The Chocolate Pirate Plot (24 page)

I
knew a little more by the time we got back up the Warner River and docked at Oxford Boats.

Someone had called the Oxford Boats phone with the message about Marco being kidnapped. The people on duty there had relayed the message to the yacht by radio, and, of course, our search had confirmed that Marco Spear was not on the yacht.

The Michigan State Police were already checking on the phone that had sent the original message, but it was a cell phone, and no one had any real hope that the number would lead to anything. It's too easy to buy a temporary phone anonymously.

So the yacht headed in with a glum group of passengers aboard. Even the reporters seemed to share the general mood of dismay; they were excited, but not in a happy way. I believe that if one of them had made a cynical comment, the rest of the passengers—those of us who knew Marco in his persona as Byron—would have thrown him overboard. Without a life jacket.

Some people, including me, considered the idea that this was a publicity stunt, that Marco hadn't really been kidnapped. But the near hysteria of Daren Roberts convinced me that it was true.

Roberts kept yanking his cell phone out, looking at it, then jamming it back in his pocket. Fifteen seconds later he'd do the same thing over again. He was pacing back and forth, looking toward the shore, obviously desperate to get back to the boatyard.

“I can't believe I don't have service out here,” he said. His voice was close to a wail.

We were at the dock before the reporters were able to get sense out of Roberts.

“Why should we believe that this isn't a publicity stunt?” Chuck O'Riley asked the question.

“It was to be a publicity stunt,” Roberts said. “Not the kidnapping, of course. Marco planned the whole thing himself. He was to establish himself here in Warner Pier as this other person, Byron Wendt. Then, tonight he wanted to invite people he'd met here, plus some press reps. He'd give tours and serve drinks, still pretending to be Byron Wendt. And after he was sure that everybody thought he was really that guy, I was to announce that Marco was on board. And then he'd pop up. He planned to do a handstand on the top deck”—Daren motioned toward the fly deck—“then walk on his hands down those stairs.” He pointed toward the companionway leading from the aft deck to the fly deck. “But I never got the signal to make the announcement.”

“How did the pirates who boarded the ship fit in?”

“They didn't! We tried to get in touch with them. We thought they would be a neat addition to the whole plan. But none of us could find them.”

“Will the studio pay the ransom?”

Daren waved questions aside. “That's not my decision! I've got to get to a real phone!” He ran down the aft companionway and jumped onto the dock.

Brenda and Tracy had eyes the size of tennis balls. I guess I did, too.

“Byron was Marco?” Tracy sounded almost stunned.

I nodded.

Brenda spoke in a faint voice. “But why did he invite us along on the yacht?”

I put an arm around each of them. “Because whenever Byron came in the shop, you two were nice to him, even though he was playing the part of a real nerd that no girl would be interested in.”

“Oh.” They sounded unbelieving.

“There's a moral in there someplace, I guess. I'm not sure what it is.” I led them to seats in the salon. “Stick with me, kids. We'll probably have to answer a lot of questions before we can leave.”

But we didn't. The state police met us at the dock, but there weren't enough cops available to quiz all the bystanders. They took everybody's phone number and told us to go home. Will had to stay and help tuck the yacht in for the night, but Aunt Nettie left along with me. Since Hogan was a law officer who had witnessed the kidnapping, he was staying at the boatyard. Joe would come in his truck.

Before we left, Hogan spoke to the group, asking the rest of us not to say anything about the kidnapping.

“It probably won't be kept secret,” he said. “But for the moment, let's keep it quiet. It won't be easy, I know, but think how you'd feel if you were the one who leaked the news and Marco Spear was killed by the kidnappers.”

That did make Brenda and Tracy look awed. A big tear oozed out of Tracy's left eye.

As we stepped onto the dock, I could hear the reporters haranguing Hogan. Keeping the kidnapping quiet wasn't going to be easy. Maybe not even possible.

When Aunt Nettie, Brenda, Tracy, and I were in the van, I looked at my watch. To my astonishment, it was only nine o'clock. So much had happened since we went on board that I felt like it ought to be midnight.

But one thing that hadn't happened was dinner.

“I know I should be home wringing my hands,” I said. “And I am upset. But I'm also hungry. How about a pizza?”

Everybody fell in with that idea. We called various boyfriends and husbands—it was good to be on shore and have decent cell phone service. Will and Carl, Tracy's boyfriend, promised to join us when they could, and Joe said he'd meet us, too. We drove to the Dock Street Pizza Place, Warner Pier's contribution to that all-American, Italian-inspired fun food, and we were able to shove two tables together to seat a party of seven. We ordered, and Joe, Will, and Carl had all arrived by the time the pizza was on the table.

We were all chewing when the theater crowd walked in.

In this case, the “theater crowd” was the cast and crew members from the Showboat Theater, rather than people who had attended a play. There were no performances that week. Rehearsals were going on for
The Pirates of Penzance.

There were eight in their group, and I was surprised at how many I knew. Maggie and Ken McNutt were there, and Max Morgan and Mikki White. There were another four people I didn't know but had seen on stage. The waitress moved two tables together to accommodate them, so between the two groups—them and us—we'd taken over the center of the small restaurant.

Maggie and Ken stopped to speak to us on the way in, and after their group had given its order, Max got up and walked around the tables to speak to Joe and me.

“Did I hear that you two went out on the new yacht?”

“Yes, we were lucky enough to get an invitation,” Joe said.

“Pretty impressive, I imagine.”

“I'd call it spectacular.”

Max leaned closer and lowered his voice. “That weird guy was back tonight. The one I think is from Chicago. He was looking for Jeremy again.”

“The man you thought might be a loan shark?”

“Right.” Max frowned. “He's a real strange one.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“What can I tell them? We have a patron who creeps me out? That's not a crime. Besides, I already told the local gendarmes about him.”

“What did he do this time?”

“We were rehearsing the first-act finale. I looked up, and there he was, sitting in the back row, just watching. I felt, you know, as if I had to assert myself, so at the end of the scene I walked back there and told him to leave.”

“Did he?”

“First he quizzed me about Jeremy again. Had we heard from him? Was the search continuing?”

“But he did leave?”

“Yes. But he did it . . . insolently.”

“Did you get his license number?”

“No. I followed him to the door, but I couldn't read it. He'd covered it up some way.”

“I think you should talk to Hogan about the episode. The search for Jeremy is still going on.”

“Surely the guy will quit coming around when he figures out that Jeremy is gone for good.”

“You think Jeremy is dead?”

“Oh, no! I'm convinced Jeremy knew the Chicago guy was after him and took off for parts unknown.” Max knelt beside Joe. “Meanwhile, I'm glad you two had a nice evening. Did the Oxford people confirm that the new yacht belongs to Marco Spear?”

“Not in so many words.”

Max shrugged. “Still, a few hors d'oeuvres, a pitcher of something cold and exotic, and a cruise are worth something.”

He rejoined his own group.

I muttered to Joe, “Are you still skeptical about this so-called loan shark?”

“Yep.”

We ate pizza and talked with our group for the next twenty minutes. Everyone kept their voices low, of course. Carl had to be told about the kidnapping, but Tracy swore him to secrecy. I didn't have much hope that the news wouldn't get out. When more than a dozen people knew—and five of them were newsmen—there simply wasn't a hope. But I didn't want to be the one who blew it.

So when I saw Mikki coming around the table, apparently planning to speak to me, I hurriedly poked Brenda as a hint that she should change the subject.

I was still angry with Mikki for giving me the runaround when I went to the theater to pick up Jill. I spoke to her, but I didn't exactly gush out a welcome.

“Hi, Mikki. Has Jill turned up?”

“No, but she's supposed to be back tomorrow.” She knelt beside my chair. “I'm sorry, Ms. Woodyard. I apologize for all that. Jill asked me to do it.”

“Why?”

“She said she needed to meet someone. She didn't want to give the police chief a big explanation. She went out the front while I kept you in the back.”

“She could have told me. Hogan was just trying to save her embarrassment by sending me to pick her up, instead of a patrol car.”

“Well, I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Apology accepted,” I said. I kept the word “maybe” to myself. It was time to change the subject.

“You're working on
The Pirates of Penzance
now, aren't you? How are your rehearsals going?”

“Tonight was underwear. I mean, understudies.”

I managed not to laugh. Again I realized that Mikki had the same affliction I do.

“I'm understudying Jill as Mabel,” she said. “Mostly I'm one of the cousins. Tonight was kind of different, since Maggie was in charge.”

“Oh? I didn't know she was taking that important a part.”

“She doesn't usually. But she's really good. Of course, the play's a lot of fun. But Max wants us to play it straight.”

“Straight?”

“Yes, he says it's funnier that way.”

I racked my brain for something to say about Gilbert and Sullivan. “I guess it's hard not to make a play that old seem dated.”

“The lines are very clever. Max says it's important for it not to be campy . . .” To my surprise, Mikki's face grew red. Was she blushing? But she went on talking. “I mean, well, Max wants it straight.”

She blinked rapidly. “Hal's folks came today. You know, to get him. Take him home. I felt really sorry for them.”

I nodded. I felt sorry for them, too. Sorry enough that I tried to change the subject again.

“Has anybody figured out where Hal was working after he left the theater in June?”

“Not that I know of. Our food's here. Guess I'd better go.” She stood up.

I spoke. “Thanks for the piecemeal—I mean, peacemaking!” Now I'd done it. Tangled my tongue. Mikki and I might be twins. “Thanks for the peacemaking gesture.”

Mikki looked pained. “I shouldn't have let Jill talk me into it. I don't mean to be campy . . .” Mikki's face flamed. It was more than a blush; it was a conflagration. She turned a brilliant scarlet. “I mean, catty! I didn't mean to be catty.”

She muttered a few more words and went back to her own table, where pizzas were being served.

Her remarks had left me with a sense that I'd missed something. Something she'd said had tickled some memory deep in my brain, but I couldn't get the memory to surface. I went into a fog, trying to figure it out.

We worked on our own pizzas for a while, and Brenda and Will had another of their arguments about Marco Spear's acting ability. I was so deep in my own thoughts that I ignored them until Brenda said, “I would think, Will, that tonight of all nights—”

“Brenda!” I hissed the word, afraid she was going to blurt out something about the kidnapping within earshot of the theater crowd at the next table. After that narrow escape, we all fell so silent that when my cell phone rang the sound made me jump.

I nearly threw the phone to the floor trying to dig it out of my purse and look at it. Hogan was calling. “Lee? Is Nettie with you?”

“Yes. We all went out to get something to eat.”

“Where the hell are you?”

I looked at the phone with raised eyebrows. Hogan never swore. He must be really upset.

“We're at the Dock Street, Hogan. Do you want us to meet you somewhere?”