The Chocolate Jewel Case: A Chocoholic Mystery

by JoAnna Carl

  I’m sure I looked blank, and Mrs. Garrett smiled apologetically. “She was an opera star back in the 1920s.”

  “Now I remember! Joe’s grandmother was thrilled when she came to see us, and learned our house was right across the road from Double Diamond. She’s still an opera fan. And wasn’t there an exhibit of some of your grandmother’s jewelry last winter? I read about it in the Chicago paper.”

  “Oh, yes, the famous jewels. They’re responsible for all our weird family names.”

  “Garnet? That’s not so weird.”

  “Well, the whole thing is my silly great-grandmother’s fault. If she hadn’t given her daughter two jewels as a name, we wouldn’t be cursed into the third generation.”

  “Cursed?”

  “With crazy names. My grandmother—the opera singer—was named Opal Diamond, if you translate her last name from Italian. She was proud of her name, and she didn’t marry until she met a dashing gentleman named Ruben—which means Ruby in German. And his last name was Gold.”

  We both laughed.

  “They thought their names forced them to carry on the jewel tradition. My mother was blessed with Ruby, and her sister with Pearl. And my poor uncle Alex isn’t named Alexander. He’s Alexandrite.”

  “A semiprecious stone, right?”

  “Right. It has the interesting quality of being green in natural light and red in artificial. That may have marked Uncle Alex’s personality, which has always grown more vivid as the sun goes down. Anyway, the family was practically out of jewels by the time my generation appeared. My sister is Jade, and I got Garnet.” She smiled again. “I had the bad judgment to add Garrett by falling for a nice guy named Dick Garrett.”

  I laughed. “I’m afraid to ask if you have children.”

  “We do. Mary and Richard Junior. Three generations was enough of that jewel nonsense! But my grandmother did have a fabulous collection of Art Deco jewelry, and she supposedly paid for the Warner Pier property—back in 1927—by selling a fancy belt buckle shaped like two linked diamonds and encrusted with diamond stones. Hence the name of the cottage. Everybody thinks we’re all rich because of that darn jewelry, but I assure you we’re not.”

  I didn’t comment. Lakeshore property near Warner Pier is so valuable today that a belt buckle would have to contain stones the size of the Hope Diamond to pay for a couple of acres with a view of the water. The Diamonte-Gold descendants might not think of themselves as wealthy, but they owned a nice chunk of real estate.

  “I’m afraid I’m not much of a neighbor,” I said. “I spend most of my time here at the shop.”

  “Yes, and you’re working right now.” Garnet Garrett stood up. “I didn’t come in to interrupt you. I simply wanted to say how happy I am that you and your husband are joining us for dinner tomorrow.”

  Joe and I were having dinner with the Garretts?

  I tried to cover my astonishment by ducking my head and looking through the papers on my desk until I found a notepad. And with every second it took me to find it, I pictured Joe roasting over the Garretts’ backyard grill. Here we had a regular throng of houseguests to feed and entertain, and he made a social engagement without consulting me? It was definitely an action that merited torture.

  By the time I found the notepad, I was—I hoped—in command of my feelings. I smiled at Garnet Garrett. “Let me make a note of the trial. I mean, the time! I’d better write down the time!”

  Garnet Garrett smiled sweetly. “Joe hadn’t told you, had he?”

  I tried to smile back. “I haven’t seen him since this morning. He went to lunch with a client from his boat shop.”

  “That was Dick! My husband. He found my grandfather’s old speedboat in a shed, and he couldn’t rest until he arranged to have it restored.”

  “Joe will do a great job, and I’m looking forward to dinner.” My smile was making my jaw ache.

  The dinner would be strictly informal, Mrs. Garrett told me. Just five people—the Garretts, Joe and me, and her uncle Alex. We should come at six thirty for drinks on the porch. No, I couldn’t bring anything.

  I was relieved to hear that. I was scheduled to work from nine to five the next day, and I’d have to feed Gina, Pete, Darrell, Tracy, and Brenda before I could go to the neighbors’ house for a relaxing dinner. And Joe was fixing frozen lasagna and bagged salad for the gang at our house today, so I’d have to think of something more creative for the next day. Or at least less Italian. Pizza wouldn’t be a good idea.

  I said good-bye to Garnet, then pulled out my list of things to talk to Joe about and added to it: Dinner with Garretts. I asked Brenda to put a half-pound box of chocolates on my account, so I could take it as a hostess gift. Then I pretended to work.

  I hope that I fooled the hairnet ladies, Brenda and Tracy at the counter, and the customers—even the tourists who took a gander at our prices and walked out again. But I couldn’t fool myself. Too much had happened that day. My mind was whirling, and I didn’t accomplish a thing.

  I simply had to talk to Joe, and that wasn’t going to be easy.

  Our house has a certain rustic charm, but it also has a major problem, and I’m not talking about the excavation for the new bathroom and kitchen foundation. The place is an echo chamber. As a teenager I’d discovered that I could hear anything that went on anyplace in the darn house. Which meant that anybody else in the house could also hear me. The episode when I overheard Pete giving Joe a candid assessment of my mental capacity was typical of how things went in that house.

  So even though Joe and I had managed to reserve the use of the one downstairs bedroom just for the two of us, we had to be cautious about talking in there. Between Brenda, Tracy, and Gina overhead and Pete out on the porch—well, we’d spent the past two weeks learning to make love without uttering loud cries of ecstasy. When it came to a serious talk about sensitive subjects, playing the radio and whispering wasn’t going to do the job. I might feel compelled to yell out a few basic truths.

  No, that talk we needed to have wasn’t going to just happen. It would have to be a date.

  I picked up the phone and called the boat shop. I got Joe’s answering machine. I left a message. “Please call me, Joe.” I called the house. I got our answering machine. I left a message. “Please call me immediately, Joe.” I called Joe’s cell phone. I got his voice mail. I left a message. “Call me the second you hear this, Joe, on pain of death.”

  But it was eight thirty, the workroom had been closed for hours, and Brenda and Tracy were cleaning the shop before Joe called back.

  “What’s up?”

  How could he sound so casual? If I’d been mad at midafternoon, I was now steaming. Only the fact that Tracy and Brenda were standing fifteen feet away kept me from lacing into him with both sides of my tongue.

  “Several things have come up today that need discussion,” I said. “Can you come down here?”

  “The shower’s free at the moment, and I was thinking of getting into it. Can’t we talk at home?”

  “No.”

  Joe didn’t respond for a moment. I was trying to keep my cool because of Brenda and Tracy, and he probably had Pete and Gina standing around behind him with their ears hanging out.

  “I’ll be there at nine,” Joe said.

  Joe got to the shop at eight fifty-five p.m., entering by the front door. He helped finish up, sweeping the front of the shop while Tracy and Brenda cleaned and restocked the glass cases. I balanced the cash register. All the time Joe kept up a steady stream of Michigan State jokes—in Texas we call them Aggie jokes—while Tracy countered with some University of Michigan jokes, the same ones called Teasipper jokes in the Southwest. The girls enjoyed his performance.

  I was still too mad to be amused, and Joe kept shooting significant glances in my direction all the time, so I gathered that he was nervous about what I was going to say. Somehow this made me madder than ever. Did he regard me as a witch with a capital B, a nagging wife who had to be placated? I determined t
o keep our discussion calm and rational.

  After Joe walked Tracy and Brenda out to Brenda’s car, which was parked in the alley, I met him in the break room, carrying the legal pad I’d used for my list of discussion topics.

  “Uh-oh. This is serious stuff.” Joe tapped the legal pad. “You had to make notes.” Then Joe put his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. “Are we about to have our first fight? I’m already looking forward to making up.”

  I didn’t push him away, but I wasn’t very responsive either. Rational, I reminded myself. Pretend this is a business conference.

  “One crazy thing after another happened today,” I said. “Yes, I finally had to make a list.”

  Joe sat down on the comfortable couch Aunt Nettie had installed in the break room. I think he expected me to sit beside him, but instead I pulled a straight chair over and faced him.

  “Shoot,” he said.

  “Well, since you mention shooting—were you aware that your pal Pete Falconer packs a pistol?”

  Joe’s face remained expressionless, so I went on. “I walked up on the porch when Pete wasn’t expecting me, and he was stowing a large pistol in his duffel bag. What gives?”

  Joe grinned. “I’m sure he has a permit,” he said.

  “A permit? Joe, Pete may have a dozen permits from the State of Michigan or the federal government or whoever else licenses firemen—I mean, firearms!”

  I’d blown it. Joe knew I made those malapropisms when I was nervous. So much for my calm-and-rational act. I went on quickly. “But Pete does not have a permit to carry a pistol in my house! Our house.”

  “I didn’t know you objected to firearms, Lee. I can even remember one occasion when you grabbed a deer rifle and threatened three people with it. You saved the day. You’re a regular pistol-packin’ mama when you’re riled up.”

  I tried to keep my voice level. “Yes, I was raised with guns in the house, and I’m not afraid of them—if they’re in the hands of people who practice handling them regularly and safely. But why does Pete need a pistol to watch birds?”

  “Hey! Pete is well qualified in the handling of firearms. Just don’t worry about it.” Joe grinned again, but the grin didn’t look natural.

  “Do you know what Pete’s up to?”

  “I have some idea. And it is okay. Trust me on this one.” Joe grinned even wider. “What’s next on your list?”

  I looked at it. “Gina.”

  “What about her?”

  “Why is she here?”

  “She’s dodging her latest ex.”

  “Is he dangerous? Because if he is, Gina needs to be in a shelter, not in a house with two teenage girls.”

  “I don’t think he’s dangerous in the sense that he’ll come looking for her. He may be dangerous in the sense that she’s afraid he’ll talk her into calling off the divorce.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Art Atkins.”

  “Atkins? Like your grandmother’s maiden name?”

  Joe laughed. “Yeah. Gina met him at a family reunion.”

  “Joe! Will you be serious?”

  He patted my hand. “I’ll try. Gina got acquainted with him through her antique business, though I think he actually is some sort of distant cousin.”

  “She’s driving me crazy.”

  “I know Gina is annoying. Do you want me to throw her out?”

  “Not if she really needs a place to stay. But will you try to convince her she should call your grandmother?” I described the episode when I’d been forced to lie to Joe’s grandmother, to tell her—or at least imply—that I didn’t know where Gina was, even though her missing daughter was running up my stairs.

  Joe rolled his eyes. “I’ll talk to Gina. What’s next?”

  He still didn’t seem to be taking my concerns seriously, but I was down to one I thought would get his attention.

  “Tracy overhead something at the grocery store that I found upsetting.” I repeated the gossip linking Joe’s mom to the burglaries along the lakeshore. “I made the girls promise they wouldn’t repeat that story to anyone,” I said.

  I was surprised when Joe’s first reaction was a shrug. “It’s not like you to pay attention to gossip,” he said.

  “Joe! This isn’t just gossip! This is slander! And it’s completely unfair. Mercy should snow. I mean, sue! She should take that woman to court.”

  “Yeah, that would do a lot of good. That way the Gazette would write it up, and everybody in town would be talking about it. Like having a movie banned so you can sell more tickets.”

  “But what can we do about it?”

  “We can’t do anything about it. Except laugh it off. Yuk, yuk.”

  “That’s all you’ve done with everything I’ve mentioned.”

  “Look, Lee, I know it’s a mess having all these people at the house.”

  “And a big hole outside the back door.”

  “And a big hole outside the back door. I promise that Darrell and I will get some work done on that tomorrow. We’ll try to have the whole project done in two weeks. All this is temporary. Pete will find his birds and leave. Gina will go home. Tracy’s parents will get back, and she will go home. Summer will end, and Brenda will go back to Texas.

  “See? Problems solved.” He stood up. “I thought you hauled me down here to let me have it over the last item on your list.”

  He leaned over and tapped my legal pad, right on top of Dinner with Garretts.

  “Actually, Joe, having you accept dinner engagements without consulting me is the least of my concerns. I haven’t even mentioned the main problem yet.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your dad came by the house this morning.”

  Joe’s face went rigid. I’d finally gotten to something he didn’t laugh off.

  Chapter 6

  Joe’s expression became a glare. “That’s not funny,” he said.

  “It didn’t amuse me either, Joe. In fact, I almost slammed the door in the guy’s face.”

  I described my encounter with the tall stranger with gray hair and a scarred cheek. “I thought you might know who he was,” I said, “or what his visit was all about.”

  Joe was beginning to look more puzzled than angry. “I have no idea who he was or why he came.”

  “A high school coach? A law professor? There’s never been anybody you thought of as a father? Anybody who thought of you as a son?”

  “Not that I can think of. All the fathering I had—and I was lucky there—came from my mom’s dad, Grandpa Matt.”

  “The boatbuilder?”

  “Right. I used to hang out at his shop every afternoon. He taught me everything I know.”

  “About boats?”

  “About life. I said I was lucky. This guy who came to the door—did you say he had a scar?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t disfiguring. In fact, he was quite an attractive man. The spooky thing was . . .” I stopped.

  “He was wearing a sheet.” Joe had lightened up a little.

  “He wasn’t that spooky! No, the thing that made my blood run cold was that his smile was reminiscent of yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes. I can’t say he looked like you, except that he was tall and slim. And his hair had probably been dark when he was younger. But when he smiled . . . well, his face did take on a certain similarity to yours. Then, when I talked to Gina—”

  “You told Gina about this?”

  “I haven’t told anybody. But I asked Gina about your dad—you know, what happened to him. I admit my stomach turned over when she said his ship went down in Lake Superior. I thought his grave might be empty, just a memorial. But she said that he was identified.”

  “Yeah. Mom had to identify him. Grandpa Matt went with her. She’s never talked about it much. She did tell me she dreaded seeing him, but he didn’t look bad.” Joe sat down on the couch again. “That’s one thing about Lake Superior. It’s cold.”

  Yes, a drowning victim in Lake
Superior is almost refrigerated. Superior is the farthest north of the Great Lakes, so it’s largely fed by snowmelt. It also has the reputation of being the most dangerous lake, the most storm-tossed. They say that’s because it’s longest from east to west, so the prevailing winds have plenty of space to whip up high waves as a storm moves across it. Lake Superior’s victims are often not found.

  I shuddered and moved to the couch, sitting close to Joe.

  “You never talk about your dad, Joe. I always assumed that you didn’t remember him, since you were so small when he was killed.”

  “I was five. But he worked the Great Lakes freighters, so he was gone a lot even before he died. I don’t think I understood what had happened—I remember that for a long time I’d ask Mom when he was coming home. Then she’d cry. I didn’t understand why.” He smiled ruefully. “She used to be happy when he came home.”

  I took his hand. “It must have been awfully hard for a little guy.”

  “Like I said, my grandfather fooled with me a lot. He explained that my dad wasn’t coming home and why, but he had to do it several times before I caught on.” Joe squeezed my hand. “But I assure you, Lee, that my father was actually, definitely dead. I remember the funeral a little.”

  “Gina says it was open-casket.”

  “I guess so. Mom must have whisked me out before the rest of the family. Anyway, I remember standing around outside afterward, waiting for my grandmother and Aunt Gina and a lot of other people to come out.” He stared into space a moment, then gestured with the hand that held mine. “Okay. We know who didn’t come to the door this morning. Now we’ve got to figure out who did. Was he driving?”

  “Yes. A blue pickup. A Ford.”

  “Then it definitely wasn’t my dad. The Atkins-Woodyard relatives are strictly GM.”

  We both chuckled. The American penchant to give the brand of the family cars and trucks the same weight as the family religion has always amused both Joe and me. True to his heritage, Joe drove a Chevy pickup.

  “I don’t suppose you got the license tag?” Joe said.

  “I was so bumfuzzled I nearly didn’t ask him for the phone number he refused to leave. But I’m sure it was a Michigan tag.”