The Chocolate Book Bandit (6 page)

All the reply I got was, “Hmm?”

I kissed his forehead.

His eyelashes didn’t even flicker. “Good night, Lee.”

At least he knew who I was. I considered slipping into something sexy and snuggling in beside him. But he had turned with his back to my side of the bed. He gave another snore. He didn’t look or sound as if he would respond positively to romantic overtures.

There was always morning. I’d get up early and maybe he’d like a snuggle when he woke up. Then I’d fix pancakes with Michigan maple syrup. That was Joe’s favorite breakfast. Even if we didn’t have time for early-morning romance, at least I’d get the day off to a good start.

I set my alarm half an hour early and got into bed, pushing any thought of Butch Cassidy out of my mind. That’s hard to do, after all. If you have to keep reminding yourself not to think about a certain topic, it keeps that topic in the forefront of your mind. I checked the alarm four times, afraid I hadn’t set it early, but I finally got to sleep.

But by the time my alarm went off the next morning, Joe was up and dressed. The dim light on his side of the bed was on, and he was tying a legal-looking tie around his neck.

I looked at the time, sure I’d overslept. But I hadn’t. I had set my alarm half an hour early; Joe apparently had roused himself a half hour before that. I sat up in bed, feeling extremely frowzy, and looked at the time. “How come you’re up?”

“I’ve got a meeting that’s going to take some extra time, so I need to get in early.”

“Oh. I was going to make pancakes.”

“Pancakes are mighty tempting, but I’d better run. I’ll grab an Egg McMuffin when I get to Holland.”

“Well, darn!”

Joe gave me a quick kiss. He looked serious. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And he was gone. I was still debating between going back to sleep or getting up early when the lights of his truck went by the window. I lay back down. And darned if Butch Cassidy didn’t pop right into my stupid imagination.

I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head.

That morning just didn’t want to go right. I fell asleep again and then overslept. I not only didn’t get pancakes, but I also didn’t even get coffee until I got to TenHuis Chocolade, and I got there twenty minutes late.

Next, Aunt Nettie had to hear all about the events of the previous evening—again. Her chief assistant, Dolly Jolly, called in sick. An expected delivery of chocolate failed to show, so I had to phone our chocolate supplier and complain. Then the UPS man came to pick up the day’s shipments—an hour before they were ready. His usually jovial smile paled when he was told he’d have to come back later.

It was eleven o’clock before something nice happened, and even that happened in the form of a disaster. A Holland florist’s shop called, needing an emergency supply of autumn leaves.

Aunt Nettie makes beautiful molded chocolates, different ones for every season of the year. This fall she had produced lovely maple and oak leaves in one-inch, two-inch, and four-inch sizes. They came in white, milk, and dark chocolate and could be purchased wrapped in foil in autumn colors. Arranged in groups they made perfect table decorations or favors for any fall event.

In fact, they were so perfect that the Holland shop had been completely sold out when one of their best customers decided to use the leaves for a big luncheon. Help! They needed more. Two hundred more. Right that moment.

At first I was annoyed and considered a few sharp words about planning ahead, but it’s never smart to offer sharp words to a customer. Plus, this gave me an excuse to go to Holland at lunchtime.

I might be able to surprise Joe and take him to lunch.

I checked our stock and cheerfully told the florist I’d personally deliver more leaves. I basked in their gratitude, then loaded the van. I called Joe’s cell phone, but it was off. I left a message saying I’d call again or he could return my call, though I didn’t say why I was trying to reach him.

The drive to Holland takes a bit over thirty minutes, and Joe hadn’t called back by the time I arrived at the florist’s shop. I carried the chocolate in, received the owner’s enthusiastic thanks, and called Joe again. Still no answer.

I was feeling a bit let down, but I decided to go by his office. It was only twelve o’clock, and Joe usually went to lunch a bit later than that.

His office is in the downtown area, not too far from the courthouse, so parking in the area is at a premium. I found a spot about a half block away, took it, and got out of the van. And miracle of miracles—Joe walked out the door of his office before I stepped onto the curb.

I raised my hand and waved. But I hadn’t had a chance to call out Joe’s name when a small, slender woman ran across the sidewalk to meet him.

“Joe!” I could hear her enthusiastic greeting. “I’m so glad to see you.”

She threw her arms around him and planted a big kiss on his mouth.

And Joe kissed her back.

After the kiss, Joe smiled broadly. He didn’t look at all surprised to see her. The two of them stood together on the sidewalk, practically nose to nose, looking into each other’s eyes.

I jumped back in my van so fast I don’t think I even opened the door. I kept looking toward Joe and the woman, making sure they hadn’t seen me.

The woman was Meg Corbett, the one woman in the world that I feared. Joe’s high school girlfriend. Maybe that’s all I need to say.

I feared Meg because I thought she might be the one woman in the world that Joe found more attractive than he finds me. She and her husband, Trey Corbett, lived in Warner Pier quite a while. Meg left, more or less under cover of darkness, and maybe it’s best not to mention just what happened to Trey. I assumed they were now divorced. I had believed Meg left the state. I had hoped she left the country. At any rate, I didn’t want her to pop up in my life again. Or in Joe’s.

Not that I had ever had any particular reason to think Joe was still interested in her. Not until I’d seen them greeting each other on the sidewalk in downtown Holland. But a guy never gets over his first . . . well, let’s call it his first fling. Maybe he shouldn’t get over it.

When I added Meg’s personal history to Joe’s particular kind of conscience—overactive and idealistic—well, Meg could be the biggest threat my life ever faced. All a girl has to say to Joe is “Help,” and he’s putty in her hands. And Meg knew it.

I’d already noticed the way Joe reacted if Meg’s name came into the conversation. His tone always became contemptuous. Other girls he’d dated brought an amused response, but two of them—Meg and Joe’s first wife, Clementine Ripley—got contempt. I was afraid this meant that they were the two who had really gotten under his skin. They scared me. But Clementine was dead. She wasn’t going to appear on Eighth Street in downtown Holland.

Meg was there in the predatory flesh.

So why didn’t I confront them? Why did I jump back in my van before either she or Joe could see me?

I guess the smart thing to do would have been to go on walking down the street innocently, to wander up to Joe and Meg and say, “Hi! I didn’t know you were back, Meg. I was hoping to go to lunch with Joe. Maybe you can come with us.” Or something like that.

I’m brassy, but not quite that brassy. I wasn’t ready to confront Meg, not a Meg with a proprietary hand on Joe’s arm, looking deeply into his eyes. I couldn’t do it. Not with my heart sinking down around my knees. I’d have to steel myself.

Anyway, Joe and Meg walked on up the block—thank goodness they didn’t come toward me—arm in arm. As soon as they had disappeared, I started back to Warner Pier. I didn’t stop on the way. I had lost all interest in lunch, but as soon as I got to my desk I ate both of my daily pieces of TenHuis chocolate.

TenHuis allows each employee to have two of our luscious bonbons and truffles every day. I never forget. That day I ate an Amaretto truffle (“milk chocolate filling flavored with almond liqueur, in a milk chocolate shell, and embellished with chopped almonds”). Then I scarfed down a caramel truffle (“gooey soft caramel filling in a dark chocolate shell, trimmed with a milk chocolate swirl”).

Both were darn good and ultra sweet. I felt a little better after I had eaten them.

I went into the ladies room, the only place at TenHuis Chocolade that has a mirror, and I looked at myself. I looked okay. I didn’t think anybody, even Aunt Nettie, would be able to see the turmoil inside. That was good. I didn’t want to display my troubles. Certainly not my troubles with Joe.

If I did have troubles with Joe. I reminded myself that I didn’t know that. Meg could simply be consulting Joe professionally. She might have just dropped by to catch up on old high school friends. She could be looking for a job and hoping that Joe could refer her to someone who was hiring.

But I didn’t believe any of those things. I’d seen the way she was looking at Joe, and I’d seen the way he was looking back. I’d seen the way she grabbed him and the kiss she gave him. The looks they’d been exchanging hadn’t been those of a lawyer and a casual client, or of two old chums.

I brushed my hair into a sort of queue, à la George Washington, and fastened it with a barrette. I freshened my makeup. And I went back to work, feeling brave. By quitting time, I told myself, I would have figured out how to deal with this problem.

In the meantime, I had a surprise visit. A good-looking guy with prematurely gray hair came in the front door of the shop. It was Hart VanHorn, the nephew of the library board member who had apparently been murdered.

I left my desk and went out into the shop to greet him. I had met Hart a few months after I moved to Michigan. He’d even asked me out—once—and I had agreed to go. But life intervened before Hart and I kept that date, and by the time things settled down, we’d both realized that we could be friends, but romance wasn’t in the picture.

In a way, I owed my marriage to Hart. At the time Hart asked me out, Joe had been showing interest in me, but he kept shying away from asking me out. After Hart made his move, Joe suddenly got a lot bolder. He managed to store some of the baggage from his first marriage high in the attic. He made me feel valued and pursued. And all because Hart’s interest made Joe realize I wasn’t Miss Plain Jane sitting home, waiting for his call. Apparently he also realized that he didn’t want to lose me.

I shook Hart’s hand and murmured the conventional words. “I’m so sorry, Hart.”

“I wanted to thank you for the things you did last night. Taking care of Tim.”

“Joe handled that. I’ll tell him what you said.”

“And I appreciate your staying with Abby until the authorities came.”

“I don’t deserve thanks for that.” I leaned closer and whispered, “I did it to keep Miss Vanderklomp from doing it, and it was sheer obnoxiousness on my part.”

Hart smiled. “I understand. I’ve had my run-ins with Miss Vanderklomp. Anybody who can stand up to her has my respect.”

“Come on in my office. Could I offer you a cup of coffee?”

“That sounds great.”

I beckoned to one of the ladies who make the chocolates. “Would you tell Aunt Nettie that Hart VanHorn is here? She’ll want to speak to him. And I know it’s not your job, but could you bring us some coffee?”

Each request drew a “ya, shure,” which is the West Michigan way of saying “I’d be glad to.”

Hart was already seated in my office when I went back to my desk. “How’s Tim today?”

“Really down, of course. It’s hard to lose your final sibling. Even one who never had much to say. But what I can’t grasp is that Hogan Jones is hinting that someone might have deliberately killed Abby! That’s just impossible!”

“They won’t say anything until after the autopsy.”

“Abby was a truly inoffensive person. She never flashed her opinions around. Or she didn’t in front of me.” Hart grimaced. “The effect of growing up with my mother as an older sister, I guess. Mother was Miss Opinionated from childhood on.”

I nodded. Silence was best on the subject of Hart’s mother. “Everyone on the library board reacted the way you are,” I said. “They said Mrs. Montgomery was easygoing. But they also said that if she felt strongly about something, she stood up for it.”

“That’s true. I remember— Well, when my grandmother died, Aunt Abby and my mother both laid claim to a small desk. For all her quiet nature, Aunt Abby won. That desk is in her house today.”

I chuckled. And in a moment Hart continued. “Now I wish I’d known her better. But she lived in California until she retired.”

“Oh, she had a career?”

“Yes. Aunt Abby had a business degree and worked for an accounting firm. After Uncle Bill died she sold up in California and came back here. They never had kids. I don’t even know if she had a will.”

“Will she have provided for Tim?”

“That’s possible, but Tim’s trust keeps him going. She might have left her assets to the dog and cat home. Or I might be the heir.”

“Probably the executor, too.” I decided it was time to change the subject. “Has Tim figured out what Mrs. Montgomery was worried about?”

“What do you mean?”

“When he and Joe got to the library last night, the first thing Tim said to me was ‘Now I’ll never know what Abby was worried about.’ Didn’t he mention it to you?”

“No. That’s peculiar.”

“I wonder if he said anything about it to Hogan.”

“Maybe not. I’ll ask him. Or, better still, I’ll ask Hogan.”

The coffee arrived right at that moment, carried by Aunt Nettie. She sat down with us, made sympathetic noises, and offered Hart chocolates. After a few minutes Hart said he needed to go, so she tried to press a box of chocolates on him.

Hart assured her that sweets weren’t needed. “Tim’s house is already loaded with food from the neighbors,” he said. “Mother’s house is closed up, but luckily the electricity is still connected, so we’ve plugged in the fridge. We’ll have to clean out the one at Abby’s and use that, too.”

“I’m a neighbor, too,” I said. “If you need someone to help sort things out, give me a holler.”

“Aunt Abby had a cleaning woman, so I’ll get her to come. But I’ll call on you if I need to.”

Hart went away in a few minutes, looking solemn, and I carried the coffee cups to the kitchen. I could still feel the big lump I’d had in my chest since I saw Joe with Meg Corbett, but it didn’t feel quite so big. After all, the Harts and the VanHorns were important people, and they had troubles. Why would I think I would escape?

But in a way I could have coped with a murder more easily than with the idea of Joe and Meg meeting surreptitiously. I toyed with the idea of confiding in Aunt Nettie. I knew she’d reassure me, tell me there was an innocent explanation. Like Joe and Meg were planning a class reunion.

I’d never believe that. I decided not to consult Aunt Nettie.

I got back to my desk just as the phone rang. It was Hogan. “Hey, Lee, can you come over to the station for a minute?”

“Do I need to sign a statement?”

“We’ve got a couple more questions.”

Click. I growled. Now what? As if I weren’t already upset, between having to sit with a dead body and discovering my husband prancing down the main street of Holland with an old girlfriend . . . Now I had to answer more questions.

I was so annoyed that I spoke aloud. “Rats! I’ve told you all every single thing I know!”

I stomped my feet with every step I took toward the police station, and I had to try hard to keep from swinging the door to the police station open and slamming it against the wall.

And when I got inside, Hogan was closed up in his office with somebody, so I had to sit and wait. That didn’t make me any happier, but it gave me a chance to catch my breath and think quiet thoughts and remind myself that I’d be foolish to pitch a fit at Hogan. First, he was my uncle—sort of—and I didn’t want a quarrel in the family. Second, Hogan was Authority—the police chief of the town where I lived. Third, I liked him. But he sure was hitting me at a time when I didn’t want to talk about his concerns. I wanted to worry about mine.

In a few minutes the door opened, and Butch Cassidy came out. He turned back to speak to Hogan. “Frankly, Chief Jones, I hope this is the last time we talk for a while.”

“I’d like nothing better,” Hogan said. He gestured toward me. “Lee, come on in.”

Butch and I had to pass by each other as I went in and he went out. Our eyes met. Yes, I felt a certain spark. Darn it.

Lieutenant Underwood wasn’t in the office. This pleased me. I was happier facing Hogan alone, without that particular state police detective.

Hogan opened the conversation. “Lee, do you remember my showing you a letter last night?”

“Sure. At least, I saw an envelope addressed to Henry Somebody. In a plastic envelope.”

“You didn’t touch it?”

“Of course not!”

“You didn’t see anybody else touch it?”

“No. Why? What happened to it?”

“We’re not sure. It’s gone.”

“That’s funny. Could it have dropped in the street?”

“No, Lee. We’ve looked. It wasn’t dropped in the street. It’s not under the rug. It’s not behind a bookcase. And the dog didn’t eat it.”

I looked at Hogan narrowly. “Oh,” I said. “Sarcasm.”

Hogan glared. “The last time it was seen, you and this Cassidy guy were there.”

“I didn’t take it.”

“That’s what he says, too.”

That’s when I lost my temper. “As my grandmother used to say, Hogan, ‘You’re getting my dandruff up.’ I did not mess with your evidence. I know nothing about any Henry Whoever. I never saw that envelope except when you showed it to me. I do not know where it disappeared to. And as far as I know, the dog did eat it!”

I took a deep breath, glared, and continued talking. “I wouldn’t touch your lousy evidence, and you know it!”

Hogan then lost his temper. “Lee, I know you and Nettie are closer than mother and daughter. And I don’t want to get into it with you, because it could really give me trouble at home. But I can’t just let this slide! That letter was there, and now it’s not. Something happened to it. Underwood and I have looked everywhere. The state police tech looked everywhere. It’s gone! And I can’t just say, ‘Oh, Lee Woodyard wouldn’t take it. She’s my wife’s niece.’ You can’t have a special dispensation.”