The Chocolate Frog Frame-Up (8 page)

“No! I can’t trust them.”

“Sure you can.”

“No! I saw all those people on the dock. They’re out to get me!”

“The police? Your sister? Surely not.”

“Oh, Patsy might be all right. But there’s Frank. I don’t know about him.”

“Joe was there. He doesn’t want to hurt you. And Trey’s always been nice to you, hasn’t he? They’ll be relieved to find out you’re all right.”

“No! They may all be in it together.”

“Why, Hershel? Why would anybody—anybody at all—want to hurt you?”

“I don’t know why. But they do!”

Suddenly I didn’t want to be alone with Hershel. This was not the harmless crank who had come into TenHuis Chocolade for a free treat every day. This was a new Hershel, one who feared other people, who might strike out, thinking he was protecting himself.

“Joe’s just on the other side of the shop.” My voice almost trembled. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ve got to be gone before he comes. The only person who can help me is your aunt.”

“Aunt Nettie? How can she help?”

“She’s the only one I can trust! Don’t tell anybody else. I’ll meet her at the old chapel at midnight.”

“The old chapel? What old chapel?”

“She’ll know where I mean. Midnight!”

Footsteps skittered over the gravel, and Hershel was gone.

Suddenly I could make a noise again. “Joe!” I threw the truck’s door open and stood up with my head outside. “Joe! Come quick!”

Immediately I saw the reflection from Joe’s flashlight bouncing around in the trees. I heard the
crunch, crunch, crunch
as he ran through the gravel. He yelled, “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t make myself get down from the truck. For a minute I stood there, sticking my head out of the cab like a giraffe. Then I sat back down and slammed the door. Joe would be there in a second. He had his cell phone. He’d call the police. Jerry, Chief Jones—they’d be back lickity split. They’d search the woods for Hershel.

And they wouldn’t find him.

It would be impossible to find Hershel in the dark in the woods around Joe’s shop. Hershel could hide in those woods. He could climb a tree or lie down behind a bush. He could listen to everything the searchers did, see a lot of what they did.

And Hershel would know I hadn’t obeyed his instructions not to tell anyone but Aunt Nettie. He wouldn’t keep his end of the bargain and go to the old chapel—wherever that was. But meeting him there might be the simplest way to find him.

Just as Joe reached the hood of the truck I reached a decision. I couldn’t tell Joe what Hershel had said. Not there, not at the boat shop, with Hershel still out in the woods. Maybe close by, listening. No, I had to get away from there, find Aunt Nettie and ask her how to handle the situation.

Joe yanked his door open. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess my imagination got the best of me.”

“Huh?”

I spoke loudly and distinctly. “I thought I heard something. I got scared. But I guess it was just an animal.”

Joe stood there, staring at me. I’m not usually the clingy type—even when I’m threatened by trees. I could tell he was mystified. But I couldn’t worry about that.

“Joe, could we get out of here?”

“Sure.” Joe handed me my tote bag and slid behind the steering wheel. He started the truck’s motor.

“I need to get the van and head home,” I said. I slid over next to the right-hand door and fastened my seat belt.

Joe turned his head toward me. In the dim light from the dash I could see that he looked more mystified than ever. And maybe angry. But I couldn’t help that.

“You sure changed your mood in a hurry,” he said.

Yikes! I’d forgotten that I’d offered Joe coffee and chocolate at TenHuis Chocolade. Now I was having to back out. “I’m sorry. But I’ve got to see Aunt Nettie.”

“Your aunt?”

“It’s important.”

“What’s wrong, Lee?”

“Nothing.”

“Did I do something? Say something?”

“No! No, I’ve just got to pick up my van and get home to see Aunt Nettie. Let’s go!”

Joe stared another moment. Then he backed the truck around and drove off, down the narrow road that led to the settled part of Warner Pier.

Once we were away from the shop, I opened my mouth, ready to tell Joe about Hershel. Then I pictured his reaction. He’d certainly never let Aunt Nettie and me meet Hershel at the old chapel without him. And if Joe was there, Hershel might not come.

And where was this old chapel? Was it the place Patsy had mentioned—the one Hershel went to when he was really frightened? It must be.

I didn’t know what to do. I waffled all the way to the shop.

My silent debate was the only conversation that went on. Joe didn’t say a word. He is not usually sulky, but he had a right to be mad—certainly puzzled—by my sudden about-face, building him up for a late-night tête-à-tête, then changing my mind. But I was too frantic about how to deal with Hershel to worry about him.

When we drove down Peach Street, past TenHuis Chocolade, I saw lights inside. “Oh. Aunt Nettie’s still here!”

“Why would she be there so late?”

“I don’t know. I hope nothing went wrong with the big kettle cleanup. Just pull up in front.”

The minute the truck stopped moving I opened the door and got out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Lee!”

“I can’t talk, Joe.”

I started across the sidewalk, and Joe jumped out of the truck and followed me. “Lee! What came over you? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! I’ve just got to see Aunt Nettie.”

“Why? I want to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on!” Inside the shop, back in the workroom, I could see Aunt Nettie. She was standing beside the dark chocolate vat. On the work table behind her I could see several big stainless steel bowls.

“Lee . . .”

“Joe, I’ve got to go.”

I yanked away and turned toward the front door of the shop, but before I could get there, a terrific bang rang out.

“Lee!” Joe jumped about six feet, grabbed me by the arms and shoved me up against the brick wall beside the door. “Get down!”

“Joe! Let me go!”

“That was a shot!”

“It was not! Aunt Nettie is breaking chocolate!”

Joe backed off slightly. “Breaking chocolate?”

“Breaking chocolate. We got stuck with some chocolate that comes in ten-pound bars. They can’t go into the chocolate vats until they’re broken up.”

“I never heard that noise around the shop before.”

“We usually get chocolate in little bits—almost granules. But our supplier substituted bars. Let me go, please.”

Joe moved away, scowling.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” I said. “I know I’m not behaving rationally. But I thought of something while you were getting my bag, and it’s vital that I talk to Aunt Nettie about it.”

This time Joe didn’t argue. I went into the shop and closed and locked the door behind me. I didn’t look back at him.

The aroma of warm chocolate enfolded me, and Aunt Nettie looked up. “Lee? What are you doing here?”

“Something came up. I had to see you right away.”

“My goodness! I hope you and Joe didn’t have a fight.”

“Sort of. But that’s not the important thing.”

“Back when I was dating your uncle, a fight would have been the most important thing in my life.” She was standing in the middle of the workroom, beside a big sheet of white paper which had been laid on the floor. As I came into the work room she picked up a white package about a foot long. She lifted it over her head, then hurled it onto the paper.
Bam!
She leaned over and picked up the package. Its contents were now obviously in pieces.

“Oh, Aunt Nettie, listen to what’s happened.” I poured out the story of the missing Hershel, the damaged canoe, the probability that Joe was a suspect, and, finally, Hershel’s appearance at the truck’s window in the dark.

Aunt Nettie stared at me, idly turning the crumpled package back and forth. Now her eyes were as round as her tummy.

I looked at my watch. “And it’s nearly eleven now. Hershel emphasized that he wanted to meet you at midnight. Where is this chapel anyway? How do we get there?”

Aunt Nettie’s face took on a look of complete dismay. “I can’t go,” she said.

I squinched my eyes closed. She must be afraid. I could hardly blame her. But I had to find Hershel and get him to turn himself in to the chief—or to somebody. It was the fastest way to prove that Joe had nothing to do with running down Hershel’s canoe. And it was the fastest way I could think of to get Hershel to a hospital and to treat any injuries he might have.

Somebody had to be at the chapel at midnight. And if I had to go alone, I’d do it.

“Okay,” I said. “Just tell me where this chapel is.”

“I suppose he means the old Riverside Chapel. It’s just about a mile from Joe’s shop, and there’s a hiking trail along the river. I’m sure Hershel could find it, even in the dark.”

“Okay. Can you draw me a map? I’ll go alone. I know it’s a scary situation.”

“I’m not
afraid
to go!”

“You probably should be. Hershel is really talking crazy.”

“Nobody could be afraid of Hershel. It’s this chocolate. I simply have to get these vats going, or we’ll lose a day of work.”

I took a deep breath. “How long does it take to get from here to the old chapel?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes in a car.”

“Is there a road?”

“Yes. When I talked about the trail, I was thinking of Hershel. He must be on foot.”

I checked my watch again. “So we have forty-five minutes before we’d have to leave.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me what to do, and we’ll get as much done on the chocolate vats as we can. But I’m dragging you out of here at twenty to midnight. Meeting Hershel at that chapel is the quickest way to prove Joe did not run his canoe down, and I’m finding that guy and bringing him back.”

Aunt Nettie smiled. “Wash your hands, and I’ll tell you what to do.”

I took off my green sweater and put a big bib apron on over my cream slacks and green and cream shirt. I tucked my hair into a food service hairnet. I washed my hands in approved food service fashion—even turning the water off with the paper towel so that my clean hands didn’t touch the fixture. Aunt Nettie told me to get a knife and start digging chocolate out of the big bowls.

“Just put a few pieces of the chocolate back in the vats at a time,” she said. “Remember, chocolate melts easily—the melting point is only ninety-two degrees. But we have to be careful not to put too many pieces in at once. That could jam up the paddles.”

I eyed the pans of chocolate warily. None of them was very full, but the chocolate in them looked solid. The chocolate obviously had been out of the vat for several hours.

Aunt Nettie moved over beside the dark chocolate vat, climbed on to a kitchen step stool, and ripped open the package of chocolate she’d just shattered on the floor. She began putting the chunks into the vat.

“First, you can break up three or four more bars of dark chocolate,” she said.

I whammed the ten-pound bars into the floor, then set the packages—now filled with chunks of chocolate—aside. Next I worked on the white chocolate—the smallest kettle—chipping the now-solid chocolate from the bowl on the worktable into pieces and feeding them into the vat. While I was waiting for the white chocolate to melt, I worked on the pan of milk chocolate. Aunt Nettie was concentrating on the dark chocolate.

Through all this I was frantically checking my watch, and at twenty-five to twelve I gave Aunt Nettie a fiveminute warning. By twenty minutes to twelve we had all three chocolate vats going. There were a lot of dirty pots and pans in the sink, but I got Aunt Nettie into her sweater and out the back door.

She shook her head as she climbed into my van. “I don’t understand why Hershel wants to see me,” she said.

“He’s highly suspicious of everybody—including his sister and her husband. You’ve always been nice to him.”

Aunt Nettie sniffed. “I never thought a chocolate now and then would mean a trip to the old Riverside Chapel in the middle of the night.”

“Just tell me how to get there.”

“Head up Dock Street to Fifteenth.”

“It’s before Joe’s shop, then?”

“It’s farther, but you don’t pass Joe’s shop to get there. Turn off Dock Street on Fifteenth, then turn right at a corner with a big white house. I think the street is Elm.”

“It would be a tree.”

Aunt Nettie laughed. “I don’t understand why you dislike trees so much, Lee.”

“Some of my best friends are trees. I don’t dislike them individually. It’s only trees in mobs.”

“You’ll see whole crowds of trees before we get to the Riverside Chapel. It’s way back in the woods. Lots of people think the woods up that way are beautiful.”

“I’m sure they are beautiful. I can admire the patterns sunlight makes on the forest floor. Stuff like that. It’s just that when you’re surrounded by trees you can’t see the horizon. They get you all mixed up about which way is north. And you never know what’s hiding behind them.”

“On the other hand,” Aunt Nettie said, “if you need to hide, it’s handy having a tree you could jump behind.”

“Well, you know the joke about the West Texas boy who went to visit the big woods of Minnesota,” I said.

“I guess not.”

“When he got back, someone asked if there wasn’t some mighty pretty country up there. And the Texan answered, ‘I don’t know. There were so many trees I didn’t see a thing.’ ”

Aunt Nettie and I were joking about our differing feelings about trees because we were nervous. Heading out into the deep woods to meet the town crank at a ruined chapel at midnight is not my favorite activity. In fact, stated like that, it was absolutely stupid. I thought wistfully of having Joe along—a big, strong guy who knew the terrain and who was smart and who could wrestle and who had a cell phone. Right at that moment I was wishing I’d invited him to the party.