The Chocolate Falcon Fraud

by JoAnna Carl

  Then we went to bed. Jeff and Tess upstairs—and I was still vowing to stay away from up there—and Joe and me downstairs. Thank goodness we’d added an upstairs bathroom.

  As he went up, Jeff said he felt “a little shaky,” but he kissed me on the cheek and thanked us.

  “Just think,” he said. “One of the main things I wanted to do on this trip was take you all to dinner to show you how much I appreciated your help four years ago. And here you are, taking care of me again.”

  “No problem!”

  “I know I’ve been a pain in the neck. I hope things are looking up. I’ll have to see about my car tomorrow. I don’t even know where it is.”

  “No hurry,” I said. “The car is safe. Sleep late and take it easy.”

  Then I got into my own bed and tried to figure what the heck was going on. Because something was, and it wasn’t just a case of a misplaced statue.

  I had brought my laptop with me, and by the time Joe got into his pajamas I was deep in a spreadsheet.

  Joe looked over my shoulder, then lay down, stared at the ceiling, and spoke. “Okay. I assume you’re not working on next year’s budget for TenHuis Chocolade.”

  “Nope. I’m figuring out how much money these crooks have spent handing out trouble over the past week.”

  “It’s more than a week. The Valk Web site began to work on Jeff a couple of months ago.”

  “True.” I flopped onto my stomach and looked into Joe’s ear. “So. You agree this was a kidnapping scheme?”

  “Very possibly.”

  “I think the scam over the supposedly valuable falcon statue was definitely a blind. Jeff tumbled on that right away.”

  “What does your spreadsheet indicate as the bad guys’ investment so far?”

  “Motel rooms, gasoline, meals, possibly airline tickets. Plus the biggest potential item: rental of the yacht, though Grossman may actually own the yacht. And staff. They’ve had to pay out a major sum on this scheme. Even if the con job over the fake falcon were to work, I don’t see how they could make much money. But the real mystery is Captain Jacobs. He’s really dead, Joe. Why did they have to kill him?”

  “We’ll never know until one of them tells us.” Joe sighed.

  “I don’t think he was part of it. I think they hired him from an agency, just like they said.”

  “Yes, he must not have been one of the baddies. He probably figured out that something was wrong. Then he had to pay.”

  I took Joe’s hand. I knew how bad he felt about Jacobs’ death. “And he must have wanted to tell you.”

  “Maybe. At least, I don’t see any other reason for his showing up on our front porch. But why me? We had barely met. Why not go to the police?”

  “I don’t know.” I squeezed Joe’s hand, then leaned against the headboard and propped my boot up on a couple of pillows.

  “So, I’ll try to recap.” I cleared my throat importantly. “Several weeks ago someone who either knows Jeff or knows a lot about Jeff uses the Falcone Web site to introduce Jeff to the idea that he could make a lot of money by finding this unknown falcon.”

  “Maybe Jeff had already talked about going to the Warner Pier Film Festival.”

  “That might be it. Because Jeff may be inexperienced, but he’s not an idiot, and he wouldn’t have been chatting about his romantic problems with a stranger. And his love life is key to why he wanted money.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Anyway, the crooks—and I’m not sure who’s a crook and who isn’t, but I suspect Kayro—come to our area and find a remote property to rent. They also rent or borrow the yacht and have it sailed around from Buffalo.”

  “Of course, they may not have planned to pay more than the deposit on yacht rental.”

  “Oh, wow! I hadn’t thought of that. Stiffing the yacht owner would save a lot of money. Anyway, they hire the yacht and a crew to bring it over here. But Jeff accidentally fools the crooks. He comes to Warner Pier on his own, without confiding in Kayro, and meets up with me.”

  Joe turned over to face me, and we both nodded. “I feel certain Kayro had no idea Jeff had relatives in this area,” I said. “I’m guessing that from his surprise when I mentioned Jeff’s name at the motel.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “To make things worse, Jeff finds the so-called Valk property on his own. And that could nearly have demolished the plan. They were probably preparing to spring the trap a day or so later and wham! Jeff shows up—I suspect—before they’re ready for him.”

  “And he must have shown up at a time when there was nobody there but that girl.”

  “Right. Miss Oshawna Bridges, originally Miss Bridget O’Shaughnessy, as created by Dashiell Hammett. The plot required that Jeff be lured out there, and that they imprison him in that cabin.”

  “An ideal location for holding a kidnapping victim.”

  “But Oshawna can’t overpower Jeff on her own, so they have to improvise. Oshawna gets hold of Wilmer or Kayro—I can’t see Grossman in this role—and they start looking for Jeff. They force Jeff’s car off the road, and he receives a head injury.”

  “But Jeff once again gets away,” Joe said. “He’s able to get to our house. He remembers where the key was hidden and gets inside.”

  “That explains why he hid in the attic!” I said. “He wasn’t thinking straight because of the concussion, but he knew someone was after him, so he hid in the attic. Ye gods! The kid has an amazing instinct for self-preservation! And thanks to Tess’ plot to bug his car, and to his cell phone, we were able to find him before he dried up into a mummy. Then Hogan had the smarts to put him in the hospital under an alias. So the gang hasn’t been able to get close to him since.”

  I tapped Joe on the shoulder. “And that has foiled their kidnapping plan.”

  “I don’t see what else it could be. Since you finally mentioned that Jeff’s dad is much wealthier than I had visualized.”

  We both mulled that over for at least a full minute. Then I spoke again. “I feel as if I should take a quilt upstairs and sleep in front of Jeff’s door.”

  “Not a good idea, Lee! Two young adults who are in love and in adjoining bedrooms? Damn tactless, these stepmothers.”

  “Damn worried! And in adjoining bedrooms, my foot!”

  We were both quiet for another minute. “Sorry,” I said, “but I don’t like having Jeff loose up here in Michigan. The bad guys could still be after him.”

  “That’s why Duane is sitting in the living room. And as soon as the doctors approve, Jeff and Tess are both on a plane for Dallas, okay?”

  “Okay.” I sighed deeply and began to close out the laptop. “I know this is all just speculation. The real explanation may be entirely different.”

  “Right,” Joe said. “The real question is, how is Hogan going to prove anything?”

  We turned out the light.

  If my life were a suspense novel—which it sometimes resembles—we would have awakened the next morning to find Jeff and Tess had both disappeared. But no, both were there and ready for bacon and eggs. Duane was fine, too. He was relieved by a fellow named Bob at eight a.m. Bob had already eaten, but accepted coffee.

  The day seemed to be starting well. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I breathed that sigh too early, of course. It wasn’t until two that afternoon that anyone was kidnapped.

  Chocolate Chat

  This recipe defines what fudge is for my family. I’m sure my grandmother did not originate the recipe, but it makes wonderful, smooth fudge without a whole lot of beating.

  Some people like a crumblier fudge. They may prefer the Hershey’s version earlier in the book.

  Gran’s Fudge

  4½ cups sugar

  1 large can evaporated milk

  18 ounces chocolate chips

  1 p
int jar marshmallow cream

  2 tablespoons butter or margarine

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  dash salt

  2 cups pecans

  Cook sugar and evaporated milk to soft ball stage. (Boil at least ten minutes, then drop a bit into cold water. When it’s ready, the drop will form a soft ball when rolled between fingertips.) Add chocolate chips, marshmallow cream, butter, vanilla, salt, and pecans. Mix well. Pour into buttered dish. Let set for 24 hours before cutting.

  Chapter 22

  Of course, as we ate breakfast we didn’t know the day was going to be as full of threats and thrills as any noir movie. No, we talked about mundane things.

  Tess was delighted to have her car back, and Jeff was eager to get a look at his. Joe, who was the only one of us who had seen the car, warned him that the damage was extensive.

  “It may be totaled,” he said. “Whoever wrecked it ran it right off into the woods and into a ravine. Who carries your insurance?”

  Jeff found his insurance cards, and they called the Dallas insurance agent to tell him what had happened. Joe promised me he’d help Jeff get action under way and would not let him become too exhausted by the process.

  As we finished eating, Hogan showed up. He accepted a cup of coffee, and the six of us sat around the breakfast table while he gave us instructions. That was when Jeff and Tess first heard about the possibility of a kidnapping plot.

  Tears welled up in Tess’ eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

  Jeff blustered, “That’s stupid! My dad wouldn’t give a nickel for ransom. Not for me. It can’t be true!”

  We all ignored that remark. Obviously Rich would give every cent he had in the world if Jeff were in danger. And in his heart, Jeff knew that.

  Hogan kept talking. “A kidnapping plot makes more sense than thinking someone simply tried to kill you, Jeff. Unless you’re involved with some activity that would tempt someone to blow you away?”

  Jeff looked mystified. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you been selling drugs?” Hogan asked. “Robbing banks? Drugging women at parties?”

  “No! I wouldn’t do anything like that. I lead a dull life. I volunteer at the museum. I swim a couple of times a week. I work in an antiques shop, for God’s sake! And I sell movie memorabilia. Tess is the only thing interesting in my life. There’s no reason for anybody to kill me.”

  “But those things happened. If nobody wants to kill you, it could be they wanted to kidnap you.”

  Jeff frowned, but he didn’t say anything more.

  Hogan spoke firmly. “Kidnapping makes more sense than anything else, Jeff. I want all of us to act as if it’s true. Now, this doesn’t mean you have to sit in your room surrounded by armed guards. No, we want to fool these guys, make them think none of us suspects anything. If they come up and speak to you, try to act normal. For example, this Noel Kayro claims to be a friend of yours.”

  “There was a volunteer at the museum, Hal, who did a Joel Cairo impersonation,” Jeff said. “I wouldn’t say we were close friends, but I worked with him. Sometimes we had coffee or something.”

  “I think that’s the guy who’s here for the festival. He may be on the up-and-up, but he could be in with the bad guys. Now, I assume you’d like to go to the film festival. If Kayro wants to talk to you there, can you respond the way you would normally?”

  “I can try.”

  “Good! If you have trouble, tell him all about your concussion. Blame that. In fact, it would be good to tell him you’ve lost your memory.”

  “Which I have. Pieces of it.”

  “I know. But play it up big. And treat the rest of the group the same way. Grossman and the girl, whatever name she’s using today. Act as if you don’t suspect anything.

  “And, Tess?” Hogan shifted his attention. “Can you act normally?”

  “I can try,” she said. “If it will help catch them.”

  “Good girl! But if Kayro or anybody else wants you to wander off with them, don’t go!”

  We all laughed at the thought of wandering off with a potential kidnapper.

  “Don’t laugh!” Hogan’s voice was firm. “Be cautious. It’s like telling children not to get into cars with strangers. If someone comes up to a child and says, ‘Your mother sent me. I’m supposed to bring you home,’ children don’t see the guy as a stranger. Experiments have shown that most kids will get right in the guy’s car. Jeff, you’re not dumb, but if they try to entice you away, they’ll have a plausible story. Maybe ‘Tess needs to talk to you’ or ‘You’ve got a phone call from your mom.’ Savvy?”

  We all nodded solemnly, and Hogan went on. “Don’t even walk across the room to buy a Coke with one of these guys. And don’t drink a Coke, or even a glass of water, one of them brings you. Don’t fall for it.”

  I think he put a scare into all of us. Anyway, he made me think.

  As soon as Hogan left, Joe and Jeff took off to see about the car. Bodyguard Bob went along.

  Tess was fretting to go, too, but settled for doing a little laundry and pacing the floor. However, Jeff and Joe and Bob were back by noon. Jeff shook his head at the state of his Lexus, but the adjuster was to take a look at it that afternoon, and Jeff had been able to get some of his belongings out of the trunk.

  “Hey, Tess!” he said. “My merchandise is okay. Maybe I can open up a booth at the film festival.”

  “Great! But I don’t want you to work too hard.”

  “I may not be able to afford to deal,” Jeff said. “If the booths are expensive . . . well, there’s no point in losing money. I didn’t bring very much stock.”

  I called to check on the price of a small booth, and Jeff decided it wasn’t too high. The dealers’ room was to open at one o’clock, and Mary Kay McCurley said she’d put Jeff’s name on a table.

  So Jeff, impatiently claiming he wasn’t tired, left for the film festival, this time accompanied by Tess and Bodyguard Bob.

  Tess and Jeff seemed to be content, but I wasn’t. I wanted to know what Hogan was doing about arresting this bunch of con men and crooks who, we believed, had come to Warner Pier with a complicated plan. First, they were trying to make money by fooling a young collector and dealer. Next, they were trying to make a lot more money by kidnapping him.

  Naturally I tried asking Joe if he knew what was going on. He merely pleaded innocent.

  “Lee, I feel sure something is going on. If Hogan sees danger to Jeff, he’s not going to stand by and let it happen. But he hasn’t confided in me.”

  With everybody else gone, I decided to go to the office. Which was useless, as it turned out. I was so keyed up about what was going on elsewhere that I got no work done. I just ate a chocolate malt truffle (“milk chocolate filling rolled in a milk chocolate shell and decorated with a dusting of malt cocoa”). Then I sulked and felt sorry for myself.

  Finally, about three o’clock, I gave up and told Aunt Nettie and Dolly Jolly I was going to check in on the film festival. I made up a box of four truffles for Mary Kay. She’d mentioned she was partial to the combination of chocolate and ginger, so I picked two Asian Spice (“milk chocolate inside and out, with a dusting of ground ginger”) and two Ginger Wasabi (“dark chocolate filling enrobed with more dark chocolate and embellished with crystallized ginger”).

  The film festival was being held at the Warner Point Convention Center. This center had originated as a house built by Joe’s first wife, Clementine Ripley, a nationally known defense attorney. When she died without signing a new will, her entire estate went to Joe, who was also named executor.

  Joe did not receive the property joyfully. In fact, he was mad as hops and considered the inheritance a pain in the—well, in the patootie.

  At the time Clementine Ripley died, she and Joe had been divorced for two years, but some of their property issues had not been set
tled. Joe had been trying to break any final ties with her. He and I had just met, and he told me at the time that having her very complicated estate dropped into his lap was a nightmare. Simply refusing to accept the property wasn’t legally practical, so he had to step in and settle things, but he resented it.

  Among her holdings was the Warner Point property, located on a peninsula extending out into Lake Michigan. This included acres of valuable lakefront land, a large house, and several smaller buildings. It was worth millions, but it was also heavily mortgaged. It took another two years for Joe to get the property free and clear. He then presented it to the City of Warner Pier on the condition that his name never be publicly disclosed as the donor. He said he just didn’t want to think about it ever again.

  Lots of people knew the story, naturally, since there are no secrets in a town the size of Warner Pier. But most folks were polite enough not to mention the situation to either of us.

  The city made the property into a convention and workshop center. A small auditorium was added to make it useful for meetings, and it now attracted many small conferences each year.

  It had a good restaurant as well, but Joe didn’t like to eat there. The property was an unhappy memory to him.

  But that afternoon Warner Point had a festive air, although its main decorations were black-and-white posters of movie stars of the thirties and forties garbed as private eyes and gangsters.

  The memorabilia dealers were set up in a room off the lobby of the theater. The films, of course, were being shown in the theater itself.

  As I limped across the parking lot, someone called out, “Lee! Mrs. Woodyard!”

  Looking around, I saw Noel Kayro falling in beside me. I gulped. I was facing one of the suspected bad guys. Could I do as Hogan had instructed us? Could I act as if I didn’t suspect him of plotting a crime against Jeff? I tried to smile, but my face felt stiff.

  “Oh, Mr. Kayro. How are you doing?”

  “Just fine.” His voice was Peter Lorre’s whisper, and his eyes were the size of tennis balls. “Is your weather always this lovely in west Michigan?”