The Chocolate Raccoon Rigmarole

by JoAnna Carl

  I gave up on the idea of trapping our alley raccoon and ate my sandwich. The whole thing seemed rather pointless. But before we even finished our dessert—ice cream with a fancy cookie—Wildflower called back.

  “I guess you’re going to need another raccoon trapper,” she said.

  “How’d you know? I didn’t even mention it.”

  “I’m clairvoyant. Also, with Watt in the hospital, it was pretty obvious.”

  She gave me the name and number of a man over near the county seat. Then she hung up again. I had the feeling I wasn’t on Wildflower’s list of all-time favorite people. But maybe she hadn’t given up on me.

  However, as it ended up, I didn’t call the new raccoon trapper. Mike called me as soon as I was back at my desk. In fact, he called me so promptly that I suspected he had seen me arrive at the shop. Was he up in Dolly’s apartment? He and Dolly should have been hiding out still.

  Mike spoke so quickly that I didn’t get the chance to ask where he was.

  “Hey, Lee, I guess all this commotion is leaving you without a raccoon catcher.”

  “That seems to be the case. I sure don’t want you or Watt wandering around in the dark alley where the boogeymen seem to be hanging out.”

  “I’m not too worried, but Hogan is. And Dolly. But surely we’ll get it all straightened out pretty quick.”

  “I sure hope so. Though I’m much more worried about you and Watt than about the raccoons.”

  “Yeah. Watt—well, he almost needs a full-time keeper. Has for years.”

  “When did you first meet Watt?”

  Mike hesitated. “Oh, long time back. He’s a smart guy, but he can be kind of spacey.”

  A suspicion began to boil up in my mind. Could I ask? I took a deep breath and jumped right in.

  “Mike? Did you know Watt in the army?”

  Mike hesitated as long as I had before he answered. “How’d you get that idea?” he said. “Give the guy a chance. And if he wants to help Bob, let him.”

  The line went dead.

  Chapter 19

  “Give the guy a chance,” Mike had said.

  Why did Watt need a chance? Watt had mentioned a helicopter ride—“for old times’ sake.” Had Mike and Watt known each other in the army? Had they flown in the same helicopters? Did Hogan know if they had been in the army together? Did it matter? What was all this about, anyway? Should I try to find out? Or was I simply being nosy?

  I stood at my desk for at least a minute, considering the possibilities. Then I shrugged my shoulders. I couldn’t continue trying to figure out other people’s motivations and intentions. I had to get on with my life.

  So there, Mike.

  I still quizzed Hogan about the whole ordeal when we talked on the phone late that afternoon. I detailed the exchange of questions and—sort of—answers with Mike.

  Hogan replied, “Hmm.”

  “Is that it, Hogan? Your only comment?”

  “Yep.”

  I thought a moment. “Okay. Your call. I guess it’s sometimes better not to ask too many questions. But I will ask one more. Are Dolly and Mike in a safe place?”

  “Yes. This time. I’m sorry I didn’t handle that better last time.”

  “Your record is pretty good,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Yes, Hogan now seemed to have everybody safe. Including Dolly.

  In fact, where was Dolly?

  I went into the workshop and looked around. No sign of her. Had she taken refuge with Mike?

  Aunt Nettie was at her desk in the alcove off the kitchen, so I asked her.

  She smiled. “Yes, she’s with Mike. Hogan sent the two of them off.”

  “Are they with Watt?”

  “That I don’t know. But Hogan assures me that they are in a much more secure place than the first time. Mike—he’s overconfident. He thinks he can handle anything.”

  “I guess a guy his size can handle most things.”

  I turned to go to my own office, but Aunt Nettie stopped me. “Dolly did tell me one strange thing. Maybe you and Joe could check it out.”

  “Sure. What was it?”

  “She thinks she heard footsteps . . .” She leaned toward me and lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “Upstairs.”

  “Upstairs? Upstairs from her apartment? On the roof?”

  Aunt Nettie shrugged. “It sounds crazy.”

  “It certainly does. There’s no way to get there except through her apartment or on those ladders on the back of the building.”

  “I guess I could ask Hogan to look up there.”

  “Oh heck! I can go. There’s not going to be anything but hot asphalt.”

  “Be careful, Lee.”

  Nearly all the buildings in the business district of Warner Pier have flat roofs. The area was built between 1890 and 1910, and that’s the way small-town commercial structures were designed in that era.

  The buildings in our small downtown are brick with white trim, or they’re white frame. No mid-century modern or even Prairie School for our merchants. The design of homes in Warner Pier varies greatly, but not the design of our businesses.

  The two buildings Aunt Nettie and I combined to create a home for TenHuis Chocolade are typical of the era. In the early days of the twentieth century, red brick was the rule for small-town businesses, and we hold up the fashion loyally.

  Though TenHuis expanded to fill three floors of two buildings, including full use of our two basements, we definitely fit in with the local tradition.

  And our second floors fit the standard style, too. Both buildings had small apartments upstairs. Historically the proprietors lived in them; today, both of ours have been rented out.

  The roofs are almost flat, with short parapets on all four sides. An architect told me that the roofs were originally weatherproofed with “coal tar pitch.” Over the years, the roofing material had changed to be some sort of plastic sheets laid over insulation, and air-conditioning units had been placed atop the buildings. Walkways crisscrossed the roofs here and there for access to mechanical equipment while protecting the roofing from wear.

  I wasn’t scared to go up there. The only danger was if I stepped over the edge of the parapet and fell two stories to the sidewalk. Reasonable caution would avoid that.

  I unlocked the desk drawer in which I kept spare keys, and took out the duplicates to Dolly’s apartment. I was surprised that she and Mike hadn’t checked on the sound Dolly heard coming from the roof before they left. They probably didn’t have time.

  It took me only a few minutes to go out the back door of the shop and up the stairway leading to Dolly’s apartment. Once there, I unlocked her door, using my landlord keys, and glanced around. Dolly had, as usual, left everything ultra-neat.

  I then unlocked the door that led to the roof. When the door opened, I saw the narrow stairway, almost steep enough to be called a ladder. A single lightbulb hung from the stairwell’s ceiling, giving dim illumination. There was a handrail, and I clung to it as I went on up. At the top, another door with a sturdy lock led to the roof.

  When I opened it, the late-afternoon sunlight was blinding, and I shaded my eyes with my hand. I stepped over the sill and stood still until my eyes adjusted to the powerful light.

  After a moment, I saw that the trees the city fathers had planted along the sidewalks stood higher than the roof, so while most of the roof was roasted by the sun, there were some small areas of shade.

  I began a solemn procession around the building, scanning for anything unusual. I first went along the front wall, taking a long look across the street at my mother-in-law’s insurance office building. It always looked classy and businesslike. Even though she and her husband, Joe’s stepfather, were in Seattle for a convention of insurance professionals, the office still appeared to be open and operating according
to her rules.

  Joe’s mom, Mercy, runs most of her life with an iron hand. But Joe had always gone his own way. As a single mom, how did she resist micromanaging her only son? Or was it that Joe resisted being managed? I certainly have never managed him, but he was never unmanageable.

  I looked up and down the street, enjoying my unusual vantage point. Tourists, dogs, kids, and more tourists. It was too early in the season for the shops to be packed, but there were plenty of people walking by.

  I turned left and walked to the roof of our second building. The architect and the builder had made our double structure look like a single building, just as we asked. The second-floor windows flowed smoothly from building to building. I could see both buildings reflected in Mercy’s big front windows; it looked pretty good.

  At the corner of the building, I turned left again and walked back seventy-five feet, reaching the alley. I could see the cars parked behind the stores and the Dumpster where Hogan’s searchers had found the packing pads. I still didn’t understand those. Turning around, I had an expansive view of Alex Gold’s roof. It was just as smooth and lacking in detail as ours was, although our air-conditioning equipment loomed in the back corner of the roof. I carefully circled it.

  And I almost broke a leg on a stick.

  It was jutting out from under the AC unit. I caught my toe on it, tripped, and nearly went sprawling flat on my face.

  Luckily, I was able to catch myself on the corner of the AC equipment. Plus, I had on long khaki slacks, so when I fell to my knees, I didn’t skin them.

  I broke my silence, however, letting go with a few stout words suitable for the occasion, such as “Oh dear!”

  I knelt there until I caught my breath. Then I pulled the stick out and examined it. “What on earth?”

  It wasn’t a stick from a tree. It was actually a heavy metal rod with smaller pieces of metal and lots of tiny hinges attached to it. Black rags festooned the smaller pieces of metal. It even had a crooked handle. I knew what it was almost immediately.

  “Good heavens!” I said. “It’s an umbrella!”

  Then I laughed.

  I got to my feet and stood there examining the umbrella. It must have blown there, I decided.

  I pictured the wrecked umbrella rolling around the rooftop in even a light wind, or tossed back and forth in torrents of rain.

  No wonder Dolly had thought she heard footsteps. The umbrella would definitely have made noises as it traversed the asphalt and gravel—thunking and bumping around. But why hadn’t it blown off the roof?

  I tucked the umbrella under my arm and completed my trek around the roof. I found nothing else unusual, so I relocked all the doors and went downstairs.

  I walked into Aunt Nettie’s office, brandishing the shattered umbrella over my head.

  “Hey,” I called out. “Mary Poppins has been on our roof!”

  Aunt Nettie laughed. Bunny laughed. Everybody laughed. We all marveled at how on earth a tattered and worn umbrella wound up on our roof.

  “That’s a hoot!” “What are the odds?” “It really must have been Mary Poppins!”

  I hung the umbrella on the hall tree in the corner of Aunt Nettie’s office. She found a box of tough rubber bands and used a half dozen to keep the umbrella’s ribs from flopping around.

  “I’ll show this to Hogan,” she said, “and tell him where you found it. He’ll think that’s hilarious.”

  “I’m going home,” I said. “I don’t really care how this bumbershoot came to land on top of our building.”

  “Neither do I,” Aunt Nettie said. “By the way, I had the ladies make up a tray of chocolate critters as a gift for Alex.”

  I peeked to see what she’d tucked inside the box. Beavers of dark chocolate, squirrels and raccoons of milk chocolate, bunnies of white chocolate.

  “Fantastic! He’ll be pleased. If he and Garnet don’t want them for the breakfast, they’ll do for later.”

  “I thought I’d try to get there early tomorrow,” she said. “Then I can come on to the shop without being too late.”

  I sighed. “I hope it doesn’t drag on too long. Alex makes things such a big deal. I’d just as soon start the day with something low-key.”

  “Not likely for him,” Aunt Nettie said.

  Little did we know that low-key was the last thing the day would bring.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning Joe and I showed up at Gold’s Jewelry at eight thirty a.m. for Alex’s preopening breakfast for his fellow merchants.

  The streets were not exactly bumper-to-bumper that early—this was Warner Pier, after all, and there aren’t a huge number of merchants in the town. But as we drove down Peach Street, we could see that plenty of people were going through the front door of the new shop.

  “I guess Alex’s plan to get attention is working,” I said.

  “I think he’s an expert at that.”

  We parked in the alley and cut through our shop, then walked two doors down to Gold’s.

  When we opened the front door, a hubbub hit our ears, with at least twenty or twenty-five Warner Pier merchants already inside.

  Garnet Garrett, our neighbor and Alex Gold’s niece, was greeting guests at the front door, and she met each of us with a friendly hug. She thanked me effusively for sending the tray of chocolates. I assured her they were Aunt Nettie’s idea.

  “I am so excited about this summer,” she said. “Last year was crazy, with our daughter’s wedding, so this summer I’m looking forward to just staying in Warner Pier and working in the store.”

  “We’re looking forward to having y’all around,” I said.

  “It will be great doing routine work. Back to the family trade.”

  “I didn’t realize you had worked with jewelry, Garnet.”

  “Oh yes. All the Golds learn about jewelry at their mother’s knee. I worked in Uncle Alex’s Chicago shop for three years before I became a housewife. And I’ve worked in a couple of other shops over the years.”

  She leaned toward me. “Head for the second counter. That’s where the mimosas are waiting for you two.”

  “Love those mimosas,” Joe said. We walked toward the designated counter. Then he murmured, “Nothing like starting off a day of working with power equipment with a few glasses of champagne.”

  I chuckled as he asked the server for a glass of plain orange juice. I asked for the same thing. Then I whispered in Joe’s ear, “I have the same concern you do. If mixing champagne with power equipment is dangerous, imagine what could happen to our finances if we mixed the bubbly with a computer. But this is high-class. They’ve even got champagne glasses for the teetotalers.”

  “Hererra’s sent them,” he said. “They’ve got all the catering tricks down pat. You can’t tell who has champagne and who has juice.”

  We toasted each other with our plain OJ, then walked toward the counter that held food and other refreshments—coffee, sweet rolls, fruit, sausage, and bacon.

  The shop looked beautiful. There were gorgeous flower arrangements and lovely silver pieces—everything you’d expect for the opening for an exclusive jewelry store. Alex was living up to his reputation as a prominent expert on antique jewelry.

  And more people were coming in all the time.

  Alex wormed his way toward us through the crowd, his small stature occasionally making him disappear in the sea of people.

  I couldn’t help kidding him. “Alex! This is scrumptious! But I thought you were going to open a shop that specialized in homey jewelry suitable for the beach!”

  Alex was too excited to acknowledge the teasing. The small man strutted back and forth, seeming to stretch his height by several inches.

  “Beach!” he said. “Beach is right! Every occasion—even a picnic—calls for the right jewelry! And we’ll have it all. Make sure you stick around until n
ine o’clock. That’s when I’ll make the big announcement!”

  Joe and I filled our plates and greeted our friends and acquaintances. The entire coffee club was there. Digger Brown was obviously holding a real mimosa, and I didn’t think it was his first. “Hey, Joe,” he said, “where are the doughnuts? I have R. L.’s doughnuts every morning.”

  “Gee,” I said, “I’m glad my plumbing doesn’t need attention today.”

  Digger grinned. “Your plumbing will be in good hands, I promise, no matter how many mimosas I have.” He leaned close. “After noon I can call Superior Plumbing if I need a substitute!”

  I looked up and saw Tony Herrera walk through the door. Joe waved to him, and I smiled as I saw that he and Lindy were actually coming in together. So often Warner Pier parties forced the two of them to attend separately because Lindy was in charge of the serving and the food. Today she had handed that off to their daughter Alicia.

  I felt happy, surrounded by people I knew and liked. Had this Texas gal managed to become a happy camper in Michigan?

  At one point when the group shifted, I saw what seemed to be the centerpiece of the entire party. At the back of the shop, higher than eye level, a glass shelf had been erected. On it was an even higher glass shelf, narrower and standing above the first one. The effect was of a dais—two shelves atop each other creating a dramatic stage.

  For nothing. Neither shelf had anything on it except a velvet scarf.

  What was that all about?

  I immediately knew that Alex had some purpose for this odd structure. He had not simply forgotten to finish his decorations. And I realized then that most of the people there—the crowd had reached about thirty-five by then—were also noticing the empty centerpiece.

  What was Alex going to put there? I was definitely planning to stick around to find out. Nine o’clock. That’s when Alex had said he planned to make a big announcement.

  I saw Aunt Nettie across the room. She was happily talking to a friend, but I saw no sign of Hogan. Hmm. I’d expected to see the two of them together. Then I saw the chief’s patrol car go by. Apparently Hogan’s responsibilities had made him late. I resolved not to let the delay titillate my curiosity and ruin my enjoyment of the breakfast.