Dark Chocolate Murder

by Anisa Claire West

  “We’ve discussed this before, and I didn’t want to bring it up again. But maybe you should leave him. You can’t spend the rest of your life living a lie. It’s not healthy for either of you,” Belinda advised as gently as she could.

  “I know! I told you how things have been getting worse again since your shop shut down. When are you going to open another one so I can have a part-time job again?”

  “I’m not sure that I will open another shop. After Pierre and I are married, I may opt to work in his restaurant, or be a stay-at-home mom to Marc. Everything is up in the air right now.” Secretly, though, Belinda had been dreaming of opening a shop from the moment the malicious Detective Buchet had shuttered her dream chocolate boutique. A giant chunk was missing from her life right now even in the midst of her wedding plans. But Belinda resolved to shove the idea of opening a new business to the backburner. Too many other details needed tending at the moment.

  “I think you’d be selling yourself short to just stay at home. I know you’ll have a child to take care of, but staying home all the time is still not a fulfilling lifestyle, trust me,” Crystal said darkly as long pent-up tears cascaded down her cheeks.

  “Okay, I’m coming over. You’re upset, and I don’t want you to be alone. I’m coming over right now.”

  *****

  Standing in the empty driveway, Belinda wondered how she was going to get to Crystal’s house. Pierre had taken the car to work, and she was left without transportation. Poking around the garage, she found a woman’s bicycle with a ribboned basket attached to the handlebars. Frowning, Belinda wondered if it had once belonged to Juliette. Pushing that distasteful thought aside, she told herself the bicycle must be Nathalie’s and somehow it had made its way into Pierre’s garage.

  Sliding from her sandals into a pair of socks and sneakers, Belinda mounted the bicycle and unsteadily rode it out of the garage. She didn’t have a helmet or other proper gear, but she had a good idea of the route to take to reach her sister’s estate across the border in Monaco. Careening onto the street, Belinda admired the lush, semi-tropical foliage as she passed through the now familiar neighborhood. From the vantage point of the bicycle, the colors seemed brighter, and she noticed little details that were easily overlooked in a speedy car ride. Outdoor cats roamed the sidewalks, and a few of Marc’s friends from nursery school waved to her as she cycled by.

  When she reached Crystal’s estate, she felt surprisingly invigorated, though her buttocks and thighs ached from the seat’s uncomfortable shape. Peeking around the backyard, Belinda found her sister in the garden, picking a bunch of pansies.

  “How are you feeling?” Belinda inquired softly as she wrapped her arms around her sister.

  Crystal’s eyes were puffy, and it was obvious that she had been crying even after they hung up. “I’m glad you’re here,” Crystal whispered, accepting her sister’s hug. “Listen, I want you to know that…I’ve decided to leave Jean-Jacques. But not until after your wedding. I don’t want to cause any upheaval now. This is your time to shine. But I will proceed with a divorce after you and Pierre are married.”

  Belinda eyed her sister compassionately and urged, “Don’t think about me or anyone else! Think of yourself and how unhappy you’ve been. My wedding is still a couple of months away. You don’t have to stay in this situation!”

  But Crystal was resolute as she shook her head and insisted, “No, it’s the right thing to do.” Conjuring up a clumsy attempt at humor, she continued, “We’ll switch places. You’ve been the single gal, and I’ve been the married lady. Now we’ll just reverse roles. Don’t try to change my mind.”

  *****

  Even in the daylight, the prison was a foreboding sight to behold. Set in the middle of an enormous cage of barbed wire, the structure was dilapidated and in dire need of a power washing. An almost windowless building, the prison was constructed of five floors with the capacity to house thousands of inmates. But there was only one inmate Pierre cared to see, and that was Philippe Debauche.

  He strode into the building and passed through several security checkpoints before reaching the visitor center. “Bonjour. I’m here to see a prisoner named Philippe Debauche,” Pierre addressed a tall, fair-haired officer who gaped at him in disbelief.

  “The chocolate murderer? The gambling fool?” The officer sneered. “You’ll be his first visitor.”

  “Is that a fact?” Pierre asked sardonically, not at all surprised that no one had bothered to visit the now notorious criminal.

  “Oui. Do you want to visit his accomplice too?” The officer inquired, presenting Pierre with a clipboard and paper to sign in.

  “You mean Buchet? He’s here as well?” Somehow, Pierre had expected the fallen detective to be housed at another location.

  The officer smirked. “Of course. They’re neighbors.”

  “Neighbors?”

  “Yes, their cells are side by side.”

  Pierre returned the policeman’s smirk, thinking how richly ironic it was for the two men to have to live side by side after the evil they had perpetrated together.

  “Sure, bring him out as well. The more the merrier,” Pierre chuckled.

  The officer paged a security guard on his intercom and instructed him to inform the inmates that they had a visitor. Addressing Pierre, he added, “They’re not obligated to come out here, though. They could refuse your visit. So we’ll see.”

  Pierre nodded, following the officer to an area that separated visitors and prisoners by an impenetrable wall of glass. Telephones lined the rows of seats on both sides where the makeshift visits took place. Pierre’s eyes widened as two undernourished, disheveled men in matching yellow jumpsuits plodded over to sit across from him. Debauche immediately recognized Pierre and regarded him warily, fully expecting a taunting speech. Buchet, on the other hand, had never seen Pierre face to face before and stared at the man quizzically.

  Unshaven, greasy, and blank-faced, the men were shadows of their former selves. It was hard to picture David Buchet cocky and powerful in his detective’s trench coat, just as it seemed preposterous that Philippe Debauche had ever been able to inflict so much destruction. Hesitantly, Pierre picked up the phone, suddenly unsure of what to say. In his head, he had rehearsed a reproachful monologue replete with insults and jeers. But now, in the presence of these pathetic prisoners, it seemed petty, even cruel, to execute such a plan.

  “These are the consequences for your actions,” Pierre spoke as plainly into the receiver as though he were stating a scientific fact like ‘the earth is round.’

  The prisoners simultaneously averted their eyes to beige paint chipping off the walls. Without another word or glance, Pierre rose to his feet and exited the prison.

  *****

  That evening, Belinda and Pierre returned home at the same time. Still overjoyed by the sight of his fiancée, vital and lustrous, Pierre rushed to escort her inside the house. In the kitchen, Pierre opened the cabinet to select two slender white wine glasses as Belinda chose a bottle from the refrigerator.

  “Should I make us some seafood tonight? I don’t feel up to going out to dinner.”

  “What’s wrong, babe? Did you have a rough day?” Belinda uncorked the bottle of Pinot Gris as Pierre shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Nothing I really want to talk about. Just a stressful day at the restaurant.” The second half of what he communicated was a lie, but the first part was the truth. He did not want to discuss his visit to the prison and risk upsetting Belinda. The visit had not been satisfying like he had anticipated, but it had still provided a measure of closure. The dual perpetrators were suffering more than Pierre had imagined---and more than he would wish on anyone.

  “Okay, that’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it,” Belinda murmured distractedly.

  Pierre raised his eyebrows with concern. “What about you? How was your day?”

  “Oh, not so good,” she sighed. “I biked over to Crystal’s house today, and she told me
that she’s going to seek a divorce from Jean-Jacques.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. They seem like such a nice couple.”

  “That’s how it would seem to an outside observer, but they have a lot of problems. I can’t get into it though because Crystal confided in me and…”

  Pierre held up his hand. “You don’t have to explain. It’s none of my business why they’re getting a divorce. I’m just sorry it’s upsetting you,” he consoled, walking over to his fiancée and squeezing her hand before asking incredulously, “Did you just say you biked to her house?”

  “Well that was a delayed reaction! But, yes! I found an old bike in the garage and rode it there,” Belinda giggled before sobering and daring to ask, “By the way, whose bike is it?”

  “Well, it’s yours now!” Pierre chuckled, taking a sip of wine. “Actually, it’s Nathalie’s bike. She left it here last summer so she can go on rides with Marc and her sons when she comes over.”

  Belinda’s face glowed with pleasure. She couldn’t believe that the crazy story she had appeased herself with was actually true! It wasn’t Juliette’s bike at all, and why would it be? Juliette and Pierre had lived together in New York City, not at his house in France. Belinda shook her head, musing how easily her jealousy was aroused when it came to Pierre Cédaire.

  “So you rode Nathalie’s bike all the way into Monaco?” He probed.

  “You seem surprised! I know I’m not the most athletic woman, but you never know, now that I’ll be living in France, I might compete in the Tour de France!”

  Pierre laughed heartily and rejoined, “Should I get dinner started now?”

  “No, I can cook too, you know!”

  “By all means, you can be the chef tonight!” He happily conceded.

  “Good! I’ll stir fry some shrimp and vegetables. Keep it light.”

  “Sounds delicious. While you’re whipping up dinner, I’ll be in the living room watching TV. France is playing versus Germany tonight.”

  “Soccer?” Belinda guessed.

  “Of course!”

  “I’m going to have to convert you to a baseball fan one of these days,” she teased, pouring oil into a cast iron wok.

  “You can try, but I’m devoted to soccer. I’m a one-woman man and a one-sport man, sweetheart,” Pierre replied stubbornly before disappearing into the living room.

  The banter between them was so easy and comfortable. It already felt like they were married, and Belinda momentarily questioned the necessity of a wedding. Were it not for Marc and his need for a mother, she would be perfectly content to live with Pierre without making any changes to their legal status. Though Belinda would be hard pressed to admit it, Crystal’s sour words about marriage had shaken her up a bit.

  Leaving the meal to cook on the stove for a few minutes, Belinda went upstairs to open her laptop and write to Lenore. This time, she resolved not to ask her friend for a poem---or to ask her for anything. Instead, she would share her happy news and invite her to the wedding. She wouldn’t let Crystal’s pending divorce steal away any of the joy of marrying Pierre.

  Hi Lenore, It’s your Miss Vagabond…who’s about to settle down and become Mrs. Pierre Cédaire. Yes, Pierre proposed to me! And, sweetheart, if you only knew what we’ve been through to get to this point. I promise to fill you in on all the details in person! Anyway, we’re having the wedding sometime in the autumn. And of course, you are cordially invited. You’ll be getting the formal invitation in the mail, but I wanted to email you now so you can go buy yourself a party dress! It’s going to be a small ceremony and reception, just our close friends and family. I hope you can make it!

  Giddily, Belinda sent the email to Lenore, reflecting how this was the first truly carefree message she had shared with her friend since arriving in Europe.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After dinner, Pierre and Belinda took a walk to watch the sunset. Marc walked in between them, as he had become accustomed to doing, squeezing their hands tightly with his perpetually wet fingers. As Marc chattered happily about the fireflies in the air and the croaking of frogs from a nearby pond, Belinda listened to the boy with gratitude. The four year old was always buoyant, always voracious for life, and his attitude was contagious. The stress of wedding plans---and of Crystal’s imminent divorce---drifted far away on the breezy summer night.

  Suddenly, Marc broke free of his parents and bolted forward into a dark meadow. In the moon glow, the grass glistened and flowers appeared as neon lights. “Papa, do you think there are frogs in this meadow? I want one for a pet!” Marc squealed as he pranced through the dewy grass.

  “Oh, I don’t know Marc. Do you really want a slimy frog?” Pierre rolled his eyes humorously and turned to his fiancée.

  “They’re not slimy! They’re green and cute!” Marc asserted, combing the field for the elusive reptile.

  “The frogs wouldn’t be in the field, Marc. They would be in the pond that you can see just up ahead,” Belinda directed, pointing a finger as Marc took off.

  “Why did you tell him that? Do you really want to share our home with a frog?” Pierre asked with a groan.

  “No! But there’s no harm in him playing with them here. Maybe we could convince him to want a dog instead!” Belinda said laughingly.

  “We’re not home enough to take care of any pets!” Pierre insisted.

  Belinda simply smiled, keeping an eye on Marc as he sifted through the pond water with a stick. As a cascade of diamond-like stars shone over them and the fragrance from the flowers cooled the air, a thought suddenly dawned on her.

  “Pierre, what do you think of this meadow?”

  “Huh? Well, I’ve seen it a million times. It’s just a few blocks from our house.”

  “I know, but somehow I never noticed it before. It must look lovely in the daylight. So open and free.” Belinda inhaled the violet-tinged air.

  “It is a lovely place, I guess,” Pierre replied, still unimpressed.

  “I think we should have our wedding here!”

  “Here? In this field?” He chuckled in disbelief. “Don’t you want to have the wedding some place a little more sophisticated, like a country manor or at least a reception hall?”

  “No!” She replied adamantly. “I was telling my sister this afternoon how much I want a small, simple wedding. And we couldn’t get a simpler venue than this!”

  “I’d have to agree with you there,” Pierre drawled sarcastically.

  Belinda was momentarily crestfallen. He seemed to think her idea was stupid. Was it possible that she was marrying a man who was materialistic and high maintenance? For the first time since their engagement, she reflected how they had only met in May. Such a sliver of time gone by and here they were planning a whirlwind wedding whose vision they did not appear to share.

  “You don’t like my idea,” Belinda said sullenly.

  “That’s not true. I’m just surprised. I want to give you the best. I want people to be impressed by our wedding and see how much I love you.”

  “A fancy wedding doesn’t tell people anything about the level of love between a couple. It just gives a clue to how much their bank accounts are worth! You need to let that male pride go and remember what the wedding is really about: us. Not others. Not impressing anyone,” Belinda boldly conveyed her perspective.

  Pierre thoughtfully placed a hand on his chin. “With an inexpensive wedding, I suppose we could spend more money on a honeymoon. We could go somewhere spectacular, like Australia.”

  Belinda gasped. “Australia! I would love that! Yes, Pierre, let’s do it. Let’s get married in this meadow and have a first class honeymoon in Australia!”