The Olsen Residence,Virginia

The chocolates arrived shortly after 3 P.M., marked for special Saturday delivery and borne up the steps by a bouncing, brown-suited UPS man with gorgeous hazel eyes. Mary signed for the chocolates, gave the man a wink, and felt even better when he blushed. She took the plain delivery box inside and eagerly opened it. A small dark green box sat nestled in a sea of gold foil paper. Not Godiva; she didn't recognize the name on the label.

She opened the inside box, and was immediately struck by the scent of bittersweet chocolate and almonds. Twelve truffles, she saw, four rows of three. Each one dusted in cocoa powder and topped with a candied nut. Beautiful box, beautiful truffles. She wondered if PIs got the munchies.

She put the lid back on while consulting her reflection in the mirror. The dark shadows beneath her eyes were now coated with a heavy layer of makeup. A pink silk cardigan covered her bruised arms. Hot rollers had done wonders with her hair. She looked fine, better than fine, actually. She looked lovely. The perfect doctor's wife, swathed in layers of Pepto-Bismol pink.

"Here goes nothing," she told her reflection. Then she grabbed the box of chocolates and headed out the door.

True to her lovers word, she found a silver hatchback two driveways down with a well-dressed black man sitting in the front. He appeared to be studying a road map. The minute he made eye contact with Mary, however, his gaze dashed frantically from side to side. She marched right up to the driver's side and rapped on the window.

"Howdy, darlin'," he said immediately, rolling down the glass. "I was hoping someone like you would come along. I have no idea where I am and could sure use some help." He held up the wrinkled map and flashed a helpless grin. She noticed, however, that his left foot was furiously kicking something beneath the driver's seat. Probably his surveillance camera.

"I know you're a private investigator," she said.

"I'm telling you, ma'am, you get on these windy back roads and suddenly everything looks alike – "

"Especially when you're seeing the same road for the second day in a row. May I?"

She gestured to the empty passenger seat. He blanched. "Now darlin', if you could just point out the quickest way to 1-95…"

"Fine, I'll show it to you on the map." She came around the front and climbed into the car before he could utter further protest.

Inside, the air was stifling. The cloth-covered seat pressed her dress uncomfortably against her skin; the dash was warm to the touch. Belatedly, she realized that she should've brought iced tea or lemonade. God knows who'd want candy in the middle of this kind of heat. Live and learn, she thought, and resolutely held up the green-wrapped box.

"I thought you might want a snack," she said, "so I brought you something."

"Ma'am – "

"I'm not an idiot. Please don't treat me like one. And for God's sake, it's only a box of chocolates."

"Chocolates?" The investigator's voice picked up in spite of himself. He shot her another wary look, then took the box from her hands. The minute he opened it, however, the odor of chocolate and almonds overwhelmed the tiny space. Too sweet, too strong for this kind of heat. He closed up the box immediately. Even she was grateful.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said politely. "I confess I have a bit of a sweet tooth, but maybe I'll pass for now. I had a big lunch." He stuck the green-wrapped box on the dashboard. They both stared at it.

"I'm Mary Olsen," she said finally, sticking out her hand, "but then, you must know that."

The man didn't seem to know what to do. "Phil de Beers."

"You work for my husband."

"Darlin', I'm just a man having a very bad day." He sighed heavily.

"My husband doesn't like me much," Mary volunteered. "When we first met, I was a lowly waitress, and boy was I flattered to meet him. He's a world-renowned neurosurgeon, you know. He saves lives, he helps young children. I'm very proud of his job."

Phil de Beers nodded miserably.

"When he asked me to marry him," she continued, "I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. I didn't understand then, what it was he wanted. I didn't understand that he didn't like the way I dressed or talked or acted. I guess I was a little naive, Mr. de Beers. I thought my husband asked me to marry him because he loved me."

"I am so lost," de Beers said, and this time, he might have been telling the truth.

"He thinks I'm cheating on him, doesn't he?" Mary said. She turned in her seat, looking the man in the eye. "He thinks I'm sneaking around, dating other men behind his back. Why? Because he leaves me alone all the time? Because he's cut me off from my family and friends? I have no job, sir. No life, no hobbies, nothing to do but flit around some big ol' empty house waitin' for my big ol' doctor husband to come home. Or did he tell you everything?"

She let the pink silk cardigan slip from her shoulder. De Beers's gaze fell immediately to the darkening bruise. His lips tightened, a muscle twitched in his jaw. Surely he felt sorry for her now. They could be allies. She, not her husband, would win. De Beers didn't say anything, though. The silence dragged out, then grew unbearable. Mary turned away, feeling suddenly desolate and overexposed. She pulled back up her cardigan and buttoned it around her neck.

"Maybe… maybe I'll have one of those chocolates now," she said in a small voice.

He handed her the box. She took it without looking at him. And then she knew she had him.

"You must have a chocolate, too," she said briskly. "I won't feel so guilty if I'm sharing the box with you." She handed him a truffle, took one for herself, and then returned the box to the dash. He couldn't back out now. Welcome to southern courtesy. She held up her truffle. He had no choice but to do the same. "Cheers," she told him. She popped the chocolate into her mouth. A moment later, Phil de Beers reluctantly followed suit.

She steeled herself for the taste of chemicals or something related to laxatives. It never came. The chocolate was nice – soft and freshly made, melting on her tongue. It was definitely flavored, some kind of liquor maybe, mixed with dark chocolate and almonds. Not bad. She swallowed the candy down, feeling encouraged.

De Beers had also eaten his, but now he was frowning. "Who makes these?"

"They're good, aren't they? Want another?"

"It's… strong."

She nodded brightly, reaching for the box again, when she became aware of a slight burning sensation on her tongue. Her heartbeat tripled, her cheeks flushed. Suddenly, the car spun sickeningly, and she grabbed the dash for balance.

Across from her, Phil de Beers began to pant. As she watched, sweat burst from his pores. His dark eyes dilated, grew huge.

"Jesus, woman, what's in these things?"

She tried to answer, but her throat had caught on fire and she could feel moisture flecking across her face. Oh God, she was foaming at the mouth. Why? How? So dizzy. Not good. Not good.

"Hot," she whispered. "Hot…"

She fumbled for the door handle. Popped it open. And he was standing there.

No, she cried, but the word remained in her head instead of uttering from her spittle-spewed lips. She tried to wave him away with her hand. You mustn't be here. He'll see you and I already got him to eat a chocolate. Another hour, we'll be together. You'll kiss all my bruises away. You'll make me feel beautiful. Please…

Her lover didn't move, however. He was looking at her strangely. As if he'd never seen her before. As if he'd never held her in his arms or whispered sweet words of encouragement. His lips wore an icy smile. What had happened to his thick, dark hair?