JoAnna Carl Read online

  And Joe and I were alone.

  I felt bad about our quarrel, although I didn't feel as if I needed to apologize for my feelings and opin­ions. Maybe I needed to apologize for the rudeness with which I had expressed them that morning. But I didn't know that Joe's unexpected appearance at TenHuis Chocolade had anything to do with our fight. I decided not to make an immediate reference to the quarrel.

  "How did you get pulled into the mold hunt?" I said.

  "I just came in to buy some chocolates," he said.

  "Sure." I moved behind the counter. "What kind and how many?"

  "Oh, I guess a pound."

  "We have a bunch of prepackaged boxes, or I can do an individual selection."

  "I think that's what I need. A specially packed box. I want three-quarters of the chocolates to be that hazelnut kind coated in milk chocolate and sprinkled with nougat."

  "Frangelico truffles? Sure. And what do you want for the rest?"

  "Dutch caramel."

  "Yum! You're a good picker. That creamy, soft, gooey caramel is great. Do you want them in a teddy bear box?"

  "No, just a regular box. Regular ribbon."

  I folded a cardboard box and began filling it with two layers of chocolates. Twenty-six little milk choco­late balls—the Frangelico truffles—and eight square dark chocolate bonbons—the Dutch caramels. I was dying to ask Joe who he was buying chocolates for. But I didn't. I concentrated on the chocolates.

  As I worked I tried to think of some way to smooth over how Joe and I had left things that morning— without apologizing. I couldn't think of anything. Joe didn't say anything either. The shop seemed awfully silent.

  I was almost relieved when the bell on the front door rang, signaling the arrival of some new person. But I was surprised when I looked up and saw who the new person was.

  Timothy Hart.

  Oh, gee! All of a sudden I remembered I'd agreed to go out with his nephew the next evening. I hadn't told Joe, but he was bound to find out, Warner Pier being the size it is and the Dock Street Pizza Parlor being the community center it is.

  Meanwhile, I had to remember that I sold choco­lates for a living, and Timothy Hart was a potential customer. He stroked his dapper gray mustache and removed his Russian-style fur hat. "Good afternoon, Ms. McKinney."

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Hart. I'll be with you in a moment. I hope you're doing well today."

  "Better than I was yesterday." He gave an apolo­getic shrug. Then he gestured toward the door, still covered with plywood. "I'm sorry to see you received some damage last night."

  "We're insured. But we're afraid that the burglars were after the chocolate molds." I decided to let Gail Hess break the news that one was gone.

  "Those molds! They've been a headache ever since our mother died."

  "Oh?" I kept putting chocolates in Joe's box.

  "First Olivia wouldn't let anybody touch them.

  Then she suddenly declared that the china cabinet they were in was an eyesore, and it was banished to the basement—molds and all. I don't know what fi­nally became of that cabinet."

  "Oh, really?" I stopped and checked the number of Dutch caramel bonbons I'd put in the box.

  Timothy Hart kept talking. "Of course, after Vic's accident, Olivia shunned Warner Pier completely. Wouldn't come near the place."

  "That's understandable." I tied a blue bow around the box of chocolates. "Here you go, Joe. Just a sec­ond, and I'll ring you up."

  "Do you have a gift card?"

  I took a plain gift card and a little envelope out of a rack behind the counter. "Will this do?"

  "Great. Go ahead and help Mr. Hart while I write it."

  I smiled at Timothy.

  "I need something for a child," he said. "A choco­late toy?"

  I showed him our molded cars, airplanes, and teddy bears, and he selected a ten-inch teddy with hand-detailed features. "An eight-year-old should like that, don't you think? I wanted to give one to the house-cleaner's little boy. Can you send me a bill?"

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Hart. We don't run noncommercial accounts." I wasn't about to give credit to a guy with a drinking problem, even if he was a member of a well-known family. "I can take a credit card."

  "Oh, I think I have the money." Timothy Hart waved airily and produced a battered billfold. He found a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to me. I gave him change and he gave me a beaming smile.

  He put on his furry hat and picked up the box that held his teddy bear. "Now, you tell that nephew of mine that he's to be a perfect gentleman when he takes you out tomorrow," he said merrily. Then he left.

  I could have killed him.

  I turned to Joe, ready to make the explanation I'd known I had to make, but before I could speak Joe shoved a credit card at me. His face was expressionless.

  I took the card and swiped it through the appro­priate gadget. I swiped a few remarks through my mind at the same time, but none of them seemed suit­able. Then, as I handed Joe the credit card slip, Aunt Nettie came into the store.

  "Lee," she said, "did you order the extra cream?"

  I turned around and assured her that I had. She said something else, but before I could respond, I heard the bell on the door. Joe had opened it.

  I turned around quickly. I needed to say something. "Joe!" Then I noticed that the chocolate he had bought was still on the counter. "Joe! You're forget­ting your box."

  "It's okay," he said. "I'm headed for Grand Rapids. I'll call you. Sometime." The door closed behind him.

  I looked down at the pound box of chocolate. Why had he bought it, then left it behind? He had tucked the little white envelope under the ribbon, and now I saw that he'd written a name on it: Lee.

  Joe had bought chocolates for me.

  I pulled the envelope out and opened it. "Sorry," the message inside read. "Maybe things will change soon." Joe's name was at the bottom.

  I didn't know how to react. One part of me was really pleased. Joe had obviously meant the chocolates as a peace offering, and it was nice to know he wanted us to be friends. And that he knew my favorite choco­lates, Frangelico and Dutch caramel. Another part of me was insulted. A gift of chocolates was just another example of his secrecy complex, and that complex was driving me crazy.

  "Darn!" I said. "He could have sent me flowers." If he'd sent flowers from one of Warner Pier's florists it would have been all over town in ten minutes. For a moment I longed for a single yellow rose, delivered ostentatiously in a florist's van.

  Then I opened the box of chocolates and took out a Dutch caramel.

  Actually, it was nice to have a whole box of choco­lates. Aunt Nettie's rule is two pieces per employee per day, and she and I are careful to stick to that, just the way we expect the other TenHuis staff members to.

  I savored the Dutch caramel. Next I slowly ate a Frangelico truffle. Then I put the box in my desk. I tucked the note inside.

  Aunt Nettie sent Jeff and me home at six. It was my turn to fix dinner, so I stopped and bought ham­burger and buns to make sloppy joes. It used to be one of Jeffs favorites, and I figured he deserved a break.

  He ate the sloppy joe appreciatively, then asked if we'd mind if he ate the leftovers later—"If I need a snack." We assured him that would be fine. The eve­ning dragged. We built a fire, but nobody had much to say. Jeff and Aunt Nettie watched a little television, and I tried to call Joe. He wasn't home. Apparently he really had gone to Grand Rapids. I left a thank-you message on his answering machine.

  At ten thirty Aunt Nettie went to bed, and Jeff said he was going up, too. When I went up at eleven, I could hear strange electronic noises from his room, and I deduced that he was playing games on his lap­top. I put on a robe and went back down to the shower—our strange, old-fashioned shower that's so loud that it can be heard all through the house and keeps the person in the shower from hearing anything but running water.

  When I got out of the shower and went back up­stairs, I looked out the window. Jeffs car was gone.
r />   Darn the kid! He'd sneaked out.

  Well, at least he'd been smart about it, had waited until I couldn't hear him. And at least he had gas in his car. I dried my hair and went to bed. I meant to stay awake until Jeff got in, but I was too tired. I was sleeping soundly at two a.m., when Aunt Nettie shook me awake.

  "Lee! Lee!"

  I sat upright. "What's wrong?"

  "Mercy Woodyard just called. She says there's a big commotion down at the shop. She sounded really upset."

  I jumped out of bed and ran across the hall. I gave a cursory knock at Jeffs door, but I wasn't surprised when he didn't answer. I threw the door open and turned on the overhead light. The bed hadn't been slept in.

  "Where's Jeff?" Aunt Nettie said.

  "I don't know," I said, "but I'll be dressed in a minute."

  Aunt Nettie dressed even faster than Idid, and we were at the shop inside of ten minutes. Mercy had been right; there was a big commotion. As we drove down Fifth Street, I saw flashing lights in the alley and spotted a Michigan State Police car back there. When we turned onto Peach, all three of Warner Pier's pa­trol cars were parked facing the shop. I parked at the end of the block, and Aunt Nettie and I ran toward the lights. Joe loomed up before we got there.

  "What's happened?" I said. "Another break-in?"

  "No, I don't think anybody got inside."

  "Then what?"

  Joe gestured at the nearest patrol car, and I saw a figure huddled in the backseat.

  Jeff.

  I gasped and stepped toward the car, but Aunt Net­tie caught my arm. She pointed toward the door of the shop.

  "What's that?" she said.

  In the headlights I saw a heap of something emerald green piled on the sidewalk in front of the TenHuis Chocolade window. Nestled against it was a patch of something reddish, or maybe brownish. For a moment I thought of a red squirrel. Then the brilliant green became an object I recognized, and so did the patch of red. I was seeing Gail Hess's frankly fake hair and her bright green jacket. "Oh, no!" I said. "What's happened?”

  “Gail is dead," Joe said grimly. "And Mom found Jeff standing over her body."

  Chapter 9

  My stomach hit my feet with a thud. What was going on? Was Jeff under arrest?

  I went to the patrol car and tried to open the door to the backseat. It wouldn't open, so I opened the door to the front seat, opposite the driver.

  Jerry Cherry was behind the wheel. He turned and gaped at me. "Lee!" he said. "You can't get in."

  "What is Jeff doing in a police car?" I said.

  "We're trying to preserve evidence," Jerry said. "And the chief wants to question him."

  "Is he under arrest?"

  Jerry shook his head. "No. We want some lab work on his clothes and his hands."

  Jeff looked miserable. He held up his hands, and I saw that they were stained. The light inside the car wasn't good, but the stains looked like blood.

  "Does he need a lawyer?"

  Jeff spoke. "I haven't done anything! I don't need a lawyer!"

  I stood there, half in and half out of the patrol car, dithering. In spite of what Jeff said, I thought he might well need a lawyer. But that was not a realistic thing to want in the middle of the night in Warner Pier, Michigan. The nearest lawyer was at the county seat, thirty miles away.

  Unless Joe ... I glanced at him. Joe was a lawyer, true. He wasn't practicing, although as far as I knew he was still licensed in the state of Michigan. But his mom had discovered Jeff standing over Gail Hess's body, apparently with blood on his hands. Besides, Joe had been down on Jeff ever since he arrived in town. He wasn't the right person to involve.

  Hart VanHorn was also a lawyer. I doubted that his fancy law firm practiced criminal law. He might recommend someone, but I couldn't call him in the middle of the night.

  No, if Jeff needed help and advice right this minute, he might have to rely on his ex-stepmother. So I'd better figure out what was going on.

  "Lee," Jerry Cherry said, "either get in or get out. The chief took Jeffs jacket, and I'm trying to keep the car warm."

  "I'll be back," I said to Jeff. Then I slammed the door.

  Joe was standing behind me. I grabbed his arm. "Okay," I said. "What happened?"

  "I haven't the slightest idea, Lee."

  "How did you get involved?"

  "I got back from Grand Rapids about twelve, and about one thirty Mom called me from her cell phone. She said she'd found Gail dead on the sidewalk. She sounded scared to death. I came right down. Maybe you'd better get the story from her."

  He took my arm and led me across the street to Mercy's office. She unlocked the door as we ap­proached, then locked it again as soon as we were inside. Only one dim light was on in the office, and Mercy looked pinched and scared.

  I reminded myself to act sympathetic. "Mercy, what a terrible experience! What happened?"

  "I'd been working late—in the back room, sorting some things. . . ." Mercy's eyes dodged away from mine. "When I started to leave, by the alley, sometime after one, I saw headlights down there by your aunt's shop. After the burglary last night, well, I thought I'd turn down and see what was going on."

  I nodded. "Then what happened?"

  "When I got around the corner I saw that Jeff's SUV was parked facing the shop. And I could see Jeff leaning over something on the sidewalk. When I pulled in beside his car—well, he took off running, Lee."

  "He ran? Ran where?"

  "Just down to the corner, I guess. He didn't have anything on his head, and I'd seen him with Nettie yesterday afternoon, so I recognized him. I put the window partway down and yelled. Then he came back, and he told me he'd just found Gail lying on the side­walk and asked me to use my cell phone to call 911."

  "Did you look at Gail?"

  "After J made the call." Mercy's teeth chattered. "There wasn't much point in calling the EMTs. But they came anyway, of course."

  "When I saw Jeff—there in the patrol car—he seemed to have blood on his hands."

  Mercy nodded. "I saw it."

  "How did Gail die?"

  Mercy put a hand to her lips and shook her head. Joe put one arm around her shoulders, then answered my question. "The medical examiner hasn't looked at her yet, Lee," he said.

  I snapped at him. "Don't talk like a lawyer! Did you see her?"

  "Not close," Joe said. "But her head—well, her head had been bleeding. Her hair was soaked, and there was a puddle on the ground."

  "Then Jeff could have gotten blood on himself if he—oh, tried to see if she was still alive."

  "Sure, he could have." Joe's voice was artificially encouraging.

  "Jeff said he hasn't done anything."

  Mercy spoke then. "I certainly didn't see him do—" she repeated the word—"do anything. But, Lee, why was he down here in the middle of the night?"

  That was the question, of course. It was the question Jeff had refused to answer the day before.

  The three of us stood silently, looking out through the broad front window of Mercy's office. The scene was busy. Warner Pier policemen and Michigan State Police were looking for evidence up and down the street. More merchants had turned up, afraid the pre­vious night's burglar had hit their businesses.

  As we watched, Aunt Nettie came across the side­walk. Mercy opened the door and let her in, then locked the door again behind her.

  Aunt Nettie looked like the Snow Queen, with her solid body covered by a blue ski jacket and her soft white hair peeking out like fur around the edges of her blue cap.

  She spoke placidly. "The door to Gail's shop is open. The heat's all getting out. Maybe I should go and close it."

  "No!" Joe and I spoke together.

  "Better leave it to the police," he said. "It may be a clue."

  "Oh," Aunt Nettie said. "I thought the police must have opened it. But why don't they take Gail away?"

  "I think they want to get some pictures first," Joe said. "Was Gail a close friend of yours?"

&n
bsp; "Not real close. But all the Warner Pier merchants know each other." She gestured toward Jerry Cherry's patrol car. "Why do they have Jeff in there?"

  "He found Gail Hess," Joe said. "He'll have to ex­plain why he was down here."

  Aunt Nettie nodded. "Two nights in a row," she said.

  Why had Jeff been roaming around Warner Pier— a town with nothing open after midnight, a town where he knew no one except me and Aunt Nettie—in the middle of the night, two bitterly cold winter nights in a row?

  The night before I'd been afraid he was trying to buy drugs. Now I'd be relieved if that was the reason.

  "We'll just have to wait until Chief Jones talks to him," I said. "He's got to have some kind of a story. Maybe they'll let him go then."

  But Jeff's story, when he finally told it, wasn't the kind that cleared him of all suspicion.

  Chief Jones had asked to keep Jeff's SUV until the state police lab technicians had had time to check it over. I brought Jeff a change of clothes, and he washed up and changed. His first outfit was bagged as potential evidence.

  I insisted that Aunt Nettie go home and stay home. Then I waited at the police station. Joe waited with me. He didn't seem to be worried about it starting gossip.

  It was after six a.m. before the chief called me into his office and let me listen to a tape recording he'd made of his interview with Jeff.

  He had simply been driving around in the middle of the night, Jeff said. He'd seen something lying on the sidewalk in front of TenHuis Chocolade, so he'd stopped to see what it was. He had realized it was a person, lying on the frozen sidewalk, so he jumped out of his car to see what he could do to help.

  "But as soon as I touched her, I knew it wasn't any good," he said. "I was going to go call the police when Mrs. Woodyard drove up. She said she had a cell phone, so I got her to call."

  "Why did you run when she called out to you?"

  "At first I thought she was the killer! I thought he'd come back to get me! But when I got a look at her—" Jeffs voice cut off quickly.

  "Then what, Jeff?" The chiefs voice was silky.

  "Nothing."

  "You hadn't met Mrs. Woodyard, had you?"