She entered the office with a swagger, chocolate gams on full display despite the comparatively bitter cold outside. She wore sunglasses against the glare of Alaska’s winter.

The detective looked up from his newspaper, pale and delicate behind dark glasses. “I’m closed,” he said, taking the full measure of his prospective client’s dark smooth skin and sweet smell.

But clients were hard to come by in Fairbanks, so he made no further attempts to eject her.

“I need your help,” she said. “I’m being stalked.”

“Stalked by who?” the detective said. “An ex?”

“Cadbury. NestlĂ©. Mars. All the major candymakers have a man in town looking for me.”

“Hmph,” snorted the detective. “You’re not that sweet, I can tell.”

The woman swept off her glasses. Eyes, eyelids, eyelashes…everything was the same chocolate shade as her long legs. She was a woman literally made of milky chocolate, and only cool temperatures and strategic clothing made it possible for her to walk about unchallenged. “They want the secret of my creation,” she said. “To make chocolates that dance, chocolate pets, a whole world of enslaved sentient treats. I don’t suppose you understand that, or believe me.”

The detecttive swept off his own glasses, revealing marshmallow peepers of his own. “Try me,” he said.

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