The Chocolate Moose Motive: A Chocoholic Mystery (17 page)

“A bribe, I guess. I’d like to talk to you.”

“What have I done wrong?”

“Nothing at all. You’re doing great. Considering the upsets of the past couple of days, I think it’s a miracle you’re still coming in for work.”

“Then what did you want to talk about?”

“Put me down as a nosy bitch. And anytime you don’t like the conversation, tell me to get out.”

She reached over and took a moose. “This is much prettier than the moose we have at home. But you’re making me nervous.”

“I don’t want to. I’m just trying to figure out a few things that are none of my business. Such as, when Buzz was killed, the investigators gave the public the impression that he had probably interrupted a burglar and the burglar reacted violently.”

Sissy nodded. “That was what they seemed to think at first. But it was silly. Gran and I had nothing worth stealing, and Buzz didn’t either. Maybe that was where the rumors about me being guilty came from.”

“Why do you say that?”

“People look for a logical reason for things, I guess. Since theft didn’t seem logical—nothing valuable was stolen from the house—they had to come up with another reason. And the husband or wife is always the first suspect. Plus, Ace hated me already, so he was willing to believe anything. He muttered to Helen, and she repeated his mutters.” Sissy made an expressive gesture. “Next thing you knew, I was always first in the checkout line.”

“First in the checkout line?”

“Yep. As soon as I was ready to check out, everyone else remembered some forgotten item and ran back to get it. So I got to go first. Unless they closed the line. That happened once or twice.”

“Oh.” I thought a minute, but I had nothing helpful to say
about that. “Tell me about Buzz. I mean, what was he like? If you don’t mind talking about him.”

“I don’t mind. I loved Buzz, and I love to talk about him. He was the nicest guy I ever knew. A real sweetheart. Not a mean bone in his body. His only problem, at least in my view, was that he liked to please people.”

“How was that a problem?”

“It made him easy to push around. That’s the real reason his dad hates me. Buzz always was a ‘good boy.’ Until I came along, Buzz always minded his dad. Even when Ace packed him off to military school the week after his mother died.”

“I didn’t realize he did it that quickly. That seems pretty harsh.”

“Not according to Ace. It was supposed to make a man of him. No mention was made of boarding school keeping him from being a bother to his dad.”

“How old was Buzz?”

“Thirteen.”

“Golly! Just a kid.”

“Yes, I thought that was an awful thing to do. Of course, my influence on Buzz wasn’t the only objection Ace had to the Hill family. We’re a bit unconventional for him.”

“You seem like nice folks to me.”

“Oh, but my grandmother was a peace marcher! To Ace this was treason.”

“I see.”

“Ace was in Vietnam. I can understand how he felt—intellectually I understand it. I never expected him to be chums with my grandmother. But I resented his refusal even to think she held her opinions honestly. She was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but as far as he was concerned, she was unpatriotic, and that was that.”

That was a quarrel that would never be settled. It was time to change the subject.

“How did you meet Buzz?”

“Oddly enough, Chip made the first overture. I had driven my old blue VW to the beach, and Chip and Buzz drove up in one almost exactly like it, except better kept. Chip leaned out the window and said, ‘Hey! If we got our cars to breed, you could have pick of the litter.’”

“Oh gosh! What a line! How old were you all? I’d guess seventeen.”

“Chip was probably nineteen. Seventeen mentally. Anyway, I glared and told him to get lost. After my friends and I had laid out our towels and had pranced around in our bikinis awhile, Buzz came over and made apologetic noises.”

“Maybe it was a plan they had.”

“I wouldn’t put that past either of them. But I think Buzz was really afraid we’d tell Ace. About the car.”

“Tell him what about the car?”

“Oh, Ace’s blue Volkswagen was a collectible. It was his pride and joy. Chip and Buzz weren’t supposed to drive it. Might get a scratch on it. Buzz didn’t want us to say anything about their being in it. So we kept our mouths shut. But eventually Ace got rid of the VW, I think. I’ve never heard anything more about it.”

“Did you begin dating Buzz then?”

“Not until the next summer. By then I was working as a waitress at the Sidewalk Café, and he used to come in. Of course, we ran into each other at the beach now and then. We were just pals for a couple of years, but we were dating before he went abroad.

“I really fell for him after he came back. That was when I began to understand how he’d been beaten down all his life.
He was trying to deal with all that, to see that it was his dad who was at fault, to stop worshipping the jerk who had ruined his life. How could I not fall for him?”

Sissy clenched her jaw and made a fist. She rapped it on the desk a few times. Finally she gulped. “I keep trying to believe I’ve accepted Buzz’s death, but when I think about it, I get furious all over again.”

I leaned toward her. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have been nosy. I won’t pry again.”

“No! No! Gran says I need to talk about it. But it’s hard to think about the things Buzz went through growing up. And then later, there was all the stuff that went on overseas. Things he didn’t want to talk about. Things that gave him nightmares. Finally, when he was able to break free from Ace and was beginning to get his life together—he was killed! For no reason anyone can see!”

She grabbed a box of tissues from her desk drawer, took one, and applied it to her nose.

“It’s awful, Sissy.” I reached over and took a tissue of my own.

We sat there and blubbered for a few minutes. I felt sure I had puffy eyes and mascara all over my face, but Sissy still looked beautiful.

“I only wish Buzz had finished his novel,” she said.

“Buzz was writing a novel?”

“Yes. People around here think he just sat on his hands while Gran and I supported him, but he worked on it every day. We thought it was important, and that getting it done would help Buzz more than anything. We had enough money to get by on.”

“What was it about?”

“I don’t know any specifics. He didn’t want to talk about it, and he didn’t want me to read it.”

“That seems odd. There’s not much point in a novel unless it’s read by other people.”

“Buzz said he didn’t want anyone to see it until it was ‘fully formed.’ And he didn’t want to talk about it for the same reason.”

“Did you read it after he died?”

“Didn’t you hear? We’ve never found it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it had been erased from his computer, and all of his backups disappeared.”

“Disappeared? Stolen?”

“We don’t really know. He kept a box of thumb drives in his desk drawer. I had seen him copying things to those, but they were all blank.”

“That could be a major clue!”

“The sheriff didn’t think so. And I can’t say he’s wrong. If Buzz got disgusted with what he had written, he might well have erased it.”

“And he never told you what the novel was about?”

“All he said was that it was therapeutic. I think he saw writing as a way to deal with the things that happened to him overseas. But he refused to tell me much about all that.”

“Why? The counselor I saw—back during my divorce—told me that talking about bad stuff helps most of us deal with it.”

“I think Buzz saw that as weakness.” She shrugged. “Another part of the indoctrination he got from Ace. Besides, well, once Buzz did say that if I knew some of the things that went on over there, I might not love him anymore.”

“How awful!”

Sissy and I each reached for another tissue. After we’d both dabbed our eyes and blown our noses, Sissy leaned forward. “Listen. If you really want to know about Buzz, Chip is the one to talk to. He knew him better than anybody did. They’d been friends since boarding school.”

“And they’re cousins?”

“Their dads were first cousins. But I don’t think Chip and Buzz knew each other very well until they went away to military school. For college, they both tried for the service academies, but neither of them got in. So Ace saw that they went to a college with a strong military tradition.”

“I see. But neither of them went into the military?”

“Right. That was also some idea Ace had.” Sissy’s voice took on a sarcastic tone. “He thought a man could do more for his country with Dobermann-Smith Corporation. He got them to go straight to being mercenaries.”

“And after a couple of years of that, Buzz wanted to be a novelist?”

“As I said, I think it was his way of dealing with whatever happened overseas. He was very closemouthed about what was in the book. Though he may have opened up with Chip.”

“But I thought Chip was still overseas then.”

“He was, but they wrote each other all the time.” Sissy gave a deep sigh. “I guess Chip knew Buzz better than I did. He’d certainly known him longer. And they’d had a lot of the same strange experiences.”

I let Sissy get to work then, but when I got back to my own office, I stared at my computer screen blankly. Sissy’s suggestion that I talk to Chip was a good one. But how could I do that?

I could use the same technique I used on Sissy—just ask him questions.

After all, Chip was staying with Ace, and Ace’s number was in the telephone book.

I picked up the skinny little Warner County phone book. I noted that Colonel Rupert Smith had an address on Lake Shore Drive, not too far from where Joe and I lived. But while our house was on the inland side, the street number of the Smith cottage indicated it had a lake view. I thought it was in an area of larger homes built in the early 1900s. Of course, some of the houses in that area were simple cottages, but some were real mansions. Some sat on tiny lots, others on ten- or twenty-acre properties.

I wondered which category Ace’s house fell into. I was willing to bet it was one of the larger places. After all, Helen Ferguson had rented a house on the property, and Ace was prepared to live there year-round. That indicated the house was winterized and wasn’t on a small lot. Lakeside property of any size, and with two year-round houses, would be worth quite a bit in Warner Pier. Even if Chip didn’t tell me anything, it would be interesting to see the house.

I picked up the phone and called.

Ace answered, his voice gruff. I asked for Chip in my most businesslike voice, hoping I sounded like a dentist’s office or some other business, and Ace didn’t ask me for a name.

After a moment, a different voice came on the line. “This is Chip Smith.”

“Hi, Chip. This is Lee Woodyard.”

Chip gasped. “Oh! Hi.”

“I wanted to ask you a few questions—”

“Listen. I never have looked up those figures. Let me get them, and I’ll call you right back.”

“What?”

“It’ll only be a few minutes.”

Click. He hung up.

I stared at the phone in disbelief. Chip had hung up on me? And what figures had he thought I wanted? His response had been nonsensical.

I had realized he might not want to talk to me, but I had expected him to give me a chance to explain why I called.

Crazy. What was going on?

I considered calling back, but it seemed pointless. Instead, I tried to concentrate on my own work. I’d been neglecting it lately. Luckily, I had a lenient boss.

Maybe Chip really would call back.

And sure enough, five minutes later the phone rang, and my “TenHuis Chocolade” greeting was answered with a voice that was almost a whisper.

“Lee Woodyard?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Chip Smith. Sorry I couldn’t talk when you called a few minutes ago. Things were a bit crowded.”

“Crowded?”

“Yes. Ace was standing right beside me.”

“Oh? I just had a few questions for you. Could I talk you into meeting me for lunch?”

“Lunch?” Chip sounded as if he’d never heard of the meal.

“Yes. I thought we could go to the Sidewalk Café.”

“Oh.” That required more thought. “I’ll be happy to meet you. But maybe not in Warner Pier.”

“Oh?” Now it was my turn to sound surprised—largely because I was.

“How about the General Store?” Chip said.

“You mean the one at Willard?”

“Yes. I could pick you up.”

“No, I can get myself there. What time?”

“One o’clock? It’s never crowded.”

“I guess not.” There was a reason the General Store in Willard was never crowded. The place had a reputation for really lousy food.

“It ought to be a quiet place to talk,” I said. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Fine. One o’clock.” Chip hung up.

I hung up, too. What the heck had I done? I’d just agreed to meet a guy who knew two murder victims, and to meet him in a secluded place and at a time when that place would be almost deserted. And I had agreed to meet him alone.

I must be crazy.

I picked up the phone, ready to call and cancel.

Then I reminded myself that Chip hadn’t even been mentioned in the investigation of Buzz’s death.

I punched the numbers that rang Sissy’s phone. “Hey, it’s Lee. Sissy, was Chip around when Buzz died?”

“No. He called me from someplace. Bosnia? Or Afghanistan? Honestly, I don’t remember. But it was someplace far away.”

“Thanks.”

So Chip had been out of the country when Buzz died. He hadn’t been a suspect. But how about Helen Ferguson? Could he be a suspect in her death?

Maybe, maybe not. But working on Rosy Reagan’s suspicion that the prowler of last February was the same prowler who had left tracks at Nosy and Rosy’s house—well, Chip couldn’t have been the first prowler, so he must not have been the second.

It was still stupid for me to meet him at the Willard General Store—alone, at least.

I picked up the phone again. Time to call in my personal
knight in shining armor. Thank goodness this was a day when Joe worked at the boat shop, not thirty miles away as a lawyer.