The Chocolate Jewel Case: A Chocoholic Mystery (10 page)

Alex wasn’t comforted. As a matter of fact, Garnet didn’t look very comforted either, and Dick prowled up and down the room silently. We sat at the ravaged dinner table until Joe came back and said the Warner Pier police were on their way.

Dick snorted. “The WPPD. Big deal!”

“I recommended that the acting chief call in the state police,” Joe said.

Dick shorted again. “How likely are they to
do what you ask?”

“Pretty likely,” Joe said.

His voice was cold. I could tell he was losing his patience with Dick Garrett, so I spoke up. “Joe is Warner Pier City Attorney, and my aunt is married to the police chief.” They might as well know the worst about their neighbors. “I think the acting chief will listen to Joe.”

“One of the functions of the Michigan State Police is to help small municipalities
with investigations,” Joe said. “They’d be called in for any major robbery.”

We heard the sirens then. “At least they’re fast,” Dick said.

Alex was still moaning, and Garnet was still glaring at him.

Then the siren was too loud for us to talk any more, so I sat down again and waited, ready to cooperate with the authorities.

And wait was about all I did for the next couple of hours.

The state
police were there fairly quickly, but it took longer for the crime scene lab to arrive, since it’s stationed in Grand Rapids, sixty miles away. We each gave a preliminary statement, but the wet suits and ski masks had been effective. I was the only one who had seen anything else, and a bunion isn’t really an uncommon feature of a man’s foot. And, as anybody familiar with the beaches would expect,
no useful tracks were likely to be found there. Running or walking across a Lake Michigan beach just leaves indefinite holes where each foot was placed. Only wet sand would show real tracks.

The men had apparently not dropped anything as they ran across the beach. No ski masks, rubber clogs, matchbooks, sunglasses, or driver’s licenses were found.

The most interesting thing was hearing Alex’s
explanation for having valuable jewelry hidden in his denim laundry bag. And it was valuable. I didn’t get to read the list he produced, but the state police investigator blinked several times and gave a low whistle.

“I’ve carried millions of dollars worth of jewelry in my pockets all over the country,” Alex said defensively. “Lots of jewelers do that. I’ve never had any problem.”

“But you weren’t
carrying just any jewelry this time.” Dick’s voice was gruff. “It was the Diamonte collection.”

“I know! And I can’t imagine why anyone would want to steal it.”

“Why not?” the state policeman asked.

“It’s too well-known. Many of these pieces have been displayed in museums. And all of it is documented—photos of the jewelry have appeared in reference books. Selling it would be like trying to
pawn the Mona Lisa.”

The state cop looked up from the list. “Then they’ll have to break it up.”

Alex appeared to shrink. “God! I hope not. That would be a tragedy!”

“Why did you have it with you, anyway?”

“It’s a family farewell visit! Dick and Garnet’s children are coming next week. Each family member was to select a piece to keep as a memento. Then I was to take it to Christie’s in New York
for sale.”

“It was to be auctioned off?”

Alex nodded numbly. “My niece and I had decided it should be sold. No one wore the jewelry, no one really enjoyed it. We had to keep it locked in the vault in my store. And even that had to be a secret. Garnet and Dick’s son is entering medical school. The collection would eventually benefit him and his sister. It seemed more sensible to sell it now,
so that young Rick wouldn’t have to face the debt all those additional years of education might require.”

Alex moaned again. “And now I’ve ruined that plan!”

Garnet put her arm around her uncle. “Uncle Alex, please don’t be so upset. First, the collection belongs to you. If I get a share of the sale, it’s simply out of the goodness of your heart. Second, you told me that the collection was
insured and that the insurance included the period of transportation.”

“Yes, it was insured, Garnet. But not for enough. I hoped to get twice the amount of the insurance at the sale. The insurance will barely cover the loan.”

“Loan? What loan?”

Now I could see that Alex had tears in his eyes. “Garnet, two years ago—when business got so bad—I needed money to keep the shop going.”

“Oh, Uncle
Alex!”

“Yes, Garnet. I used the collection as collateral for a loan. Even if the insurance pays off fully, I’ll have barely enough to pay the bank.”

A
lex’s confession embarrassed me. I felt sorry for Garnet and Dick. They seemed to be nice people, and it was unpleasant to think that the robbery meant a serious financial loss to them, and possibly a family split
over Alex’s actions. But learning more than I needed to know about the Gold/Garrett family finances wasn’t a large concern to me.

My concern was getting out of there. I wanted to go home, where I wouldn’t have to keep up a brave face. It was beginning to be an effort to keep my upper lip stiff.

Finally the cops said Joe and I could go. Which led to the most terrifying part of the whole evening—walking
home in the dark.

In our neighborhood, there are streetlights only at widely spaced intervals, and there are lots of trees in between. Some of the houses have outdoor lights, of course, but in summer the thick foliage keeps the ground dark, especially when there’s no moon. And there was no moon that night.

We had brought along a nice big flashlight, knowing that we’d probably be walking home
after sunset. So we set out confidently. But I was clutching Joe’s hand.

All was well as we went down the long drive that led away from the Double Diamond cottage. It wasn’t lit, but the cop cars were still parked along the way. Between the lights the cops were using and the flashlight Joe was carrying, we could see pretty well. So I managed until we got to Lake Shore Drive.

That was when a
dog barked about ten feet away from us.

I did an Olympic-style broad jump and landed on the other side of the road. The only thing that kept me from heading up our lane—breaking the hundred-yard dash record as I went—was that I was still holding Joe’s hand tightly; I had to pull him along like a rowboat dragging an anchor. Although Joe claims he jumped even farther than I did at the first bark.

Then I recognized the yapping. “Alice, you darling little dog, you startled me,” I said. Well, those may not have been the exact words I used.

“Hush up, Alice!” The voice coming out of the dark belonged to Harold Glick, of course. “Joe? Lee?”

Joe spoke. “Harold? What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out what all the cop cars are doing here. What’s happened?”

“The Lake Shore crime wave hit
the Garretts,” Joe said. “Lee and I were innocent bystanders.”

Harold, of course, wanted to know all the details. Why shouldn’t he, since he didn’t have anything else to interest him? Besides, he was proud of his status as the burglars’ first victim.

Joe declined to tell him anything. “Lee’s frazzled,” he said. “So am I. We’re going home.”

“But did they catch the guys?”

By now we were far
enough away that Joe called back over his shoulder, “Tomorrow, Harold.”

Alice barked good-bye.

The encounter with Harold and Alice was the end of the line for me. During the time we’d been held at gunpoint, I’d been afraid to move. Then the robbers had run off, and Joe had followed them. That was when I’d really gotten scared. I’d followed Joe outside not out of bravery, but out of terror. My
adrenaline had been in overdrive. I’d been energized, ready to “fight or flee,” as they say. But an hour of sitting still waiting around to talk to the detectives had left me trembling. The adrenaline had waned, and the nerves had waxed. When a fierce beast like Alice loomed out of the darkness, my nerves gave up. I wanted to get home and collapse.

When we got to the house, Pete was waiting on
the porch. He came across the yard to meet us. Ignoring Joe, he grabbed my hands. “Are you all right, girl?”

In the beam of Joe’s flashlight, I could see he really looked concerned. It should have pleased me, I guess, but his attitude infuriated me instead.

“Ask Joe if
he’s
all right,” I said angrily. “He’s the one who chased the robbers. I only sat in the living room like a perfect lady.”

Then our other four houseguests ran out to greet us, all babbling questions. I pushed my way through the throng and walked into the house without a word. I went into the bedroom, closed the door, and lay down on the bed. I felt like crying, but Pete had made me so mad that I didn’t.

The hubbub died after I closed the door. In a minute the door opened, and I heard Joe’s footsteps. I just kept lying
there.

When Joe spoke, his voice sounded scared. “You okay?”

“No!”

“Oh.” He stood beside the bed, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Then he turned on the window fan that pulled damp air in from outside. I wouldn’t look at him. But he kept standing there, so I finally had to.

Joe looked so forlorn I began to laugh. When he heard that laugh, he looked terrified.

“I’m not hysterical,” I
said. “I just had to let it soak in a few minutes.”

“You were really brave back at the Garretts’,” Joe said.

“That was an act,” I said.

Then Joe got onto the bed beside me and put his arms around me, tight. We didn’t even move. We just held each other and breathed. We were completely silent.

Sometimes Joe does know exactly the right thing to say.

After about five minutes, I sighed. “I’d better
go assure everybody that I’m all right.”

“You did scare them. Scared me, too.”

“Back at the Garretts’, you scared me. Picking up that steak knife! Running after those guys! I can’t do without you, Joe! Please don’t be brave anymore.”

“You notice I wasn’t brave enough to follow the robbers down onto the beach, where there wasn’t anything to hide behind.”

“Thank God!”

We gave each other a kiss,
then got up. I combed my hair, and we went back out into the living room, where everybody was sitting around with big eyes. They looked at me as if I were a bomb about to explode.

“I’m fine now,” I said. “I just had to collapse a minute.”

Apparently Brenda, Tracy, Gina, Pete, and Darrell had each been holding his or her breath, because a collective hiss sounded as each of them gave a gentle,
“Whew.” Then they all started talking again, but this time it didn’t make me crazy.

Brenda—who’s learning the most effective ways to handle stress—got a box of TenHuis chocolates from the refrigerator and passed them around. An Amaretto Truffle (“milk chocolate interior coated in white chocolate with milk chocolate stripes”) made me feel much better.

Joe and I, both talking at once, gave a stirring
account of the experience of being held at gunpoint. Pretty soon we found something to laugh about—I think it was the robbers standing around as if they didn’t know what to do next—and our laughter had a hysterical edge, but that was all right.

By then it was past midnight. Gina yawned and headed toward the bathroom. After Gina went up to bed, Tracy and Brenda took their turns at tooth-brushing
and face-washing, and then went upstairs. Darrell went out to his camper.

Only Pete kept his seat. I wondered if he was waiting until Joe and I cleared out of the living room, since his porch opened off it, and he might want to go to bed with some privacy. So I patted Joe on the knee. “I guess I’ll say good night, too.”

But Pete leaned forward, looking serious. “Would you mind talking to me
for a minute first?”

“Sure,” I said. Was I actually going to have a conversation with Pete Falconer? Emboldened by the harrowing experiences I’d had that evening, I made a vow: If Joe wasn’t going to tell me what Pete was up to, I’d ask him myself.

“Let me get my stuff,” Pete said. He went out onto the porch, turned on the light, and dug through his belongings. Somehow I wasn’t surprised when
he came back with his camera.

Joe and I sat on the couch, and Pete pulled a wicker rocker over so that our six knees were nearly touching.

“This looks awfully official, Pete,” I said, “coming from a bird-watcher.”

Pete grinned his macho grin. “I wanted to show you a few snapshots.” He kept his voice just above a whisper, and I thought of Gina, just six or eight feet above our heads. Over the
past few days Pete had learned how easy it was to eavesdrop in our house.

Pete brought pictures up on his camera one at a time, and showed them to me. He’d called them snapshots, and that was what they were, at least technically. They were very ordinary pictures of two guys walking up and down the beach. Both of them wore standard Warner Pier garb—khaki shorts and T-shirts. One was tall and slim
and wore a green shirt. The other was short and round and wore a navy or black shirt with lettering on the front.