Authors: Joanna Carl

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Women Sleuths

The Chocolate Cat Caper (21 page)

BOOK: The Chocolate Cat Caper

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At the end of the meal Aunt Nettie excused herself to speak to a friend across the room. Duncan and I stood up, and I extended my hand. “This has been most enjoyable,” I said. “I hope everything is calm for a while. I don’t think I can stand any more incitement—I mean, excitement!”

Duncan stood up, too. He smiled, gave me a lot of eye contact, and made shaking my hand more than a polite gesture.

“I hope you get to leave tomorrow,” I said.

“I plan to be off as soon as I have breakfast. Have a nice evening, Lee, and a nice life. If you ever want to try the big city, let me know. I hate to see a young woman as personable and intelligent as you stagnating in a little town—even a cute little one.”

“The big city life doesn’t appeal to everyone. Look at Joe.”

Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Of course, Joe may change his mind about the big city now that his situation has changed.”

“You mean because big city life is more fun with money?”

“No, I mean that he might decide to go back into law practice. Now that Clementine isn’t around to pressure him to stay out of it.”

I must have looked amazed, because Duncan laughed. “Hadn’t you heard that particular piece of gossip? Marion was spreading it so busily that I thought it would be all over Warner Pier.”

“Clementine Ripley pressured Joe to stop practicing law?”

“According to Marion, that was part of their divorce settlement.”

“But how could she do that?”

“Supposedly she had the goods on him—threatened to get him disbarred. But she gave him the out of voluntarily leaving the practice of law.”

I was stunned. “Then why did Clementine leave Joe as her heir? Why didn’t she sign her new will?”

“Thought she’d live forever, just like the rest of us do, I guess.” Duncan shrugged. “Ask your aunt about it. She may have heard something. Anyway, if you decide to leave Warner Pier for the big city, to trade in the historic farmhouse for a high-rise condo, let me know.”

I tried to swallow my amazement and keep our good-bye light. “Ah, but a condo wouldn’t have a Michigan basement.”

“Is that what that sand-floored cellar is called? I learn something new all the time.”

Duncan smiled as Aunt Nettie reappeared. He left a lavish tip on the table—not strictly necessary in a place where you get your own food from the counter—and escorted us to the old Buick, settling Aunt Nettie in the driver’s seat as gallantly as if she’d been driving a Rolls. He gave me one of his business cards and even waved as we drove away.

I could barely wait to ask Aunt Nettie if she’d heard the gossip Duncan had passed along, the news that Clementine Ripley had threatened to get Joe disbarred.

“No, I hadn’t heard that,” she said, “and I’m sure his mother hadn’t heard it either. She was furious with Joe for quitting law and did a lot of moaning about his lack of ambition. She certainly didn’t act as if he was being forced to get out of the profession.”

I liked Joe. I had even kissed him. But that had just been my hormones telling me he was an attractive man. It didn’t give me any insight into his character.

I reminded myself that my past record on judging people wasn’t too good. I had thought Rich was one of the good guys. Now I knew that I’d never marry another divorced man without finding out more about why his first marriage broke up.

We discussed the ramifications of Duncan’s revelation all the way home. Once inside, we checked out the house. The state police search team had been much neater than the burglar. Mrs. Deacon had left a note saying some of the searchers left at four o’clock—that would have been when Marion’s death was reported—and the others at five-thirty.

“I guess I don’t need to hide the van any longer,” I said. “I’ll go over to the Baileys’ and get it.”

“Oh, dear!” Aunt Nettie frowned. “I just remembered—I forgot to stop for gas. I’d better go back to town.”

“You put your feet up. I’ll take the Buick and get gas.”

I don’t have any excuse for what I did next. In fact, I wasn’t aware that I was doing it until after I’d done it. My brain apparently went into cruise control, and my subconscious handled the whole thing.

I drove straight to the Ripley estate.

I had pulled up at the security gate before I realized where I was going.

As soon as I saw where I was, I put the car in reverse and started to leave. But it was too late. The security guard was already speaking to me electronically. I knew he could see me on his closed circuit camera. I was trapped by my own subconscious. I decided to act as if I’d come on purpose.

“Lee McKinney to see Joe Woodyard.”

“Is he expecting you?”

Actually, I did have some vague memory of telling Joe I wanted to talk to him again that evening. I tried to sound confident. “I believe so.”

The guard decided to believe me. “Drive on around the circle,” he said. The gate slid open.

Once again I headed up the long drive that led through the trees. An elaborate system of hidden lights illuminated the driveway. Why wasn’t I surprised by that?

When I pulled up in front of the flagstone steps, the Hugh was waiting for me. “Mr. Woodyard’s down at the boathouse,” he said. “You can wait for him inside.”

He opened the front door, and I went into the big foyer, still packed with flowers, then walked on into the reception room. I heard a meow over my head and looked up to see Yonkers, again hiding behind the huge white ceramic pot.

“Are you going to jump on me?” I said.

“No,” Yonkers said. Actually, I suppose it was more like
naow,
but he certainly responded. Then he turned and trotted along the balcony to a door that opened into a lighted room I realized was the office. I was moving toward the big, soft white couch when I heard a loud clang from upstairs.

“Yonk, did you knock over the wastebasket?” I decided I’d better see what the cat was up to, since Joe was not in the house to keep an eye on him. I ran up the stairs and went along the balcony to the office.

When I looked inside, the wastebasket was still upright, and Yonkers was nowhere in sight. “Yonk! Here, kitty!” I looked behind the desk, noting that the computer was off this time, and under the chairs.

“Where did you go, you pesky cat?”

I got a clue when the paneled door moved, just as it had that afternoon. Yonkers had once more opened the closet. But this time he was inside.

I opened the door. The closet was apparently an afterthought, maybe put in just in case Clementine Ripley or some future owner ever decided to make the office room over into a bedroom. For the moment, however, it was lined with shelves and stocked with paper, boxes of paper clips, and other office necessities. All very businesslike.

Except for the filmy black nightgown that hung on a hook on the inside of the door.

CHOCOLATE CHAT:
ROMANCE

• Chocolate has long been associated with romance, but it’s hard to tell how much of this was based on fact and how much on marketing. When chocolate was introduced to Germany during the 1600s, for example, the sellers whispered of its value as an aphrodisiac. Ladies were urged to offer a cup to their husbands.

• The Aztec emperor Montezuma reportedly drank chocolate before visiting his harem.

• The Spanish kept chocolate a secret for nearly a hundred years, but in 1615 Princess Maria Teresa gave her finacé, Louis XIV of France, a gift of chocolate and the secret was out.

• Casanova was quoted as saying chocolate was more useful in seduction than champagne.

• After chocolate candy was developed, luscious, creamy bonbons and truffles came to be know as a ideal romantic gift. This developed into the heartshaped box of chocolates—the Valentine’s Day gift every teenage girl longs for—and into luxury chocolates for more sophisticated lovers.

• Still, the physical effects of eating chocolate stimilating the heart muscle, providing extra energy and maybe even acting as a mood alternating—are a lot like falling love!

Chapter 16

A
black lace nightgown?

It was the last thing I expected to find in an office closet. Two more things were hung on top of it—a lightweight sweater, the kind you might keep around in case you got cold while finishing up a report, and a man’s flannel shirt. The shirt and sweater were on wooden hangers, but I could see that a fancy padded hanger held the nightgown. Its hanger was scented, too, or something in the closet was.

Yonkers seemed as interested in the gown as I was. He began to exercise his claws on the fragile skirt.

“Bad cat!” I said. I tried to lift the skirt of the gown up, out of his reach, and it slipped off its fancy satin hanger.

“Rats,” I said. I wrestled the gown away from Yonkers, tossing it onto the desk. “You’re going to ruin it, you naughty thing.” I clapped my hands at him. “Get up on your perch and let this alone.”

Yonkers went to his perch on the shelf with a sneer, making sure I understood he was doing it because he wanted to, not in response to my order. I picked the gown up, ready to hang it on the closet door again, but first I held it up to myself, admiring its beautiful lace and delicate embroidery.

This was the moment, of course, that Joe walked into the office.

We stared at each other. Then Joe spoke. “Why did you bring
that
?”

I fell back on my say-nothing habit and merely stood there. Then I caught the implication; he thought I had come out to see him, uninvited, and had brought a sexy black nightgown along.

I gasped. “I didn’t bring it!”

Joe blushed.

And I got the giggles.

Joe blushed more brightly. “I guess that wasn’t a cool thing to say.”

I spoke again. “I didn’t bring it out here. I was trying to research it. I mean, rescue! I took the gown away from Yonkers.”

“Yonkers?” Joe’s color was fading, but he looked confused.

“Yes. I heard a crash, and I thought Yonkers had knocked the wastebasket over. So I came upstairs to see if he was tearing things up. He’d gotten the closet door open and was inside. I had to haul him out. When I did I saw this gown on hanger on the back of the door, and Yonkers began to claw at it. So I took it away from him. I was just admiring it before I hung it back up.”

Joe looked more confused than ever. “The thing was here?”

“Yes. It was inside that closet.”

He opened the closet door and looked inside. “In here?”

“See? The hanger’s still there.”

Joe lifted the scented hanger down, still frowning. “What was it doing here?”

I took the hanger. “I suppose it belonged to Ms. Ripley.”

“No.”

“It’s obviously something she got recently.”

“Clem would never have worn a thing like that.”

“Maybe it was a gift.” I sighed. “Joe, you and Ms. Ripley had been separated for two years. She was a very attractive woman. Frankly, it’s the kind of thing a guy would give his girlfriend.”

Joe shook his head. “I’d be delighted to find out that Clem had a new man in her life. But if he knew her well enough to give her a sexy thing like that, he ought to have known her well enough to see that she’d never have worn it.”

“Maybe she would have—if it were a special request.”

“Clem never wore anything. Like that.” Joe was slightly red again. “I mean—not for sleeping. Besides, she wouldn’t have kept something like a nightgown out here in the office supply closet. She had a big dressing room.”

I ducked my head to look at the skirt of the gown, then took hold of it and fanned it out to examine it more closely. The skirt was of sheer nylon, practically transparent. A vision of Joe drooling as I modeled it for him flashed through my mind. I thought of the flannel sleep pants and T-shirt I wore for Michigan nights, and I almost sighed.

“Well, it’s beautiful, of course,” I said. “Some women do wear this sort of very feminine thing just for their own pleasure. But I’d really expect it to be worn to please a husband or a lover.”

“No, Clem would never have worn something like this for any reason.”

“Then I don’t understand. Have the police seen it?”

“Probably. They went over this section of the house pretty thoroughly.”

“But they might not have seen anything unusual about it,” I said.

We both stared at the filmy black gown. I reached for the hanger again. “It’s a beautiful garment. You can always give it to the National Association of Former Good Girls.”

As I held it up, I caught a glimpse of the label. It was a brand I’d never heard of, since I’ve never been a particular fan of expensive nightgowns. Rich never bought me clothes; he gave me money or jewelry. But beneath that label was another smaller label that said 10.

Size ten? The gown was a size ten? I held the straps against my shoulders and let the skirt of the gown drift down. The hem reached past the cuff of my khaki slacks.

But Clementine Ripley had been on the short side.

I mused aloud. “I wonder what size Ms. Ripley wore?”

“Twelve petite. I asked Marion the first Christmas Clem and I were married. She said the ‘petite’ was important. Why?”

“This gown would never have fit her. It’s way too long, for one thing. It would have trailed on the floor. And for another thing, it’s too small through the bodice. I don’t think Ms. Ripley could have gotten into it. And if she did, it’s designed to enhance the bust, to make it look larger.”

“Clem would never have worn something that would have made her look bigger.”

“So even if somebody gave it to her, it wouldn’t have been her favorite gift.”

Joe and I looked at each other for a moment. Then he spoke. “I hope somebody did care about her. Somebody besides Marion.”

I hung the gown up.

“But I still can’t see any reason it would be in the closet off her office,” Joe said.

BOOK: The Chocolate Cat Caper

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