Chapter 10 New Live Stream Plans

# Chapter 10: New Live Stream Plans

Two months after Ernest Blackwood's death, the mansion felt different. Nina had redecorated the main living areas, replacing Ernest's dark, masculine furniture with lighter pieces that opened up the space. The heavy drapes that had kept the rooms in perpetual twilight were gone, allowing sunlight to stream through the tall windows. Even the air seemed fresher, as if the house itself was breathing more easily without Ernest's oppressive presence.

Nina sat in her newly designed home office—formerly Ernest's study—reviewing financial reports from Blackwood Industries. Under her guidance, the company had begun divesting from several questionable ventures while strengthening its legitimate operations. The transition hadn't been smooth; several long-time board members had resigned in protest over a woman taking control, especially one making such dramatic changes. But Nina had been prepared for the resistance, armed with detailed knowledge of where the bodies were buried—sometimes literally—in the company's history.

A notification chimed on her laptop, reminding her of an upcoming video call. She closed the financial reports and opened her secure communication program. Moments later, the familiar face of the woman who had posed as Vanessa appeared on her screen.

"You look well," the woman observed. "Freedom suits you."

Nina smiled. "How's Barcelona?"

"Warm. Beautiful. Far away from Blackwood drama." The woman adjusted her camera, revealing a sun-drenched balcony behind her. "Any issues with our friend Margaret?"

"None. She's keeping her end of our arrangement. The Swiss account shows regular activity, so she's settled in for the long haul."

"And the detective?" The woman's voice carried a note of concern.

Nina's smile turned enigmatic. "Detective Mercer continues his investigation. He's thorough."

"Too thorough?"

"No. He serves a purpose."

The woman studied Nina's expression through the screen. "You've changed. There's a hardness to you now."

"Not hardness," Nina corrected. "Clarity. I see things as they are, not as I wish them to be."

After completing the call with assurances that their arrangement remained secure, Nina closed her laptop and moved to the window. The estate grounds stretched before her, immaculately maintained. In the distance, she could see the guesthouse where she had installed a private studio for her newest project.

Her phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number: "Lab results interesting. Coffee tomorrow? – JM"

Detective Mercer, breaking protocol by texting her directly rather than calling officially. Nina smiled. The cake had done its work, pushing him further into the gray area between professional duty and personal fascination. She replied with the name of a café and a time, then deleted the conversation.

That evening, Nina made her way to the guesthouse studio. The space had been completely transformed from its original purpose as a pool house. Now it contained state-of-the-art video and audio equipment, multiple cameras, professional lighting, and a kitchen set that looked both elegant and approachable. Everything a successful cooking channel would need.

Nina surveyed the setup with satisfaction. Ernest would have hated it—he had always discouraged her interests outside of being his perfect socialite wife. The thought of his disapproval made the project all the more satisfying.

She powered on the main computer and logged into her newly created social media accounts. The profile for "Black Widow Baking" was still private, the content hidden from public view while she prepared her launch. The name had come to her in a moment of dark humor—embracing the whispers that had begun to circulate in certain circles about Ernest's widow and her possible involvement in his demise.

Nina had learned that sometimes the best defense was to lean into suspicion, to make it so obvious that it seemed like a joke. Who would believe that a woman actually involved in her husband's death would name her baking channel "Black Widow Baking"? It was too on-the-nose, too absurd to be genuine—which made it the perfect cover.

She reviewed the videos she had already recorded: elegant tutorials for chocolate soufflé, black forest cake, midnight dark chocolate truffles. Each recipe featured rich, dark ingredients—a theme that would become her signature. The videos were professionally produced, her delivery polished and personable. Nothing in them hinted at the double meaning behind her carefully chosen words about "killer desserts" and "recipes to die for."

Satisfied with her progress, Nina moved to the studio kitchen and began preparing for her next recording. Tomorrow's video would feature her signature dark chocolate cake—the same recipe she had shared with Margaret and Detective Mercer, minus one special ingredient. This version would be the public face of her creation, while the true "special recipe" remained her private joke.

As she measured cocoa powder into a mixing bowl, Nina reflected on how much had changed since that moment on the stairs when she had been reborn. The memory of her previous death still felt real—the sickening sensation of falling, the sharp pain, the darkness. Sometimes she wondered if she had actually died and this was some strange afterlife where she had been given the chance to rewrite her fate. Other times, she wondered if the memory was just an intense premonition that had saved her life.

Either way, she had seized the opportunity, turning her intended murder into Ernest's downfall. And now she was rebuilding her life on her own terms.

The next morning, Nina arrived at the café ten minutes early, selecting a table with a clear view of the entrance and her back to the wall—a habit she had developed since Ernest's death. Trust came less easily now, even with the primary threat eliminated.

Detective Mercer arrived precisely on time, looking more casual than she had ever seen him in jeans and a navy sweater rather than his usual suit. He carried a manila folder under one arm.

"Mrs. Blackwood," he greeted her as he took the seat across from her.

"Nina, please," she reminded him with a small smile. "We've moved beyond formalities, I think."

Mercer nodded, studying her face. "You look well."

"Thank you. Being a widow agrees with me," she replied, a hint of challenge in her tone.

If the comment shocked him, he didn't show it. Instead, he placed the folder on the table between them but kept his hand on it.

"The lab results came back on your... gift," he said, watching her reaction carefully.

Nina's expression remained pleasant, mildly interested. "Oh? Anything interesting?"

"Trace amounts of human cremains, mixed with the cocoa powder," Mercer said bluntly. "Your husband's, I presume?"

Nina took a sip of her coffee before responding. "What an unusual finding. I wonder how that could have happened."

"I think you know exactly how it happened."

She set down her cup, meeting his gaze directly. "What do you intend to do with this information, Detective?"

"That depends," Mercer replied. "There's no law specifically against incorporating human ashes into food, especially when the only person who consumed it knowingly was you. Margaret Blackwood hasn't filed a complaint, despite my inquiries."

"How considerate of her," Nina murmured.

"But it does raise questions about your state of mind," Mercer continued. "And about what else you might be capable of."

Nina leaned forward slightly. "Are we speaking officially now, or is this a personal conversation?"

Mercer hesitated, then removed his hand from the folder. "Let's say it's somewhere in between."

"Then let me speak frankly," Nina said, her voice soft but intense. "You've been investigating Ernest's business dealings and the deaths connected to him. What have you found?"

Mercer's expression tightened. "Evidence suggesting your husband was involved in at least three suspicious deaths, possibly more. Financial records showing patterns of benefit following each death. Witness statements about threatening behavior. But nothing concrete enough for posthumous charges."

"And my mother's case?"

"The earrings you provided establish a connection. We're reopening the investigation, but after five years..." He left the sentence unfinished.

Nina nodded, understanding the limitations. "So Ernest escapes justice, as he always planned."

"Unless someone delivered justice outside the legal system," Mercer said pointedly.

A silence fell between them, heavy with implication.

"What do you really want to know, Detective?" Nina finally asked. "If I orchestrated my husband's death? If I mixed his ashes into a cake and fed it to his sister? If I'm a grieving victim or a calculating murderer?"

"Yes to all of the above," Mercer admitted.

Nina smiled faintly. "The world isn't divided so neatly into victims and perpetrators. Sometimes we're both."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're going to get." Nina reached across the table and opened the folder he had brought. Inside were photos from the hospital security cameras showing the dogs entering Ernest's room, autopsy reports, and lab analyses of the cake. "You have evidence of unusual circumstances, Detective. But nothing that establishes criminal wrongdoing on my part."

Mercer didn't try to close the folder. "I could keep digging. The livestream, the animal stimulant, the basement door that locked from the outside but supposedly closed accidentally..."

"You could," Nina agreed. "And perhaps you'll find something. Or perhaps you'll realize that sometimes justice finds its own path when the system fails."

She closed the folder and slid it back toward him. "What about you, Detective? What path are you on?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard. "I'm just doing my job."

"Are you? Texting me privately? Meeting for coffee? Sharing confidential lab results?" Nina raised an eyebrow. "It seems you're walking a line."

Mercer's jaw tightened. "I believe in justice."

"So do I," Nina said softly. "We just might define it differently."

The tension between them was palpable—professional boundaries blurring with something more personal, more complex. Nina had seen it developing over their previous meetings: Mercer's growing fascination with her, his conflicted sense of duty, his own moral compass spinning as he uncovered more about Ernest's crimes.

"I have a new project," Nina said, abruptly changing the subject. "A cooking channel. Therapeutic, my therapist calls it—transforming a traumatic experience into something creative."

Mercer blinked at the conversational shift. "A cooking channel?"

Nina smiled. "Black Widow Baking. Launching next week. Specializing in dark chocolate desserts. You should tune in."

"That name is..." Mercer seemed at a loss for words.

"Provocative? That's marketing for you." Nina gathered her purse, preparing to leave. "The first episode features my special chocolate cake recipe. The public version, of course."

As she stood, Mercer reached out suddenly, his hand closing around her wrist. The gesture wasn't threatening, but it was unexpected. Nina looked down at his hand, then up at his face, a question in her eyes.

"I know what you did," he said quietly. "Not how, exactly. But I know."

Nina didn't pull away. "And yet here we are, having coffee instead of an interrogation."

"I'm still trying to understand why," Mercer admitted. "Whether it was justice or revenge."

"Perhaps it was survival," Nina suggested. "Or perhaps it was all three."

Mercer released her wrist slowly. "The investigation remains open."

"I would expect nothing less from you, Detective." Nina adjusted her scarf. "Will you watch my channel?"

After a moment's hesitation, Mercer nodded. "I'll be your first subscriber."

"I'm counting on it," Nina replied with a small smile. "Everyone needs at least one dedicated follower."

That evening, back in her studio, Nina made final adjustments to her launch video. The lighting was perfect, highlighting her features while creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. The camera framed her against a backdrop of elegant kitchen equipment and tasteful décor.

"Welcome to Black Widow Baking," she began, her voice smooth and confident. "Where I turn life's darkest moments into something sweet. Today we're making my signature chocolate cake—a recipe that helped me through my grief after losing my husband."

She moved through the demonstration with practiced ease, explaining each step clearly while adding personal anecdotes that hinted at deeper meanings only a few would understand.

"The secret is in the cocoa powder," she explained to the camera, holding up a custom-labeled jar of deep black powder. "I source it specially. Nothing else gives quite the same... impact."

After completing the recording, Nina edited the video, adding elegant graphics and her channel logo—a black widow spider whose body formed a perfect chocolate truffle. She scheduled the video to go live the following morning, then prepared her next project.

From a locked cabinet, she retrieved a folder containing photographs of Eliza Blackwood—Ernest's half-sister who had so eagerly consumed the ash-infused cake, believing she would inherit millions. Beside it, she placed an empty white bone china urn she had purchased from an artisan ceramics studio. The urn was elegant in its simplicity, with only a small black widow spider etched into its base.

Nina opened her planning notebook and began sketching ideas for her next special recipe—an engagement cake for Eliza, who had recently announced her plans to marry a wealthy tech entrepreneur. The engagement party was three weeks away, and Nina had already secured an invitation, her role as the grieving widow making it impossible for Eliza to exclude her without raising eyebrows.

The cake would be a masterpiece: white chocolate and champagne layers with a raspberry filling. Traditional, elegant, and completely unexpected from the "Black Widow Baker" known for her dark creations. No one would think to question its contents.

As Nina worked on her design, her phone chimed with a notification. Detective Mercer had followed her private Instagram account associated with the baking channel. She smiled, accepting the follow request and immediately sending him a direct message:

"Looking forward to your feedback on my first episode. Some recipes are best appreciated by those who understand their deeper significance."

She set down her phone and returned to her sketch, adding details to the elaborate engagement cake design. On the facing page of her notebook, she made a list of supplies she would need, including a new set of tasteful recipe cards to accompany her gift. Each card would feature the Black Widow Baking logo and her new tagline: "Every bite tells a story."

Nina closed the notebook and moved to the window, looking out at the main house illuminated against the night sky. So much had changed since that moment on the stairs when fate had given her a second chance. She had transformed from victim to survivor, from pawn to player.

Her phone chimed again—a response from Mercer: "Some stories shouldn't be shared too widely."

Nina smiled as she typed her reply: "Don't worry, Detective. Some ingredients remain my little secret."

She set the phone down and returned to her planning. The engagement cake would be perfect, a showstopper that would cement her reputation as a talented baker emerging from tragedy with a newfound creative passion. No one would suspect that the widow was already identifying her next target—another Blackwood who had benefited from Ernest's criminal activities, another link in the chain of corruption that had claimed her mother's life.

After finalizing her design, Nina packed away her materials and locked the cabinet containing Eliza's photograph and the empty urn. Tomorrow would be a big day—the official launch of Black Widow Baking and the beginning of her new public persona.

As she walked back to the main house through the moonlit garden, Nina felt a sense of calm purpose. Ernest had taught her many things during their marriage, though not in the ways he had intended. He had taught her about power, about patience, about the careful orchestration of appearances. He had shown her how the wealthy and influential operated above the law, accountable to no one.

Now she would use those lessons to create her own form of justice, one precisely measured cup at a time.

In the kitchen of the main house, Nina prepared a cup of herbal tea, a nightly ritual she had established since Ernest's death. As the water boiled, she opened her laptop to check her email one last time before bed. Among the usual messages was one from an anonymous address, containing only a single line:

"Need... a special ingredient supplier?"

Nina stared at the message, a slow smile spreading across her face as she recognized the phrasing—an echo of her final exchange with Detective Mercer. But this couldn't be from him; the detective would never compromise himself so explicitly in writing.

Which meant someone else was watching. Someone who understood what she was doing and wanted to participate.

She typed a careful response: "Depends on the quality of ingredients. I maintain very high standards."

The reply came almost immediately: "Only the finest. Ethically sourced from those who deserve their fate."

Nina's pulse quickened. This was unexpected—a potential ally, or perhaps a trap. Either way, it was intriguing. She considered her response carefully before typing:

"Send sample specifications. If suitable, we can discuss a potential collaboration."

She closed her laptop and carried her tea upstairs to the master bedroom—redecorated now in soothing blues and creams, all traces of Ernest erased. As she prepared for bed, Nina's mind worked through the possibilities presented by the mysterious message. A fellow vigilante? A law enforcement sting? Or perhaps Detective Mercer himself, testing her, pushing the boundaries of their unusual relationship?

Whatever the answer, it added an exciting new dimension to her plans. Black Widow Baking was about to expand its reach, possibly in ways even Nina hadn't anticipated.

She fell asleep with a smile on her lips, dreaming of elegant cakes and perfect justice, served cold on fine china plates to those who thought themselves above the law. In her dreams, her mother and all of Ernest's victims sat at a long table, raising glasses in silent toast as Nina served them the sweetest revenge imaginable.