Spotlight & Giveaway: The Chocolatier’s Curse by Christopher Seto

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Christopher Seto to HJ!

Hi Christopher and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, The Chocolatier’s Curse!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

I usually describe the book as a “darkly whimsical whodunit.” The book starts with Theo Chan, a socially anxious graduate student and crime-fiction fanatic, interviewing for a mysterious internship in “applied criminology.” He gets the job and ends up working for Primrose and Teebin, a pair of private detective septuagenarians with a shadowy past. For Theo’s first case, the trio travels to the Pennsylvanian town of Blue Frog Springs at the request of a chocolate company CEO who believes his business might be … cursed? From there, the situation rapidly morphs into a full-blown murder mystery featuring a small-town setting and a cast of bizarre suspects interlocked in an intricate web of secrets and lies (and frogs).
 

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

I’m quite happy with how the final line of the book turned out. I can’t quote it here without possibly spoiling some things, but I think it’s a pretty good closing. I also like my initial description of Teebin in Chapter 1:

Though he was beardless, my first impression was that of a lively garden
gnome. The portly little man beamed up at me, his beady blue eyes twinkling
behind square-framed glasses that were wedged in place beneath white, bushy
brows. His hair was also white, thin, and wispy, piled atop his head like a dollop
of cotton candy. But perhaps most striking was his outfit: a royal-purple suit over
an emerald vest and a shirt the color of faded mustard. While I was processing all
of this, he pumped my hand up and down and talked ceaselessly.

What inspired this book?

I wrote much of the book while a criminology graduate student at Penn State, which certainly influenced Theo’s academic pursuits and the setting for much of the book. I was also reading a lot of Agatha Christie at the time!
 

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

Theo is basically just a fictional version of myself. The narrative includes a lot of his inner thoughts and observations, and most of these are just the things that popped into my head when I imagined encountering the scenarios I’d written. I did it this way because I don’t have a lot of experience writing creative fiction, and I’m actually not sure how to write in a narrative voice that’s not my own! Admittedly, Theo is a lot braver (or more impulsive) than me. I certainly wouldn’t run into the woods chasing after a nightmarish clown that just jumped out of my closet.

What was your favorite scene to write?

There were a lot of fun scenes to write, but I think the interview in Chapter 10 was my favorite. Here’s a snippet:

His features were partially obscured by the tendrils of steam wafting up from his nose and mouth, and he had on large, mirrored sunglasses despite the indoor, nighttime setting. Above the glasses, a large swoop of blond hair was mistily visible. In addition to the (presumed) bloodstain on his sleeve, his white hoodie was streaked with dirt and what looked like dried tree sap.

What was the most difficult scene to write?

I think the most difficult scene to write was the one covered in Chapters 20-22, during which solutions to many of the book’s mysteries are revealed. It was tricky to figure out how to pack in all that information without the story feeling too bogged down—and I’m not sure I succeeded! Another challenge was that this whole scene takes place in a crowded room, so I needed to think about a lot of characters and how they would react at different moments. Here’s how this scene
opens:

“If I may, it will be easiest to start at the beginning.” She raised her voice and addressed the room at large. “If everyone would give me some of their time, I can promise that no one will think it wasted.” The crowd fell silent. Promising to unmask a murderer was apparently enough to pique people’s interest, even though no one had much liked the victim.

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

All my published writing before this has been for social scientific research articles, which kind of has its own (dry, technical) style. So this is a departure for me. At least, I hope readers don’t find my creative writing to be overly dry and technical! If anyone is interested, links to my research are on my website (chseto.com).

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

Hmm. This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot recently. I hope people enjoy reading it. My goal was to make a fun and interesting puzzle with a satisfying solution. Going a bit deeper than that, I hope the book is at least a little bit thought-provoking. I teach a class in which students read a lot of crime fiction, and we use that as a gateway for discussing weighty, polarizing topics—often
stuff related to society, morality, and justice. I would be absolutely delighted if this book inspired similar discussions.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

Next year, the second and third installments of Theo’s series are coming out. At the moment I’m working on the final chapters of the third one. I do plan to write more of Theo’s story at some point, but I think I might work on something else for a while first. I have an idea for a spooky, stand-alone mystery I’m excited about at the moment.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: An ebook copy of THE CHOCOLATIER’S CURSE + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice

To enter Giveaway, please share this post and leave a comment to this Q: In moral terms, who are the book’s heroes? Who are the villains? What criteria do you use to decide, and would your answers change between the first half of the book and the conclusion?

This giveaway closes 3 days from the date of this post.

Excerpt from The Chocolatier’s Curse:

The Two Detectives

It was raining hard. I stood on the sidewalk and reflected on the chain of misfortunes that had brought me to this particular time and place. Causes and effects. It’s a frequent habit of mine to consider life’s little turning points that have led up to a given circumstance.

Especially if it’s a bad one.

My therapist refers to this habit as “obsessive, overanalytical thinking” and says that it’s something I should work on.

The first turning point was my decision not to get a haircut the previous month. It is possible that if I had simply taken thirty minutes out of my day and gone to get my bangs trimmed, I would never have experienced any of the following events. Instead my bangs grew increasingly shaggy, and I did have these experiences that, incidentally, would end up keeping my therapist in business for a long time.

I was working rather frantically on my dissertation, so I did at least have (what I considered to be) a good excuse for failing to make time for professional haircare. I’d been pursuing a doctorate degree in criminology at New Barrington College, in upstate New York, for nearly four years. I had also been in a relationship with another graduate student (Susan, fifth year, political science) for about the same length of time.

Susan probably would have broken up with me even if I had gotten the haircut, but in her lengthy explanation of why we would no longer be dating, my unkempt appearance (which Susan claimed was symptomatic of a general apathy and disengagement with life outside of academia) came up several times.

“You’re always just kind of like, checked out, Theo,” Susan had said, gesturing dramatically at my face like she was trying to snap me out of a coma. “I don’t even think you’d remember to get your hair cut if I didn’t remind you. I get that you’re still processing some grief and stuff, but I just can’t do this anymore. It’s like you don’t even care about anything.”

“I care about things,” I protested weakly. “I like my research. And taking classes. And reading. Oh—and us! I care about our relationship, of course.”

I may have paused for too long before adding that last bit, because Susan stormed out shortly thereafter.

The second, related decision that led to my standing on an unfamiliar sidewalk in the pouring rain happened earlier in the semester. I had accepted a summer appointment to Susan’s research group. We would be taking a fully funded, two-month long trip to Paris to interview retired officers of the police nationale, collecting data for a transnational study of law enforcement and administration. Then came the fateful haircut conversation, and what had previously seemed like an excellent way to enjoy a romantic, European getaway quickly became an extremely awkward prospect. To be clear, I have no doubt that Susan would have been quite professional about it. She’d said as much after we broke up, and encouraged me to still come along (“because it’s a great opportunity, Theo!”). For a while I had planned to still go, but eventually the idea became simply too uncomfortable. I wished Susan safe travels and told her I had found alternative summer funding.

Unfortunately, that last part was entirely untrue. I’d like to say I lied so that she wouldn’t feel bad about the breakup, but it was probably just to save myself a little dignity. Regardless, I was left with the problem of finding a new way to support myself for three months on rather short notice.

A week later I received the email. It had been forwarded, department-wide, from the graduate school’s career office.

INTERNSHIP OPPORTUNITY, read the subject line. APPLIED CRIMINOLOGY.

The offices of Ghaust-Lee and Teebin are presently seeking a full-time summer intern. If interested, please join us for an interview, tomorrow, 8:00 a.m.

303 Carlisle Street, New Barrington, NY

I looked up the address, wondering why the offices of Ghaust-Lee and Teebin had not requested a written application or any kind of advance scheduling. Although I was able to find directions to 303 Carlisle Street, there were absolutely no online indications of what Ghaust-Lee and Teebin actually did. They had no website, no social media presence, not even a casual mention in any local news stories. According to the internet, they did not exist at all, which I found to be intriguing and ominous in equal measure.

In the end, I decided to go. If there’s one thing that can outweigh my anxiety, it’s my curiosity. So here I was, looking up at a shabby beige house nearly hidden behind a snarl of unkempt trees.

It was 7:34 a.m. I worry a lot about being late to things like this, so I always arrive early and then don’t know what to do in the meantime. In this instance, the rain ruled out my usual strategy of taking a twenty-minute walk around the block. I was about to get back in my car and wait for a more socially appropriate time to present oneself for a job interview when the door of the house swung open.

“Hah!” The speaker was a diminutive old man squinting down at me from the porch, his stubby fingers held up to his brow in a quasi-salute, shielding his face against the blowing rain. “I told her we would get somebody!” His voice was high-pitched and excited; he actually hopped up and down a bit as he spoke. “You’re here about the job, yes? Yes! Of course you are! Why else would you be standing here in the rain? Do come in!”

My enthusiastic host ushered me through the doorway while I hastily dried my glasses with the edge of my sleeve and got my first good look at him. Though he was beardless, my first impression was that of a lively garden gnome. The portly little man beamed up at me, his beady blue eyes twinkling behind square-framed glasses that were wedged in place beneath white, bushy brows. His hair was also white, thin, and wispy, piled atop his head like a dollop of cotton candy. But perhaps most striking was his outfit: a royal-purple suit over an emerald vest and a shirt the color of faded mustard. While I was processing all of this, he pumped my hand up and down and talked ceaselessly.

“Hah! I do love to be right, for a change! Rosy may be a genius, but I … I know people, that’s what I always tell her! She said no one would be here with only a day’s notice, but I told her not to worry! Hah! Philip Teebin, that’s my name, but Teebin will do fine … I always thought Philip was a bit too biblical to suit me, you see? Hah!”

He paused to take a breath, and I seized the opportunity to say, very quickly, “Nice to meet you. I’m Theo Chan.”

“Theo, eh?” Teebin squinted, seeming to evaluate how well my name suited me. Evidently he was satisfied, and continued, “Hah! Truly an honor and a pleasure to have you here, Theo. Do come upstairs and meet Rosy!”

Teebin had a distracting habit of bobbing his head up and down and shifting his weight between his feet as he spoke; it was as if I was conversing with a wind-up toy whose power of speech was inextricably linked to oscillatory motion through some internal mechanism. He also emitted short barks of squeaky laughter—hah!—with the same frequency other people might say “hmm,” “um,” or “ah.”

I followed Teebin to the stairwell, pondering when I might ask what the job actually was. We walked through an ordinary-looking living room, in which there was a shabby couch, a filing cabinet, and what might have been called a “writing nook” in the corner, complete with a rickety desk and office chair. The desk’s surface was bare except for a landline phone. Everything looked quite residential and not at all like a place of business. I briefly hesitated as Teebin led me up the stairs. Was this all some elaborate prank? Had I been unknowingly lured to the home of a murderous lunatic? I was comforted by the fact that Teebin was a very small and elderly man, one whom I felt confident I could physically incapacitate if he tried to attack me. I decided to assume, at least for the time being, that I was actually on my way to a legitimate job interview.

At the top of the stairs we stepped into a hallway lined by a few closed doors. Teebin rapped on one and called out, “Rosy, you’ll never guess what has occurred! A wonderful thing, though most improbable, according to your own prediction yesterday! Hah!”

“Based on your jubilant tone,” said a voice from inside the room as we entered, “I assume that an applicant to our last-minute posting has indeed made an appearance.”

The room was utterly devoid of furnishings except for a wooden desk in the very center. The speaker was an elderly woman seated behind the desk; she appeared to be the exact opposite of Teebin in nearly every way. She was thin and, though seated, I could tell she was also rather tall. Her silver hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and she was dressed conservatively in a dark gray suit and light gray blouse. Perhaps most striking were her spectacles; the enormous, wire-rimmed lenses looked to be at least an inch thick and magnified her dark eyes many times over. This gave her the slight appearance of a praying mantis, a resemblance that was amplified by her aura of exacting professionalism. When she spoke, the words came out slowly as if she were considering each one before allowing it to pass her lips.

“My name is Primrose Ghaust-Lee. Welcome. I do appreciate your willingness to join us, despite the inclement weather.” She stood and extended a hand toward me, her large eyes not quite focusing on mine. It was then that I noticed a thin, white cane leaning against the side of her chair. Primrose Ghaust-Lee was visually impaired.

I stepped forward and grasped her hand. “Thank you, it’s great to be here—I’m Theo Chan.”

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Theo. Please have a seat.”

Teebin wheeled in another office chair in from the hallway, and I thanked him as I sat down. He then perched on the corner of Primrose’s desk, feet dangling off the ground and the tails of his jacket fanning out behind him like the plumage of an exotic bird.

Primrose peered at me through the thick lenses of her glasses. “Did Philip explain our needs to you?”

Before I could speak, Teebin crowed, “Hah! I did not! I was so happy to have somebody show up that it completely slipped my mind!” He lightly kicked his heels into the side of the desk like an excited toddler. Primrose frowned very slightly in his direction.

“In that case,” she said. “I should explain the position.” She paused. “Teebin and I are private investigators.”

My heart leaped. I’m a bit of a crime fiction fanatic, especially when it comes to Golden Age detective stories: Sayers, Allingham, Freeman, MacDonald, Chesterton, and especially Christie. I had read all of Agatha Christie’s (more than eighty) books at least twice. My love for the genre played no small part in why I decided to get a PhD in criminology, though criminologists, of course, study criminal behavior and related institutions in general and do not typically investigate crimes, no matter what Hollywood would have us believe. For example, I could give a two-hour lecture on the various societal forces driving fluctuations in the national crime rate but wouldn’t know the first thing about how to dust for fingerprints.

Regardless, I think a part of me was hoping The Offices of Ghaust-Lee and Teebin would be something like this ever since reading the words applied criminology—but it had seemed too fantastical to be true, like a summer internship working for astronauts or exorcists or something.

Primrose was still speaking, and I forced myself to focus.

“…have been business partners for several years. However, neither of us is as young as we once were, and we presently find ourselves in need of a third associate. In particular,” Primrose gestured in the general direction of her cane—“my vision is failing rather rapidly. I presently suffer from an extreme form of nearsightedness and perceive anything beyond a few inches only as very vague shapes. This makes my occupation a bit challenging, I’m afraid.”

She didn’t sound afraid at all. On the contrary, her tone was calm and conversational.

“Should you decide to accept the position, one of your primary responsibilities would be to assist with the transcription of relevant visual information. You would also—ah, I believe you have a question?”

How she knew this, I have no idea. Perhaps she heard my intake of breath, or had my slight lean forward caused the chair to creak? Either way, I was both unsettled and impressed.

“Er—yes, I wondered … do you work primarily in New Barrington?” I wasn’t sure how to phrase my question, but I wanted to know how a couple of private detectives could possibly stay in business in a middle-of-nowhere college town where nearly every crime was nothing more than underage drinking or bicycle theft.

It was Teebin who answered. “Hah! Not once! Nothing ever happens here, of course. Every case is a bit of a road trip, eh, Rosy?”

Primrose nodded. “An excellent question, Theo. Our work often requires travel, an important consideration as you decide whether the position will be a good fit for you at this time.”

I still had a lot of questions. For one, why was their business located here if they had to leave in order to do any work? Also, how did they get any work, with exactly zero online presence? It crossed my mind that this whole situation could still be some kind of prank but, if so, it was a very strange one.

Aloud, I said, “Travel would be no trouble. I was actually going to be out of the country this summer before—before my plans changed.”

Teebin beamed at me, and Primrose gave another small nod. “Excellent. Now, ah, another question, I think?”

“Er, yes. I don’t have any experience that would qualify me for something like this.” I realized, with disappointment, that I would once again have to explain that academic criminologists spend most days sitting in front of computer screens and do not typically investigate crimes or solve dastardly murders during the course of their professional pursuits.

“No? What are your experiences? I assume you saw the list of qualifications.”

“I may have forgotten to send that to my university contact,” Teebin interjected.

Primrose closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. In that moment, she reminded me strongly of my grandmother, who had raised me from early childhood and who used to make an almost identical expression whenever I forgot to pick up my toys.

“Well, Theo, I apologize for the lack of information provided about this position. It must have seemed quite mysterious when you first saw the advertisement.”

“Yes,” I said, neglecting to add that this was very much still the case.

“Hah!” Teebin squeaked.

“In general,” Primrose continued, “we would prefer an intern with some writing and professional communication experience. As I said, one of your primary duties would be to accompany us during the course of our inquiries and take written notes. Teebin is kind enough to provide a verbal description to me, but…”

“Can’t write worth a damn,” he interrupted. He held out one of his hands, and it shook like a leaf in the wind. “Haven’t been steady for a few years now. And even before that, my handwriting was garbage. Completely illegible!”

“Following an interview,” Primrose said, “your task would be to summarize your notes into a brief report. The important thing is…”

“Rosy has a photographic memory,” Teebin interjected, sounding quite proud of his colleague. “So she will only need to see or hear it once.”

“The important thing,” she continued, as though there had been no interruption, “is to capture impressions of people and places. Philip’s spoken narratives provide relevant details and minutiae. But I have found that, occasionally, those are lacking in, ah, clarifying context.” Here, she turned to Teebin. “Not to diminish your contributions of course, Philip.”

“Not at all, Rosy,” he said graciously. “Don’t want another situation like the Watford case!”

“Indeed,” she said, a bit ominously. “Do you have any more questions, Theo?”

“What happened with the Watford case?” I blurted without pausing to think.

Primrose smiled delicately. “A story for another time, perhaps. Do you have any questions about the position? Do you feel that you would be able to perform these functions to support any investigations we undertake during the course of your employment?”

“Er, yeah. Yes. I think so.” Transcribing interviews and writing reports were actually activities I had frequently performed during grad school. Criminologists don’t usually solve murders, but they sure do write a lot.

I briefly detailed my recent activities and even mentioned once again my canceled trip to France (though neglected to say why my plans had changed). I’m used to people glazing over a bit when I talk about my research, especially after they realize I don’t spend my days profiling serial killers, but Primrose and Teebin seemed genuinely interested in my work (which had most recently consisted of a dense, statistical analysis relating municipal police budgets to local crime rates). What’s more, they seemed to agree that I was well suited to the role they had contrived for me.

“Hah! Perfect, just perfect,” Teebin said triumphantly, kicking his heels against the desk again. “I told you this would work out, Rosy!”

“Indeed.” She turned back to me. “When not involved in an active case, your responsibilities would be primarily secretarial. You would take calls on behalf of the office and do a bit of light file organization.”

I said this would be perfectly fine. To be honest, I was already imagining myself accompanying Primrose and Teebin on a whirlwind, globetrotting adventure, perfectly documenting mystifying clues and bringing down an international criminal conspiracy. It’s possible that my aforementioned passion for crime fiction somewhat colored these expectations.

“Well then, that’s settled,” Primrose said. “Welcome aboard, Theo.”

But there was one possible problem. “I’m so sorry,” I said, “but I don’t think the posting said anything about salary…?” As excited as I was about living out my detective fantasies for a whole summer, I did have actual bills to pay. And my grandma, who had spent her life running a small art gallery that barely yielded sufficient profits to cover its own exorbitant rent, had reached an age for which assisted living might soon become a necessity. I wouldn’t be able to take the job if this was one of those internships where you get “paid” in experience and a reference letter.

“Ah. I suppose that didn’t make it into the posting either?”

Teebin examined his nails and said nothing.

“I believe we had settled on three thousand.”

This wasn’t too bad for the summer. Things would be a little tight, but if I could sublet my spare room and cut my grocery budget down a bit…

“Per week,” Primrose finished.

I managed to stammer out something about how this would be quite acceptable, all the while wondering with renewed vigor if I was being pranked. At that rate, my summer earnings would easily exceed what I made during an entire academic year. I’d be able make a real start on Grandma’s retirement fund.

“Any further questions, Theo?”

I was far too distracted by the news about my enormous salary to articulate any of the many, many questions I still had about the position, but I had attended enough career prep sessions by that point in my life to know that there is a specific, correct response when a potential employer asks if you have any questions during a job interview.

“Yes,” I said automatically. “What would you say are the most important qualities for success in this role?”

There were a few moments of silence as both Primrose and Teebin seemed to give this some thought.

“We encounter all kinds of things during the course of our work,” Primrose said at last. “There is the potential to … well, to brush up against some truly terrifying aspects of human nature. The ability to conduct oneself rationally in the face of these situations, to act with clarity and not become overwhelmed by the darkness or cowed by fear—this, I believe, is the most important quality for someone in our profession.”

I made a mental note to renew my Lexapro prescription.

“Not getting carsick,” Teebin added. “I think it’s most important not to get carsick. As I mentioned, we travel a lot.”

“Right,” I said. “Thank you.”

Thus concluded the strangest job interview of my life.

I had no idea then, of course, how much stranger everything would soon become.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

If you laughed with The Thursday Murder Club, you’ll instantly love the folks at Clumindell’s chocolate factory …

Criminologists, on the whole, do not solve crimes. So Ph.D. student Theo Chan is out of his comfort zone when a pair of enigmatic private investigators hire him for what sounds like a sweet summer gig. Soon, he’s thrust into the puzzle-box world of a classic small-town whodunnit, with few sleuthing skills to rely on.

“A clown climbs up the skeleton tree; A curse on you, a plague on me.” The cryptic prophesy was discovered in Antonia Pruskain’s pocket after her mysterious death at the Clumindell Chocolate and Confectionary headquarters four years ago. Ever since, a ghostly clown has haunted the grounds, always accompanied by inexplicable deaths and disasters. Now one of Clumindell’s founders is murdered inside a locked building, and the clown is the prime suspect.

To survive his first case, Theo must reckon with an unusual murder weapon, endangered tree frogs, paranormal YouTubers, and the shadowy motives of his own employers—who may be the biggest mystery of all.

Book Links: Amazon | B&N | iTunes | Kobo | Google |
 
 

Meet the Author:

Chris earned his Ph.D. in criminology from Penn State and is presently an assistant professor at Purdue University. When not writing about fictional or non-fictional crimes, he enjoys reading, origami, and performing sleight of hand-based magic tricks. Chris lives in Indiana with his wife, daughter, three cats, and one lizard. You can connect with him on Bluesky.
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