The Sugar Coated Sabotage

This is a Dalton Drill murder mystery short story parody.

One

The bell above the door chimed as Dalton Drill strode into LeClair’s Chocolates, Iggy Diaz on his heels. The shop was awash with the rich aroma of cocoa and caramel, a stark contrast to the somber faces of the staff clustered around a wooden table.

A statuesque woman detached herself from the group and glided towards them, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “Bonjour, Monsieur Drill. I am Bridgette LeClair.”

Dalton shook her hand, noting her firm grip and cool composure. “My condolences for your loss, Mademoiselle LeClair.”

“Please,” she said with a fragile smile. “Call me Bridgette.”

Iggy eyed the staff, who had lapsed into uneasy silence. “When did you discover your brother’s body?”

A young man gulped. “I-I came in around eight to start the ovens. Chef was lying on the floor, shot.” His face crumpled, and a sob escaped him.

Bridgette placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, the gesture almost maternal. “There, there, Jacques. The police will find who did this terrible thing.” She turned back to Dalton, her eyes glinting with practice. “My dear brother was so loved, I fear there are many who might have wished him harm.”

Dalton studied her, noticing the calculating glint beneath the grief. His instincts hummed with suspicion, but he kept his expression neutral. “We’ll need to speak with each of you. Separately.”

Iggy gave them an apologetic smile. “Standard procedure.”

Bridgette’s smile was brittle. “But of course. Anything to help bring my brother’s killer to justice.”

Yet her knuckles were white around the handkerchief she kept twisting. Dalton glanced at Iggy, who gave a barely perceptible nod. They had found their first suspect.

Dalton and Iggy stepped outside the shop, the aroma of chocolate clinging to their clothes.

“Well, she’s hiding something,” Iggy said. “Too composed, like she was expecting us.”

“And eager to take over the business.” Dalton studied the upscale stores lining the street, his gaze landing on a lavish chocolate boutique across the road. “Belleview’s Bonbons. That must be our next stop.”

The shop was pristine, all glass and chrome and almost surgical cleanliness. A man straightened from rearranging a display of truffles, his smile too wide and eyes cold. “Victor Belleview. A pleasure to meet the city’s finest detectives.”

His attempt at charm set Dalton’s teeth on edge. “You seem to know why we’re here.”

“News travels fast on Chocolate Row.” Belleview chuckled without mirth. “Though Antoine and I were rivals, his death is still a tragedy. My condolences.”

“That’s kind of you to say.” Iggy’s tone was wry. “Especially considering your shop hasn’t been doing too well recently. Sales must be picking up now that the competition’s out of the way.”

Belleview’s smile vanished. “I won’t stand here and be insulted. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.”

He strode to the counter, effectively dismissing them. Dalton watched Belleview’s rigid back, noticing his white-knuckled grip on the countertop.

“Chatty fellow.” Iggy raised an eyebrow. “Guess we hit a nerve.”

“He couldn’t hide his satisfaction quickly enough.” Dalton headed for the door. “Antoine’s death means Belleview’s no longer the underdog. Powerful motive for murder.”

“Looks like we’ve found our second suspect.”

Dalton nodded, the familiar thrill of the hunt quickening his pulse. This case was turning out to be more complex than he’d anticipated.

Two suspects, both with means and motive. But who actually pulled the trigger?

Dalton and Iggy made their way down Chocolate Row until they arrived at ‘Cocoa Confections’. The shop was small but cozy, chocolate aromas wafting from within.

Through the window, they spotted a disheveled man arranging truffles with care. His movements were precise and practiced, revealing a true artisan’s skill. Yet there was a hardness to his features, a tension in his shoulders. This had to be Reggie Maldonado.

The door chimed as they entered. Reggie looked up, eyes narrowing at the sight of them. “We’re closed.”

“Mr. Maldonado, we’d like to ask you some questions about Antoine LeClair.” Dalton kept his tone polite but firm.

“I got nothin’ to say about that backstabbin’—” Reggie caught himself, clenching his jaw. He exhaled heavily through his nose, regarding them with unveiled dislike. “What d’you wanna know?”

“Where were you the night Antoine was murdered?” Iggy asked.

“Here, workin’ on a new truffle recipe.” Reggie snorted. “Not that I gotta alibi. I hated LeClair’s guts, no secret there. But I didn’t kill him.”

“Yet you had motive,” Dalton said. “LeClair stole your most popular recipe and used it to put you out of business.”

“So I started over!” Reggie threw up his hands. “Built this place from nothin’, worked day and night. I didn’t need to kill him. I was already gettin’ back on my feet.”

Dalton surveyed the shop, noting signs of recent renovation. “It seems you turned things around. But success often doesn’t erase resentment.”

“Think what you want.” Reggie crossed his arms. “I didn’t do it. Now are we done here?”

Iggy wandered to a bookshelf, scanning the titles. “Do you have any books on poisons? Perhaps for… research purposes?”

Reggie glowered at him. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“Very well.” Dalton handed him a card. “If you remember anything that could help our investigation, don’t hesitate to contact us.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Reggie pocketed the card and ushered them out, locking the door behind them with more force than necessary.

“Charming fellow,” Iggy remarked. “But his alibi seems solid, and he was telling the truth about rebuilding his business.”

“True.” Dalton gazed at the shopfront, lost in thought. “Yet something still doesn’t feel right…”

His eyes landed on a trash bin, and he strode over to find it filled with crumpled papers. Rifling through, he found a threatening note in angry, jagged handwriting: “Payback’s a b****. Watch your back.”

Iggy peered over his shoulder, whistling under his breath. “Well, well. Looks like our suspect just became a whole lot more suspicious.”

Dalton frowned, examining the note. “This seems too convenient. As if he wanted us to find it.”

“You think it’s a setup?” Iggy asked. “To frame himself and throw us off the real killer’s trail?”

“Possibly. We can’t rule it out yet.” Dalton tucked the note into an evidence bag. “Let’s pay Victor Belleview a visit. I want to confirm his alibi for the night of the murder.”

They found Victor in his shop, instructing his staff on tempering chocolate. He greeted them with a practiced smile, though his eyes held a flicker of annoyance. “What a pleasure. To what do I owe the visit?”

“We’re verifying alibis for the time of Antoine LeClair’s death,” Dalton said. “Where were you that evening between 7 to 9 pm?”

“At the Midwest Chocolate Tasting event, of course. I was judging the truffle competition.” Victor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Surely the organizers and attendees can vouch for my presence.”

“We’ll be contacting them to confirm.” Dalton studied him, noticing faint stains on his cuffs. “Interesting. Chocolate smears for an event you claim to have only judged?”

Victor’s jaw tightened, but his tone remained cordial. “You seem to forget I’m a chocolatier. Stains are simply part of the job.”

“My apologies.” Dalton handed him a card. “Contact us immediately if you have any additional information.”

“Of course.” Victor accepted the card with a stiff nod. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.”

They left the shop, walking in thoughtful silence. “Well?” Iggy asked. “Do you believe his alibi?”

“His story seems plausible, but something feels off.” Dalton gazed into the distance, sorting through the clues. “Let’s look into Bridgette LeClair next. I have a feeling she’s been less than forthcoming about her relationship with her dear brother.”

They arrived at LeClair’s Chocolates, now cordoned off with police tape. Bridgette emerged from the shop, dressed in a sleek Chanel suit and Louboutin heels.

“Detectives, what a surprise.” Her smile was brittle. “Have you found my brother’s killer yet?”

“We have a few leads we’re following up on,” Iggy said. “Do you have time to answer some questions?”

“Of course, if it helps bring that monster to justice.” Bridgette dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, but her mascara remained intact.

Dalton’s gaze sharpened. “You seem to be taking over the day-to-day operations of the shop. Why is that?”

“I’m simply helping out during this difficult time.” Bridgette shrugged. “The staff are distraught after Antoine’s death. Someone needs to keep the business afloat.”

“And you stand to inherit should anything happen to Antoine or the business.”

Bridgette bristled. “How dare you imply I had something to do with my brother’s death? I loved Antoine deeply, despite our differences.”

“Differences?” Iggy echoed. “What differences?”

“Antoine refused to expand the business or leverage our family’s connections.” Bridgette sighed. “He lacked ambition and vision. I urged him to diversify, perhaps even go national, but he preferred to remain small scale. It was a constant source of argument, but I still cared for him deeply.”

Dalton studied her, noting the hungry gleam in her eyes when discussing expansion plans. “Did these arguments ever turn violent?”

“Of course not!” Outrage colored Bridgette’s tone. “I may have threatened to buy him out once or twice in frustration, but I never wished him harm. How could you even suggest that?”

“Just covering all angles,” Iggy said mildly.

Dalton handed Bridgette his card. “Contact us if anything else comes to mind.”

As they left, Dalton frowned. “Two suspects with motive and opportunity, but which one is guilty?”

“If I had to guess, I’d put my money on the sister,” Iggy said. “There’s something off about her grief. It feels… rehearsed, like she’s playing a role.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Dalton quickened his stride. “Let’s dig into Bridgette LeClair’s background. I have a feeling there are secrets worth uncovering.”

Two

The bell above the door jingled as Dalton and Iggy stepped back into the rich, sweet-scented world of ‘LeClair’s Chocolates’. Rows of meticulously crafted truffles and bonbons glistened under glass countertops while the scent of melting chocolate permeated the air. The sight brought a momentary lightness to Dalton’s heart, but he reminded himself of the task at hand and squared his shoulders.

“Let’s see if we can’t dig a little deeper this time,” Dalton muttered, casting a glance at Iggy who nodded in agreement. His junior partner’s eyes sparkled with determination, though his mouth quirked up in an irrepressible grin.

“Right-o, boss.”

They approached a young woman wearing a crisp apron, her hair pulled back neatly. Dalton straightened his tie and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, miss. We’re investigating Antoine LeClair’s murder and we’d like to ask a few more questions about his relationships with Bridgette, Reggie Maldonado, and Victor Belleview.”

The woman hesitated, her eyes darting nervously around the room before she leaned in closer. “I-I don’t know much about his personal life, but I do know that Antoine was planning to change his will recently.” She lowered her voice even further, as if afraid the very walls might be listening. “And on the day he died, Victor came by for an unexpected visit.”

Dalton’s brow furrowed; the information added another layer of suspicion to their investigation. He glanced at Iggy, whose expression mirrored his own thoughts.

“Did anyone else see Victor here?” Dalton asked, his voice low and steady.

“Y-yes, a few of us did.” The staff member swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the floor. “It was strange. They argued in hushed tones near the back of the shop, and then Victor stormed out.”

“Stormed out, you say?” Iggy interjected, his eyes narrowing. “That’s very interesting. Thank you for your help.”

As the woman scurried away, Dalton’s thoughts raced. Was Antoine’s decision to change his will connected to Victor’s visit? Or was it related to the tension between him and Bridgette? And where did Reggie fit into all of this?

“Looks like we’ve got a few more leads to follow,” Dalton mused, rubbing his chin in contemplation.

“Sure does,” Iggy agreed, tugging at the brim of his fedora. “Let’s see what else these walls have to say.”

Dalton and Iggy approached Bridgette, who stood behind a gleaming glass counter, examining an array of delicate truffles with a critical eye. The scent of rich cocoa filled their nostrils as they drew closer.

“Miss LeClair,” Dalton began, his tone firm yet respectful. “I apologize for the intrusion, but we need to ask you some questions about your brother’s affairs.”

“Of course,” she replied, her voice smooth as silk, betraying no hint of surprise or irritation. “Anything to help find Antoine’s killer.” She lifted her gaze to meet theirs, her eyes cold and calculating beneath a veneer of charm.

“Can you tell us more about your involvement in the business?” Dalton continued, studying her carefully.

“Ah, mon frère was always so passionate about his chocolates,” Bridgette mused, her words laced with a saccharine nostalgia. “But lately, I’ve had to take on more responsibilities due to his… unfortunate decline.”

“Decline?” Iggy interjected, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Antoine was never one to admit weakness, but it became clear that he needed assistance,” she said, her voice measured and deliberate. “So, I stepped in to ensure that ‘LeClair’s Chocolates’ continued to thrive.”

Dalton caught a glimpse of something darker lurking beneath her polished façade. “And how would you describe your relationship with your brother during this time?”

“Business partners and siblings will always have their disagreements,” Bridgette conceded, her laugh forced and a touch too loud. “But at the end of the day, we both wanted what was best for the confectionery.”

“Right,” Iggy chimed in, scanning the room for clues. “Let’s say we believe that—” He stopped mid-sentence, the toe of his shoe catching on something hidden beneath a plush rug.

“Are you all right, Mr. Diaz?” Bridgette asked, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“Never better,” Iggy assured her, his grin widening as he lifted the rug to reveal a concealed door in the floor. “Would you look at that? A hidden room in a chocolate shop. How… intriguing.”

Dalton’s curiosity piqued, and he couldn’t help but share in Iggy’s excitement. “Miss LeClair, would you mind explaining this?”

“Ah, it is merely a storage room,” she replied, her composure unwavering. “Nothing more than a place for excess inventory.”

“Mind if we take a little peek?” Iggy asked, unable to resist the pull of unearthing new information.

“Be my guest,” Bridgette relented with a tight smile, gesturing toward the secret door. “But I assure you, there’s nothing of interest down there.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Dalton murmured to Iggy, as they prepared to descend into the unknown depths of ‘LeClair’s Chocolates.’

The dimly lit hidden room smelled of musty paper and stale air. Dalton’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, his gaze immediately drawn to a cluttered desk in the center of the room. He frowned, taking in the scattered documents and open books.

“Hey, Dalton,” Iggy called out softly, holding up a thick binder labeled ‘Rare Poisons.’ “You might wanna take a look at this.”

Dalton strode over, his keen eyes scanning the contents. The binder contained extensive information on various toxins, including the one that had killed Antoine LeClair. He shared a glance with Iggy; the weight of their discovery evident between them.

“Check this out,” Iggy continued, unrolling a map pinned to the wall. Red ink marked a recent trip to South America – the source of the poison.

“Looks like we’ve got more questions for Miss LeClair,” Dalton said, his voice low and controlled.

“Indeed,” Iggy replied with a smirk, the gravity of the situation not dampening his humor.

They ascended back into the confectionery, finding Bridgette waiting for them with feigned patience. Her eyes betrayed a flicker of panic as they approached.

“Miss LeClair,” Dalton began, his tone steely. “We found your research on rare poisons, as well as evidence of your recent trip to South America. Care to explain?”

“Ah, yes,” she said with a delicate laugh, her composure almost unnervingly intact. “I can see how that might look suspicious. You see, I have a penchant for mystery thrillers, and I’ve been working on my own novel. The research is merely for authenticity.”

“Really?” Iggy drawled skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “Quite the coincidence, considering your brother was poisoned.”

“Life does have its little ironies, doesn’t it?” Bridgette countered with a saccharine smile. “I assure you, gentlemen, my writing is purely fictional.”

“Of course,” Dalton replied, his voice betraying no emotion. He glanced at Iggy, who shrugged in response.

“Thank you for your time, Miss LeClair,” Dalton said, turning to leave. “We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.”

“Please do,” she replied, her polished facade firmly back in place. “I am, as always, eager to assist in any way I can.”

As they left the confectionery, Dalton couldn’t shake the feeling that Bridgette was hiding something. Her carefully crafted explanation had been almost too perfect, but he couldn’t find any solid evidence to prove otherwise.

“Think she’s telling the truth?” Iggy asked, echoing Dalton’s thoughts.

“Hard to say,” Dalton admitted, his gaze distant. “But one thing’s for sure – this case is far from over.”

As they approached Victor’s boutique, ‘Belleview’s Bonbons’, Dalton couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between its sleek modern design and the old-world charm of ‘LeClair’s Chocolates’. The glass doors slid open, revealing a meticulously organized interior that screamed luxury.

“Quite the place, huh?” Iggy remarked, whistling appreciatively. “You think we’ll find something here?”

“Only one way to find out,” Dalton replied, his gaze scanning the shelves lined with artfully arranged chocolates.

“Mr. Belleview,” Dalton called out as the rival chocolatier appeared from behind a counter. Victor regarded them coolly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Ah, Mr. Drill and Mr. Diaz,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “To what do I owe this… unexpected visit?”

“We’re following up on some leads,” Dalton replied evenly. “We’d like to ask you a few more questions about Antoine LeClair.”

“Very well,” Victor sighed, crossing his arms. “What is it you want to know?”

“Did you visit ‘LeClair’s Chocolates’ the day Antoine died?” Iggy asked, trying to sound casual. Victor’s face twitched, betraying a flicker of unease.

“Indeed, I did,” he admitted, clearing his throat. “I had a delivery to make – a gesture of goodwill to my esteemed competitor.”

“Interesting,” Dalton mused. As he spoke, his gaze wandered to a potted plant near the window, its leaves an unusual shade of purple. He recalled the research they’d found in Bridgette’s secret room, detailing the rare poison derived from such a plant.

“Mr. Belleview,” Dalton began, nodding towards the plant. “Would you mind telling us about that?”

“Ah, that,” Victor said, a forced smile creeping onto his face. “A souvenir from my recent trip to South America – a fascinating specimen, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Indeed,” Dalton replied, eyes narrowing. “Fascinating and potentially deadly.”

“Excuse me?” Victor sputtered, his composure slipping.

“Nothing,” Dalton dismissed, exchanging a glance with Iggy. “Just an observation.”

“Is there anything else you need?” Victor asked tersely, eager to see them gone.

“No, that’ll be all for now,” Dalton said. “We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.”

“Please do,” Victor muttered, his smile strained as he hurriedly ushered them out the door.

Once outside, Iggy leaned against the boutique’s exterior wall, his brows furrowed in thought.

“Coincidence?” he mused aloud, chewing on his lip.

“Maybe,” Dalton replied, his own thoughts turning over the strange connection between Bridgette’s research and the plant at Victor’s shop. “But I’m less inclined to believe in coincidences these days.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Iggy agreed. “So Reggie’s off the hook?”

“Hardly,” Dalton responded, shaking his head. “We still can’t discount his involvement, but Bridgette and Victor… they’re becoming increasingly suspicious.”

“Right,” Iggy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So we keep digging.”

“Exactly,” Dalton affirmed. “And eventually, the truth will come to light.”

Three

Dalton strode down the dimly lit alleyway, his boots crunching on the gravel with every step. Iggy trotted beside him, clutching a file folder stuffed with travel receipts and credit card statements.

“This is getting stranger by the minute,” Iggy said. “Bridgette visited three countries in South America over the past year, all known for that rare poison.”

Dalton grunted. His mind raced as he pieced the clues together. Bridgette’s trip couldn’t have been a coincidence. She was up to something, and he was determined to find out what.

They arrived at the back entrance of the travel agency, where a stout, balding man waited for them. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, eyes darting about nervously. Dalton placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, his grip firm.

“Relax,” Dalton said. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”

The man swallowed hard and nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Did Bridgette LeClair book her trip to South America through your agency?” Iggy asked.

“Y-yes, she did.” The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Said she wanted an ecotourism getaway. We arranged her flights and hotel bookings across Brazil, Colombia and Peru.”

“Did she visit any regions known for rare plants?” Dalton narrowed his eyes. “Particularly poisonous ones?”

The man paled. “How did you know?”

Dalton suppressed a grim smile. They had her now. Bridgette’s web of lies was unraveling, and the truth would soon come to light. She had made a grave mistake, and there was nowhere left for her to run. Justice would be served.

Dalton and Iggy left the travel agency, Iggy whistling cheerfully. “We’ve got her now, boss! This is huge.”

Dalton nodded, lost in thought. Bridgette’s trip was no coincidence. But how exactly did the poisonous plant fit into this mystery? There were still too many pieces missing.

His phone buzzed, startling him from his reverie. An unknown number flashed across the screen. Dalton frowned and answered the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

“I have information about the LeClair murder,” a gruff voice rasped. “For the right price, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Dalton’s eyes narrowed. A blackmailer. “Who is this?”

“Never you mind,” the voice said. “Meet me at the old warehouse downtown at midnight, and come alone. Or the info goes to the press.” The line went dead.

Iggy glanced at Dalton. “Everything alright?”

“We have a new lead,” Dalton said. “But we’ll have to play by this guy’s rules, at least for now.” He explained the mysterious call, his grip tightening around the steering wheel.

“A blackmailer?” Iggy whistled. “This case gets crazier by the minute.”

“He claims to have information about the murder,” Dalton said. “We need to get to him before he goes to the press. Midnight at the old warehouse. Alone.”

Iggy frowned. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? It could be a trap.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Dalton said grimly. “We need that information. I have to take the risk.”

Iggy sighed but didn’t argue further. They had hit a breakthrough, but Dalton had a feeling this was only the beginning. The blackmailer held the key to this mystery, and Dalton was determined to get the answers he needed. No matter the cost.

At midnight, Dalton stood alone in the cavernous darkness of the abandoned warehouse, the familiar weight of his gun tucked into the back of his waistband. His eyes strained to see in the gloom, searching for any signs of movement. The vast, empty space was eerily silent.

Then a floorboard creaked behind him. Dalton whirled, his hand flying to his gun–

A figure emerged from the shadows, shrouded in a dark coat and hat. “Drop your weapon, Mr. Drill.” The voice was electronically distorted. “No sudden moves, or I’ll put a bullet in you before you can even blink.”

Dalton hesitated, then slowly removed his hand from his gun and raised both arms.

“Smart man.” The figure approached, keeping a pistol trained on Dalton’s chest. “Now, ask me your questions. But choose carefully. I won’t tolerate any tricks.”

Dalton kept his face impassive. “What do you know about Antoine LeClair’s murder?”

“Plenty,” the figure said. “For starters, I know who hired me to plant false evidence and sabotage your investigation.”

“Who?” Dalton demanded. His heart raced. A break in the case–finally.

The figure chuckled, a sinister metallic rasp. “Patience. First, my price. Fifty thousand dollars, deposited into an offshore account, or I go to the press tonight.”

Dalton scowled. Blackmail, just as he suspected. “We don’t negotiate with criminals.”

“Then you’ll have nothing,” the figure said smugly. “And your case will remain unsolved.”

Dalton hesitated. He couldn’t risk this lead slipping through his fingers. But he wasn’t about to simply hand over the money, either. There had to be another way…

He took a slow breath, stalling for time as his mind raced. “How do I know your information is real?” he said, “or worth that price?”

The figure laughed again. “Because, Mr. Drill, I know who hired me. And it’s someone you would never suspect.”

Dalton’s heart nearly stopped. Someone he would never suspect…

His mind flashed through the suspects–Bridgette, Victor, the mysterious South American connection. But none of them quite fit that description. Which meant there was another player in this game, someone operating behind the scenes, invisible to his investigation so far.

He licked his lips, struggling to keep his voice level. “Then tell me. Give me a name, and some proof that what you’re saying is real.”

The figure cocked its head, as if considering. Then: “Not yet. Payment first.”

Dalton ground his teeth. He was tired of these games. Time for a new strategy.

He darted forward and kicked out, sweeping the figure’s legs. As his attacker stumbled, Dalton lunged for the gun–but too late. A shot rang out, the bullet whizzing past his ear, and the figure scrambled away into the night.

Dalton swore and gave chase, sprinting down the alleyway into the neon-lit streets beyond. His attacker was fast, vaulting over trash cans and debris with ease, but Dalton was faster. Years of training had honed his speed and reflexes. He was closing in, close enough to tackle the figure to the ground–

When his attacker suddenly whipped around, pistol flashing. Dalton dodged behind a lamp post just as another shot shattered the light above in a rain of glass. His heart pounded as he peered around the corner, but the figure had vanished into the night.

Dalton slammed a fist against the lamp post, chest heaving. So close, and yet again, his suspect had slipped through his fingers. But one thing was clear: he was getting close. Close enough that his attacker was now willing to kill to protect their secrets.

He stood in the flickering darkness, gritting his teeth. The pieces of this puzzle were finally starting to come together. And when they did, he would make sure that his suspect did not escape him again.

Four

Dalton rubbed his temples, staring at the stacks of paperwork strewn across his desk. Bank statements, phone records, witness testimony—it was all there, a tangled web of deceit woven by Bridgette LeClair.

His gut churned as he thought of confronting her. She had always seemed the picture of elegance and refinement, but beneath the designer dresses and practiced smiles was a calculating mind, one bent on greed and control.

“This is huge, boss.” Iggy shuffled through the papers, eyes bright with excitement. “Bridgette was paying off our blackmailer to plant false evidence. And look, she’s been siphoning money from LeClair’s for months. She’s clearly been planning this for a while.”

Dalton sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She won’t give up the business easily. This won’t be an open-and-shut case.”

“Are you kidding?” Iggy scoffed, cracking his knuckles. “One look at this evidence and she’ll crumble. We’ve got her dead to rights.”

“Don’t underestimate her. Desperate people do desperate things.” A nagging dread crept into Dalton’s thoughts as he considered Bridgette’s next move. She had already proven how far she was willing to go to seize control of LeClair’s. There was no telling what she might do when backed into a corner.

“So where do we want to spring the trap?” Iggy asked, dragging Dalton from his brooding thoughts. “The shop? Her home?”

Dalton shook his head, jaw tightening in determination. “Somewhere public. Witnesses will limit her options. The grand opening of the new LeClair’s Chocolates store on Navy Pier.”

“Perfect.” Iggy grinned, gathering the papers into a neat stack. “Time to end this, once and for all.”

The bustling crowd on Navy Pier swelled around them as Dalton and Iggy approached LeClair’s Chocolates. Streamers fluttered in the wind, a red ribbon stretched across the entrance. Inside, extravagant displays of chocolates and pastries glinted under spotlights while a small orchestra played.

Bridgette stood at the center of it all, greeting guests in a sleek black dress and diamonds, the picture of refined elegance. But Dalton noticed the tension in her smile, the sharpness of her gaze as it flitted through the crowd. She was wound as tight as a spring, anticipation etched into every graceful movement.

His grip tightened on the evidence folder. She wouldn’t get away with this. Not after everything she had put them through. After everything she had put Reggie through.

“There’s Reggie.” Iggy nodded towards the shop, where Reggie was arranging a tower of chocolate truffles. “And Victor’s here too. This is going to be good.”

Dalton steeled himself, marching into the fray with Iggy at his side. The crowd parted before them, whispers rippling outward as people recognized the investigators.

Bridgette’s gaze landed on them, her smile freezing into a brittle mask. Reggie glanced up, eyes widening. But Victor only watched them approach, a knowing glint in his eyes. He had never quite trusted Bridgette, always attuned to the subtleties of human nature that came with rivalry.

“What a lovely surprise.” Bridgette’s voice was syrupy sweet, at odds with the panic Dalton sensed within. “Here to celebrate the grand opening?”

“We have some questions for you.” Dalton stared her down, ignoring the curious stares of onlookers. “About Antoine’s murder.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything more than I’ve already told you.” Her composure was already cracking, the strain bleeding into her tone.

“We have evidence that says otherwise.” Iggy tapped the folder, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “Evidence of your lies, and your payments to our blackmailer. It’s over, Bridgette.”

A gasp rippled through the crowd. Bridgette’s face drained of color, her mask shattered. But when she spoke again, her voice was eerily calm.

“I think there’s been a mistake.”

Dalton tensed, ready to counter her denial—but she wasn’t looking at them anymore. Her gaze was fixed on something in the distance, and for the first time that night, her smile seemed genuinely amused.

His eyes followed her line of sight. There, helping himself to a chocolate from a display, was a slight young man with a mop of unruly red hair named Pierre.

Their blackmailer.

Dalton’s breath caught in his throat as the pieces clicked into place. They had been played, led into a trap even as they thought they were springing one.

Bridgette leaned close, her words barely more than a whisper. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have a backup plan?”

Bridgette shoved past them, knocking Iggy aside as she plunged into the crowd. Screams and shouts erupted around them as people scrambled to get out of her way.

Dalton bolted after her, shoving through the chaos. His heart pounded as he caught a glimpse of her designer coat slipping around the corner, heading towards the entrance of the pier. If she made it off the pier, they might lose her in the city streets. He couldn’t let that happen.

He burst through the entrance, scanning the area. There—a flash of red hair darting onto the Ferris wheel. His eyes swung up just in time to see Bridgette leap into one of the cars, dragging the man in after her. The wheel creaked into motion, carrying them up and away from his reach.

Dalton swore under his breath, watching as their car rose higher and higher. They were trapped, at least for the moment. But so were he and Iggy. Bridgette had the high ground now, and a hostage to boot. There was no telling what she might do in her desperation.

Iggy stumbled out of the store, clutching his bruised arm. “Did you see where she—oh.” His eyes followed Dalton’s gaze up to the Ferris wheel. “Well, isn’t this just swell.”

“We need to get them down from there,” Dalton said. “She’s unhinged, and she’s got the guy with her.”

“I’ll alert security to stop the ride.” Iggy frowned, peering up at the wheel. “Question is, what does she want? And what’s she willing to do to get it?”

An icy chill ran down Dalton’s spine. Bridgette had already proven how far she was willing to go to protect herself. She had killed her own brother to shield her lies and greed. What else might she do now, with her back to the wall and no way out?

He swallowed hard, staring up at the Ferris wheel as their car continued its slow, inexorable climb. They were about to find out.

Dalton craned his neck, watching Bridgette pace furiously inside the swaying carriage, clutching a terrified Pierre in her manicured hands.

“Let them go, Bridgette!” he shouted, hoping she could hear him over the din of the crowd. “It’s over. Give yourself up.”

She sneered down at him, the polished veneer of her composure shattered into a million pieces. “Not a chance! I won’t rot in prison for the rest of my life because of you!”

Pierre let out a shrill cry as she yanked him closer, pressing something sharp against his neck. A knife. Dalton’s heart nearly stopped in his chest.

“Stay back!” she screamed. “All of you! I’ll kill him, I swear it! You hear me?”

The crowd gasped in unison, a wave of horrified whispers rippling through the pier. Dalton exchanged a grim look with Iggy, silently weighing their options. There weren’t many, and none of them were good.

As the Ferris wheel ground to a stop, Bridgette dragged Pierre to the edge of the carriage, dangling him over the edge. “I’ll do it! Come any closer and he dies!”

Dalton held up his hands, his mind racing. They were at an impasse, and time was running out. He had to keep her talking, buy them a chance to—

A sharp crack split the air.

Bridgette’s eyes widened, a look of shock and confusion flickering across her face. Then she crumpled, collapsing to the floor of the carriage in a motionless heap, the knife tumbling from her grasp.

Pierre blinked at the scene, stunned into silence for a heartbeat—then burst into tears, clutching at Dalton as security swarmed the Ferris wheel to retrieve them.

Dalton sighed, sinking into an armchair in LeClair’s Chocolates. The familiar scent of cocoa and caramel wafted through the air, instantly transporting him back to simpler times. Times before Bridgette and her schemes had turned their lives upside down.

“Here.” Iggy pressed a glass of brandy into his hands. “You look like you could use it.”

Dalton nodded his thanks, taking a grateful sip. The amber liquid burned down his throat, dulling the ache in his bones. It had been a long day, but they’d finally uncovered the truth. Bridgette was behind bars where she belonged, and Reggie and Victor were free and clear.

“To justice,” Iggy said, raising his own glass. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And to the world’s unlikeliest heroes.”

Dalton huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll drink to that.”

Their glasses clinked, the familiarity of the ritual bringing a sense of closure. Of an ending, and a beginning.

A throat cleared behind them. They turned to find Reggie hovering in the doorway, looking sheepish. “I, uh—we wanted to thank you properly. For everything you’ve done.” He held up an ornate box with LeClair’s signature gold foil wrapping. “A gift. Our finest assortment.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Dalton began, but Reggie waved him off.

“Nonsense. It’s the least we can do.” His eyes crinkled with warmth and gratitude. “You’ve given us back our lives. Our family. We owe you more than chocolates can ever repay.”

Dalton’s throat tightened, touched by the gesture. “Just—keep making people happy. That’s repayment enough.”

“Hear, hear,” Iggy said, popping the box open. His eyes lit up at the sight of several dozen chocolates, each handcrafted to perfection. “Now, let’s see here…how about this one?”

He pulled out an oversized chocolate clown hat, plopping it onto his head with a ridiculous grin. Dalton bit back a laugh, shaking his head as Iggy offered him a classic chocolate truffle.

Some things never changed. But as Dalton savored the sweetness melting on his tongue, he realized that was perfectly fine with him. Against all odds, they’d found their happy ending.