The Chocolate Mouse Trap (17 page)

“I can see why Margaret wants to make some money,” I said.

Margaret opened the door of the old frame house, smiling her sunny smile and holding a plump, blond baby who wore a blue blanket sleeper. Margaret’s hair was pinned up into a knot and dribbles of something stained the front of her sweatshirt. “I kept Teddy up so you could see him,” she said.

Joe and I admired the little guy, who Margaret said was ten months old. He grinned at us, showing off four teeth, then coyly buried his face in his mother’s neck and peeked at us from under her chin. Two small girls ran to see who had come in and were introduced as Tessa and Marcy. They were two and three, Margaret said. Tessa sucked her thumb and grabbed Margaret’s leg, but Marcy came right over to us and batted her eyelashes at Joe like a born flirt. Both wore footed blanket sleepers similar to their baby brother’s.

Jim came in from the kitchen then. He was a husky blond guy, the kind who looks as if he could hoist a king-sized steel desk without batting an eye. The baby bottle he held seemed incongruous.

Jim and Joe shook hands; then Jim looked at little Teddy and grinned. “Come on, big guy,” he said.

Teddy wriggled all over and made a flying leap out of his mother’s arms. I gasped, but Jim caught him expertly and carried him up the stairs. Teddy grabbed the bottle and tipped it back as they went.

“I’ll take you guys into the kitchen, if you don’t mind,” Margaret said. “I laid my sample book out on the table in there. You can look at it while I get the little girls in bed.”

She led us through the living room, pausing to introduce us to three little blond boys who were still dressed—James, who was four; Davy, who was six; and Kenneth, who was seven. They were lined up on the couch, watching the Cartoon Network.

The kitchen was outdated in decor, but up-to-date in equipment. In the center was a big oak table. I expected to find that the kids had covered it with something sticky, but it had been scrubbed clean. In fact, Margaret’s kitchen would have passed the health department’s check with no problem. And the aroma was wonderful in there.

“I put a cake in the oven a few minutes ago,” Margaret said. “It’s almond flavor. I made a small sample one you can try, if you’re interested in that flavor.”

“Anything that smells that good, I’ll be glad to taste,” Joe said.

We sat down at the table and looked at snapshots of Margaret’s cakes. I’d described them to Joe as works of art, but he was still surprised by their beauty. And their cost.

“It’s the Australian method,” I explained. “Or that’s what I read in one of Aunt Nettie’s magazines. They use a fondant icing, instead of the usual butter cream. And, yes, they’re expensive. But they are gorgeous.”

We looked at a list of Margaret’s flavors for cakes—vanilla, almond, chocolate, strawberry—and the flavors for fillings. That list went on for a whole page. We’d just about settled on almond cake with peach-flavored filling when Margaret came back. She grabbed a small cake out of the oven and tested three larger layers with toothpicks. Then she slid the larger cakes back into the oven and set the timer.

“This little cake will give you an idea of the almond,” she said.

“Do you have a wedding tomorrow?” I said.

“Oh, no. I won’t use those layers for two weeks. I like to freeze them ahead. They’ll keep up to three weeks, and they’re a whole lot easier to frost if they’re frozen when you do it.”

“How about the fondant?”

“I make the flowers ahead. They keep real well, and I can make them at nap time or during the evening. Of course, I have to do the final icing and assembling on the day I deliver the cake.”

Then we talked about our wedding cake, and Margaret approved our combination of flavors. “Though I expected you to order chocolate with chocolate frosting,” she said. “Will you want a separate groom’s cake?”

Joe and I looked at each other. “I think Aunt Nettie is going to do trays of truffles and bonbons instead,” I said. “Margaret, this wedding isn’t going to be one of your big jobs. It’s not a formal do.”

“A smaller cake can be beautiful. Do you want it decorated in all white? Or with color?”

“I was thinking of color, but I haven’t found a dress yet, and neither has Lindy. And I’ll have to pick one before I can decide on a color for the flowers. So I’ll have to tell you later.”

“I don’t have to know until that week.” Margaret smiled happily. “I expect your mother will want to have some input, too.”

“Joe’s mom may,” I said. “But I’m deliberately leaving my mom out of the plans. We have fewer arguments that way.”

“Smart!”

I was surprised at Margaret’s comment, and I must have looked it. So I tried to cover up. “I guess mothers want to have a lot of say.”

“My mother did. Our wedding was miserable because of her nagging at us.” Margaret smiled. “But we’ve had a wonderful marriage.”

“I can see the two of you are really partners,” Joe said. “You’d have to be, to handle these cute kids.”

“Jim’s just wonderful. He works so hard at the plant, and after work he goes to the vo-tech center. He’s taking a computer repair class.”

“You’re lucky,” I said. “I guess Jim’s knowledge has kept you from having all the computer problems the rest of the Seventh Food Group have had.”

Margaret began to praise Jim’s virus protection programs. I turned my face toward Joe and mouthed a phrase at him. “Go talk to Jim.” I only had to do it three times before he blinked, then stood up. “Hey, would Jim mind if I asked him about a computer problem I’m having?”

“Oh, no,” Margaret said. “I think he’s in the living room. He loves to talk about computers.”

As soon as he disappeared through the door, I turned to Margaret. “Listen,” I said, “I can’t help but believe that all these computer problems, not to mention the killing of Carolyn and the attack on Lindy, are connected to Julie’s death.”

“All I know is that the police came out and really quizzed me about it all. They looked at our computer for a long time.”

“Did they find the e-mails from Julie?”

“No, I don’t save that sort of thing. And Jim has me set up so that I don’t download from the Net to my computer. He says it’s the safest way to stay away from viruses. So unless I do something special, after I’ve read it, it’s gone. So I guess Julie’s e-mail to us has just disappeared, unless you . . . ?”

I quickly explained my computer problems. “So I got off lightly, at least so far. I’m glad to hear that the Holland detectives looked into it. Julie herself simply has to be the key to this—well, I guess I’d call it a crime wave. And you were the only one of the Seventh Food Group who knew Julie very well.”

Margaret’s eyes slid away from mine. “We weren’t really very close friends in high school. Then she was away from Holland a long time.”

“I know. I talked to her uncle and found out all about the louse she married. But you said she used to come by and see you. What was she really like?”

Margaret shook her head, but she didn’t reply.

I pressed on. “Come on, Margaret. Was she a gossip? Was she snobbish? We all found that we’d told her things we didn’t intend to tell. Was she genuinely interested in people? Or just even nosier than I am?”

That made Margaret smile a little. “I never knew why she used to come by and see me,” she said. “I was glad to see her—sometimes I get so tired of the Disney Channel and three-year-old conversation. But, you’re right—I did find that we were talking about things I really didn’t want to discuss with her. See, some bad things happened to me in high school. Julie thought I wasn’t ‘dealing with them.’ Whatever that means. She kept telling me I ought to see a counselor, for example. Like I was crazy!”

Margaret turned toward me, and her eyes were full of tears. “As if it were any business of hers how many kids I have!”

“Of course, it wasn’t any of her business, Margaret. It sounds as if Julie had read too many self-help books.” And Margaret hadn’t read enough, I thought. But I kept that to myself.

“Julie definitely had problems of her own,” Margaret said. “She was really lonely after she came back to Holland. I guess that’s why she bugged me.” She blinked hard. “Anyway, Jim says we’re not having any more kids. He took steps. And my doctor says seven pregnancies is enough.”

Before I could do more than feel slightly startled, Jim’s head popped around the kitchen door. “Hey! Are you girls going to share that cake with Joe and me?”

Margaret cut the little almond-flavored cake and put the pieces on plates, then topped it with globs of white frosting she took from the refrigerator. We all went into the living room and ate cake. It was delicious.

Jim turned out to be a pleasant guy, though maybe not one to spend hours discussing philosophy or literature with. Luckily, Joe is willing to discuss mechanical and electronic things, so he kept the conversation rolling.

My brain was still bouncing around with the information Margaret had let slip. I nearly blew it as Joe and I went out the door. “The kids are absolutely darling,” I said. “I’m so glad we got to see them all.”

“All is right,” Jim said. “Six is plenty!”

“I hope you two will want to have kids,” Margaret said. “I couldn’t live without mine.”

I tried to be noncommittal. “We’re pretty old to have a big family. Anyway, Margaret, thanks for putting us down for a cake. I’ll let you know more details ASPG.”

Three sets of eyes stared at me blankly. “ASPG?” Margaret said.

I’d done it again. “ASAP!” I said. “As soon as possible. As soon I find a dress and settle on flowers.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Come on, Lee,” he said. “No more almond extract for you.”

Everybody laughed—even me—and Joe and I climbed into his truck.

“Gosh, Joe,” I said. “Margaret let something slip. First she said ‘some bad things’ happened to her in high school. Then she said she’s had seven pregnancies. Six kids, but seven pregnancies. Do you think she had an abortion? Or gave a baby up for adoption?”

“That’s a pretty broad speculation, Lee. She could have had a miscarriage since she and Jim were married.”

“I don’t know when she would have found time, with a kid every year. But it’s possible, I guess. Oh, gee! An out-of-wedlock pregnancy would be about the worst thing that could happen to a girl who went to Holland Christian.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t have been the first case they had, even at Holland Christian. But if you want to link her up with Julie and Carolyn’s deaths—well, that’s pretty far-fetched. With all these kids, and only two of them in school, I don’t see how she could be racing down to Warner Pier to destroy computers and attack florists.”

“You’re right. I didn’t consider her a possibility to begin with, and after seeing her kids and how busy they keep her—I think I can forget Margaret. Besides, she doesn’t have the right skill set.”

“On the other hand,” Joe said, “Jim has exactly the right skill set. He could have done everything that’s been done without breaking a sweat.”

J
oe was right, of course. In thinking of Margaret as Margaret—singular—I’d been ignoring the fact that she had a partner: Jim.

And Jim had all the skills the killer of Julie and Carolyn would have needed. He was strong enough to bash effectively. He undoubtedly knew Julie, so she would have let him into her apartment. He hadn’t known Carolyn, or I didn’t think he had, but if he’d identified himself as Margaret’s husband, she wouldn’t have hesitated to turn her back on him. As a delivery guy for an office furniture company, he probably had a company truck and unlimited opportunity to roam around west Michigan doing anything he wanted to. All he had to do was tell his boss that the day’s delivery and assembly chores had taken longer than expected. He might have to disconnect the odometer on the delivery truck, but I had a feeling Jim could manage that with his eyes closed.

Plus, Jim apparently had specialized computer knowledge, gained as he tried to learn a skill that might lead to a higher-paying job. True, he was studying the electronic aspects of computers—the stuff that required a screwdriver—but I was willing to bet he could handle a little light hacking.

As for motive, Jim seemed to be devoted to Margaret. If he had felt that Julie threatened Margaret, he might have decided to take care of that threat permanently.

By the time I’d analyzed the situation, the cab of Joe’s truck was warmed up, but I gave a violent shiver anyway. Joe reached over and took my hand. “Rabbit run over your grave?”

“It’s awful, Joe. Awful to be suspicious of people you know, people you consider friends.”

“I think that’s one reason Hogan keeps trying to warn you not to be so curious, Lee. When either he or the Holland cops make an arrest, you’re going to feel better if you can say, ‘Oh, I never dreamed he was the one,’ than if you had some part in piling up the evidence.”

I considered that. Then I rejected it. “But I’m in regular contact with people who appear to be mixed up in these killings,” I said. “I’m placed in a position where I can pick up things that Hogan and the Holland detectives can’t. And because of that, things I may say innocently could be misconstrued. What if, for example, I said something like, ‘Oh, Aunt Nettie got the biggest laugh out of that joke you sent on the Tuesday e-mail,’ and what if I said it to the wrong person? It might accidentally put Aunt Nettie in danger.”

“But nosing around may put
you
in danger, Lee. And that upsets me a lot.”

I unhooked my seat belt, moved to the center of the pickup, and put my head on Joe’s shoulder. “I try not to be completely stupid.”

He kissed my forehead. “Then buckle up,” he said.

“Darling! You really care about me!”

After we’d both chuckled—and I’d fastened the center seat belt—Joe spoke again. “So what’s your next move?”

“My whole object is to get to know what Julie was really like. Her death started this whole chain of events, and it seems logical that her character inspired it in some way. The Seventh Food Group is involved—how I don’t understand. So I want to talk to each member and find out what he or she thought about Julie.”