The Chocolate Castle Clue Read online

  And behind me, someone screamed.

  Chapter 3

  I must have looked like a king-sized lemur. When a long, tall woman throws up her long, tall arms, leaps into the air kicking her long, tall legs, turns around in midleap, and lands facing the opposite direction—well, a lemur would have done it a lot more gracefully.

  But that scream might have been the most startling sound I’d ever heard. I had had no idea there was anybody behind me until the shriek from hell cut loose. Aunt Nettie was lucky I didn’t swarm up her rubber plant and wind up hanging from the canvas blind.

  After I landed, facing the couch instead of the chairs, the excitement continued. Aunt Nettie and Ruby both jumped up and rushed to the couch.

  On it sat a tiny woman with curly golden blond ringlets and a complexion of peach and ivory, so delicate it might have been painted on like an antique china doll’s pink cheeks. Piercing cries were coming from her. She was shaking her hands as if they were on fire and she was trying to throw them off the ends of her arms.

  Aunt Nettie and Ruby both began to—well, pet her. One sat down on each side of her, and they each began to stroke her back and make cooing sounds, as if she were a real baby, not a grown woman who looked and acted like one.

  I stood there with my mouth gaped open and my heart racing, still clutching the giant trophy.

  The next second Margo Street ran onto the porch. After the brusque greeting I’d received from Ms. Street at the door, I thought she might slap the screaming woman, or at least yell at her. But she didn’t.

  Aunt Nettie immediately yielded her seat on the couch to Ms. Street, and the famous business leader sat beside the doll-like woman and continued the stroking and gentle talk. The tiny woman with the blond curls turned to her and received an embrace. The screams faded into sobs.

  “It’s all right, Kathy.” Margo Street spoke in a coaxing voice. “You’re fine.”

  I belatedly remembered that two of the sextet members were sisters—Margo and Kathy Street.

  My college research on Margo Street hadn’t revealed that she had a sister who wasn’t quite normal. But from the reaction of Ruby, Aunt Nettie, and Margo, I gathered that this was the case. At least none of them had seemed surprised by her strange outburst.

  Next Hazel appeared with a glass of water. She poked it at Margo without comment. Margo took it with a nod of thanks and offered it to her sister. Hazel turned and went back toward the kitchen. She didn’t look as sympathetic as the others did.

  At that moment I realized that the trophy had disappeared, right out of my hands. I looked for it, but it was nowhere in sight. Instead, Aunt Nettie was standing beside me, outwardly placid.

  “Lee, let’s take that box into the living room and see what else is in there,” she said.

  I obediently picked up the box I’d dropped on the coffee table and followed her. As soon as we were out of earshot, I spoke. “What brought all that on?”

  “Kathy’s problem?”

  “Yes. Did I do something?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “I didn’t even know she was behind me until she started screaming.”

  “She was lying down on the couch. I’m sorry she startled you.”

  “Why all the yelling?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Did the trophy upset her? Did she think I was going to hit her with it?”

  “Oh, no.” Aunt Nettie’s face formed a smile. “Hi, Ruby. Is Kathy better?”

  “Yes, she’s fine. She was just startled.” Ruby turned to me.

  “She sure threw a hissy fit, didn’t she? If I’d been you, Lee, I would have wet my pants. Some excitement.”

  Excitement? I would have called it hysteria. But I didn’t. “I hadn’t seen her lying there on the couch,” I said. “I didn’t mean to do anything to upset her.”

  “You were fine. Is that the box of memorabilia?”

  “Yes, I found it in an old filing cabinet. Uncle Phil must have put it there.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Aunt Nettie said, “is why Phil didn’t tell me he’d put all those things out in the storeroom. I thought they had been thrown out.”

  She and Ruby began to look through the items in the box, taking them out and arranging them on the coffee table, lining up pictures, programs, and newspaper clippings.

  “Where’s the trophy?” Ruby’s voice was elaborately casual.

  “It’s safely put away,” Aunt Nettie said. Her voice was sunny and cheerful. “I was sure I threw it out thirty years ago.”

  Hmmm. Apparently only the trophy was seen as a threatening object by Kathy Street. The rest of the souvenirs were evidently okay. Stranger and stranger.

  It was time for me to get out of there. I stood up. “Aunt Nettie, I’d better be on my way.”

  She made the usual hostess noises. Don’t run off, you’ve barely come, have a glass of iced tea, blah-blah-blah. But I assured her that I wanted to get home and take a shower.

  “Joe doesn’t know it yet,” I said, “but he’s taking me out to dinner. Someplace nice.”

  Ruby and I said good-bye, and Aunt Nettie walked me to the front door. Just as we arrived there, the doorbell rang.

  “Oh good,” Aunt Nettie said. She smiled happily and opened the door. “Julie!”

  Suddenly I was surrounded by six women, and four of them were squealing the name of the newcomer. “Julie!” “Jules!” “Juliet!” “Julie!” It was a pile-on.

  I couldn’t get out the door, so I stepped back and observed. Everyone—even Hazel—seemed thrilled to see the woman who was greeting all her old friends as she inched through the door. This had to be Julie Hensley, the final member of the sextet.

  I could hardly see her for the crowd, but what I did see wasn’t particularly unusual. She was an ordinary height and size, with hair that shade of ash blond that’s designed to hide gray without looking extreme. No flaming red for Julie Hensley. No, her hair was a shade of blond that looked career friendly.

  The only odd thing about her was her outfit. She wore a black pants suit and a white shirt with a narrow ribbon tied into a bow under the collar of the shirt. It looked almost like a uniform. Then I remembered that Julie Hensley owned a successful limousine service. Aunt Nettie had told me that her husband had founded it, but Julie had run it solo since he died ten years ago.

  Despite being in the age-group and coming from the small-town culture that might have pushed them toward housewife-hood, all of the Pier-O-Ettes had had careers. All except Kathy Street. Somehow I couldn’t picture her being successful in the working world.

  In fact, Kathy hadn’t joined the women who were hugging Julie Hensley and squealing excitedly at her. Kathy had come in from the porch and was standing apart from the excitement, her hands clutched as if in supplication. She was smiling timidly as she waited her turn for a greeting.

  Finally the group parted, almost as if the women were forming a reception line, and a clear aisle opened between Julie and Kathy. Kathy smiled timidly, and Julie took three running steps and threw her arms around the baby-doll woman.

  Was it my imagination, or did the entire group breathe a sigh of relief? Had they been nervous about how Kathy and Julie would greet each other?

  “Kathy!” Julie’s voice was low and throaty. “It’s been so long.”

  “Oh, Julie!” It was the first time I’d heard Kathy speak, not scream, and her voice amazed me. It was incredibly melodious and rich.

  “It’s so wonderful to see you,” Kathy said. “You’re as pretty as ever.”

  “I was never as pretty as you,” Julie said. “I don’t think you’ve changed at all.”

  They hugged again. “Can you forgive me?” Kathy said.

  “All that old stuff is forgotten, sweetie.”

  After saying that, Julie stepped back and looked deeply into Kathy’s eyes. For the first time I got a good look at Julie’s face. She had deep dimples in each cheek, and her expression was pure kindness.

&n
bsp; I should have been touched, I guess. But my nature has a real streak of cynicism. I found myself wondering how such a seemingly sweet person kept a gang of limo drivers in line.

  Kathy was still talking. “I was afraid to come back to Warner Pier, Julie. I was scared you were still angry with me.”

  Julie didn’t answer her directly. She simply put her arm around Kathy’s shoulders and left it there. Then she reached in the pocket of her black jacket and pulled out something small and round. She waved it in the air.

  She spoke clearly. “Pier-O-Ettes! Ready!”

  I saw that the object was a pitch pipe. Julie blew into it.

  Like magic, all six women came to attention. Then they turned around—did pirouettes—in unison. They all smiled—even Kathy—and they hummed to get the right pitch. Then Julie gave the downbeat with the hand that held the pitch pipe, and they broke into “Pennies from Heaven.”

  It was great! I stood there enthralled while they sang the whole song. The front door was clear now, but they’d have had to shove me out the door to make me leave. I saw why the Pier-O-Ettes had won so many honors. They were terrific—even forty-five years after their heyday.

  And Kathy—Kathy was the lead. Her singing voice was just as lovely as her speaking voice. She sounded like real maple syrup pouring onto pancakes. Incredibly smooth and sweet.

  The performance was astonishing.

  After the final note I applauded madly. I even whistled and stomped my feet. I tried to become a one-woman standing ovation.

  This entertained the six singers greatly. Aunt Nettie and Ruby each gave me a big hug, and even Hazel seemed pleased by my reaction. Kathy, Julie, and Margo smiled broadly.

  “Lee knows singing,” Aunt Nettie announced. “She’s done some herself.”

  “Not close harmony like that,” I said. “Y’all are wonderful. Was that your signature tune?”

  They assured me it was. “We’re supposed to sing it at the reunion banquet next month,” Aunt Nettie said.

  I looked at my watch. “And now I’ve got to get out of here. Call me if you need chocolate! I deliver.”

  Aunt Nettie assured the group she had an ample supply of chocolates already in the house, gesturing to a dish piled high with them on the coffee table. The other Pier-O-Ettes oohed and aahed, and both Ruby and Julie took chocolate versions of their old high school and popped them into their mouths. Then the five of them moved back toward the screened-in porch. Aunt Nettie came outside with me.

  Parked at the curb was a long white limo. “I see Julie brought transportation,” I said.

  Aunt Nettie smiled. “She said she’d check a limo out for the week. If we decide to go anywhere, it’ll be more fun to travel together.”

  “It looks as if the six of you are scheduled for a great week. Except for—well, what’s the deal with Kathy Street?”

  “Kathy was always rather”—Aunt Nettie paused—“fragile.”

  “Was it the trophy that upset her?”

  Aunt Nettie nodded. “Yes. Lee, I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “It’s none of my affair.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind you knowing about it. But Margo doesn’t like us to talk about it.” She offered me a hug. “Thanks for bringing the box of stuff by.”

  “If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

  When I turned back toward my van, I realized that a man was walking up Aunt Nettie’s front walk. He was tall and broad, and he had silvery hair, but dark eyes and eyebrows. A square black bag, closed with a zipper, hung from his shoulder. He was quite a striking older gent.

  “Nettie? Nettie Vanderheide?” His voice was deep, and I’d have expected it to be firm and commanding, but the words sounded cautious.

  “That was my name a long time ago.” Aunt Nettie sounded cautious, too. “Do I know you?”

  The man stopped about six feet away. “I hope so,” he said.

  “I’m Sheppard Stone.”

  I’d never heard Aunt Nettie mention anyone named Sheppard Stone. I checked her reaction.

  Her face had turned as gray as her hair.

  Chapter 4

  I reached for Aunt Nettie, afraid she was going to faint. She did grab my hand and hold on tight, but she didn’t fall over.

  “Shep.” Her voice was remarkably calm. “Where did you come from?

  “From Kentucky.” The newcomer smiled, and he had a great smile. “When I left Warner Pier I went back to my roots, and I’ve been there ever since.”

  “And I never left Warner Pier.”

  “Your name is Jones now? I thought everybody in Warner Pier had a name beginning with ‘Van.’ Do I know Mr. Jones?”

  “No, Hogan only came to Warner Pier seven years ago. But he’s my second husband. I married Phil TenHuis when I was twenty. He died five years ago.”

  “I don’t think I knew him either.”

  “Probably not. Though Phil did come to the Castle sometimes.” She waved the hand that held mine. “This is Phil’s niece, Lee Woodyard. She’s the nearest thing I have to a child. Did you marry, Shep?”

  “Oh, sure. Twice. No kids. But I’m single now.” He gave that charming smile again. “Are you going to ask me in?”

  Aunt Nettie glanced over her shoulder nervously. “Actually, Shep, this isn’t the best time. How long will you be in town?”

  “I don’t know yet. How long will everyone be here?”

  “Everyone?”

  I realized that Aunt Nettie didn’t want to add Shep Stone to the mix of old high school chums who were already in her house. And I thought Shep was beginning to realize that, too.

  “Are all the Pier-O-Ettes here?”

  Aunt Nettie nodded unenthusiastically.

  “It would be great to see them.”

  “Well, Shep—it might not be wise.”

  Now the guy was definitely frowning. “Why not, Nettie? Are they mad at me?”

  “It’s Kathy, Shep.” Aunt Nettie sighed. “She’s just as wacky as ever.”

  “Oh. I see. And she’s mad at me?”

  “I honestly don’t know. But she’s already had one hysterical fit. Let me talk to Margo and see if I can figure it out. Then we can get together later. Where are you staying?”

  Shep said he was at the Holland Holiday Inn. His smile was gone. He turned and walked a few steps down the walk, then whirled and came back.

  “Nettie,” he said angrily. “If you all didn’t want to see me, why did you write and invite me to come?”

  Aunt Nettie had invited this guy? I didn’t think so. Not from her reaction. I waited to see how she’d answer him.

  Aunt Nettie took her hand out of mine, stepped forward, and put that hand on Shep Stone’s arm.

  “I didn’t invite you!” She sounded anguished. “Not that it isn’t good to see you—but, Shep, I didn’t even know where you were living! How could I write and invite you?”

  She and the tall man stared at each other.

  Finally Stone spoke. “Then who the hell did? I sure wouldn’t have showed up without an invite.” He turned around abruptly and walked away.

  Aunt Nettie followed him. “Shep, let me talk to the rest of the group. Maybe somebody knows something about it. Do you have a cell phone?”

  Stone recited the number. Aunt Nettie was still so rattled that going back into the house for paper and pencil seemed to be beyond her. Luckily I had a notebook and pen in my purse, so I wrote the number down at the bottom of a grocery list. Then I copied it onto a fresh page and ripped it out. Aunt Nettie put my note in her pocket, and I hoped that she’d be able to find it later.

  Shep Stone left. I stood and watched him drive away—he had a nice-looking black SUV—then turned to Aunt Nettie. “Now, what was that all about?”

  “I don’t know, Lee! I certainly didn’t invite Shep to the reunion.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Back when we used to sing at the Castle, Shep worked there.” She shook her head. “We were all so young then!”
r />   “You’re not over the hill yet. What did Shep do?”

  “I don’t know, really. I never understood just what happened.”

  “I meant his job. Was he a bartender? A waiter?”

  “Oh! He checked IDs, kept things in order. Anything Mr. Rice wanted done.”

  “So Shep was a bouncer. And who was Mr. Rice?”

  Aunt Nettie seemed to come back from a faraway place. She didn’t answer my question. “Oh, Lee! You need to go home.”

  “Joe won’t go to pieces if I’m a little late. Who was Mr. Rice?”

  “He owned the Castle. Listen, this is a long story, and we really can’t go into it now. You go home, and we’ll talk later.”

  She gave me a loving little push. I argued a bit more, but she kept urging me to leave. Finally I left, telling her to call me if she needed anything. Such as help.

  Why did I have the feeling she might need help?

  As I drove off, Aunt Nettie was still out on her front lawn. Julie Hensley had joined her, and they were conferring seriously. I felt a little less worried at the thought that she was apparently willing to confide in at least one of the Pier-O-Ettes.

  When I got home, Joe greeted me with that smile that seemed to mean he was really glad to see me. It made me feel a lot better.

  “Where’ve you been?” he said. “I went down the alley and saw that you and Dolly had closed up the storage room.”

  “Oh, I had quite an experience,” I said. “For one thing, I got to hear the Pier-O-Ettes sing.”

  That got Joe’s attention; he had to hear the whole story. We got a couple of Labatts from the refrigerator and went out onto our own screened porch, and I told all. By the end of the story, life seemed to have improved—except for one thing. I was still just as mystified by the events at Aunt Nettie’s as I had been when I left there.

  Why had Uncle Phil hidden—yes, that was the right word for it, I decided—Aunt Nettie’s high school souvenirs?

  Why had Kathy Street gone nuts at the sight of the trophy?

  How did Aunt Nettie and the other Pier-O-Ettes know the rest of the souvenirs wouldn’t upset her?