Author's note: Sorry about the delay, all - been sick this week. But don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this story!

In a London hotel room, two cell phones rang. Grissom answered one, while Catherine answered the other. It was nine in the morning, local time.

"Grissom."

"Willows."

"You have a suspect in the bombing? Good! I'm glad to hear that."

"Mr. Wonka wants to do a follow-up interview? When?"

"A suspect in the Bucket killing? What does that have to do with—"

"Right now? Well, it'll take us a bit to get there…"

"Our neck of the woods? Should we be on the lookout for somebody?"

"Well, yes, of course we'll be there as soon as… what?"

There was a pause, before both CSIs blurted out the same phrase:

"Violet Beauregard's mom?"

They exchanged a glance.

"Brass, can I call you back?"

"Doris, we'll be right over."

Two thumbs stabbed two END buttons on two cell phones.

It was clear to even Doris that Brenda Teavee had been dragged kicking and screaming into middle age, along with her army of Botox, hair dye (guaranteed to cover greys), breast implants, and chemical peels. She looked youthful, to be sure, but about as biodegradable as a Barbie doll. She knew her current husband didn't much care – after the shock of divorce he'd clung to any life raft he found, and she made sure he found her.

She stood by the trompe l'oeil door at the end of the hall while Doris finished her phone call and made her way down the long metal passage towards the Chocolate Room. Of course that freak Wonka had sounded quite eager to learn what news she had on Charlie's murder – and she knew exactly who the culprit was. She resisted the urge to check the contents of her purse one more time as Doris drew level with her and unlocked the door. The door swung open, and Doris motioned her into the sugary garden.

Wonka was already there, sitting on a giant pink mushroom and swinging his legs like an excited child.

"Hello!" he chirped as he hopped down.

"I'm glad you remember me," Brenda said smoothly.

"Actually, I don't," he responded blithely, with a wave of his hand, "But Charlie said I had to have some visitors sometimes."

"Oh, good," she said, "And funny you should mention Charlie…"

"Oh, yes, he was such a delightful young man, wasn't he? Always minded his P's and Q's and all the other letters he knew. Chocolate in his soul, the Loompas always said, nicest person I ever thought I might ever meet…" As he talked, he hop-scotched along a path of candy flagstones whose path circled around behind Brenda. She turned to keep him in sight, knowing full well how unpredictable he could be. "Which of course, brings me to the bigbigbig question of the day, the one that everyone in the world wants to know the answer to, but especially me, and I know you're the only one in the whole wide world who can give me that answer, because you're the only one who knows."

"And what question is that, Willy Wonka?"

He stopped dead in the middle of his capering and turned sharply on his heel, fixing her with a purple stare. It was intense and every bit as focused as he had been apparently unfocused before. "… why?"

"Why what?" she asked, confused by the nebulous query.

"Why did you kill him?"

Grissom and Catherine elected not to wait for their police escort to show up. Grissom was currently navigating the treacherous London traffic en route to the factory, which even now loomed maddeningly ever closer as they wended towards it. Catherine wasn't sure she could have made the transition from right-handed driving to left-handed driving on the fly – but Grissom seemed to manage with no mental hiccups. Catherine could only hope they would get there in time…

"…What?" Mrs Teavee asked, stunned.

"Think about it, really. Braining my assistant isn't very subtle. And whatever else Veruca is, she's learned how to be subtle. You, on the other hand…" Wonka smiled, "You're a Shock Tart to her Banana Laffy Taffy."

Mrs. Teavee frowned.

"And I just bet you kept the murder weapon, didn't you? Little trophy, little sense of justice, little creepy thoughts of getting me as well?"

"Assuming what you say is true – and I'm not conceding it is—"

"Yet," Wonka grinned.

"AT ALL," Mrs. Teavee corrected him, "You still have to prove it. Veruca isn't the only one who's in tight with her lawyers… and she hated him more than I did."

"But then this wasn't about him, was it? Nope, never ever ever about him, not one little bit. I mean, maybe the part in Vegas, but like everyone, he was just a means to an end. A tool. To ruin me. Are you still mad about… oh, what was her name? Little short person…"

"My daughter, Violet!"

"Is that who that was? I can never remember names and faces – I heard she's doing very well for herself, though."

"She's a circus freak!"

"Acrobat, I heard. Very popular, very talented…"

"She's BLUE, you sugary freak!" Mrs. Teavee reached into her handbag.

"Uh, a word of warning, if I may… right now you are in my candy garden, surrounded by lots of people who love me. Incidentally, they like me as much as they don't like you. So would you do me a HUGE favor and consider your next moments carefully? I don't want anyone to get hurt, you know." He clicked his tongue chidingly. "There you go, not being subtle again. Honestly…"

The gates were open by the time the investigators arrived, so after a quick glance around for any immediate danger they headed right up to the main doors. Grissom raised his fist to knock, but before he made contact the door was snatched open from within.

At first it appeared that the door had simply opened itself, until the CSIs heard a throat being cleared at just below knee level. They looked down and saw Doris gesturing impatiently.

"Okay," Grissom said, "Where are they?"

She beckoned one last time and darted down the steel corridor, so quickly that Catherine and Grissom had to follow at a fast jog. Catherine knew what was coming up, but she could understand her partner's confusion as they reached the far end and he glanced down at the tiny door that Doris was starting to unlock.

"Why's the door so—" he began, only to be cut off abruptly by a reverberating pop.

"Gunshot," Catherine identified even as her heart leapt into her throat, "But it shouldn't be echoing like that. There's no room…"

"And the echoes aren't dying away," Grissom concurred, as a satisfying click indicated that the door was unlocked. The wall swung into the Chocolate room, and the investigators were confronted with an astonishing sight.

Mrs Teavee had a small revolver gripped in both hands, pointed at Wonka in a perfect firing stance. Wonka stood several yards away, half-leaning as though preparing to dive away, one hand outstretched. From the outstretched hand, wispy tendrils of what appeared to be purplish fire licked outward towards Mrs. Teavee, mushrooming out as they collided gently with a small bullet that was even now still creeping towards the candymaker.

"Oh my god," Catherine said, sensing Grissom's mind trying frantically to justify the tableau.

An eyeblink later, Wonka dove to one side, and instantly the bullet resumed its normal trajectory, impacting harmlessly against a tree that promptly started leaking pink syrup. In a heartbeat, it appeared that the garden itself came to Wonka's defense, as a cluster of creeper vines whipped out and around Mrs. Teavee's ankles, fouling her up as she tried to draw a bead on Wonka again. She lost her balance and fell prone onto the mint-green lawn, fighting and struggling as the vines quickly coiled their efficient way up her legs and around her torso.

Wonka, meanwhile, was sitting giggling madly as though he had not just literally dodged a bullet, clapping his hands in pure childlike glee as his would-be murderer was cocooned.

"Oh, isn't that just delightful?" he chirped as he stood up, "You have no idea how long I had to look to find those – but it was worth it, every bit of it. Oh, she'll be fine as soon as she stops struggling…" He glanced down at her. "… which might not happen for a while… Doris! You've brought guests! Welcome back!" He flashed his mouthful of Chiclet teeth at the two investigators as he walked up to greet them, then he noticed Grissom's expression with a hint of concern. "I'm sorry, but if you have a question you need to raise your hand and wait to be called on."

"What just happ—" Catherine started.

"YOU DIDN'T RAISE YOUR HAND!" Wonka interrupted, pointing the head of his walking stick at her.

Then his shoulder exploded.

The force of the shot spun him 180 degrees, with a slightly baffled expression on his face, until his crossed ankles buckled underneath him and he folded onto the turf. Beyond him, Oompa Loompas swarmed out of the underbrush and dog-piled Mrs. Teavee, wrenching the gun from her fingers.

Catherine knelt by the fallen candymaker. His shoulder was bleeding freely, and she applied pressure with her bare hands to try to slow the flow.

"I'm not getting any reception in here!" Grissom said, "Doris, call an ambulance!" The diminutive receptionist hesitated, clearly reluctant to bring Outsiders into the factory. "Mr. Wonka's been shot! He needs a doctor, do you understand?" Finally she nodded and beckoned for him to follow. He trailed after he as she darted away.

"'s not their fault," Wonka said, almost dreamily, "They never really understood guns… and I never had the heart to teach them. Guns never made anyone happy…"

"Don't try to talk," Catherine said, as he bled over her hands. She glanced up at the nearest Loompa. "I can't stop the bleeding. I need a dressing, some sort of wadding, something I can put in the wound – God, can you even understand me?"

The Loompa saluted, nodded, and started shinning up a tree. A few moments later he whistled and tossed down a pink fruit. She caught it, puzzled. Another Loompa on the ground mimed hitting it against the ground. She did so, and the fruit split open to reveal a taffylike pulp. The Loompa on the ground nodded and pantomimed. Catherine smeared the taffy-pulp into the gunshot wound and pressed on it, hoping for the best.

"Ow. You know, I swear, that woman has no idea how much it's going to cost to have this coat repaired," Wonka rambled aimlessly in the same dreamy tone, "This is real velvet, you know. And the cleaning bill is going to be absolutely outrageous…"

"Mr. Wonka, she shot you," Catherine said, concerned that he didn't seemed to be concerned.

"Oh, is that what that was? It's understandable, I guess, considering her state of mind. Not that I'd want to do it again, of course. She still blames me for her daughter. Not my fault, I told the girl not to chew that gum."

"Mr. Wonka, please…"

"And Violet seemed perfectly happy when she left anyway. Oh well, showbiz moms these days…"

Catherine became aware of unusual activity under her hands. She moved them a fraction, and saw the taffy was glowing. Her eyes widened.

"Keep up the pressure, Catherine," Wonka said, "It's doing exactly what it's supposed to." He looked up at her, and his eyes looked considerably clearer than she would have expected, considering the circumstances. He reached up with his uninjured arm and gently pressed her hands back into place. "Just a few more seconds."

"That's right, the Chocolate Factory," Grissom said into the landline phone Doris had offered him, "Police and paramedics. No, I don't think we need the fire department. Look – someone shot Willy Wonka. No, I'm not kidding. Yes, we know who. She's… being detained. Just hurry up. The gates should be open." He hung up.

"Gil, I think you should come see this," he heard Catherine call from the far end of the corridor. As he headed back towards the Chocolate Room, he saw Wonka sit up, then grimace and clutch at his chest over his collarbone.

"Mr. Wonka, you shouldn't try to move. An ambulance is on the way to take care of…" He trailed off when Wonka lowered his hand. The ragged holes in his suit were still there, both at the front and the back, as was the bloodstain where the exit wound had been… but where the wounds had been – where Grissom saw the bullet pass through – he saw only patches of shocking pink skin, slightly shiny but otherwise unharmed.

"An ambulance is coming?" Wonka asked brightly, "Good – I think I might have a broken collarbone. And the taffy probably won't hold for very long but that's okay because you have an ambulance coming, right?"

"Taffy?" Grissom asked numbly.

"Oh yes," Wonka replied as he got gingerly to his feet. Beyond him, Mrs. Teavee was entirely mummified in the mysteriously aggressive creepers, which created a bizarrely tapered shape like a giant green marijuana joint, albeit one that was wiggling and grunting angrily. "It's a shame all this had to happen you know…"

"Did you know this was going to happen?" Catherine asked.

"Of course I did. It doesn't take a whole lot of deduction to see the pattern – first my apprentice, then the store, and then me. Obviously someone wanted to break me first. And this was clearly personal – that's how I knew it wasn't Veruca. For all her hissyfits and tantrums, she'd learned how to keep business separate from personal. But Mrs. B… with her, everything was personal. She thought she could curry favor by flirting with me during the Tour – THAT creeped me out a bit, but never mind that. Then, after her daughter got her final reward you should have SEEN the look she gave me! My gosh, you would have thought I'd done something horrible!"

"So you took precautions to protect yourself?" Grissom asked, starting to regain his equilibrium.

Wonka nodded, then added sadly, "It's just a shame about Charlie… he was coming along so well – I really thought he'd be able to inherit the Factory. But now he's gone and I'm too old to hold another Tour to find a new heir. Besides, young people today just don't appreciate the merits of truly good candy. It's all video games and cell phones and iPods… There's no wonder and magic anymore."

Grissom considered this, and then got a small smile on his face. "Mr. Wonka… I may be able to help you with that."

Catherine and Wonka both looked at him curiously.

To be concluded...