The chocolate frog frame-up: a chocoholic mystery

by JoAnna Carl

  He hung up.

  “Joe, I hadn’t thought about the sedan. I do hope it’s not damaged.”

  “It’s not likely to be damaged as it would have been if we hadn’t abandoned ship.” He put his arms around me. “You’re not damaged. That’s the main thing.”

  We hugged each other, but it didn’t help us warm up much. Joe said the heating system had been turned off, but he found an electric heater in the pantry and plugged it in. I looked through the kitchen drawers, and all I found were some dishtowels. Joe draped one around his fanny like a sarong, and it hit me that he was feeling as naked as I was. But boxers are pretty revealing.

  One other thing had me puzzled. ”Joe,” I said, “I assume you think that this boat you mentioned is the one that chased us.”

  “I’m not sure. It looked like a Tiara 5200, and Sheldon’s the only guy who docks a boat like that in Warner Pier. It could have come up from Saugatuck or down from Holland.”

  “Or South Haven, or Chicago or Onekema or Milwaukee or Sheboygan. But you didn’t tell either your mom or Harry that it chased us.”

  Joe frowned. ”I don’t want to get held up making statements. I want to look at Sheldon’s Tiara and get the sedan off the sandbar. Then I’ll tell Hogan Jones what happened.”

  We were just beginning to get warm when a buzzer rang.

  “That’ll be Mom,” Joe said.

  He went to the control panel and spoke into it. ”Yes?”

  “Let us in.” It was Mike Herrera’s voice.

  “I guess I should have known Mike would come with her,” I said.

  When Mike’s car came around the side of the house a second car followed. And this one had lights on top.

  “Damn,” Joe muttered. ” The chief’s with them, too.”

  Mercy jumped right out and ran to Joe, making mother noises. Joe assured her he was all right, but his eyes didn’t leave the chief’s car.

  Chief Jones unfolded himself and got out of his car, then walked over to us. He shook his head slowly, almost sorrowfully. “Well, Joe,” he said, “I never had a heck of a lot of success with women back in my young days, but I will say I never had to run a boat aground to get one to go skinny-dipping with me.”

  Chapter 18

  Joe’s prediction came true, of course. The chief wanted to hear the whole story. Harry’s boat was honking down at the Ripley place’s boathouse and Joe was still wrapped in a dishtowel and arguing with the chief.

  “Joe!” I said finally. “Take the chief with you!”

  My suggestion apparently had merit, because the two of them ran off toward the boat. Joe carried an armful of clothes, and he had stuffed his feet into a pair of sneakers. He looked so weird that Mercy, Mike, and I stood there and laughed until after he and the chief were out of sight.

  Mercy had brought me some sweatpants and a sweatshirt of Joe’s. Plus, bless her heart, a pair of his white socks and some sandals.

  “Not very glamorous,” she said, “but they’ll get you home without freezing. I didn’t want to take time to go by my place and try to figure out something better.”

  “They look gorgeous,” I said. “I doubt you own anything that woulc reach past my knees. Not being able to borrow clothes is one of the problems of being nearly six feet tall. On the other hand, none of my high school friends ever wanted to bolster—I mean, borrow!—they never wanted to borrow my clothes.”

  Mercy turned her back and spoke very casually. ”I looked for some underwear for you, but I couldn’t find anything.”

  Gee. Even my boyfriend’s mother thought I might be keeping clothes at his place. I answered in what I hoped was the same casual tone. “My underpants are nearly dry, and with this sweatshirt I can go braless.”

  I put on the sweatpants and shirt in the powder room off the back hall. When I came out Mercy made some efforts at asking me just what had happened, and I told her, in a general way. I didn’t understand everything, of course. I wouldn’t have recognized the boat that chased us, for example. I could only describe it as having one of those chrome railings all around the front, the kind that look as if they’re designed for people to walk around on the prow when the boat is traveling a hundred miles and hour.

  “Tall,” I said. “It loomed up over us. And fast. A lot faster than the sedan.”

  I guess I shuddered, because Mike herrera gave me a one-armed hug. “Mercy,” he said. “Let’s get this young lady home.”

  They took me back to TenHuis Chocolade, where I picked up my van, and for the seocnd night in a row, I was followed home by someone who was worried about my safety. Mike and Mercy eaven insisted on coming inside to make sure no one was lying in wait for me. Naturally, Aunt Nettie heard our whispers and got up, so Mike would up searching the entire house before we could persuade him to leave. He even called the police dispatcher and, using his authority as mayor, directed her to have the patrol officer on duty drive by the house periodically. He seemed a little let down to learn that Chief Jones had already given that instruction.

  He did pick up once piece of information. Jack Sheldon’s Tiara 5200 had been found tied up at one of the public docks in the Dock Street Park. The night patrol officer had gotten Sheldon out of bed, and Sheldon had denied having the boat out that evening. He also admitted he kept a key to the boat on a nail in his garage. When he checked, the key was gone.

  Oddly enough, Sheldon lived across the street from Frank and Patsy Waterloo. Hmmm. I wondered if that was significant, or simply another of the interconnecting circles of small town life.

  Aunt Nettie was twittering, but I was so tired I couldn’t make sense of what she was twittering about. I crawled up to bed and slept until eleven a.m. There’s nothing like vigorous exercise to ensure a good night’s sleep.

  I woke up sore in every muscle – another effect of vigorous exercise. I lay in my bed, a mahogany number once occupied by my grandparents, and stared at the ceiling. As soon as I remembered the reason I hurt all over, I began to try to figure out why I’d been forced to go swimming in a cold lake and to walk down gravel strewn roads in even colder night air, barefoot and in my underwear.

  Someone had chased Joe and me in a boat – much the same way they had chased us in a truck the night before. Who? Why?

  It kept coming back to the Root Beer Barrel property. Hershel had argued with Joe about it, had become so angry he actually tried to hit Joe. The next thing we knew, Hershel was dead, and somebody was trying to make it look as if Joe has killed him.

  But there were intermediate steps. First, we still didn’t know who the guy in the black panel truck was, and we didn’t know how he had found out we were on the road back from Grand Rapids so That he could lie in wait for us. I resolved to ask the chief if he’d been able to find out if Tom Johnson had found anybody in Warner Pier after we left him Wednesday night.

  Second, how had the creep in the boat known we were going to be out on the lake?

  Now, that was a real stumper. He could have followed us, but it didn’t seem likely. Following people is not all that easy in a town the size of Warner Pier – especially around Joe’s shop, which was almost in a rural area. A tale would be hard to miss. He would have had to hide someplace, see Joe believe in the sedan, guess that he was picking me up, steal the Sheldons’ key, steal the Sheldons’ boat, and beat us out into the lake.

  It would have been a lot easier if he’d known where we were going and waited for us. But we’d only decided to go an hour before we left. I hadn’t told anybody where we were going, and I was sure Joe hadn’t either. We’d made all our plans on the telephone.

  I sat up, even if it did hurt. Well, duh! The answer was as plain as a Hershey bar without almonds. Joe’s phone was tapped.

  I tried to jump out of bed, and every muscle rebelled. This made me slow down in my rush for the telephone, and I realized I couldn’t call Joe to tell him his phone was tapped. In fact, it might be that my phone was tapped, too, so I didn’t want to try his cell phone. I threw on some clothe
s – my own, not Joe’s – and headed for the boat shop.

  I was let down to see the Michigan State Police mobile crime lab van outside.

  I jumped out of my van and limped into the shop. Joe met me at the office door. “Have they found the bug?” I said.

  He nodded. “He figured that out, huh? Have you figured out who put it there?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Nope.”

  “There’s no way to tell by looking?”

  “Today’s taps don’t have to use wires. They have little transmitters. You can order them on the Internet. Guy wants to check on his tap, he parks a mile away and dials it up.”

  “Anyway, that tap absolutely proves that somebody’s been trying to frame you. Though I don’t understand why he also cut the phone line.”

  “All I can figure out is that he wanted me to be unreachable at that specific time. So he cut the line. But once the line was repaired, he wanted to listen in.”

  “And then he tried to kill you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Lee. Seems as if every time somebody tries to hurt me, you’re along.”

  I stared. “That’s silly! No one would want to kill me.”

  “Why would they want to kill me?”

  “I don’t have a specific reason, but it’s got to be something to do with the old Root Beer Barrel. Mixed in with hate. Malice. Envy. Avarice. One of those seven deadly sin deals.”

  “Why would none of those apply to you?”

  I found a chair and sat down. “I’m just too darned lovable, I guess.” Then I looked up at Joe. “I don’t think I’m important enough for anybody to dislike that much. But I don’t see why anybody would dislike you either.”

  Joe pulled up a second office chair and sat down beside me. He took my hand. “You are darned lovable, Lee. And you try to get along with people. I don’t see why anybody would want to kill you. But all this has got to link up with Hershel’s death. Is there anything you haven’t told the chief about what Hershel said? When he came up to the truck?”

  “No! The chief asked me about that in detail yesterday, and I went over the whole conversation. I did not hold back a thing. Besides, no one else was there to hear what Hershel had to say. If he told me who killed him – right out loud – what’s the difference? The murderer has no way of knowing. Unless your pickup is bugged.”

  We sighed and stared for at least a full minute. Then Joe spoke. “I’m sure of one thing. The guy is working alone.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “Because if there’d been two people in Sheldon’s boat last night, we wouldn’t be here now. If there’d been one guy to operate the light, and a second one to handle the boat – well, we’d never have been able to get away. They would have run us down.”

  That vision of shattered mahogany planks flying through the air – and Joe and me flying with them – bounced through my mind. I resolutely shoved it back into my subconscious. “He – or she – may also have been operating an unfamiliar boat,” I said, “since it was stolen.”

  Joe nodded. “In fact, I don’t think he – or she – was used to a boat that size at all. Something about the way it swerved. But I can tell you another thing. Whoever chased us gets around Warner Pier a lot.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He – or she – knew about the old chapel and that Hershel hung out there. He – or she – knew where to get the keys to Sheldon’s boat. He – or she – knew how to disappear down Haven Road. He knew where to find a black panel truck.”

  “You don’t think the guy owns a black panel truck?”

  Joe shook his head. “No. This baby is too smart to use his own boat or his own vehicle when he’s up to no good.”

  “It’s got to be somebody close to Hershel, Joe.”

  We both thought. I spoke first. “My money’s on Frank.”

  “Why?”

  I sketched what I’d learned from Barbara and from Greg Glossop.

  “Hardly conclusive,” Joe said. “And Frank hasn’t lived in Warner Pier very long.”

  “Five years!”

  “Has it been that long?”

  “Long enough for a lot Sunday drives. He’s a neighbor to the Sheldon’s. And he and Patsy are sure better off without Hershel.”

  “To an outsider it seems that way. But Patsy doesn’t seem to think so. Speaking of the Waterloos’ – are you going to the funeral?”

  “When is it?”

  “This afternoon. I guess I’d better stay away. The chief thinks Patsy might hit me with a spray of chrysanthemums.”

  “I’ll check with Aunt Nettie and find out the proper Warner Pier etiquette.”

  I reached for Joe’s phone, but he pushed my hand aside. “Use my cell phone.”

  I could feel my eyes getting round. “Is the phone still bugged?”

  “The chief is considering leaving it that way. So don’t say anything about it, okay?”

  I didn’t have time to think about that. I called Aunt Nettie and was instructed to be ready for Hershel Perkins’ funeral at 1 PM. “Your light blue dress will be fine,” she said. “Or something similar.”

  “I remember,” I said. “Don’t wear more black than the widow. In this case, the sister.”

  I hung up. “Gotta go. My hair is still full of Lake Michigan ick.” I started for the door, then turned back. “I didn’t ask about the sedan. Was it damaged?”

  “No. Harry and I got it off the sandbar before the waves pushed it around enough to do any damage. Oh, I’ve got your clothes.” Joe brought a bundle out of his room. “At least, here are your shoes and your jacket.”

  “I guess we can write off my socks and khakis. Darn it! Those pants were new.”

  Joe looked stricken. “All blog that stretch of beach. Maybe they’ll wash ashore.”

  “Never mind. I’m not sure I’d want to wear them again.”

  By one o’clock I had cleaned here and was wearing a longish black and white print skirt, a short-sleeved white cotton sweater, and flat heeled black pumps. Patsy and Frank had decided on a graveside service for Hershel. About twenty-five people gathered in the Warner Pier cemetery – I recognized the corps of high school teachers, plus some people Aunt Nettie said lived up Inland Road near the Waterloo’s. Then there were those of us somehow connected with the investigation into Hershel’s death – Trey, Meg, Aunt Nettie, me, and Chief Jones.

  Trey, like the other men, or Warner Pier dress-up – khakis and a sports shirt – but Meg hadn’t followed the “less black and then the widow” rule. She had on a sleeveless black linen dress as was wearing a short strand of what I was sure were real pearls. There were no chairs, and she kept shifting from foot to foot. I guessed she was trying to keep her high heels from sinking into the turf and thanked my lucky stars I thought to wear flats.

  Patsy was in Navy blue and had regained her composure since the afternoon she’d almost accused Joe of murdering her brother. The minister was mercifully generic, relying on Bible verses and standard platitudes. Which is sad in itself – I mean, when no one can dredge up any happy memories of the deceased, it’s a sign of a wasted life.

  Afterward, we shook hands and murmured at Patsy and Frank and a cousin who had materialized from Kalamazoo for the occasion. Then Aunt Nettie and I started for her car. We were nearly there when I heard rapid footsteps behind us. Trey called out, “Lee!”

  I turned to see both Trey and Meg approaching. Meg bore down on Aunt Nettie, neatly cutting her off, and Trey took me aside. “Were you serious about seeing Gray Gables?”

  “I’d love to, Trey.”

  “It looks as if tonight would be a good time for a tour.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I know that’s pretty short notice. But my cousins are the actual owners, you know. They’ll be coming this weekend and may stay the rest of the summer.”

  “Trey, I can see it another time. Next fall, next year.”

  “No, I have to be over there tonight anyway. I want to c
hange the lock on the kitchen door. I’d be delighted to show you and Joe around.” He leaned closer. “Please don’t tell anyone. My cousins don’t mind me showing people like you through, but they don’t want – you know, public tours.”

  “Fine. As soon as I get back to the shop I’ll call Joe and see if he can come.”

  “Just leave a message on my answering machine.”

  I told Trey nine thirty was the earliest time I’d be able to take a tour, and I caught up with Meg and Aunt Nettie. Meg was talking hard about the Junior League of Grand Rapids, a topic which I knew did not interest Aunt Nettie in the slightest. Unless the group voted to buy chocolate.