Free Death of a Chocolate Cheater: A Food Festival Mystery by Penny Pike Page B

business.”
    Reina gestured toward Frankie, dressed tonight in an ill-fitting suit, his dark hair slicked back. The crowd turned to him. He humbly bowed his head, and they dutifully applauded.
    When the applause died down, a voice called from the back of the room, “I wonder if his business would be so successful if he didn’t use child labor!”
    The crowd gasped and looked for the heckler. J.C. turned the lens of his camera on the young black man wearing jeans and a T-shirt that read “Fill Your Piehole.” Griffin Makeba, the Pie Guy. I glanced over at Frankie, who stood a few feet away. He’d turned beet red.
    Reina snapped back, “I’m sure I don’t know about that, but I doubt it’s true. Child labor is illegal.”
    “Not in Africa!” Griffin called out.
    “Hey, buddy!” Frankie Nudo stepped up through the crowd. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! My people aren’t involved in that kind of thing, so shut your piehole!”
    Griffin mumbled something under his breath, then downed the rest of his wine, turned on his heel, and left the room.
    “All right, everyone,” Reina said, forcing a smile, “as I was about to say, we’re here to celebrate chocolate, not complain about it.” She laughed self-consciously into the camera. “Did you know that cocoa beans were so valuable in the past, they were used as currency?”
    Aunt Abby nudged me and whispered, “Will work for chocolate.”
    I nudged her back.
    “These days there are two types of chocolate entrepreneurs,” Reina continued. “Chocolate makers, like Frankie, who harvest the beans and process the chocolate.” She waved her arm in his direction. “And chocolatiers, like many of the rest of you, who use the finished product to make your treats.” Reina pointed them out as she mentioned their names.
    As she continued, the crowd began side conversations, and I had the sense she was losing their attention. She seemed to realize this, and after a brief pause, she gestured for J.C. to shine his camera light on the vat next to her.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said into the microphone. “Next to me is a vat of liquid chocolate that’s being mixed by a process called conching. Inside the container are metal beads and giant roller blades that grind, refine, andblend the chocolate, keeping it in a liquid state of one hundred thirteen degrees. The more conching, the better the chocolate. This batch will be conched for about seventy-two hours, to produce the highest quality.”
    Unfortunately for Reina, the natives were growing restless. Even the vat of chocolate wasn’t enough to hold the crowd’s attention during her lecture.
    “And finally,” Reina said, winding up her speech.
    Thank God,
I thought.
    “The health benefits of chocolate are impressive.” Reina continued to list all of them. That got some appreciative
ooh
s and
aah
s from the audience.
    “Now,” Reina said, “to thank you all for your hard work to help make this a successful Chocolate Festival, the servers will be bringing out samples of tomorrow’s contest entries for a sneak preview. Enjoy!”
    The partygoers gave it up for the hostess, then sipped their drinks and waited for the tasty finale. Servers in black uniforms appeared carrying silver trays, each one laden with chocolate treats. I saw Aunt Abby’s whoopie pies and Jake’s cream puffs go whooshing by faster than I could grab them. I was able to snatch only a knife-shaped chocolate from a platter filled with edible silverware—one of many novelty chocolates Aunt Abby’s friend Wendy Spellman had made—before the rest were devoured by other guests. Unfortunately, I missed out on the remaining entries, which were gone seconds after they arrived.
    “Well, that was disappointing,” I said to Jake and Aunt Abby. My aunt looked a little bewildered at the speed in which the treats had disappeared. Momentslater Dillon appeared holding a napkin filled with an array of chocolate goodies.
    “How did you