I was getting annoyed with Maia. “Make too much of what?”
Maia widened her eyes. “Nettie’s got a date,” she said. “With Aubrey.”
I hope I didn’t gasp in amazement. Or dismay. After all, Aunt Nettie had been a widow for more than two years. If she wanted to go out on a date, I really ought to encourage her. I ought to be thrilled for her. And I would have been, if she’d been invited out by anybody but Aubrey Andrews Armstrong.
Because Aubrey might seem like a phony to me, but he was attractive. I didn’t doubt that he could, if he wished, cut quite a swath among the single women of Warner Pier. So why had he selected Aunt Nettie? She was full of wisdom and character and loving-kindness, true. These wonderful qualities, frankly, are not known for attracting middle-aged men vain enough to get hair implants. No, those guys are usually hoping the hair implants will attract younger women.
Had Maia promoted this date? If so, why? I’d been under the impression that Maia was thinking of Aubrey as her own catch—perhaps not romantically, with Vernon always guarding her. But I’d have expected her to be somewhat jealous if Aubrey paid attention to someone besides her.
I was stunned. But I had to say something. So I did.
“That’s wonderland!” I said. “I mean, that’s wonderful!”
Aunt Nettie, who knows about my twisted tongue, shot me an amused glance. Darn her. She always sees right through me.
I didn’t have a chance to say anything more. Maia was talking again. “It was all Aubrey’s idea,” she said. “He invited Vernon and me to go out to dinner at the Warner River Lodge tonight, and he just turned to Nettie and asked her to join the party.”
Aunt Nettie was still smiling. “It’s not exactly a date. Aubrey simply wanted a companion.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Nettie! I can tell that he’s quite taken with you.” Maia’s voice was growing shrill. I decided she might be jealous after all.
“Any intelligent person would be taken with Aunt Nettie,” I said. “And the Warner River Lodge is a marvelous place for dinner. It ought to be a nice evening.”
Aunt Nettie stood up and collected the debris of her lunch. “I’m looking forward to it,” she said. “I guess I’d better get back to the shop.”
“We’d both better do that,” I said. I gathered my own debris—plus Joe’s, since he’d never showed up again—said good-bye to Maia, and followed Aunt Nettie to the trash can. That’s when I saw Joe. He was over on the other side of the picnic shelter, talking to Mayor Mike Herrera and Warner Pier’s police chief, Hogan Jones.
“I’ll just tell Joe I’m leaving,” I said.
Aunt Nettie headed toward the shop, and I veered off and walked over to Joe, Mike and Hogan Jones. Mike, and Joe looked solemn, but Chief Jones—a tall skinny guy who could easily find work as an Abraham Lincoln impersonator—formed his craggy face into a big grin as I walked up. “Hi, Lee. What do you think of our Hollywood producer?”
“He’s definitely Mr. Personality.”
“Ain’t he, though. Did he tell you that you oughta be in pictures?”
“No, he saved his charm for Aunt Nettie. He’s taking her out to dinner.”
Joe whistled, and Mike said that Spanish word I pretend not to understand.
“They’re going to the Warner River Lodge with Maia and Vernon,” I said. “I first thought it was Maia’s idea, but apparently Aubrey came up with the invitation without prompting.”
The chief grinned even more broadly. “And you don’t like it.”
I looked around to make sure Aubrey or Maia or Aunt Nettie hadn’t crept up behind me. “I guess I ought to be glad if Aunt Nettie developed a real social life,” I said. “She’s been much too close to the business since Uncle Phil died. And I think I would be happy for her if . . . well, if we knew a little more about this guy. I’m afraid he’s the type who sees himself as a heartbreaker, and she’s not exactly up on the current dating scene.”
Joe jumped in with, “Don’t wo—” but Chief Jones cut him off sharply.
“Now, listen, Lee,” he said. “Nettie’s a grown woman, and if she wants to have a little fling, you just stay out of it.”
I could have kicked him. I’m sure I pursed my lips until they disappeared before I spoke. “Chief Jones . . . Hogan . . . there’s nothing I would like better than to see Aunt Nettie get some fun out of life.”
“You sure don’t act like it. You youngsters think all us old folks are so far over the hill that we can’t remember passing the top.”
“Aunt Nettie’s not over the hill! She’s sharper than I am at nearly everything. But this Armstrong—his eyes lit up like he’d hit the jackpot when she said she owned her own business.”
Unfortunately for Joe, he decided to join the argument. “Lee, the chief just means—”
“I know what he means! He means I’m aghast. I mean, ageist! Well, I’m not! Aunt Nettie’s got tons more brains than I have, but she’s never had to deal with a guy like Aubrey Andrews Armstrong.”
Before I could go on, a voice boomed out right behind me. “Just stay away from my place! I don’t consider leaving a business card under an apple as asking permission to trespass on a man’s property.”
“But Uncle Silas, he wanted to see the historic site—”
“I don’t care if he wanted to see the Statue of Liberty! I don’t want to catch another one of those goldurned treasure hunters in my orchard. The next one is likely to get a load of pea shot in his hind end—and I don’t care if he’s a local kid or some big Hollywood producer!”
Chapter 3
T
here was an argument going on behind me, and it was louder than the one I was having with Chief Jones about Aunt Nettie’s romantic life.
I heard the second voice again, and this time I recognized it.
“You old silly!” The arch tones could only belong to Maia Michaelson. When I turned around I saw that she was facing an old man who was wearing work clothes even more authentic than Vernon’s. Maia laughed merrily and went on. “Don’t you know you could make money if they use your property?”
“Make money the way you have? By raking up a scandal? I’d be ashamed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Writing about that old story. It doesn’t do any credit to the family. Or to you!”
“Why, Uncle Silas! You simply don’t have a romantic soul.”
“Romantic, my foot! Disreputable! Scandalous!”
Maia smiled, but her smile looked angry. She leaned close to the old man. They were much the same height, the top of her teased hair was even with the dirty baseball cap he wore. “Now, Uncle Silas—”
But the old man wasn’t having any. “I don’t want to hear any more about this foolishness,” he said. He wasn’t quite yelling. “It’s not women’s business! It’s sure not the business of stupid women who shame the family!”
Vernon suddenly appeared between the two combatants. “Come on, Mae,” he said. “You can talk to your uncle later.”
But Silas turned on him. “And I blame you, Vernon. Encouraging her in this silliness! She ought to be in the kitchen canning, not making a fool of herself with this writing nonsense. You should have stopped her.”
Vernon drew himself up, and I realized what a big man he was. “I’m proud of Mae,” he said. “And you should be, too.”
Then he turned away, guiding Maia-Mae in front of him, escorting her for all the world like a bodyguard with a princess.
The old man snorted angrily and walked away in a different direction, crossing Dock Street and walking toward a beat-up old pickup.
I checked to make sure that Maia and Vernon were out of earshot; then I turned to the three city officials I’d been talking to, Joe, Chief Hogan Jones, and Mayor Mike Herrera. “Who’s the literary critic?”
Joe laughed, Mike rolled his eyes, and Hogan Jones spoke. “Silas Snow,” he said. “He’s an uncle to Mae or Maia or whoever she is these days.”
“I gather he’s not excited about the prospect of a movie of her book being filmed.”
Joe answered me. “I guess he’s also not excited about having the movie shot on his property. It’s the farm at the Haven Road exit. The one with the fruit stand.”
“The stand that’s all pumpkins right at the moment?”
“Yeah. Not that every fruit stand in the Midwest isn’t covered with pumpkins this time of the year. But it’s the farm where the real-life story of Maia’s book supposedly happened.”
“Do you mean that Julia Snow and Dennis Grundy actually existed?”
This time all three of them shrugged. Chief Jones spoke. “You’d have to look up the records to see if there’s any truth to her tale. I doubt it happened exactly that way.” He walked away, followed by Mike Herrera.
I spoke to Joe. “I knew Maia’s book was based on some sort of local legend, but I didn’t know it was a family story.”
“Every town up and down Lake Michigan has some old tale about Chicago gangsters, you know.”
“If all those stories were true, there would have been more gangsters than peach growers around the lake.”
“True. But supposedly Al Capone did have a camp of some sort on the Upper Peninsula.”
“That’s hundreds of miles from here.”
Joe nodded. “But back in the twenties and thirties, lots of farmers had little cottages they rented to tourists, just the way a few of them still do. Some of them had docks where cargo could be shifted quietly. And sometimes questionable people rented those cottages.”
“Just the way they could now.”
“Yeah. Anyway, from what I heard at my grandmother’s knee, I’m guessing that Silas Snow’s father, Mae Ensminger’s grandfather, had a cottage like that back in the woods, with a path down to a creek where it was possible to land a small boat. Apparently old Mr. Snow rented it without asking for references. The story is that a young tough guy from Chicago rented it for a whole summer sometime in the late twenties. Everybody local assumed he was hiding out from the law.”
“And the Snows had a daughter.”
“Right. An older half sister to Silas and to Mae’s mom. That’s part of the story. Don’t ask me if it was a big romance or something sleazy or nothing at all. I guess there was talk at the time.”
“Seventy-five years ago, and it’s still an item.”
“You knew this was a small town when you moved here, Lee. Part of the story, naturally, is buried treasure. The bank loot—or whatever—is supposed to be hidden someplace on the old farm.”
“Now owned by Silas Snow?”
“Right. Going out there and digging around is a Warner Pier High School tradition. Heck, I did it!”
“It’s apparently a tradition that annoys Silas Snow. But what became of the supposed gangster? And what became of the farmer’s daughter?”
“I don’t know. Julia Snow and Dennis Grundy both left Warner Pier, but I don’t know if they went separately or together. The Snow family never mentioned Julia after that. Maia thinks the two of them lived happily ever after.”
“And Uncle Silas doesn’t. And I’m not interested enough to research the matter. I’ve got to get back to the office.”
As I started to go, I saw Aubrey, who now was the center of a group of drama club members. Maggie was not in sight, but seeing Aubrey reminded me of her.
I turned back to Joe. “Did Maggie talk to you?”
“We said hi when you and I went through the line.”
“No, this was after that. She acted sort of frantic.”
“I’ll check with her. And I’ll see you later.”
As I walked toward the office my mind bounced back to Aunt Nettie and her date with Aubrey Andrews Armstrong. Even more surprising than the date was Hogan Jones’s reaction to it. Hogan might be a small-town police chief now, but he’d spent years in law enforcement in a major city. He ought to be wary of people who drop in unannounced and claim to be movie producers. But he thought it was fine for Aunt Nettie to go out with this stranger. He’d accused me of treating my aunt as if she were senile. Or at least too old to have any interest in romance.
Nobody ever gets that old, do they? I knew Aunt Nettie and her friends were still interested. They had coffee klatches in our break room now and then, and snickered over various older gents in Warner Pier. This one was considered too decrepit, that one too much of a dirty old man, another too hung up on his deceased wife.
Oddly enough, the only one they all seemed to approve of was—ta-dah!—Hogan Jones. But Hogan had so far deftly avoided all the invitations of Warner Pier’s widows. And if he had himself ever asked anyone out, I hadn’t heard about it.
I was trying to refocus my thoughts on TenHuis Chocolade’s accounts receivable when Joe caught up with me.
“I’ll walk back with you,” he said. “My truck’s over that way.”
“What did Maggie want?”
“Nothing. She said she had solved her problem, and she didn’t tell me what it was.”
“Good for her. Now I can concentrate on worrying about Aunt Nettie.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. Like the chief says—”
“Joe, don’t start telling me she’s a grown woman. I know that. But she’s been a big help to me, and I’d be negligent if I stood by and let her get hurt.”
“But Nettie’s not your responsibility, Lee.”
“Of course she’s my responsibility! Who else does she have?”
Joe stopped abruptly. “She has herself! You don’t have to take care of her! Maybe that’s our problem.”
“Our problem? Ours! What problem do we have?”
“Getting married. I want to get married, Lee. And I can’t get you to set a date. I can’t even get you to say that you’ll set one eventually.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “How did we get from Aunt Nettie to this?”
“I think you’re hiding behind her. You can’t even consider getting married and leaving darling Aunt Nettie alone.”
“I’ve never said that! I never even thought that!”
“It’s the only explanation I can come up with. You claim you love me, but I can’t pin you down.”
“Joe, you have lost your mind. I’ll plead guilty to the charge of being wishy-washy about getting married, but it has nothing to do with Aunt Nettie. And I’m not going to argue about this in the middle of Peach Street. Good-bye.”