The Great Chocolate Crumble Caper

Who would ransack Clarissa’s Confectionery- the bastion of all treats sweet, salty, and savory- for the chocolate crumble secret ingredient? 

Is it Charlie Confiserie, the clumsy and doe-eyed scone connoisseur who apologizes for everything? Could it be The Saccharine Twins, Eddie and Edie, who adore apple fritters and finishing each other’s... salted caramel? How about Sister Sucrose who has a hidden stash of blueberry jelly rolls and playing cards in her office? What about the slick-talker Dr. Dean Dextrose who needs a slice of pumpkin pie before every appointment? Or is it Nya Nougat, the enigmatic millionaire who orders boxes of chocolate creme patties a day? 

Whoever it is, Detective Silas Sweetwater is on the case. 

The first person I interview is poor Clarissa at the police station away from the awful crime scene. She doesn’t need to witness the sugar that was spilled, the jelly that wasn’t filled, the misaligned sweet rolls; oh, the horror of it all. It’s enough to make your stomach sob. 

“Clarissa, when did this happen?” 

Clarissa’s breath hitches. Her store has been a Sugardale staple for seven years and she has been the literal sweetheart behind everything. A panic attack over her missing dog Peppermint deflated her original heart which had to be replaced with a rock candy replica. This robbery triggers her the way Peppermint’s disappearance does. She yanks me in for a bearhug and I stay professional as all detectives do.  

“Detective Sweetwater, it happened this morning which, strange as it is, lines up with when Peppermint vanished,” her eyes are puffy like the delicious Oxford creme puffs she makes and her bearhug grows more constricting by the minute. 

“Clarissa, I think I would be more effective at my job if my circulation wasn’t cut off,” I manage to whimper and she releases me in tears and unnecessary apologies. 

I take a moment to inhale and exhale. With a grip like that, I don’t know how anyone could rob her or survive her physical affection. Yet, here we are, crushed arms and all. 

“And you believe these six are possible suspects?” 

Clarissa scans the faces of the dossiers I slide toward her and she answers with a simple nod. 

“They’re regulars. It has to be one of them.” 

One of the regulars, huh? I can tackle this in alphabetical order or-

“Here are the timestamps of each person’s visit to my shop.”

I can interview them based on the time they visited the shop. According to the timestamps I was unaware the dossiers contained, Charlie Confiserie is the first one. By the dossier, he lives on 3323 Granola Drive and I take off before Clarissa pulls me in another one of her infamous bearhugs. 

Charlie lives in a quaint house surrounded by quaint plants and quaint furniture and when I knock on the door, he apologizes for the quaint nature of everything. I don’t plop down in any of his seats to prevent apologies but he invites me to sit at the table and I sense an apology soon. 

“What can I help you with, Detective Sweetwater? Sorry if the chair isn’t firm enough. It’s quaint though.”

“Charlie, what did you do at Clarissa’s Confectionery before it was robbed at 10 am?” 

His eyes bug-out and he scrambles to and from the kitchen with a tray of scones that nearly topples over. 

“Sorry I didn’t offer you anything and sorry I visited her shop. She makes the best scones in Sugardale.”

Charlie doesn’t meet my eyes and I struggle to meet his because they dart around the room. Only people with something to hide can’t meet someone else’s eyes. I bite into one of the scones and rise out of the seat before the dryness strikes. How can Charlie appreciate these? 

“Charlie, are you fond of Clarissa, and have you seen her dog Peppermint?”

My mouth is a desert right now but I don't want to bother him for milk, water, or anything else. He's tomato-faced enough as it is and fumbles through a response about The Saccharine Twins and Clarissa which tells me all I need to know. While his back is turned from sheer embarrassment, I yank some flowers out of a vase and dump the water down my throat. I can cross this interrogation (and scones) off my list once I make a beeline for the door. The next suspect is a pair of suspects Eddie and Edie Saccharine who live on Drury Lane. 

The apartment complex in the dossier comes across as a brick castle in person with two cats the size of tree stumps that guard the front. A syncopated whistle summons them inside and the door swings open to Eddie and Edie robed and hand in hand. Thank goodness because they looked like they could eat a pony or me at the least. 

“Welcome, Detective-” Eddie starts. 

“-Sweetwater” Edie finishes. 

“We were expecting you.” They gleam in unison. 

The synchronized answers send a chill down my back and step by hesitant step, I enter their dim place. They disrobe in an instant and skip down the dark corridor in sequined jumpsuits and bowl cuts. I sprint past them into their room and slam the door shut. None of those shadows are gonna catch me in here. 

“Afraid of the dark, Detective-” Edie starts. 

“-Sweetwater?” Eddie finishes. 

“No, I prefer areas that are more illuminated. That's all.” 

They giggle because they're strange and because they have no reason to believe I give an honest answer. Save for a bookcase and some gaudy pieces of animal-shaped furniture, there isn't much to see aside from the twins who swing open the door. I trip and fall onto the owl sofa across from them and blurt out “What did you do at Clarissa's Confectionery before it was robbed at 10 am?” 

The twins cartwheel across each other and behind me to produce a silver tray of apple fritters. 

“There were eighteen-” Eddie starts.

“-But we had the other ten.” Edie finishes. 

“And we purchased these apple fritters for our gathering we have planned later.” They gleam in unison… again. 

I'm tempted to ask whether or not this twin dynamic is an act but my body is too frozen stiff to challenge them. Instead, I ask about her dog Peppermint and they respond “maybe Sister Sucrose would know” with the tray of apple fritters outstretched. I exhale and reach for one, check it for spiders or something ominous, and eat it before the owl sofa drops me into a metal slide that shoots me back into their front yard. For some Saccharine Twins, they have an odd display of sweetness. I leap to my feet, brush myself off, and pray the convent where Sister Sucrose is had better hallway lighting. 

The convent is a former candy shop that was wrestled away from the grip of a faceless real estate developer and converted over twenty years ago into the gray and modest building now. When I step to the door, my phone buzzes and Clarissa calls in a harried tone. 

“Have you found out who did it or where Peppermint is?” 

She interjects whenever I open my mouth or make a noise that resembles the English language. And right as I am about to explain myself, the door creaks open and a woman in a habit who reaches my waist snatches my phone shut. 

“You must be Detective Sweetwater. I'm Sister Sucrose. Humble yourself in here,” she states and leads me past other sisters who gawk at me for a few seconds through a dim-lit hallway into an office that screams “humble” in a dingy brown that might spread throughout the building. The same dingy brown of worn plain donuts that end up in Clarissa's dumpster. 

“Sister Sucrose, what did you do at Clarissa's Confectionery before it was robbed at 10 am?” 

She invites me to sit and once I do, a box of blueberry jelly rolls and playing cards drop on her table and startle me. In an instant, her mood shifts, and I don't know whether she is a secret poker master and jelly roll enthusiast or a sister who has lost her mind. Either way, I'm about to hear an interesting response. 

“I offered Clarissa a quick game of old maid once she handed me the usual fresh blueberry jelly rolls,” she wafts the smell throughout her office and as the blueberry hits my nose, the cards are cut, shuffled, and divided between us. 

“Old maid, detective?” 

“I don't know how to play but I know that Clarissa is missing her dog Peppermint as well.” 

“I'll teach you of course and oh her poor baby, Peppermint. Maybe that sinful Dr. Dean Dextrose knows something about her. He isn't a fan of dogs or sensible desserts.” 

Sister Sucrose explains the game while we bite into a few of the blueberry jelly rolls and someone knocks on the door. We trade bug-eyed looks as she slams the box shut with the playing cards inside it, lifts the window open, and composes herself as I tumble out of it. My phone flies out the window and into my hands while another sister asks about the scent of blueberries and musk. Sorry about the cologne, sister. 

Oh crap. I scramble to call back Clarissa and explain away from the convent that no one has seen Peppermint and no one so far robbed the confectionery. The response is an exhausted “of course no one wants to be the thief when it's time to investigate” but she believes them. 

“The next one is Dr. Dextrose and his office is only a few doors down.” 

“Peppermint isn't a few doors down but visit the doctor. Maybe he'll have answers.” 

The call ends and I didn't bother to ask how she has my number. I don't bother to do much but stroll up the street and ponder what any of these randoms have in common besides a shared interest in Clarissa's sweets. She doesn't panic but Peppermint’s disappearance doesn't set her at ease and neither does this doctor who maintains a wide grin at the front door. There are no patients or receptionists, at least none with flesh. All of these cardboard cutout people occupy a kaleidoscopic lobby and a doctor who leads me to his office with a worm-like dance and a slice of pumpkin pie. 

“I'm allergic to pumpkin and I'd rather get straight to business, Dr. Dextrose. What did you do at Clarissa's Confectionery before it was robbed at 10 am?”

I'm not allergic to pumpkin but as much as he jabs the slice of pie in my face to an invisible rhythm, I may as well be. He twirls away from me and slides the whole slice down his throat. I wish I shut my eyes at that moment or turned away in the moment but then, I'd be subject to the painful assault of colors in his office. 

“I danced in there for pumpkin pie and danced right back because patients can be impatient if you catch my drift, Detective,” he chuckles in a singsong voice and I wish I didn't hear that either. 

One more question and I can rush out of here. 

“Have you seen her dog Peppermint?” 

The issue comes when he blocks my path with his wiggles and jiggles. He swings around with pumpkin pie and I duck for the door. I grab the knob and his legs trap my arm. At this moment, I hate my job. 

“Can I take that as a no and leave, Dr. Dextrose?” 

“Without a slice of pie?” 

“I don't want any pumpkin pie, not in the sky, not with a tie, not with any truth or lie.” 

After a few minutes of an exhaustive back and forth with a rhyme scheme I failed to maintain, Dr. Dextrose eases up at long last. 

“Peppermint maybe with that naughty Nya Nougat,” he sighs in a disjointed singsong voice and there has to be an off button to this guy. I'd have a slice of pumpkin pie if it would silence him. 

Good for me, Nya Nougat lives at the Nougat Manor seven houses away and I slip out before Dr. Dextrose revisits his pumpkin pie offer. 

Here goes Clarissa again. 

“Each person I interviewed/interrogated passed the blame off to someone else with Peppermint's whereabouts and pointed out how they only came into your shop for their favorite sweets.” 

Clarissa screams and my ears ring while I drag myself up the street and as if on cue, my stomach growls in the intercom at the gates of the Nougat Manor. 

“I hope you have good news when I call back, Sweetwater.” 

Oh, I'm not Detective now? Guess I don't get any more bearhugs which is a massive relief. This is the first time in my life where someone's disappointment in my actions brings a positive outcome. 

I hold the button on the intercom and ask for Nya who delivers a dry “I heard your stomach growl. Come inside and indulge yourself, Detective.” 

The gates, that stand two feet taller than me, retract and I make small strides toward the manor. The topiaries are shaped like various chocolates and the gardeners prance around with hedges which have to be hazardous and a massive fountain spouts chocolate in the middle of the labyrinthine space that leads to the front door which has to be delicious. Nya answers the door in a two-piece suit except it's a clone because she doesn't have the disaffected voice and Nya is antisocial. The lobby resembles a gigantic chocolate creme patty from the floors to the ceiling and the escalator that slides me up to Nya’s room which is in the shape of a chocolate bar. “Extravagant” doesn't begin to describe all of this, not when I pass through into the chocolate castle-inspired room or when Nya responds via a series of screens that surround all four walls in a chocolate lavender robe and that trademark “I don't like people” dark shades. 

“Detective, I can imagine the blame train extended on the track and arrived at my doorstep because no one wants to be in the wrong. I imagine as well that you failed to ask anyone about the missing chocolate crumble secret ingredient.” 

I am stumped because her overindulgence stops me in my tracks and then, she makes a valid point. I questioned the other suspects about Peppermint and what they did before Clarissa was robbed but didn't ask about the secret ingredient. My stomach growls and two of Nya's chefs enter with a chocolate creme French roll whatever that is. As I sink my teeth into the role, she clears her throat and pulls up footage of the confectionery cameras. The fact that she keeps tabs on the shop is strange but her information can prove valuable here. 

“Let's run through the timestamps, shall we, Detective? Use the napkin provided, please, and thank you. 

Poor table manners of my youth come back to bite me. 

“Clarissa’s Confectionery opens at 8:00 am which was when my rank and file bought up all the chocolate creme patties. At 8:30 am, Charlie Confiserie, a sophomore college student, bought as many scones as minimum wage can afford. At 9:00 am, the less wealthy Saccharine Twins who inhabit the Muffin Man’s former home, popped in for apple fritters. At 9:30 am, the sacrilegious eater Sister Sucrose, bought several apple fritters and prayed for forgiveness. At 10:00 am, Dr. Dextrose arrived for pumpkin pie when he noticed the store was a mess.” 

That leaves the others between 8 and 10 am to commit the chocolate crumble crime. 

“None of them enjoy chocolate crumble. Why would any of them want to steal the secret ingredient?” 

Nya claps and Peppermint scurries in the room with the chocolate crumble secret ingredient. I can't believe it. Nya must have used Peppermint to swipe the ingredient as much as she adores chocolate. 

“You may assume that I used Peppermint to swipe the ingredient since I adore chocolate but Peppermint was in the corner behind the register from 8 am to 9:30 am which was when Clarissa was in the front of the store.” 

I'm confused. If Peppermint was there for an hour and a half, how was the store wrecked and the secret ingredient stolen? 

“Have you considered Clarissa as a suspect? Isn't there a reason she suspected us of thievery?” 

“You think Clarissa framed all of you?” 

Nya pauses and then grins but it's a half-grin since some of her robes obscures her face. My stomach gurgles when she's about to voice her verdict. 

“Are you by any chance allergic to creme filling?” 

I sprint out the door to the bathroom but since I don't know where it is, I turn every knob that opens to different rooms, some of which hold a few chocolate scenarios that shouldn't be viewed by sensible human beings. 

“There's a bathroom in my room, Detective and it funnels out unpleasant scents. I know how some people like you can be when they have to go.” 

While I handle my business, I hear sweet orchestra music blare in the bathroom. That could be to cover the release of my internal warfare, one could say. 

“Nya, what happened between 9:30 and 10?” 

The orchestra music dies down when I'm finished and I am finished. When I step back into her bedroom, the screens show each of the others destroy parts of the confectionery directed by Clarissa herself. Then before 10, she whispers something to Peppermint, slips the secret ingredient in his mouth, and sends him out of the door. I snatch up my phone and call Clarissa. 

“Clarissa, why try to frame the others for the robbery?” 

“It was a harmless joke, I swear, Detective.” 

“Oh, Clarissa!” 

All of the “suspects” gather with "Detective Sweetwater" in “Nya's room” and bow in front of a live studio audience.