He showed me the pistol. Then he put it in the pocket of the jacket. “I’ll be keeping my hand on this,” he said. “Now let’s concentrate on getting out of this van safely.”
He opened the front door on the passenger side and sort of oozed out, then stood partially hidden by the van’s open door. “Now you scoot over and get out on this side.”
Maybe this would be my chance. I moved slowly, but I tried to get in position to kick.
I had just eased over into the passenger seat when the back door to TenHuis Chocolade swung open.
“Lee? What are you doing here?”
It was Aunt Nettie.
Instantly Duncan had his hand on my arm and was pointing the gun in his pocket toward her. He didn’t need to say a word. The threat hung in the air like a balloon.
Aunt Nettie looked perplexed. “You’re not due until eleven, Lee. How come you’re here now?”
I tried to think fast. “Something came up. I had to come down early.”
“What became of the cat?”
“I have him. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave him here for a little while.”
“Here?” Aunt Nettie looked horrified. “But I can’t have a cat around.”
“He’s in his carrying case. He can just sit in the break room. I don’t think the health department will throw the book at you.”
Aunt Nettie looked doubtful. Then she looked at Duncan Ainsley. A hat wasn’t going to keep her from recognizing him. Suddenly I remembered that Chief Jones had planned to call and tell her about the fingerprint in the glove. So she must know Duncan was involved in Clementine Ripley’s death, even if she hadn’t figured out that he had been our burglar.
If she said the wrong thing, Ainsley would kill her. I had to keep that from happening.
“I’m helping Duncan,” I said frantically. “He’s trying to get hold of the state police to straighten out a misunderstanding. If I can’t put Champ in the break room, I’ll have to leave him in the van.”
“All right. I guess there’s no help for it.”
I eased over and got out the passenger side of the van, then slid the side door open, crawled in, and pulled out the cat cage. Duncan didn’t speak to Aunt Nettie, or offer to lift the cage out of the van, and Aunt Nettie didn’t seem to notice his lack of courtesy. We were all acting extremely oddly, but none of us wanted to mention it.
As Aunt Nettie took the cage, she squeezed my hand.
For a moment I thought she was going to yank me inside the back door. And for a moment I desperately wanted her to do that. Then Duncan poked me with the pistol in his jacket pocket, and I pulled my hand away.
“I’ll be back as soon as I help Duncan,” I said.
Aunt Nettie nodded. She closed the door. Duncan Ainsley and I were alone in the alley.
Of course, it wasn’t exactly private, since cars and pedestrians were passing either end of the alley. But it sure felt lonely right then.
“Well done,” Duncan said. “Now let’s head on down to the bank.”
He held my arm as we walked back toward Peach Street. Would I have a chance to get away from him when we turned out onto the street?
I abandoned that idea as soon as we were there. Warner Pier was just waking up. The half block between the alley and the bank was empty except for a teenager sweeping out Mike’s Sidewalk Café, on the opposite side of the street. If I ran for it, Duncan could shoot me down at will, and maybe shoot the kid with the broom as well. I led the way to the bank.
The bank had just been open ten minutes, and there was no rush. Only one teller was on duty, and the only customer was just leaving. No one was in the manager’s office. Duncan guided me over to the teller.
“I need to get into my safe-deposit box,” he said.
“I’ll call the branch manager,” the teller said. “You can wait by her desk.”
The manager—Barbara—came from the back. “Lee? What can I do for you?”
“I’m the one who needs attention,” Duncan said. “Lee’s just along for the ride.” He poked me with the pistol, but I knew Barbara couldn’t see what he was doing. “I need to access my safe-deposit box.”
“Of course.”
I thought of crossing my eyes, throwing up on her desk—anything to keep Duncan out of that safe-deposit box. But it went off routinely. Barbara led us back to the cage that closed off the safe-deposit boxes. Duncan, still keeping his hand clenched on my upper arm, signed in, and Barbara opened the gate. She looked surprised when Duncan shoved me in ahead of him.
“Miss McKinney should wait outside,” she said.
“I need her to sign something,” Duncan said. “Can’t you make an exception?”
Barbara’s face clouded, but she didn’t argue. “I guess it’s okay, since I know who it is,” she said. She took a key Duncan produced and her own key, opened the box—it was one of the small ones—then locked us in.
At least Duncan let go of my arm. Since neither of us was going anyplace, he evidently didn’t consider it necessary to hold me.
He flipped the box open and took out two manila envelopes. He peeked inside the top one, and I got a glimpse. Cash. For some reason I wasn’t surprised.
Then he peeked inside the second. I craned my neck, and I got a glimpse of something navy blue and flat.
A passport.
All of a sudden I wanted to laugh. Duncan was ready to fly the coop. Leave the country. Go to Texas, as the old-timers used to say. And Marion McCoy had stashed his passport and the cash for the trip in a bank box that he couldn’t access on the weekend.
Well, it explained why he’d sneaked into Aunt Nettie’s house, then spent the night lurking in the Michigan basement, huddled in an afghan he’d snitched from the living room, afraid that the cops would pick him up before he could leave Warner Pier. But it didn’t do me any particular good. I was still a prisoner.
Unless . . . I moved toward the gate. Maybe I could yell at Barbara, tell her to leave us in the cage and call the cops.
But Duncan was right behind me, his fingers pressing into my arm again. His voice came out as the sort of whisper you hang the phone up on. “Don’t even think about it. I could kill both the bank people, plus you. Then me. I’m not going to jail.”
He’d won another hand. I stood there while he called to Barbara, and she came and opened the gate. The box was replaced, and Duncan and I walked slowly toward the outside door of the bank.
And once we were outside, I decided, I was going to make a break for it. If only there were no innocent bystanders on the street. I breathed a silent prayer for Peach Street to be empty.
But there was somebody coming. And darned if it wasn’t someone I knew. It was one of Aunt Nettie’s teenage employees. Tracy? Or Stacy? I still didn’t have them straight. The one with the stringy hair was passing the bank.
She seemed delighted to see me. “Hi, Lee.”
“Hi.” I pushed on past her. Please, let her go into the bank, get off the street. But she lingered. When I looked back, I could see her standing there, staring after Duncan and me as we crossed the street.
What was I going to do?
Just as I reached the point of despair, a miracle happened. A bright blue miracle.
Joe Woodyard’s pickup came around the corner of Peach and Dock, and Joe began honking madly.
Duncan clutched my arm even harder, but we both stopped in our tracks. Joe stopped right behind us, opened his door, and got out.
“Duncan! You’re the guy I’ve got to see!”
Duncan moved his hand. I saw that he was going to pull the pistol out of his pocket.
“Look out!” I screamed the words at the same time that I shoved Duncan sideways. He lost his grip on my arm and fell into the little white railing in front of Mike’s Sidewalk Café.
Joe was still standing in the door of the pickup, gaping at me. I ran to him and grabbed his hand. I screamed, “Run! He’s got a gun!” Then I turned and ran toward TenHuis Chocolade, dragging Joe with me.
>
Joe yelled, “What’s going on?”
I heard a shot, but I kept running. The TenHuis sign was less than half a block away. I dropped Joe’s hand, ready to pound on the door to the shop because I knew that it was still closed.
And I heard more feet pounding behind me. I knew it was Duncan. I was shrieking, but I’m not sure words were coming out.
Now I was nearly to the door, and another miracle happened. It swung open.
Aunt Nettie was standing there, her white-blond hair forming a halo. If I ever get to heaven, I’m sure the first angel at the gate is going to look just like she did then.
I ran in the shop, with Joe right behind me, and Aunt Nettie and I slammed the door. But we weren’t fast enough. Duncan hit the plate glass and knocked the door open. Aunt Nettie fell back, and he was inside.
“Give me the keys, you little idiot!” He came for me.
I ran past the showcase and through the door into the workroom. I was still screaming, and Duncan was yelling, “The keys! The keys!”
I circled the first stainless worktable, and I saw that Joe was right behind Duncan.
One of the hairnet ladies loomed up right in front of me. I dodged and went back the other way, trying to get to the break room and the back door. I couldn’t get past Duncan.
But Duncan couldn’t get past Joe. Since he was concentrating on me, he didn’t see Joe coming up fast. Joe grabbed Duncan in a hold that reminded me Joe had been a high school wrestler.
They grappled, and I looked for something I could use to hit Duncan. The first thing I saw was a ladle in a big bowl of dark chocolate on the table. I snatched the ladle up and whacked at the struggling pair.
I hit Duncan squarely in the temple. Unfortunately, the chocolate in the ladle hit Joe squarely in the eyes. He automatically threw up a hand, and Duncan wriggled away.
But now he was running away from me. I chased him with the ladle. He turned, and again he yelled, “The keys! Give me the keys!”
I flailed the ladle again. “What keys?”
Duncan ducked. “The van!”
If I’d known where they were, I think I would have given them to him. But someplace between the van and the bank and the chase down Peach Street, I’d lost my purse. So I screamed, “They’re in the van!” And I swung the ladle.
Duncan turned and ran to the break room door. He yanked it open. Then the third miracle occurred.
Champion Myanmar Chocolate Yonkers jumped.
He had somehow gotten out of his carrying case, and according to his usual habit, he’d climbed, this time to the top of the oak china cabinet. When Duncan ran in the door, he saw one of his jumping partners, and he pounced.
Duncan screamed. Yonkers jumped from his shoulders to the back of the couch. Duncan ran toward the back door again, and this time I thought he was going to make it.
It was time for the fourth miracle. A river of chocolate.
About five gallons of chocolate—warm, melted, medium brown milk chocolate—flowed past like a flash flood down a Texas creek. It caught Duncan and left him ankle-deep in a lake of chocolate.
He tried to run again. His feet went up, and his body seemed to hang in the air, parallel to the floor. Then he fell flat. His head, his feet, his butt, his shoulders—he landed like a two-by-four dropped out of a truck. Chocolate splashed everywhere.
Duncan’s eyes rolled around. He made terrible gasping sounds, but he didn’t move. I realized that the breath had been knocked out of him completely.
Joe appeared at my right shoulder, and Aunt Nettie appeared at my left. She was holding an empty steel mixing bowl that had shortly before been full of chocolate.
The three of us stood there, looking down at Duncan.
And Champion Myanmar Yonkers delicately walked over and licked Duncan Ainsley’s face.
CHOCOLATE CHAT:
CRIME
• Counterfeiting may have been the first crime connected with chocolate. The ancient Aztecs used the beans as currency, and early on some sneaky traders learned to take the meat—the part that makes chocolate—out of its shell and replace the good stuff with dirt.
• Europeans refined this practice, adulterating chocolate with starches, shells, and occasionally brick dust. Brick dust gave the chocolate a realistic redbrown color, and the chocolate of the day was pretty gritty anyway.
• In Mexico in the late 1600s an even more serious crime was linked to chocolate, which was then used only as a drink. Young ladies fell into the habit of having their maids bring them a cup during worship services. They claimed it prevented fainting and weakness. The bishop did not approve and forbade the practice. The ladies, aghast, began to attend a different church. The bishop refused to relent—and then he died. Rumor blamed a cup of chocolate laced with poison. Scandal followed.
• Chocolate was even linked to corporate espionage in 1980 when an apprentice of a Swiss chocolate firm tried to sell trade secrets to several foreign countries.
Chapter 20
Chief Jones ran in almost immediately, and as soon as he and Jerry Cherry had hauled Duncan Ainsley away, Aunt Nettie began to explain. The chief had called her earlier, as he’d promised, to tell her that Duncan Ainsley’s fingerprint had been found in the food-service glove. When she’d seen Duncan and me getting out of the van, she’d been sure that all was not as it should be.
So she called the cops. Then she sent Tracy down to the corner to see where Duncan and I were going. But Duncan had transacted his business and started back to the van—which he probably would have forced me to drive away—before the chief had time to get there.
Joe had happened on the scene almost coincidentally. When he met the lawyer from Clementine Ripley’s office, the first thing the lawyer had told him was that he’d heard rumors that Duncan Ainsley’s financial empire was about to go under. Joe had rushed back to look for Duncan, but he ran into the police in charge—looking for Ainsley. So he headed for town, apparently to warn Aunt Nettie and me.
We figured that Duncan had sneaked into Aunt Nettie’s house while she, Chief Jones, and I had gone to look at the van. He probably intended to search for the gloves some more, but when we came back he heard us talking. There are no secrets in that house—you can hear anything said anywhere—and he realized the authorities had the gloves. He decided to skip going back to his B-and-B and hide out in the basement. If Yonkers hadn’t found him, maybe he would have come out and stolen my van. Who knows?
“Anyway,” I told Aunt Nettie and Joe, “it explains why he paid a peon like me so much attention.”
Joe frowned. “Lee, a guy doesn’t need an excuse to pay attention to you.”
“Thanks, but let’s be realistic. The first time he called me—at the shop the night Clementine died—he managed to quiz me about my hours. He was figuring out when the house would be empty, so he could search for the gloves.
“Of course, he didn’t find them, because I’d neglected to check my pants pockets before I headed to the cleaners.”
“Marion must have decided to give the search a try that night,” Aunt Nettie said, “but we caught her.”
I nodded. “Then last night I saw Duncan’s car down the street as Aunt Nettie and I left the shop. He just happened to run into us at the Dock Street Pizza Place—well, he must have followed us, trying to figure out if we’d found those gloves. And incidentally, to tell me that Joe left law because he was in danger of being disbarred.”
“What!” Joe looked horrified. “Where’d he get that?”
“I think he wanted me to regard you with suspicion, Joe. He wanted to make sure we didn’t trade too much information. But the gossip backfired, because it made me so curious I went straight out to the house to ask you about it. Though a lot of other things came up before I could work it into the conversation.”
“Well, if there was a disbarment in the wings, I didn’t know anything about it,” Joe said.
It took the hairnet ladies most of the day to clean up the chocolate that had
trapped Duncan Ainsley. But no one seemed to mind. I told Aunt Nettie it taught everyone a new use for chocolate. “Chocolate stun guns. You should put them on the order sheet.”
It was a few days before we understood just what had been going on with Duncan, Marion, and Clementine, and those days were crazy. The news media—tabloid, television, and every other kind—came back to Warner Pier. Aunt Nettie and I tried another news conference, but Alec VanDam and the state police got most of the attention.
Lindy even called me with one piece of information that surprised everybody. Her uncle ran into Mike Herrera at the movies in Holland. And he was with—tah dah!—Joe Woodyard’s mom. Lindy said Tony was vindicated; his dad was dating an Anglo. But Tony couldn’t say much, since he and Joe were old friends.
Chief Jones came by and told us he believed Duncan had convinced Marion that whatever he was putting in the chocolates would merely make Clementine Ripley sick. “You remember how she screamed, ‘Clementine can’t be dead.”’ he said. “It would have been hard to fake. I think she’d left the estate because she didn’t want to be there when her boss took ill. I think she was genuinely surprised when she died.”
Joe and I avoided each other like poison. The reporters were asking enough questions about why we’d both been there when Aunt Nettie felled Duncan Ainsley with a bowl of milk chocolate. I certainly didn’t want to add any fuel to their speculations about our big relationship.
I had a lot of questions about that relationship myself.
Such as, did I want it to be a relationship? Did Joe want to see me? Did I want to see him? Had the circumstances in which we met ruined any chance we would have had at getting together? Can a girl from rural Texas find happiness with a boatbuilder from western Michigan?
I saw him at the Superette a couple of times, but we both shied off from speaking. I think we were afraid even to get together and explore the question.
Finally, after a week, I was balancing the cash register and Tracy and Stacy were finishing the cleanup for the night when the phone rang.
“Hi,” Joe said.
The Chocolate Cat Caper Page 20