14 The Chocolate Clown Corpse (18 page)

“This is a Holland PD case,” he said, “and I’m not sure how I fit in.”

“I know! But I thought you would know somebody up there, could tell somebody who needs to know what’s going on. Or refer me to somebody I could talk to. Maybe then the Holland police wouldn’t think I was an idiot before I even opened
my mouth. I know you can’t just rush out and arrest that developer, simply because I think it’s the same man. But what if he really is the same guy? What if he kills Emma? I just can’t stand by and pretend I didn’t notice he dyed his hair.”

Clancy asked me not to say anything to anybody about all this, and I assured him I wouldn’t. Then I left, feeling that for the moment I had done what I could about the P.M. Development man.

*   *   *

When I got back to the office, Dolly Jolly was holding down the cash register, and the rest of the place was all but empty. It was lunch hour on payday, after all, and everyone had gone to the bank. In fact, Dolly was ready to go, too.

I shooed her out the door, then helped myself to a tiramisu truffle (“layers of white and milk chocolate filling enrobed in dark chocolate and embellished with milk chocolate stripes”).

But Dolly was barely out the door when Kyle and Paige Walters walked in.

It took me a moment to recognize them, because it was the first time I had seen them in ordinary clothes, not costumes. We greeted each other enthusiastically, and they bought a pound of chocolates as a gift for their mother.

“I hope y’all have some fun entertaining the tourists in Warner Pier,” I said.

“Oh sure,” Paige said. “We always have fun. This is a crazy way to make a living, and we sure wouldn’t do it if we didn’t enjoy it.”

“I wish we had some money,” Kyle said. “We’d look at buying the clown store and sticking around.”

“Actually,” I said, “it would be a good business for
professional clowns. Of course, you’d have to have an efficient manager for the times you were on the road.”

Paige smiled. “But aren’t you interested in the building?”

“If we ever want to expand, it would be an ideal location. But if the bidding gets too high, we’re out of it. And we’re not the only people looking at it.”

I handed their box of assorted truffles over. “I hope your mom likes these. And now how about a sample for yourselves?”

Paige picked a dark chocolate cheesecake truffle (“white cream cheese–flavored filling covered with dark chocolate and trimmed with a dot of white chocolate”). Kyle went for ginger wasabi, one of the spiciest truffles we offer (“dark chocolate filling seasoned with ginger and horseradish, enrobed in dark chocolate and embellished with crystallized ginger”).

“Tonight’s the big night!” Kyle said as they went out the door. “See you there!”

For a moment I felt quite blank. Tonight? Then I realized what he was talking about.

“Oh my gosh! Tonight’s the big opening of the winter promotion. I’ve got to dress up like a clown!”

I fought the impulse to bang my head against the display cabinet. Then I grunted, groaned, and spoke again. “I believe I’ll cut my suspenders and go straight up!”

One of the advantages of being born into a rural Texas family is that you grow up hearing colorful expressions. And the one about cutting my suspenders was one of my grandmother’s favorites. It really summed up how I felt at that moment.

The Clown Week opening was the final straw, the limit, the absolute end. I wanted to worry about Emma and how to keep her safe, about Royal Hollis and his possible innocence, about how Joe was going to deal with those problems. The last thing I wanted to do or even think about was that opening event for Clown Week. But it was coming in a few hours.

Clowns were going to be wandering all over Warner Pier. The big sled ride was going to be swooping from the high school down to Dock Street. Skaters were going to be gliding over the ice. Horses were going to be pulling sleighs down our streets.

And tourists—we hoped—were going to be going in and out of our shops spending money.

I had helped plan the event. I had helped promote it. Now I had to finish it up and try to make it go off well. But it was the last thing I wanted to think about.

It was a wonderful idea, but I didn’t want it to be tonight.

I wanted to think about the P.M. Development guy trying to kill Emma and why the heck he would want to do that. I wanted to think about why Emma had confessed to killing her husband and wonder if it could be true. I wanted to think about why the stories of Chuck, Royal Hollis, and Emma were so different from one another.

A community promotional project, normally so important to me as a Warner Pier merchant, was simply of no interest.

But I had to think about it. So I did. I looked over my notes on the opening and tried to figure out what my responsibilities were. And when I really analyzed it, I didn’t have too much to do. My biggest responsibility was to show up by four o’clock with chocolates for the “Top Banana” warming room and opening reception at Warner Point High School. I didn’t have to be dressed in my clown outfit until five o’clock, when the reception would begin.

Stop panicking, I told myself.

I quickly made out an order sheet for four party trays, to be loaded with molded chocolate clowns and a variety of truffles. Luckily, the chocolates could come from our regular stock; we didn’t have to mold or decorate anything special. Thanks to Dolly and the ladies in the back, I could be confident that at three forty-five the trays, securely covered with plastic wrap and in big flat boxes, would be ready for me to take to the party.

These would be added to other donations from merchants—both “in kind,” like my chocolates, and financial. Moe Davidson had usually been first in line to support this sort of project. This made me think of the tale Emma had told us the night before, including the bit about Moe giving away the money he had inherited from his first wife and how mad that made Chuck. I could certainly understand Chuck’s feelings, especially if Moe
did this just for personal publicity, not out of genuine kindness or concern for his community.

As I took my order blanks back to the workroom, I met Nadine Vanderhill, one of the geniuses who make our bonbons and truffles. If I refer to them as “the hairnet ladies,” no disrespect is intended. We’d be out of business in an hour without their abilities and hard work.

Nadine has two additional impressive skills. First, she’s lived in Warner Pier all her life, and she knows everything about everybody. But her second skill is truly singular. She doesn’t tell everything she knows, unless someone with a good reason asks. I’d already used Nadine to try to tell my side of the hospital chase episode. Now I decided to pump Nadine for information.

“Hey, Nadine,” I said. “What do you know about the Davidson family?”

“You mean Moe and his group?”

“Yeah. I guess he grew up here.”

“Oh yeah. Moe and I went to school together. But his first wife, Verita, she was a summer person. I think she was from Chicago. They got married right out of high school. I don’t think her family was very happy about it.”

I laughed. “Do these ‘mixed’ marriages ever work?”

Nadine laughed, too. “You mean, how our mothers tell us not to date the summer guys? Well, it’s not quite the same the other way around. The local guys can get away with dating and marrying summer girls. But they usually move away from Warner Pier.”

“But Moe and Verita stayed.”

“Yeah. He worked here and there. Sales work. Never was a big success at anything. He was too interested in that clown stuff to concentrate on a job, and I guess he wasn’t a good
enough clown to make a living at it. Verita worked in Holland, some office job. She raised the kids, and Chuck and Lorraine left Warner Pier as soon as they could. Then Verita died. She had cancer. Her mother had the same thing.”

“Was her family wealthy?”

“Not so much. I mean, they weren’t one of these ultrarich summer families. Comfortable, I guess you’d say. I think her father was an insurance salesman. Something like that. She inherited that house where Moe and Emma lived. I guess she left some money, too.”

“I guess Moe got it.”

“Whatever there was to get. Both the kids went to Western Michigan. I don’t think Lorraine ever finished.” Nadine shrugged and turned to her work. She could rattle off the life stories of all the Davidsons, even though she wasn’t very interested in them.

This echoed the way I’d never been very interested in Moe when he was alive. Joe had mentioned that he had occasionally wondered where Moe got the funds he donated to support all his community projects, but neither of us really cared. Apparently Moe’s money had come from his first wife. And the previous evening Emma said Moe had tried hard to get hold of her money as well.

The whole thing had an unsavory aroma. And I felt unsavory for poking around in their affairs.

This didn’t stop me from taking time to look Chuck up on the Internet as soon as I got back to my desk. He showed up as selling office supplies at a company based in Grand Rapids.

I tried Lorraine as well. Nothing.

Then I Googled P.M. Development. Nothing. Even their phone listing was missing. That probably meant it was a new
company. And the Holland Chamber of Commerce hadn’t had much on them. Hmmm, again.

I did Google Philip Montague as well. And to my astonishment, the first item listed turned out to be from the
Warner Pier Weekly Gazette
. I flipped it open.

Philip Montague was quoted in a news release saying that Moe Davidson had made a five thousand dollar donation to a community organization.

Triple hmmm.

The organization, naturally, sounded quite worthwhile. It was called Klowns for Kids of Michigan, Inc. The members were raising money for schools, providing library books and field trips. Philip Montague was identified as secretary-treasurer, and Moe, it seemed, had been named a founding director.

“Founding director?” Well, I’d been offered a similar title when I lived in Dallas. All the Junior League members had received a letter from a new group, the Texican Arts Association—or something like that. For five thousand dollars a pop we would be named founding queens or some such fancy title. None of us bit on that particular scam.

I stared at the story. Chuck would have said Klowns for Kids was yet another activity for Moe to throw money at.

That was likely to be the end of the information about Philip Montague, but I thought of one more possibility and tried a popular résumé listing service. When I was looking for new employees, I had found this could be a well of information.

Bingo! Philip Montague was listed.

But none of the information seemed to mean anything. Montague had gone to Michigan State for two years. He was originally from Grand Haven, north of us. He had graduated
from a real estate course, and since then had worked in real estate sales, most recently with a firm in Kalamazoo. No mention of P.M. Development appeared.

Chuck had a listing on the résumé service as well. I skipped over the obvious information, such as his high school. Yes, he had graduated from Western Michigan University twelve years earlier. Since then he had worked as a salesman for an office supply company. If he had ever been married, it didn’t appear on the résumé.

Neither résumé listed any organizations that might have helped Chuck and Philip meet. Neither belonged to the Kiwanis Club, for example, or was a Boy Scout leader, or even listed membership in Klowns for Kids of Michigan. Which was odd, at least on Philip’s part, since he’d been sending out news releases on their behalf. Maybe he simply didn’t list service organizations on his résumé, though that would be surprising.

Now I’d looked at all the readily available information on the witnesses to Moe’s death and on the person I believed had twice attacked Emma. And what did I know? Of the witnesses, each had a different story—way different. I dismissed Royal Hollis. He was just too unreliable; guilty or innocent, Joe would have to deal with his story face-to-face. As for Emma—well, I thought she believed the unlikely tale she was now telling, and I believed it, too. How about Belle? She admitted she’d been in Warner Pier, that she’d met Moe earlier. But she had first denied it. And how about Lorraine? Could she have been the woman who Elk—or somebody—had seen at the Davidson house the day Moe was killed? Was she in such an alcoholic haze she might not even know herself?

Chuck was another matter. He might be trying to protect Emma, and maybe Lorraine, but he was doing it at the expense
of Royal. Not nice. But how could he have anything to do with the attacks by Philip Montague? That seemed to be a separate matter. Two crimes in the same family? Odd.

Unless there was some connection between Chuck and Philip. If they had been working together . . .

But my online research—not exactly comprehensive, true—had discovered nothing that hinted at that situation. Chuck and Philip Montague hadn’t gone to either high school or college together. They hadn’t belonged to the same organizations, or worked for the same company, or anything, though they were close in age. Both lived in western Michigan, but sixty miles apart. That even made it unlikely that they hung out in the same bars.

If it got down to girls they dated or Chuck’s aunt marrying Philip’s second cousin once removed—well, there was no way I could figure that out. I’d leave it to the cops. Which was what I ought to be doing anyway.

But I thought of one more source. I went to the state Department of Commerce site and looked up Klowns for Kids of Michigan. If that organization was set up in Michigan, it ought to be in the public listings.

It wasn’t.

I stared at the computer screen and wondered if I was doing something wrong. After all, I didn’t use this part of the computer world often. Maybe nonprofit corporations had separate listings.

So I went back to my home page and Googled it. There were businesses called Clowns for Kids—Clowns spelled with a C. But no “Klowns” with a K. Not in Michigan. Not unless they had somehow managed to avoid being listed on the Internet.

Had the whole thing been a scam? Had Philip Montague invented this organization the way the Texas scammers had come
up with the one that had sent begging letters to the Dallas Junior Leaguers? Had Montague, or someone else, come up with Klowns for Kids of Michigan so he could ask Moe to donate to it? Did Moe have enough money to make it worth Montague’s effort?

I wondered how much Moe had given. On impulse I called Joe, thinking that it wasn’t likely that he would answer. To my surprise, he did.

“Hi,” I said. “I guess you wouldn’t have answered if it’s inconvenient to talk.”

“It’s been a hurry-up-and-wait kind of day, and right now we’re waiting.”

“How’s Emma?”

“She seems to like the attorney Mac suggested, and she’s apparently eased her conscience somewhat by telling her story.”

“Did anybody believe her?”

“They’re not confiding in me.”

“I’ve got a question for Emma. I don’t suppose she’s around.”

“She’s within walking distance. Do you want to talk to her?”

“Yes, please.”

In a minute or so Joe had Emma on his cell phone.

“Emma,” I said, “I’m going to ask you a nosy question.”

“You already know all my secrets, Lee.”

“It’s about Moe’s donations. You’ve complained that he gave away money he couldn’t afford to donate.”

“He certainly did.”

“Did he give much to Klowns for Kids of Michigan?”

“Lee, I was stunned when I saw how much he had donated to them. Of course, most of it was before we were married.”

“I found a story in the
Gazette
saying he’d given one donation. Were there others?”

“Oh yes! I’m afraid so.”

“Do you mind giving me an estimate of how much?”

“An estimate?”

“Yes. Ten thousand? Fifteen?”

“Oh no, Lee! Much more than that.”

The figure she named curled my hair. “Oh! I see why Chuck was upset,” I said.

Emma handed the phone back to Joe. I was still stunned. “Joe! I think I just stumbled across a motive for Moe’s murder!”

“Another?” He lowered his voice. “Besides general obnoxiousness?”

I quickly told Joe about Philip Montague’s connection to Klowns for Kids. And the amount of money Moe had given an apparently nonexistent organization.