The Chocolate Raccoon Rigmarole Page 3

  I had to fight not to laugh. The idea of anyone who wasn’t completely deaf not hearing Dolly’s loud speaking voice, or her ultraloud yelling voice, was hysterically funny. But I gulped down my giggles and spoke.

  “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  “Of course! That must have been the first call the county got. Then I called you and Joe. But nothing seemed to stop her. And Mike—” Dolly’s tears began to run harder. “Oh, Lee! Mike yelled at me. He said, ‘Shut up, Dolly!’ ”

  I handed Dolly another Kleenex and patted her back. And someone knocked on Dolly’s back door.

  Dolly jumped to her feet and shouted, “Maybe they’ve let Mike go!” I was nearly trampled as she headed for the stairway. I followed as closely as I could. Dolly yanked the back door open, and the two of us burst into the alley.

  “Mike!”

  But it wasn’t Mike. It was another one of the sheriff’s deputies. He fell back two or three steps as Dolly almost bowled him over. Faced with two towering women, he spoke almost shyly. “Ms. Jolly? Sheriff Vinton wants you to step over to the jewelry shop.”

  If they wanted Dolly, they obviously wanted me as well, or so I figured. The two of us followed the deputy to the next-door shop and went in by the alley entrance. We found ourselves in a storage area, a crudely furnished room lined from floor to ceiling with boxes. Two bare lightbulbs were the only illumination. Sheriff Vinton, Hogan, Joe, and Mike were all standing in a clump, surrounding the female deputy who had apparently started the whole commotion.

  Hogan stepped toward us, while the others stayed back.

  “Thanks for coming, Dolly,” Hogan said. “We want to double-check a couple of things.”

  Dolly’s voice boomed at its usual strength. “Glad to help! I’ll do anything to get this mess sorted out!”

  She had barely finished her sentence when a tremendous clamor broke out, and all the people in the room whirled toward the sound.

  The noise was coming from the wall behind us, an area toward the front of the store. It was a heavy thumping sound. Bam! Bam! Bam!

  I jumped all over. Dolly picked up an empty Coke bottle that was sitting on a table beside her and flourished it like a club. Joe whirled toward the jewelry shop cartons. Mike seemed to step back and put up his dukes, and Sheriff Vinton muttered an extremely impolite word. Only the deputy and Hogan looked calm; both of them gaped, but they didn’t yell.

  Joe was the first person to react usefully. “It’s coming from back here!” He went to an inconspicuous door in the paneling, spotted the key sticking out of a small lock, turned it, and pulled the door open.

  Then the banging became really loud. Paige pulled out a large flashlight, and Joe felt around for a light switch. “It’s a storage closet!” Joe said. “And there’s somebody in it!”

  Joe, Mike, and Hogan crowded around the door. By pushing and shoving the other people, I was able to see what they were looking at.

  A small man was standing inside. His hands were tied behind him. The loud noise had clearly been his feet, banging into the wooden door like a kettledrum.

  Chapter 3

  I hollered before anyone else.

  “Alex! You were locked in!”

  Joe and Hogan pulled him out of the closet. Hogan looked at Joe and mouthed the word “Who?” as he fumbled with the blindfold.

  Joe answered. “Alex Gold.”

  I gathered that Joe and I were the only two people present who knew Alex. I turned to the sheriff. “Mr. Gold is one of our neighbors,” I said. “Or at least he’s a frequent visitor to our neighborhood. He’s the uncle of Garnet Garrett. She and her husband, Dick, have a cottage across Lake Shore Drive from our place. Mr. Gold is a new business owner in Warner Pier. He owns this store!”

  Alex Gold was a friendly, pleasant person, and Joe and I both enjoyed knowing him. He was a small-boned man in his sixties, no taller than five feet three. He’d be easy to manhandle.

  How could anyone treat such a nice person that way?

  As Joe and Hogan untied his hands and removed his blindfold, and someone got Alex a chair and a drink of water, I rapidly told the sheriff how he had recently leased the site of the jewelry store and was changing its stock to reflect the interests of Warner Pier.

  “Mr. Gold is an expert on antique jewelry,” I said. “Since Warner Pier is something of an art colony, he’s remodeling the store to become a space for local artists and merchants to display and sell handmade and antique jewelry. He’s been installing shelving and generally sprucing the place up.”

  While I was chattering to the sheriff, Dolly was quietly getting Alex Gold cold cloths. In other words, I talked about his need for care; Dolly actually did things to help him feel better.

  Neither Dolly nor I offered to leave the scene. I wanted to know just what had happened, and I knew she did, too.

  The explanation was simple, or at least that’s what Alex told us after the EMTs had arrived and had assured the lawmen that he hadn’t been seriously injured.

  Alex said he had decided to stay at the store and catch up on some paperwork that evening. But first, he went down the street to Herrera’s Restaurant for dinner. When he returned, he came in through the front door, walked into the storeroom, and found himself facing two men in ski masks.

  “I didn’t argue with them,” Alex said. “I’m a middle-aged man who carries lots of insurance on his belongings. I work out occasionally, but I’m not going to put up a fight with two other guys. When the intruders motioned to indicate Hands up, I lifted my arms high!”

  The two intruders locked Alex inside the little closet, using gestures to threaten to tie him up more firmly if he called for help or otherwise made noise.

  Alex said he couldn’t describe either intruder. “Both of them were taller than I am.” Alex shrugged. “But who isn’t? All the men in our family are scrawny and short. Neither of them said anything. They communicated by gestures and shoves. Their clothes? Jeans and long-sleeved shirts, cheap stuff. No logos or slogans or anything. Both were fairly tall, but they were pretty broad, too. Heavyset. Actually I can’t even swear they were men. Or even that there were just two of them. Once I thought they were motioning to someone else, but I’m not sure. But surely it was another man. I just don’t expect that kind of unladylike behavior from women! I’m just glad they didn’t decide to kick me down the basement stairs.”

  Alex gave a huge sigh. “What amazes me, though, is why they broke in right now.”

  The sheriff frowned. “Now? What was wrong with the present for a robbery?”

  “The grand opening isn’t for two weeks. We’re still working with decor. We have no stock, nothing valuable here.”

  “So what did they take?”

  “I didn’t see them take anything! Honestly, I don’t think they pocketed a thing.” Alex pointed to the ring on his right hand. “They didn’t even take this! An eighteenth-century gold signet ring. It’s worth a couple of thousand! And I’ve still got it on my finger. They didn’t bother to pull it off.”

  Paige took a deep breath. “Just like the other cases,” she said.

  Hogan glared at her. “We don’t know for sure, Paige.” Then he turned to Alex Gold. “Did you have any food in the shop?”

  “Not really. I’m not a snack fan. But there may be something around.”

  Hogan and Joe helped him get up, and Alex went to a cabinet against one wall.

  Alex began to mutter. “My niece has been eating her lunch here. She may have left something.” He began to open and shut the doors of the cupboards. Then he turned around, holding an empty blue plastic sack emblazoned with large white type. He waved the container in the air.

  “Aha!” he said. “Oreos!”

  We all stared, but Paige was the one who spoke. “The Cookie Monsters,” she said. “It was them.”

  The little group stood immobile for a moment
. Then Hogan took a deep breath.

  “Okay!” he said. “Everybody out! We’re going to do a complete sweep. I want to catch those guys. Sheriff, can you call in the state forensics team?”

  We all knew what he meant. Tonight’s burglars sounded like the ones who had hit Warner Pier shops for weeks. One of the television newsmen had given them the nickname “Cookie Monsters.”

  Little was known about them except that they prowled around local businesses, taking nothing but snacks and junk food.

  They took cookies from break rooms, chewing gum from secretaries’ desks, gumdrops from penny machines, and suckers that were supposed to distract unruly children in business offices.

  Sometimes a burglar alarm seemed to discourage them; on other occasions, it didn’t. In Alex’s case, his burglar alarm—standard equipment for a jewelry store, of course—had not yet been installed. But nothing of real value had been taken in any of the burglaries—so far. Junk food was apparently fair game.

  The low value of the stolen items was giving the burglary ring a false aura of harmlessness, I realized. Intruders got into our shops and stores, but took nothing but a few doughnuts or a box of crackers.

  It was a joke, even to most of the victims. “You’ve been burglarized? Was it the Cookie Monsters? Did they leave sticky handprints? Ha, ha, ha!”

  But Alex Gold was going to feel different about them now.

  Aunt Nettie and I would feel different, too. Equipment for creating snazzy chocolates is specialized and expensive. If the Cookie Monsters damaged ours, it would cost some real money to replace it, insurance or no. And if someone broke in and contaminated the chocolate—well, that would be a disaster I didn’t want to picture.

  We’d already discussed putting up cameras and alarms. Now I vowed to get that done ASAP.

  In the meantime, things were exciting in the back room of the jewelry store. Alex’s niece Garnet and her husband, Dick, rushed in. Garnet said one of the sheriff’s deputies had called them about the break-in.

  The Garretts, of course, were frightened. After Alex had assured them that he wasn’t injured—“just scared silly”—the three agreed to go over to Hogan’s office and wait for Alex to be interviewed there. Dolly and I were also nudged out the door. Then Joe and I stood by to make sure Hogan didn’t want or need us further; it was pretty obvious Dolly and Mike didn’t. They stood beside Joe and me, shooting uneasy glances at each other.

  Hogan emerged from the jewelry store’s back door, shaking his head. “This is sure a nutty crime wave,” he said.

  “A little too nutty,” Joe said. “The attack on Alex is an assault case, not just a prank.”

  “I agree,” Mike said. “I’m not assuming these break-ins are harmless. And don’t tell me raccoons are scootin’ around town, disguising themselves with their darlin’ little masks just to get a snack!”

  We all chuckled, but we also assured Mike that we were convinced that the culprits—whoever they were—were not kidding.

  “And, Mike, I’m sure glad you seem to have beaten the rap tonight,” I said. “What a confused mess!”

  Mike made a face, causing his eyes to match even less than they did normally. “I guess I need to get out more,” he said. “I’d have been okay if Deputy Paige What’s-’er-name had recognized me. I thought my looks were pretty memorable—and I’ve met that dame before!”

  “Well, you don’t need to meet her in the future,” Dolly said. “I’ve got a pot of coffee upstairs. Everybody, come on up.”

  Joe and I declined and started for the van, but Hogan waved us down. He moved close to us and spoke quietly. “I might call you,” he said.

  “We’ll be up,” Joe said. “What do you need?”

  Hogan’s voice was still quiet. “I’ve just got a couple of questions,” he said.

  We got in the van and left. When I looked at my watch, I was surprised to see that the time was only just after eleven. I would have sworn that we’d been roaming around downtown for hours.

  Despite the presence of every law enforcement car in the county, with accompanying noise and lights, surprisingly few people had gathered on Peach Street. I saw T. J. and Watt looking out the back door of Herrera’s, but most of the other onlookers were people who lived in the apartments over downtown businesses.

  We were nearly home when Joe’s phone rang. “Can you get it?” he asked, pulling the gadget out of his jacket pocket and shoving it in my direction.

  I grabbed for it, but I missed. By the time I had it in my hand, it had quit ringing. I looked at the screen. “No message,” I said. “But it was Hogan.”

  “I’ll call him as soon as we get home,” Joe said. “But the next time Hogan needs help, I hope he wants to make a will.”

  “Aw, Joe. Wouldn’t you rather study human nature than make dull old wills?”

  Joe reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’ve rarely run into a will that was dull and old. And you’re the one who would rather study human nature.”

  “This situation seems to have plenty of human nature to study.”

  Joe shook his head as he turned into our lane.

  Chapter 4

  In fewer than five minutes Joe was calling Hogan from our living room.

  Hogan began with a question. “Where are you?”

  “Home. Do you need us to be some other place?”

  There was a long pause. “Not if I can see you there.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Maybe nothing.” He hung up.

  Joe and I looked at each other. “Huh,” I said. “Maybe? Maybe I can make you another meat loaf sandwich. And open a beer.”

  “All I need to drink is coffee, but I’ll take a sandwich as long as you have plenty of meat loaf.”

  “There’s no point in making meat loaf unless you have enough for the next day.”

  I sliced meat loaf, and Joe turned on the outside lights for Hogan. And before I could get Joe’s sandwich onto a plate, I heard a car coming up our drive.

  “Hogan’s here,” I said. “Why did he want to meet us at home?”

  “He could be trying to dodge Ben Vinton. I know he finds him something of a trial.”

  But when Joe opened the kitchen door for our visitor, we saw a second vehicle was pulling into the drive.

  “Did Hogan say anything about bringing anyone?” I asked. Joe shook his head.

  The two drivers were conferring outside their vehicles, and after a moment they walked toward the house.

  Joe and I spoke together. “Mike!”

  Then Joe called out, “Come on in! We’ve got lots of meat loaf sandwiches!”

  Hogan answered, “I’ll settle for a cup of coffee.”

  I was surprised, since I don’t expect anybody at all to turn down a meat loaf sandwich. But I pulled out more coffee mugs, and we were gathered around the coffee table “in a whipstitch,” as my Texas grandmother would say.

  “Mike says he’s got something else to tell me,” Hogan said.

  “May we sit in?” Joe asked. “Or should we scram?” We all looked at Mike expectantly.

  Mike frowned—or I guess it was a frown. It’s hard to tell with a rough-hewn face like Mike’s. His brows slid together, his jaw clinched up, and he ground his teeth before he spoke.

  “You two are welcome to sit in. I need to talk to Hogan without that idiot woman from the sheriff’s office, and Hogan thought you wouldn’t mind if we did it here.”

  Hogan gave Mike an intense stare. “You have the floor, Mike. Go for it.”

  Mike took a deep breath. “A sheriff oughta be a big guy with a white hat and a six-shooter. This man acts like a rabbit! If he had a white hat, it would need holes for his ears!”

  This caused Hogan’s jaw to quiver, and I knew that he was trying not to laugh. He spoke, but his voice wasn’t quite steady.

 
“Well, Vinton’s pretty inexperienced . . .”

  “True! He just doesn’t seem to understand what’s going on. That’s why I wouldn’t say anything when he was there!”

  “He did act funny, Mike. Tomorrow I’ll try to get him to relax and tell me what’s bothering him.”

  Mike ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Maybe you can get it out of him. But with him in such a state, I was afraid to talk, and there’s a couple more things I should tell you.”

  Hogan took out a notebook. “That’s why we’re here, Mike. Why don’t you start the whole statement over?”

  “Start over?”

  “Sure. Step by step. Start with when you reported for work.”

  Mike said he had signed in at the Warner Pier PD at eight p.m. The office was closed, of course, but he had a key. He looked over a few notes either Hogan or one of the patrolmen had left for him, then locked up and started on his rounds.

  He turned to Joe and me. “Tonight, I headed south. Hogan and I figured out some routes that go by all the businesses, and I’m supposed to follow a different one every night. Also, I’m supposed to vary my times. Some nights I start the rounds a little earlier, sometimes later.

  “Tonight I drove down to the south city limits and headed back toward the north. I made around twenty-five stops, kinda zigzagging through the town.”

  Joe nodded. “So you don’t show up at the same place at a regular time.”

  “Right. Except—I do wind up close to Dolly’s sometime. She gives me dessert and coffee. I have dinner earlier, before I start the rest of the rigmarole.”

  He sat up straight and scowled again, daring us to comment on his personal life. “I don’t stay at Dolly’s place long!”

  “That’s fine,” Hogan said. “You’re supposed to take a break. As long as you don’t get too predictable.”

  “Yeah! ‘There goes ol’ Mike. Must be suppertime.’ Hope I’m not doin’ that. Tonight, I hauled into the alley behind Dolly’s, and the minute I got out of the truck, the excitement started.”