The Chocolate Frog Frame-Up (26 page)

“He’d been urging me to petition the commission for permission to take the Barrel down,” Joe said. “If I had, then my guess is he would have backed the idea and voted for it. Then he would have ‘discovered’ the site’s potential and bought it. But he was probably afraid someone was going to beat him to the property. Maybe the high winds in that last winter storm gave him the idea. I think he simply saw a chance to take a shortcut, get rid of the Barrel faster than he could legally. So he must have borrowed a heavy truck from some of his builder pals, then gone over there and pulled the old Barrel down.

“Unfortunately, Hershel saw what happened. He probably didn’t see who was in the truck, but he mentioned it to Trey. Trey let him think I had done it. But I knew I hadn’t. If Hershel had accused me to my face—an event that became more and more likely as Hershel kept sulking about the situation—I was going to deny it. Then I might actually quiz Hershel, might figure out someone really had pulled the Barrel down. If it got out that Trey, a member of the Historic District Commission, had illegally torn a building down—well, the fine wouldn’t be much, but it would pretty well finish his business in Warner Pier.”

“So Trey decided to kill Hershel,” I said.

“Right.” Joe reached for a Bailey’s Irish Cream bonbon (“Classic cream liqueur interior”). “And let’s get one thing straight. We’re talking murder in the first degree here. This was no crime of impulse. Trey had to set up his own alibis. Remember how he kept telling everybody he’d been working on the fireplace at the Miller cottage, even if we didn’t ask where he’d been? He had to call me, pretend to be a potential boat buyer, and send me on a wild goose chase up to Saugatuck. He had to cut my phone line, so that nobody could just happen to call me at a moment that would have been inconvenient for him. Sometime in there he stole that lucky stone he used to kill Hershel from outside the shop. I can’t swear he took the shop rag from my box of rags, because they’re too common. But that would have been easy to do.”

“One thing really puzzles me,” I said. “Did Trey first cut your phone line, then tap it? Frankly, that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“It puzzles me, too. I wonder if he didn’t do it the other way around—maybe it’s been tapped for a long time.”

“Why?” Mercy asked.

“Apparently Trey had gotten the idea that Meg was seeing another man. I suspect that he was checking to see if she and I had revived our teenaged affair.” Joe took my hand. “I’m happy to say, first, we hadn’t, and second, neither Lee nor I like to talk dirty on the phone.”

We all laughed, but the idea of Trey listening in on our calls was—well, nasty. I took the taste out of my mouth with a sip of brandy and a mocha pyramid.

“I wonder if he didn’t even goad Hershel into attacking you at the post office,” I said. “If he was already determined to frame you . . . You wouldn’t have been such a ready-made suspect if it weren’t for that little set-to.”

“Unless Trey tells us, we’ll never know the answer to that one,” Joe said.

I went on. “But whose boat did he use to run the
Toadfrog
down? His boat, the
Nutmeg,
is too small. Plus, it would have left evidence.”

Joe shook his head. “I always thought running down Hershel’s canoe was an awfully iffy way to kill him, and I don’t believe it happened that way.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I’ve suggested to Chief Jones that the state police crime lab people look around outside at Gray Gables. If I were going to make a canoe look as if it had been hit by a bigger boat, I’d simply put it up against some sort of pole—on a tennis court, maybe, or a flagpole—tie a rope around it lengthwise and attach the rope to my pickup. Then I’d pull. Those aluminum canoes are not exactly battleships.”

“That’s almost exactly what he did!” We all jumped as Dolly Jolly’s voice boomed out.

“Oh!” I said. “The chief told me that you saw more than you realized. Was that what you saw?”

“Didn’t see him bending the canoe! Saw him dragging it up onto the lawn!” She turned to Joe. “He painted a board red and nailed it to a tree!”

“Sure! He needed paint that would match the runabout. That makes perfect sense.”

Dolly Jolly cleared her throat. She helped herself to an amaretto truffle (“Milk chocolate interior flavored with almond liqueur”). “Don’t want all of you to think I’m just a snoop! The owners of Gray Gables—cousins of this Trey Corbett—they asked me to look around, keep an eye on the property! Think they realized he’d been using the boathouse for some private project. One reason they rented me the old cottage!”

We all nodded wisely. It seemed logical that Trey’s relatives would have been suspicious.

“Meanwhile,” I said, “I guess Trey lured Hershel to Gray Gables, hit him in the head, and left him unconscious. He must have planned to throw him in the water and leave him to drown.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “He’d already sent me off to Saugatuck so I wouldn’t have an alibi. But Hershel must have come to and staggered off. As I understand head injuries, Hershel may not have remembered what happened to him, but he probably knew it was something bad. But this was Hershel, who wasn’t always logical even when he hadn’t been hit in the head. Instead of calling an ambulance or the cops or going to Ms. Jolly’s house for help, he got across the river somehow. Maybe just walked across on the Haven Road bridge. He was probably headed for the old chapel.”

“Which,” I said, “Patsy said he regarded as a refuge.”

“Right,” Joe said. “He hid in the woods around the chapel, then tried to get hold of Nettie, because he trusted her.”

Aunt Nettie shook her head sadly. “But Trey found him before Lee and I did.”

Joe went on. “Trey knew that Hershel saw the old chapel as a hideout. He’d probably been looking for him there ever since Hershel disappeared. He might not have been too worried about him being found alive. People wouldn’t believe anything Hershel said.”

The party broke up not too long after that. There were ramifications afterward, of course.

First, Meg left town that night, and as far as I know has never been seen in Warner Pier again. I now believe she told Trey she’d had an affair with Joe to make her husband jealous. That would be in line with the “tricky” philosophy she told me was the best way to deal with men.

She obviously knew about Trey’s plan to build the snazzy resort hotel; I’ve always suspected he came up with the project because Meg wanted him to make some real money. But Trey denied she was involved in the murder and the murderous attacks on Joe and me, so she got away. If the Corbett family helped her or Trey, they didn’t do it publicly.

As for her relationship with Joe when they were in high school, Joe asked me if I wanted to know more, and I declined. We’ve never mentioned Meg again, and I don’t plan to bring her up. I hope I’m not as stupid as Trey.

Dolly Jolly came by TenHuis Chocolade a few days later and asked if the apartment over Aunt Nettie’s shop would be available for rent the next fall.

“I don’t usually rent it in the winter,” Aunt Nettie said.

“I’ve decided to stay in Warner Pier year round!” Dolly said. “Living over a chocolate factory sure would smell good! Hope to find a job!”

“What kind of job are you interested in?”

“Food! Food-related!”

So that situation looks interesting.

A week after Trey was arrested a house painter named John Adolph called the county sheriff to report that someone had broken into his storage building and stolen his black Dodge panel truck. He’d been on vacation and had just missed it. Why, yes, he said, he had done several painting jobs for Trey Corbett’s projects, and, yes, Trey was familiar with his workshop and knew where he stored his equipment. The panel truck turned up late the next October, after the leaves began to fall, in a ravine about a mile from Gray Gables. Fake numbers had been painted on its tag, with the zeros turned into eights.

As for Frank and Patsy, they’re still together. If he’s drinking and staying out nights, Greg Glossop hasn’t spread the world yet.

Joe says he suspected that Frank had been mishandling Hershel’s trust. When the final accounting was made the judge asked some pointed questions—or so Joe heard over at the courthouse. But in the end Frank wasn’t accused of any misdeeds.

But all that was later. The big discussion between Joe and me came the night Trey was arrested. I’d stayed to lock the shop up after our little chocolatecoffee-brandy gathering. Joe stayed, too, because he’d left his boat at Gray Gables, and he needed a ride home.

As Mike went out the front door, he clapped Joe on the shoulder and said, “I am relieved to have this settled. Now we’ll put our discussion item back on the workshop agenda. Ten a.m. Wednesday. City Hall.”

Joe just nodded, but I stopped Mike. “What are you all conspicuous about? I mean, conspiring! What are you conspiring about?”

Mike grinned happily. “Lee, you’re so funny!” Then he spoke to Joe. “I guess you keep her around for laughs, right?”

“Actually,” Joe said, “she never does that when we’re alone.” Then Mike left, and I locked the front door.

While I was locking up I realized that Joe had spoken the truth. I rarely made my verbal gaffs when he and I were by ourselves. Why was that?

I didn’t try to answer my own question. I wanted to ask Joe about this “agenda item” Mike had mentioned. Joe had gone out the alley door and was standing between my van and our Dumpster.

I followed him out into the alley and locked the door. Then I demanded an explanation. “Joe, what are you and Mike up to?”

“Up to?”

“Don’t act innocent. He’s made several references to this mysterious ‘agenda item,’ and you even called him once and talked about it.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yes. That. What’s going on?”

“Warner Pier has never had a city attorney. They just hire somebody if they need legal counsel. Now Mike’s going to recommend that they put someone on retainer. Just part-time. I’m going to apply for the job. But Hershel’s death put a crimp in our plans. They couldn’t hire me if I was involved with a crime.”

“But you said you never wanted to practice law again. You gave me all this stuff about the sanctity of craftsmanship and the morality of boat restoration.”

Joe laughed. “I’m trying to have my craftsmanship and eat it, too. Warner Pier isn’t exactly swamped with legal problems. I think I can read over the contracts and warn the city councillors that they’re about to break the law without giving up Vintage Boats.”

“I don’t like that. You’re already handling two full-time jobs—winding up the Ripley estate and the boat shop. Now you’re going to take on another job part-time?”

“The problem with the two jobs I have now is that neither of them pays on a regular basis. The boats pay when you finish a job or when you sell a boat. The Ripley estate, as you know, doesn’t pay at all, since I’m still determined not to take any money on that deal. Oh, I’m keeping track of my expenses—lunch, mileage, phone calls. But my real aim is to get the estate in good enough shape that I can give the Warner Point property to the city.”

He tugged at my hand until I was facing him. “Don’t tell anyone that, okay? Not even Mike. I may not be able to work it out, so I can’t make a commitment.”

“Did anybody ever tell you you’re an awfully nice guy?”

“I’m a guy who feels guilty. The city should have had that property all along. In a way, I was responsible for Clementine’s deciding to build a summer place here and snagging the property out from under Mike’s nose. It’s simply a matter of justice. But her estate is so far in debt I may not be able to bring it off. I’ve had one offer, and I may yet have to sell it. So please don’t say anything.”

I kissed him. He kissed me back. After a few moments of this, he spoke. Actually, he swore.

“Dammit! I went to a lot of trouble—moonlight boat rides, trips up the river for dinner—so we could have this conversation in a romantic setting. And we wind up having it leaning on a Dumpster!”

I laughed. “I don’t see anything particularly romantic about your taking a third job. I barely fit into your schedule as it is.”

“The point of the city job is really you.”

“Why?”

“You’ve made me realize that I don’t want to live in one room in the back of a boat shop for the rest of my life. I might even want to get married.”

“Oh.” I gulped.

“Or I might if I could interest the right person,” Joe said.

“You probably could,” I said. “But people who’ve made one bad decision are sometimes scared of making another.”

“Are you scared?”

“I don’t pull my malapropisms when we’re alone. Maybe that means I feel safe. Are you scared?”

“Terrified. I’m scared of losing you.” He kissed me again. “We don’t have to rush into anything, but I don’t want to wait forever.”

“No,” I said. “Not forever.”