The Chocolate Falcon Fraud

by JoAnna Carl

  “I’m not going to authorize it,” Hogan said firmly. “Jeff is just another kid who may face a charge of reckless driving. He’s not going to get special treatment.”

  We exchanged glares for at least thirty seconds. Then I held up Jeff’s kit and spoke with what I hoped was icy calm. “I assume Jeff’s razor and toothbrush are in here. May I take it to him?”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  Hogan took Jeff’s kit and disappeared into the inner workings of the ER, but he was gone only a moment. When he came back, he didn’t look at me. He took Aunt Nettie’s arm and turned toward the hospital’s exit.

  “Tess?” he asked. “Are you coming with us or going with Lee and Joe?”

  “My stuff’s at Joe and Lee’s house. I’ll go there.” She sounded miserable.

  Joe took my hand. “Come on, Lee. You too, Tess.”

  His grip was firm enough that I felt that he might drag me along if I resisted. This was extremely unusual behavior for Joe. Something was going on. Why wouldn’t Hogan tell me what it was?

  I was still glaring and fuming, but I followed Joe out to the truck, with Tess trailing along. I could hear her snuffling unhappily.

  Tess was so short and the truck was so tall that Joe had to boost her into the backseat, but we got situated in the vehicle, and then Joe climbed behind the wheel. Before he started the engine, he turned sideways to speak to us.

  “Now listen, you two. Jeff’s going to be okay. I’m sure Hogan has him protected. He just didn’t want to talk about it in the lobby, with staff and visitors around. Right now we’re all exhausted, and we’re going home, and we’re going to bed. I don’t want to have any discussion about it. And I’d rather not have to make the trip with two women crying.”

  Normally Joe didn’t throw his weight around like that. Again I felt sure that something was going on. But why wouldn’t Hogan—or at least Joe—tell me about it?

  Joe started the truck and took off. He was certainly right about one thing. We were all exhausted. He turned on the radio to a talk show, which was what he always did when he was trying to stay awake. I didn’t even try. I just slept from the hospital parking lot to our house. When the truck stopped, we went inside, Tess stumbled upstairs, and I stumbled to the back hall, the shortcut to the bathroom. The washing machine was in the hall, and as I went by it, I realized I’d left the hospital’s plastic bag—the bag that held Jeff’s clothes—in Joe’s truck. But I wasn’t planning to do laundry right then, so I didn’t go back out to the truck. By the time I hobbled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, Joe had dropped his own clothes in a heap at the foot of the bed and was gently snoring.

  I resisted the impulse to wake him up and quiz him about “Hogan’s plan.” Instead I set the alarm for eight o’clock—seven o’clock Dallas time—and fell into bed.

  All I could do was have confidence in Hogan. He wasn’t a fool. He knew it was likely that somebody drove Jeff’s car twenty-five miles away from where Jeff was hiding.

  When the alarm went off, I couldn’t remember why I had set it. In a few minutes memory returned, and I called the hospital to get an update on Jeff’s condition. I felt relieved when the information desk denied he was a patient. Maybe Hogan did have a plan for keeping him safe.

  I called Hogan and Aunt Nettie’s house—thinking Hogan might have heard how Jeff was doing—but the phone didn’t even ring before it went to the answering machine. I knew Hogan had an emergency number that the police station could call, but I decided not to try to reach him that way. After all, if Jeff had a major relapse, I told myself, Hogan would call me.

  I still had to call Alicia about her boss’ son, even if I didn’t have an up-to-date report on him.

  She answered on the second ring. “What’s the latest?”

  “Jeff was already talking last night,” I said. “He wasn’t making a lot of sense, so the doctors kept him in the hospital. But they said that talking was a good sign.”

  “I could be there by this afternoon.”

  “You suit yourself. But why don’t you wait a little while, and I’ll try to get more information? Have you reached Dina and Rich?”

  “No. This trip, they actually are off the grid. But they’re due home this weekend.”

  “Since Jeff is no longer lost, I think you could tell them after they get home.”

  I’d done my phoning from the dining room, and after I hung up I saw Tess standing in the door to the living room wearing nothing but a T-shirt. Well, I hoped there was something under it.

  “Any word on Jeff?” she asked.

  “Not yet. Hogan is the most likely to have news, and there was no answer at his house. I’ll try to call them again in a minute. Are you a coffee drinker?”

  “Sure. But call Chief Jones first.”

  I left a message with Hogan’s office, saying I urgently needed a report for Jeff’s family.

  “Ask Hogan please either to get me a report or tell me how to get one,” I said.

  I made coffee. Tess added a few garments and got the toaster out. Joe was up and took a quick shower before Hogan called back. He had talked to the nurse, he reported. Jeff was eating a light breakfast and seemed fairly lucid.

  “And just where is Jeff?” I asked.

  “I kind of stashed him away. To be honest, I was sort of hoping some stranger would show a little interest. Someone who might have attacked him. But it didn’t happen.”

  “Joe assured Tess and me that was true, though we’re both a bit miffed because you wouldn’t trust us with his whereabouts. But Jeff might actually like to see Tess. How does she get in?”

  “Ask for J. R. Ewing.”

  I laughed. J. R. Ewing was the villainous but fascinating lead character in the prime-time soap Dallas—a television hit before I was born. But he was still famous, or maybe infamous, as the ultimate colorful and flamboyant Texan. My mom loved the show and we used to watch reruns.

  I couldn’t imagine anyone less like Jeff Godfrey. I howled with laughter. “Texas is never gonna live that guy down.”

  “Just don’t spread it around,” Hogan said. “Don’t tell even your best friend. And don’t go to the hospital before this afternoon. I got dibs on first chance to talk to Jeff.”

  So we made our plan accordingly. Aunt Nettie, Tess, and I were to leave for the hospital at one o’clock. In the meantime I called Alicia again, and settled a minor crisis at my office by telephone. Joe went to the boat shop, and Tess primped and got a few things together for Jeff. Such as clean underwear. I snagged a robe for him out of Joe’s closet.

  Tess, Aunt Nettie, and I made it to the hospital by one thirty.

  I’ve never felt sneakier than I did asking for J. R. Ewing at the hospital’s front desk. But the volunteer in the pink jacket didn’t turn a hair. “Mr. Ewing is in room 615,” she said. “His visitors are limited. Be sure to check in at the nurses’ station.”

  And that was all it took to get in to see Jeff. We just had to know the code.

  However, I did note that Jeff was in a room right across from a waiting area, and in that waiting area was a husky blond guy who had “off-duty cop” written all over him. He was probably a member of the Holland Police Department. At least, I’d never seen him before, so he didn’t come from Warner Pier.

  He apparently was expecting the three of us, because he gave a little wave.

  At Tess’ insistence, Aunt Nettie and I went in first, just the two of us. I thought Tess was worried about seeing Jeff now that he was awake, since she had followed him to Michigan in a very sneaky fashion.

  Jeff seemed quite pleased to see us. He was in his right mind, as far as I could tell, though he said his head was aching.

  “Actually I ache all over,” he said. “Chief Jones said he thinks I was in a wreck. So I guess hurting all over is normal. How’s the car? Does it have much damage?”


  Aunt Nettie and I looked at each other blankly. It was obvious that neither of us had given a thought to Jeff’s car.

  I spoke quickly. “I haven’t seen the car, Jeff. But I’m sure your dad has good insurance. I gather that you don’t remember anything about an accident.”

  “Not a thing. I remember being in your office, Lee. We were talking about all of us going to dinner. And that’s the last thing I remember until about six this morning.”

  Aunt Nettie took Jeff’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure nothing important happened.”

  “As long as I didn’t kill anybody.” Jeff smiled. “But Chief Jones said you found me at your house. How’d I get there?”

  “Drove, I guess,” I said. “We haven’t figured it out exactly.”

  “What was I doing? Sitting on the porch waiting for you?”

  “No. Not on the porch,” I said. “We found you inside.”

  “Inside? How’d I get in?”

  “I figured you must have remembered where Aunt Nettie hid her extra key. We use the same spot. Anyway, I checked this morning, and the key isn’t there.”

  “I don’t remember that.” Jeff looked distressed.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said. “Like Aunt Nettie says, either it will come back to you, or it didn’t matter.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but it sounded good.

  Aunt Nettie patted Jeff’s hand again. “We’re not supposed to tire you out, young man. And you have another visitor. So Lee and I will go find a cup of coffee.”

  She went to the door and beckoned to Tess, and then she and I left. I heard Jeff squawk as the door shut, “How did you get here?”

  I was going to let her explain that.

  Aunt Nettie and I took the elevator down to the basement, where there was a coffee shop. Aunt Nettie was silent as we found a table, but she was thinking so hard I could practically see the wheels turning under her wavy white hair.

  As soon as we were settled and our coffee had been stirred, she leaned forward and spoke very quietly. “Hogan doesn’t need my help.”

  “Oh?” Why was she volunteering that information?

  “And I would never interfere with his investigations.”

  I chuckled. “I’m sure of that.” Where was my sweet aunt going with this?

  “But you and I could drive out Big Pine Road and look around, couldn’t we?”

  I gave up the struggle and began to laugh.

  Aunt Nettie spoke again. “As long as we didn’t get out of the car . . .”

  I was still laughing when Tess got off the elevator and came to join us. She didn’t even notice I was laughing.

  “The nurse ran me off,” she said. “But Jeff wants me to come back. If you’re going home, I thought I’d pick up my car from your house, Lee. Then you won’t have to worry about getting me back to Warner Pier later.”

  “No,” I said. I gave another chuckle. “All I’ll have to worry about is getting Aunt Nettie and me home from our snooping excursion.”

  Chapter 8

  An hour later Aunt Nettie and I were sitting in my van at the end of Big Pine Road.

  The road was lined with thick bushes and behind the bushes were trees galore. It was the sort of terrain that gives me the willies, but I was trying not to let it make me nervous.

  There are two ways to look at trees—either as something to hide you from enemies, or as something that can hide enemies from you. I’m of the second opinion. I’m very suspicious of what might be behind trees. I’m more comfortable if I can see the horizon in all directions.

  Aunt Nettie and I had dropped Tess off at my house to get her car so she could go back to the hospital and stay with Jeff through the evening. Then we had driven the same route Joe and I had taken the evening before, when Tess called us to say she had been following the directions of her GPS and was completely lost. Now Aunt Nettie and I were parked at the end of the road.

  Aunt Nettie was looking all around. She was a lifelong resident of Warner County, but she acted as if she’d never seen this spot before.

  I gestured to my left. “You see where Jeff’s car went off the road, don’t you?”

  Aunt Nettie nodded. “It’s easy in this light, though I’m sure it was hard to see at dusk. But how could anyone drive off the road by accident in that direction? I mean, Jeff would have had to turn sideways.”

  “That might be logical, in a way. If Jeff came here to the end and needed to turn around—well, he might have shot off into the bushes.”

  “But he would be more likely to back off the road. And he would only have gone into the ditch. Not so far into the undergrowth that his car couldn’t be seen.”

  “It would be a pretty freaky thing to happen.”

  “Someone put the car there on purpose.” Aunt Nettie sounded definite.

  “Have you ever been out here before?” I asked. “Seems as if Warner Pier teenagers would have staked out a spot this lonely.”

  “I think it’s a little too far from Warner Pier to be a lovers’ lane. It does seem as if I’ve been out this way, but I don’t remember exactly when. Why does this road end here?”

  “Joe said the land beyond the fence is state land.”

  “Yes, but state land is usually open to the public.”

  “True, it often is. But look—the road doesn’t end here. There’s a gate.”

  “A gate? Where?”

  “Right in front of us. A sturdy gate with a lock.”

  “I see it now. Also the sign that says ‘no access.’ And it does seem sort of familiar. Not the gate, but this area.”

  Neither of us wanted to get out and examine the site where Jeff’s car had landed—Hogan and the sheriff had guys trained to do that—so I turned around, backing very carefully, and we drove back toward Warner Pier.

  “Drive slowly,” Aunt Nettie said. “I’m trying to remember why on earth I would ever have come out here. If I ever did.”

  “It’s near the dump.”

  “It’s at least five miles past the dump, and I rarely have any reason to go there.” She chuckled. “You know your uncle Phil would never throw anything away, and Hogan got rid of his extra belongings before he and I were married.”

  I drove along at about thirty for a few minutes, and she suddenly gave a chirp. “Stop!”

  I hit the brakes. “What do you see? It all looks the same to me.”

  “There’s a road turning off.”

  “I see the place you mean, but it’s hard to call that a road. Only a little gravel.”

  “And a gate.”

  “Where?”

  She pointed. “The gate is just barbed wire. Look at that fence post. You can see the loop that holds the wire gate closed.”

  “You’re right.” The gate was a type I’d seen in Texas—way back in some remote pasture. It simply consisted of four strands of barbed wire—pronounced “bob war” in my home country. Heavy-duty staples attached the wire to a regular wooden fence post on the right-hand side of the opening. Strands of wire about eight feet long stretched out to the left, then were stapled to a flimsy, lightweight wooden post, one that could easily be moved. That post in turn was linked to the left side of the opening by a wire loop.

  “In the past, I think, Texas ranchers used this sort of makeshift gate a lot,” I said. “But now they usually build stronger ones. And most farmers and ranchers use metal posts.”

  “A cow could knock that down in a minute,” Aunt Nettie said.

  “I know, but they rarely do. I guess the barbs keep them away. But I don’t know what a gate like this would be used for in Michigan orchard country. And I certainly don’t know what it’s doing out in the woods.”

  We studied the gate for perhaps a minute; then I pointed to faint tracks and a gap in the trees. “There was a real road there at some point,” I said.
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  “Actually,” Aunt Nettie said, “there still is some kind of driveway. It just doesn’t get much use.”

  We both looked the situation over for another minute, and then we spoke in unison. “I wonder what’s there.”

  “We could go see,” Aunt Nettie said.

  I chuckled. “Not until I make sure we have cell phone coverage. Monsters might be behind all those trees.”

  My cell phone indicated that we had service. Aunt Nettie got out of the car and lifted the wire loop to open the gate, then held the barbed wire aside while I drove the van through. We were proper country girls and knew rural etiquette, so she closed the gate behind us, even though the possibility of livestock being loose in those woods was remote.

  When Aunt Nettie got back into the van, she looked excited. “Lee! I just remembered where we are! This used to be the wooden furniture place.”

  “The wooden furniture place?”

  “That’s why this area is familiar. Your uncle Phil and I came out here once when we were looking for lawn furniture.” She pointed ahead. “There’s the sign!”

  I didn’t see a sign, but following her gesture, I did see a board nailed to a tree. It might once have been a sign, true, but now it was just a board, maybe two feet long, with a bit of black paint here and there.

  “They made wooden furniture here?”

  “Of a sort. They made extremely rustic tables and chairs. Even some bird feeders. I don’t remember ever seeing one at anybody’s house.”

  “Location, location, location. Why on earth would anybody try to sell furniture out in the woods? I mean, this gets no traffic at all.”

  “I have no idea. Maybe the owners built furniture for other merchants.”

  “Who owned the place?”

  Aunt Nettie laughed. “The next-to-the-last hippie.”

  “Do you mean some friend of Wildflower Hill’s?” Ms. Hill lived on the site of a former commune. Aunt Nettie and I had become acquainted with her when her granddaughter briefly worked for TenHuis Chocolade.

  “Originally the furniture maker may have been part of that group. I never knew the man’s name. But he somehow acquired a piece of property out here, bought a chain saw, and set up business. I’m sure he’s been dead for years.”