The Chocolate Mouse Trap (10 page)

“I don’t exactly. I live a mile north, in a little house on my grandmother’s property. It’s always been called ‘the cabin.’ I drive to Grand Rapids to work.”

“You work for Schrader Laboratories?”

“Yeah. Uncle Marty thought I should try to learn something about the family firm.” Brad’s voice held an undertone of sarcasm on the two final words, but his eyes didn’t match it. They took on a whippedpuppy look. Then he spoke again. “Julie told me you’d only been here a few years, but you seemed to know everybody in Warner Pier. I guess I thought you might have a magic method of getting to know people.”

All of a sudden my heart went out to Brad. He was such a nerd, with an annoying voice and an insecure manner. Which didn’t mean he wasn’t a nice guy. But he must have always had trouble making friends because of his unfortunate mannerisms.

“I don’t know that there’s any magic trick you can use to get acquainted in a new community, Brad. If I managed it in Warner Pier, it’s because I work for my aunt, and everybody in town knows her. So they all have to be nice to me. Plus, I’d worked here summers when I was in high school, and I got to be friends with Lindy Herrera back then. She’s introduced me around, too. And after I started dating Joe Woodyard, the guy I’m planning to marry, he introduced me to his friends. So I may have been a stranger in Warner Pier, but I had a lot of local connections.”

Brad was looking even more downhearted. Obviously, he didn’t have local connections.

I tried to think of something encouraging to suggest. “I did do a couple of things on my own, though. I made an effort to meet people I thought I’d have something in common with. My banker, for example. We’re both interested in getting ahead in business. I went down to her office the first time we needed to talk, and I enjoyed meeting her. So, the next week, I called and asked her to go to lunch. We’ve become really good friends. She suggested that I sign up for a chamber of commerce committee, and I jumped at it.” I laughed. “I think any community will warm up to a willing horse.”

“A willing horse?”

“You know the old saying, ‘Work a willing horse to death.’ Find some activity you’re interested in. And volunteer.”

“I support the Lake Michigan Conservation Society.”

“Great! They should have a lot of things going on—cleaning beaches? You’ll have to get out and do the grunt work, of course. Sweep floors. Wash dishes.”

“They don’t seem to have projects like that. It’s mainly lobbying.”

“Then find some organization that does need manual labor. If you’re interested in ecology—”

“I am! Sort of.”

“There are other groups around that need workers. Pretty soon you’ll discover you know people. You’ll be running into them at the Superette. If I did anything active to get acquainted in Warner Pier, that was it.”

Brad still looked doubtful. “But you’ve got an edge. You’re really pretty.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your looks, Brad.” That was true, I realized. Brad didn’t
look
odd; he
acted
odd.

“Appearance may attract people on a superficial level,” I said, “but real, true friends aren’t concerned about your looks. Being friendly and cheerful is a lot more attractive than physical beauty.”

Brad gave me a sly look out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t say anything. If he had, I knew what it would have been—“Easy for you to say.” I decided there was no point in telling Brad I’d ruined years of my life worrying about my looks because my mother thought they were important.

“But you’ve got that cute Texas accent,” he said.

“Don’t tell me that! I worked with a speech coach three years trying to get rid of that cute Texas accent.”

“It’s better than my New York one.”

I gave my widest grin. “You can always offer people a cuppa ‘kwaffee.’ That sounds pretty cute.”

Brad finally smiled back. “How about the other people Julie knew here in Warner Pier? Are all of them natives?”

“Lindy is. But Carolyn Rose just came here a few years ago. I think the Denhams bought Hideaway Inn after Diane took early retirement. They haven’t been here long.”

“What about the others on the list?”

“I don’t know if Jason’s a native, but he’s lived here a long time. And Margaret grew up in Holland. In fact, she went to Holland Christian with Julie.”

“Yeah, Julie told me they knew each other in high school.”

I was getting tired of being quizzed by Brad. Maybe I could find out a few things about Julie if I turned the tables and began questioning him.

“Didn’t Julie ever introduce you to any of her friends in Holland?”

“Oh, she wanted to, but it never worked out. Tell me about Mrs. Herrera. She’s with Herrera Catering? Where is that?”

“Their offices are right down the street, over the Sidewalk Café. But Lindy’s not there much.”

“Does she work from home?”

“Sometimes. Her job is special assistant for her father-in-law, Mike Herrera. She fills in wherever he needs her. Like tonight, she’s in charge of Herrera’s, their upscale restaurant.”

I tried to turn the conversation back to Julie. “You know, Brad, all of us in the Food Group thought that Julie must have a boyfriend. She was a darling girl. But she never mentioned anybody special in her e-mail, and we didn’t spot anybody at the memorial service who seemed to be a likely candidate.”

“She hadn’t been dating anybody seriously that I knew about.”

“I can’t believe Julie didn’t have an active social life. Would your uncle know anything about it?”

Brad shrugged. “I think Uncle Martin kept trying to introduce her to guys in Grand Rapids. You know, doctors and lawyers and executives.” Again I caught that slight sarcasm when Brad referred to his uncle. Or was it the reference to business, as in “executives”?

“I guess I can ask your uncle,” I said.

“Ask him? About Julie?”

“Yes. He’s supposedly coming by here this afternoon.”

I glanced at my watch, and as I did I caught a swift movement out of the corner of my eye. When I looked back at Brad, he was standing up. The movement had been Brad. He had leaped to his feet like a jackrabbit with a coyote after him.

“I’ve bothered you long enough,” he said. “Please don’t tell Uncle Martin I came by.” He was moving out of the office.

I stood up, too. “You can’t leave without a sample of TenHuis chocolate.”

“Oh, you don’t need to give me candy.” By now he was out of the office and in the middle of our little retail shop.

I followed him. “It’s not ‘candy,’ Brad. It’s chocolate. Quite a different thing. Come on now. You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t have a sample. What do you like? Dark chocolate or milk chocolate?”

Brad kept edging toward the door. “Dark, I guess.”

“Okay, how about Jamaican rum? Our sales material calls it ‘the ultimate dark chocolate truffle.’ Or a double fudge bonbon? ‘Layers of milk and dark chocolate fudge, enrobed in dark chocolate.’ ”

“Either one!” Tracy, who had been listening to all this, opened the glass showcase, took out a Jamaican rum truffle in a pleated paper cup, and held it out to Brad. He pulled a stocking cap down over his ears, took the truffle, and stood there looking at it.

Then he turned back to me. “About Julie and her love life—actually, I think she’d been afraid to date since her marriage broke up.”

“Her marriage? Julie had been married?”

Brad nodded and waved his Jamaican rum truffle at me. “Thanks,” he said. Then he scampered out the door before I could say anything more than, “Brad!”

He went off up the street, almost running, though he did pop his truffle into his mouth while I could still see him through our big window.

“What a weird guy!” Tracy said.

I guess I answered her, but I was thinking about the stunning announcement Brad had made as he left. Julie had been married? She’d never mentioned it. But Julie had never mentioned anything about herself. She had concentrated on learning all about other people, but her own ideas, needs, desires, and history had been a deep secret.

Who had Julie married? What had happened to the marriage? “Her marriage broke up,” Brad had said. Had she been divorced? Separated? Was she still married? Was her husband her heir? Did the Holland cops know that he existed?

Tracy spoke again. “Actually, if you got that Brad Schrader guy on one of these redo shows—you know, got him a new wardrobe, a new haircut, and taught him how to talk . . .”

“Then he wouldn’t be the same person,” I said. My voice was sharp. Where did Tracy get off criticizing Brad? She was no glamour girl herself, though she had smartened up a bit in the past few months. I reminded myself that she was just a high school kid, and I forced my voice to be softer. “Brad’s a nerd, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a nice guy, Tracy.”

I went back to my office feeling more sorry for Brad than ever. He had run away because he didn’t want to meet his uncle and had asked me not to tell his uncle he’d come by. Every time there had been the slightest reference to Martin Schrader, Brad had displayed an uneasy attitude. Was Martin Schrader trying to be a mentor to Brad? Did Brad resent it? Or were they battling over something? What about Brad’s father and mother?

Brad had given me a lot to think about, and the most important thing was the news he had dropped about Julie. She’d been married. I eyed my computer and thought about going on the Internet to check out the wedding stories in the
Grand Rapids Press
back issues. But I didn’t even know if Julie had been married in Grand Rapids. Or in Holland. Or in Michigan. Though I’d expect a Schrader wedding anywhere would be news for the
Grand Rapids Press.

I was dying to talk to somebody about this. To Lindy. The very person. I reached for the phone, then looked at my watch. It was nearly five o’clock. Lindy would be busy at Herrera’s, getting ready to open. I couldn’t bother her with a tidbit of gossip, no matter how fascinating.

I decided I’d better simply get back to work. Maybe Martin Schrader would show up yet that afternoon, and I’d ask him about Julie’s marriage. I turned to my computer and thought chocolate.

I checked my e-mail again, sorted a couple of new messages into the right electronic files, then began handling orders. At five thirty Aunt Nettie came in and said she had to run a few errands in Holland. “Do you mind putting our dinner excursion off until I get back?” she said.

“Not a bit.” I opened my desk drawer. “I have my trusty stash of Amaretto and Dutch caramel.”

She laughed and left. Each TenHuis employee is allowed two chocolates each day—truffles, bonbons, or molded solids. We’re supposed to stay out of the fancy molded items, such as the puffed heart filled with tiny chocolates that Dolly Jolly had been working on earlier. Amaretto truffles, Irish Cream bonbons, and Dutch caramel bonbons are my favorites. I snag a couple from the counter every morning, and if I don’t eat both during the day, I leave the uneaten ones in my drawer. Lots of days I can’t find time to relish prime chocolates, so I often save up a stash of a half dozen or so.

I ate a Dutch caramel—these have soft and creamy insides, nothing like the stuff used to make caramel apples—and went back to work. But in the back of my mind I was still thinking about Julie, about the startling news Brad had given me, and about how much I wanted to talk to Lindy about it. I guess that was the reason, after Aunt Nettie got back from Holland, that I suggested we skip the pizza and go to Herrera’s for dinner.

“Herrera’s?” Aunt Nettie looked down at her white pants and tunic, topped by a blue sweater. “I’m not very dressed up.”

“This is Warner Pier. Nobody dresses up.”

“But there’s a difference between designer sportswear and a food service uniform.”

“I thought a nice dinner would be a little treat for us. I’ve got room on my MasterCard.”

“You’ve convinced me.”

So, at seven forty-five p.m. Aunt Nettie and I parked in front of Herrera’s, went in and were warmly greeted by Lindy, who was acting as hostess.

Herrera’s is down on the water; a great location in the summertime, when the tourists and summer people fill every table and form a line outside. The main room is large and paneled in limed oak, with large-scale landscapes by local artists. In the summer these emphasize pastel colors.

In the winter, when the view of the frozen river turns off any desire for iced tea or jellied consommé, the room’s fancy plantation shutters are firmly closed. Mike makes a few other changes to make the place feel warmer—red velvet draperies replace the white linen ones he uses in spring and summer, the candles on each table are larger than the votives used in warmer weather, and the pale landscapes are replaced by equally large-scale ones in darker tones.

But it’s still an impressive ambience. The service is impressive, too. Lindy sent over a bottle of wine, and the wine steward popped the cork and filled our glasses before we could do more than glance at the menu. He draped the bottle with a napkin and put it on the corner of the table.

Aunt Nettie ordered chicken Cordon Bleu—Herrera’s version is not prepackaged—and I went for the pork loin with tart cherry sauce. We both ordered soup and skipped salad.

I’d told Lindy I had a piece of hot gossip for her, so she joined us just as the soup was served. She was as astonished as I was to learn that Julie had been married.

“It must not have been while she was living in Holland,” she said. “She sure never gave a hint.”

“Margaret will know.”

“Probably. But she’s never given a hint either.”

“How about Jason?”

Lindy stood up. “I’ll check on the kitchen. Then I’ll call him.”

“Honestly,” Aunt Nettie said. She smiled, but she was scolding me, too. “Poor Julie is dead. Does it matter if she had been married or not?”

I ate soup and thought about it. Was I simply being nosy? I ate three spoonfuls of soup while I came up with the answer.