by JoAnna Carl
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Teaser chapter
NEW IN HARDCOVER
Also by JoAnna Carl
“As delectable as a rich chocolate truffle and the mystery filling satisfies to the last prized morsel.”
—Carolyn Hart
PRAISE FOR THE CHOCOHOLIC MYSTERIES
The Chocolate Cupid Killings
“Deliciously cozy. The Chocolate Cupid Killings is richly entertaining and has no calories.”
—Elaine Viets, author of the Dead-End Job mysteries
“A chocolate-drenched page-turner! JoAnna Carl satisfies your sweet tooth along with your craving for a tasty whodunit.”
—Cleo Coyle, author of Murder by Mocha
“Anyone who loves chocolate—and who doesn’t?—will love this delicious, fast-paced addition to the Chocoholic Mystery series. It has more twists and turns than a chocolate-covered pretzel, but this treat won’t add any pounds, so you can indulge without guilt!”
—Leslie Meier, author of The Wicked Witch Murder
“A deft mix of truffles and trouble. Chocaholics—this book is for you!”
—Laura Childs, author of the Tea Shop mysteries
“A delicious treat for cozy fans.... JoAnna Carl is an author [who] never disappoints.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A sweet mystery of how helping others can at times come back and bite you in the backside. JoAnna Carl definitely knows how to pen a sweet read.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
The Chocolate Snowman Murders
“Dollops of chocolate lore add to the cozy fun.”
—Publishers Weekly
The Chocolate Jewel Case
“[A] fun, very readable book, with likable characters that are knowable whether you’ve read all seven novels in the series or whether this is your first.”
—Suite101
The Chocolate Bridal Bash
“Entertaining and stylish.... Reading this on an empty stomach is hazardous to the waistline because the chocolate descriptions are . . . sensuously enticing. Lee is very likable without being too sweet.”
—Midwest Book Review
“The sixth delicious mix of chocolate and crime.”
—Writerspace
“Everything about JoAnna Carl’s books is a delicious treat, from the characters to the snippets of chocolate trivia.... All [are] fantastic characters who have come to feel like good friends. The Chocolate Bridal Bash stands alone, but once you’ve read it, you’ll be craving the other books in this series.”
—Roundtable Reviews
The Chocolate Mouse Trap
“A fine tale.”
—Midwest Book Review
“I’ve been a huge fan of the Chocoholic Mystery series from the start. I adore the mix of romance, mystery, and trivia . . . satisfying.”
—Roundtable Reviews
The Chocolate Puppy Puzzle
“The pacing is perfect for the small-town setting, and the various secondary characters add variety and interest. Readers may find themselves craving chocolate, yearning to make their own.... An interesting mystery, fun characters, and, of course, chocolate make this a fun read for fans of mysteries and chocolates alike.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
The Chocolate Frog Frame- Up
“A JoAnna Carl mystery will be a winner. The trivia and vivid descriptions of the luscious confections are enough to make you hunger for more!”
—Roundtable Reviews
“A fast-paced, light read, full of chocolate facts and delectable treats. Lee is an endearing heroine.... Readers will enjoy the time they spend with Lee and Joe in Warner Pier and will look forward to returning for more murder dipped in chocolate.”
—The Mystery Reader
The Chocolate Bear Burglary
“Descriptions of exotic chocolate will have you running out to buy gourmet sweets . . . a delectable treat.”
—The Best Reviews
The Chocolate Cat Caper
“A mouthwatering debut and a delicious new series! Feisty young heroine Lee McKinney is a delight in this chocolate treat. A real page-turner, and I got chocolate on every one! I can’t wait for the next.”
—Tamar Myers, author of Butter Safe Than Sorry
“One will gain weight just from reading [this] . . . delicious . . . the beginning of what looks like a terrific new cozy series.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Enjoyable . . . entertaining . . . a fast-paced whodunit with lots of suspects and plenty of surprises . . . satisfies a passion for anything chocolate. In the fine tradition of Diane Mott Davidson.”
—The Commercial Record (MI)
Also by JoAnna Carl
The Chocolate Cat Caper
The Chocolate Bear Burglary
The Chocolate Frog Frame-Up
The Chocolate Puppy Puzzle
The Chocolate Mouse Trap
Crime de Cocoa
The Chocolate Bridal Bash
The Chocolate Jewel Case
The Chocolate Snowman Murders
The Chocolate Cupid Killings
Chocolate to Die For
The Chocolate Castle Clue
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First Obsidian Mass Market Printing, October 2011
Copyright © Eve K. Sandstrom, 2011
Excerpt from The Chocolate Castle Clue © Eve K. Sandstrom, 2011
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Lake Michigan boating experts Tom Bolhuis and Judy and Phil Hallisy; law officers Jim Avance and Bob Swartz; Michigan neighbors Tracy Pa-quin and Susan McDermott; theater experts Scott and Peg Hoffmann; magician Marty Ludlum; all-around good guy Albert Anderson; music expert Jan Logan; and chocolatier Elizabeth Garber. They were all generous with information, and if I got it wrong, it’s my fault, not theirs.
Chapter 1
A sunset cruise on Lake Michigan in an antique wooden powerboat is the perfect way to celebrate the summer solstice, and the weather that particular June 21 was also perfect.
Joe’s Shepherd Sedan, a 1948 model he’d restored until it looked and ran like new, was anchored in a broad cove, so the boat was surrounded by a semicircle of sandy shore and tall trees. The four of us had finished our picnic dinner and were starting on coffee. With it we passed around bonbons and truffles made by TenHuis Chocolade—an easy contribution from me, since I work there as business manager.
We had clumped ourselves into a conversational group inside the boat’s cabin—a cabin that was much like the interior of an automobile of the 1940s, except that where the trunk should have been there was a small deck.
The huge red sun had just sizzled and sunk into the water over toward Wisconsin. The breeze was cool, but not chilly; sweatshirts were nice, but inside the cabin jackets weren’t needed. The water was a deep silky gray, the sky had exactly the right number of puffy purple clouds edged in gold, and gentle waves rocked the boat, making me feel as relaxed as a bird dozing off in its nest.
I was taking a bite of an Amaretto truffle as the pirate came over the stern.
His head popped up first. It was wrapped in a bandana, buccaneer style, and sported a big, bushy beard and a gold earring.
I was looking straight at the head as it appeared, but I was so surprised that all I did was blink.
Pirates on Lake Michigan? In the twenty-first century? Who could blame me if I didn’t believe my eyes?
Then the pirate somersaulted over the side and leaped to his feet on the deck.
I leaped to my feet, too, banging my head on the sedan’s roof. I probably yelled something witty, like, “Who the heck is that?”
The pirate wore black knee britches and a black vest, open to show a hairy, muscular chest. A pirate pistol was jammed into his broad belt, and he was brandishing a cutlass. Add that to the beard, bandana, and earring—plus a skull-and-crossbones tattoo on his biceps—and there was no question of what he represented.
The pirate waved his cutlass. He gave a loud yell, the traditional “Yo-ho-ho!”
My husband, Joe, and our friends Maggie and Ken McNutt were also on their feet as two more swimmers in pirate garb climbed over the stern.
The second pirate’s outfit was almost identical to that of the first, except that over his bandana he had put on a funny hat with the brim flipped backward. He produced a whistle and began to play a rollicking sea chantey. Or I guess that’s what it was.
The third pirate—a buccaneer queen whose vest had a plunging neckline that revealed her cleavage—began to dance, waving her arms in the air and weaving her feet into an intricate jig.
For the next two or three minutes the pirates went wild. The musician pranced, and the dancer danced. The first pirate waved his cutlass—by then I could see that it was plastic—in a series of fencing moves. He yelled in a hoarse voice, “Avast, me hearties!” and “Lift up the top sheet and spank her!” He clenched the cutlass in his teeth and did a handstand on the gunwale—the low railing along the side of the boat. Next he clambered onto the top of the cabin—we could hear his footsteps as he crossed over our heads—and dropped onto the bow. I peeked outside and saw that he was walking around on his hands, weaving among the horns, radio gear, and other paraphernalia the Coast Guard requires.
All this activity made the twenty-two-foot boat bob and buck. Joe, Ken, Maggie, and I each grabbed our coffee before it could spill. We held on to any parts of the boat we could reach as the dancing and acrobatics made it bounce around. The show was terrific—after our initial surprise we all started laughing—but I was afraid that the jumping around was going to knock one of the pirates overboard.
The buxom pirate queen didn’t seem to share my fear. She linked arms with the piper, and then performed a do-si-do while he managed to continue playing.
Then the music stopped abruptly, and so did the dancing. The dancer and the musician gestured dramatically toward the front of the boat and the pirate who had boarded first.
“Yo-ho-ho!” His shout echoed over the water. He pulled the pistol from his belt and aimed it toward our group, right through the windshield.
I wasn’t frightened. Despite their grotesque makeup and out-of-nowhere appearance, the pirates had done nothing but amaze and entertain us. I was wondering whether Ken or Joe had hired them as some sort of joke. Besides, the pistol was patently fake—an imitation firearm, a stage prop. I couldn’t believe it would actually fire.
So the pointed pistol didn’t make me faint. The pirate king simply couldn’t be threatening us.
Then he pulled the trigger, and a flag popped out of the end of the gun. BANG! it said.
We all laughed hysterically. I guess we were hysterical.
Just as quickly as they had arrived, the pirates left. One by one they dived over the side of the boat, and Ken, Maggie, Joe, and I crowded out of the cabin and stood on the small open deck to look after them. All of us were laughing.
“Who were those masked men?” Ken said.
I hoisted my coffee cup. “Didn’t you hire them, Ken?”
“Where would I find pirates to hire? Joe? Did you find a troupe of acrobatic pirates someplace?”
“Not me. Maggie? Are they from the Showboat Theater?”
“No!” Maggie, who teaches speech and drama at our local high school, was an actor and assistant director at our local repertory theater that summer. “At least I haven’t heard anything about a pirate act.”
Joe was leaning over the side. “Where did they go?” I realized that none of the swimming pirates had come up again.
“I never heard of mermaids—or mermen—in Lake Michigan,” Maggie said. “And these pirates didn’t have tails. So they must have a boat.”
We scanned the horizon. Ken and I exclaimed at the same moment, “There it is!”
Sure enough, around a hundred feet away, just outside the cove, was an inflatable boat, the kind Navy SEALs use. None of us had noticed it earlier, and I still don’t know how the pirates got that close without attracting our attention. As we watched, bandanas popped up on the gently rolling surface of the lake. The pirates continued to swim, now with their heads above the water’s surface. Within minutes all of them reached their boat, and one by one the pirate crew climbed into it. They waved to us. Their outboard motor roared, and they left, throwing up spray behind them. The backwash reached our boat, bouncing us up and down. The pirate boat headed north, parallel to the shore, and was soon out of sight.
Ken, Maggie, Joe, and I stared after them.
“That was the oddest experience I’ve ever had o
n Lake Michigan,” Joe said. “Or anyplace else.”
Ours was the first boat boarded in what came to be known as the Summer of the Warner Pier Pirates.
Chapter 2
Maggie, Ken, Joe, and I all assumed that the pirates were some sort of promotional stunt. Warner Pier—Michigan’s quaintest summer resort—was already full of pirates that year. We weren’t too surprised that a few more had turned up.
The pirate craze was Marco Spear’s fault. That was the year of his first big hit movie, Young Blackbeard. The film had everything: comedy, romance, a beautiful Caribbean setting, a cast of thousands, gorgeous costumes and sets—plus action! action! action! It also had a handsome and charismatic lead actor who did his own stunts.
America’s teenagers gathered in gangs outside movie theaters and chanted his name. “Marco! Marco! Marco!”
My stepsister, Brenda McKinney, was working at TenHuis Chocolade again that summer, and she admitted that she’d seen Young Blackbeard twice. And she was nineteen and a sophomore in college, a little old for the fad. Marcia Herrera, the niece Joe and I had acquired when his mom remarried the previous spring, had just turned thirteen, so she was exactly the right age for the Marco craze. She had a half dozen Marco photos taped up inside her Warner Pier Middle School locker, she told me, and she and her friends had each seen Young Blackbeard at least five times. She brought me a magazine showing pictures of Marco Spear from infancy to age twenty-two. It had ragged edges because of the number of times it had been read.
Some of the pictures showed Marco in his Young Blackbeard getup of tight knee britches and open vest with three days’ stubble on his chin. Other pictures showed him in his pre–movie star life as an Olympic gymnastics champion. For those pictures he wore a tight, sleeveless shirt and those stirrup pants male gymnasts wear for competition. At thirty-one, I was too old for the Marco epidemic, but I was young enough to notice that he looked great in either outfit. Of course, the critics claimed he couldn’t act nearly as well as he could swashbuckle, but America’s girls didn’t seem to care.
