Dark Chocolate Murder

by Anisa Claire West

  Tears of indignation and humiliation stung Belinda’s eyes. How could this be happening to her innocent little chocolate shop? How could this be happening to the lifelong dream she had finally set free here in Monaco?

  Crystal tailed the bullying detective and shouted, “Get your hands off my sister! You have no right to touch her!”

  “Just accompanying her out of the store,” Buchet said tightly.

  Quickly, Belinda snatched her purse off the counter, dazedly walking into the sunny afternoon with her sister close at her side. Supporting her with one arm, Crystal encouraged Belinda to lean on her. Belinda looked at her through hooded eyes, not wanting to shed any of the tears that burned inside of her.

  “It’s going to be okay, Belinda. They’re not going to find anything in your shop, and this whole mess will get cleared up,” Crystal soothed as Belinda shook her head despairingly.

  “This can’t be happening,” she whispered shakily, clinging to her sister’s arm.

  From down the block, Pierre rushed towards the sisters, instantly concerned. “Belinda, are you sick? What’s going on?”

  Belinda had forgotten about their dinner date and didn’t know how to answer Pierre’s question. Instead of speaking, she fell into his arms as he instinctively pulled her against his chest. Stroking her hair, he looked to Crystal for an explanation, but she remained silent too.

  “Belinda, please, tell me what’s going on,” he urged.

  Crystal sensed that her sister was too stunned to communicate, so she spoke up. “Two detectives just shut down Belinda’s shop! They claim that an old couple died after eating a box of her chocolates. And they’re accusing Belinda of poisoning them with cyanide!”

  Pierre held Belinda more closely against his chest and wiped away a stray tear that escaped her eye. “What?! That’s insane!” He exhaled heavily and urged, “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  As the trio walked towards Belinda’s apartment building, Crystal explained the whole story. When she was finished, Pierre wore a murderous glower on his face, appalled by the detectives’ preemptive decision that Belinda was responsible for the crime.

  “What were the names of the victims?” Pierre asked solemnly.

  “Debauche was the last name. Catherine, no, Collette and François Debauche. Yes, that’s what the detectives said,” Crystal affirmed.

  Pierre’s forehead creased as his brain processed the names of the victims. “Debauche? Where have I heard that name before? It sounds so familiar.”

  “You know what?” Belinda spoke, suddenly remembering the shady fellow who had purchased two dozen of her Fatally Sweet truffles a couple of weeks ago. “There was a suspicious character in my shop recently. And he bought a box of my Fatally Sweet truffles!”

  “What did he look like?” Pierre prodded, still wondering where he had heard the name Debauche.

  “A little scary. All the children in the shop that day were afraid of him. He was young, maybe about 30, average height, but very thin. And those beady little eyes! And he had a weak, sort of feminine jawline,” Belinda described, recalling with a shudder the unsavory feeling he had given her.

  Pierre smacked his thigh and boomed, “That’s Philippe Debauche! I’ll never forget that man. He stumbled into my restaurant a few months ago, completely drunk…”

  “Yes!” Belinda cut him off. “I could smell alcohol on his breath even from across the counter.”

  “It has to be the same person. I remember those small eyes and weak jaw too. So he must be related to the victims somehow. Maybe their son?” Pierre supplied, certain that Philippe Debauche was somehow involved in this crime, but unsure at the moment of how to connect the dots.

  “This is important information! We have to take these clues to the police!” Crystal cried.

  “Yes, absolutely. What are the names of the detectives handling this investigation?” Pierre inquired.

  “Um, Montagne and Buchet, I think,” Belinda said.

  “Buchet? David Buchet?” Pierre asked, startled.

  “I don’t know what his first name is. He just introduced himself as Detective Buchet,” Belinda answered, mechanically retrieving her apartment key from her purse and trudging up the stairs.

  “Thin brown moustache? Trench coat?” Pierre prodded.

  “Yes, that would describe him,” Crystal nodded, remembering the man’s cocky appearance. “In that trench coat, he looked like a caricature of a detective! Like he’s watched too many old spy movies.”

  Pierre nodded in agreement. “David Buchet is notorious around here. Now I see why he was so quick to name Belinda as a suspect. He’s got a vendetta against women, especially American women. His ex-fiancée was an American lady who left him for one of his coworkers in the police department.”

  “How do you know all that?” Belinda queried.

  Crystal replied, “Pierre knows that because this country is like a small town! Word gets around very quickly. Right?”

  “Exactly,” Pierre confirmed grimly. “And there’s no way we’re going to take this information to Buchet. We need to get Belinda out of here. And fast!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Get me out of here? What are you talking about?” Belinda asked in confusion.

  “Crystal said the detectives were inspecting your shop, right? Well, we need to get out of here before Buchet can issue some phony warrant for your arrest. I don’t trust that man at all. I wouldn’t put it past him to plant fake evidence,” Pierre said firmly.

  Belinda recalled how Buchet had manhandled her, grabbing her wrist and practically hurling her to the curb from her own shop. But she wouldn’t have argued with Pierre even if she hadn’t experienced Buchet’s misogyny firsthand. Pierre knew the culture, and he clearly knew about this detective’s seedy methods of operation.

  “But Montagne seemed nice enough,” Crystal murmured. “Well, maybe not nice, but at least neutral.”

  “Montagne has a decent reputation,” Pierre confirmed. “But he’s lower on the totem pole than Buchet. Buchet is the one with the clout. We really do need to get you out of here, Belinda.”

  “What do you mean? Leave my apartment? Or leave Monaco? Buchet told me not to leave the country,” Belinda recounted with a shiver.

  “Oh he did, did he?” Pierre shook his head disdainfully. “He had no right to say that when you are not an official suspect, but only a suspect in his head! Come on, let’s pack your things. Now!”

  Belinda whirled her head around, scanning the apartment and relieved by how little she had to pack. Her clothes and laptop would be all she would take with her. Her beloved stainless steel cookware and bakeware would have to stay behind.

  “But there’s something Pierre doesn’t know. Don’t you think you should tell him?” Crystal looked meaningfully at Belinda, who had already scrambled into the closet, grabbing shirts and pants as they flew off the hangers. “You know…about my role in the whole business arrangement? And Jean-Jacques’ role?”

  Stuffing her garments carelessly into a plastic bag, Belinda exclaimed, “Oh no! Could you and Jean-Jacques be in trouble too?” Turning to Pierre, she explained, “Jean-Jacques and Crystal leased my shop in their name. I’m not even authorized to work in this country.”

  “Well, things just keep getting better and better,” Pierre bit sarcastically. “Crystal, you and your husband might want to leave the country as well.”

  “But Jean-Jacques is very prominent and respected in Monaco! He owns so many businesses. He can’t just pick up and leave!” Crystal argued.

  “I’m not going to twist your arm,” Pierre shrugged. “I’m just giving you my advice. Belinda and I will be leaving the country momentarily.”

  Belinda crammed her laptop and power cord into a case as a thought suddenly dawned on her. “But what about your restaurant, Pierre? You have to be here to run it!” She knew how much Pierre loved that restaurant, as much as she loved her chocolate boutique, and she didn’t want to jeopardize his livelihood. “
And where are we going anyway? And what about little Marc?”

  “Don’t worry about my restaurant. I’ve told you before that I have a good staff who can handle it. Marc can stay with Nathalie for a little while. About where we’re going, I’m not sure yet. But we won’t be gone indefinitely. Just until this situation gets resolved and your name is cleared. We just need to call in an anonymous tip about Philippe Debauche, and then we can steer the investigation in his direction…”

  “And get the heat off of me?” Belinda finished for him.

  “Yes,” Pierre said gently, enfolding her in his arms and slinging her computer case over his shoulder. “Everything is going to be okay, Belinda.”

  Crystal watched the affectionate couple with no small amount of envy. Pierre was obviously madly in love with Belinda. It showed in his intimate body language and spilled from his mouth with every consoling word he spoke to her. She couldn’t recall Jean-Jacques ever looking at her with fire in his eyes, or ever touching her with fire in his loins. Jean-Jacques was the proverbial nice guy: adequate---in most areas---but thoroughly unremarkable. In the face of a compelling man like Pierre, Jean-Jacques seemed downright effeminate. Crystal sighed inwardly. Even under these nerve-wracking circumstances, there was something romantic about Belinda’s pending escape with Pierre. It was an adventure, granted one that most people would never choose to experience, but an adventure nonetheless.

  “I can see my sister will be in good hands,” Crystal commented huskily.

  Pierre smiled briefly at her. “Thank you. We’ll be reachable by cell phone. Call us if you and Jean-Jacques decide to get out of the country for a while too.”

  “Okay,” Crystal said, approaching the couple to give each one a quick hug.

  “I’m not as scared as I should be,” Belinda admitted, feeling a surge of renewed strength course through her. Pierre’s presence had that calming effect.

  “Of course you’re not scared. I’m here,” he quipped with a blend of arrogance and humor. “And we’re going to get through this. Your shop will be reopened in no time. And the real perpetrator of this double homicide will be brought to justice. Trust me.”

  Belinda hadn’t known Pierre long enough to trust him, yet on some inexplicable level, she did. She trusted him. The realization was at once jarring and soothing. Belinda bestowed a soft, loving look on Pierre as he reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone.

  “I have to call my sister to look after Marc,” he explained.

  Again assaulted with guilt for tearing Pierre away from that precious little boy, Belinda parted her lips to issue a protest. But Pierre refused to let her speak.

  “It’s okay, Belinda. Just as you’re in good hands, Marc will be in good hands too.” Pierre walked over to the window where he launched into a conversation in spitfire French.

  “I should probably call Jean-Jacques and tell him what’s happening. Nah, I’ll just tell him tonight at dinner,” Crystal shrugged.

  “I’m worried about how Jean-Jacques will react. Do you think he’ll lose his temper?” Belinda queried with concern.

  “Temper? What temper? A temper requires the presence of passion, and I’ve already explained to you how Jean-Jacques is completely lacking in that department!” Crystal’s eyes rolled skyward as Belinda blushed, still uncomfortable to hear her brother-in-law spoken of so cavalierly.

  Pierre surfaced a moment later and announced, “D’accord. It’s all taken care of. Marc will stay with his favorite cousins until we’re able to come back. It’s actually a good thing. He’s an only child, so he loves playing with those boys. And my sister adores Marc like he’s her own.”

  “Yes, I know. But I still feel like you’re making a sacrifice by doing this,” Belinda mumbled.

  “Ça suffit! Enough! I’d go anywhere with you, Belinda. It’s no sacrifice. Now, let’s not dawdle anymore. We need to get going,” Pierre directed, gathering up her bags of clothing and shoes.

  They each waved goodbye to Crystal before leaving her standing in the empty apartment. Racing down the stairs, Belinda stole one last look at the apartment building. She knew that even if and when she was able to come back to Monaco, she would probably not live in that apartment again. Afraid to peer into such an uncertain future, Belinda shuffled into the car as Pierre tossed her bags onto the back seat.

  “Oh no, don’t look behind you,” Pierre muttered as he glanced into the rear view mirror while firing up the engine.

  Instinctively, Belinda looked behind her only to be harshly reproached by Pierre.

  “I said don’t look behind you!” He gritted.

  “Isn’t that Detective Buchet in the car behind us? It looks like he’s going to follow us!” Belinda cried in a panic.

  “I know. We have to get the hell out of here.” Pierre roughly released the clutch and pounded the gas pedal.

  Daring to look in the rear view mirror again, he saw that Buchet was indeed following them, tailing aggressively with an unreadable expression on his face. Belinda sank down into the seat, hoping to obscure herself from view. Pierre sped through a stop sign as Belinda gripped the edge of her seat.

  “We’ve got to lose him!” Belinda cried. “He won’t follow us to the border, will he?”

  “Not if we can get away from him. Okay, it’s decided. We’re going to Italy. It will be easier to hide there. Now if I can only get him off our back!” Pierre fumed, accelerating to 70 miles per hour as he beat an amber traffic light. “Hang on,” he warned as he forced the car into a higher gear.

  Belinda clutched her seat, daring again to look behind her. To her horror, Buchet was riding their bumper. “Pierre, he’s still there! He’s chasing us like a maniac! And he’s probably going to call for back-up. Then we’ll be surrounded. Maybe we should just stop and surrender.”

  “Are you crazy? You’ve seen too many American action movies, Belinda. There is no way we’re stopping. We’ll both be arrested if we stop!” Pierre shouted, pushing the car towards 90 miles per hour and sharply turning onto a side street to throw Buchet off course.

  Racing down the residential road at breakneck speed, Pierre kept his eyes glued to the rear view mirror. “I think maybe he’s gone---oh, merde, no, he’s back!”

  “Pierre, you can’t drive so fast down this block! A child could run into the street and get killed!” Belinda screamed above the din of the overheated car engine.

  “I’ll be very careful,” Pierre promised tightly.

  “But you’re not being careful! You’re driving recklessly! And Buchet is still behind us!” Belinda smacked Pierre on the shoulder, rapidly losing her temper.

  “Stop, Belinda! I thought you trusted me!” Pierre huffed, shooting her a gloomy look.

  In the instant that Pierre took his eyes off the wheel, the car skidded to the side of the road and climbed the curb, smashing into a yield sign. Pierre swore furiously under his breath, frantically twisting the wheel to get the car off the curb. Buchet was gaining on them, not more than a quarter of a mile behind.

  “He’s going to catch us!” Belinda yelled.

  “No, he’s not!” Pierre clenched his teeth, finally steering the car off the curb as it landed with a thump onto the road. Smoothly, the car cruised down the street. “I don’t think we have a flat tire,” he said on a breath of relief.