14 The Chocolate Clown Corpse

by JoAnna Carl

  While all this was racing through my head, I was hurtling down that hill at what seemed like superspeed. Maybe I wasn’t going that fast, but it sure seemed like it.

  Philip Montague was still ahead of me. Also ahead, closing in on Philip, was T.J.

  I began to yell. “Tony! Tony! Stop! Stop! T.J., he has a gun!”

  But the slope was lined with spectators. People were walking up and down the path beside the sledding area. The sleighs were also going up and down the hill, carrying visitors.

  And the walkers and riders were pointing at us. They were applauding. The spectators thought we were part of Clown Week.

  “Tony! Tony! Stop!” It didn’t matter how loudly I yelled. T.J. couldn’t hear me because of the music, the applause, and the shouting. Nobody could hear me.

  I was still yelling when Philip Montague reached the first rise. He crested it with only a minor wobble, eased over, and went on. The darn man had been reared in Michigan. He’d probably come home from the maternity ward on a sled.

  Tony was swooping onto the rise. He knew every inch of the slope, of course, and had already made at least two dozen trips down it. He took the rise and started down again without hesitation.

  That left me, and I didn’t even know how to guide the dadgum sled.

  It had handles of some sort at the front. I grabbed them and moved them to the left. The sled responded and went left—but not far enough to miss the huge pile of snow on the right of the track. The sled flipped over, and I went rolling into a snowdrift. My sled stopped fifteen feet farther down the slope.

  I wasn’t hurt, but something was digging into my ribs.

  My cell phone.

  I could call someone. But who? During the three seconds it took me to dig my way out of the snow, I thought about that. And I came up with an answer.

  As soon as I wasn’t buried in snow, I ripped the Velcro open down the front of my clown suit and reached into the side pocket of my ski jacket. Thank God the phone was still working. I punched the right buttons and found the right number.

  “Answer! Answer!” I spoke out loud and used mental telepathy at the same time. “Emergency!”

  “Hello.”

  “It’s Lee! There’s a guy in a hobo outfit coming down the slope!”

  Two blocks down the hill, at the skating rink, I could see Tony Herrera—Tony Senior—turn around to look up the hill.

  “So?”

  “Tony, he’s got a gun! He’s the guy that tried to kill Emma Davidson! And Tony Junior is right behind, chasing him!”

  “Huh?”

  I wailed. “I know it’s hard to believe, but when the guy jumped on a sled, Tony jumped on his snowboard right after him!” I was on my feet by then, and I waved my arms. “Can you see them?”

  “I see them.” Tony Senior’s voice was grim. And immediately—immediately—I heard the loudspeaker down at the skating rink. “Clear the ice! Now!” I knew Tony Senior had the portable mike, so that was his doing.

  As I watched, Tony Senior sped across the ice, his skates seeming to strike sparks. He didn’t pause when he reached the edge, but kept going, running through the snow. He ran right over the flimsy picket fence that was used to keep waiting skaters in line. He was headed for the sledding slope.

  I ended the call to Tony and punched 9-1-1. I kept the message simple. “Mayday! Mayday! I’m in Warner Pier. There’s a guy with a pistol on the sledding slope!”

  Then I plunged through the snow to recapture my sled. I looked at the gadget and wished I had an ax to chop it up with. I was scared to death of it. But I needed the darn thing. I had done all I could do from that spot.

  I sighed, aimed the sled in the right direction, and pushed off.

  By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, Tony Senior had Philip Montague in a headlock. Montague’s pistol was ten feet away, and he was whining like a little girl.

  Nobody could understand whatever he was trying to say. This was because Tony was talking louder than his captive. And his words were addressed to T.J.

  I didn’t catch much of it, but I do remember his saying, “And you’re grounded for life!”

  When T.J. made a motion toward the pistol in the snow, Tony Senior roared even louder. “Don’t touch that!”

  Tony didn’t let go of Philip until Clancy Pike had him handcuffed. Then Tony got to his feet. In skates, he towered even higher than he does normally. He grabbed Tony Junior and shook him like a rag doll. Then he hugged him—though the word “hug” doesn’t quite express the strength of his embrace. And tears ran down Tony Senior’s face.

  I grabbed his arm. “Tony, cut him some slack! He saved my life!”

  So Tony hugged both of us. “I don’t even want to hear this story,” he said. “But I guess I have to sometime.”

  By then all three of us were crying.

  Over the next few days everything settled into place.

  First, T.J. and Tony Senior seemed to be much better friends. And T.J. was grounded for only a weekend.

  Chuck was arrested at Clowning Around just as soon as Clancy could get there. He and Philip turned on each other at the first opportunity, of course.

  Chuck claimed Philip came up with the plan to defraud his dad by getting him to donate to Klowns for Kids of Michigan. Philip claimed it was all Chuck’s idea.

  “Chuck said his dad stole money from his mom’s estate,” Philip said. “Money that should have gone to him and to Lorraine. He said it was only fair for him to steal it back.”

  They also blamed each other for killing Moe. It seems Philip had been inside the house when Moe, Emma, and Chuck arrived. Chuck had arranged to meet his dad there, claiming he and Philip had a good explanation for the Klowns for Kids of Michigan caper. After Emma shoved Moe, and Chuck urged her to leave, Chuck and Moe got into a fight. Chuck claimed Philip appeared from inside the house and killed his dad; Philip claimed he was only a witness and that Chuck killed him.

  Each of them had tried to kill Emma, who apparently has nine lives, because she escaped three times. I hope she doesn’t try for six more.

  When Emma said she was going to confess to killing his dad, Chuck knew that no one was likely to believe her story; he also knew that if they did believe her, he was probably the next suspect in line. So he laced a Bloody Mary with an overdose of her medication, then urged Lorraine to push the drink on her. He took the groggy Emma down to the Clowning Around shop and left her to die, but Tilda VanAust and I ruined his plan. Lorraine apparently passed out and didn’t know he had taken her to the shop.

  Philip got involved because of his link to real estate. He set up a fake development company and pretended he wanted to buy the Clowning Around building. This was a ploy to raise the price, to convince Aunt Nettie and me that the building was worth more.

  I never got a chance to tell Philip that wouldn’t have worked. I’m not a complete idiot.

  Philip made two attempts to kill Emma. He first tried to smother her, wearing the only kind of clown makeup he knew how to do—the kind he’d used back in Moe’s clown club for teenagers. A picture of the club hung in the shop, though I had never noticed it. Apparently Philip was afraid I had recognized the makeup and would realize who he was. I don’t think Philip had any idea it was the hair-dye disguise, not the teardrops painted on his cheek, that gave him away when he tried to poison Emma. The teardrops only confused Emma, making her drugged mind think that Moe had returned from the dead to further torment her.

  Philip tried to take me hostage just in case he needed a shield to make his escape from Warner Pier.

  Philip and Chuck haven’t been sent up yet, but they will be, and for good long sentences.

  Surprisingly, Lorraine and Emma have become closer friends. During Clown Week they managed to sell almost the entire stock of Clowning Around, which gave them some badly needed ready cash. Emma offered
to send Lorraine to a rehab program for her drinking problem, and Lorraine agreed to go. So far, I hear, she’s sticking to it. They sold the Warner Pier house, and Emma’s back in Indiana.

  A few days after Chuck’s arrest, Aunt Nettie called from Australia. She agreed enthusiastically to the purchase of the Clowning Around building. TenHuis Chocolade has now taken possession of it, and we’re looking for an architect.

  Royal Hollis was released the day after Chuck and Philip were arrested. I didn’t witness his meeting with Belle, but Joe said it was “very touching.” Belle offered to rent an apartment for her dad in Saginaw, and he agreed to live in it—at least for the rest of the winter. He’s also back in treatment for his mental problems.

  I just hope he doesn’t give up the harmonica.

  Chocolate Chat

  One of the most intriguing bits of chocolate trivia comes from St. Louis folklore.

  An old story there claims that the custom of placing chocolates on the pillows of hotel rooms was instigated by Cary Grant while staying at an elegant St. Louis hotel. It seems he used the chocolates to tempt a woman into visiting his room.

  Aw, c’mon! Cary Grant didn’t need chocolates to get a lady friend to come to his room. The movie queens of the 1940s were pounding at the door, begging to get in. And Cary would have at least provided his own chocolates.

  I confess to a weakness for the leading men of my childhood—Cary Grant among them—and I think lots of women, young and old, feel the same way. I recall once finding my sixteen-year-old daughter sighing over an old movie starring Clark Gable. Clark Gable had been the screen idol of her grandmother’s generation! But the guy still had it, forty years later.

  The inspiration for Joe Woodyard is Gregory Peck. Joe is less scrawny than Mr. Peck—and is just as good-looking.