“And how about your dad? I couldn’t get along with him, true, but he’s not a bad person. Does he know where you are?”
Jeff looked up, and he looked, well, curious. “Look, Lee—what the hell did you say to Dad last summer?”
I hadn’t been expecting that question. “We only spoke one time since our divorce, Jeff. It wasn’t a very friendly conversation.”
“Did you tell him something about he was so dumb he didn’t know one Great Lake from another?”
I tried to laugh it off. “It was just a wisecrack, Jeff. He called up here when I was in the middle of that mess after Clementine Ripley was killed, and he offered to help me. I guess I should have been grateful.”
“Where did the Great Lakes come in?”
“He offered to fly up. I’m sure he meant well, but right at the moment I took his offer as meaning he thought I was too dumb to help myself. So when he said he’d fly into Detroit, I made some remark pointing out that Warner Pier is a lot closer to Chicago than Detroit. I told him that if I needed help I’d get it from somebody who knew Lake Michigan from Lake Erie.”
Jeff laughed. “Yeah. He would have flunked fourthgrade geography.”
“I wasn’t being fair, Jeff, and neither are you. He simply thought of the biggest city in Michigan. Besides, Detroit isn’t exactly on Lake Erie. It’s just closer to Lake Erie than it is to Lake Michigan, and telling him he didn’t know the difference between Lake Michigan and Lake St. Claire wouldn’t have been funny. Anyway, your dad’s a Texan! Admit it, all us Texans tend to think the other states in the union are tiny little places where all the cities are just a few miles apart.”
Chief Jones had been enjoying this exchange thoroughly. “How about Alaska?”
“Alaska? Never heard of it,” I said. “Real Texans ignore the existence of Alaska. Jeff, what does my smart-aleck exchange with your dad have to do with the current situation? Where is he? Where is your mom? I find it hard to believe that both of them left home at the same time, and neither of them told you where they were going.”
Jeff sighed. “Well, they’re in Mexico.”
“Both of them?”
He looked up at me angrily. “Don’t you get it? After you and Dad had that fight, it was like he finally admitted he could be wrong about something. I mean, if he didn’t know Lake Erie from Lake Michigan?”
“Okay. But what does that have to do with his going to Mexico?”
“Everything! See, he went to see a counselor. Kind of caught on to what a jerk he’d been to you. And to Mom.”
I was beginning to see the picture.
Jeff looked at me angrily. “Get it? Mom and Dad are thinking about getting married again. They’re off on a trip to Mexico together!”
Chapter 8
I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. Was this the crisis that had made Jeff walk out on college and take to the road? But wasn’t seeing his parents back together the dream of every child from a broken marriage? It had been mine.
On the other hand, Jeff was a real expert at playing his parents against each other. If they started speaking to each other pleasantly, it was going to mean big changes for him.
Their renewed friendship was probably related to his lack of money. If Rich was belatedly enlisting in the forces of responsible fatherhood, tightening the purse strings would be his weapon of choice. This would be quite a switch from his previous policy of using his son as a display case for conspicuous consumption.
Meanwhile, I caught Chief Jones giving me a speculative glance. He was obviously wondering where I fit into all this. The thought embarrassed me. Because I didn’t fit in the situation at all. I wanted the chief to know that, though I wasn’t sure just why.
“That is a surprise, Jeff,” I said. “They’d been divided—I mean divorced—nearly ten years, hadn’t they? I know your dad had been single for a couple of years when I met him, and we were married five years.”
Jeff scowled, making his eyebrow ring wiggle. “They split up when I was nine.”
“I hope it all works out for them.”
“Fat chance.” Jeff’s voice was bitter, but he didn’t expand on the theme.
I looked at the chief. “Does that explain why Jeff decided that he needed to make a change in his life, even if it meant spending February in Michigan?”
“Maybe. But it still doesn’t explain the second Texas car.”
The chief let the silence grow, but Jeff didn’t say anything more. After a couple of minutes that seemed like an hour, Chief Jones told Jeff he could go. Jeff and I walked back to the shop. Jeff said only nine words in the two blocks: “I found the gas money. I’ll pay you back.”
When we came in the front door of the shop I was surprised to see that Gail Hess was back. She not only was back, she was up on the step stool Aunt Nettie had been using the day before.
Aunt Nettie was behind the central counter, bent over and looking down. A pair of work boots was sticking out from behind the counter at an angle that showed their wearer was lying down on the floor.
“Not here,” a muffled voice said. I recognized it as belonging to Joe Woodyard.
“Not here either,” Gail said. Every strand of her frankly fake red hair was standing on end.
“If that doesn’t beat all, I don’t know what would,” Aunt Nettie said.
“What in the world is going on?” I asked.
“One of the molds is missing,” Aunt Nettie said.
“Missing? But I thought none of them was taken.”
“Apparently one was,” Gail said. “When I got them back to the shop I did an inventory. And one was missing. It’s a Reiche mold, made in Germany sometime between 1912 and 1928.”
“How valuable was it?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s worth something. But it’s not one of the rarest in the collection.”
“What did it look like?”
Aunt Nettie answered. “It was that one that you thought looked so dirty, Lee. The one that was rusty.”
“The mean-looking bear? The one with the muzzle?”
“Yes,” Gail said. “Though I think he represented a dancing bear wearing a harness.”
Joe crawled out from under the counter and stood up. “It didn’t get knocked under there,” he said. “Nettie, do you remember where it was displayed?”
“It was up there where Gail’s looking. I thought maybe it was still there. It could have slid down. If it was lying flat, it could have been covered up some way.”
“Well, it’s gone.” Gail got down and dusted her hands together. Maybe it was just the gesture, but she seemed quite self-satisfied. “I just wanted to be sure we hadn’t simply overlooked it.”
“That’s crazy,” I said. “Why would the burglar take just one mold?”
Gail answered. “Because you and Jeff disturbed him?”
“But why take that one? It was one of the hardest to reach?”
Gail frowned. “Was the step stool out?”
“No! I’m sure it hadn’t been touched,” I said.
Gail gave what looked like a delighted smile. “I guess that proves our burglar was tall,” she said. “I couldn’t have reached it without a stool or a chair.”
I couldn’t get over how calm she was about one of the molds being gone. Only her hair looked excited.
“Shall I call Chief Jones?” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think we need to report it?”
“The insurance company will want a complete police report made, if nothing else.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Gail spoke cheerfully and smiled again. “I’ve got to get back to the shop now.” And she waltzed out the front door.
We all stared after her. Aunt Nettie shook her head. “Sometimes I think that messy hair of Gail’s grows right out of her brain and proves that there’s as big a tangle inside as there is outside,” she said. “I don’t understand her at all.”
Nettie looked at Jeff. “I hope you’ve showed up to work, even though it�
��s nearly quitting time. We need you.” She hustled him into the back.
And Joe and I were alone.
I felt bad about our quarrel, although I didn’t feel as if I needed to apologize for my feelings and opinions. Maybe I needed to apologize for the rudeness with which I had expressed them that morning. But I didn’t know that Joe’s unexpected appearance at TenHuis Chocolade had anything to do with our fight. I decided not to make an immediate reference to the quarrel.
“How did you get pulled into the mold hunt?” I said.
“I just came in to buy some chocolates,” he said.
“Sure.” I moved behind the counter. “What kind and how many?”
“Oh, I guess a pound.”
“We have a bunch of prepackaged boxes, or I can do an individual selection.”
“I think that’s what I need. A specially packed box. I want three-quarters of the chocolates to be that hazelnut kind coated in milk chocolate and sprinkled with nougat.”
“Frangelico truffles? Sure. And what do you want for the rest?”
“Dutch caramel.”
“Yum! You’re a good picker. That creamy, soft, gooey caramel is great. Do you want them in a teddy bear box?”
“No, just a regular box. Regular ribbon.”
I folded a cardboard box and began filling it with two layers of chocolates. Twenty-six little milk chocolate balls—the Frangelico truffles—and eight square dark chocolate bonbons—the Dutch caramels. I was dying to ask Joe who he was buying chocolates for. But I didn’t. I concentrated on the chocolates.
As I worked I tried to think of some way to smooth over how Joe and I had left things that morning—without apologizing. I couldn’t think of anything. Joe didn’t say anything either. The shop seemed awfully silent.
I was almost relieved when the bell on the front door rang, signaling the arrival of some new person. But I was surprised when I looked up and saw who the new person was.
Timothy Hart.
Oh, gee! All of a sudden I remembered I’d agreed to go out with his nephew the next evening. I hadn’t told Joe, but he was bound to find out, Warner Pier being the size it is and the Dock Street Pizza Parlor being the community center it is.
Meanwhile, I had to remember that I sold chocolates for a living, and Timothy Hart was a potential customer. He stroked his dapper gray mustache and removed his Russian-style fur hat. “Good afternoon, Ms. McKinney.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hart. I’ll be with you in a moment. I hope you’re doing well today.”
“Better than I was yesterday.” He gave an apologetic shrug. Then he gestured toward the door, still covered with plywood. “I’m sorry to see you received some damage last night.”
“We’re insured. But we’re afraid that the burglars were after the chocolate molds.” I decided to let Gail Hess break the news that one was gone.
“Those molds! They’ve been a headache ever since our mother died.”
“Oh?” I kept putting chocolates in Joe’s box.
“First Olivia wouldn’t let anybody touch them. Then she suddenly declared that the china cabinet they were in was an eyesore, and it was banished to the basement—molds and all. I don’t know what finally became of that cabinet.”
“Oh, really?” I stopped and checked the number of Dutch caramel bonbons I’d put in the box.
Timothy Hart kept talking. “Of course, after Vic’s accident, Olivia shunned Warner Pier completely. Wouldn’t come near the place.”
“That’s understandable.” I tied a blue bow around the box of chocolates. “Here you go, Joe. Just a second, and I’ll ring you up.”
“Do you have a gift card?”
I took a plain gift card and a little envelope out of a rack behind the counter. “Will this do?”
“Great. Go ahead and help Mr. Hart while I write it.”
I smiled at Timothy.
“I need something for a child,” he said. “A chocolate toy?”
I showed him our molded cars, airplanes, and teddy bears, and he selected a ten-inch teddy with handdetailed features. “An eight-year-old should like that, don’t you think? I wanted to give one to the housecleaner’s little boy. Can you send me a bill?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hart. We don’t run noncommercial accounts.” I wasn’t about to give credit to a guy with a drinking problem, even if he was a member of a well-known family. “I can take a credit card.”
“Oh, I think I have the money.” Timothy Hart waved airily and produced a battered billfold. He found a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to me. I gave him change and he gave me a beaming smile.
He put on his furry hat and picked up the box that held his teddy bear. “Now, you tell that nephew of mine that he’s to be a perfect gentleman when he takes you out tomorrow,” he said merrily. Then he left.
I could have killed him.
I turned to Joe, ready to make the explanation I’d known I had to make, but before I could speak Joe shoved a credit card at me. His face was expressionless.
I took the card and swiped it through the appropriate gadget. I swiped a few remarks through my mind at the same time, but none of them seemed suitable. Then, as I handed Joe the credit card slip, Aunt Nettie came into the store.
“Lee,” she said, “did you order the extra cream?”
I turned around and assured her that I had. She said something else, but before I could respond, I heard the bell on the door. Joe had opened it.
I turned around quickly. I needed to say something. “Joe!” Then I noticed that the chocolate he had bought was still on the counter. “Joe! You’re forgetting your box.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m headed for Grand Rapids. I’ll call you. Sometime.” The door closed behind him.
I looked down at the pound box of chocolate. Why had he bought it, then left it behind? He had tucked the little white envelope under the ribbon, and now I saw that he’d written a name on it: Lee.
Joe had bought chocolates for me.
I pulled the envelope out and opened it. “Sorry,” the message inside read. “Maybe things will change soon.” Joe’s name was at the bottom.
I didn’t know how to react. One part of me was really pleased. Joe had obviously meant the chocolates as a peace offering, and it was nice to know he wanted us to be friends. And that he knew my favorite chocolates, Frangelico and Dutch caramel. Another part of me was insulted. A gift of chocolates was just another example of his secrecy complex, and that complex was driving me crazy.
“Darn!” I said. “He could have sent me flowers.” If he’d sent flowers from one of Warner Pier’s florists it would have been all over town in ten minutes. For a moment I longed for a single yellow rose, delivered ostentatiously in a florist’s van.
Then I opened the box of chocolates and took out a Dutch caramel.
Actually, it was nice to have a whole box of chocolates. Aunt Nettie’s rule is two pieces per employee per day, and she and I are careful to stick to that, just the way we expect the other TenHuis staff members to.
I savored the Dutch caramel. Next I slowly ate a Frangelico truffle. Then I put the box in my desk. I tucked the note inside.
Aunt Nettie sent Jeff and me home at six. It was my turn to fix dinner, so I stopped and bought hamburger and buns to make sloppy joes. It used to be one of Jeff’s favorites, and I figured he deserved a break.
He ate the sloppy joe appreciatively, then asked if we’d mind if he ate the leftovers later—“If I need a snack.” We assured him that would be fine. The evening dragged. We built a fire, but nobody had much to say. Jeff and Aunt Nettie watched a little television, and I tried to call Joe. He wasn’t home. Apparently he really had gone to Grand Rapids. I left a thank-you message on his answering machine.
At ten thirty Aunt Nettie went to bed, and Jeff said he was going up, too. When I went up at eleven, I could hear strange electronic noises from his room, and I deduced that he was playing games on his laptop. I put on a robe and went back down to the shower—our str
ange, old-fashioned shower that’s so loud that it can be heard all through the house and keeps the person in the shower from hearing anything but running water.
When I got out of the shower and went back upstairs, I looked out the window. Jeff’s car was gone.
Darn the kid! He’d sneaked out.
Well, at least he’d been smart about it, had waited until I couldn’t hear him. And at least he had gas in his car. I dried my hair and went to bed. I meant to stay awake until Jeff got in, but I was too tired. I was sleeping soundly at two a.m., when Aunt Nettie shook me awake.
“Lee! Lee!”
I sat upright. “What’s wrong?”
“Mercy Woodyard just called. She says there’s a big commotion down at the shop. She sounded really upset.”
I jumped out of bed and ran across the hall. I gave a cursory knock at Jeff’s door, but I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. I threw the door open and turned on the overhead light. The bed hadn’t been slept in.
“Where’s Jeff?” Aunt Nettie said.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’ll be dressed in a minute.”
Aunt Nettie dressed even faster than I did, and we were at the shop inside of ten minutes. Mercy had been right; there was a big commotion. As we drove down Fifth Street, I saw flashing lights in the alley and spotted a Michigan State Police car back there. When we turned onto Peach, all three of Warner Pier’s patrol cars were parked facing the shop. I parked at the end of the block, and Aunt Nettie and I ran toward the lights. Joe loomed up before we got there.
“What’s happened?” I said. “Another break-in?”
“No, I don’t think anybody got inside.”
“Then what?”
Joe gestured at the nearest patrol car, and I saw a figure huddled in the backseat.
Jeff.
I gasped and stepped toward the car, but Aunt Nettie caught my arm. She pointed toward the door of the shop.
“What’s that?” she said.
In the headlights I saw a heap of something emerald green piled on the sidewalk in front of the TenHuis Chocolade window. Nestled against it was a patch of something reddish, or maybe brownish. For a moment I thought of a red squirrel. Then the brilliant green became an object I recognized, and so did the patch of red. I was seeing Gail Hess’s frankly fake hair and her bright green jacket.
The Chocolate Bear Burglary Page 9