The Chocolate Castle Clue (8 page)

“What's happened?”

“It's Verna Rice. Apparently she was ranting all over town last night, mad at the Pier-O-Ettes. And now Jerry Cherry came by to say she was found dead in her car at about ten o'clock.”

“Yeah, it happened just down from our house. We walked over to see the wreck. But what does this have to do with you?”

“Oh, Joe! She was at the Superette, at the Dock Street, maybe a couple of other places, and she threatened all of us, all the Pier-O-Ettes. And now Jerry says they've called in the state police! He says we'll all have to make statements.”

Aunt Nettie rarely loses her cool, and she didn't then. She was excited, but she talked calmly as she told us that Jerry Cherry, who's worked for the Warner Pier PD longer than any of Hogan's other officers, had come to her house at seven thirty to tell her about Mrs. Rice. He'd asked the Pier-O-Ettes to stick around so they'd be handy if the investigating officer had questions.

“We were all together—sort of—from the time of the accident until Jerry came by this morning,” she said. She gave a laugh. “So we all have alibis. Sort of.”

“I doubt you'll need them, any more than you'll need a lawyer,” Joe said. “But I'm afraid it wasn't natural causes.”

He paused, and I wondered if he was considering telling Aunt Nettie that Mrs. Rice's death had looked suspicious to him. But he went on without describing what we'd seen the night before.

“Since she was found in a car, and the car had run into a tree, Nettie, the state police would have to be called in.”

“Then it's a traffic death?”

“The medical examiner will have to rule on the cause of death.”

“Of course. I just hope Hogan doesn't have to come home.”

Joe sounded puzzled. “Why are you so determined that Hogan not be involved in this? After all, he is the police chief. He can't ignore Warner Pier events even if he's out of town.”

Now Aunt Nettie began to sound less calm, even a bit dithery. “Oh, he's worked so hard on his presentation for this workshop. I just . . . I just don't want it to be ruined.”

We all three hung up, and I went into the kitchen, thinking about the state police. The Michigan State Police not only patrol the state's highways; they're also the agency charged with helping small towns—like Warner Pier—investigate serious crimes.

Joe was still standing by the telephone. He looked puzzled.

“Good morning,” I said. “Do you know any way to find out what's going on?”

“Probably Mike knows.” Mike Herrera is Joe's stepfather and is mayor of Warner Pier. The city police usually tell him what's happening on the crime front. “For that matter, Jerry would probably tell me.”

“Let's let it go until after breakfast,” I said.

I fixed bacon and eggs, since it was Saturday, but halfway through the meal I realized Joe and I were wolfing our food. I was feeling more and more urgency about the situation with Mrs. Rice's death. I wanted to get breakfast over and go to Aunt Nettie's house. I might find out something more there.

I suspected Joe was also feeling as if he should find out more, and my suspicions were confirmed when he poured his second cup of coffee into a plastic mug that fits the pickup's cup holder.

“I guess I'll try to find out what's going on with Mrs. Rice's death,” he said.

I didn't argue. And I didn't take more than twenty minutes to stick the dishes in the dishwasher and get my clothes on. And that included makeup. I wasn't facing Margo Street without makeup.

I arrived at Aunt Nettie's house at nine thirty, remarkably early considering that I hadn't gotten out of bed until eight o'clock. Lots of cars were there. At the curb were Julie's limo, with its crushed bumper, and the Cadillac with an Illinois license tag I assumed that Margo and Kathy Street had arrived in. In the drive were two cars with Michigan plates—a small Chevy I'd seen Hazel in dozens of times and a big blue minivan that Ruby must use for delivering bridal gowns and transporting her extensive family.

And there was one more car. Parked across the end of the driveway, blocking Ruby and Hazel, was an antique Corvette.

I parked my minivan in front of the house next door, then sat and stared at the Corvette. Hmmm.

My dad owns a garage in Prairie Creek, Texas, and as a child I hung out there enough to acquire an interest in cars. When I saw that Vette, I had to swallow quickly to keep from drooling.

I didn't think it was one of the earliest models. It was old enough to be classified as an antique, but it was no pioneer. What it was, was gorgeous.

It was white. Not creamy or pearly, but that bright picket-fence white of a Corvette that still has its original paint job. The top was down, and I could see the tan leather interior clearly. Every bit of its chrome—the luggage rack on the flat lid of the trunk, the trim around the dials and gauges on the dashboard, the spindly spokes of the steering wheel, and even the Stingray logo on the side—every shiny bit of chrome caught the sun and sparkled like a diamond necklace ought to sparkle. And this car would probably cost as much as twenty carats of diamonds would.

What on earth was it doing parked in the drive of a homey frame house in Warner Pier, Michigan?

If it had been summertime, I wouldn't have wondered so much. Lots of our “summer people” might park a car like this one in front of their multimillion-dollar “cottages.” I just wondered what it was doing at Aunt Nettie's house.

I got out of my plain vanilla minivan—useful for delivering chocolate, but not very exciting—and started down the sidewalk. As I passed the Corvette, pretending not to stare at it, I saw the decal that identified the dealer who had sold the car to its owner. And there, in bright red letters, was a well-known phrase: GOOD-TIME CHARLIE. HOLLAND'S FUNNIEST USED CAR DEALER.

I laughed. Any reference to Good-Time Charlie is good for a laugh in southwest Michigan. Charlie McCoy is a major advertiser on the evening news, and he does his own ads. So we all see the tubby bald guy nearly every day, begging us to buy used cars. He uses a loud, harsh voice and dumb puns to make his message memorable. Or I guess that's why he uses them. He's a buffoon, but at least he's distinctive.

But who did Aunt Nettie know who would be driving a Good-Time Charlie car? And not just any car—a fancy antique Corvette. I was still wondering about that as I rang the doorbell.

I heard a deep, raspy voice call out, “I'll get it!” Then the door was opened by—ta-da!—Good-Time Charlie himself.

I stepped backward and nearly fell off the porch.

I had not expected Aunt Nettie's door to be answered by a local television celebrity, though I belatedly remembered that she had once told me she had known the super salesman in her younger days.

“Watch out, little lady!” Charlie's voice boomed as raucously in person as it did on the ads.

“Hello.” I didn't know if I should be amazed or annoyed. Where did Charlie get off answering my aunt's front door? And how could he call a woman at least five inches taller than he was “little lady”?

I tried to go for dignity. “I'm Mrs. Jones' niece. May I come in?”

I wasn't aware that I had offered to shake hands, but somehow he had hold of one of mine and was shaking it as if he were a puppy and my hand was his favorite toy. I almost expected him to chew on it.

“Lee Woodyard, right? I'm really glad to meet you. Nettie's been telling us all about how you saved her business!”

“She's being kind. If her chocolates hadn't been sublime, there wouldn't have been any business to save.”

“That's not what she says! Come on in!”

I followed him into the living room, wondering who had appointed him host. Aunt Nettie was seated on the couch, with a coffee carafe on the coffee table in front of her. Shep Stone was sitting beside her. He nodded to me. He looked rather uncomfortable.

“Hi, Lee,” Aunt Nettie said. “Shep and Charlie came by. They both worked at the Castle Ballroom in the old days. We all were waitresses there, and we hung around a lot in the days when we were singing.”

Shep and Charlie had done more than come by. They apparently had joined the party.

Why? Their arrival mystified me.

“I'll get more coffee!” Charlie snatched the carafe from in front of Aunt Nettie and headed toward the kitchen.

Shep Stone watched him go, shaking his head. “I guess that even forty-five years ago we should have figured out that Charlie would make his mark as a used-car salesman.”

“That's not all bad,” I said. “My dad sells a few used cars, and he's a pretty nice guy. He found the van I'm driving for me—it's an oldie but goodie.” I turned to Aunt Nettie. “Have you heard anything more about Mrs. Rice?”

“Not yet.” Aunt Nettie smiled graciously. “Shep and Charlie brought doughnuts. Would you like one?”

“Maybe later. Joe and I had a big breakfast. Then he went out to try to find out more about your earlier question.”

Aunt Nettie seemed to be stuck for a reply to that, and I realized I was extremely curious about just why Charlie and Shep were there. Of course, I'd learned the day before that Shep Stone had worked at the Castle Ballroom at the time the Pier-O-Ettes sang there. But where did Charlie McCoy fit in? Apparently he had worked there, too. But even if they'd known the Pier-O-Ettes in the remote past, why would the two of them horn in on the reunion? Had they gone to Warner Pier High School?

I got ready to ask as soon as I got an opportunity. Reverting to my past life, I called up the social skills I learned back when I was the wife of a successful Dallas real estate developer. I smiled at Shep Stone. “What do you do, Mr. Stone?”

“I'm retired now. But I spent most of my career as a photographer.” He held up a camera he had stashed in his lap. “I've been trying to get a few pictures today.”

“Oh? You're an artist? Or did you do commercial work?”

“Commercial, mainly. I've worked for newspapers and done some magazine work.”

Aunt Nettie leaned forward. “Shep, I always suspected that Dan Rice hired you at the old Castle because he wanted someone to talk photography with.”

Charlie rushed back in then, but Shep kept talking. “Dan was a pretty good amateur,” he said. “I was always surprised at the stuff he could get just standing on the deck at the Castle. And he had a good Leica.”

It's weird how men react. Charlie's head whipped toward Shep. The two men exchanged a stare. Then Charlie dropped his gaze. He seemed to try to become the center of attention. He had a dish towel draped over his arm, in a parody of a waiter, and he held the coffee carafe in one hand and a mug in the other.

“It's a new brew,” he said. “But remember—drinking too much coffee can cause a latte problems.”

I rolled my eyes, and Shep groaned. “Charlie, you're worse than ever.”

“I've made a career of puns,” Charlie said. “They've paid off for me big-time. But I know puns are the lowest form of wit, and I can prove it.”

“How?” I said.

“I never eat buns,” he said. “Because buns are the lowest form of wheat.”

All three of us groaned. In fact, Aunt Nettie looked so pained that I decided I'd better turn my social skills on Charlie, just to keep him from talking to her.

“Mr. McCoy—”

“Charlie! Everybody calls me Charlie!”

“Charlie. And you worked at the Castle Ballroom?”

“Oh, yes! Bouncer for two summers.” Charlie began to talk to me while Aunt Nettie concentrated on Shep.

“So, you handle Nettie's finances,” he said.

“Among other things. In a small business everybody does everything. Yesterday Aunt Nettie's chief assistant and I cleaned out the garage.”

“Custodial duties, too?” Charlie laughed, and I explained that we had to give up use of the storage area across the alley from our back door. “I found a whole drawer of Aunt Nettie's high school souvenirs,” I said.

Then I tried to turn the conversation to Charlie. “How did you come to work at the Castle Ballroom?”

He had worked at the ballroom while he was in college, Charlie said. He'd been quite a bit older than the Pier-O-Ettes, in his mid-twenties, since he'd already done a tour in Vietnam. “Of course, mentally I'm just a kid.”

Charlie was originally from Detroit, but he said he had been rather at loose ends at that time in his life.

“I was a wild one then,” he said proudly. “Shep—now, he had a deceptively mild exterior. But I liked to party.”

“That's not too unusual for guys that age.”