Chocolate Cherry Cheater Read online

  Chocolate Cherry Cheater

  Murder on the Equator, Book 5

  Becca Bloom

  “Chocolate Cherry Cheater: A Jessica James Cozy Mystery”

  Murder on the Equator: Book 5

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher, Becca Bloom.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Becca Bloom

  Facebook: @BeccaBloomWrites

  Twitter: @BeccaBloomWrite

  Email: [email protected]

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  Copyright © 2018 Becca Bloom

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-978-1-944795-19-1

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Bean Stew

  Mammy’s Chocolate Cake

  About the Author

  Other Books by Becca Bloom

  Chapter 1

  I rolled my window down and stuck my hand outside Jake’s Jeep. It wasn’t as cold as I thought it would be given how high up we were in the Andes Mountains. At every sharp bend we turned, I expected to see an airplane hovering beside us as we wound our way up into the sky.

  “How’re you feeling, Jess? If you start to get a headache, I brought coffee and Tylenol,” said Jake, again.

  I tried not to read too much into his concern. Aside from being my best friend’s twin brother and a really cool guy, Jake was insanely nice to look at with his caramel-tanned skin, work-toned muscles, thick and wavy black hair, and light green eyes.

  “I’m good, thanks. I’d accept some of that coffee, though.” I held up my empty travel mug. As early as we’d left Baños that morning, in the vain hope of beating traffic, its contents hadn’t lasted long. In truth, my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and I was very aware of my sinuses. But those were minor discomforts compared to the side effects my alarmist older sister, Jessenia, had made me read about with extreme cases of altitude sickness.

  I made a mental note to send her a message once we got to our destination — Lake Quilotoa. Otherwise, she’d worry about me. She had enough to worry about between managing her husband’s construction company as well as her own online organization business, and preparing homemade gluten-free, vegan food for their toddler in their chemical-free home. Oh, and she had another baby on the way. Jessenia had been born a supermom, and she lived up to the role. I kept hoping she’d get so busy managing her own busy life, she’d stop trying to manage mine.

  Jessenia was the smart overachiever. My youngest sister, Jessamyn, was the free-spirited supermodel. (Yes, really! I’m sandwiched between Beauty and Brains.) Jessamyn had nabbed a coveted internship at a New York modeling agency, and I knew it was a matter of time before she graced the glossy covers of fashion magazines. Her growing success meant fewer appeals to me for rent money, and for that I was thrilled. Maybe, this time, Jessamyn would stick to something long enough to gain some stability.

  I wasn’t super anything, and I was okay with that.

  Until a few months ago, I had lived a quiet life freelancing from my Portland apartment on various technical jobs requiring a firm handle on computer programming, web design, and coding. Exciting, right? Basically, I was a hermit in a family of achievers.

  And then, I boarded a plane to Ecuador.

  To say that trip was life-changing would be an understatement. I landed my dream job — the one I’d drawn pictures of in crayon at the ripe age of six, when I was so certain of what I wanted to do and be when I grew up. I’d made my home in a quirky, touristy town with friends I felt like I’d known my entire life.

  My sisters asked me how I came up with the gumption to leave my comfort zone behind — taking on a new culture, language, and country. I still don’t know. When I’m not panicked and paralyzed with uncertainty, I have to pinch myself to remember that this life of my creation is real.

  Without taking his eyes off the procession of vehicles ahead of us on the curvy road, Jake pulled a thermos out from his side of the Jeep. “I tried to make it as strong as you like, but I had to sweeten it with panela for the two in the backseat.”

  Panela was the local, unrefined sugar cane that grew plentifully around our little town of Baños. The two Jake referred to in the backseat were his great aunt (aka Tia Rosa) and his grandma (who everyone called Abuelita). The sisters might have been up in years, but they defied their age with crazy adventures and well-meant mischief. They had raging sweet tooths and worked with me in my recently opened doughnut shop, The Sugar Shack.

  I hadn’t realized how worrisome the silence from the backseat was until Abuelita and Tia Rosa started bickering again. Like kids prone to getting in trouble, quiet was a sure sign they were up to no good. It didn’t take long to realize what it was when I looked over my shoulder in time to see Abuelita twist the lid off a plastic jug, shoving it toward Tia Rosa and spilling a good amount of the liquid on the floorboard. The pungent odor made my nose sting and eyes water. Coughing to clear my lungs, I turned away from the smell while Jake rolled down his window with a long-suffering sigh. He was used to their antics.

  Abuelita snapped, "Why you think the vinegar is water? It say on the front with the big, red letters is white vinegar."

  Tia Rosa answered, "If you see is vinegar, why you open it? You make the mess, and now it stink!”

  “If you bring the water like you say you do, it no stink!”

  “Is clear like water. It look the same. You the one forget to bring the cups for to drink," Tia Rosa grumbled.

  "Why we need the cup? You want to drink the vinegar?"

  I pinched my nose and looked back.

  Poor Lady. My furry peacemaker's big, brown eyes pleaded with me to let her out of the backseat where she sat between Abuelita and Tia Rosa.

  Rolling down my window, I poured the coffee into the thermos cup and twisted my arm to reach closer to them, saying, “Here, have some coffee.”

  Tia Rosa took the cup, and she, Lady, and Abuelita huddled together to breathe in the nutty aroma.

  Jake said, "We're almost there. Lake Quilotoa is a lot like Crater Lake. The more you travel around Ecuador, the more you’ll appreciate the similarities it has to Oregon."

  Pleasant memories filled my heart. "I used to go to Crater Lake with my family every summer. My dad fuels his creativity for his sculptures from nature, and he said the clear blue of the water gives him clarity.” />
  “He sounds like a cool guy,” commented Jake.

  “He is. Dad sees inspiration wherever he goes. He sees things most people overlook and feels things deeply.” Sometimes, too deeply. But that was my tender-hearted dad. His ability to capture wonder and replicate it in his art had made thousands of people happy in the galleries where his work was displayed.

  We passed a string of cinder block houses with aluminum roofs. Kids with red cheeks and wild, black hair ran after a tire they rolled down the road. On closer inspection, I saw there was a little boy inside the tire.

  Tia Rosa patted my shoulder. “You dad, he a sweet boy.”

  Abuelita said, “He lucky he have you mother. He no have the brain for the business.”

  My mom was an artist in her own right — an award-winning photographer — and as Abuelita suggested, Mom made sure her and Dad’s work sold. Anything she put her mind to, she accomplished. “Sometimes I wish I was more like her,” I said, a wave of homesickness washing over me.

  “You don’t think you are?” Jake asked. “The Sugar Shack is a big hit, and for good reason. Your doughnuts are the best. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished in so little time. Mammy is — and I bet the rest of your family is, too.”

  Mammy, my dad's mom and the one person in the world who understood me better than I understood myself, had visited me two months ago. I missed her. I missed Mom and Dad. I even missed my sisters. “Sometimes I miss them so much, it hurts.”

  Jake jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “You miss that?” he asked with a grin. The coffee had only provided a temporary truce, supplying the sisters with more caffeinated energy to continue bickering with greater enthusiasm.

  “They remind me of my own sisters.”

  “Jessenia and Jessamyn fight like Abuelita and Tia Rosa?” Jake asked, pulling out to pass a woman herding her sheep down the narrow lane.

  “All the time,” I said.

  “Where do you fit into that dynamic? You’re too peaceable to pick a fight, but I’ve never seen you back down from a confrontation.”

  My stomach fluttered at his flattering assessment. Jake always made me sound braver than I really was. “I’m the self-appointed peacemaker and problem solver.”

  Lady whined from her perch between Abuelita and Tia Rosa.

  Tia Rosa said, “You see? You upset Lady.”

  “You worry for the dog? Lady no understand…” Abuelita complained, her words fading into the background when Jake spoke again.

  "Adi and I get into it all the time,” he said. “Not like those two, but it's normal for the people you love to get under your skin sometimes. It means you care.”

  I laughed. “Then I love my sisters dearly. We fight all the time, but I’d do anything for them.”

  “Just like Abuelita and Tia Rosa. They’ll never admit it, but they’d be lost without each other.”

  “She a pest!” Abuelita interjected.

  Jake rolled his eyes and said in a low tone to me, “I admire your ability to keep your cool and put up with them at your shop."

  I smiled, intoxicated with his musky smell. "They know how to keep things lively, that's for certain."

  We turned around another corner and the road forked ahead of us. A large archway with a booth in the middle marked the entrance to Lake Quilotoa. Misspelled signs written in English welcomed tourists, and two toothless women wearing black wool skirts, fedora hats, and brightly colored shawls waved at us.

  Jake gripped the steering wheel as we left the smooth concrete and followed the indications of the men and women dressed in bright yellow vests guiding us through the labyrinth of white houses, hostels, grazing llamas, and booths selling souvenirs and food. “Are you ready for an adventure?” he asked.

  My body tingled in anticipation of the tranquil hike and breathtaking scenery awaiting us. (Or maybe that was a side effect of the high altitude.)

  “Definitely!” I said happily, like a clueless traveler who had no idea what she was getting herself into.

  Chapter 2

  The lot was packed. Attendants extended the parked cars beyond the giant concrete slab to the uneven dusty gravel surrounding it, creating spaces that were filled as quickly as they were made.

  For a place so far off of the main Pan-American Highway, I was amazed at how busy it was. Like a miniature city dropped deep into the mountains. Large SUVs with luggage racks, tourist buses, dozens of family cars, and white vans advertising television stations crammed together like sardines in a can.

  “What’s going on here?” Jake asked one of the parking attendants trying to decide if there was enough space between the van and the little mound separating us from the steep precipice on the other side.

  I was too worried we’d roll over the mountainside when Jake backed into the cramped spot to pay any attention to the answer.

  When Jake turned off the ignition and started talking, I realized it was safe to open my eyes.

  “The government has been promoting tourism throughout the country. It looks like today the Ministro de Turismo has invited the press to Lake Quilotoa. Don’t worry. Most of the reporters will stay at the top. It’ll be quieter at the bottom and a lot calmer up here by the time we get back.”

  I got out of the Jeep, careful to hold my door so it didn’t slam against the van parked closely beside us. Raising my arms above my head, I stretched my limbs, grabbing for whatever was within reach when my head spun and dark splotches marred my vision.

  Jake lunged forward across the seats, his firm grip holding me steady. “Are you okay? We’re higher than the summit of Mount Hood, and we’ve been sitting for a long time. It’s normal to get dizzy while your body adjusts.”

  I leaned against my passenger seat, inhaling deeply until my head stopped floating. Higher than Mount Hood? No wonder I was lightheaded! “I remember one of my first-grade classmates bragging how her dad had climbed Mt. Hood without oxygen. I thought it was such a big deal.”

  “It is when you live at sea level,” said Jake, his grip loosening when it became clear I wasn’t going to topple over.

  Abuelita and Tia Rosa stretched from side to side like Jane Fonda while Lady sniffed around the Jeep.

  I watched a group of kids running between the narrow rows of cars, a ribbon trailing behind them that they took turns jumping and swirling in the air. “But people live and work up here, and to them, it’s nothing,” I said in awe.

  The last thing I wanted to do when Jake, Abuelita, and Tia Rosa had taken the trouble to drive me out to the lagoon was make them turn back because I couldn’t handle the altitude. I gathered my long, blond hair together on the top of my head, twirled it into a messy bun, and looked around. My confidence grew when the ground didn’t spin under my feet. I was just as steady after a couple steps to the front of the Jeep. Progress!

  Jake pulled our backpacks out from under the tarp in the back of his vehicle and joined me. He stood so close, the hairs on my arm reached out to touch him. I knew his nearness was so he could catch me if I got wobbly again, but it was still nice.

  Narrowing his eyes and inspecting me, he said, “Let’s start with the view from the lookout. That alone is worth the drive out here. We’ll see how you do before we hike to the bottom.”

  “You go. I need the lady room,” said Tia Rosa, rising to her tippy toes and looking around for the bathroom. Not that the extra inches helped much when she was four and a half feet tall in heels.

  “You get lost. I go with you,” Abuelita huffed.

  I bit my lips together to keep from smiling. Abuelita liked to pretend that keeping an eye on her sister was such a chore, but the truth was that she cared deeply for her family and would do anything to protect them.

  Jake patted his leg for Lady to follow him up a short, gravelly trail swarming with camera-wielding tourists, families juggling large coolers and diaper bags, and serious hikers with walking sticks and fancy boots. A large wooden deck jutted over the edge of the volcano’s crater.


  The lagoon inside was a giant teal mirror reflecting the fluffy clouds in the azure sky. Patches of clear, chartreuse dotted the edge where people as small as ants kayaked in the surface.

  The trail down to the lagoon was visible from our vantage point, and the sight of it made me swallow hard. The pictures I’d seen from Google Earth hadn’t prepared me for this.

  Masking my wavering bravery, I whipped out my phone, shocked to see it had a signal, and snapped a few pictures before I stuck it back in my pocket to appreciate the landscape. It was a long, long trail.

  As if he could read my train of thought, Jake said, “The descent takes about forty minutes, and it’s roughly an hour and a half back up on foot.”

  My throat went dry. “An hour and a half at a steep incline…”

  Jake nudged me with his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have suggested this trip if I didn’t think you could do it. But if you’d rather, we can rent horses.”

  He had more faith in me than I had in myself. It sure felt nice. “We’re here. It would be a pity to come all this way and not try.”

  Jake turned and looked at me. Was that approval in his eyes? Was the curl at the corner of his mouth meant for me or was he just being nice? He was an adventure tour guide after all. He was trained to put nervous travelers at ease. Gracious, he was good at his job. I mean, my heart pounded a mile a minute, but I was determined to climb the mountainside just to prove I deserved the look he gave me. A look he no doubt gave hundreds of others. It was a nice look.