The Chocolate Jewel Case: A Chocoholic Mystery (27 page)

Then I defiantly faced Harold Glick and yelled at him, “You can’t get it!”

Harold roared and raised his pistol. I ducked behind the vat. Then I heard him scream.

I looked out to see him wrestling with Darrell.

Darrell had come out of our front storeroom—the one where we had wanted him to build more shelves. He’d come up behind Harold,
and he’d swung his arm around Harold’s neck.

Caught completely by surprise, Harold was losing his footing, but he still had his pistol.

As I watched, Brenda and Tracy darted in from the shop. Brenda rushed into the storeroom behind the two struggling figures. When she rushed out—not more than a second later—she held a hammer. Darrell’s hammer. “Hold him still, Darrell!”

Brenda whacked his
elbow with that hammer. Harold screamed, and he lost his hold on the pistol.

Darrell threw Harold down onto the floor, and he, Tracy, Brenda, and Dolly all fell on him, one on each limb.

Alice ran up and licked his face.

T
he next hour was a mishmash of ambulances, police cars, friends, relations, and one little blond mutt who tried to help as Dolly and I emptied 250 pounds of melted milk chocolate from its kettle and cleaned
the Diamonte collection with hot, soapy water.

Things were so wild I don’t think I really understood just what had happened until I saw pictures of Gina and Mercy on the eleven-o’clock news a day and a half later.

“These two brave women—sisters-in-law—hired a private detective at their own expense and worked with Michigan State Police to break a major burglary ring that had specialized in valuable
antiques,” the newsanchor said. “A Warner Pier man police think is the leader of the ring was arrested Friday afternoon. Authorities believe he killed one of his fellow burglars and also seriously injured a Detroit private detective, Peter Falconer.”

Joe and I were watching the news in our own living room. Alone.

“So,” I said, “Pete is a private eye.”

“Right.”

“But you told me you’d once represented
him. Back when you were a defense attorney.”

“That was true, but it wasn’t a criminal case. It was the only divorce I ever did. Apparently I didn’t do a very good job. Pete came out of the experience with a profound distrust of women.”

“I noticed that. How did you meet Pete?”

“He did investigations for the agency I worked for in Detroit. He’s a former cop.”

The television newsman was talking
again.

“A truck loaded with valuable antiques was discovered in a barn on property leased by Harold Glick, who a state police spokesman said is actually George Haney, a convicted fence. Also being held are two men authorities believe were members of the ring, John Tallboy and Kurt Small.”

“Tallboy and Small!” I said. “Surely those aren’t the names of Lofty and Shorty!”

Joe laughed. “Yes, they
are. However, Tallboy is the short guy, and Small is the tall one.”

We laughed. The reporter listed Art as the dead man, and reported that Falconer was being treated for an injured leg at Holland Hospital. Then the report on the burglary ring bust was over, and I clicked the remote to turn the television off.

In less than forty-eight hours our lives had turned over, and possibly the most revolutionary
change was that all our houseguests had left.

Gina had collected her car from the Holland garage where it had been stored and rushed home, ready to calm any fears Grandma Ida had developed over the news reports.

Darrell had heard of a permanent job as a carpenter in Detroit and had left to try to land it. I’d also learned from Joe that Darrell was waiting for a major financial settlement for
unlawful imprisonment. He wanted to be easy to find when his money came through.

Tracy’s parents heard of our excitement and rushed back to Warner Pier to check on their only daughter. She’d moved home, and Brenda had gone to stay with her for a couple of days.

Pete was in the hospital, facing surgery the next morning. Joe had been by to see him that afternoon.

Alice had been given a new home
by a Warner Pier animal lover.

So Joe and I were alone in the TenHuis cottage. It seemed strange.

“Joe,” I said, “people keep talking as if a burglary ring just happened to be established right in our neighborhood and that that ring just happened to include your aunt’s husband. Coincidences happen, but that’s not logical.”

“No, Underwood believes it began with Gina—or maybe with Grandma Ida.”

“What could Grandma Ida have to do with a burglary ring?”

“You know how excited she was when she learned that Aunt Nettie’s house was across the road from Double Diamond? She told everyone about it—including her son-in-law, Art Atkins. Underwood thinks that was the germ of the plot to steal the Diamonte collection.”

“I thought it was when Art married Gina.”

“That was the other germ. But you’re
right. It was no coincidence. That’s what Gina had figured out. And that’s why she was in enough danger that she ran—twice.”

“Let’s look at it chronologically.”

“Maybe that’s the best way. First Gina met Art. They fell for each other—or she fell for him—and Gina’s the type who wants things legal. But Art had already had a long and successful career as a burglar—I call it successful because
he had no convictions. And one reason he’d been successful was that he had always worked alone. But even a lone burglar has to have a fence. So he had hooked up with George Haney.”

“The guy we knew as Harold, the dullest guy on the lakeshore.”

“Later, yes.”

“I talked to Gina, Joe, and she’s convinced that Art really cared for her, that he was killed because he wanted to protect her.”

“There
may be elements of truth in that. Harold needed Art’s expertise on antiques for the burglary gang he organized. And Lofty and Shorty say one reason Art was killed was that Harold became convinced he was hiding Gina. And Art must have been looking for Gina; at least, I can’t figure out any other reason for him to come by our house and make that crazy claim that he was my dad. He must have thought
you’d tell Gina.”

“Maybe if I had, if they’d gotten together, then Art wouldn’t have been killed.”

“We’ll never know. But let’s remember that Art began by exploiting Gina’s knowledge.”

“So how did this lead to Harold Glick becoming our neighbor? Was it just because Warner Pier is a place with lots of wealthy families who own summer cottages—and antiques?”

“No, Underwood thinks Harold came
because of the Diamonte collection.”

“But Harold moved over here six months ago, and the Garretts and the Golds hadn’t been at their cottage in years. How would anyone know that the collection would be making a stop here?”

“They read it in the
Chicago Tribune
.”

“Oh, come on! I read about the exhibit of the collection in the
Trib
, but it didn’t say anything about Warner Pier.”

“You didn’t read
the article with the attitude of a thief, Lee. Underwood got hold of a copy this afternoon, and the story said that the Chicago show was a final exhibit of the collection as a whole, because it was to be auctioned off. Alex Gold was even quoted as saying the family was going to have a reunion so each member could select a piece to keep as a souvenir. Elsewhere in the article it mentioned the family’s
longtime ties to Chicago and that they had a summer cottage on Lake Michigan.”

“That’s still a far-fetched deduction.”

“It gave Art a direction to steer Gina, and she was able to pick up gossip—quite innocently—and learn that the Garretts and Alex Gold were going to take over their summer cottage again and were planning to hold a family reunion there this summer.”

“Oh. So if anyone knew about
Alex’s habit of carrying valuables . . .”

“Right. And Gina says lots of people in the antique business knew that Alex carried jewelry that way. In fact, Underwood told me plenty of jewelers carry valuables casually, just stick them in their pockets. They feel—maybe rightly—that it’s safer to do that than to make a big deal out of it.”

“Because a special bag or a bodyguard would attract attention.”

“That’s the idea. Anyway, six months ago Harold found a house to rent that was within walking distance of Double Diamond. And it had a handy-dandy barn for storing the gang’s loot from other burglaries.”

“I wonder if I mentioned that house to Gina.”

“Don’t worry about it. Harold had a plan that would have worked with any house he rented. He had definitely made the move from fence to become leader
of the burglary ring. After he moved over here, he claimed to have been the victim of the burglars, assuming that would make him look innocent. Then all he had to do was walk Alice around the neighborhood every day, keeping an eye on the Double Diamond cottage until he saw it had been opened.”

“Meanwhile,” I said, “Lofty and Shorty had rented that ramshackle house up the river and were making
themselves and their boat part of the scenery.”

“Right. Art hung back until he was needed. As I said, Art always liked to work alone. But he was definitely committed to the theft of the Diamonte collection, and he was going to need to fence the stones through Harold.”

“Then Gina figured out that Art was a thief and, even worse, that he’d been pumping her for information about potential victims.”

Joe nodded. “She pleaded with him, asked him to give up crime. Of course, she was talking to a guy who’d never earned an honest dollar in his life, so she didn’t have much of a chance at changing him. When she figured that out, she filed for divorce. Art took off.”

“Poor Gina,” I said. “Harold was looking for Art, so she was threatened by Lofty and Shorty.”

“That was when she called me and asked
if I knew a private investigator. She was desperate to find Art, and she knew both of them were in danger.”

“And you didn’t tell me!”

“I didn’t know, Lee. All Gina told me was that she had some problem with her husband. I thought she was trying to catch him with another woman or to find hidden assets. It never occurred to me that he was a burglar! Luckily, I recommended Pete, and he does have
experience in undercover criminal investigation.”

“How did your mom get involved with Pete?”

“About a month ago she realized that the rumors about the burglaries were affecting her agency. So she asked me about a private detective, too. By then I knew that Pete was looking into the burglaries, though I didn’t know he was doing it for Gina. So I suggested Mom call him. Pete saw the connection
right away and began working with the insurance companies.”

“How did Darrell fit in?”

“Only on the periphery. Pete was one of the group who had worked to get Darrell released. Those guys were still keeping an eye on him, making sure he had a place to live and wasn’t too lonely. So Pete pumped Darrell for prison gossip about Haney—Harold—when he was trying to find Art. Darrell was eager to return
the favors Pete had done for him and asked more questions than he should have. That had two results. First, he heard that Tallboy and Small—Lofty and Shorty—were looking for Art. Second, Lofty and Shorty heard that Darrell had been asking questions, and all of a sudden Detroit was too hot for Darrell.”

“So that’s why you suddenly decided you needed a helper for the summer.”

“Pete called me,
Lee. I couldn’t say no. But at that time it didn’t occur to me or to Pete that the burglary gang was already in place—right in our backyard.”

“How did Pete get hurt? I never have understood that.”

Joe laughed. “He fell out of the loft in Harold’s barn. He’ll never live it down.”

“What was he doing in the loft of Harold’s barn?”

“When you called us away from our pizza to tell us that Lofty
and Shorty had been lying in wait for you at the house, Pete, Darrell, and I all took off at top speed. But Pete already had ID’d Harold as George Haney, though he hadn’t seen fit to share that information with any of us. So while Darrell and I went to make sure you were okay, Pete went to Harold’s to see if Lofty and Shorty had gone there. They had. The three of them were talking in the barn, and
when they drove off, Harold left the door standing ajar. Pete couldn’t resist. He slid inside to see what was there.”

“And he found the U-Haul truck.”

“Right. It hadn’t been loaded then. Harold came back, and good old athletic Pete hid by climbing into the rafters. Unfortunately, one rafter wouldn’t hold him. It broke, and he tumbled down right at Harold’s feet.”

“Pete had his pistol! Or, at
least, it wasn’t in his stuff on the porch. I’m surprised he didn’t plug Harold.”

“Pete apparently managed to land on his head and his leg at the same time. He was unconscious after the fall.”

“He probably landed on his leg and banged his head on the truck.”