The Chocolate Falcon Fraud

by JoAnna Carl

  First, Aunt Nettie was as eager to go as I was. She and I might not be blood relatives, but we somehow had identical curiosity genes. So we were sticking together.

  Second, we called Hogan and left a message on his cell phone, telling him what we were doing. We also told Dolly Jolly—and Dolly could get results.

  We drove to the yacht club, gambling that we’d find a parking space. Some of the handicapped slots there were usually open, at least when there wasn’t a big party going on, and I had a handicapped permit. Besides, we probably wouldn’t be going onto the yacht. We’d just send our chocolates over by rowboat.

  The parking worked out as planned. And, unexpectedly, there was no need for a rowboat to get aboard La Paloma. She had been moved.

  The yacht club marina had found a dockside berth for her. No longer did we have to climb down a ladder, climb into a rowboat, be rowed out into the river, and then climb onto the swim platform to get onto the yacht. Now we merely crossed to the main deck by the gangway.

  Everything was simple as pie, except one thing. I didn’t have any idea why we had come, and Aunt Nettie was only there because I’d asked her to come with me. Why did I want to pay a call on the Grossman yacht? What did I think I might learn there? Would I hand over the chocolate falcons and leave?

  Noel Kayro greeted us. He was wearing his 1930s outfit, a dark suit complete with vest, plus spats. He waved us onto the yacht.

  “How is Jeff?” he asked.

  “He’s improving,” I said. “I’ll tell him you’re in the area as soon as the doctors okay it. But look at you! You’re all dressed for the big event this evening.” The showing of The Maltese Falcon was scheduled for eight o’clock.

  “Yes. Ready for business,” Kayro said. “The business of my hobby.”

  A big bass voice boomed behind us. “Ah, Mrs. Woodyard.”

  I turned and greeted Grossman. He was also wearing his role-playing outfit, the 1930s yachting togs.

  “And this is my aunt,” I said, “Nettie TenHuis Jones. She is the chocolatier deluxe for TenHuis Chocolade.” I held out the box of chocolate falcons I had brought along. “And here are the falcons I promised you.”

  Grossman’s face lit up. He eagerly took the box of chocolates, slipped off the blue ribbon, and opened it. I had the feeling he was going to devour the whole box without even offering it around. That action would have been strictly out of character for Kasper Gutman, the character he was portraying. Gutman was always suave and polite, even when he was ordering a murder.

  Grossman restrained himself, however, and politely offered falcons to the rest of us. Aunt Nettie and I declined, but Kayro took one. Then Grossman helped himself. His “Delicious!” was extremely enthusiastic. The falcons, of course, were solid chocolate, not filled with exotically flavored ganache. But their smooth creaminess was worth a few slobbers.

  I did come up with at least one question. “I had another motive for coming,” I said. “Naturally I’m shocked by the death of Captain Jacobs. And I’m sure the police have questioned everybody on La Paloma. I wondered if you had been told anything about the crime.”

  “No, we’ve been given no news,” Grossman said. “Except that he died on your veranda. I deeply regret that you had such a horrifying experience.”

  “I had not had the pleasure of meeting the captain, unfortunately.” I was beginning to talk like Grossman myself. “Joe, my husband, was horrified; he had had a chance to become slightly acquainted with Captain Jacobs. And for those of you who knew him well, the blow must have been much worse.”

  Grossman frowned. “I have to admit that I barely knew Jacobs myself.” He stopped talking and glanced at Kayro.

  There was a brief silence. Then Kayro spoke. “The captain was employed through an agency. He had just joined the crew on this trip.”

  “Oh! So he wasn’t a close associate,” I said.

  “Not an associate at all,” Grossman said. He puffed himself up slightly, seeming to regain confidence. “I flew out to meet La Paloma here in Warner Pier. The captain and I met for the first time then. We had barely spoken before that.”

  “If Captain Jacobs didn’t know anyone in the Warner Pier area, or even on La Paloma, it seems really strange that anyone would harm him here.”

  “Like you, I fail to understand how this could happen,” Grossman said.

  Aunt Nettie gave her face a sweet-little-old-lady expression. “So the police have no idea who might have killed him?” She made it a question.

  “They have not shared any information with us,” Grossman said.

  “I haven’t been able to get a word out of Hogan either,” Aunt Nettie said.

  Grossman and Kayro both looked mystified, so I explained, “My aunt is married to our chief of police, Hogan Jones.”

  Grossman’s eyes widened, making him look almost frightened, and Kayro chuckled nervously. “I hope you haven’t come as your husband’s emissary,” he said.

  “Oh no. I’m just a regular Warner Pier person,” Aunt Nettie said. “Everyone here is crazy about boats.”

  After that strong hint, of course we got a tour. This time, despite my crutch, I climbed all over the yacht. I saw the master stateroom and the three guest staterooms, the crew quarters, the bridge, the exercise room, the upper and lower decks, and the kitchen.

  The kitchen was occupied by the only crew member we saw. This was a plain young woman wearing a large white jacket and with a large white cap covering her hair. She was chopping onions, and all we could see of her was red eyes and a runny nose. She glared as we came in, and answered Aunt Nettie’s questions about cooking on a boat gruffly. Apparently she found it annoying to stop and be pleasant to visitors while doing a chore that made her feel unattractive. Or maybe she was unpleasant all the time.

  Grossman introduced her as Rae, the cook.

  I smiled. “But, Mr. Grossman, Rae should be your daughter.”

  “My daughter? I’m afraid I am childless, Mrs. Woodyard.”

  “Ah, but in The Maltese Falcon novel, Gutman’s daughter, Rhea, entices Sam Spade away from the main scene of the action at the crucial time. But perhaps her name is pronounced Ree-ah, rather than Ray-ah.”

  Grossman smiled. “We’re not complete purists,” he said.

  This evidence of the existence of crew members made me turn to Grossman. “Will you sail the yacht back to Buffalo yourself?”

  He gave me that wide-eyed, almost frightened look again. “Oh no! We have contacted the agency asking for a temporary captain. The crew will take the boat back. I must return more rapidly. By air. Though I knew Captain Jacobs only slightly, I feel that I must speak with his family. In fact, I’m leaving early tomorrow.”

  I resisted making a comment, but I did wonder why he owned a multimillion-dollar yacht when he apparently never sailed in it.

  We left the yacht then, with Aunt Nettie effusively thanking Grossman for the tour, and Grossman effusively thanking her for the truffles. I hope I was polite, but I mainly concentrated on limping back across the gangway.

  I was getting tired, and I still had to cross the park. But I made it to the van and climbed behind the steering wheel.

  Once we were settled, I turned to Aunt Nettie. “Well, that little tour provided quite a bit of fodder for questions.”

  “It certainly did,” she said. “Especially the cook.”

  “Why her in particular?”

  “Lee! Didn’t you recognize her?”

  “I guess not. Who was she?”

  “She was the same girl we talked to out at Valk’s!”

  “Oh no!” I stared at Aunt Nettie, completely stunned. “That can’t be!”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I’m sure she was the same girl.”

  “Oshawna Bridges? Are you sure?”

  “Well, I was when we were on board,” Aunt Nettie said. “The onions
were a nice touch. There’s nothing like crying to make you look different. It changes the expression.”

  “Yes, and the cap helped, now that I think about it. Her black ringlets were the most distinctive thing about her out at Valk’s. I was mesmerized by them. But that cap she’s wearing now covers every curl. And it’s quicker than a dye job. Or the ringlets could have been a wig in the first place.”

  I pictured the cook again, then thought about the Valk girl. “Aunt Nettie, I think you’re right. It was her.”

  “We must tell Hogan. She may be in danger.”

  “Oh. Then you think she’s being held on the yacht against her will.”

  “It seems like a strong possibility to me, Lee. Remember how cowed she seemed when we met her out at Valk’s?”

  “I guess that’s possible. At any rate, we also need to watch the yacht. If Grossman or Kayro realized or if she realized herself that we’ve figured out who she is . . . well, she could really be in danger. Or she could take off. Neither situation is good.”

  “Do you have your cell phone? Do you want to call Hogan? Or shall I?”

  “We shouldn’t be too obvious. They may be watching us. So? How about a drink?”

  “A drink?”

  “The main film festival action tonight is over at the theater. So Kayro and Grossman, and maybe Oshawna Bridges as well, should be hanging around the yacht, getting ready to go to the movies. The yacht club bar shouldn’t be crowded, and we can still see the yacht from the window. We could make a phone call from there. If one of them leaves, we should see them.”

  “I think that’s a good plan, Lee.”

  So we got back out of the van and walked—I hobbled—across the park to the yacht club. We went in, sat down in a corner, and ordered coffee. I called Hogan. It took three full minutes and a lot of dramatic whispering using words like “vital” and “he must know” and “imperative that we reach him” before his assistant agreed to find him for us. We were still drinking our coffee when Hogan called us back.

  Then, of course, he wasn’t sure he should believe us. I handed the phone to Aunt Nettie, and she was able to convince him.

  She punched the OFF button. “He told me we should leave here and go back to the shop,” she said.

  I nodded, climbed aboard my crutch, and limped back to the van. As in most vans, in mine the front row of seating had two separate seats with a console between them. I got into the driver’s seat, keeping my mouth shut as Aunt Nettie climbed into the passenger’s seat. But as soon as the doors were closed and my seat belt was fastened, I spoke.

  “I hope Hogan gets Miss Bridges settled quickly, because I want to talk to him about the whole atmosphere out there.”

  Aunt Nettie clicked her seat belt. “You mentioned that earlier,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what you meant.”

  I inserted the key in the ignition and went on talking. “It’s just an odd situation. That’s supposed to be Grossman’s yacht, but Kayro almost seems to be in charge.”

  “Oh!” Aunt Nettie yelped loudly, and I whirled to look at her. “What’s wrong?” Then I gave a loud “Oh!” of my own.

  A huge automatic pistol had materialized between us.

  And now a head appeared. A head wearing a straw fedora.

  I wanted to laugh. The whole thing seemed to be a joke, some sort of prank dealing with The Maltese Falcon.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Just start the van and back out.” The command came in a tinny little voice.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “And what do you want?”

  “Forget the questions. Just back out and drive where I tell you. Or your aunt gets it!”

  I stared at the person between us, but all I could see was the top and brim of a fedora. I kept trying to take in the situation. I couldn’t.

  Aunt Nettie spoke. “Young man, I suggest you get out of the van and go your way,” she said. “I cannot believe you would actually fire a pistol here, on the busiest street in a busy resort, thronged with people. That would be silly.”

  “Try me!” The man’s voice sounded desperate.

  Aunt Nettie gave a deep sigh and unhooked her seat belt. “I refuse to cooperate with such a foolish business,” she said.

  “Really, Aunt Nettie,” I said. “We got so worried about Gutman, Cairo, and Bridget that we forgot about Wilmer.”

  Then I pulled the keys out of the ignition and hit the alarm attached to my key chain.

  All hell broke loose.

  Chapter 21

  When I pushed the alarm button, and all kinds of noise exploded, our intruder threw the door open. The van’s parking place, of course, was wide because it was a handicapped slot. The man dressed as the character “Wilmer” left the door gaping open and walked rapidly away, headed into the crowded park.

  I opened my door and stood up in it, waving my arms wildly and pointing at the guy in the fedora. He had the sense to look at me as if I were a lunatic and to keep walking. Naturally everybody in the area thought Aunt Nettie or I had hit an alarm accidentally. They stood around staring at us, but nobody did anything.

  I suppose that—if I’d been thinking quickly—I would have turned off the alarm, screamed like mad, and followed Mr. Fedora down the street. Later Hogan said it was a good thing I didn’t do that.

  “An action that threatening might have forced him to use the gun,” he said. “The idea is to keep yourself out of danger.”

  So Aunt Nettie and I were not hurt or kidnapped. And we thanked our lucky stars for that.

  The worst part of the whole adventure was that during the excitement, the cook, whoever she was, disappeared from the yacht. I was so proud of Aunt Nettie for spotting her, and then the girl zapped herself into the ether.

  After Hogan had checked on the crazy ladies in the van with the alarm blaring, she was gone, and of course, neither Noel Kayro nor Grossman admitted to seeing her go. They claimed to have no idea what had happened to her.

  Bah! I would have been happy to shove them both overboard. Right off the luxury yacht and into the Warner River. At its deepest, muddiest point.

  But they claimed they had run to the rail when they heard our alarm go off. And after that, Rae the cook was gone. Maybe she went overboard.

  Aunt Nettie still feared the girl was being kept prisoner in the bilges, if yachts have bilges, but Hogan said Grossman let him look everywhere on the boat, and there was no sign of her.

  Hogan had given Aunt Nettie and me his obligatory lectures on taking risks—“Yes, dear.” “I understand, Hogan.”—when we finally realized there were two passengers in Hogan’s official car.

  He had brought Tess back to Warner Pier, along with—ta-da!—Jeff.

  Joe had arrived by then, and he and I greeted Jeff effusively, but I’m afraid my first thought on seeing him had actually been less welcoming.

  I said it out loud as soon as I had Joe alone. “Oh, Joe! How are we going to keep that kid safe?”

  “I already asked Hogan. He’s going to have a guard on duty at our house. I talked to him and explained your theory of Jeff being the possible target of kidnappers.”

  “I suppose he had already figured it out.”

  “I think learning that Jeff’s dad is actually an extremely wealthy man reinforced some ideas he already had. Maybe. Anyway, from now on Jeff’s to have bodyguards.”

  “I guess he’ll have to. But that’ll mean having three houseguests and only two guest rooms.”

  “The bodyguards will not require a bedroom, Lee. Or even meals, if you don’t want to provide them.”

  “Don’t be silly! I’m the granddaughter of Susanna McKinney and the niece by marriage of Nettie TenHuis Jones. I can’t have people in the house and not feed them.”

  Joe laughed. “I’ll order pizza tonight.” Then he spoke in my ear. “And what makes you think Tes
s and Jeff will need two guest rooms?”

  “I guess upstairs will be off-limits for you and me the next few days,” I said. “I don’t want to know anything at all about what’s going on up there. I still think of Jeff as about fourteen years old and Tess as twelve!”

  I phoned Alicia Richardson with the joyful news that Jeff was out of the hospital. She still hadn’t reached Jeff’s parents, but she seemed to be calmed by speaking to him in person. At least she had quit threatening to get on a plane and fly up to take command.

  So the whole crew was at our house for dinner. Aunt Nettie brought ice cream and chocolates, and Tess insisted on providing bags of salad. Joe picked up the pizza. All I had to do was set the table and remember where I’d stored the great big paper napkins.

  We had a festive meal, though we had to keep reminding one another that Jeff was supposed to stay quiet. He said he felt fine, but he still didn’t remember how he had gotten into our attic.

  The bodyguard was the one I’d played gin with in the hospital waiting room. I finally thought to ask his name, and it was Duane. And his last name was McKinney! We called each other cousin from then on, though he admitted he had no relatives who lived outside Michigan, and all my McKinney kinfolks had moved to Texas from Kentucky before the Civil War.

  “I’m sure we’re shirttail relatives,” I said.

  “Maybe so, though my dad always said all his relatives were hanged.”

  “Definitely the same family,” Joe said. “Have another piece of pizza, Duane.”

  Hogan provided one more surprise: Tess’ car. The crime lab was through with it, and he had one of the patrolmen bring it out. He also quietly slipped her pistol to her. This time it was in a lockbox.

  After dinner Hogan and Aunt Nettie went home. Duane and Joe walked around outside, making sure Duane had a clear idea of where vehicles, yard lights, and other paraphernalia were. Joe also made sure Duane had keys to the outside doors. Duane assured us he would sit up in the living room all night. And, yes, he was accustomed to sitting in the quiet. He’d be fine, he said.