The Chocolate Cat Caper

by Carl, Joanna (Chocolate series 01)

  The result was that I thought we’d never get rid of Greg Glossop. In fact, he was still there when I got a call. From Joe.

  Luckily, I answered the telephone that time.

  “Hi,” Joe said. “Your line’s been busy for thirty minutes.”

  “I know. All of Warner Pier’s called up to tell us how glad they are that we’re not going to be tried for murder.”

  “People around here are really nice, aren’t they?” Joe’s deadpan tones emphasized the sarcasm in his remark.

  I laughed. “Oh, people are pretty much the same everywhere, I guess. You should have heard the strange questions the Texans asked when I left my ex. Are the detectives through out there?”

  “No. They’re still at it. Working in the office. I’m on the kitchen line. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh?” Was he going to bring up that kiss?

  He didn’t say anything for a long time. I didn’t say anything either. Finally, we both spoke at the same time.

  “Listen . . .” I said.

  “I hope . . .” Joe said.

  We both shut up again, and there was another silence. Then Joe spoke.

  “Back there as you were leaving . . . I was way out of line. I owe you an apology.”

  His comment struck me funny. “That’s not very complimentary,” I said.

  “I don’t mean I didn’t enjoy it!”

  I laughed, and in a few seconds, I heard a chuckle from the other end of the line.

  “As long as you’re not mad,” Joe said.

  “No, I obviously enjoyed it, too. But . . . listen, let’s forget the whole thing, okay?”

  “Forget it? That’s a tall order.”

  “I mean—well, we’ve both had some bad experiences, and I think . . . I think both of us need to get out more!”

  There was another long silence. Then Joe spoke seriously. “You don’t want my class ring?”

  “No, but I’d be tempted by the letter jacket.”

  We both laughed. It was such a relief to be able to joke. But I couldn’t forget my unease about Marion’s plan to fly away.

  “Joe, I had one thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “I gotta go,” Joe said. “VanDam’s waving at me. Can I call you later, when things calm down?”

  “I may call you.”

  We both hung up, and I looked up to see Aunt Nettie standing in the office doorway. “Lee, do you think we could go home now?”

  “Did Greg Glossop leave?”

  “Finally.”

  The phone rang again, but this time I let the answering machine catch it.

  “We’re not here,” I said, turning off the sound. “In fact, we’re no longer murder suspects, and we’re going to go out on a toot to celebrate.”

  “And just what kind of a toot did you have in mind?”

  “I have enough room left on my Visa card to treat us to a pizza. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful. I definitely don’t want to cook.”

  “Come on then. There’s no cloud hanging over our heads, and we’re gonna howl!”

  I stuffed my doubts about the details of Marion’s crime under a mental rock and led Aunt Nettie out the door to the alley.

  Chapter 15

  Peach Street was still crowded with tourist traffic as we drove out of the alley. The most interesting thing I noticed was a black Mercedes convertible parked in front of Downtown Drugs. There was no sign of Duncan Ainsley, however.

  “Is the Dock Street still the best place for pizza?” I said.

  “Well, I think they have really good sauce—and plenty of it. And they’ve become a sort of social center, too.”

  “You mean the tourists discovered it?”

  “No, I mean it’s a center for us locals. I understand that if a couple is seen together in the Dock Street it’s practically an announcement that they’re going steady. And they’ve put in a dining room since your day.”

  “A dining room? Do you want to eat there?” I nudged her. “Everybody already knows we’re related.”

  “Sure. If we can get a table.”

  The Dock Street Pizza Place has been a Warner Pier institution for a long time. It’s the best kind of pizza place—long on spices, cheese, and toppings and short on ambiance. I was pleased to see that we still ordered by walking up to a counter and that the “dining room” consisted of a dozen tables in what had been a garage off the alley back when I went there as a teenager. And it still smelled like garlic, tomatoes, pepperoni, and hot bread.

  Aunt Nettie and I snagged a table for two in a corner, and I went up to the counter and ordered a medium Italian sausage and mushroom pizza, two side salads, and two glasses of red wine from our local winery.

  I took the salads and wine back to the table. I was sitting with my back to the counter, and I was so tired that I was ignoring the social side of dinner at the Dock Street. So I was surprised when Aunt Nettie looked behind me and her eyes grew wide. “That Mr. Ainsley is coming over here,” she said softly.

  Amazed, I turned around. Duncan Ainsley was the last person I’d have expected to see in the Dock Street. “Duncan!”

  “Lee.” He smiled and patted my shoulder. Then he turned to Aunt Nettie. “And Nettie TenHuis, the famous chocolatier.”

  “I sure am glad to run into y’all. May I join you?”

  “Of course,” Aunt Nettie said. There was no way to refuse. Plus, I was rather honored that a man as well-known as Duncan Ainsley wanted to sit with us. The Business Week article had described him as a “bachelor who likes to be seen with a beautiful woman on his arm.” That night “beautiful” hardly applied to either Aunt Nettie or me. Duncan, however, was as suave as usual. Not a hair in that beautiful head of gray was out of place.

  “I thought Lindy was fixing dinner for you,” I said.

  “She left something to heat up, but—thank the Lord!—I was finally allowed to get out of that house,” Duncan said. “So I got.”

  “Are you going back to Chicago tonight?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’ll wait and go in the morning. There’s no point in fighting Sunday evening traffic. I was able to check into a B-and-B.”

  “How did you find the Dock Street?” Aunt Nettie asked. “I thought only us locals knew about it.”

  “I asked somebody where to get some good Italian food.” Duncan smiled broadly. “Pizza sounded good. And the company’s a lot better than out at the Ripley house.”

  “Is Joe the only other person there?”

  “Except for the security guard. And Joe may well be a fine fellow, but I heard too much about him from Marion.”

  “I know you must have known her well.”

  “Marion and I had an odd relationship. Sometimes it was such a headache that I was sorry Clementine Ripley had become a client. Oh, I made money on the deal, but I rarely saw Clementine, and Joe refused to have anything to do with her business affairs, even before their divorce. That left all the details to Marion. And her relationship with Clementine . . .” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You’ll have figured out that it was kinda peculiar.” He turned to Aunt Nettie. “Will y’all be leaving Warner Pier next winter?”

  “Maybe for a vacation,” she said. “Why?”

  “Then you don’t spend the winter in Florida, the way some of the resort shopkeepers do?”

  “Oh, no,” Aunt Nettie said.

  I spoke then. “TenHuis Chocolade is quite busy year-round. We do a lot of mail-order business.”

  “I had no notion.”

  “I think Aunt Nettie should expand, but she wants to keep a close eye on just how TenHuis chocolates are made.”

  “You have to watch every detail,” Aunt Nettie said.

  Duncan frowned. “But I’ve been in the shop. You’re obviously not making all the chocolates yourself. Lee, do you help?”

  “Nope. I keep my hands strictly out of the chocolate and into the business side. TenHuis has about thirty-five ladies who make the chocolates.”

&n
bsp; “Thirty-five! That’s a much larger business than I realized, Mrs. TenHuis.” He turned to me again. “Then you don’t put on hairnets and gloves and dig into the marshmallow cream?”

  I laughed at the horrified expression that the notion of marshmallow cream inspired in Aunt Nettie. “We use neither marshmallow cream nor plastic gloves,” I said.

  “No? I thought health department rules said food handlers had to use them.”

  “Not always,” Aunt Nettie said, “but we have what the health department calls an alternate policy. Our employees are specially trained in hand washing and food handling, so they don’t have to wear gloves.” She leaned over and spoke confidingly. “McDonalds’s has the same kind of deal. My ladies do wear hairnets. But it would be extremely hard to do some of the detail work we do while wearing gloves.”

  “I can see that you’re as busy as three windmills in a tornado.”

  At that point the counter girl called my name, and I went up to collect our pizza. Duncan shared tour he sausage and mushroom until his arrived, and we had quite a companionable time, with Duncan entertaining us with more stories about his famous clients.

  At the end of the meal Aunt Nettie excused herself to speak to a friend across the room. Duncan and I stood up, and I extended my hand. “This has been most enjoyable,” I said. “I hope everything is calm for a while. I don’t think I can stand any more incitement—I mean, excitement!”

  Duncan stood up, too. He smiled, gave me a lot of eye contact, and made shaking my hand more than a polite gesture.

  “I hope you get to leave tomorrow,” I said.

  “I plan to be off as soon as I have breakfast. Have a nice evening, Lee, and a nice life. If you ever want to try the big city, let me know. I hate to see a young woman as personable and intelligent as you stagnating in a little town—even a cute little one.”

  “The big city life doesn’t appeal to everyone. Look at Joe.”

  Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Of course, Joe may change his mind about the big city now that his situation has changed.”

  “You mean because big city life is more fun with money?”

  “No, I mean that he might decide to go back into law practice. Now that Clementine isn’t around to pressure him to stay out of it.”

  I must have looked amazed, because Duncan laughed. “Hadn’t you heard that particular piece of gossip? Marion was spreading it so busily that I thought it would be all over Warner Pier.”

  “Clementine Ripley pressured Joe to stop practicing law?”

  “According to Marion, that was part of their divorce settlement.”

  “But how could she do that?”

  “Supposedly she had the goods on him—threatened to get him disbarred. But she gave him the out of voluntarily leaving the practice of law.”

  I was stunned. “Then why did Clementine leave Joe as her heir? Why didn’t she sign her new will?”

  “Thought she’d live forever, just like the rest of us do, I guess.” Duncan shrugged. “Ask your aunt about it. She may have heard something. Anyway, if you decide to leave Warner Pier for the big city, to trade in the historic farmhouse for a high-rise condo, let me know.”

  I tried to swallow my amazement and keep our good-bye light. “Ah, but a condo wouldn’t have a Michigan basement.”

  “Is that what that sand-floored cellar is called? I learn something new all the time.”

  Duncan smiled as Aunt Nettie reappeared. He left a lavish tip on the table—not strictly necessary in a place where you get your own food from the counter—and escorted us to the old Buick, settling Aunt Nettie in the driver’s seat as gallantly as if she’d been driving a Rolls. He gave me one of his business cards and even waved as we drove away.

  I could barely wait to ask Aunt Nettie if she’d heard the gossip Duncan had passed along, the news that Clementine Ripley had threatened to get Joe disbarred.

  “No, I hadn’t heard that,” she said, “and I’m sure his mother hadn’t heard it either. She was furious with Joe for quitting law and did a lot of moaning about his lack of ambition. She certainly didn’t act as if he was being forced to get out of the profession.”

  I liked Joe. I had even kissed him. But that had just been my hormones telling me he was an attractive man. It didn’t give me any insight into his character.

  I reminded myself that my past record on judging people wasn’t too good. I had thought Rich was one of the good guys. Now I knew that I’d never marry another divorced man without finding out more about why his first marriage broke up.

  We discussed the ramifications of Duncan’s revelation all the way home. Once inside, we checked out the house. The state police search team had been much neater than the burglar. Mrs. Deacon had left a note saying some of the searchers left at four o’clock—that would have been when Marion’s death was reported—and the others at five-thirty.

  “I guess I don’t need to hide the van any longer,” I said. “I’ll go over to the Baileys’ and get it.”

  “Oh, dear!” Aunt Nettie frowned. “I just remembered—I forgot to stop for gas. I’d better go back to town.”

  “You put your feet up. I’ll take the Buick and get gas.”

  I don’t have any excuse for what I did next. In fact, I wasn’t aware that I was doing it until after I’d done it. My brain apparently went into cruise control, and my subconscious handled the whole thing.

  I drove straight to the Ripley estate.

  I had pulled up at the security gate before I realized where I was going.

  As soon as I saw where I was, I put the car in reverse and started to leave. But it was too late. The security guard was already speaking to me electronically. I knew he could see me on his closed circuit camera. I was trapped by my own subconscious. I decided to act as if I’d come on purpose.

  “Lee McKinney to see Joe Woodyard.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  Actually, I did have some vague memory of telling Joe I wanted to talk to him again that evening. I tried to sound confident. “I believe so.”

  The guard decided to believe me. “Drive on around the circle,” he said. The gate slid open.

  Once again I headed up the long drive that led through the trees. An elaborate system of hidden lights illuminated the driveway. Why wasn’t I surprised by that?

  When I pulled up in front of the flagstone steps, the Hugh was waiting for me. “Mr. Woodyard’s down at the boathouse,” he said. “You can wait for him inside.”

  He opened the front door, and I went into the big foyer, still packed with flowers, then walked on into the reception room. I heard a meow over my head and looked up to see Yonkers, again hiding behind the huge white ceramic pot.

  “Are you going to jump on me?” I said.

  “No,” Yonkers said. Actually, I suppose it was more like naow, but he certainly responded. Then he turned and trotted along the balcony to a door that opened into a lighted room I realized was the office. I was moving toward the big, soft white couch when I heard a loud clang from upstairs.

  “Yonk, did you knock over the wastebasket?” I decided I’d better see what the cat was up to, since Joe was not in the house to keep an eye on him. I ran up the stairs and went along the balcony to the office.

  When I looked inside, the wastebasket was still upright, and Yonkers was nowhere in sight. “Yonk! Here, kitty!” I looked behind the desk, noting that the computer was off this time, and under the chairs.

  “Where did you go, you pesky cat?”

  I got a clue when the paneled door moved, just as it had that afternoon. Yonkers had once more opened the closet. But this time he was inside.

  I opened the door. The closet was apparently an afterthought, maybe put in just in case Clementine Ripley or some future owner ever decided to make the office room over into a bedroom. For the moment, however, it was lined with shelves and stocked with paper, boxes of paper clips, and other office necessities. All very businesslike.

  Except for the filmy black nigh
tgown that hung on a hook on the inside of the door.

  CHOCOLATE CHAT:

  ROMANCE

  • Chocolate has long been associated with romance, but it’s hard to tell how much of this was based on fact and how much on marketing. When chocolate was introduced to Germany during the 1600s, for example, the sellers whispered of its value as an aphrodisiac. Ladies were urged to offer a cup to their husbands.

  • The Aztec emperor Montezuma reportedly drank chocolate before visiting his harem.

  • The Spanish kept chocolate a secret for nearly a hundred years, but in 1615 Princess Maria Teresa gave her finacé, Louis XIV of France, a gift of chocolate and the secret was out.

  • Casanova was quoted as saying chocolate was more useful in seduction than champagne.

  • After chocolate candy was developed, luscious, creamy bonbons and truffles came to be know as a ideal romantic gift. This developed into the heartshaped box of chocolates—the Valentine’s Day gift every teenage girl longs for—and into luxury chocolates for more sophisticated lovers.

  • Still, the physical effects of eating chocolate stimilating the heart muscle, providing extra energy and maybe even acting as a mood alternating—are a lot like falling love!

  Chapter 16

  A black lace nightgown?

  It was the last thing I expected to find in an office closet. Two more things were hung on top of it—a lightweight sweater, the kind you might keep around in case you got cold while finishing up a report, and a man’s flannel shirt. The shirt and sweater were on wooden hangers, but I could see that a fancy padded hanger held the nightgown. Its hanger was scented, too, or something in the closet was.

  Yonkers seemed as interested in the gown as I was. He began to exercise his claws on the fragile skirt.

  “Bad cat!” I said. I tried to lift the skirt of the gown up, out of his reach, and it slipped off its fancy satin hanger.

  “Rats,” I said. I wrestled the gown away from Yonkers, tossing it onto the desk. “You’re going to ruin it, you naughty thing.” I clapped my hands at him. “Get up on your perch and let this alone.”