Chapter 15 Lottie #2
We find seats among the plastic people, and I’m fascinated by the sheer uniformity of surgical enhancement around us. It’s like being surrounded by a very expensive army of mannequins that have somehow achieved consciousness and developed opinions about chocolate.
Finally, everyone settles into their seats, the room darkens dramatically, and a spotlight appears on two figures positioned center stage.
Fairbanks and Gina Whitmore stand tall as if they’re about to announce the winner of a prestigious award, and a thunderous applause breaks out that suggests this crowd really knows how to appreciate a good entrance.
Fairbanks takes the microphone first, his voice carrying the smooth confidence of someone who’s spent years giving presentations to people with more money than sense.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Annual Elite Chocolate Symposium! I’m Fairbanks Whitmore, and this is my lovely wife, Regina, and we’re absolutely thrilled to share our passion for artisanal chocolate with such a distinguished gathering.
” He gestures grandly toward the audience, and the crowd offers up a polite applause.
“Whitmore Chocolatiers has been crafting premium confections for over fifty years, and today we want to tell you about our latest philanthropic endeavors and exciting business ventures.”
Fairbanks’ voice takes on the practiced cadence of someone who’s given this speech before, probably to investors and charity boards who write very large checks.
“This year alone, we’ve donated over two million dollars to local children’s hospitals, funding state-of-the-art pediatric wings in Vermont and New Hampshire.
We’ve also established the Whitmore Foundation for Culinary Arts Education, providing full scholarships to underprivileged students who want to pursue careers in the culinary field. ”
The crowd murmurs appreciatively, the kind of polite enthusiasm that money can buy.
“We’ve partnered with food banks across New England to provide premium chocolate treats for families in need during the holidays,” he continues, his chest puffing with pride. “Because we believe that everyone deserves a little sweetness in their lives, regardless of their economic circumstances.”
I nod because I happen to believe that, too.
Carlotta leans over and whispers, “That’s nice and all, but I bet those families would rather have actual food than fancy chocolate.”
“Shh,” I hiss back, although in this case, two things can be true. And since when would Carlotta rather eat broccoli than chocolate?
She leans in once more. “That way, there’d be more chocolate for me.”
And now the picture is clear.
“Additionally,” Fairbanks goes on, “we’ve been working with sustainable cocoa farmers in South America, ensuring fair trade practices and environmental responsibility in our supply chain.
We’ve invested over five million dollars in improving farming conditions and providing education for cocoa-growing communities. ”
He pauses for effect, scanning the audience with the satisfaction of someone who knows he’s impressing people with very deep pockets. And even me with pretty shallow pockets in comparison.
He nods and goes on. “Just last month, we broke ground on the Whitmore Center for Chocolate Innovation, a research facility dedicated to developing healthier chocolate alternatives and advancing the science of confectionery arts. We’re partnering with universities across the country to push the boundaries of what chocolate can be. ”
The applause grows more enthusiastic, and I have to admit that despite my personal thoughts about the Whitmore family’s involvement in Duncan’s murder, their charitable efforts are genuinely impressive.
“But we’re not stopping there,” Fairbanks adds with a grin that suggests he’s saved the best for last. “Next year, we’re launching the Whitmore Mobile Kitchen Initiative, bringing culinary education directly to underserved communities with fully equipped cooking classrooms on wheels.
And now some words from my beautiful and brilliant wife, Regina Whitmore. ”
Another round of applause breaks out.
Gina steps forward and takes the microphone in a graceful move that assures me she’s more than comfortable being the center of attention.
“Thank you all for being here today,” she says, her voice carrying the kind of warmth that suggests she genuinely enjoys talking about chocolate to people who can afford to buy it by the truckload.
“We feel so incredibly fortunate to have such supportive friends and colleagues in this beautiful region.”
She pauses dramatically, building suspense as if there was a big reveal coming up.
“And we want you to be among the first to hear our exciting news,” she continues, practically glowing with excitement. Knew it! “Whitmore Chocolatiers is opening an exclusive French bakery next month!”
Carlotta and I join in the enthusiastic applause that erupts from the crowd, though I’m already calculating the implications of this announcement.
“Oh, I can’t wait to get inside and order one of everything!” Carlotta whispers with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just discovered a new toy store. “The French really know how to do two things right—sweet treats and—”
“What’s the other thing?” I ask, though I’m already regretting the question.
“Sweet treats,” she repeats with a waggle of her eyebrows that suggests her definition of sweet treats extends beyond the culinary realm.
I frown at her. “Well, I can’t wait either, and I’m right there with you on wanting one of everything.”
“Wait a minute, Lot. Aren’t you afraid they’re going to put you out of business?”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me, with money and connections like this, they’re not going to bother opening anything in a little town like Honey Hollow. I bet it’s going to be in Manhattan or Los Angeles, somewhere that matches their clientele’s out-of-this-world tax brackets. Maybe even Jupiter.”
Gina continues her presentation, thanking everyone for their continued support and explaining how the new bakery will feature traditional French techniques combined with Whitmore’s signature chocolate blends.
Judging by the passion in her voice, it sounds as if she’s spent months planning every detail.
“We’re calling it Whitmore Chocolaterie & Patisserie,” she announces with a howl as she tosses her hands in the air to uproarious applause, “and it represents our vision of taking over the world one bite of chocolate at a time. We want to create an experience so extraordinary that people will travel from anywhere just to taste the sweet treats we’re offering. ”
She gestures toward a large screen displaying images of exquisite pastries that look like edible art, and gasps echo from all across the ballroom at the sight of them.
“We’ll be sourcing our flour from a family mill in Normandy that’s been operating for over three centuries, our butter from exclusive French creameries, and our vanilla from Madagascar plantations that supply only the finest restaurants in Europe.
Every ingredient will be chosen not just for quality, but for the story it tells about our commitment to excellence. ”
The crowd murmurs appreciatively as she continues. I’ll admit, I’m probably the most impressed person in this room. I know exactly how much effort she’s putting into this endeavor.
“We’re bringing in master pastry chefs trained at Le Cordon Bleu and Institut Paul Bocuse—artisans who understand that chocolate isn’t just food, it’s a gateway to pure happiness.
They’ll be creating croissants that melt like butter, éclairs that practically sing with flavor, and ganaches so rich they’ll ruin you for ordinary chocolate forever. ”
Carlotta leans over and whispers, “She makes it sound like chocolate is going to solve every problem in the universe.”
“You and I both know it can,” I whisper back, genuinely impressed with the direction the Whitmores are headed.
“Our goal,” Gina concludes with a radiant smile, “is to prove that when you combine the finest French techniques with Whitmore’s chocolate mastery, you don’t just create desserts—you create memories that last a lifetime.
One perfect bite at a time, we’re going to change how the world thinks about chocolate. ”
“And now,” she concludes with a curtsy that would make a Vegas showgirl proud, “it’s time for everyone to sample our latest creations! Please, help yourselves to the dessert stations and enjoy the finest chocolate artistry Vermont has to offer!”
The crowd immediately surges toward the dessert tables with the enthusiasm of people who’ve been promised access to edible treasure, and I realize this is my chance.
I need to get to Gina while she’s still accessible, before she gets swept up in the social swirl of chocolate-obsessed socialites or whisked off to France.
I make a beeline for the stage, but Lenny beats me there, materializing beside Gina with the efficiency of a ghost who’s learned to navigate crowded spaces without worrying about physical obstacles.
It’s time to make Gina sing about everything she knows regarding her deceased brother-in-law, or better yet, roar like the lion who’s about to help me crack this case wide open.