Chocolate Truffles and Trouble

  Chocolate Truffles and Trouble

  Pacific Cove Mystery #3

  Samantha Silver

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Also by Samantha Silver

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Have you ever had to chase a corgi who was completely covered in dark chocolate around the house, trying to stop him from eating marshmallows?

  Because that was what I was doing at that very moment, and let me tell you, it’s messy.

  I was spending that morning working on some new chocolate recipes. I’d been running my own business for a couple of months now, and winter was quickly turning into spring. In fact, the other day, the temperature actually went over sixty degrees for the first time in months. I’d spent a good chunk of the afternoon walking outside, enjoying the chirp of the migratory birds who were just beginning to make their way back for another season.

  My chocolate-making skills were improving at a rapid pace, to the point where Grace, the woman who was teaching me how to make chocolate, wanted me to try experimenting to create new products on my own.

  “Part of being a master chocolatier is understanding how chocolate works on an instinctive level,” she explained. “You can read books and memorize lists of how to create certain items, but to truly master the art of chocolate-making you have to be willing to experiment, to listen to what the chocolate is telling you.”

  So that morning, I had decided to experiment with an idea I had gotten from a friend in Western Woods named Tina, who grew up in the human world. She told me they have something there called s’mores, which are generally made over a campfire and comprised of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows.

  I had carefully made a small fire in the kitchen and roasted sixteen large marshmallows over the top of it. Then I had carefully sandwiched the marshmallows in between a couple of graham crackers. All in all, there were four marshmallows per s’more. Next, I planned on dipping the entire cracker sandwich into a coating of milk chocolate. And that was where things went wrong.

  I left the s’mores on the counter while I worked at tempering the chocolate, an essential step in making sure chocolate is prime for eating. I was busy stirring the chocolate, not paying any attention to the rest of the s’mores. After all, I was in my kitchen. I didn’t have anything to worry about. Right?

  Wrong.

  Earlier that day, my sister Andrea had moved one of the dining room chairs to the kitchen counter and hadn’t returned it. I found it convenient to sit on when I needed a break, so I had left it where it was.

  Unfortunately, Sherlock Bones, my corgi familiar, took full advantage. Even with his short little legs, he was able to jump up onto the chair. In a split second he had reached the counter and grabbed one of the s’mores.

  “Oh! Sherlock!” I cried as I noticed what was going on. “Stop it!”

  Unfortunately for everyone, my corgi wasn’t exactly coordinated, and rather than jumping elegantly back onto the ground, he half fell into me, making me stumble. I knocked over the cauldron full of chocolate with an elbow, and the mixture spilled directly onto the floor, where Sherlock was trying to run away, still holding his marshmallow prey in his mouth.

  In an instant, my corgi went from beautiful white and orange fur to looking like he’d rolled around in a mud puddle.

  “You’ll never catch me! I am a ferocious hunter!” Sherlock cried through a mouthful of food as he darted away as fast as his little legs could take him.

  “You get back here!” I shouted, running after him. As he darted around the house, big globs of chocolate began falling off him and onto the floor. At one point, he tried to turn the corner to get down the hallway toward my bedroom, but he was going far too quickly, and he hit the wall on the far side, leaving a giant chocolate mark to commemorate the moment.

  “You’re making a huge mess!” I shouted. “Stop it!”

  “Not until I’ve eaten my treat,” Sherlock replied.

  “Stop chewing while you’re running! You’re going to choke on it.” Goodness, was this what motherhood was like? It must be exactly like this, but multiplied a thousand times over.

  Sherlock ran into my room and I let out a moan of frustration as he jumped right onto my bed, quickly turning around and trying to eat the s’more as quickly as possible, globs of chocolate and crumbs from the graham crackers ending up all over my blanket.

  “What is wrong with you? Stop it!” I said.

  “I can’t help myself. I’m a dog, my instinct is to hunt. My ancestors were wolves.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure no wolf in the history of the planet has ever hunted a marshmallow,” I glared, making my way over to Sherlock, who kept chewing faster. The marshmallow kept getting stuck in his teeth, and he opened and closed his mouth quickly, trying to get the bits of it unstuck before I made my way to him.

  By the time I reached the bed, about half the chocolate-less s’more had been eaten, and I snatched the other half off the bed and threw it into the trash can on the other side of the room.

  “Aw, I wanted that,” Sherlock whined, still trying to get bits of marshmallow out of his teeth.

  “Well, you need to learn that you’re not going to be rewarded for stealing food.”

  “Would you have given me any of that if I’d asked for it?”

  “No. None of what’s in that is good for dogs. You have your own treats.”

  “Well, there you have it. By stealing it from the counter, I at least got to eat half of it. And my goodness, is it ever delicious. Have you ever made these before?”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, mister,” I said, wagging a finger at Sherlock as I dug a wand out from the small desk against one of the walls. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up. You made a mess everywhere.”

  I immediately started casting cleaning spells, making my way back through the house the way we’d come, keeping a keen eye out for any errant bits of chocolate or crumbs that I might have missed. Sherlock, for his part, showed absolutely no remorse whatsoever, and in fact, when I made my way back to the kitchen and began retempering chocolate, he casually sauntered over to the couch and let out a small, satisfied burp.

  I shook my head, incredulous at how proud he was of himself. I glared at him as I carefully moved the chair away from the counter; I was going to have to be extra careful in the future to make sure more of my food didn’t go astray.

  Luckily, there were still three s’mores left, and an hour later I was carefully putting the tray of now chocolate-dipped s’mores into the fridge to let the chocolate harden, still muttering about how the universe could have landed me with the world’s worst-behaved familiar.

  “Are you finished? We should go for a walk,” Sherlock suggested as I was cleaning up. “I’m feeling a little stuffed and I could use the exercise.”

  He was truly completely shameless.

  “Only because I know you need to use the bathroom,” I said as Sherlock happily jumped off the couch and ran toward the door. “This is not a reward for having stolen that s’more.”

  “I know, I know,” Sherlock said as he did his happy dance aroun
d the front door, waiting impatiently for me to grab his leash. I rolled my eyes as we made our way outside, and he immediately ran to the end of the leash, straining to get to the fence post at the end of the drive that he loved to pee on.

  I couldn’t help but feel like I was rewarding him just a little bit for his bad behavior, but I had to admit I was happy for the walk myself. Things were starting to get busy with my chocolate company, and I was trying to keep my anxiety levels in check. I couldn’t help it; I was a natural worrywart.

  Was the small shop in Spokurse that had ordered some of my goods last week going to reorder? Maryanne here in Pacific Cove had placed a large order; was I going to find the time to make all of her chocolates? What if the quality began to slip as I found myself dealing with more orders?

  No, I shook my head. These were Future Megan problems. Right now, I was living in the moment. The sun was out, all I needed was a light jacket, and the first flowers of spring were just starting to bloom. It was time to enjoy being outside and everything that offered.

  Chapter 2

  Sherlock and I made our way down to the beach, where I quickly spotted a familiar face and waved. Akari was a new friend of mine, recently moved here from Southern California, where I had been attending Healer classes at Spellford before moving back to Pacific Cove after my parents had been arrested.

  Her familiar, a Shiba Inu named Yoshi, was happily running along the sand with a large stick in his mouth. He spotted Sherlock before Akari spotted me, and he began running toward us. I let Sherlock off his leash, and the two dogs darted at one another like long-lost lovers.

  Well, if long-lost lovers immediately began play-fighting each other over a stick as soon as they reached one another, that was.

  I laughed as I watched Sherlock and Yoshi play and made my way toward Akari.

  “How are things going?” she asked, and I shook my head.

  “Sherlock stole a s’more—without chocolate, luckily—and made me knock over the cauldron of chocolate. It all landed on him and he ran through the house completely covered.”

  Akari laughed. “Sounds like an adventure. I can relate. The other day, I let Yoshi into the yard to pee and didn’t notice he’d rolled around in a mud puddle. He came back into the house covered in mud and immediately jumped up onto the couch and settled himself in for a nap.”

  “He didn’t!” I said, bursting into laughter.

  “He absolutely did. Then, when I cleaned it all up, he had the audacity to complain that he had rolled in the mud on purpose, and that I was ruining his whole vibe.”

  “Dogs,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Gotta love them. Hey, I guess you heard about what happened at Spellford?”

  I tilted my head to the side slightly. “No. To be honest, I haven’t really kept up with most people from there. Not since coming back. I just haven’t had the time, and I wasn’t really all that close to anyone, anyway. Why? What’s up?”

  “Oh,” Akari said, her face falling. “Well, one of the Healer students was murdered this morning. I thought you would have heard. I wondered if you knew her.”

  “Really?” I asked, my eyebrows rising. “Who was it, do you know?”

  “Yeah, a witch named Olivia Stone. I don’t know what coven she was from, but with a name like that, it had to be one of the earth covens.”

  “It was. She was from the coven of Tethis, if I remember right,” I said with a nod.

  “So you knew her, then?”

  “Only to say hi to,” I said. “That’s still quite sad, though. We didn’t run in the same circles at all. I was always surprised that she wanted to become a Healer. She was good with potions, as most earth-coven witches are, but she didn’t seem too interested in her studies. She seemed more interested in…potions that allowed her to have a good time.”

  It was a polite way of saying I was fairly certain Olivia Stone was more into partying than her studies. Still, I couldn’t deny that no matter how many times she came to class chugging coffee that obviously had extra alertness potions added to it, she did get good grades.

  Akari shook her head. “It’s still quite sad. But at least the Enforcers should be able to find who did it.”

  “Yeah, you said she was murdered? Do you know how?”

  “Apparently she was poisoned. Someone slipped something into a potion she had made for herself to take to a party. She was at the party, and when she passed out, no one thought anything of it. They turned her onto her side and left her, and in the morning, someone tried to wake her up and failed.”

  “Oh, that’s sad,” I said, shaking my head. “I hope they find whoever did it.”

  “Me too,” Akari said. “According to a friend back home, Spellford is doing a lot of work to make sure everyone is safe. All campus-organized parties are canceled, they’ve sent out notices to everyone strongly recommending that they avoid taking any sort of drinks or potions whose origins they don’t know, and they’ve beefed up security on campus. All the while claiming that it was probably just an accident.”

  “Good,” I said with a nod. “At least they’re taking it seriously. Well, minus the part where they’re pretending it was just an overdose. Jeez, poor Olivia. I mean, I barely knew her, but still. I knew her. And she was a talented witch. She partied a lot, but her marks were good. I think she would have made a good Healer. A great one if she toned it down a bit.”

  “Such a shame,” Akari said. “I must say, though, down in LA, we heard that parties at Spellford could be absolutely legendary.”

  “Right?” I said with a smile. I had certainly had my share of fun, especially in my first and second year of studies. But now that I was a little bit older—and my recovery time from a night of drinking seemed to have gone up exponentially—I just couldn’t be bothered to go out and get completely plastered anymore. And illegal potions for extra stimulation had never been my thing.

  Just then, the two dogs ran over toward us, still playing excitedly. They ran headlong into my leg, barely muttering an apology before rushing back off in the direction of the water.

  “Are you ok?” Akari asked, and I nodded.

  “Yeah, thanks. If these s’mores I’m making work, I might make a slightly bigger batch to try and play around with a bit before they become a permanent part of my menu. I’ll bring one over to you.”

  “That sounds great,” Akari said. “I knew becoming friends with the town’s new chocolate maker was a good idea.”

  I laughed. “You can ask Sherlock if they’re any good. Right now, he’s the only one who’s had any.”

  We continued chatting for a little while before the dogs’ energy levels dropped significantly, and we decided to take them home.

  “I wasn’t done playing,” Sherlock complained on the way back.

  “Right, of course you weren’t,” I replied with an eye-roll. “That’s why we’re walking at approximately half a mile an hour and you’re pretending you need to sniff every single weed you pass on the way back.”

  “Hey, this is important. If someone else has peed on the weed, I need to reclaim it as my own territory.”

  “Sure, but you don’t need five minutes to make that call. And if you do, there’s something seriously wrong with the other dog. Admit it, you’re exhausted.”

  “I am not. I am the picture of perfect health and agility, and I would like to stay outside for another two hours, please.”

  “Right.”

  After about ten more minutes of more or less dragging Sherlock through the streets, I gave up and picked him up, much to his chagrin.

  “What if someone sees me? I’ll never live it down! I’m a big dog, I can walk myself.”

  And yet, approximately two minutes later, Sherlock was dead asleep in my arms. I smiled down at him. It was funny; he was almost always the kindest, sweetest, gentlest dog you would ever meet, who would happily have a four-hour-long nap in the middle of the afternoon. Well, apart from the fact that he had stolen some of my baking that afternoon.
But as soon as he was outside, Sherlock would insist that he still had tons of energy, no matter how close he was to passing out. I was lucky that he was a small dog to begin with, and about ninety percent fluff at that. Even though I had notoriously weak arms, I was still able to carry him the rest of the way without any problems.

  When we got home, I set him down on his favorite bed and smiled at him. He looked so peaceful I almost forgot the complete and total chaos he had caused earlier. Almost.

  Chapter 3

  Over the course of the next few hours, I didn’t check my phone at all, but instead got lost in my chocolate making. My s’mores were finished, so I pulled them out from the fridge and had a bite from one. As soon as I did, my face lit up involuntarily. It was such a perfect combination, the three different sweet flavors and textures melting together into an absolutely delicious bite of chocolate heaven.

  “It’s even better with the chocolate,” I muttered to my familiar, who was busy sleeping away on his bed in the living room.

  With a few more hours to go before my sisters would be back from work and ready for dinner, I checked my planner where I had all of my orders written down, and the dates I needed to have them ready by. I figured I could do a batch of white chocolate and dried blueberry bars ordered by the local grocery store, and I might have time to do some pretzel-covered and espresso-covered bars for a local business that wanted to give them out to clients as a thank-you gift.

  I hummed along to myself as I worked, thrilled with how comfortable I was getting working with the chocolate. Tempering was practically second nature to me now, and I was starting to perfect eyeballing the right amount of toppings to add to the chocolates. What Grace said about instinctively understanding chocolate was beginning to make sense to me, and I was starting to feel like I was getting there.