When Tracy arrived, I simply gave up. I was so up in the air about Carolyn that I decided to drive out to her shop, then maybe to her home. At least I could see if the House of Roses van was in sight at either location.
It was around the side of her cute painted-lady shop.
My first reaction to seeing it was relief. Carolyn must have come in. I got out of my van, picked my way through the slush in her parking lot, crossed the wide Victorian veranda, and confidently reached for the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. The door to the shop was locked.
I peered through the windows that flanked the center front door, mentally cursing their lace curtains and the elaborate arrangements of dolls and doilies, flowers and froufrou that Carolyn had dressed them with. I couldn’t see inside.
I walked around to the side of the building. The side door had a glass window that looked into the office. At least it didn’t have a lace curtain. But when I looked inside, nothing out of the ordinary was visible.
This was not reassuring. With the van there, Carolyn should be there, too. Her winter hours were roughly ten a.m. to four p.m. It was now three fifteen. She should be there. At least she should have taken care of Mercy’s bronze roses. Or called either Joe or me to explain why she hadn’t done so.
I walked on around the house. There was the window over the work sink, the one Jack Ingersoll had suspected had allowed a burglar to get into the shop. Thanks to my extreme height, I was able to peek into that. All I saw was an empty workroom. Empty of people, that is. A large box was on the stainless steel work table, and a tall glass vase stood beside it.
I went back to the van, climbed in, and called Carolyn’s house on my cell phone. I talked to the answering machine again. Then I gnawed my nails.
But why was I so concerned? Because the shop ought to be open, and it wasn’t? There was a ready explanation for that. Carolyn owned her own business. She could close up anytime she wanted to.
Was I concerned because the House of Roses van was there, and I knew it was Carolyn’s only vehicle? There was a ready explanation for that, too. A friend could have come by to pick her up. They could be having a long lunch, visiting a museum, seeing a movie. Heck, Carolyn was a consenting adult. She could have gone off with a boyfriend and checked into a motel.
I just about convinced myself I was being silly. Then I thought about Mercy’s roses, and I remembered something.
That box on the workroom table. It had printing on the side. And that tall glass vase beside it. It was exactly the kind of vase Carolyn and I had discussed using for Mercy’s roses.
I jumped out of the van and plowed through the snow, back to the window that overlooked the workshop. Yes, my memory had been right. That box said “Grand Rapids Wholesale Flowers” on the side.
I was convinced that Carolyn had started to arrange Mercy’s flowers, but something had interrupted her. She had left without even putting the flowers in her walk-in cooler. This was no casual lunch date. Something was wrong.
I started to call 9-1-1, but I chickened out. I was simply afraid to talk to Hogan Jones, to tell him I was being nosy again.
So I called Joe, told him the whole story, and asked him to call Hogan. After all, Hogan couldn’t refuse a call from a fellow city official.
And he didn’t. He agreed to come right out.
Joe came, too. He and I waited in the van while one of the patrolmen, Jerry Cherry, jimmied the back window and climbed inside.
Carolyn’s body was under the work table.
Chapter 11
C
arolyn was dead, but it was hours before I knew anything more than that.
As the investigators began to gather, and it became obvious that they didn’t need me hanging around, I drove back to the shop. The chief told Joe to follow me. I had the feeling Hogan wanted him with me, not because he was worried about my emotional needs, but because he was concerned for my physical safety.
I made it to the shop safely. By then it was close to five o’clock and everyone was leaving. Aunt Nettie, Joe, and I huddled in the break room. Then I thought about Lindy—who’d barely escaped an attack the evening before—and I called her. She was fine, she said. The kids were home from school, her mother was there playing Monopoly with them, and a Warner Pier patrolman had just pulled into the drive.
That was reassuring, but I was still worried about the rest of the Seventh Major Food Group. Whether they were friends or suspects, I wanted to know if they were all right. I went to the office and called each of them. Jason didn’t answer, but I left a message on his machine. Margaret answered on the first ring. Like Lindy, she also had a house full of kids, and she said a Holland policeman had been by to check all her doors and windows. Her husband was on the way home. Diane and Ronnie Denham also said they were all right, but Diane was too upset to tell me any more than that.
I was just breathing a sigh of relief when someone banged loudly on the door. I whirled to look. It was dark outside, but when I went close to the window in the shop’s front door, I could see a face. It was Martin Schrader.
He didn’t seem to be armed, and Joe and Aunt Nettie were there, so I let him in. At the moment Martin didn’t look at all like the suave businessman I’d seen at Julie’s memorial service. His distinguished gray hair was hidden by a warm hat, and instead of a tailor-made suit, he wore a navy blue down jacket. But the change in him was more than his wardrobe. His face didn’t look suave either. It looked pinched and worried.
When he spoke, his voice was shrill. “What’s happened out at House of Roses?”
I looked at Joe, wondering if I should talk about it. Joe shrugged. “It’ll be all over town by now,” he said.
I told Martin that Carolyn was dead. “We don’t know any details,” I said. “I got worried about her, and—with Joe to back me up—I more or less demanded that the shop be checked out. But the chief sent us home after they found her body.”
Suddenly I remembered that Martin Schrader didn’t know either Joe or Aunt Nettie, so I introduced them.
He acknowledged the introductions with an absentminded nod. “I can’t believe this,” he said. “Carolyn! Of all people. She was the original take-charge woman. The last person I’d expect to be the victim of a crime.”
“Why?” I said.
My question seemed to surprise Martin. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and he walked up and down the shop a few steps. “I’m not sure why I said that. I guess I had the feeling that if someone tried to attack Carolyn, she’d tear them limb from limb.”
“Carolyn did tend to be outspoken,” I said, “but I wouldn’t have expected her to have a lot of physical prowler. I mean, prowess! I don’t think she was particularly strong.”
“Her tongue could skin a man alive,” Martin said.
“I’m glad to say she never spoke that harshly to me. But I can see her being aggressive.”
“Aggressive! That’s not a strong enough word.” He stopped talking and looked at each of us. “I assume all of you know I dated Carolyn for a while—actually, several years back.”
I nodded, and I guess Joe and Aunt Nettie did, too. “Warner Pier is a small town,” Joe said.
“Yes. Well, one time my mother was down for the weekend, and she needed a prescription refilled. Carolyn and I went over to the Superette to pick it up. We took the bottle along, because naturally the pharmacist had to call her doctor in Grand Rapids and get an okay. And that druggist—the one who talks so much—”
“Greg Glossop.” Joe, Aunt Nettie, and I spoke in unison.
“Anyway, he gave us the wrong medication. And Carolyn noticed right away.”
“Good for her,” Aunt Nettie said.
“Yes, that was fine. But what wasn’t fine was the way Carolyn tore into him about it. I simply couldn’t believe the way she talked to him. Then Carolyn acted—well, as if I ought to be
pleased
at the way she’d behaved.” Martin frowned. “Believe me, if Mother had heard her—
she
definitely wouldn’t have been pleased. After that I was always nervous about bringing Carolyn around Mother. Eventually we quit seeing each other.”
And you felt that you’d had a narrow escape, I thought.
Joe and I exchanged quick glances, and I thought Joe’s lips almost twitched into a grin before he spoke. “I’d heard Carolyn had a sharp temper. But I barely knew her. How well did she know Julie?”
“Julie!” Martin pulled his dark cap off with an exasperated gesture. “I don’t know how Julie got mixed up with her. I nearly fell over when Carolyn showed up at the memorial service.”
“Julie sought her out,” I said. “Julie said she wanted all the party planning business from around Warner Pier. She was quite up front about wanting to make professional contacts down here. And Carolyn would have been a good contact for her. She had quite a successful business during the summer season, decorated for a lot of the big parties the summer people give. She and Julie could have referred business to each other. But I never got a hint that Julie knew that you and Carolyn had dated each other.”
Martin shook his head. “Julie and Carolyn were exact opposites. Picturing them exchanging friendly e-mails boggles the mind.”
“It’s even stranger that they seem to have shared the same fate,” Joe said.
Martin shuddered. “Murdered by intruders in their own spaces.”
Joe spoke again. “How did you find out something had happened to Carolyn?”
“I drove by there and saw all the police cars.”
“Okay, but why did you come here? I mean, to TenHuis Chocolade. How did you know Lee was involved?”
“As I drove by House of Roses, I saw Ms. McKinney pulling out of the parking lot. I guess you were behind her, in that pickup that’s outside. When I saw all the law enforcement and an ambulance, I knew something bad had happened at Carolyn’s shop.”
Martin gave a guilty smile. “I guess I needed some Dutch courage. I went down to the Sidewalk Café and had a scotch—getting my nerve up to come and ask Ms. McKinney—Lee—what happened. I hadn’t had the courage to pull in at Carolyn’s, the way I had planned.”
I felt surprised. “I thought you weren’t seeing her anymore.”
“I hadn’t seen Carolyn for several years.”
“Then why were you planning to go by the shop?”
Martin ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? Carolyn called my office yesterday. Left a message with my assistant. She asked me to come to see her. She said she had some information she thought I’d want.”
I thought about that one for a minute. It was a surprise. Carolyn had discussed Martin with me the previous day, but she hadn’t sounded as if she planned to be in contact with him.
What on earth could have inspired her call?
While I was thinking, Joe was doing his attorney act, quizzing Martin. All that Carolyn had told the assistant, Martin said, was that she had some information he might want. He’d had no idea what Carolyn’s information had been. He’d been staying down at the Warner Pier house, but he’d gotten the message when he made a routine call to his office.
“You need to tell Chief Jones about that call,” Joe said.
“Sure, if he has time to talk to me. There’s no secret about the call, but I have no idea what Carolyn wanted to tell me, and I doubt it had anything to do with her death.” Then Martin looked at his watch. “I’ll call the chief in the morning. I told Brad I’d take him to dinner. We need to talk about Julie’s estate.”
“At one point you wanted to talk to me,” I said. “Has that situation resolved itself?”
“Not really.” Martin pulled a pocket date book out from inside his winter jacket and consulted it. “How about lunch tomorrow?” He turned toward Joe, including him in the invitation. “Sidewalk Café?”
Joe declined, but I accepted for one o’clock. Martin wrote the date in his book, then zipped his jacket. “I guess I’d better head back to the house to meet Brad.”
“Are you and Brad both staying there?” Joe asked.
“Brad actually lives on the property and drives to Grand Rapids every day. I’m just down for a business meeting early tomorrow.”
A business meeting? What business could Martin Schrader have that couldn’t be done better in Grand Rapids? I almost asked, but decided that would be entirely too nosy, even for me. So Martin put his warm hat back on, and I unlocked and opened the shop’s street door for him.
“I know Carolyn’s death is a real shock to you,” I said, “coming on top of losing Julie.”
He looked at me with eyes that were as black as Julie’s had been. And suddenly they looked really miserable. “Carolyn and I—well, I almost married her. Even though we had grown apart, yes, it’s still a shock.”
Married? The word jogged my memory. “Oh!” I yelped out the sound, then grabbed Martin’s sleeve and tugged him back inside the shop. “I’d been wanting to ask you something!”
Martin looked wary, but he came back inside.
“Who was Julie married to?” I said.
He scowled. I had the feeling he didn’t want to answer.
“I know I’m simply being nosy,” I said. “But Julie—well, she had a way of getting people to tell her things. But she never told the rest of us anything about herself. Nobody on the Seventh Major Food Group newslist had any idea she’d been married.”
“The marriage was over. It doesn’t really matter who Julie married. He was just a whiner.”
I persisted. “For one thing, Julie seemed so young. She didn’t seem old enough to have been married.”
“Julie was twenty-eight.”
“Twenty-eight! She looked about twenty-one. Of course, I knew she went to high school with Margaret Van Meter, but I put Margaret at about twenty-five—in spite of all those kids.”
Martin looked confused. “All those kids? Now who is this?”
“Never mind,” I said. “I’m dithering. I’m just surprised. I’m surprised to learn Julie was as old as she was, and I was surprised to learn she’d been married and hadn’t ever mentioned it.”