Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 100, Nos. 4 & 5. Whole Nos. 603 & 604, October 1992

Chocolate by Leslie Meier

Leslie Meier is the author of two previous stories for EQMM and a novel entitled Mail-Order Murder, published by Viking Books. The following story was inspired by an article she saw about the potentially lethal effects of a popular sweet...

Peering anxiously around her apartment door, Minnie Mittelstadt checked the hallway to see if he was there. Since that last dreadful episode, she had decided to take no chances. If he was there, she would simply duck back into her apartment, lock and bolt the door, secure the safety chain, and wait until he was gone.

She had never been so frightened, and she was certain she was lucky to have escaped with her life. Living in the big city held plenty of terrors for a single, middle-aged woman, but Minnie had lived in the Bronx all her life and she wasn’t about to leave her pleasant cooperative apartment in the attractive neighborhood known as Riverdale.

Minnie simply took reasonable precautions to guarantee her safety, as she was doing today. She read all the advice the newspapers thoughtfully provided for single women, and carefully followed their suggestions to thwart muggers and purse snatchers. She stayed alert, she remained aware of who was around her, she carried her purse close to her body, and she only carried the cash she absolutely needed. Charge cards, or large amounts of money, she tucked securely into a dress or skirt pocket.

Minnie didn’t worry too much about being mugged; the small amount of money she usually carried could easily be replaced. The threat of violence, especially rape, was something else, however. Dear Mama had brought her up believing that a woman must save herself for marriage. She realized she had been saving herself for quite a while, as she was now retired from her job at a downtown department store, but she was determined to preserve that which was most precious to her.

Minnie never got in an elevator with a stranger, she never spoke to strange men on the street, and she always checked her peephole before opening the door. If she didn’t recognize the delivery man or the telephone man, she asked him to hold up his identification, and then she called the company and checked before allowing him to enter her apartment. Minnie didn’t believe in taking unnecessary risks. In fact, she never even went out after dark.

That’s why it was so frustrating to have this situation taking place right in her own apartment house. However could the members of the cooperative association have voted to allow that dreadful man to move in, and with a dog no less?

Minnie enjoyed the fact that the cooperative allowed pets, as she was the proud owner of a beautiful Siamese cat. King Tut was every bit as regal as his name implied, and he ruled the household with a velvet brown paw. Like all Siamese cats, Tut was stunningly attractive, sporting eight lovely chocolate-brown points: one nose, two ears, one tail, and four paws. His tail curved in a question mark, his sapphire-blue eyes were crossed, and he loved to talk. “Meeyowww,” he would yowl when Minnie returned from a shopping trip. “Where have you been and what have you brought me? I was so lonely without you,” he would complain, or so it seemed to Minnie.

Breathtakingly agile and graceful, Tut could jump to the top of the refrigerator in one perfect leap. He loved to sleep up there, soothed by the slight vibration of the motor. He also enjoyed sitting on the cushion Minnie had placed on the window sill, where he could watch people passing in the street. But most of all, he liked to nap in Minnie’s lap while she watched TV. He always began by curling up in a neat ball, sleeping like a baby while she gently stroked his silky champagne-beige tummy. Then Tut’s purr would rumble with pleasure, and Minnie would think what a lovely little boy he was.

That creature living across the hall, owned by that monster of a man, was something else entirely. Minnie didn’t really see why the association allowed dogs. They were messy and unruly, they scratched the woodwork when they jumped frantically begging for walkies, and they were noisy. Yipping, barking, and whining, that awful animal across the hall kept up a constant racket that disturbed poor Tut. And, thought Minnie with a sniff, even the best-trained dog seemed inevitably to have an accident in the hallway sooner or later.

Unpleasant as they might be, Minnie was prepared to tolerate dogs in the building if their owners were responsible. But that was not the case in 3A across the hall, as the incident last week so clearly indicated.

Minnie had been minding her own business, waiting for the elevator, with one or two bits of clothing over her arm that she was taking to the dry cleaner. Suddenly, the door of 3A had been thrown open, and the hideous beast ran out, his nails clicking furiously against the tile floor. Growling and snarling, he jumped up and began pulling at the clothes she was holding on her arm. She tried to snatch them away, but the dog bared his teeth at her and began savaging the garments. Frightened, terrified in fact, Minnie dropped her favorite skirt and cowered in the corner as the ferocious animal ripped and shredded it to bits.

“What’s going on here?” shouted a deep, masculine voice, and Minnie shrank even farther into the corner as the occupant of 3A charged down the hall. O’Connor was his name, and Minnie couldn’t help noticing he had a bristly red mustache and very large teeth, just like his apricot miniature poodle.

“I’m so sorry,” said O’Connor, hooking a leash onto the naughty dog’s collar. “Please allow me to replace your clothes,” he told a horrified Minnie. “This will never happen again, I promise you.”

“It had better not,” replied Minnie indignantly, as she scuttled down the hall to the safety of her apartment.

Since that awful day, Minnie had been living as if she were under siege. Residents of Beirut and Belfast probably took fewer precautions to guarantee their safety than Minnie did. And it was all because of him, and that dog.

When she came to think about it, as she frequently did, Minnie realized that dogs have a lot of the same unpleasant characteristics as those other threatening animals, men. Like men, dogs are noisy, unruly, and unpredictable. They often have gross and disgusting habits; dogs sniff at everything and lift their legs, men tend to spit in the street. They are both impulsive and overeager, unable to delay gratification. Their animal appetites must be satisfied immediately.

When she remembered her childhood, Minnie recalled the companionable relationship she had enjoyed with dear Mama. Mama had been an excellent housekeeper, and their apartment had always been neat as a pin, and spotlessly clean as well. Mama also practiced home economy, and took pride in carefully managing the household money. She and Minnie often had a salad, or an omelet, for dinner. Such a meal was simple to prepare, easy to clean up, and inexpensive, too.

All that would change, however, when Papa was home. He was a merchant seaman, and away for months at a time. But when he returned, the placid way of life she and her mother enjoyed was turned topsy-turvy. His boots would be thrown down carelessly in the hall, his pea jacket tossed over a chair, and the scent of cigar smoke would fill the air. No matter how they tried, she and Mama couldn’t keep the house properly tidy when Papa was home.

There were no more tasty cheese and egg meals, either. Men had to have meat, as her mother explained. The stench of cooking fat would linger in the kitchen, and Minnie would have to wash the greasy, blood-smeared plates and platters. The heavy meals would turn her stomach, but Papa loved his meat and potatoes. He also liked a bit of whiskey now and again, and would smack his lips in pleasure as he sipped the amber liquid. Often when Papa drank whiskey of an evening, Minnie would later hear strange bumps and moans coming from the room he shared with dear Mama. Minnie suspected it was a bit of a relief to Mama when Papa’s ship sank off the coast of Greenland in an icy winter storm, taking all hands down with it. Poor Papa, Mama would often sigh, stepping back to admire a cushion she had just fluffed or a picture she had straightened.

It was a few days later that Minnie found the answer to her problem. She had just settled down on the couch with a cup of tea, anticipating a peaceful hour with Better Living magazine. Tut leaped gracefully up beside her, lowering his rear legs but holding his head and chest upright and occasionally twitching his tail. He watched attentively as she turned the pages, almost as if he could read.

Leafing through the magazine, Minnie was amused to see the cat examine each page intently. She was startled when he suddenly yowled and put his paw on a page, and she was amazed to see the title of the story. “CHOCOLATE,” it said in large letters, and just below were the words, “The deadly treat for dogs.”

As she read, Minnie was astonished to learn that eating even a small amount of chocolate can cause a severe reaction in a small dog. The most dangerous, the article informed her, was baking chocolate. As little as one half ounce of baking chocolate could be life-threatening to a small dog, such as a miniature poodle, thanks to the theobromine it contained.

In addition, she was interested to read, dogs are not very discriminating eaters and will apparently wolf down large amounts of chocolate. Even more interestingly, the symptoms might not appear for several hours, she learned.

“Aren’t you the clever boy,” Minnie told Tut. Tut remained quiet, but narrowed his eyes, and lifted his chin so Minnie could stroke it. As she ran her fingers back and forth under his chin, Minnie could have sworn Tut smiled.

Giving O’Connor’s dog the fatal dose turned out to be easier than Minnie imagined. Meeting them in the hall one day, she listened patiently while O’Connor again offered his apologies and tried to pay her for the skirt.

“It’s absolutely all right,” Minnie assured him. “Just to show there are no hard feelings, let me give the dog a treat. It’s chocolate, is that all right?”

“Sure, he loves everything as long as he’s not supposed to have it.”

That gave Minnie a bit of a start, but O’Connor didn’t seem to mean anything by his comment, so she bravely offered the dog a square of baking chocolate. He seemed to enjoy it, and wagged his tail in thanks. Next time she saw O’Connor in the hallway, the dog wasn’t with him.

“Where’s your doggie?” she asked.

“He’s dead. Darnedest thing. Just had a seizure and that was it. Too bad.”

“What a shame,” commiserated Minnie.

“Actually, he was getting on, and I wasn’t all that fond of him. He was my wife’s dog and when we got divorced and she went to California, she left him with me. I always felt a little silly walking him,” confessed O’Connor.

“Really?” Minnie smiled politely.

“Yeah. So I got another dog, a real man’s dog.”

“Oh?”

“Wanna meet him? Hold on just a sec and I’ll get him.”

Minnie pushed the button for the elevator and prepared to wait. Hearing O’Connor’s door open, she turned. A huge brown-and-black hound hurtled down the hall towards her, pulling O’Connor behind him. Even though the dog was leashed, the man could just barely control it.

“This is Brutus,” panted O’Connor. “He’s a Rottweiler. A real man’s dog.”

“He’s certainly very large — I mean handsome,” stammered a horrified Minnie, as the elevator doors slid open. “I just remembered, I forgot something in my apartment. Goodbye.”

Employing great self-control, Minnie walked back down the hall. Her hands were shaking so that she had quite a struggle with the locks, but she finally gained the safety of her apartment. Once inside, she ran directly to the coffee table, and began scrabbling through the magazines, finally locating the article. Running her trembling finger down the chart so thoughtfully provided by the author, she found the listing for very large dogs, dogs weighing over seventy-five pounds.

“Oh, Tut,” she wailed. “How will I ever get that dog to eat ten jumbo candy bars?”