by JoAnna Carl
“Why were you angry with him?”
“Oh, it was just the end of a whole lot of things—and some of them were my fault. I think I’d finally just had enough.”
She looked at Joe imploringly. All he did was nod. This was enough encouragement, I guess, because Emma kept talking.
“Maybe I’m just dumb, but Moe had fooled me completely. When we first met, I mean. He was so active in the community, served on committees, and donated a lot of money to projects that made the town better. And personally he was, well, a good guy. He was always cheerful and considerate.” She blinked hard. “Then we got married, and the real Moe came out.”
“I knew Moe well enough to know he liked to have his own way,” Joe said.
“He sure did. Like—well, the first shock I had was how disappointed Moe was to learn that all my money was tied up! He didn’t even try to hide the way he felt about that. Jack—that was my first husband—knew I was a pushover. Everything he left me is in trust, and I can only use the income.” Her voice rose. “And Moe’s capital was gone before we married. He gave it all away!”
Joe shook his head. “I always wondered where Moe got his money.”
“Verita! His first wife. It came from her. They lived simply, but Moe gave away every cent she had.”
“Moe did own the Clowning Around building. And his house.”
“They’re both mortgaged to the maximum. Moe had nothing but his social security. He was broke all the time. He could always come up with a clown event to go to or a charitable campaign to give to. Or a city council candidate to back. Anything to get his picture in the paper. It took everything he had.”
“You were supporting the two of you?”
“Mainly. My income isn’t all that large, and Moe wanted to own two houses and give—give generously—to every project that came along.” She sighed deeply. “Then there were other problems. After we were married, his whole personality changed.”
I doubted that. Moe had always been a jerk, but Emma simply hadn’t seen it until after they were married.
“Moe began to be rude,” she said. “To me. And he wasn’t, well, provident. Like not closing the house up properly. He made me leave so suddenly in October that there was still food in the refrigerator up here. He wanted me to sell my house in Indiana! Or mortgage it. He yelled at me because I wouldn’t do that. My whole life got to be a nightmare.”
“What happened the day Moe died?” Joe asked.
Emma dropped her head to her hands for a moment. “That awful day,” she said. “Moe was so angry when Harry Vandercool called him. Of course, he did his happy act for Harry—thanked him effusively and promised to come right up and take care of the situation. But—oh!—Moe was really mad. He snarled and yelled at me all evening. Like it was my fault! And then Chuck called and wanted to see him. Moe was already mad at Chuck, though he would never tell me exactly why. It was something about money Moe had given to some organization—but that had nothing to do with Chuck. Moe talked so ugly to him—I was ashamed of him. But Chuck insisted on seeing him. He said he’d meet us at the house up here. I remember Moe said, ‘He claims he can explain.’ That whole thing made Moe have another fit. It was a nightmare.”
Emma stirred her cup of coffee and sighed deeply. “I guess one reason I went up to the cottage with Moe was that I thought I might be able to keep him from fighting with Chuck. I was so ashamed of myself for being married to Moe. I guess that’s when I made up my mind I was going to ask him to leave my house. But I thought I ought to see a lawyer first. And we did need to check on the Michigan house. So we left early and got here around noon.
“As soon as we parked in the drive, we saw that poor man in the hot tub. The way Moe acted was simply horrible! He jumped out of the car, screaming at him. I jumped out, too, and I tried to get Moe to stop yelling. Poor Mr. Hollis climbed out of the hot tub. He was trying to put his clothes on. And he was wet, of course! He couldn’t get them on.”
She fished a wadded up Kleenex out of her purse. “I felt so sorry for him! And Moe was awful. I grabbed his arm. I tried to tell him to calm down. That only made things worse. Moe shoved me aside. He went up on the deck. Mr. Hollis was trying to get away. He tried to put his underwear on, and he fell down.”
“Did Moe hit him?”
“No. Moe was just yelling. Mr. Hollis got back up on his feet. He moved away and backed down the stairs. He fell in the snow. Then Moe got hold of the poor man’s shoes! It was wintertime. I’m sure he had only one pair of shoes. There was snow and ice everywhere. Mr. Hollis tried to get the shoes back. That’s when they began to struggle.”
“Over the shoes.”
“Yes! I was so angry with Moe.”
“Why?”
She blinked. “Why?”
“After all, Royal Hollis was on your property.”
“Moe’s property! Not mine.”
“But at the least Hollis was trespassing. In the eyes of the law he was definitely in the wrong. Why were you angry with Moe? Why not with Royal Hollis?”
“Because Moe had no compassion! He was cruel! I couldn’t bear it!” She wiped her eyes again. “That’s why I hit him.”
“You hit Moe?”
“Yes! I caught him completely off guard. He had his back to me.”
“Did you use a weapon?”
“No, no! Just my hands. I ran at him, and I hit him in the middle of the back with both hands. He went down—ass over teakettle!”
For a moment Emma looked triumphant. “But I didn’t mean to hurt Moe! I just wanted him to let that poor man go. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
Joe frowned. “I don’t see how shoving him—even a hard shove—could kill him, Mrs. Davidson.”
She looked up sharply. “Moe hit his head! As he went down he whacked his head on the steps to the deck. He was bleeding. And he just lay there.”
Mrs. Davidson mopped her eyes; her Kleenex was sodden. Joe looked solemn, and I must have been bug-eyed. This story was perfectly believable—but also a complete surprise. None of us spoke for at least a full minute.
Then Joe pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and put it on the table in front of Emma.
“Thank you,” she said. She blew her nose. “Mr. Hollis ran away.”
“Did you call an ambulance for Moe?” Joe asked.
“Chuck said he would take care of him.”
“Chuck was present for all this?”
“Oh, no. He drove up just as Mr. Hollis ran off. I told him what had happened. I also told him I was going to get a divorce.” Emma patted her eyes again with Joe’s handkerchief. “Moe was still lying there, but he was moving. It never occurred to me that he was seriously hurt. Honestly, I thought he was just trying to get sympathy. Chuck told me it would be best if I just left and went home. He said he’d calm his dad down and call me that evening.”
Emma blew her nose again. “But that evening Chuck came to see me instead. He drove down to tell me Moe was dead.”
There was nothing to say. I patted Emma’s hand. Her tears were still running, and she was holding her head in both hands. It was several minutes before she looked up at Joe.
“And now,” she said, “now you’re wondering why I didn’t call the police right that minute.”
“What did you do?”
“I listened to Chuck! He convinced me that I shouldn’t do that. He said that the police thought Moe’s death was an accident. That he fell on the stairs and hit his head. He said that I was perfectly justified—those are the words he used, ‘perfectly justified’—in trying to stop his dad from attacking Mr. Hollis. He said legally I didn’t need to come forward, explain what had happened, to stand trial. I hadn’t meant to injure Moe, and his death was just an accident. And he said that’s what the police thought. So there was no point in my confessing.”
She mopped her ey
es again. “I was a coward! I let Chuck convince me.” She took two deep breaths before she spoke again. “I had no idea anyone had been arrested for Moe’s death.”
“Emma,” I said, “did you call the police station a couple of weeks ago?”
“Yes. Someone said it was the chocolate company.”
“It was me.”
Emma nodded. “I thought it must have been. That’s when I found out that poor Mr. Hollis was being accused of killing Moe. Of course, I immediately told Chuck I was going to come forward.”
“And he tried to stop you?” I asked.
“He said I had it all wrong. That I didn’t shove Moe down. That it was Royal who hit him.” She twisted her hands together. “And that’s just not right!”
Joe frowned. And I’m sure I did, too. Joe was the first one to speak. “Emma, let me think about all this for a moment.”
“I’ll do anything you say to make the situation right.”
Joe didn’t answer. He stared at his yellow pad and drew a picture of a boat on it. He was probably wishing he had never left his boat shop. I was certainly wishing I were back in at TenHuis Chocolade. Because Emma’s problem was a real doozy.
Mostly because she’d handled it all wrong.
I don’t know a lot about law, but I did—unfortunately—know a lot about Sheriff Burt Ramsey. And Sheriff Burt Ramsey had a culprit all lined up for the death of Moe Davidson. Ramsey would be happy to send Royal Hollis to prison and forget him. Ramsey wasn’t going to want the widow of the victim turning up and trying to plead guilty. Not a widow who had been under treatment—even briefly—for mental issues. That was going to be a complicated case. Because, let’s face it, Emma might not have shoved Moe. She might well have just imagined that she shoved him—or I was ready to predict that that would be Ramsey’s theory of the case.
Joe finally spoke. “Emma, the first thing you need is your own lawyer.”
“I was hoping you could help me handle this matter.”
“I’m representing Royal Hollis. Your interests could well be adverse to his. Do you see what I mean?”
“But I want to help him go free!”
“I understand that. However, you need a different lawyer to make sure you don’t wind up being treated unfairly yourself.”
“But that’s the reason I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Woodyard! Because you represent Mr. Hollis. Can’t you just call me as a witness?”
The discussion went on for ten minutes. Emma was completely focused on unburdening her conscience. She didn’t seem to see the implications. After all, her story was so nutty that once she told it, any judge in Michigan might commit her to a mental hospital with a clear conscience.
In the end she agreed to let Joe contact his former mentor, Mac McKay, and get him to recommend several lawyers to her. Mac is a former Warner County attorney, Joe explained. Joe had been an intern for him, back when he was a law student at the University of Michigan.
“Mac knows everybody in the legal world in this part of the state,” Joe said. “He doesn’t practice anymore, but anybody he recommends will do a good job for you.”
“I guess that’s the best I can do,” Emma said. “It’s just that you and Lee have been so kind to me. And Lee saved my life! And I just can’t die until I’ve done my duty.”
By then it was nearly eleven o’clock, and Joe and I went home. We had to stop by the Shell station to pick up my van. All my payroll records were still in the passenger’s seat. Seeing them there made me more tired than ever.
The payroll took me an hour and a half. Joe helped by writing the names on the pay envelopes. And as soon as I stuffed the last envelope he got us each a bowl of ice cream.
I ate mine, then asked him an important question. “Joe, is anybody going to believe Emma?”
“I think it’s unlikely. I’m having trouble doing it myself.”
“The problem is that she’s so meek and mild. But Hogan tells me that even the meek and mild can kill if they’re pushed hard enough.”
“True. To me there are important questions. Whatever happened on the day Moe died, does Emma believe that she killed him? And if she does believe it, is her belief rational?”
“I spent quite a lot of time with her today, and she seemed perfectly rational to me. But right at this point a large proportion of the population seems to think I’m not rational myself, because nobody believes I saw someone try to kill her.”
“Emma sure backs you up.” Joe squeezed my hand and grinned at me. “And I believe you.”
“You’d better. But the fact that you have to tell me you believe me means you have doubts.”
“I’m sure you saw the clown in her room, Lee. I’m sure you interpreted his actions as a threat against Emma.”
“Yeah, yeah. But people who didn’t see him leaning on that pillow, who didn’t see her kicking . . .”
I choked up and quit talking.
Joe moved his chair close to mine and put his arms around me. He didn’t say anything either. He just held me.
“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for believing my not very believable story.”
Joe hugged me tighter. “Actually, we’re faced with several unbelievable stories.”
“Emma’s and mine. Who else?”
“Maybe ‘contradictory’ would be the best word. Emma says she shoved Moe down, then left in the family car.”
“The only unbelievable part of that is that she could shove him hard enough to kill him. And that’s not impossible.”
“Yes, just unbelievable. Then there’s Chuck’s version, the statement he made.”
I sat up. “I’ve never heard Chuck’s story, except in a general way. What does he say happened?”
“He doesn’t mention Emma. He says he and his dad drove to the cottage in Chuck’s car. He was inside when his dad confronted Royal Hollis. Chuck heard the altercation and ran out to find Hollis heading for the woods and his dad lying on the drive, dead or dying.”
“That’s completely different from Emma’s story. What is Hollis’ story?”
Joe shook his head. “It’s rather confused, I’m afraid. It boils down to ‘he took my shoes.’ But he denies hitting Moe.”
“His story matches Harry Vandercool’s, I guess.”
“Yeah. Mr. Vandercool says Hollis took off for the woods at least fifteen minutes before he went over and found Chuck kneeling beside Moe’s body.”
“So Hollis did have time to double back and tangle with Moe again. But, Joe, none of these stories explains why anyone felt it necessary to try to kill Emma, the way the clown and the fake nurse did. A second crime of violence in the same family just can’t be unrelated.”
“I guess it could be, but I’m like you. I don’t believe it. But we know Chuck wasn’t the clown who tried to smother Emma. He and Lorraine claim they were working at the shop all day.”
“Right. I saw them as I left for Holland, and later on Dolly Jolly talked to them. And I’ll take her word anytime.”
Joe and I sat side by side, considering for at least a full minute. Then Joe squeezed my hand and stood up.
“I give up,” he said. “No more thinking about it tonight. Let’s go to bed.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.
I waggled mine back. “Sounds like a good idea.”
We left the dishes on the table, and we didn’t listen to the messages on the phone, and we didn’t read the mail, or do any of the other routine things that bedtime usually involves. We locked the back door and threw the bedspread on the floor, but that was all.
Joe apparently set the alarm before he went to sleep, because it went off at six thirty.
“It’s not morning already, is it?” I asked.
“I’m afraid so. I’m going to get in the shower. You don’t need to get up yet.”
I rolled over and buried my head under the pill
ow as Joe left the bedroom. But I was edging into consciousness. The thought of the dirty ice cream dishes began to prey on my mind. I got up, put on a robe, and went out to the dining room to organize things. The day was guaranteed to be a doozy.
After I moved the ice cream dishes to the sink, I glanced through the mail. Nothing but ads. The local newspaper, the Warner Pier Weekly Gazette, had also been delivered the previous day. When I picked it up, a flier for Walmart fell out. I glanced at it.
And on the back page was an ad for men’s hair color.
I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning. I grabbed up the ad and ran to the bathroom. I banged on the door, yelling.
“Joe! Joe! I know who tried to kill Emma!”
Chocolate Chat
In ancient days chocolate was given to Aztec warriors to encourage battle success. It was sometimes compressed into wafers so it would be easy to carry while traveling.
But it was also linked to love. Scientists believe this is because it contains phenylethylamine. This chemical is an endorphin, and endorphins produce feelings of happiness or even euphoria. Like being in love, naturally.
The famed eighteenth-century courtesan Madame du Barry reportedly plied her lovers with chocolate, and a heart-shaped box of chocolates is the dream of many teenaged girls. But only if it comes from someone special.
Legendary lover Casanova supposedly recommended chocolate over champagne as an “elixir of love,” and as late as 1905 a British magazine urged women to be cautious in indulging in romances, chocolate, and novels, warning that such things could lead to moral downfall.
Chapter 21
Joe opened the bathroom door enough to get his head out. He had wrapped a towel around his waist, but his hair was dripping. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! I mean, I figured out who it was!”
“Is the house on fire?”
“No! But I’ve got to share this news!”
“Lee! There’s a draft, and I’m freezing. Either come in or stay out, okay?”