Free Criminal Confections by Colette London Page A

technically—”
    Usually, Danny did his best to nod and look interested when I went into professorial mode. Tonight, though, he only seemed worried. That wasn’t like him. Nothing ever fazed Danny.
    â€œSo, technically, Adrienne should have been less likely to die of a heart attack, rather than more,” he finished for me.
    For once, our synchronicity was scary, not simpatico.
    â€œWell, chocolate isn’t wheatgrass and quinoa,” I amended, feeling confused. But warmer. And not as if I’d just stepped off a Tilt-A-Whirl. My symptoms—if that’s what they were—seemed to be subsiding. “But it’s not going to kill anyone. Not right away. Plus, Adrienne was trying to be healthy. That’s why she—”
    â€œDrank that swamp juice. Just like you did. So, again—”
    â€œI’m fine, Danny. I am.” I was spooked, though. Seriously spooked. Could someone really have overdosed sweet, responsible Adrienne? Or (gulp) me? I didn’t think I had any real enemies anywhere—much less in the City by the Bay, among my chocolate peeps. “I’m sure what happened to Adrienne was an accident.”
    â€œMaybe it wasn’t the juice,” he persisted. “Maybe it was something else.” He turned to me. “What was she working on?”
    A doomed project, thanks to my unfinished report.
    Pricked with guilt, I looked away. “Nothing deadly.”
    â€œHayden.”
    â€œA line of nutraceutical chocolates.” Maybe it was a good thing the official unveiling hadn’t happened yet. I didn’t say so, though. I didn’t want Danny grilling me about my truffle-munching habits. All that caffeine might have explained why my heart had raced when I’d seen Adrienne, though. Why I’d been so chilled. Why I’d been dizzy, too. I didn’t want to worry Danny any further, so I shrugged, instead. “More healthy stuff.”
    â€œHealthy? Damn.” Danny quit pacing. For a nanosecond, his broad, burly shoulders relaxed. He looked nice, even sans suit jacket, in an open-collared shirt. “Why do I feel like packing down a huge double-bacon cheeseburger and fries right now?”
    Him and me both. Suddenly, healthy felt deadly.
    â€œDon’t worry. Maison Lemaître specializes in decadence. You missed the all-chocolate English tea this afternoon, but we can still make it to the all-chocolate brunch buffet tomorrow.”
    He looked skeptical. “Do they serve until three P.M. ?”
    â€œHa-ha.” Leave it to Danny to remember my notorious reputation as a before-noon zombie. I only survived A.M. consults by pretending I’d been up all night. There was a reason I was a freelancer who set her own hours. “We should try it tomorrow.”
    That is, if I could behave normally, without collapsing into tears. My emotions were all over the place. I didn’t know the status of the chocolate retreat now. It seemed likely that Christian Lemaître would cancel it. That would be the decent thing to do. But Christian was hardly the king of decency.
    Danny indulged my non-homicide-related digression with a nod. “Sure. Brunch sounds like a good networking op for you.”
    I stifled a groan. Danny was more obsessed with growing my business than I was. I chalked that up to his impoverished youth. “It sounds like chocolate-chip scones with chocolate butter to me,” I shot back. “Chocolate-dipped strawberries. Chocolate waffles with hot-fudge sauce. And cocoa-nib bacon.”
    Unbelievably, he made a face. I’d forgotten that Danny didn’t share my sweet tooth—or my adoration of chocolate. He preferred things on the savory-salty-hot “blow your doors off” side of the street. Nachos. Hot wings. Sriracha. Vinegar chips.
    In critical ways, we were fundamentally incompatible.
    Nevertheless, we had a date. For chocolate brunch.
    Until then, I’d had all I wanted of