Chocolate Chocolate Moons (14 page)

Craig slides out a white damask armchair. CC sits. She smiles at Craig, hoping that this lunch will lead to a more in-depth interview and private tour of the Culinary Institute.

“Well, Colorful Copies,” Craig says.

“Please, all my friends call me CC.”

“Well, CC, I’ve looked forward to our meeting.”

A waiter pours ice water from a silver pitcher. A sommelier approaches and places on the table two tall flutes etched with the Culinary Institute of Mars logo. He pours a small amount of wine into Craig’s glass.

Craig sips. He looks at the label. “Ah, 2318,” he says. “It was a very good year.” He nods to the sommelier who fills both glasses.

Craig and CC look at each other for a minute longer than necessary. “To food,” Craig says, raising his glass.

“To
gourmet
food,” CC says. They clink glasses. CC puts the drink to her lips. Bubbles tickle her nose. She dabs it with her napkin.

They lower their eyes to the tabletop. There are ten buttons on the top. CC presses the first one and a holograph of a half roasted duck in black cherry sauce appears. She presses the second and the duck is replaced by grilled Dover Sole in lemon butter sauce. A third brings a rack of lamb. “I can’t decide,” says CC. “Everything looks wonderful. Why don’t you order?”

Craig motions with his hand. A waiter places a basket of minuscule golden harbor prawns with a dish of garlicky aioli between Craig and CC.

“Eat while they’re hot,” Craig says, dipping a prawn in the sauce and popping it into his mouth. CC reaches for one and drops it on her plate. “Ooh, its sooo hot.” She picks it up, looks Craig in the eye, and blows on it before putting it into her mouth. “Delicious,” she says.

“I hope Sandy Andreas’s tour of Congress Drugs and San Andreas Farms didn’t wear you out. I saw your interview with Nova Scotia. I heard that Sandy gave you a personal tour of his company.”

“Yes, but I was annoyed that I only got to interview two or three of the Congress Drugs scientists and I never completely saw how his Freedom Plan diet foods and supplement pills are made. But when he left to take a call, I got one scientist to show me the products that they’ve not finished testing. The farms are beautiful, but plants don’t talk.” She leans closer to Craig. “I’m really more interested in the Culinary.” CC blinks her newly dyed rainbow-colored eyelashes.

“Are those eyelashes your natural color?” he asks.

“Is sugar sweet?” she purrs.

Craig kisses her hand. “I’ll be delighted to show you the Culinary Institute—our restaurants, our kitchens, the gardens and vineyards, and the Flying Saucer Supermarket. Feel free to interview anyone you want.”

“I’m already interviewing someone I want.” Craig smiles.

A waiter approaches. “Have you made your decision, or do you want a minute more?” he asks.

“We’ll share the crab bisques with Io mushrooms and the colossal raw-seafood platter,” Craig says. He turns to CC. “The seafood arrived fresh this morning from Hellas Planitia Ocean. You need at least two people to finish it.”

CC’s cornflower-blue eyes look deep into Craig’s brown eyes. She reaches out and touches his sleeve. “You’re soooo creative. I hear you’re going to build a new members-only club.”

“Yes, Gramercy Gardens. Why don’t I add your name as a charter member? My compliments.”

CC oozes. “Wonderful.”

“How is Sandy Andreas? I haven’t seen him or his wife, Solaria, in a while. Solaria’s firm, Sumptuous Solars, is catering and hosting the Mars Malt gala at their home. Did you get an invitation?”

“Not exactly. I’ll be there but as part of the Mars Media team.”

A waiter places a small green tureen of crab bisque on the table.

“Shall I?” he says, ladling the steaming soup into their bowls. They look at each other, dip in their spoons, and swirl until the pink coral and sand-colored mushrooms fill them.

“Ah,” they say together.

“I have to go to Nirgal Palace Hotel for a conference next week. I’ve never been there.” says Craig. “Would you like to join me? I’m told that the room that I booked on Outer Ring 3 is one of their best.”

CC says, “Those rooms have the illusion of only having three inner walls. The beds at the far end appear to float in space. A lot of people are afraid, but I’m not one of them.” She sips her champagne, takes out her scheduling tablet, and looks. “Maybe,” she smiles. “Maybe.” One waiter clears the soup. Another places an enormous platter of raw seafood resting on a bed of ice between Craig and CC. “Ah, the pièce de rèsistance,” Craig says, putting several raw oysters on his plate.

CC takes half a lobster and pries its white meat from the pink shell and dips it into a pink creamy sauce.

“Did you ever find that bracelet charm you lost?”

“No. But my father sent me a duplicate.” She shakes her wrist. “See, all present and accounted for.”

By the time the waiter brings two triple espressos and a chocolate soufflé, CC agrees to go to Nirgal Palace with Craig and accepts his offer of a complimentary charter membership in Gramercy Gardens.

19

W
HEN I BRING
a chocolate decadence cake, two dozen cinnamon doughnuts, and three pounds of caramel crackles to Lamont Blackberry’s office, Jersey says, “I’m embarrassed to be seen with you!”

“But I want to make a good impression.”

“You’re making an impression, all right. But it looks like a bribe.” “It’s a peace offering.”

“Bribe.”

“Peace offering. The last time Lamont and I met, the day the boys ate the poisoned Chocolate Moons at the Candy Universe, we disagreed about sending the uncontaminated candy into space.”

“Bribe,” Jersey mutters under her breath.

“Enough,” Trenton growls.

Lamont sits at his desk behind a clear glass wall. He rocks back and forth on a beat-up chair that matches his mood and appearance. Three stacked screens, each divided into quadrants, are on the left side of the office, and a large jar of unshelled walnuts is on the right.

From the other side of the glass wall, we see Lamont pick up a walnut and throw it at his partner, Sid Seedless. Sid rubs his head.

Trenton taps on the glass. Lamont looks and buzzes us in. When we enter, Jersey lowers her head because she is embarrassed about all the stuff we are carrying toward his desk.

“What’s this?” Lamont asks suspiciously.

“Chocolate Decadence cake, a gift from the Flying Saucer Supermarket. It’s an ancient recipe written by a trader named Joe. I hope you like chocolate; I could have brought vanilla.”

“Vanilla’s good,” Sid says, lured to Lamont’s desk by the smell of chocolate.

“Shut up. They’re not talking to you,” Lamont snaps. “And in case you haven’t noticed, this case is about chocolate, not vanilla.”

Lamont runs his finger around the side of the cake and puts it to his mouth. “Mmm…” Then he does it again.

I poke Jersey in the ribs and whisper, “See?”

Jersey shrugs. “See what?”

“What have you got for me, Trenton?” Lamont raises his eyes from the cake.

“My report proves—”

Lamont slaps Sid’s hand as it reaches for a doughnut. The box collapses; doughnuts roll.

“Catch them!” Lamont cries to Sid. “If I catch them, can I eat them?”

Lamont grabs one before it hits the floor and stuffs it into his mouth. Sid does the same.

Stone-faced, Jersey—who never saw a Belgian chocolate that she liked—picks up the cake with the cold detachment of a lab technician and carries it to a nearby table. Trenton gathers the rest and puts them next to the cake.

Then Trenton places his briefcase on Lamont’s desk and says, “Gentlemen!” Then again, more loudly, “Gentlemen!” while clicking the briefcase open. “My report proves how only some Chocolate Moons could become infected and the others left untainted.”

Everyone springs to attention.

“Yes, they were all mixed in the same vat, but the composition of the poison was so small that it didn’t dissolve but instead bonded with one chocolate nib, meaning only random candies got infected. By the time the Moons reached the packing area, they separated into different boxes and were distributed. I don’t think they were targeted for anyone in particular; whoever got a poisoned candy was just unlucky.

“We also studied the Culinary’s security holos and saw a man named Pluto Pastrami raising his hand like he was about to throw something into the vat. Turns out he’s Solaria Pastrami Andreas’s cousin.”

Lamont taps the computer and says, “Pluto Pastrami.” Several orange and blue lights blink. Lamont’s eyebrows rise. “Yes, nephew of Salami Pastrami, owner of Mars Malt Beer, and first cousin to Solaria Pastrami Andreas, Sandy Andreas’s wife. She owns the high-class catering firm Sumptuous Solars.” He scrolls further. “His girlfriend, Breezy Point, is daughter of Decibel Point.” Lamont pauses. “Isn’t Decibel Point the same scientist who won a four-flame Bunsen Burner prize?”

Jersey gives my ribs a wincing jab to remind me not to say anything more about Decibel Point.

“He burned down Nero Roma’s restaurant with that thing. I loved that place; instead of putting fortunes in cookies they put fortunes in ravioli.” Lamont sighs and turns back to his computer. “Aha! Just as you told me, Trenton—Rocket Packarod and Decibel Point were partners in the Orange Blossom Spray Company. A notation claims that Rocket cheated Decibel out of the patent when they were in Las Venus.”

I say, “Good thing the listening devices you put in Drew Barron’s apartment transmitted what was going on between Rocket and Drew. But it was a close call when Rocket looked up at Drew’s ceiling and saw those dots.”

“I’m an art history maven,” Sid says. “And I think.”

“Art history maven? The only culture you get is in yogurt,” Lamont snarls. “But if you are, then you’re the perfect person to go to the ABC and round up Scheherazade and recover the stolen items stored there.”

“Well, I only got a C,” Sid gulps.

Lamont glares at Sid. “Even if Drew is found innocent of taking a poisonous substance from Congress Drugs, if he leads us to Scheherazade, that would be a major accomplishment.” Lamont reaches for a caramel crackle and pops it in his mouth. “And while we’re at it, what’s the name of Drew Barron’s beautiful girlfriend?”

Sid brightens. “You mean former Miss Universe Kandy Kane?”

“Enlarge Kandy Kane, Sid. Make a poster-size display. I want to get a better look.”

“But she’s not one of our suspects,” I say.

“A large picture of her right here over my desk will do wonders for this investigation. No one wants to look at a blowup of Rocket Packarod.”

Trenton says, “I need a warrant to snoop around Congress Drugs. If they know I’m coming, they’ll clean the place up. If there is a discrepancy in their product’s weight records, taken near the time of the poisonings, I may be able to find out who was there during those times and who took the anti-flavonoids.”

“The warrant’s no problem. Are you sure you can get in without being detected?”

Jersey pales. She knows that getting Trenton into Congress Drugs undetected is very dangerous, because the company has vicious trained animals and a tight security system.

It’s a sure sign she’s very upset when she asks, “Do you have any candy, Molly?”

I hand her the first piece that I grab from my bag. She opens her mouth and quickly swallows. “Was that a Chocolate Moon?”

“No, a Raspberry Swirl.”

I’m upset for Jersey. Anyone who can’t tell the difference between a Chocolate Moon and a Raspberry Swirl is in big trouble.