The Chocolate Castle Clue (20 page)

“She sure did. And she lived to regret it. Dan Rice saw to that.”

“What happened?”

Shep sipped his coffee and looked at his feet. “You're sure Nettie didn't tell you all this?”

“Positive. I can't dig any details out of her. I've tried.”

His eyes narrowed. “Next time you try, ask her about how they found Dan Rice.”

“What do you mean, ‘how they found him'? The night patrolman found the light on and the door unlocked. He went into the Castle office, and there he was.”

“That's not what I mean. I mean the condition of the body.”

“Why would I ask her about that?”

He leaned closer. “Ask her what he was wearing.” “What was he wearing?”

“Nothing, Lee. Not a stitch.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. That's right. The guy was in his office, lying beside his chair, stark naked.”

“Is this the ‘prank' you mentioned? The one that got out of hand?”

Shep turned and walked away. “They kept it out of the papers. But it's true. Ask the Pier-O-Ettes why.”

This time I let Shep go. Then I thought about what he'd said.

Dan Rice had been found naked? In his office?

Getting naked is no crime. It's not even a sin. But ordinarily people get naked in their homes, not their offices. That would be—well, unusual.

In fact, it was so odd it was unbelievable. Shep had sounded as if he was certain, but suddenly I didn't believe a word he had said.

How could I check it? Who would know?

Joe said he had seen Hogan's private copy of the report on the investigation into Dan Rice's death. He would probably let me see it—but with things as uneasy between us as they were, I didn't want to ask. He'd just lecture me about staying out of a murder investigation.

Probably Verna Rice's lawyer had a copy of the report. He would have needed it for the insurance claims.

Insurance claims. Hmmm. That made me wonder. Had Joe's mom handled any of the insurance work? Would she have seen a copy of the police report?

More important, would she give me a detail or two? Such as what Dan Rice had been wearing when he died.

I resolutely stepped off the curb and jaywalked across Fifth Street to Joe's mom's office, the only insurance office in Warner Pier. Mercy Woodyard was often there on Sundays, since her husband, Mayor Mike Herrera—as a restaurant owner—usually had to work all weekend. Mercy had called our house the previous night, so she knew all the details of the big chase through Warner Pier, although I didn't think she knew Joe and I were feuding over it.

I knocked on the glass in the outer door of the agency, and in about thirty seconds Mercy appeared from her inner office. She let me in.

We exchanged a hug before I spoke. “I know you wouldn't be here if you weren't busy. I'll try not to take too much of your time.”

Mercy smiled. “I always have time to talk to a client.”

“You've already got all my insurance business. I'm just here for gossip.”

“What about?”

“Did you ever have anything to do with the controversy over Dan Rice's insurance?”

“Not a thing. His insurance was handled by an agency in Holland. Besides, I was in junior high when he committed suicide—or was killed in a shooting accident, as the case may be. I didn't work here until ten years later.”

“Okay. Never mind, then.” I started to get up.

“Wait a minute! Actually, if you want to know something about Dan Rice, the fact that I don't have any direct knowledge might be good thing. I couldn't tell you anything about a client, but I can sure gossip about a fellow Warner Pier citizen. And the schoolkids gossiped about the Rices a lot.”

“Mrs. Rice taught at the high school, didn't she?”

“Right. And you know how kids are. She was an unpopular teacher, so we loved to hear stuff about her. Then we embellished it and passed it along. We were rotten! What did you want to know?”

I laughed. “It's funny that everybody's so ready to talk about Dan Rice since his wife was killed. But I've lived here three and a half years and I'd never even heard of either of them until this happened.”

“I guess after he supposedly shot himself everybody felt sorry for Mrs. Rice. Probably a lot of us felt guilty because we hadn't treated her very well, and people with more delicate feelings—like your aunt—wouldn't gossip about her or about her husband. But believe me, when Dan was alive there was plenty of talk about him.”

“What kind of talk?”

“He was supposed to be a chaser.”

“Oh? I'm surprised Aunt Nettie's parents let her work there.”

“I think some of the Pier-O-Ette parents hung around, at least when the girls first worked there. Later, I guess they felt the situation was under control.”

“Well, the thing I heard was—that when they found Dan Rice dead . . .”

I paused, and Mercy finished my sentence.

“He was naked.”

“Yes! Was it true?”

“I didn't see the body, Lee. So I can't swear it's true. But that was the story that went around town.”

“Golly! That sure would cause talk in Warner Pier!”

“I think it would cause talk anyplace. After all, if he'd died at home, nobody would have thought much about what he was wearing. There's nothing particularly scandalous about sleeping in the nude, or even walking around the house in the nude. But at the office?”

I laughed. “Even if the place was closed up.”

“Yes, it's a decidedly odd place to take all your clothes off. But there was more to the story.”

“Do tell. What else could there be?”

“His clothes were missing.”

“Missing!”

Mercy nodded. “And I got that on pretty good authority. One of the sheriff's deputies told my dad, and he repeated it to my mom, and I eavesdropped. Dan Rice was not only naked, but there were no clothes in his office. No clothes in the whole place. Nothing but an apron.”

“An apron?”

“Yes, two of those big white food-service aprons were lying on the floor.”

Mercy and I shook our heads over that. What on earth had happened to Dan's clothes? What did aprons have to do with anything? No explanations jumped to mind. But Mercy felt sure her information was correct.

I told her that Shep had said the whole thing was a prank that got out of hand. Neither of us could figure that out either.

After ten minutes, I got up. “I've got to go back to work,” I said. “Shep said the Pier-O-Ettes knew something. I'll have to twist Aunt Nettie's arm until she tells all.”

“Well, you tried this bouncer, Shep. How about the second one?”

“Oh! Good-Time Charlie.”

“Maybe he'd tell you something.”

“He talks all the time, but he rarely says anything.”

I went back to my office. I tried to work. But Mercy's idea of Charlie as a source of information was lurking in my mind.

Finally, I gave up and got out the Holland phone book. Good-Time Charlie probably had an unlisted number.

There were only a dozen McCoys listed. None of them was Charles or Charlie, but two had an initial
C
: A. C. McCoy and Damon C. McCoy. I dialed the number for A.C. and the happy voice of Good-Time Charlie answered on the third ring. I identified myself.

“Hi, Lee,” he said. “I hear that boomerangs are coming back.”

“Groan,” I said. “That's awful.”

“Pretty bad, I admit. What can I do for you?”

“I just heard that the body of Dan Rice was nude when it was found. Do you know why?”

There was a long silence. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because Shep told me it was something about a ‘prank gone wrong.' But he refused to say more.”

“I'm the jokester, so you thought I must have been involved.”

“Actually, I just thought you were the second bouncer, so you should have known what was going on behind the scenes at the Castle. I hadn't applied it to your affinity for jokes.”

“The thought of ol' Dan in his birthday suit has a certain element of humor, but I didn't have anything to do with him stripping down.”

“Do you know what happened to his clothes?”

“Well, yes. I do know the answer to that one. The police found them a couple of days after Dan died. They were wrapped around a steam iron, stuffed in a garbage bag, and dropped off the deck.”

“Off the deck? What deck?”

“The deck of the Castle. The area along the river where boats could tie up. Someone had put the clothes in a sack, weighed them down with the steam iron from the dressing room, and thrown them into the river.”

“Huh?” I thought about it. “I guess it was some sort of a prank, then.”

“I doubt that Dan thought it was very funny.”

“I doubt he thought it was funny at all. Somebody must have been extremely mad at him. Do you have any idea who that could have been?”

Charlie gave a low, mean chuckle. “You could ask some of the Pier-O-Ettes. Maybe Margo.”

He hung up, and I didn't call him back.

But I was grateful for one thing. He didn't ask me about the big chase the night before. I felt sure no one had told him about that or he would have mentioned it. Charlie wasn't shy, and he certainly wasn't sensitive about bringing up touchy subjects.

But why had he thought Margo would know why somebody had been mad enough to play a naughty trick on Dan Rice?

Did I have the nerve to ask her?

Before I could answer that question, Lieutenant Jackson rattled the door of the shop. I let him in, and he walked into my office and threw himself into my visitor's chair.

“Are you sure that guy who chased you last night was on a motor scooter?”

I stared. “Yes, I'm sure.”

Jackson looked doubtful.

“Listen,” I said, “I'm not positive it wasn't some sort of small motorcycle, but it was definitely a two-wheeled motor vehicle without any kind of cab.”

Now the detective nodded. But he looked discouraged and unconvinced.

“Why are you questioning this?” I said.

“Because nobody else heard or saw a motor scooter in the Warner Pier business district last night.”

“I was probably the only person there to hear it.”

“We've asked everyone who lives down here.”

“Which isn't many people.”

“There are a dozen upstairs apartments occupied.”

“The only one occupied in our block is Dolly Jolly's place, and she's out of town.”

He ignored that. “Besides, no one saw a motor scooter leaving town.”

“I didn't make it up.”

Jackson nodded. “But we can't figure out where that motor scooter went.”

“A motor scooter is quick. It could be out of town in no time. And it's small. It would be pretty easy to hide, compared to a car or a truck. You could stash it behind a bush, in a Dumpster, up a tree. Well, maybe not up a tree. But it wouldn't be hard to find a place to hide it.”

“True.” Jackson paused, then spoke again. “But all the vehicles we've identified as being parked on the streets last night belong there. None are unaccounted for. No strangers seem to have been around.”

“There were cars in Herrera's lot. What about them?”

“That's where we started. And we matched every car with a Herrera's customer.”

I stared out the window. “I can't explain what happened to the motor scooter. But I assure you that I didn't make the whole thing up. Somebody did hide in the back of my van. Somebody did run down the alley. I actually did hear and see a motor scooter. Somebody slashed my tires, or punched them with an ice pick, or something. And somebody in a ski mask walked up to my van and unlocked the door.”

I shuddered. “And that episode bothers me more than the rest of it put together. The guy has a key to my van. How could that be?”

“That's not too hard to understand. If the guy's a car thief.”

“They have master keys?”

“Lots of them just break a window, or jimmy the lock, but others—yes, he could have something like a master key.”

“But he wasn't trying to steal the van.”

“No, Lee. If it all happened the way you say, it was a targeted attack.”

“With me as the target.” I jumped to my feet. “I think I need chocolate. Bad. How about you?”

I got myself an Amaretto truffle (“a milk chocolate interior coated in white chocolate”) and Jackson took a double-fudge bonbon (“layers of milk and dark chocolate fudge in a dark chocolate coating”). He declined coffee, and I didn't bother with it either. We both sat silently on either side of my desk while we ate our goodies.