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Authors: Krista Davis
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“There’s someone in the guesthouse.”
The Merano family looked at me with unconcerned faces. Why weren’t they understanding me? “In the tub. With the lights off.”
Okay, I wasn’t making sense, no wonder they regarded me so strangely. I took a deep breath. “There’s a man collapsed over the bathtub upstairs in the guesthouse.”
Coco breathed, “Daddy!”
Dan jumped to his feet and ran out, with me right behind him.
We dashed up the stairs. I felt much braver in Dan’s company. He barged into the bathroom while I turned on the lights.
Dan gasped and stepped back, right into me.
I was reeling myself. “Do you think he’s alive?”
“Hey! Buddy!” Dan touched the guy’s back. “Hey! Are you okay?”
Still no response. I edged next to Dan, relieved to see there was no water in the tub. I dared to reach down to shake the man’s shoulder. Nothing. One thing was for sure—it wasn’t Joe. The man was too large.
“There’s a phone by the bed,” said Dan. “Call 911.”
I dodged Coco and Mitch as the rest of the family arrived, grabbed the phone and dialed.
They had just answered when Dan called out, “Don’t just stand there, I need some help.”
“Coco! Here.” I handed her the phone. “Give them the address and tell them we need an ambulance.” I circled around Nonni and Stella.
Mitch blocked my way into the bathroom. “What are you trying to do?” he asked Dan.
I could see exactly what Dan intended. He needed to lift the guy’s shoulders out of the bathtub. I pushed past Mitch and jumped into the end of the tub to grab one of his arms. “Did you find a pulse?” I asked.
“No, but he’s doubled over so I’m not sure. Mitch! Get out of the way already,” Dan shouted.
Mitch moved as though he was in slow motion—as though he couldn’t quite cope with the situation.
Dan and I heaved the man up. I hated to think it but the words drifted through my thoughts—
dead weight
.
“Step aside!” Dan barked at Mitch.
He squeezed against the wall so that Dan and I could shuffle out of the bathroom and lay the man on the floor. No small feat given his size.
Coco leaned over him. “His neck! Do you see that?”
I did. A straight, dark bruise ran around the front of his throat.
Stella shrieked and clasped a hand over her mouth.
“Who is he?” asked Mitch.
“He was a guest here tonight,” said Dan. “I recall talking to him.” He felt the man’s neck. “I’m not getting a pulse. I’ll start CPR.”
I knew who he was. None other than the Frenchman who had tried to pick me up at the hotel on Thursday night. “I think he’s one of your recipe winners.”
“No!” breathed Mitch. “No, no, no.”
“The poor man.” Coco looked at me. “Do you know his name?”
“I haven’t a clue. All I know is that he spoke with a French accent.”
It was Nonni who finally stated the obvious. “Somebody kill him.”
Through clenched teeth, Mitch muttered, “Thank you, Nonni. He must have some identification on him.” Mitch bent over and felt the man’s pockets. “Here we go.” He flipped open the wallet. “Oh no! This just went from nightmare to catastrophe. It’s Arnaud Turnèbe, the Belgian chocolatier.”
“You mean the guy who is opening Celebration of Chocolate?” asked Dan, not bothering to try pronouncing the name of the store in French.
“The very same,” Mitch groaned. “It’s going to look like we tried to kill the competition.”
“How can you say that?” Coco cried. “Have you no heart? This man had a life and people who loved him.”
“Fine. It’s
your
family’s business. So what if it goes down the tubes? Excuse me while I go call an attorney.”
“He look familiar,” said Nonni.
Coco cocked her head like a puppy. “He does.” I could have sworn she stifled a little cry.
I was glad to hear the siren of the approaching ambulance. I had a hunch that poor Arnaud could not be resuscitated, but I hoped that the trained responders
The Merano family looked at me with unconcerned faces. Why weren’t they understanding me? “In the tub. With the lights off.”
Okay, I wasn’t making sense, no wonder they regarded me so strangely. I took a deep breath. “There’s a man collapsed over the bathtub upstairs in the guesthouse.”
Coco breathed, “Daddy!”
Dan jumped to his feet and ran out, with me right behind him.
We dashed up the stairs. I felt much braver in Dan’s company. He barged into the bathroom while I turned on the lights.
Dan gasped and stepped back, right into me.
I was reeling myself. “Do you think he’s alive?”
“Hey! Buddy!” Dan touched the guy’s back. “Hey! Are you okay?”
Still no response. I edged next to Dan, relieved to see there was no water in the tub. I dared to reach down to shake the man’s shoulder. Nothing. One thing was for sure—it wasn’t Joe. The man was too large.
“There’s a phone by the bed,” said Dan. “Call 911.”
I dodged Coco and Mitch as the rest of the family arrived, grabbed the phone and dialed.
They had just answered when Dan called out, “Don’t just stand there, I need some help.”
“Coco! Here.” I handed her the phone. “Give them the address and tell them we need an ambulance.” I circled around Nonni and Stella.
Mitch blocked my way into the bathroom. “What are you trying to do?” he asked Dan.
I could see exactly what Dan intended. He needed to lift the guy’s shoulders out of the bathtub. I pushed past Mitch and jumped into the end of the tub to grab one of his arms. “Did you find a pulse?” I asked.
“No, but he’s doubled over so I’m not sure. Mitch! Get out of the way already,” Dan shouted.
Mitch moved as though he was in slow motion—as though he couldn’t quite cope with the situation.
Dan and I heaved the man up. I hated to think it but the words drifted through my thoughts—
dead weight
.
“Step aside!” Dan barked at Mitch.
He squeezed against the wall so that Dan and I could shuffle out of the bathroom and lay the man on the floor. No small feat given his size.
Coco leaned over him. “His neck! Do you see that?”
I did. A straight, dark bruise ran around the front of his throat.
Stella shrieked and clasped a hand over her mouth.
“Who is he?” asked Mitch.
“He was a guest here tonight,” said Dan. “I recall talking to him.” He felt the man’s neck. “I’m not getting a pulse. I’ll start CPR.”
I knew who he was. None other than the Frenchman who had tried to pick me up at the hotel on Thursday night. “I think he’s one of your recipe winners.”
“No!” breathed Mitch. “No, no, no.”
“The poor man.” Coco looked at me. “Do you know his name?”
“I haven’t a clue. All I know is that he spoke with a French accent.”
It was Nonni who finally stated the obvious. “Somebody kill him.”
Through clenched teeth, Mitch muttered, “Thank you, Nonni. He must have some identification on him.” Mitch bent over and felt the man’s pockets. “Here we go.” He flipped open the wallet. “Oh no! This just went from nightmare to catastrophe. It’s Arnaud Turnèbe, the Belgian chocolatier.”
“You mean the guy who is opening Celebration of Chocolate?” asked Dan, not bothering to try pronouncing the name of the store in French.
“The very same,” Mitch groaned. “It’s going to look like we tried to kill the competition.”
“How can you say that?” Coco cried. “Have you no heart? This man had a life and people who loved him.”
“Fine. It’s
your
family’s business. So what if it goes down the tubes? Excuse me while I go call an attorney.”
“He look familiar,” said Nonni.
Coco cocked her head like a puppy. “He does.” I could have sworn she stifled a little cry.
I was glad to hear the siren of the approaching ambulance. I had a hunch that poor Arnaud could not be resuscitated, but I hoped that the trained responders
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