The Chocolate Moose Motive: A Chocoholic Mystery

by JoAnna Carl

The shouts were coming from Sissy’s tiny office. The door was closed, but the noise was so loud that it was coming right through the barrier.

  “Don’t think you’re going to get away with this, you little no-good!”

  It was Ace. I was sure of it. Sissy’s jerk father-in-law was lambasting her again.

  This time he was doing it in my territory.

  By golly, he wasn’t going to do that on the premises of TenHuis Chocolade.

  I guess I lost my temper completely. I hardly remember how I got across the workroom. I probably knocked four people out of my way. It was just lucky I wasn’t carrying a gun.

  I grabbed the door to Sissy’s office and flung it open. A broad-shouldered man was leaning over Sissy’s desk, punching a finger toward her.

  I took one deep breath; then I cut loose.

  “Get out of here!” My yelling was louder than his. “You can’t talk to one of my employees that way! Out! Now!”

  The man stood rigid, his finger still poking into the air.

  “This is unforgettable! I mean, unforgivable!” My tongue had twisted, and I was ranting, and I didn’t even care. “Shut up with the stupid remarks and get your fanny out of my business! Just who do you think you are? Besides the biggest jerk in Warner Pier?”

  I guess I paused to draw a breath. And in that instant, the man leaning over Sissy’s desk turned to face me.

  I was nose to nose with Burt Ramsey, sheriff of Warner County.

  “Oh,” I said. “I thought you were someone else.”

  Sissy giggled. Then she leaned back in her chair and guffawed. Peal after peal of laughter rang out.

  And in a few seconds, I joined in. I had made a complete fool of myself.

  Chocolate Chat

  Back in the days when I was wire editor for a daily newspaper, one of the hardest parts of the job for me was learning a new computer system. This happened periodically because the computer company stopped supporting the old system or came up with a new one, and we had to “upgrade.” Then we all knew we were in for several rough weeks. It may have been worse for me, because I have no interest in computers. I regard them as tools, usually tools designed to make my work harder.

  Fortunately, Steve, the editor who trained us all to use these infernal machines, had apprenticed with Job. He was incredibly patient, and he actually liked computers.

  I was not nearly so patient. After one ninety-minute session, I spoke to him sharply. “Steve, let’s quit for a few minutes! I’ve got to have some M&Ms.”

  Steve looked astonished. He was having fun, and the call for a chocolate break seemed to amaze him.

  “Come on!” I said. “Don’t you understand how much chocolate it takes to learn a new computer system?”

  Steve’s patience and chocolate kept my newspaper career going through fifteen years of technical advances. Please don’t tell me chocolate doesn’t fight stress!

  Chapter 10

  Sissy and I might be in stitches, but the sheriff was not.

  He didn’t say anything. After all, what could he say? He just glared at me, then reached over to close the door to the office.

  I conquered my laughter enough to speak. “If you think closing that door gives the three of us privacy, you’re wrong. I heard every word you were saying to Sissy as I came in from the alley. Every lady in the chocolate shop was listening with both ears.”

  To my surprise, Sheriff Ramsey blushed. He was a sandy-haired, fair-skinned man, and there was no other word for the redness that came over his face. He blushed.

  When he spoke, he mumbled. “I guess I lost my temper.”

  “I did, too,” I said. “I thought you were someone else—a person who had no right to come into my business and make a stir. All the ladies stopped working.”

  “I guess they were listening.”

  “They could hardly miss what was going on.”

  Ramsey looked even more embarrassed. Without another word, he pivoted and walked out of the office. He went through the shop without turning his head to look right or left, opened the front door, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  I was very happy to see him go. Then I thought of Hogan. Hogan was a friend of mine, as well as a relative. And whether Hogan liked Burt Ramsey or not, he needed to get along with him. If Hogan’s stepniece publicly lambasted the county sheriff, it was going to cause Hogan trouble. I didn’t want to do that. I wondered if I could head off the situation.

  So I followed Ramsey. I didn’t catch up with him until he was nearly to the SUV with WARNER COUNTY SHERIFF painted on its door.

  “Sheriff Ramsey,” I said, “I apologize for yelling at you.”

  That was as much as I could say. I wasn’t sorry for what I’d said, but I was sorry I’d lost my temper. So I apologized for yelling and then stopped talking. I didn’t take back what I’d said.

  “I don’t know why the heck you and your aunt hired that woman,” Ramsey said.

  “We hired her because we needed a bookkeeper.”

  “You can’t tell me she was the only bookkeeper available in Warner Pier.”

  “Of course not.” I considered going on about how Sissy needed help fighting gossip, but I decided that more explanation would be unwise. I’d have to quote Hogan, for one thing, and I didn’t want to get any further into the middle of a fight between Hogan and Burt Ramsey. So I said, rather lamely, “Sissy had the skills we were looking for.”

  Ramsey turned toward me then, and I saw he certainly hadn’t gotten over his mad. “Skills? Skills like shooting people?”

  I hadn’t gotten over my mad either, and I remembered that Ramsey hadn’t been able to break Sissy’s alibi for her husband’s death.

  “Shooting?” I said. “That’s nothing. Any idiot with a trigger finger can shoot a gun. It’s Sissy’s ability to be in two places at once that attracted me.”

  “She’s tricky enough to pull that one off.”

  “Listen! I guess you’re here because Sissy’s grandmother reported a break-in. Joe and I both urged her to call your office and report it. Wildflower didn’t want to do that, and if this is the reaction they got, I can certainly understand why.”

  “Did you believe that break-in junk?”

  “That’s not the point. Sissy and Wildflower are citizens of this county—”

  “Citizens!” Ramsey rolled his eyes. “They’ve given me more trouble than the rest of the citizens put together!”

  Now I was shaking a finger at him. “Whatever they’ve done, TenHuis Chocolade is a business concern. If you want to give Sissy the third degree, you haul her over to the county seat and question her. With her attorney present! But don’t you come into my business and bring the whole place to a standstill over it!”

  Ramsey and I faced each other. I was happy to note that I was at least two inches taller than he was, and I took full advantage of my height, staring down my nose at him.

  Ramsey swung his car door open. “Okay,” he said. “You and your aunt have hired Sissy. By doing that, you’ve made people think Hogan Jones is taking her under his wing.”

  “No!”

  “Yes! So from now on he can take care of her. I’m washing my hands of Moose Lodge and all its problems. As far as I’m concerned, they’re no longer located in Warner County.”

  He got into the SUV and drove off without looking at me again.

  I’m afraid I stomped my foot. I was still mad, but I was beginning to admit to myself that losing my temper had gotten me into a mess.

  The last thing I wanted to do was instigate some sort of feud between Hogan and a fellow lawman. I hadn’t pictured that happening when I hired Sissy.

  I took three deep breaths, still standing on the sidewalk, and told myself to calm down. Then I spoke to myself—out loud. “Now what?”

  Aunt Nettie answered my question. I hadn’t realized she had followed me out of the shop. “Now? Now I guess we’d better tell Hogan what happened,” she said.

  I whirled toward her. “Did you hear all t
hat?”

  “I only came in for the last part. But Dolly gave me a quick rundown on the early stages.”

  “I feel like a fool. I lost my temper completely.”

  “Some things are worth losing your temper over.”

  “But I may have caused trouble between Hogan and Ramsey.”

  Aunt Nettie shook her head. “The trouble was already there. Hogan doesn’t say much about Ramsey, but he thinks the man is an idiot. And Ramsey knows it.”

  I looked inside the shop. There were faces—faces looking out at me. The ladies were still staring, trying to understand just what was going on. “I guess I’d better get to work.”

  “We’d all better get to work.”

  “I’ll try to call Hogan.”

  “You may not be able to reach him. He’s a bit busy today.”

  Well, yes. Hogan was investigating Helen Ferguson’s death. That ought to keep him occupied most of the day, even if he had called in the Michigan State Police.

  I went back into the shop and calmed Sissy while Aunt Nettie shooed the ladies back to work. Sissy had stopped laughing and was blaming herself for the commotion, but I told her she’d done the right thing in reporting the break-in, even if the sheriff didn’t respond responsibly. I gave her some routine chores to do; then I went to my office and tried to call Hogan.

  He wasn’t at the police station, of course, and I didn’t want to try his cell phone. I left a message with the police department secretary, asking Hogan to call me. Next I stared at my computer screen, pretended to be deep in thought about some accounting problem, and worried about what to do next. It didn’t occur to me that I could do nothing. No, I had to take action.

  And I remembered that Wildflower had asked me to investigate Buzz’s death. I had said I wasn’t capable, and that answer was certainly true.

  But since then Sissy and Wildflower had had a break-in, and the sheriff was refusing even to look into it.

  Maybe I could investigate well enough to handle a minor break-in, though I was sure Hogan—and Joe—would tell me to keep my nose out of the whole situation.

  On the other hand, Sheriff Burt Ramsey was so infuriating…

  After about fifteen minutes, I closed out the computer, got to my feet, and walked back into the workshop. Aunt Nettie was scooping fondant into her wonderful copper pan, the one she used to make filling for bonbons. She had already lighted the little gas fire in the tripod that held it.

  “I’m going out for a while,” I said. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.” She didn’t ask me where I was going.

  I got in my van and drove straight east, toward Moose Lodge.

  I was there before it occurred to me that Wildflower might not be home. I was relieved to see that there were two cars parked outside the big metal workshop building, a Volkswagen van and a midsized silver sedan with a small rental sticker on the back bumper.

  I honked to let Wildflower know she had a second caller; then I went into the showroom area. Once again, I had the sensation of being underwater, with beautiful and lifelike fish swimming over my head.

  I called out. “Hello! It’s Lee Woodyard.”

  “Come on back.” I went into the workshop and found Wildflower working with a large electric stapler, fastening bands of what looked like foam rubber to an animal form. Her back was toward me, and the face of a raccoon looked at me from under her arm. Its eyes were lively, like the lifelike eyes of the raccoon in the display area. I had an uneasy feeling that the raccoon understood what was going on better than I did.

  When I tore my eyes away from the raccoon’s gaze and looked around the shop, I saw that Chip Smith was leaning on a worktable, watching her.

  Seeing Chip made me feel self-conscious. I remembered only too clearly the fight he and Sissy had had in our living room the previous evening.

  Chip first looked dismayed when he saw me. Then his expression changed, and he looked slightly pleased. “Hey!” he said. “Here’s somebody who can back up my story.”

  Wildflower looked around at me, and her expression was as blank as the raccoon’s.

  “Chip says Sissy is mad at him,” she said.

  “I’m also under that imposition—I mean, impression!” I said. Darn! My nervousness had been revealed by my twisted tongue. I went on quickly. “I really don’t blame her, Chip.”

  He screwed his face up, looking as if I’d kicked him.

  “And acting pitiful won’t get you any sympathy from me,” I said. “Sissy’s in a very difficult situation, and you seem to be making it worse.”

  “I’m just trying to show her she has a friend.”

  “She has lots of friends. She has me and my aunt and all the ladies at the shop. And that’s enough people to sway public opinion in a town the size of Warner Pier.”

  “Yes, but I represent the Ace Smith camp, and I want to show her that not everybody thinks she’s…” His voice trailed off.

  Wildflower spoke then, and her voice was sharp. “That not everybody thinks she’s a murderess and an unfit mother?”

  “No! How could anyone think those things about Sissy?”

  “It’s amazing what a little gossip can do,” Wildflower said.

  “That’s what Sissy’s afraid of,” I said. “If she were to go around town with a man, particularly one who was pals with Buzz, it might make people think she’s dating again.”

  Chip shook his head. “I don’t want to date her! I just want to show her she’s got a friend.”

  Wildflower whacked the raccoon with three more staples. Then she spoke.

  “Your intentions may be good, Chip, but Sissy doesn’t need any more talk of any sort right now.”

  “I thought you raised Sissy with the idea that she should do what she wanted and forget about gossip.”

  “No, Chip, I raised her with the idea she should do what was right—her idea of right—and not try to please everybody else. That’s how you wind up with your ass in a ditch.”

  Chip looked puzzled.

  “Didn’t you ever read Aesop’s Fables?” Wildflower asked. “Remember the one about the man and his son taking their donkey to market? The son rides it, but someone says the father should ride. Then the father rides it, but someone says both should ride. Then they both ride it, but people don’t like that either. Finally they rig a pole and carry the animal—again because of what a passerby says. And they drop the ass in a ditch and kill it.” She paused, then went on. “You’ve got to do what you think is right. And sometimes avoiding talk is the right thing to do. We don’t live in isolation. You’ve got to show some sense.”

  It was quite a scolding, and it left Chip looking properly crestfallen. I felt sorry for him, despite my earlier words. After all, Sissy was a darling girl. Obviously guys were going to be interested in her, even if she did choose not to date at the present time. Chip seemed like a healthy, normal male; it was natural that he wanted to pay attention to her.

  “I guess I feel guilty,” Chip said. “Buzz was my cousin, as well as my best friend, and I couldn’t even get here when he died. I was no help to Sissy then.”

  “That was because of your job,” I said. “Where were you when Buzz died?”

  “In the—abroad. Normally Dobermann-Smith can arrange emergency leave, but I was too far out in the boonies to hear what had happened. Ace couldn’t get hold of me. It was a week before I could even call Sissy.”

  “Since you were cousins, I guess you’d known Buzz your whole life.”

  “We really didn’t know each other well until we went away to school. Then it was us against the world.”

  “Boarding school must be a traumatic experience.”

  “Oh, I got to like it. But I’m afraid Buzz never did. He was such a creative guy.”

  “And now a second person associated with Ace Smith has been killed.”

  “Associated with Ace?” Chip looked completely blank.

  “Helen Ferguson worked for him. And didn’t she live on his property?”

/>   “Well, yeah. She cleans for him, and he rents her a little house. It’s not as if he socializes with her.”

  “I had the idea she would have liked to socialize with him.”

  Chip looked surprised, so I went on. “More gossip.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” Chip said. “I mean, I don’t know what Helen had in mind, of course, but I’ve noticed Ace always leaves the house when she comes.”

  “Still, I’ll bet he’ll have to answer a lot of questions about her.”

  “What would he know about a cleaning woman?”

  Wildflower shot a significant look at me.

  “Since she lived on his property, she was a neighbor. The cops will want to know if she had lots of visitors, if she seemed to need money, if he’d seen her yesterday. I imagine they’ll ask you about her, too, if they haven’t already.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “You’re staying there, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but I barely knew the damn woman! She just nosed around once a week. I didn’t know her any better than she did”—he gestured at Wildflower—“and even less than Sissy did.”

  Wildflower’s reaction was strange. Her eyes widened; then she ducked her head until she was looking that raccoon directly in the eye.

  “I don’t know anything about Helen Ferguson,” she said.

  Then she turned as pink as Burt Ramsey had.

  Wildflower was a terrible liar.

  Chapter 11

  Wildflower might have been a terrible liar, and she might have lived an unconventional “hippie” life. But she was also an older woman. I guess both Chip and I had been raised to respect our elders. Neither of us called her on her lie. We chitchatted as if we hadn’t noticed her blush.

  In a few minutes Chip said he had to leave, which suited me because I didn’t want to talk about the break-in in front of him. I stayed in the workroom with the keen-eyed raccoon while Wildflower walked Chip out to his rental car.

  Now, I thought as I waited, how do I approach this?