Dark Chocolate Murder

by Anisa Claire West

  “Close your eyes, ma chérie,” he instructed in his most romantic voice.

  It was a tone his wife had not heard for many years, and she instinctively looked over her shoulder in surprise.

  “I said close your eyes!” He exclaimed good-naturedly.

  “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know where that bedroom voice was coming from.” The old woman laughed, then acquiesced, turning towards the fireplace and shutting her eyes.

  “It hasn’t been that long!” The old man disagreed, puffing up with male pride. “Or has it, dear?” He sighed as she laughed louder but kept her eyes closed. Slowly, he walked towards her with the bouquet in his hand and placed a fragrant rosebud directly under her nose. Airily, he caressed her cheek with it.

  “You brought me roses,” she said happily, inhaling the sweet aroma.

  “That’s just the beginning. I have many gifts to bestow on you today. After all, Collette, it is our 50 wedding anniversary.” The old man went back to the sofa to collect the other presents.

  “May I open my eyes now?” Collette asked.

  “No!” He hollered, and Collette gladly complied, not accustomed to this sort of solicitous behavior from the man she had been married to for half a century.

  “Whatever you say, François,” Collette addressed her husband dreamily, sinking back onto a velvet pillow.

  “Your second gift.” François lightly pressed the bottle of champagne against his wife’s forehead.

  “That’s cold!” She remarked, startled.

  “Any guesses as to what it is?”

  “Yes, a bottle of liquor to get me drunk…the way you used to do 50 years ago!” She giggled, remembering the early days of their marriage when she was a twenty-something bride hopelessly in love with her groom.

  “Ah, memories!” François sighed. “But it’s not liquor, ma chérie. It’s champagne! There’s quite a distinction.”

  “There certainly is. Champagne I’ll actually drink!”

  François smiled, reflecting on his wife’s elegant taste. She puckered her lips at virtually any liquor but could drink champagne like it was liquid candy.

  “For the third gift, you may open your eyes.” François allowed. “But not yet!” He added hastily.

  He unlatched the jewelry box and removed a ruby necklace that he draped and fastened around his wife’s neck. Tears brimmed her pale blue eyes when she felt the metal on her skin; it had been decades since her husband had given her any jewelry.

  “Now,” he told her gently. “Open your eyes.”

  She opened her eyes and looked down at the necklace adorning her and gleaming in the fire glow. “It’s breathtaking! I’ve never had rubies before,” Collette breathed, giving her husband a kiss.

  “But I’m not done yet! Here is a card with all my love written on it.” He whipped out a pink envelope and handed it to his beaming wife. “And there’s one more gift.” François presented her with a giant box of chocolates wrapped in a red bow to match the color of the necklace.

  “Candy!” She exclaimed.

  “Yes, but this gift I can’t take credit for. This is a present from our nephew.”

  “Oh how kind of him! He has always been like a son to us…” Collette’s voice faded away.

  She and François had a son of their own many years ago, but he had died in a boating accident as a child. After that tragic loss, their marriage had nearly disintegrated. Then Collette had miscarried a few times, and she and François had abandoned the idea of being parents. Today, though, their bond was stronger than it had ever been, even as Collette reflected sadly on the boy who had cruelly vanished from their lives so many years ago.

  “Are you thinking of our boy?” François asked on a heavy note of emotion.

  “You know I am,” Collette replied softly, as her husband put an arm around her.

  “These chocolates will make you feel better. Let’s see here.” François untied the ribbon on the box and peeked inside. “They’re called Fatally Sweet truffles. It says here they’re made with the darkest chocolate available and blended with passion fruit.”

  “Oh, they sound scrumptious! Let’s eat them with the champagne.” Collette reached for a truffle and popped it in her mouth.

  “How is it?”

  “Delicious!” Collette enthused. “Here, love, try one.” She handed a chocolate to her husband. “Oh my, but it has a bit of an aftertaste, doesn’t it?” She made a sour face.

  “Yes, slightly. But that must be because the chocolate is so dark. It’s the darkest chocolate I’ve ever tasted,” François said, handing his wife another piece.

  By the end of the evening, François and Collette had finished half the bottle of champagne…and all but one of the Fatally Sweet truffles.

  *****

  Three Days Later…

  Lucie LaForte was tending the roses in her garden, clipping off dead leaves and picking a few blossoms to include in a centerpiece for her granddaughter’s wedding. A widow for more than twenty years, Lucie hummed like the bumblebees who flew around her rose bushes. Today, at four o’clock in the afternoon, her first born granddaughter would be reciting her marriage vows. Lost in her thoughts, she glanced up for a moment at her next door neighbors’ house. Frowning, Lucie LaForte stared at the dark, silent house that appeared like a tomb in the shadows of mid-morning.

  Collette and François hadn’t left the house for days, or had she just not noticed? No, Lucie reasoned, Collette always made a point of saying hello and usually brought over a basket of freshly baked croissants on Sunday morning. And François was active in the community, volunteering his time at a local hospital and playing table tennis with his friends. Lucie set the roses and hedge clippers down on the ground, increasingly worried about where Collette and François could be. They hadn’t gone on vacation, or had they?

  Nervously, Lucie crossed the border onto her neighbors’ property. The old lady knocked once, twice, three times on the door…but there was no reply. She went around to the backyard and rapped on the double patio doors. Still no reply. Lucie tried the handle of the sliding glass doors, only mildly surprised when they peeled open. This was a safe neighborhood, and many people left their doors unlocked as though they were living in the 1950’s and not the twenty-first century.

  “Collette? François?” Lucie called.

  Taking a few steps forward, an overwhelming stench assailed her. Gasping, she covered her mouth with her hand, holding her breath as she walked further into the house and the odor became more pungent. When she reached the living room, the smell became overpowering, and Lucie felt her head spin. Clamping her hand more tightly around her mouth, she refused to inhale as she walked towards the fireplace and then stopped dead in her tracks.

  Lying motionless next to the fireplace were the bodies of her dear neighbors, Collette and François. Screaming at the top of her lungs, Lucie fled the horrific scene, scrambling out the patio doors and bumping her head on the glass in her desperation to escape. She touched a hand to her forehead and felt a drop of blood. Willing herself not to faint, the terrified old lady hobbled back to her own house, walking inside on shaky limbs and reaching for the phone with violently trembling hands to call the police.

  *****

  One Week Later…

  “This new flavor is incredible!” Crystal licked her lips, sinking her teeth into yet another piece of chocolate. “What is this, some sort of lemon thing?”

  “It’s lemon chiffon enrobed in white chocolate and a blend of citrus peels,” Belinda clarified from the kitchen where she was preparing another batch of truffles.

  “Oh, pardon me! I never would have guessed all those ingredients! I just know that it tastes like paradise! Mmm! You better come out and stop me because I’m about to eat another one!” Crystal announced, grabbing another truffle and wolfing it down.

  Belinda laughed as she poured a pint of blueberries into the blender. The working arrangement between her and Crystal was working out very well so far. Belind
a enjoyed the usually peppy company of her sister---but was always relieved to part ways in the evening. Crystal was also turning out to be a surprisingly hard worker, throwing herself into the physical aspects of the job like lifting cartons of milk and sweeping the floor several times a day to keep the shop immaculate.

  The friendly chime of bells above the door made Crystal hastily swallow the chocolate and assume a professional stance in front of the sales counter. In walked two grave looking gentlemen, one dressed in a gray suit, the other in a black trench coat. They paused at the entrance to briefly inspect the inside of the shop before approaching Crystal at the counter.

  “Bonjour, Madame,” the shorter of the two men greeted Crystal without a smile.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur. Comment peux-je vous aider?” How may I help you? The question rolled off her tongue with a hint of hesitation. Usually, her favorite part of the job was serving customers. Everyone who came into Belinda’s boutique was so friendly, but not these men. They looked like they needed a big dose of chocolate happiness. “We have some new flavors that our chef has created. Would you like to try a sample?” Crystal offered uneasily.

  “Non, merci. We are not customers. We are detectives. I’m Detective Buchet and this is Detective Montagne. Is Belinda Rockland here?” The sour-looking man inquired gravely.

  Crystal gulped nervously. Had they found out that Belinda didn’t really own the shop and money was passing under the table? This could be just the beginning of legal woes for them, and Belinda could be deported. Anxiously, Crystal managed, “She’s in the kitchen right now. Is something wrong?”

  “Yes. Something is very wrong,” Detective Buchet informed curtly as he dodged Crystal and walked inside the kitchen.

  Belinda looked up from her pot of caramel and blueberry compote with surprise. Customers weren’t allowed in the kitchen. Had Crystal granted a request for a tour without consulting her? Before Belinda could speak, both men opened their jackets and flashed badges in her face. Startled, she set down the spoon and turned off the flame on the stove.

  “Are you Belinda Rockland?” Detective Buchet asked pointedly.

  “Yes,” Belinda replied in a small voice, feeling dread seep into the pit of her stomach. Clearly, these police officers had found out about her shop’s questionable financial arrangement. Damn it, she should have been more careful and not let Jean-Jacques sign the lease!

  “Ms. Rockland, we would like to ask you a few questions regarding the deaths of two of your customers.”

  Belinda gasped and placed a hand over her heart. Her mind raced with thoughts of the joyful children who piled into her shop every day after school. Surely, it couldn’t be any of them, she prayed. “Oh my God. Who has died? Please don’t tell me it’s some of my little customers? The children?” She choked on the last word.

  The detectives exchanged a look of surprise before Buchet informed, “No, I’m speaking of the deaths of François and Collette Debauche. They were found dead in their home last week by their neighbor.”

  Belinda furrowed her brow, unsure of who the detectives were speaking about. “I’ve never heard those names before. Are you sure they were my customers? What did they look like?”

  Detective Buchet took a menacing step forward and hissed, “We are quite certain they were your customers because there was a box of your Fatally Sweet truffles next to their corpses!”

  Crystal gasped in horror from where she had been standing in the doorway, listening to the interrogation of her older sister. Belinda sat down on a stool, suddenly feeling unable to support her own weight.

  “Oh, that’s horrible! But how did they die? Were they murdered?” She grasped at straws, still unsure of what the detectives thought her connection could be to this tragic incident.

  “They were poisoned,” Detective Montagne provided. “Preliminary autopsy results indicate the presence of cyanide in the blood. So, yes, they were indeed murdered.”

  “And I believe,” Detective Buchet interjected, “that you, Belinda Rockland, can tell us the rest of the story.”

  Belinda flinched as her heart thumped erratically. “Me? What are you talking about?!”

  “If you want to play it that way, very well, we can play it that way,” Detective Buchet chuckled cynically, smoothing his thin moustache with an arrogant sweep of his hand. “The entire box of chocolates had been eaten except for one. I don’t think you’ll be surprised to hear that the one remaining truffle tested positive for cyanide at the lab.”

  “But that’s impossible!” Belinda burst out. “I make all my chocolates by hand.”

  “You do realize how you just incriminated yourself with that statement?” Detective Buchet asked rhetorically, his eyebrows raising suspiciously.

  “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t! There’s no way there could be cyanide in my chocolates, unless…” Belinda trailed off, looking to her sister who leaned against the doorway, her face ghostly white.

  “Unless what, Ms. Rockland?” Detective Buchet pressed, furiously scribbling notes onto his pad.

  “Unless someone intercepted the chocolates and poisoned them! You see, I just opened my shop earlier this month, and I don’t have too much technology yet. I have no shrink wrapping machine, for example. So when I sell my boxes of chocolate, they just have a ribbon on top, which I guess any maniac could untie and then tamper with the contents if he wanted to!” Belinda’s heart sank, as she pondered how some psychopath would use her sweet creations to commit the heinous act of murder. It was unthinkable.

  Detective Montagne looked thoughtful, but his colleague was far from convinced and seethed, “That’s very convenient, Ms. Rockland. An easy way to divert the attention away from yourself as a suspect.”

  “Suspect?” Crystal and Belinda squeaked in unison. This was becoming a living nightmare of surreal proportions.

  “Of course,” Detective Buchet rejoined as though the women were idiots. “Two people are found dead after eating a box of your chocolates from your boutique. The chocolates were tainted with cyanide; the victims were poisoned with cyanide. It’s really a ‘no-brainer’ as you Americans would say.” He chuckled, seeming very pleased with himself.

  “With all due respect, Detective Buchet, your theory is completely wrong! Why would I poison a box of my chocolates? Most of my customers are children for goodness sake! And I love this shop so much. I’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into making everything perfect!” Belinda broke off, fighting to hold back a torrent of tears.

  “I can’t pretend to know your motive, Ms. Rockland. All I can present you with are the facts,” Detective Buchet said, arrogantly dismissing her impassioned statements.

  “But what’s a crime without a motive?!” Crystal spoke up, bursting through the doorway. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

  “Yes!” Belinda argued, “Someone else must have had a motive! Who were these people anyway?”

  “A married couple celebrating their 50 wedding anniversary. An unopened greeting card was found at the scene,” Detective Montagne informed as he bowed his head sadly.

  Belinda winced. It was too cruel for an old couple to die on their wedding anniversary! But maybe… ”How do you know it wasn’t a murder-suicide? Maybe the husband poisoned the chocolates! Or the wife poisoned them! Surely, that’s a more logical explanation than the ones you’ve provided so far!”

  “You can talk until you’re blue in the face, Ms. Rockland. But you are a suspect. We don’t have enough evidence for an arrest warrant yet, but we’re getting there. Be advised that your shop must close down as of this moment. Our department will be conducting a full forensic investigation here. Every chocolate will be tested for cyanide and other toxins. You are not under arrest---yet---but you are hereby ordered to vacate the premises. And don’t even think about leaving the country.” Detective Buchet grabbed Belinda roughly by the wrist and dragged her to the front of the store.