The Chocolate Raccoon Rigmarole

by JoAnna Carl

  Watt frowned deeply. “That’s the part I don’t remember, Chief. After he left, I had a cup of tea and then went back to bed. Just laid down in my clothes. Then I did go someplace, but I don’t know how. It’s like I was kidnapped.”

  Hogan didn’t react to that. “Do you remember where you went?”

  Watt thought hard. “Up on the roof . . . someone’s roof somewhere.”

  “Why?”

  “Well . . . could I have been lookin’ for my truck, Chief?”

  “Do you remember I told you we moved it to your house after you were injured?”

  “I remember that now. Oh! And I remembered then, too, after a while. I started walking along one of those eastbound streets. But it’s a long way from Mike’s cottage to my house, out in the woods. So I started thumbin’ a ride every time a car came along. Course, nobody stopped for me. So I finally stopped and leaned against a building.” He shook his head gently, holding it as if it might fall off if he let go. Then his face brightened. “And somebody stopped to pick me up.” His face lit up. “It was that Mr. Gold. The one who brought me here.”

  And that’s where the story ended. Alex Gold said he had been climbing into his car when he saw Watt standing on the street, looking confused. Alex knew Watt because he had dickered with him about catching the raccoon in his shop’s attic.

  The Warner Pier PD was closed after five o’clock, and Alex didn’t want to call 9-1-1 about Watt. So he put Watt into his car and brought him to our house simply because he knew we were friendly with him.

  The ambulance came, and we all assured Watt that he was going to be okay. As the EMTs took Watt’s vital signs, Joe tried to ask a couple of questions. “Watt, how did you get on the roof at Van’s Shoes?” But Watt looked at him blankly and didn’t answer.

  “Watt!” Joe said. “Did you climb up on the roof? Or did someone, well, put you up there?”

  Watt clutched at Joe’s hand. “Mike?” he said. “Where’s Mike?”

  I looked around, and for the first time I realized that Mike and Dolly had disappeared. I spoke quietly to Joe. “Where did they go?”

  Joe murmured in my ear. “Hogan sent them back into hiding.”

  The EMTs were closing up the ambulance when Bill Vanderwerp came running down the lane toward our little group.

  “Hogan!” Bill seemed quite upset, waving for the ambulance to wait. “I’m not pressing charges against Watt! You can’t arrest him!”

  “Charge him with what?” Hogan asked.

  This question seemed to confuse Bill completely. He muttered something about his roof, but when Hogan replied with more questions, Bill turned away, frowning.

  Hogan assured Bill that Watt wasn’t under arrest, simply headed to the hospital to check on his memory lapse. This seemed to cause Bill more confusion. He didn’t look convinced about the wisdom of that action. He continued, speaking somewhat frantically. “Listen! Watt didn’t do one thing to harm anything at the store. He didn’t even eat anything. I don’t want to press charges!”

  Hogan assured Bill that he understood and that the hospital was for Watt’s benefit.

  “If you don’t want to sign a complaint, Bill, this should be a short stay. But Watt’s memory seems to be all messed up. The doctors need to figure out what’s wrong. Then Watt will be released.”

  Bill still looked worried. “I feel terrible about this,” he said. “I can’t believe that Watt is the break-in artist who’s been causing all this nuttiness.”

  His remark left me feeling astonished. “Bill!” I said. “I’ve heard some crazy gossip around this town, but that one takes the cake. Do you mean somebody suspected Watt of being one of the Cookie Monsters?”

  Bill had the grace to look ashamed. “Well . . . well, I guess people were just trying to figure out who was new in town.”

  “Honestly!” I said. “On Tuesday they think Watt was attacked by the Cookie Monsters, and on Wednesday they think he’s one of them!”

  Joe whispered in my ear, “I could kiss you.”

  I whispered back, “Later, guy. But what brought that on?”

  “The way you stick up for your friends always turns me on.”

  I was still fuming when Bill slunk away. But I was partly fuming at myself. What if Bill was right? What did I know about Watt? What did anybody know about Watt? He was a stranger to Warner Pier. What if those of us who liked him—Mike, Joe, Mike Herrera, Lindy, and even T. J.—were wrong?

  Watt began waving his arms vigorously and making crazy beckoning motions—in my direction. One of the EMTs was about to close the ambulance’s door, but I jumped over to the opening and stood there, blocking him.

  “Hey, Watt!” I said. “Did you want to tell me something?”

  “Lee, I don’t know how long they’re going to keep me. Could you and Mrs. Nettie go to my house and clean out the refrigerator? Please?”

  Then he clutched my hand and spoke softly. “And make sure the trash is out.”

  Chapter 16

  Naturally, I agreed. What I didn’t say was “Great! That gives me a chance to prowl around in your stuff, Watt. Maybe I can figure out more about who you really are.”

  And maybe that was because Watt forestalled any idea I had about discovering his deep, dark secrets by saying, “There’s not much stuff out there. I travel light.”

  Then he pressed a finger to his lips and closed his eyes. And what the heck did that mean?

  Watt told us that Hogan had his keys. I assured him that Aunt Nettie and I would get rid of any food likely to spoil, and we’d freeze things we thought could be saved. I offered to bring in his mail, but Watt said he had a post office box.

  As soon as the ambulance pulled out, Hogan gave me the house keys and told me how to find the house Watt was renting. It was near where Wildflower Hill lived, deep in the woods.

  I hate to admit it, but I’m scared of the woods. My attitude about trees is a joke to my Michigan friends and relatives; they all know that masses of trees scare the bejabbers out of me.

  I guess this mental tic developed from growing up on the plains. North Texas is largely open country. Rural people there can see who’s coming from all directions. So I’m wary if trees or hills block my view. I don’t like it.

  Our part of Michigan is as flat as Texas ever thought of being. But it’s also covered with trees. I love my adopted home, but those trees—when I see them, here come the palpitations. My insides start to quiver.

  Aunt Nettie and I decided to visit Watt’s house before going to the shop the next morning. She said we should take one precaution; she called Wildflower Hill that night to tell her we were coming out. She said that Wildflower is information central for that neighborhood, and this might keep the neighbors from asking a lot of questions.

  “Somebody might see your van and come over with a shotgun, just to make sure we weren’t up to anything naughty,” Aunt Nettie said. “But Wildflower will spread the word that we’re coming and why.”

  After we decided that, we discovered that Mike and Dolly had really disappeared. But none of us worried, because Dolly left a note. “Thanks for the hospitality,” it read. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  This time I decided not to worry.

  So the next morning Aunt Nettie and I followed a complicated set of turns and directions Hogan had given us. These led us to Watt’s house, where we arrived around eight o’clock. Watt lived off the main route, on an unpaved road, surrounded by lots of trees.

  “This has to be the place,” I said, pointing to a black pickup. “At least that’s Watt’s truck in the yard.”

  “And that’s his raccoon trap in its bed,” Aunt Nettie said. “Hogan said he had asked Jerry to load it up when Watt went into the hospital the first time.” She pulled the key out of her purse, and I parked my van next to the truck.

  The house was small, very small, an
d was standard woodland style. The siding had been stained brown, but was now faded to a reddish color, and the house had a low roof. Behind the cabin was the butane tank and a small storage shed. Stretching across the front was a simple porch with two steps up and a door smack in the middle. On the porch were two lawn chairs, the kind made of aluminum frames with faded cloth seats and backs.

  The house was what the early settlers would have built if they’d had access to a lumber mill, instead of relying on logs as building material.

  The key opened the front door easily, and Aunt Nettie and I stepped inside. The house had only one room, and to our surprise, there was a light on over the sink.

  We looked at each other. Then I yelled a greeting. “Hello! Anybody here?”

  There was no answer, but we still looked around. No one was in the tiny bathroom or the small closet. I even checked under the bed. No one there. I looked out the back door. The tiny porch was empty except for a broom and a mop propped against the wall.

  “I guess the last person in here left the light on,” I said.

  “There aren’t many places to hide,” Aunt Nettie said. “I think we’ve checked all of them, and there’s no one here. I’ll tackle the refrigerator.”

  “I’ll dump the trash and check the cupboards.”

  It was easy work. Aunt Nettie poured spoiled milk down the sink and stuffed brown lettuce into a large plastic trash bag she had brought along. The meat in the small freezer compartment—a package of hamburger and a small plastic sack holding two pork chops—was still frozen, so we left it, along with the ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise. I left the crackers and cereal in their boxes and the sugar in a plastic container with a sealable lid. Two little wastebaskets were emptied into Aunt Nettie’s big trash bag. A small pile of laundry went into a separate bag. Aunt Nettie said she would wash it.

  The furniture had obviously come with the little house. A sleeping bag covered a double bed with a stained mattress. Near a small table was a worn couch. A cheap floor lamp, two chairs, a small TV set, and some checked curtains just about finished the decor. A TV tray stood at one end of the couch. On it were a pencil and paper, with the daily sudoku half-worked. At the other end of the couch was a small chest of drawers. Its three drawers held nothing but underwear and socks. Shirts and pants hung in the closet. None of it looked significant.

  The most distinctive decoration was a giant mounted fish hanging over the couch; and on the wall above the bed was a set of eight-by-ten action photos of fishermen. The photos were terrific!

  I told Aunt Nettie about Watt’s request for me to check over the trash, so she and I both looked through the contents of the wastebaskets. Neither of us saw anything worth saving; just mass-market begging letters and special offers for cell phones.

  We couldn’t find a garbage can, only the two small wastebaskets. When I pointed this out, Aunt Nettie didn’t act too surprised. “Watt probably takes his garbage to the dump in bags,” she said.

  “But wouldn’t he need someplace to store the garbage until he takes it?”

  We both shrugged that problem off. Then Aunt Nettie spoke. “The most surprising thing is how clean this place is.”

  I agreed. “Yes, I can see why Mike hired Watt to clean kitchens. He’s a neat and clean guy. And he told me he traveled light.”

  “It’s a sad way to live,” Aunt Nettie said. “Everything Watt owns fits in his truck.”

  “Or maybe it’s a smart way. I sure collect too much stuff. I don’t know who’s smarter—Watt or me!”

  I went to the window over the sink and peered out, taking another look at the area behind the cabin.

  “Huh,” I said. “There’s a building out back.”

  I moved aside so Aunt Nettie could see. “It seems to be just a shed,” she said. “I can’t tell for sure. It’s a light color.”

  We opened a back door and stepped out onto a minuscule porch. About thirty feet away, at the end of a path, was a small metal shed. A clothesline stretched from the back door to the shed, and two dish towels hung on it. Aunt Nettie took the towels down.

  “I wonder what’s in there,” I said. “Knowing Watt, probably pet skunks.”

  Aunt Nettie chuckled. “Oh, Lee! I can’t imagine that. I suppose Watt might have kept the raccoons he caught there, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have forgotten to mention an animal who needed feeding.”

  Aunt Nettie walked over to the shed and tried to loosen its latch, but the door didn’t open. She reached into her pocket, but the first of Watt’s two keys wouldn’t open the door.

  “This lock is jammed,” Aunt Nettie said. After a quick rattle of the door, she pulled the key out of the lock and began to examine it.

  Then I heard the faintest possible noise inside the shed. What could that be?

  I took a split second to listen to the door; as I listened, I watched. And the door moved, just a bit. Not the handle—that didn’t move. But the door itself moved, ever so slightly. As if somebody were leaning against it.

  A shiver went down my back. Could someone—something—be behind that door?

  All I knew was that Aunt Nettie was with me. She was a plump woman in her sixties, and she couldn’t run if a monster jumped out at us.

  And she was pulling out another key and getting ready to put it into the keyhole.

  Suddenly I was positive that if we opened the door, some ghastly thing would erupt out of that shed.

  I clutched Aunt Nettie’s arm. “I told Watt I wouldn’t poke through his stuff. Let’s leave this and head for the office. I’m sure there’s nothing perishable in that little shed.”

  Aunt Nettie looked surprised. Then she shrugged. “Probably not,” she said. “We can ask Watt later.”

  She put the keys back in her pocket. We turned around and slowly walked to the back door. I tried to hustle Aunt Nettie along, but she strolled slowly. That’s the way she walks on an outdoor path.

  Once inside the house, I grabbed up my trash sacks. “I’ll take Watt’s sudoku to him, and let’s scram. The trees are getting me down.”

  Aunt Nettie laughed. Before we left, we turned out all the lights, including the one over the sink. Then we turned the porch light on, even though it was daylight. I threw the garbage bags and laundry into the backseat of the van and locked the door. Then we climbed in, and we beat it. I drove a steady pace for the mile back to the county road. I couldn’t speed on that rough gravel road, even though my instincts were chanting, “Run-run-run-hurry-hurry-hurry.”

  As I drove, I asked Aunt Nettie to pull my phone out of my purse and call the police station. She got Hogan and told him about our visit to Watt’s. While she was chatting, I kept repeating, “Let me talk to him. Let me talk to him.” This mystified her, and several times she replied, “In a minute, Lee.”

  She didn’t understand what had suddenly upset me, but she finally said, “Hogan, dear, Lee wants to talk to you. I’m not really sure what it’s about.”

  I grabbed the phone from her. “Hogan! I could swear there was somebody at Watt’s house! Watching us!”

  Chapter 17

  Aunt Nettie’s mouth fell open, and Hogan’s voice got hard. “Did anybody threaten you? Hurt you? Chase you?”

  Of course, I had to reply “no” to all of his questions.

  Then I told him about spooky feelings and a movement in the shed.

  “Hogan! I admit I didn’t see a soul! Didn’t hear a sound! Am I losing it? Has my mind finally just gone? But I saw that door move—just slightly—and if Aunt Nettie hadn’t been with me, I swear I would have turned and run! I thought I’d never get Aunt Nettie into the van!”

  There was a long silence before Hogan spoke. “You’re usually pretty calm, Lee. Jerry and I will go on out there and take a look at the situation.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ll need Watt’s keys. Can we wait for you at the Rest
-Stop?”

  “Good enough.”

  As soon as I hung up, I glanced at Aunt Nettie. She looked concerned, but not panicky.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe I’m losing my mind.”

  She smiled and patted my arm. “We’d better invent a signal. When you need to tell me it’s time to panic, you’ll have to say something or do something so I get the idea.”

  I tried to laugh. “Like run up a red flag?”

  “Too obvious, Lee. Maybe something like patting your head and rubbing your stomach.”

  That made me laugh for real. “Aw, c’mon, Aunt Nettie! You know how uncontaminated—I mean, uncoordinated! You know how uncoordinated I am. I’d be sure to pat my stomach and rub my head and get you all confused.”

  Pulling into the Warner Pier Rest-Stop was quite a relief. It’s on the eastern edge of Warner Pier, so we were almost out of those thick, scary woods. Plus, we hadn’t seen a soul on the road for the whole trip.

  “We made it,” I said. “And no one followed us.”

  Aunt Nettie smiled. “I thought there was some kind of truck way back behind us for a few minutes. But it disappeared. Now that we’re here, do you want to get a cup of coffee while we wait for Hogan?”

  “Not until we’ve handed Watt’s keys over. I’m sure Hogan is on his way here.”

  We watched the cars in the parking lot for a moment. Joe was working at his office in Holland that day, so his truck wasn’t there. However, a few of the coffee club members’ trucks were parked in the lot. One truck had Digger Brown’s plumbing company logo, and another bore the address and phone number of Tony Herrera’s machine shop on the door. The doughnut delivery van driven by R. L. Lake pulled in at the side of the station. He was running a little late that morning. He waved at us, then took out a big box of doughnuts and went inside.

  It was comforting to see the familiar sights of morning at the Rest-Stop.