The chocolate frog frame-up: a chocoholic mystery

by JoAnna Carl

  “Yes. But that was a startling question. I hope you’re using the word ‘you’ as a general term for humanity, not asking how I actually did it.”

  I laughed. ”I guess I meant it as a general term for people who know a lot about how buildings are constructed, Trey.”

  “But I don’t know a lot about commercial properties of the 1940’s. I specialize in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. And I try to keep the structures up, not knock them down.”

  “I know, Trey. But you were the only person I could think of that I knew well enough to ask.”

  “Sorry. I never looked closely at the old Root Beer Barrel. I don’t know how it was constructed. It might be that a good ram with a bulldozer would have brought it down. Or it might have had to be taken a part plank by plank. Why do you want to know?”

  Suddenly I didn’t want to go into it. ”Just nosiness, I guess. Patsy said Hershel claimed it was knocked down deliberately, and I began to wonder how hard it would be to do that.”

  “Don’t worry, Lee. Nobody but an idiot would think that Joe would take it down.”

  “Thanks, Trey.” This time we both said goodbye politely before we hung up.

  That hadn’t helped. The whole morning had been confusing. I was at a complete loss about how the rock that had killed Hershel had gotten from Joe’s workshop to the old chapel. I didn’t understand why Joe thought Frank Waterloo had steered a buyer for the Root Beer Barrel property in his direction and Frank denied it. I didn’t understand what Meg and I had been talking about, or why Trey wouldn’t at least take a guess about pulling the Root Beer Barrel down. There were a lot of on answered questions, and I wasn’t making any progress at answering them.

  I thought down a mad desire for a coffee truffle (“all milk chocolate truffle, flavored with Caribbean coffee”), went to my desk, took out a yellow legal pad, and wrote down two of the questions.

  First, why did Joe think Frank had steered a property buyer his way?

  Second, what was the relationship between Meg Corbett and Joe?

  These were two questions I could simply call Joe and ask. I might not like the answer I got to one of them, but I could ask them. I picked up the phone.

  Chapter 11

  Joe answered almost immediately. I didn’t hit him with Meg’s implications right away. Instead I told him that Frank denied telling anybody about the Root Beer Barrel property.

  “He says he didn’t even know the old Barrel had blown down for a couple of months,” I said.

  “So what?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about the Barrel, Joe. If Hershel was right, and it was deliberately wrecked, the chief has been thinking in terms of its destruction helping you sell it. But it also made it possible for this guy in Grand Rapids to buy it.”

  Joe was silent.

  “In a property sale,” I said, “both parties should benefit.”

  “You’re right. Let’s go ask him.”

  “Go ask him?”

  “Sure. I need to pick up a boat in Grand Rapids anyway. We can stop by and see this guy.”

  “The buyer? Who is he?”

  “His name is Tom Johnson. Sounds like an alias. But I’ve seen his letterhead. Johnson – Phinney Development. Can you come with me?”

  “Well, I need to get some work done around here…”

  “We could leave about three, get to Johnson’s office before he closes, then pick up the boat. I’ll even buy you some Mexican food.”

  “No way!” That was an ongoing joke between the two of us. As a Texan I refused to eat Mexican food as far north as Michigan. Which is silly, because West Michigan is full of Hispanic Americans, but I was always sure the restaurants wouldn’t serve real Tex-Mex, and I wouldn’t touch it.

  “German?”

  I looked at the work piled up on my desk and thought about my scheduled shift, which was supposed to end at nine thirty or ten p.m.

  Joe spoke again. ”Indian? Hungarian? French? Tibetan? Serbo-Croatian?”

  I made up my mind. ”Three o’clock? I’ll be ready. And I vote for Chinese.”

  At noon Tracy brought me a sandwich to eat at my desk, and I worked straight through until three. Which didn’t make up for the time I was taking off, but I did get a few things done. Aunt Nettie doesn’t mind if I leave early, but I hate to ask for special treatment.

  Joe looked neat – khakis and polo shirt – when he came to get me. I was glad I’d dressed fairly decently that day, since I hadn’t had time to go home and change. I got my extra sweater from the van and we started the hour-long drive to Grand Rapids. I was grinning as we drove out of town and got on the interstate.

  “You look like the proverbial cat with a mouthful of feathers,” Joe said.

  “It’s skipping out in the middle of the day. I feel as if I’m getting away with something. But tell me what you know about this Tom Johnson.”

  “All I know about him is that the cashier’s check he gave me as earnest money was good.”

  “A cashier’s check is always good, Joe. When are you supposed to finalize the deal?”

  “He asked for ninety days. So he’s still got a month.”

  “He didn’t tell you what he wanted to do with the property.”

  “Nope.”

  “And you didn’t ask.”

  “Nope. I figured it wasn’t any of my business. The city has rules about what can go in various zoning. The state has rules about what can go on the lakeshore. It’s not my business to enforce their rules. Once that property is off my hands I have no interest in it.”

  “How did you meet Tom Johnson?”

  “He called one day, said Frank Waterloo had mentioned the property to him, and arranged to come down to see it. He’d seen it earlier, of course.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No, but he knew how to find it, and finding it is not that easy. Besides, if I wanted to buy a piece of property, I wouldn’t approach a seller until I’d at least driven by it. Though Johnson didn’t seem to know where the property lines were, so he hadn’t poked around too much.”

  “Had anybody seen him over there?”

  “I didn’t ask around. But you know that neighborhood. It’s practically deserted until you get to the houses two blocks away. He could have done anything over there.”

  “Including pulling down the old Root Beer Barrel.”

  “True. Nobody would have noticed anything. But I am sure he told me he’d heard about the property from Frank Waterloo.” Joe reached over and patted my hand. ”So, will ask him how he knows Frank.”

  The Root Beer Barrel property wasn’t a spot you would simply stumble over while driving through Warner Pier. It was on N. Lakeshore Dr. – across the river and a couple of miles up the lake from Aunt Nettie’s house. It was located on a section of Lake Shore drive where Lake Michigan had eaten no way part of the road, leaving the structures on the inland side – well, stranded. You had to know how to get there if you wanted to find the area.

  Fifty years earlier, I’d been told, that part of Lake Shore Drive had been a state highway. It was lined with hotels, service stations, and restaurants. Then the lake had eroded the property on the west side of the road. Several buildings had fallen into the lake. The state highway route was moved several blocks away from the lake, and the businesses on the inland side closed because of the lack of traffic. Yet the spot was still lakefront property. It would be expensive to stabilize the bank, of course, but condos, restaurants – lots of businesses would find the property valuable.

  If Tom Johnson had any kind of backing at all, he should be able to redevelop the property successfully.

  “Is Johnson expecting us?” I said.

  “No, I thought it would be best to surprise him.”

  “If he’s there.”

  “Oh, he’s there. I called. I used what we lawyers call a subterfuge to make sure he’ll be there until closing time.” Joe glanced over at me. ”Now I’m going to ask a sexist question.”

  “
Sexist? You usually seem to avoid that. What’s the question?”

  “Do you know how to flirt?”

  I batted my eyelashes and crossed my knees. ”Have I been too straightforward with you?”

  “Not with me. I like you just the way you are.”

  “Then why should I flirt?”

  “I’ve been trying to think about the best way to approach Johnson. He’s the kind who isn’t even ashamed of being sexist.”

  “And you want me to vamp him?”

  “Not vamp him. I’m not thinking of anything more serious than getting him to ogle a little. I want to distract him, throw him off balance some way. Have you got a better idea?”

  “I don’t want to be uncooperative, Joe, but I’ve tried not to encourage these sexist types. How about if I slap his face?”

  “That might be a little extreme. It would be embarrassing if he sued you for assault. We’ll have to wing it. But if you think of a way to distract him from the business at hand, just jump in there.”

  Grand Rapids is a typical American city – all the retail and restaurant chains are there in shopping centers lined up along through streets that can’t be told apart from similar streets in Dallas, Miami, Seattle, or, I guess, Boston. In between the shopping centers are the strip malls, and in an older strip development we found the office of Johnson Phinney Development. It didn’t look particularly prosperous.

  The outer office was empty, though the reception desk was cluttered with enough debris to indicate that someone usually sat there. As the door closed behind us, a deep voice called from the inside office.

  “My girl is out! I’ll be there in a moment! How this seat!”

  Joe and I found chairs, and the voice continued talking, apparently on the telephone. It said things like “I’ll run that by Phin, but my own feeling is negative” and “Listen, if we don’t have the contract within thirty days, the deal is off.”

  I nudged Joe and pointed to the telephone on the reception desk. It had little plastic buttons for the different lines, and none of them was lighted.

  Joe grand and spoke softly. ”He could be using a cell phone.” I nodded, but I waited for Johnson with a suspicious attitude.

  In a few minutes the telephone call was apparently concluded, and seconds later a big man loomed in the doorway to the inner office. My first thought was what a perfect Santa Claus he’d make. He was tubby and had plenty of white hair – lots on top of his head and even more on his chin. Then he looked at me, and the Santa evolution faded. Santa Claus doesn’t leer.

  His eyes bounced from me to Joe and back to me. ”Hellooo. What can I do for you?”

  A creep. I decided he was fair game for flirting. I lowered my head – he was shorter than I am – and looked up at him from under my lashes.

  “Hi, Tom,” Joe said. ”Joe Woodyard. We’ve got a contract for sale of that lakefront property at Warner Pier.”

  Tom pulled his eyes back to Joe. He looked plank for a minute, then grinned broadly. ”Joe! Good to see you. What brings you to Grand Rapids?” He bent over the reception desk and checked the calendar there. ”I haven’t got mixed up on the date we agreed to conclude the property sale, have I?”

  “It’s still a month off. I just thought I’d check in with you, see how things are going.”

  Johnson rubbed his hands together. ”Fine, fine! Everything is on schedule!”

  Joe shared something interesting that the title search had turned up, and Johnson topped his story. Through it all Johnson’s eyes switched from Joe to me and back again. They kept lingering in my direction, but Joe didn’t introduce me.

  Finally, Johnson gave a little bow. ”Now, Joe,” he said. ”You haven’t introduced me to Mrs. Woodyard.”

  “My mom?” Joe blinked. ”Oh, you mean Lee. I’m sorry. This is Lee McKinney, Tom. Lee is business manager for TenHuis Chocolade down at Warner Pier. She’s on the Economic Development Committee for our Chamber of Commerce.”

  I’d been wondering just how Joe was going to explain me. I bared my teeth into my Miss Texas contestant smile.

  Johnson beamed so widely I expected him to bounce his belly and give a ho ho ho. ”How d’ya do, Ms. McKinney. Well, well, well. If you’re a typical member of the Warner pier Chamber of Commerce, I guess I’ll have to join.”

  “We always welcome new members, Mr. Johnson.” I reached for my Texas accent. ”But I will admit I particularly wanted to meet you. Ever’ one in Warner pier is jus’ dyin’ to know what plans you have for the Root Beer Barrel prope’ty.”

  Johnson shook his finger at me, looking more like a lecherous Santa than ever. ”Now, now, Ms. McKinney, I can’t say a word until my funding is fully committed. You must let us developers have our secrets.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Mr. Johnson. You kin give me a hint.” I pronounced it “hee-nt.”

  He chuckled. ”No can do. Not even for a pretty girl.”

  “We-ell, okay. I’ll just have to keep on tryin’ to git the information out of Frank Waterloo.”

  “Who?” Johnson looked completely blank.

  Joe jumped and then. ”Maybe I miss understood, Tom. I thought you said Frank Waterloo tipped you off about the availability of the property.”

  “Oh!” I could almost see Johnson’s brain scrambling as he tried to recover. ”Well, old Frank doesn’t know anything about the specific deal. We just talked about Warner Pier in general.”

  Joe nodded. ”How’d you meet Frank?”

  “Damned if I remember. Ran into him at a party someplace. I don’t know him well.” The Santa smile grew stiff. ”Anything more I can do for you two?”

  Joe again assured Johnson his visit had merely been a routine call, and I promised to send him some information on the Warner pier Chamber of Commerce. We all shook hands – he gave mine and unnecessary squeeze – and Joe and I left. Johnson stood in his office window and watched until we were in the pickup and driving away.

  “Odd to see a beard with a beard,” Joe said.

  “What do you mean, a beard?”

  “You know, a beard. A front man.”

  “You think he’s acting for someone else.”

  “It seems likely. Remember that ‘Who?’ He didn’t have the slightest recollection of Frank Waterloo’s name. That little session makes me very doubtful that the sale will be concluded.”

  “Oh, Joe! I hope the deal doesn’t fall through.”

  “I’m beginning to hope it does. On second meeting, I find Charley Johnson on the unsavory side. I’m not sure I want to see him or any of his associates around my hometown. Somebody else will buy that property.”

  “Johnson is certainly not like any developer I ever met before.” I shot a glance at Joe. He knew that my past included five years of marriage to a Dallas land developer.

  Joe apparently didn’t have any qualms about that. ”Your ex wasn’t so secretive?”

  “When he or one of his friends was planning a new project, it was generally hard to get them to shut up about it. Of course, there might be reasons for being secretive. Such as trying to buy up other property in the area.”

  “I’ll ask the other property owners in the neighborhood if they’ve been approached. But we all discussed how much to ask per front foot, and my price was in line with that.” Joe hit his turn signal and changed lanes. ”Still in the mood for Chinese?”

  I used the time it took us to reach the restaurant and get settled in a booth to prepare to bring up the second item I wanted to discuss – my odd conversations with Trey and Meg Corbett.

  It was a little early for dinner, so we ordered drinks. After the waiter left, I crossed my knees and did the old-fashioned footsie bit under the table. ”How was my flirting?”

  “Great!” Joe grinned and used his foot to nudge me back. ”Tom never knew what hit him.”

  “Then let’s change the subject. I had a strange talk this morning.”

  I quickly sketched the conversations I’ve had with Trey and with Meg. ”It’s odd, Joe. I never did
figure out what Trey was up to. Was he trying to make me jealous? Was Meg? I didn’t understand any of it.”

  Our drinks came than, and Joe stared at his for a long moment. ”Did Meg make you jealous?”

  “Not of her. Actually, you have a perfect right to chase any woman you please.”

  “You’re the only woman I want to chase, Lee.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it. But I don’t see you as the kind of guy who chases married women. You are not perfect, but you don’t seem to be stupid.”