LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

thinks shoes like that are stupid.”

      Bernie snorted. “Right. He thinks that down-at-the-heel black flats are more attractive.”

      “That is so not true,” Libby protested.

      “That’s what I was saying.”

      “I didn’t mean that and you know it.”

      Libby was about to say something more when she heard the phone ring out front. Amber picked it up.

      “Hello,” Libby heard Amber say. “A Little Taste of Heaven. How may I help you?”

      “Libby,” she cried. “It’s for you. A Marnie Gorman. She sounds really upset.”

      “Why am I not surprised?” Bernie said. “I guess Clayton told her.”

      “I guess he did,” Libby agreed. “I think we can forget about shopping.”

      “Unfortunately, so do I.”

      Chapter 7

      Just Chocolate was located in a little shopping mall about four miles outside Longely. As Bernie drove she thought about the store. Unlike A Little Taste of Heaven, Just Chocolate had grown and grown and grown. The Gormans had started their shop a little over ten years ago in a small storefront. Bernie remembered going there before she’d gone off to L.A. They’d been the first store in the area to do hand-dipped chocolates.

      Business was good so they started selling chocolate novelty items. Then they’d bought the store next door and knocked down the walls, so they’d had a fairly large production area and a cute little counter area.

      Next they’d gotten into corporate gifts and the mail order business, and before they knew it they were netting over a million a year—at least that’s what she’d heard from a couple of their suppliers. They were hosting the benefit in the rear of the shop because Bree Nottingham insisted that people always liked to see the behind-the-scenes stuff of successful places, and maybe Bree was right, Bernie reflected. Maybe they did. Unfortunately, Bree was usually right about everything.

      “I feel so bad for her,” Libby said to Bernie as they rounded a turn on Palm Street.

      Bernie didn’t answer. She was busy wondering about the name since there were no palm trees anywhere in the vicinity, let alone the state. Maybe it was the name of a person? But Palm was an odd name. When she had the time, she’d go down to the Historical Society and see what she could find out.

      “Don’t you?” Libby asked.

      “Of course I feel bad for her,” Bernie said.

      Libby didn’t say anything, but out of the corner of her eye Bernie could see her nodding. After a few seconds Libby turned toward her.

      “Having her husband die like that, and now this. They were like two lovebirds, always kissing and holding hands.”

      “Remember Mom’s lovebirds?” Bernie said.

      Libby’s mouth tightened. “Don’t remind me.”

      The family dog had eaten one of them when the male lovebird—Bernie had forgotten what her mom called him—had flown through the dog’s mouth. The bird got away with the stunt the first time; the second time, however, it was sayonara. Needless to say, there’d been nothing to bury. They’d held a memorial service instead.

      “I should never have let them out of their cage,” Libby continued.

      Bernie took a left. With Libby, guilt was forever. “They were pretty stupid.”

      “But pretty,” Libby protested.

      “That’s what I just said. They were pretty and stupid.”

      Libby didn’t reply. Instead she rooted around in her bag until she found a piece of chocolate and popped it in her mouth.

      “You should cut back on that,” Bernie observed. “Especially since you said you wanted to lose another ten pounds.”

      “I need it,” Libby protested.

      “Nobody needs chocolate. You need a drink or a tranq. You want chocolate, you don’t have to have it.”

      “I do.”

      Bernie laughed. “You’re not going to rob a bank if you don’t get it.”

      Her sister gave in. “All right. I don’t need it, I want it.”

      “There is a difference,” Bernie pointed out.

      “Maybe, but nothing else works as well in the calming department.”

      Bernie leaned forward a little, the better to look at the window of BeSpoke. They had a neat blouse she’d had her eye on, but by the time she got in, it would probably be sold.

      “Maybe you’re right,” she conceded.

      Libby put her hand over her heart. “You’re agreeing with me?” she said. “I’m in shock.”

      Bernie took her eyes off the road for a second and glanced at her sister. She was smiling at her.

      “Miraculous, isn’t it?” Bernie said. “But chocolate is one of the most chemically complicated foods that we have. Do you know it entered Europe a little while after coffee did? I find that fascinating.”

      “I don’t,” her sister said.

      Bernie ignored her and continued on.

      “Chocolate has over 423 separate components in it, several of which act on the brain and promote feelings of well-being. It acts on the same neuroreceptors that being in love does.”

      “That’s news?” Libby asked.

      “No, but they just proved it scientifically.”

      “Like there’s a woman alive who doesn’t know that? They should have paid me to do the study.”

      “And they’ve never been able to reproduce chocolate in the lab.”

      “They can’t produce vanilla either. Vanillin is terrible. So are most of the imitation flavors for that matter. Look at orange extract. It usually tastes like perfume.”

      “True.” Bernie looked at the piece of chocolate Libby was about to eat. “Do you have another square of that? Because if you do I’ll take it.”

      Libby started rummaging through her bag. How she managed to carry that thing around Bernie never knew. It contained half her belongings. No wonder Libby always slouched. Given the weight of what she carried every day, it was amazing she hadn’t hurt her shoulder. A moment later Libby put a square of chocolate in her hand.

      Bernie broke off a piece and popped it in her mouth. “What kind is it?” she asked as the chocolate dissolved on her tongue.

      “It’s pure Colombian. First growth,” Libby explained. And she started fishing around in her bag for the box.

      “Interesting how food evolves,” Bernie mused. “Look at chocolate.”

      “Here we go with the history lesson,” Libby grumbled.

      “Well, I think it’s interesting. Think about this. A hundred years ago there wasn’t any mass candy market.”

      “Like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups or Three Musketeers?”

      “Exactly.”

      Libby turned her head and stilled her hand. Bernie could tell that she’d captured her attention.

      “It’s true,” Bernie continued. “There were just small candy makers back then—kind of like Just Chocolate. Each town had its own candy maker, just like each town had its own brewery and bakery.”

      “Why?” Libby asked.

      “Think about it. Transportation

Скачать книгу