharper than before. “I am. Christian and I still have a few details to work out, but I'm ready to get back to work.”

“You look it.” He did. With his gingham shirtsleeves rolled up and his khaki pants freshly creased, Bernard looked ready to resume his role as San Francisco's grandfather of chocolate. “I'm happy for you, Bernard. I really am. I'm sorry we didn't meet under happier circumstances, but I'm glad to know you.”

“And I, you.” He gave a faint, chivalrous bow. “Good luck, Hayden. May the chocolate always temper correctly for you.”

I grinned at his use of our industry lingo. As a substitute for part of that old Irish proverb, it seemed apt to me.

“You too, Mr. Lemaître.” I shook his hand, then left.

I still had one more thing to do . . . and it was a doozy.

 

 

At our shared breakfast table at the final Maison Lemaître all-chocolate brunch of the retreat, Danny gave in first.

“Ugh. That's it!” He dropped his napkin on his chocolate-smudged plate with a groan. “I can't take any more.”

I looked. “You haven't even finished your French toast.”

“It's got chocolate chips in it. It's dessert.”

“Or your almond croissant with caramel and chocolate.”

“Why is it called a croissant when it's rectangular? In French, croissant means crescent. You know that as well as I do.”

“Or your white-chocolate whiskey bread pudding with cherry sauce and candied almonds. The drizzle of ganache on top is—”

“Too much! Plus, it's alcoholic. Even I don't want whiskey at breakfast—at least I don't if I haven't been up all night. Maybe not even then.” Danny switched his gaze to my plate, which I was currently struggling not to lick clean. He gave me an incredulous look. “Where did you put all yours, anyway?”

“Right in here.” Contentedly, I patted my belly. “Every last bite was
delicious,
too. The chocolate was sweet but complex, melty when it was supposed to be and smooth when it wasn't. The pastries were delectable, the ganache
incredible,
and that chocolate-swirled speculoos butter . . . out of this world!”

“You're an animal,” Danny told me.

“You're broken somehow. You really don't like chocolate?”

“I like it.” He looked away, mulling it over. “I guess.”

Sacrilege. “You need some serious rehabilitation, mister.”

He gave me a fond look. “I guess you're just the expert I need for the job, then. I don't think you can do it, though.”

“Those sound like fighting words.” I was up for the challenge. When
wasn't
I? “Where are you off to next?”

“Wait, what?” Danny gave me a faux astonished look. “We're not going every place together from now on?” He shook his head. “I thought I was your bodyguard. I thought you needed me.”

“You're my
on-call
bodyguard. I told Travis to put you on retainer,” I explained blithely. “If I need you, I'll call.”

“You'll need me,” he assured me. He'd never lacked confidence. Only the gene that involved chocolate tasting.

Danny couldn't possibly be tasting it correctly, I knew, and still wind up so utterly apathetic about chocolate's ambrosial qualities, could he? No. He couldn't.

“So . . .” I arched my eyebrow, then exercised all my willpower to allow the server to clear away my plate. “Where to next?”

“No place.” He shrugged his burly shoulders. “I'm staying here for a few days.” His gaze arrowed to mine, full of sudden, inexplicable exasperation. “Your dumbass financial manager—”

“You can call him Travis.” It sounded as though they were having another one of their feuds. That was my cue to vamoose.

“—only booked me a one-way ticket, that cheapskate. So I thought I'd spend a little time exploring San Francisco.”

Ah, I got it. “Exploring, huh? With your detective friend?”

“Maybe.” Mischievously, Danny looked up. “You?”

I shrugged, reluctant to say good-bye.

“You're already booked,” Danny prodded, “to . . . ?”

Anguilla.
That's what it was supposed to have been. Except...

“I changed my flight,” I told him with a nonchalance I didn't begin to feel. I wasn't ready to embark on a new job. I didn't have a home to speak of. But I
did
have an intriguing offer, I remembered. “The Caribbean can be so crowded. After this, I feel like going someplace a little moodier. Rainier.”

“London,” Danny surmised. He knew how I loved it there.

I stayed mum while I signed for our breakfast. My treat.

I stood, grabbing my (temporary) clutch.
RIP, crossbody bag.

“Not London.” With feeling, I grabbed Danny, then gave him a hug. With him staying in California, we wouldn't see each other again for a while. “Not this time. Soon, though.”

If I'd hoped to distract him from his original question about my destination, I'd forgotten who I was dealing with.

Danny leaned back. He frowned. “Where are you going?”

I gave an offhanded wave. “Seattle. You know, just for a few days.” I gave Danny a grateful smile. “Thanks for all your help with . . .
everything.
You know you're the best, Danny.”

He crossed his arms. “You can't sidetrack me. Seattle?”

We both knew what that meant. I didn't want to admit it.

But with a successful consultation behind me, a first-time murder resolution to my credit, and a belly full of scrumptious chocolate, I guess I didn't have the wherewithal to hold out.

“I thought I might pop in on Travis,” I admitted. Stupidly, my heart rate picked up just from saying it. “You know . . . see what he's like in person. I think it's about time we met, don't you?”

“Nope,” Danny grumped. “I don't.”

“Well, then, it's a good thing you're not the boss of me, because I'm doing it,” I said lightly. Then I dared myself to lean in, give Danny one of Isabel's Parisian
bises,
and squeeze his shoulder. “Hey, catch you next time, Jamieson.”

“You'd better believe it,” Danny told me. “I wouldn't miss it.”

“Me either,” I said. Then I left the patio, left Maison Lemaître, left its cacao-scented breezes, and embarked on my next adventure—footloose, chocolatified, and ready for whatever came my way.

Serves four to six

GET READY: Fill a large bowl about halfway with ice and water. Have ready a slightly smaller metal bowl that fits inside it. Set aside. (You'll use this to rapidly chill the mousse while whipping it.)

 

Place the chopped chocolate, water, and sugar in a microwave-safe glass bowl (Pyrex is good). Microwave until chocolate is melted. Add vanilla extract.

 

Pour melted chocolate mixture into prepared small metal bowl. Place the metal bowl in the prepared ice bath. (Make sure not to let any stray ice water get into the bowl!) Whisk chocolate mixture by hand until mousse reaches desired thickness, about two minutes.

 

Spoon into serving dishes and enjoy!

 

 

The success of this mousse is all about the quality of the chocolate you use, so choose a good one! Any brand that's around 70% cocoa solids should be delicious.

 

This recipe might seem complicated, but it's really not! It's basically whipping melted chocolate while swiftly cooling it, which makes it fluffy and delicious. The mousse reaches the desired consistency as if by magic, with only a little whisking.

 

It seems counterintuitive in a world filled with creamy desserts, but dairy products actually dull the flavor of chocolate. Without milk fat getting in the way, this mousse is super chocolaty. Try it!

 

 

In a small bowl, stir together ground cacao nibs, ground espresso beans, and sugar. Add the olive oil and vanilla extract; stir thoroughly until combined.

 

TO USE: Wash feet; leave damp. Apply a small scoop of pedicure scrub to each foot. Massage well.

 

Leave on for 3-5 minutes while you relax and enjoy the delicious mocha scent. Rinse off and pat feet dry. This scrub is exfoliating and soothing!

 

 

This mixture is best while fresh—don't try to save it for later! There's enough here for one good scrubbing. If you don't like olive oil, you can substitute any neutral oil— almond oil is especially nice. Don't use canola oil, corn oil, soybean oil, or peanut oil! They make the scrub too greasy (and don't smell nice).

 

You don't have to use espresso beans for this scrub—any coffee bean will do—and they don't have to be dry (aka un-brewed). If you're feeling thrifty and/or “green,” just recycle your coffee grounds from this morning's java. Also, a mini coffee-bean grinder or spice grinder works well for crunching up the cacao nibs. If you leave them as is, they're too rough.

 

 

GET READY: Preheat oven to 375°.

 

In a medium mixing bowl, combine the sugars, milk, and vanilla extract. Mix well. Add olive oil; beat with a spoon until thoroughly combined. Add the flour, baking soda, and salt; stir just until no streaks of flour remain. Mix in chocolate chips.

Scoop rounded spoonfuls of dough onto greased or parchment-lined baking sheets, spacing each about two inches apart. (A #20 portion scoop—which holds 3 tablespoons—is handy here.) Flatten cookies slightly. Bake for 10-13 minutes, until golden brown. Enjoy!

 

 

Your cupboard's almost bare, but you're craving some delicious chocolate chip cookies? This recipe is for you! It's my almost-instant, no-mixer-required, small-batch special recipe. You can make it from pantry staples you probably have on hand every day.

 

It might seem unusual to use olive oil in cookies, but give it a try! Italian bakers use olive oil in sweets all the time. Or, if you're not feeling adventurous, you can substitute any neutral-flavored oil—grapeseed oil, canola oil, and coconut oil are all good.

 

 

Melt the coconut oil in a microwave or on the stovetop over low heat. Stir in the maple syrup and vanilla extract. Add the cocoa powder and pinch of salt; stir until chocolate butter is smooth. Enjoy!

 

The keys to this recipe are the coconut oil and the pinch of salt. The coconut oil gives the chocolate butter just the right luscious consistency. The salt (flaky sea salt is good, if you've got it!) adds complexity.

 

Natural cocoa powder and Dutch-processed cocoa powder both work well in this recipe. Honey can be substituted for maple syrup, if you prefer.

 

Chocolate butter is delicious spread on toast, fresh fruit, graham crackers . . . whatever you've got!