Chapter 1.
The smell of warm chocolate wafted through the store, and I took what might have been my fifteenth deep breath of the evening, trying to absorb every note of that rich, intoxicating aroma. But there was absolutely no time to bask in chocolate-scented bliss—this was the grand opening night of the Cocoa Narel Chocolate Shop, and I had exactly... I checked my phone... seven minutes before guests would start arriving.
Seven minutes to make sure everything was absolutely, utterly, perfectly perfect.
I did another quick lap around the space, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the chocolate-coloured tablecloth and adjusting the angle of the Belgian fondue fountains for probably the dozenth time.
Three gorgeous fountains stood at precise intervals along the wooden table, each one cascading with liquid heaven—white chocolate, dark chocolate, and milk chocolate. I'd arranged chocolate wafer sticks, marshmallows, and fresh strawberries in perfect little clusters for dipping, and set out golden-edged white porcelain plates loaded with every conceivable variety of chocolate samples.
Behind the fountains, I'd created what I genuinely believed was a work of art: a display of designer chocolates in golden and pastel packages that looked like it belonged in a fancy European boutique rather than a small Australian town. The whole scene hummed with luxury and elegance.
I was incredibly lucky to have scored the hall adjoining my store for almost nothing. The building was all connected, with just two wide doors (usually locked) separating the spaces—absolutely perfect for functions like this.
Despite the heavenly chocolate atmosphere surrounding me, anxiety was doing uncomfortable gymnastics in my stomach. What if nobody showed up? I'd placed an advertisement in the local newspaper, personally walked down the main street inviting every shop owner I could find, and generally invited anyone who would listen to my enthusiastic chocolate-shop pitch.
Including Munroe Fletcher.
Munroe Fletcher, local real estate agent and the reason my heart did little fluttery things whenever I saw his tall, dark, and frustratingly handsome self around town. I'd gone to high school with both Lettie and Munroe, but while Lettie had remained my best friend through everything, I'd completely lost touch with Munroe until his recent return to Brambly Vale..
"Narel, have you been dipping marshmallows into that fountain?"
I spun around to find Lettie emerging from the back room, hands on her hips, giving me the sort of look usually reserved for children caught with their hands in cookie jars.
"Only one or two," I said, which was technically true if you counted "one or two dozen."
Lettie's eyes swept over what remained of the marshmallow supply with the precision of a forensic investigator. "Have you tried it? It's absolutely delicious!"
"You have to leave some for the customers," she said, pursing her lips in that way that meant she was trying not to laugh.
"Anyway, you look stressed," Lettie continued, her expression softening. "Are you still worried that nobody will show up?"
I sighed so loudly it probably qualified as a dramatic gesture and threw my hands up in defeat. "Yes, okay, I'm terrified. I've spent so much money on this, and what if I'm standing here alone in fifteen minutes, surrounded by chocolate fountains and my own crushing disappointment?"
Lettie looked puzzled. "But you'd be annoyed if anyone came early."
"People always come early to events," I explained, trying to force myself to stay calm. "Haven't you ever gone to a garage sale that's supposed to start at eight in the morning, and when you arrive at eight, half the good stuff is already gone?"
Before Lettie could answer, the door opened and actual people walked in.
Real people! Potential customers! My stomach did excited little somersaults as I hurried over to greet them warmly. I didn't recognise them, but that didn't matter—they were here, in my shop, breathing in my chocolate-scented air.
The first person I recognised was Enid Grudge, head of the Brambly Vale Garden Gnome Naming Committee, and my heart did a nervous flutter for entirely different reasons than when I saw Munroe. Enid was a formidable woman who took her civic duties with the seriousness most people reserved for international peace treaties.
She marched straight towards me with the purposeful stride of someone who had Important Business to discuss, her sensible shoes clicking against the hardwood floor like a metronome of impending doom.
"Narel Myers,” she said, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had spent decades organising community events. ”I’m delighted to see you've finally come to your senses regarding your garden gnomes."
I blinked at her, momentarily forgetting about chocolate fountains. "My garden gnomes?"
"Yes, indeed." Enid pulled out a clipboard—because of course she had a clipboard—and adjusted her reading glasses with precision. "According to our records, you finally submitted the proper paperwork. Your three garden gnomes are now officially registered with the committee."
I felt my face flush. "Oh, that. Yes, well—"
"It's about time," Enid continued, her tone suggesting I'd been living in a state of civic negligence that bordered on the criminal. "Do you have any idea how chaotic this town would be if everyone just went around with unnamed garden gnomes cluttering up their front yards? The postal service alone would collapse under the confusion."
Lettie appeared at my elbow, clearly trying not to laugh. "Enid, would you like to try some chocolate?"
Enid's stern expression softened slightly, though she maintained her official bearing. "I suppose I could sample something. But only after I've completed my business with Narel." She turned back to me, clipboard at the ready. "Now, I need to confirm that the one with the fishing rod is in the front position, the one with the wheelbarrow is by the garden path, and the third one is maintaining its designated cheerful expression."
"That's correct," I said, trying to match her serious tone despite the absurdity of the entire conversation.
"Excellent." Enid made a decisive mark on her clipboard. "Your certificate of gnome registration will be mailed within five to seven business days. Please display it prominently in your front window so visiting committee members can verify compliance during routine inspections."
"Routine inspections?" I squeaked.
"Oh yes. We conduct quarterly reviews to ensure all registered gnomes are maintaining their designated positions and haven't been subjected to unauthorised costume changes." Enid's eyes narrowed slightly. “Once Mrs Henderson put a Santa hat on one of her registered gnomes. In March. It took considerable committee intervention to resolve the matter."
Lettie coughed to cover what sounded suspiciously like a giggle.
"Well," Enid said, tucking her clipboard under her arm with military precision, "now that we've sorted that out, I suppose I could try one of those chocolate samples. The ones without nuts, if you please. I'm allergic."
As I guided Enid towards the nut-free section of samples, I caught Lettie's eye,
Only in Brambly Vale could your chocolate shop opening be interrupted by garden gnome bureaucracy.
The next person through the door was Leo Lawford, representative for one of Australia's best chocolate wholesaler companies specialising in exotic, handmade chocolates. He'd been absolutely wonderful to work with, and seeing his familiar face made some of the tension in my shoulders ease.
"Wow, the fragrance of chocolate is so strong in here!" he exclaimed.
I beamed. "That's exactly what I was hoping for!"
The next few minutes brought a steady stream of arrivals, and I found myself bouncing between people I knew and complete strangers, all of whom seemed genuinely delighted to be there. Several families had brought children, but thankfully the kids were all on their best behavior—probably because they were mesmerized by the chocolate fountains and the fact that there was free fudge within reach.
I noticed all the chocolate peanut butter fudge had already disappeared.
"Lettie," I said, tapping her arm, "there's no fudge left. I'm going to pop into the back to cut some more."
"I'll do it," Leo offered. "You stay with your guests."
I showed him into the kitchen and handed him the large serrated knife I used for cutting fudge. "Thank you so much! I really appreciate it."
I hurried back into the store and spotted Munroe across the room.
Then it promptly plummeted when I saw him talking to a tall, impeccably groomed woman. They were standing close together, heads bent in conversation, sharing what looked like an intimate smile.
Were they here together?
I caught Lettie's eye across the room. She shrugged and made her way through the crowd to me.
"Who is she?" she whispered.
"Your guess is as good as mine," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I'd gone from elated to deflated in about two seconds flat.
"He did say he had a girlfriend," Lettie pointed out.
"But that was only because I asked him out for a drink," I protested. "You said that yourself."
I watched as the woman patted Munroe's arm in a gesture that seemed distinctly couple-like. She was tall, with short black hair cut in one of those effortlessly chic styles that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Her makeup was flawless, her dress was perfect, and she looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine rather than into a small-town chocolate shop.
To my horror, Munroe looked up at that exact moment and caught me staring. He smiled and started walking towards us.
"Don't look now, but he's coming this way," Lettie said in what she probably thought was a whisper but was actually quite loud.
I shushed her frantically.
"Congratulations on your opening, Narel!" Munroe said when he reached us, looking genuinely pleased. "This is amazing."
I felt my cheeks warm with embarrassment. I was pretty sure I'd been obvious about my feelings for him in recent weeks, and all this time he'd had a girlfriend. I gave myself a mental slap. Focus, Narel. This is your dream coming true. Don't let your ridiculous crush overshadow your moment.
I must have been quiet for too long because Munroe was staring at me with a slightly concerned expression. "Are you all right?"
"She's just overwhelmed with opening night," Lettie jumped in, though she didn't sound particularly convincing.
Munroe nodded. "It's going incredibly well. It looks like everyone in town is here."
As Lettie engaged him in conversation about the chocolate selection, I found myself studying the mysterious woman. She was walking along the display table, examining the samples with what looked like genuine interest. I wondered why she hadn't come over with Munroe when he'd approached us.
I'd never seen her around town, so she probably lived somewhere else—Sydney, most likely. How could I have been so silly, thinking someone like Munroe would be single?
I shook myself out of my moment of self-pity. This was my opening night, the culmination of months of planning and dreaming. I wasn't going to let my ridiculous romantic fantasies ruin it.
The crowd suddenly parted like the Red Sea as a man with an unmistakably self-important manner stepped into the store.
"The mayor," Lettie hissed in my ear.
I hurried over to greet him, noting that he looked rather bored with the whole affair. I thanked him for coming, laying on the gratitude thick enough to spread on toast. My obvious enthusiasm seemed to work because he took my arm and asked me to show him the samples.
I soon realised the mayor might become my best customer—he was working his way through the sample plates with impressive dedication. Thank goodness this would all be tax-deductible.
Fortunately, the mayor was soon accosted by a woman who was apparently upset that he'd sent her a card for her fiftieth birthday. She demanded privacy about her age, which gave me the perfect opportunity to escape.
Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. If even half these people became regular customers, my little shop would be a success. I made my way through the crowd, introducing myself to everyone I hadn't met yet. The feedback was positive—actually glowing in some cases. Everyone seemed thrilled to have a chocolate shop in town.
Most people I spoke to mentioned the previous chocolate shop that had closed, lamenting the owner's odd hours and tendency to randomly shut down for weeks at a time. Even people who claimed they didn't like chocolate (liars, obviously) said they loved buying chocolates as gifts.
I had teenagers, families—every demographic represented, and all of them seemed delighted with what I'd created. The feedback was so positive it almost felt too good to be true.
I turned around, feeling elated and looking for Lettie to share my excitement, when I caught sight of the woman whispering something in Munroe's ear. They looked... close.
I forced myself to look away and focus on the chocolate fountain instead. I grabbed the nearest marshmallow and dunked it in the milk chocolate, letting the sweetness soothe my ridiculous feelings. Chocolate always made everything better.
This was what I'd dreamed about—my own chocolate shop, filled with happy customers and the scent of pure indulgence. It had finally come to fruition, and I couldn't be happier.
Well, I'd be happier if Munroe didn't have a girlfriend, but I couldn't let that overshadow this moment.
"Yes, this is gluten-free, pure Belgian chocolate, available in white, milk, or dark chocolate," I explained to a woman who was interested in placing a large order for hot chocolate. "Please come back on Monday and have a proper look through everything in the store."
The woman thanked me enthusiastically. "I usually have to buy gluten-free chocolate online!" she said with obvious delight. "Is your Rocky Road gluten-free as well?"
"Absolutely," I said. "I carry a huge range of gluten-free options—Rocky Road, fudge, peanut clusters, and individual chocolates." I gestured towards the area where I'd arranged all the gluten-free samples.
The woman beamed and hurried off to try them. Lettie suppressed a chuckle, but I completely understood the woman's enthusiasm. After all, I was exactly the same way about chocolate.
I glanced over at the fudge display and caught Leo's eye. "Would you like me to get more fudge?" he asked.
I smiled gratefully. "Yes, please!"
"This is going so much better than I even hoped," Lettie said, appearing at my elbow. "Now you'll be able to keep Mongrel in the lifestyle to which he's become accustomed."
I laughed. Mongrel was Lettie's gift to me—a rescue cat from the shelter. She'd originally gone to get me a kitten but had felt sorry for this grumpy old cat whose previous owner had rather unkindly named him 'Mongrel.' He had some personality quirks, the most notable being his tendency to viciously attack anyone carrying anything that resembled rope.
Apart from that one rather alarming quirk, he was becoming more sociable and had recently started venturing out of his cat carrier. The local vet assured me that Mongrel would eventually look like a happy, healthy cat. I'd been skeptical at first, but it was amazing how quickly he was transforming. His coat was already shinier and he looked much less disheveled. His personality still needed work, but given his difficult past, I could hardly blame him for that.
I was always careful never to carry bags with rope-like straps, though.
I was lost in thought about my quirky cat when the lights suddenly went out.
I reached out blindly and grabbed what I hoped was Lettie's arm, calling out into the darkness, "Please stay still, everyone!"
My first concern was that people would crash into the chocolate fountains and send them crashing to the floor. I'd hired them and would be responsible for any damage. My second thought was wondering why the power had gone out in the first place. There was no storm, and I hadn't had any electrical problems before.
I let go of Lettie's arm and tried to feel my way towards the back room. If I could find my phone, I could use the light to locate the fuse box.
As I carefully made my way in what I hoped was the right direction, the lights came back on without warning.
I sighed with relief, but before I could even turn around, people started screaming.
I spun around to see a man's body sprawled across my table of chocolate samples, a jagged knife protruding from his back.
My opening night had just become a crime scene.
