Death By Chocolate

The lights in the room had almost all been turned off, which was an odd sight to Detective John Moore.

In the corner of the room was a small nightstand, with a lamp supplying the only amount of light in the entire room, and a few items John fond peculiar.

An envelope. A plate with a fork. A glass of wine. A piece of chocolate cake, uneaten, marked with a single, blue M.

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Two weeks ago, John's case load had been at an all time low, which was unusual during the summer months. Having just finished his most recent case involving a breaking and entering, which was relatively open-shut, John sat at his desk signing off paperwork and getting it ready to send to the appropriate departments for finalization.

With the paperwork submitted, John did a final round through all the cubicles to make sure there were no more items of concern that he needed to address, then walked out of the precinct into the summer afternoon to tackle his list of errands.

The regular flow of streetcars and cyclists whirred down the street, the usual smells of street vendor food filled the air, and the milieu of people going about their days granted John some slight reprieve, albeit meaningless to a large degree. He had become fond of people watching over the years of analyzing criminal behavior, and made a plan to engage in some once his errands were taken care of.

*********************************

In two hours, he had finished his shopping spree and found himself on a bench in front of the precinct. On normal busy days, this was an activity he enjoyed, as it served as a break from the more serious analyzing he typically had to do. Today however, it only took a half an hour before he found himself to be bored of people watching as well.

There was the occasional street wanderer who passed by and offered John a smile, a "howdy," or a pleasantry of some sort, but other than that, nothing notable. John stood up and went back inside, hoping to find some new project waiting for him to ease his mind of his growing boredom.

John returned to his desk and pulled out his laptop from his bag. As the laptop came free of the bag, a tri-folded piece of paper fell to ground, one John had not seen there, and had no recollection putting there himself.

John picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it on his desk.

"To JM

The Dining Room

Friday, June 21st, 33 Main St, Rm 4. 7Pm

Come alone."

Friday, June 21st was in one week.

It was also John's 17th wedding anniversary.

Where did this come from?

John wracked his mind for any instance when his bag wasn't in his possession, coming up with nothing. And of course, there were times in which he wasn't specifically watching his bag, but past experiences with stolen items from the bag, and the bag itself, had left John relatively vigilant when it came to the whereabouts of his bag.

John was certain it wasn't there at the beginning of the day, and especially certain his wife wouldn't have put it there. Marie never went into his things, she never had any reason to. They had spent the past 17 years in what John felt to be a good, positive marriage. With various spots of disagreement here and there, the two had managed to navigate the rough waters of marriage relatively well, and John believed Marie to be very much on his level in terms of intellect and ability.

"What's that?"

It was John's long-time partner, Mack, who had noticed John grimacing at the note.

"Oh nothing," said John, "Just a note I found in my bag. Any idea how this got there?"

John showed the note to Mack who read it quickly.

"John," Mack said with a chuckle, "It was probably Marie, your anniversary is next week right?"

"Yeah, yeah it is," John smiled. "You're probably right. I guess I'm just overthinking this. Thanks, Mack."

"You got it, Sarge!" Mack said with a twinkle in his eye.

John shook his head. "Hey, not yet Mack, my promotion hasn't gone through yet, you know that!"

"Yeah, I'm just playing with you, pal. Just promise you'll share some of your pay raise with me everyone once in a while, considering how much of your success is from me helping you out!"

John laughed. "Whatever you say, Mack, whatever you say!"

John put the note back in his bag and tried to force his curiosity out of his mind. Come alone felt a little ominous for Marie, but then again, it was just playful enough to pique his interest, which Marie would know better than anyone.

***********************************************

"What's on your mind?"

John had been lost in thought for most of the night, and evidently Marie had noticed.

"Oh, not much really. Just work really."

Marie raised an eyebrow. "You don't normally spend this much time thinking about work, are you sure it's not something else?"

John had certainly been thinking of something else--the note, to be exact. If Mack was right, and the note was from Marie, then John would have to be careful about what he revealed to Marie about his suspicions. Not only was this a game of sorts, but there also was a sort of rule he had to follow. If this was Marie's surprise for him, he had to honor that surprise by not prying too hard and allowing it to be the surprise she intended.

The only problem was, on the chance that it wasn't Marie's note, John risked attending a meeting with someone other than his wife on their anniversary, which could be even worse for him than ruining the surprise. It might even end in some sort of casualty on his part--John had seen too many cases involving notes such as this, and almost none of them ended well.

John cursed his detective brain. It was over thinking like this which was to blame for how ordinary the past few anniversaries were. John planned a good night every year, but The Dining Room was never on his radar, it struck him as something that Marie might consider a sign that he was trying too hard. She had reminded him many times in the past that he needed to relax more than he allowed himself to, and for the most part she was correct.

"I've just been thinking about next week, and how I am excited to celebrate our 17th anniversary."

It was the perfect response. Marie's answer would either prove her innocence or elicit some hesitation that would let John know if she was behind the cryptic note.

"That's what you've been burning a hole through the wall for this whole time?"

"Well, I guess I'm just nervous, you know? We've spent the last few years just staying in and watching a movie. I don't want our anniversaries to start feeling like a normal day, you know?"

"I've always loved our stay-in anniversaries though. Just me and you, no one else to distract, and the freedom to end dinner whenever we want to."

"That is definitely true, those are nice perks! I just want you to always feel special to me, Marie."

"Oh don't worry, I've got a feeling that after next week you won't have to worry about that so much!"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Marie shot John a devious look with a playful smirk.

"You leave the worrying to me, John, trust me. Next Friday is going to one for the books!"

Marie left, and John followed her up to the bedroom. He was pretty satisfied with the idea that the note was from Marie after all.

*************************************

John arrived first, as expected, just before 6:30pm. He and Marie had agreed to come separately as they were coming from different parts of town around rush hour. John had spent all day planning what he would do with his free time--different poses he could assume on the bed in the room, various pick up lines he could say when Marie entered the room, maybe even ordering certain food to be ready for her when she arrived.

John signed in at the front desk where the hostess gave him the key to the room. Making his way to Room 4, John felt a twinge of nerves that made him shiver.

That's odd, he thought, I don't usually get this feeling unless something isn't right in an investigation.

John shook himself free of the nerves as best as he could and continued to the room.

You need to relax, John. He could hear Marie saying it in his mind.

John entered the room and closed the door behind him.

**************************************

The lights in the room had almost all been turned off, which was an odd sight to Detective John Moore. He had expected some ambience, but this was a little too dark for him.

The lamp on the nightstand captured his attention instantly.

An envelope, labeled JOHN. A glass of wine. A plate with a fork, and on it, a piece of chocolate cake, uneaten, marked with a single, blue M.

John walked to the nightstand and picked up the envelope.

"Hello John," it read, "I hope you have enjoyed your day so far, as it may very well be your last. By now, you ought to be in this room alone, with the door shut. If so, please know that the door is locked and you cannot use it to escape.

Please know as well that the only way to exit this room is to either choose to consume the cake or the wine. Failure to do so will result in the extermination of your wife, Marie, who is currently waiting for you in a room we directed her to go to in the note we provided her with.

John--it is imperative that you choose well and with speed. The fate of your evening and your wife are dependent on it. Best of luck."

This is a joke, thought John. He tried the door--it was locked. After several minutes of feverishly trying to open it, John gave up and began pacing around the room.

The note wasn't from Marie.

John steadied his breathing and began to think. He had seen cases similar to this, but not quite like this at all. Still, the answer had to be simple. If there was any chance it was Marie playing a game, the wine was an easy choice. Marie also happened to love chocolate cake.

Then again, if it wasn't Marie, then perhaps the anonymous culprit had hidden a key of some sort in the cake.

John steadied himself once more. If it was Marie and he picked wrong, he could deal with that. If it wasn't, and Marie's life was on the line, it would be best to act in her best interest. John took a deep breath and reached for the cake.

********************************************************

When the coroner finished his inspection of deceased Detective John Moore, Marie was a mess of tears.

"And you have no idea how he passed away, ma'am?"

"No, I swear, I arrived late because of traffic, he was...gone... when I got there," she said through sniffles.

"Did he have any allergies that you know of?"

Marie shook her head.

"Just peculiar, I say."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Well," said the coroner, "I have found nothing in his stomach but a single piece of cake. So as far as I can see, the evidence is pointing to death by chocolate."

"Of all the ways to die..." Detective Mack had come to escort Marie out of the room. The two left together quickly without a word.

But the inspection wasn't complete, for no one found the note or the letter left for John that night. Nor would they ever, if Marie had any say.

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