14 The Chocolate Clown Corpse (3 page)

Looking at the purchase from several angles, it could be either a real winner or a serious loser. I bit another nail.

When the time came to meet Tilda, I asked one of the ladies who make the chocolate to watch the counter. I also told her where I’d be and asked her to pass that news on to Joe if he showed up. Then I took a deep breath, put on my jacket, and headed next door.

The entrance to Clowning Around was ajar, so I walked right in, then came to a complete stop.

All I could see were clowns. Clown dolls, clown masks, clown puppets, clown pictures, clown books. They hung from the ceiling and were stacked in shelves along both side walls. They were piled on tables in the middle of the room. There were white-faced clowns, hobo clowns, even a mannequin of a dog wearing a clown costume. There were girl clowns and boy clowns. Harlequins and Pierrots. And the centerpiece was a large portrait of Moe himself, wearing his Hobo Moe outfit.

Crazy colors and wild shapes were everywhere. The bizarre
decor of the shop made the first sound I heard fit right in. It was a loud, piercing whine. The noise sounded like a siren, but I quickly realized it was a human voice of the high-pitched and annoying sort.

“Honestly! The mess! This place is nowhere near ready to show to potential buyers. That agent must be crazy.”

A deep and melodious male voice replied, “Cleaning is our responsibility, Lorraine. It’s not up to the Realtor. And I’m not getting rid of anything until we get through this Clown Week promotion and see if we can’t sell most of the stock.”

“Nobody would buy those idiotic clowns! God! I’ve gotten to the point where I hate these things. They’re just reminders of what a jerk we had for a dad. And nobody will be interested in the building in the shape it’s in. It needs to be staged.”

“Staged?” The deep voice chuckled. “You’ve been watching too much HGTV.”

“You haven’t been watching enough, Chuck. Things have to look attractive if they’re going to sell.”

I’d apparently interrupted a family quarrel. I quickly slammed the door behind me, just to make a noise, then called out, “Hello! Anybody here?”

I heard a gasp from the back room, and the face of a blond woman appeared between two clown masks. The light was so lousy I couldn’t see her clearly, but when she spoke the voice was the one I’d heard earlier.

“Hi, there! Are you Mrs. Woodyard?”

“Yes, I’m Lee Woodyard, your next-door neighbor. I was supposed to meet Tilda VanAust.”

“She got held up, so she sent us to open up. I’m Lorraine Davidson.”

The woman edged out of a curtained door that obviously
led to the back room. She hit a switch and light flooded over her. The effect was that one of the clowns had come to life.

Lorraine was one of those women who apparently believe that if a little makeup enhances her appearance, then a lot will make her a raving beauty. She wore heavy blue eye shadow, and blush was slathered on in exactly the wrong part of her cheeks. Her eyebrows looked as if they’d been painted on with a Magic Marker. Her hair had been bleached until it would have tempted any healthy horse to have a bite, and she wore it in a fluffy, “big hair” style.

In other words, her appearance matched her voice. Loud, brassy, and unpleasant.

I blinked. Then I saw a man behind her and realized it must be the guy with the voice as melodious as Lorraine’s was raucous.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Chuck Davidson.”

Chuck matched his voice, too. He was tall, nice-looking, and neatly dressed, with dark hair and even features. He came forward and we shook hands. He had a pleasant smile.

“And this,” Chuck said, “is our stepmother, Emma.”

For a moment I couldn’t figure out who he was talking about. There was no other person present. Then there was movement among the clowns, and a small woman came from behind the counter.

Mrs. Davidson couldn’t have offered a greater contrast to her stepdaughter. Lorraine was tall. Emma Davidson was short. Lorraine was thin, almost skinny. Mrs. Davidson was plump. Lorraine had long, bleached hair. Her stepmom’s hair was a mousy brown and was short and straight.

Mrs. Davidson didn’t speak, but simply nodded.

I hadn’t come to talk to these people. I hope I greeted them pleasantly, but I was there to look around.

So we looked. I told the three of them that I wanted to get an idea of the building and to visualize the changes that would be required if we expanded into that space. I led the way, looking at the shelving, then going into the back to judge the amount of room. I had brought a flashlight, and I investigated the basement, making sure there were no damp spots and taking a look at the furnace. Chuck accompanied me. I addressed questions to him, but he was vague about details such as utility bills and taxes. I’d have to get those figures from Tilda.

I wasn’t paying him much mind, actually, until he caught my attention with a strange remark.

“Of course, I know that cost is no object to you, Lee.”

I turned to look at him, and I’m sure my amazement showed. But I tried to turn my reply into a joke. “Chuck! I’m an accountant! I assure you that even if my last name were Rockefeller, cost would matter to me.”

He smiled. “I know you and your husband are major benefactors of Warner Pier.”

For a moment I felt more amazed than ever. Then I got it. “Oh. Someone has told you that Joe donated the Warner Point Conference Center to the city.”

“It was a terrific gift.”

“Joe inherited that property unexpectedly, and he didn’t want to own it. In fact, because of the taxes and upkeep he couldn’t afford to own it. He says he gained financially by giving it away. And he donated it with the understanding that his name would never appear publicly in connection with the center.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know the background.”

“That’s quite all right. There’s no secret about any of this. But I assure you that Joe and I personally are like most people. We live paycheck to paycheck. As for the possible purchase of
this building, that would be a business decision for TenHuis Chocolade. I certainly have no interest in becoming a downtown landowner myself.”

I had to admire Chuck. Although I had tried to speak pleasantly, I had definitely told him where to get off. A lot of people would have been crushed by my little speech. Chuck didn’t turn a hair.

“I’m sorry I misunderstood the situation. I guess I’m used to my dad.”

“Your dad?”

“Oh yes. I’m sure you know he was always giving money for community projects. But he would want full credit and a picture in the newspaper.”

I’d observed that particular trait in Moe myself. But I decided I’d better not comment.

“I guess I’m ready to look around upstairs,” I said. “Is the stairway near the rear entrance?”

Chuck followed me to the back. I had stopped for a look at the staff bathroom when I heard the front door open. Good, I thought, it’s Tilda. Now we can get down to cases.

Instead, I heard Lorraine’s raucous croak. “Of all the nerve!”

The voice that replied to her was deep and familiar. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve got gall, coming here to harass us!”

“I’m sorry—I was told I would find my wife here.”

It was Joe, and for some reason Lorraine Davidson was angry with him. I headed for the front of the store.

Chuck called out. “Lorraine! Calm down.”

But Lorraine seemed to be doing the opposite of what he suggested. She was working herself up. Her voice grew shriller,
angrier, and ever more raucous, calling Joe every name in the book.

I burst into the front section of the store. “Joe! Ms. Davidson! What’s going on?”

Joe shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I just got here.”

“You know why I’m angry!” Lorraine was nearly screaming. “You’re the dirty dog who’s trying to get our father’s murderer off! You should be strung up! Just like that creepy homeless guy should be!”

If Lorraine was going to keep yelling, there didn’t seem to be much point in hanging around. I mouthed, “I’ll talk to you later” to Chuck and followed Joe out the door.

On the sidewalk I paused, and an odd thing happened. I heard Chuck’s voice. “That’s enough, Lorraine!” Then complete silence fell behind us. Not a sound came from inside Clowning Around.

“Lorraine has stopped howling,” I said quietly. “What was that all about anyway?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea. Who are those people?”

“The younger ones are Chuck and Lorraine Davidson, Moe’s son and daughter. The older woman is their stepmother, Emma Davidson.”

“Older woman? I didn’t even see an older woman.” Joe shook his head. “I guess I can explain the hissy fit. Let’s get off the street, and I’ll tell you.”

I led the way to TenHuis Chocolade, and neither of us spoke again until we were seated in my office, with our heads close enough to speak quietly. My office has glass walls that don’t reach clear to the ceiling, and it’s in a corner of our retail sales
area. People who work in glass offices shouldn’t speak loudly if they want privacy.

So I kept my voice quiet. “What caused all that, Joe?”

“Lee, I wouldn’t have gone near Clowning Around if I’d known the Davidson family would be present. Why were you over there anyway?”

“They put the store up for sale today, and I was having a showing. You know I’ve always wanted to acquire that building for TenHuis expansion.”

“I may have scotched that deal. Sorry.”

“What kicked off Lorraine’s tirade? You’re normally pretty tactful. I can’t believe you just walked in the door and said something she didn’t like.”

“I didn’t say anything. But the three of them were in the courthouse when I went to talk to the judge. I saw them sitting there, and I guess they saw me walk by. They were strangers to me, but somebody must have told them who I was.”

“Who
are
you? Why did the mere sight of you send Lorraine into a swivet?”

Joe answered, but his reply didn’t make a lot of sense. “Royal Hollis’ attorney has stepped down,” he said.

“Royal Hollis?”

“The guy who confessed to killing Moe Davidson.”

“Oh! That homeless guy?” Joe nodded, and I spoke again. “You said he deserved better representation. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Doke Donovan is retiring.”

“The lawyer?”

“Yeah. He was Hollis’ attorney.”

“Now I remember. Court-appointed. But what does that have to do with you?”

“I thought Doke was doing a halfhearted job for Hollis. Now Doke has health problems, and he’s stepping down.”

“Joe! Quit stalling! How do you fit in?”

“Apparently I’d talked to Doke about the case sometime—I don’t even remember doing that.”

Joe still wasn’t giving me direct answers. I stayed quiet, trying to be patient.

Joe went on. “It was at the bar meeting, he says. Now Doke wants me to take over. The judge has okayed it, but I said I’d have to think about it.”

“Oh.” I began to see what was going on. Lorraine was obviously not happy about Hollis getting a new attorney, and Joe had been suggested for the job, and she didn’t like that either. Her incoherent tirade had apparently been intended to tell Joe what she thought.

This was Joe’s problem, not mine, but if Joe took Royal Hollis’ case, the Davidsons might not want to deal with his wife. I could see my dream of owning the Clowning Around building collapsing.

Joe frowned. “Lee, if it’s going to mess up this deal for the Davidson store—well, I know that’s important to you. We can talk about it.”

He looked serious. Maybe he looked miserable.

I thought about it. Hollis’ new trial was right up Joe’s alley. He would be representing a homeless man for a fee set by the judge. That might not sound like a very tempting case to the typical lawyer, but for Joe—well, he’s always for the underdog. He doesn’t see law as wills and deeds and property settlements. He sees it as the last protection of the little guy against the big one, of the helpless against the powerful.

Heck, Joe sees himself as a knight in shining armor, and the
sword he wields is the law. He uses that sword to protect the helpless. Making sure that Royal Hollis got a fair trial would be better than a million dollars to Joe, even if Hollis still wound up in prison.

Was Joe offering to refuse the case just to please me?

I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry. All I knew was that one of the major reasons I loved Joe was that knight-errant complex of his. That and a great pair of shoulders. I was really lucky to have such a guy, and I knew it. He was a lot more important to me than any building could ever be.

I leaned over and kissed him. Smack on the mouth. Right in my glass-sided office, right in front of God and everybody, including all the ladies who make chocolates, and anybody passing outside on the street.

“Joe,” I said, “you feel strongly about this case, and you need to take it.”

He grinned broadly, and I knew I’d said the right thing. “I said we could talk about the case,” he said. “I never said I wouldn’t take it!”

I grinned back. “Nice to know that you haven’t changed our whole relationship over this. Justice comes first! Will you have to drop your job at the agency for a no-pay?”

“Oh, I think I can keep my job at the agency. And I will get some kind of a fee. The State of Michigan doesn’t demand charitable donations. I may have to cut back on my time at the boat shop.”

“I hate for you to spend less time at the boat shop. You claim the boat shop keeps you sane. It would be a pity if you lost your mind over a court-appointed case.”

“If I feel my sanity slipping away, I’ll tell the judge that Royal Hollis needs a different attorney, one in his right mind.” Joe sighed. “And now I guess I’d better go back to Holland and
tell the agency what’s going on.” He kissed
me
that time, then headed for the door.

On the days Joe’s not practicing poverty law, he runs a boat shop, restoring antique wooden power boats. Yes, it’s an odd combination of careers, but Joe finds it ideal. The days of working with his hands, he says, give him time to assimilate the intellectual and emotional challenge of trying to help people whose lives are often pretty messed up.

A typical client for his agency is a single mother trying to dig child support out of her ex-husband, or an elderly woman who’s trying to get her landlord to fix the roof. The poverty law agency doesn’t handle criminal work, so I knew Joe couldn’t take Hollis’ case as part of his regular load there.

I seated myself in front of my computer and tried to look like a business manager, even though my mind was two other places: at Clowning Around and headed for Holland with Joe. I gave a mental shrug and tried to think philosophically about the building next door.

If the Davidsons wouldn’t sell it to me because I was married to Joe, well, the world wasn’t going to come to an end. It would be inconvenient, but life would go on. My brain toyed with the idea that somebody I was friends with—maybe somebody like Joe’s stepfather, Mike Herrera—would like to buy it. Then I could take it off his hands at some future date, when Royal Hollis’ fate had been settled. Hmmm. I doubted the Davidsons would fall for that; the personal connections of a town like Warner Pier are too transparent. They’d see right through my plot.

It finally occurred to me that I ought to tell Tilda VanAust what had happened. If one of her clients was nutso, she needed to know.

Tilda wasn’t in her office, but the receptionist referred me to
her cell phone. Tilda listened to my report on the showing at Clowning Around. My description of Lorraine’s tirade was greeted with complete silence.

I began to fear that our connection had been broken. “Tilda?” I said. “Are you there?”

“Oh yes, I’m here. Your story left me speechless.”

“I know Lorraine and Chuck are your clients.” A Realtor has to protect her clients. I knew that.

“I’m sorry you and Joe had this experience.”

“We’ll live.”

“I didn’t want the Davidsons to show you around, but I was going to have to cancel, and Chuck insisted they could handle it.”

“He tried to calm Lorraine down.”

“She’s the—well, the emotional one.”

For “emotional,” read “crazy.” I didn’t say that out loud.

“And Emma never says a word,” Tilda said.

“I certainly didn’t hear a word out of her.”

“Chuck works as a salesman. He’s been fairly polished the few times I’ve met him. But believe me, that’s the last time the Davidsons will show that building themselves! Or their house.”

“Oh, the house is for sale, too?”

“Right. They’re clearing out of Warner Pier. But I’m surprised to hear about Lorraine’s fit of temper this afternoon. Chuck came by a few minutes ago, and he didn’t mention it. I was under the impression that things had gone pretty well.”

“They did until Joe came in. Then Lorraine cut loose.”

“Chuck seemed to think you were definitely interested in the building.”

“At the right price I would be, Tilda. But I was left with the impression that, once they realized I was connected with Joe, they didn’t want to deal with me.”

“Personal feelings shouldn’t interfere with business dealings. I’ll talk to them.”

I hung up knowing that at least Tilda wasn’t against TenHuis Chocolade purchasing the Clowning Around building. Then I glanced at the clock and realized I needed to go to a meeting of the tourism committee. Back into the ski jacket and out the door.

I drove the few blocks to the Chamber of Commerce building. At least I didn’t have to wear my clown outfit for this event.

Yes, for Clown Week all the members of the tourism committee were dressing up like clowns. And that was just the beginning of our activities.

Warner Pier’s whole downtown—all twelve square blocks of it—was going to be turned into a winter funhouse. The four tennis courts in the park along the river had been flooded and were festooned with lights to become a skating rink. Three horse-drawn sleighs had been hired to roam around offering rides to visitors. At the high school, on a hill overlooking the downtown, the gym had become a snack bar and souvenir stand. Central heating was available there, so people could warm up after walking from shop to shop spending money.

But the star attraction was the sledding hill. Three blocks long, it ran from the high school down to a big open area next to the skating rink in the park. Giant inner tubes, plus sleds and snowboards, were provided. Teenagers such as Tony Junior—I mean T.J.—had been drafted to accompany young or inexperienced sledders. Helmets were provided. Even to a nonsledder like me, it looked like a lot of fun. Plus, our committee had rented a snowmaking machine to ensure plenty of snow.

I was a big supporter of the sledding hill, even though the thing scared me to death. The first year I’d lived in Warner Pier
I went sledding with Lindy, Tony, and their three kids. On my first try I flipped off my sled and was buried in a snowbank. Tony and T.J. had to dig me out. They thought it was hilarious, and I vowed never to head down another slope without a snow ax to stop myself. So far I had kept my vow, despite a lot of teasing, particularly from T.J.

Anyway, there was a lot going on with Clown Week. That afternoon the tourism committee gathered officially to meet our professional clowns.

The theme of the annual midwinter promotion had been set two years in advance, and we’d hired our out-of-town talent the previous summer. We’d signed a contract after seeing them in a video, and today we were to get our first real-life look at Kyle and Paige Walters, a brother-and-sister team of professional clowns. They were to do eight performances during the next week, providing informal floor shows in several different restaurants.

On Friday, promotions committee folks were supposed to attend the opening event wearing clown costumes. Earlier in the week we were also to wear costumes to visit the children at an area hospital for a photo op. I had borrowed a costume for those events.

I had helped plan all this, and now I had to support it.

As I came in the front door of the chamber building, I heard music. Someone was pounding the old piano in the meeting room, and as I went into the session, singing began. It was the old standby “Make ’Em Laugh,” the one Donald O’Connor sang in
Singin’ in the Rain.
I paused just inside the room to watch.

Well, the singer wasn’t Donald O’Connor, but she was pretty good. It was Paige, the sister, and she could belt it out.
Her costume was covered with big purple polka dots, and she wore a little green hat with a white pompon on top. She had a cute face, and she hadn’t covered it with grotesque makeup.

Her brother, Kyle, was playing the piano, and he joined in on the chorus. His costume had green polka dots and a purple hat. They were attractive, not the scary sort of clowns. Paige pranced and kicked joyously, and after the first verse she began to do clown tricks. She pantomimed carrying in a heavy bucket, convincing the audience it was actually full of water. When she finally threw it at the audience, everybody squealed and ducked as confetti flew at them. She shot a pistol, and a sign reading
BANG
! popped out. She did several other traditional tricks.