Chocolate Mousse Attack

Book 4: Death by Chocolate

by Sally Berneathy

Genres: Animal Cozy Mysteries; Female Sleuths; humor; female sleuth; cats in story; chocolatier; cat cozy mystery; chocolate cozy; cat cozy; humorous mystery

Synopsis

Book 4 in DEATH BY CHOCOLATE series from USA Today Bestselling Author, Sally Berneathy

A phone call at two a.m. is never good news. But there’s bad news and then there’s strange news. Fred wants Lindsay to help him get a woman out of his bedroom closet.
New neighbor, Sophie Fleming, has been sleepwalking, straight into Fred’s house and his bedroom closet.
She had a nightmare about the brutal stabbing of a little girl named Carolyn. Carolyn was her imaginary childhood friend.
How can someone who never lived be murdered? Why is Sophie seeing it happen in Fred's bedroom? Why is she hiding in his closet? Will his clothes even fit her?

 

Read more

Release date: October 15, 2013

Print pages: 263

Sample

When the sound of Wild Bull Rider pulled me from a deep sleep, I sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, and grabbed for my phone. Wild Bull Rider is Fred’s ringtone. I don’t know that he’s ever ridden any wild bulls, but I don’t know that he hasn’t. One thing I did know, he never called after ten o’clock at night or before nine in the morning. My clock clearly said two a.m. No good news ever comes at two in the morning.

A thousand horrible possibilities flitted through my mind in the second it took to accept the call.

Aliens had come to take Fred back to his home planet and he was calling to say good-bye.

A burglar had broken into his house, stolen his phone and was pocket-dialing me.

Fred had awakened with a sudden craving for brownies.

Ridiculous, of course, but nothing compared to the reality.

“Lindsay, I need you to come over here.” His voice was firm, his words precise, but I detected an edge of panic.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt? Have you fallen and can’t get up?” Fred wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old either. He’d always seemed ageless and invulnerable. The thought that he might be hurt and need my help clenched my heart into a cold, painful knot.

“Do you remember Sophie Fleming, the woman who moved into the house across the street?”

“Did you call me at two a.m. just to test my memory? Yes, I remember her. Brunette with hair down to her butt and no perspiration on her brow. Did I pass the test? Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No. I told you I need you here. Sophie Fleming won’t come out of my closet.”

It’s often difficult to tell if Fred’s being funny or serious. His expression and tone rarely change. I couldn’t see his expression at that moment, and his tone was calm but with just a hint of desperation. I decided to play it straight.

“Why is Sophie Fleming in your closet?”

“If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn’t be calling you.”

“Which closet is she in?” I didn’t suppose it made a lot of difference, but I was trying to get a picture of what the heck was going on at Fred’s house.

“My bedroom closet.”

“Is this some kind of kinky sex thing?”

“Lindsay, if you ever again want me to help you break into somebody’s house or hack into a website illegally or get a speeding ticket erased from the system, you need to stop asking stupid questions and get over here. Now.” He hung up.