14 The Chocolate Clown Corpse

by JoAnna Carl

  Then I told myself to calm down. If Emma told the real, true story, it might make things worse for Royal Hollis. I couldn’t allow myself—or Joe—or Royal Hollis—to hope.

  I was still standing there in a mental fog when I heard the voice of a woman—a whiny voice.

  “And what do we have here?”

  Lorraine—bleached hair, brassy makeup, and all—was standing on the small back porch of the Davidson house. She called out, “Hi! Chuck told me I owe you an apology.”

  “I don’t want to take Java over there,” Harry Vandercool said quietly. “It tends to cause trouble. I found out yesterday that Lorraine’s not exactly a dog lover.”

  He waved at Lorraine in a pseudofriendly way, then turned around and went back down the path toward his own house.

  Joe and I walked toward Lorraine, tramping through the snow. Unlike their neighbor, the Davidsons hadn’t cleared a path except quite close to the house. Joe and I walked over to the start of the path, then stopped.

  Lorraine’s makeup was as vivid and inexpert as it had been at Clowning Around. She looked at Joe and spoke again. “Chuck says I was obnoxious the other day when you came in the store.”

  “My appearance must have been quite unexpected,” Joe said. “If I’d known that you were there, I wouldn’t have come over. So maybe I owe you an apology, too. Shall we call it even?”

  “Sure.” Lorraine waved her hand, and I saw that it held a glass. “Do you folks want to come in for a drink?”

  “No, thanks,” Joe said. “I’ve got to finish talking to Mr. Vandercool and meet with some other witnesses.”

  Lorraine’s eyes weren’t quite focused. “I know it’s not even noon yet,” she said, “but it’s so damn lonely out here. Since my mom died, I haven’t even wanted to see the place. This stupid house always reeked of anger. At least Chuck and the old man aren’t both here to yammer at each other. And me.”

  “Chuck didn’t get along with your dad?” Joe asked.

  “They always fought about money. Now Chuck says we have to stay around until the house is officially on the market. And we have to try to get all that clown crap sold this week. We’ll never have a better chance than at the idiotic Clown Week.”

  I decided to ignore that crack and jump into the conversation. “How is Emma doing?”

  “The doctors are keeping her a couple more days.”

  “As long as they’re being careful that clown doesn’t threaten her again.”

  “If there really was a clown. They’ve called in a psychiatrist. That’ll mean more drugs.” Lorraine shrugged and waved her glass around. “Forget the drugs! What Emma needs is some of this stuff. That’d loosen her up.”

  That seemed to end the conversation. Joe and I said good-bye and Lorraine assured us she’d tell Chuck we’d been by. She didn’t explain why he needed to know.

  Then we went back to the Vandercool house. Mr. Vandercool and his little dog were standing on the porch.

  “Why did Lorraine think she needed to apologize?” he asked.

  “She and I had a little run-in the other day,” Joe said. “But you had some questions for Lee, didn’t you?”

  For a moment I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about, but then I remembered that Mr. Vandercool had wanted to know about the chocolate business.

  “Oh,” I said. “I haven’t reported on the state of chocolate in west Michigan, Mr. Vandercool. Did you have a specific question?”

  We went back inside, and he asked a few questions. Who had closed? Who had added to their line? What stores had added staff? None of it was too complicated.

  After we’d covered the subject pretty well Joe began to make motions as if he was ready to go. He thanked Mr. Vandercool effusively for his cooperation. Then, as he was sliding his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, he spoke very casually.

  “Have you remembered anything more about Moe’s car, Mr. Vandercool?”

  “Moe’s car? You mean on the day he was killed?”

  “Yes. When we were over there, you said you weren’t sure Moe’s car had been in the drive. I guess it was the car Emma is currently driving—the one that’s over in the drive now.”

  “Yes, that’s the car. A Toyota sedan.”

  “Was it over at Moe’s house that day?”

  “I don’t think it was.” Mr. Vandercool slowly shook his head. “No, now that I think of it, I’m sure there was only one car in the drive. I assumed that Chuck had driven his dad over, maybe come to help him close up. But, no! That can’t be right.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—well, I thought I heard Moe yelling at Emma earlier.”

  “Yelling at her? You mean calling her name?”

  Mr. Vandercool looked so embarrassed, I thought he was going to blush. “I hate to sound like a nosy neighbor.”

  Joe grinned. “Go ahead.”

  “Moe had quite a mouth on him. He talked to Emma awfully rough sometimes. I could hear him. My wife wouldn’t have stood for it. Of course, sometimes Moe talked rough to other people, too. I guess he did it to everybody.”

  “So did you hear him yelling at Emma specifically, or did you just assume it was Emma?”

  “I guess I just assumed, now that you mention it.”

  “But when you went over, she wasn’t there.”

  Mr. Vandercool nodded, and we left. As soon as we were in the truck, I spoke. “And what is the story on the car? Do you think Elk was right? Emma was there that morning and cut out before the sheriff’s deputies got there? Could she have witnessed Moe’s death?”

  “It’s possible, but I’m not counting on it. And an eyewitness account from her might do Royal more harm than good. But before we leave, I want to ask Lorraine another question.”

  Joe parked his truck in the Davidsons’ drive and went to the door—the back door, since that had been the one Lorraine came out of to speak to us. I waited in the truck. In a moment the brassy blonde came to the door. She poked her head out, and she and Joe spoke for a few minutes. She didn’t yell at him.

  Joe was still wearing his deadpan lawyer face when he got back in the truck.

  “Did she know if Emma was there that morning?” I asked.

  “I didn’t ask her that. I just wanted to know if Emma still wanted to talk to me. Lorraine said she doesn’t know.”

  “I doubt it’s come up, with Emma in the hospital.”

  “Whether she wants to talk to me or not, I sure want to talk to her.” Joe was silent as we drove back to our house so I could pick up my van.

  As he stopped to let me out of the truck, I spoke again. “Will you have to get permission from Emma’s psychiatrist before you can talk to her?”

  “It’s a weird situation. She hasn’t been committed, as far as I know. She was trying to reach me before this suicide attempt happened. It might ease her mind if she finally could tell me whatever she wanted to tell. Or it might push her over the edge again.” Joe sighed. “I don’t know which way to jump. But for the rest of today, I have to jump on something entirely different.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Finances. My salary. The agency is facing a budget crisis.”

  “I thought you faced that last fall.”

  “We did. But this Royal Hollis business has complicated things. The Fox Foundation president heard about my appointment in the Hollis case, and he wants to know what I’m up to. Webb called me yesterday.”

  Webb Bartlett is a close friend of Joe’s who serves as president of the board for the nonprofit legal association Joe works for. Webb serves as liaison with major donors, such as the Fox Foundation.

  “The foundation board is meeting today, so Webb and I have to be available to answer questions.”

  “You have to assure them you haven’t gotten the agency involved in a criminal case.”

 
“Yeah.” Like most people reared in west Michigan, Joe pronounces “yeah” as if it were a Dutch word. He went on. “And they need to know that I haven’t lost my mind. And as you know, I’m not too positive on that point, because I may definitely be crazy to have taken this case. Anyway, Webb and I have to be in Grand Rapids for their meeting.”

  “Gosh! You need to hurry.”

  “True. Their business meeting starts at two. I’ll probably have to turn my cell off most of the afternoon. I’ll call you when we’re on our way back.”

  He gave me a quick kiss, and I got out of the truck and waved him off. Then I went in the house. I called the office to check in, assuring Dolly I would come in to work sometime that day. Then I made myself a sandwich and got a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator. I was ready to head back out the kitchen door when the telephone rang.

  “Nuts,” I said. “I’m on my way. If I stop to answer the phone it’ll just hold up the parade.”

  But the phone rang again, and I picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Is Mr. Woodyard there?”

  It was a little whispery voice. I could barely hear it.

  Oh no! I thought. Here we go again.

  Chapter 16

  “This is Lee Woodyard. Is this Mrs. Davidson?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was weaker and more whispery than ever. “I must talk to your husband.”

  “He wants to talk to you, too, Mrs. Davidson. Where are you?”

  “I’m still in the hospital. They won’t let me out. Can I . . . Can I call him?”

  “I’ll try to reach him and have him call you. What is your phone number?”

  There was a long pause. “I don’t know.”

  “What is your room number?”

  “I’m not sure. They follow me if I leave the room, so I stay inside.”

  “Is the number written on the phone?”

  She didn’t answer, but I could hear her breathing softly.

  “It ought to be on the telephone, Mrs. Davidson.”

  “There are numbers, but I can’t read all of them.”

  “Tell me what they are. Please.”

  More silence. Oh Lordy! After all the time this woman had spent calling Joe, and all the time he had spent calling her, was she going to get away again?

  “There are two I can’t read. Then there’s a four. And a three. Does that mean anything?”

  “We’ll make it mean something. Joe has been trying to reach you. I’ll find him, and he’ll try again.”

  “It may be hopeless. Moe may come back.” I heard a little noise. Surely it wasn’t a sob. “Or was that a dream?” She whispered the final words, then the line went dead.

  I punched the number of Joe’s cell phone immediately. He hadn’t had nearly enough time to get to Grand Rapids; surely he hadn’t turned his phone off yet. But he didn’t pick up. I left a message on his voice mail.

  Well, as my Texas grandma always said, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. (I never knew why anyone would want to do that, but that’s what she always said.) I decided to call Webb Bartlett—Joe’s friend, his boss, and his companion for this important meeting in Grand Rapids.

  First I called Webb’s cell phone. No answer. Then I called his office. Darned if it wasn’t closed. His secretary must’ve been at lunch, and I didn’t know her cell number. I called the poverty law agency; Webb is often there, though his office is elsewhere. They hadn’t seen Joe at all. Webb had been by earlier to pick up some papers, I was told, and he was now on his way to Grand Rapids.

  Finally I told the secretary there that it was desperately important that I reach Joe. “It’s a genuine emergency,” I said.

  She sighed. “I understand, Lee, but he’s on a trip about a genuine emergency of his own, and it would take a miracle to reach him.”

  But miracles do happen sometimes, I reminded myself. I had to keep trying. However, there was nothing to do right at that moment.

  I decided that there was no point in my moping around the kitchen telephone, so I put on my winter jacket and went to the office. I’d barely walked in when Joe called.

  “Hi,” he said. “Andrea says you’ve broken a leg.”

  It took me a moment to reply, so he spoke again. “Or was it some other emergency?”

  “It’s not a painful emergency, Joe. The effusive Emma Davidson called again. I mean, elusive! The elusive Emma Davidson called.”

  “Did she leave a message?”

  “A few numbers, but they didn’t make sense to her or to me. She said she’s still in the hospital, but she doesn’t know what room. She seemed kind of dopey.”

  Joe sighed. “Damn.”

  “That sums it up. She also said it was important for her to talk to you.”

  “Seems as if I’ve heard that before. But I simply can’t dodge this meeting today.”

  “I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I hate to make you skip your own work to do mine.”

  “Oh, you know I hate to miss anything. I can work anytime. Like tonight.”

  Another sigh. “I hate to ask you, but if you could try to find her in that hospital and talk to her, it would really help.”

  “I’ll be glad to.”

  Joe apologized again and said good-bye. And I went to poor, long-suffering Dolly Jolly and told her I had to do an errand for Joe. “I’m terribly sorry, Dolly. I’ll stay late tonight and get the payroll done.”

  Dolly, as usual, shouted her reply. “It’s all right, Lee! I know you wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t important! By the way, you had a message!”

  “What about?”

  “That Montgomery woman called! She wants to talk to Joe, too!”

  “Did she say why?”

  “Nope! Just said something about leaving for home.”

  “Hmmm. Well, I’ll tell Joe when I see him.”

  I left for Holland humming. And all the way I tried to understand just why I was so pleased and excited about going there. I finally decided that I simply like being in the thick of things. I’m just a nosy woman. So live with it, I told myself.

  Of course, I wasn’t sure I could do anything. I didn’t know how to find Emma Davidson’s room. She was likely to be in the psychiatric ward, and I knew that that sort of area is normally closed to the public. I wouldn’t be able to simply walk in, the way I had walked into the room she had been in earlier. But I had to give the direct approach a try.

  So I parked in the hospital parking lot, took three deep breaths to pump up my confidence, and walked into the hospital. I went straight to the volunteer at the desk, the one charged with giving out information to visitors.

  “Emma Davidson, please,” I said.

  The volunteer, a gray-haired woman, consulted her computer screen. “Yes, here she is—oh. I’m sorry. We don’t have a patient by that name.”

  “That’s a disappointment. Her son told me she was here.”

  The volunteer looked flustered. “I can’t give out any information.”

  I leaned over confidentially. “Could you suggest a room number where she might receive mail? I’d like to send a card at least.”

  She looked flustered again as she consulted the screen. “I am sorry. I’m not allowed to give out any information.”

  “I’m sure her son would give it to me, but I hate to bother him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I looked disappointed and went away, but just as far as the hospital coffee bar. There I bought a cup of cappuccino, found a table, and plotted. And hoped I didn’t run into one of the security guards who had tossed me out earlier.

  The first plan I considered was going into the hospital gift shop, buying the largest stuffed animal they had, and asking them to deliver it to Emma Davidson. I was sure they’d take it up to her, and I could follow the teddy bear.
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  Yes, that might work. But it would draw attention to me. The volunteer in the gift shop was sure to remember an almost six foot tall blonde, even in Holland, Michigan, where tall blondes are standard issue.

  I filed that as a fallback plan and decided to work on the numbers Emma had given me: four and three. I’d begin by exploring.

  I finished my coffee and took the elevator to the second floor.

  This hospital wasn’t the size of Methodist or St. Luke’s, the facilities in the Houston medical complex where I’d visited relatives once upon a time, but it was too large to simply walk up and down the halls checking all the rooms—unless I wanted to spend all day doing that. I decided to start by assuming that the phone numbers were likely to have some relationship to the room numbers. Four and three.

  The second floor housed the maternity ward. I already knew that, since I’d visited new moms there a few times, but I’d never noticed the pattern of room numbers.

  I walked along casually until I saw an empty room—no bed, no patient, no name on the door. But it did have a telephone. I went in.

  Hurrah! The phone number contained the final two numbers of the room number. I felt a thrill of pleasure and pumped my fist.

  Then I wandered on down the hall. There was a room 0243 on that floor, of course. But the young woman in the bed was surrounded by family, and all of them were cooing at a new family member. In Spanish. Definitely not Emma Davidson. I went up the stairs to the third floor. No luck there either. So I climbed to the fourth. I did notice that there were restrooms near the elevator on each floor.

  For nearly twenty minutes I wandered the halls, looking as inconspicuous as an ultratall woman can look. Finally I came to room 0643. Aha! There was no patient name on the door, and the door was firmly closed, unlike the doors of the empty rooms I’d seen elsewhere. Their doors had been standing open.

  The room was also in full view of the nurse’s station. I waited until one nurse at the station sat down to work on some papers, and the other picked up the telephone. Then I peeked inside room 0643. I saw a short, plump lady sitting in what hospitals pass off as an easy chair. She was near the room’s closet, wrapped in a hospital blanket and looking worried.