The Chocolate Castle Clue (19 page)

“Yes. When Julie arrived Friday, everyone ran to the front door to greet her. There was screaming and hugs and all sorts of excitement from four of you. But not from Kathy. Kathy hung back and waited for Julie to make the first move. And after everyone else had given Julie a major greeting, Julie walked over and gave Kathy a hug. And Kathy said, ‘Please forgive me, Julie.' ”

Aunt Nettie was staring at her hands.

“Oh, Lee, it all happened so many years ago.”

“That's obvious. But it's also obvious that Kathy still felt guilty about something. What?”

“It was one of those high school romance things.”

“What? They had a fight over a boy, and Kathy's still guilt ridden about it? That seems pretty extreme, even for Kathy.”

“It turned out all right. I guess. Julie got wise and dropped the guy. Not because of Kathy! She dropped him earlier.”

“Was Julie engaged to this fellow?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” Aunt Nettie gave an impatient sigh.

“Julie was engaged to a fellow who worked at the Castle. She broke up with him. Somehow Kathy . . . made a play for him. Phin—that was the guy's name, Phin Vandercamp—later joined the army. He was killed in Vietnam.”

“How sad!”

“Yes, it was tragic.” Aunt Nettie leaned forward and dropped her voice. “But I never had much use for Phin, especially after the Kathy episode. I thought he—well, he definitely lacked moral fiber. I'm sorry he was killed, but I never thought he was good enough for Julie. Or Kathy.”

Aunt Nettie left then, and I went back to my computer. But before I started on my accounts receivable, I yielded to curiosity one more time. I called up Google and typed in “Phineas Vandercamp.”

At least the assistant manager's name hadn't been John Smith. It took only a few seconds for a reference to come up.

“Warner County War Memorial.”

I clicked on the page. It was a part of the Web page of the Veterans of Foreign Wars group from Dorinda, our county seat.

“The Dorinda VFW is a primary sponsor of the Warner County War Memorial,” it read. “The Memorial was established after World War I, and new panels have been added for each American armed conflict. Over the years, approximately fifty young men and one young woman from Warner County have given their lives for their country. Their names are listed on the memorial.

“In addition, a listing of young men killed in the Civil War may be found at the Dorinda Cemetery.”

In larger letters it added, “Their Nation Honors Their Sacrifice.”

I now remembered seeing the memorial. It was in the northeast corner of the courthouse square. A life-sized statue of a World War I soldier was in the middle, and panels inscribed with names stood on either side.

The Web page continued with a listing of names, sorted by “armed conflict.” Among the Vietnam listings I found Phineas Vandercamp.

How sad. And how odd that neither the Pier-O-Ettes nor the Castle's two bouncers had mentioned him as they talked about the old days. Or was it? If the whole group knew that he'd dallied with Kathy despite his link to Julie, they might not have thought it tactful to bring him up.

I closed the VFW site and went to the
Warner Pier Gazette
's site. I knew that all the obituaries it had run for the past seventy-five years were accessible online. I called up Phineas Vandercamp.

Phineas had been killed eighteen months after Dan Rice was found shot to death at the Castle Ballroom. He had been twenty-three years old. Details in that first report were a bit sketchy, though knowing exactly where and how he was killed wouldn't have told me much. I was more interested in the account of his life, and I found them in a more formal obituary in the next issue.

Specialist Vandercamp was born in Warner Pier and was a Warner Pier High School graduate, the obituary said. He had attended college for two years. He had worked as assistant manager of the Castle Ballroom. I subtracted his birth date from the date of Dan Rice's death and realized he had been barely past his twenty-first birthday when he worked at the Castle. I wondered what his duties had been.

After the Castle closed, Phin Vandercamp had apparently abandoned or postponed his plans for college and had enlisted in the army instead. He reported for duty with the U.S. Army the next fall. He had been sent to Vietnam about a year later, just two months before he was killed.

“Tragic,” I said aloud.

The list of survivors included his parents and a brother, Victor Vandercamp.

Again I thought it was sad that Phin Vandercamp's name hadn't come up in the reminiscences at Aunt Nettie's house. He must be a painful memory.

Maybe these thoughts inspired the rather odd thing I did next. Or maybe it wasn't odd. After all, it's well-known that I'm the nosiest person in Warner Pier—and there's quite a lot of competition for that title. But that morning I surpassed myself.

I called Shep Stone's cell phone number.

He answered quickly.

“Shep? This is Lee Woodyard. I have a question for you. Is this a good time?”

“Actually, no. I'll call you back.” Click.

No excuses, no reasons. Just click. Hmmm.

I got started on my own work, but about a half hour later Shep knocked at the front door. I let him in.

“I guess I need chocolate,” he said.

“What flavor?”

He picked a mocha pyramid (“milky chocolate interior in a dark chocolate pyramid”) and I added one of the souvenir items—a dark chocolate pastille in the shape of a mortarboard. I had made a small pot of coffee when I arrived, so I got him a cup before I asked what had brought on his craving for chocolate.

“I just spent an hour with the Michigan State Police,” he said. “They asked me not to leave town. It seems they think I might be some guy who chased you last night.”

“Oh.” I thought about that. “I hadn't considered you for the role.”

“That's a mercy!” He bit his mocha pyramid. “I was alone in a motel room, so I don't have an alibi. But they didn't explain exactly what happened to you.”

“If you don't mind, I'd rather not discuss it.” I suddenly had a vivid memory of the guy in the ski mask walking up to the door of the van—with a key in his hand—and I shuddered. No. I didn't want to talk about it.

Shep immediately looked contrite. “I'm sorry, Lee. I shouldn't have come here and bugged you.”

“No! It's all right. I called you, remember.”

“Here I am. You said you had a question. Ask away.”

“I just learned from Aunt Nettie that Julie Hensley was engaged to the assistant manager of the Castle.”

Shep's only answer was an uneasy nod.

I nodded. “But in all the reminiscences at Aunt Nettie's house, nobody ever mentioned him.”

Now Shep frowned. Or maybe he glared. Anyway, his expression looked angry.

“It's best not to bring Phin up,” he said. “Julie dropped him, so she probably doesn't want to talk about him.”

“He was killed in Vietnam.”

“I didn't know that.”

“I just thought it was interesting that nobody even mentioned his existence. I'd like to know more about him.”

“I didn't know him all that well.”

“Your opinion will do.”

Shep frowned and looked off into space. I wondered why he didn't want to tell me what he remembered about Phin Vandercamp. I tried to urge him, tactfully. But my twisted tongue tangled me up.

“I'd just like to hear your frank opinion,” I said. “Your idea of the undressed—I mean, unadorned! The unadorned truth.”

Shep gasped. Then he turned as red as one of TenHuis Chocolade's festive Christmas boxes.

I'll never understand why “undressed” came out instead of “unadorned.” But my slip of the tongue seemed to force Shep into a decision.

With his face still flaming red, he jumped to his feet. “The whole thing was a prank that got out of hand,” he said.

“As you can imagine, it's not a happy memory. Let's not drag it up now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The same thing you're talking about. The ‘undressed' truth.”

“Shep, I don't know anything about anything. The word ‘undressed' was just another of the slips of the tongue I'm famous for.”

“If you don't already know about it, you don't need to. I'm not going to volunteer to add to anyone's humiliation.”

At that he marched out of the shop, leaving his chocolate mortarboard and half a cup of coffee on the edge of my desk.

I almost let him go without protesting. He seemed so angry and embarrassed that anything I did would probably make the situation worse.

But Shep was a friend of Aunt Nettie's. I wanted to get along with him. I hadn't embarrassed him on purpose, and I wanted him to understand that.

So I picked up his chocolate and coffee and followed him out onto the sidewalk.

“Shep, I don't know what you're talking about. Aunt Nettie is my only source, and she's never talked about any of the events at the Castle Ballroom. She never even mentioned the Pier-O-Ettes until Ruby brought them up early in the summer.”

“That's hard to believe.” Shep glared at me, but he took the coffee and the chocolate.

“It's true. My question about Phin Vandercamp didn't have any hidden meanings. I am simply curious about how you, Charlie, and the six Pier-O-Ettes could talk all morning—discussing Dan and Verna Rice, the janitor, and everybody else who worked there—and never mention Phin Vandercamp. His name never came up. Why not?”

“All he did was sit in the office and work on the books.”

“He was the bookkeeper?”

“Yes. He paid the bills, ordered the food, called the liquor supplier.”

“What I do.”

“At this shop?” Shep shrugged. “Somebody's got to take care of the details. And it sure wasn't going to be Dan Rice.”

“Was Phin good-looking?”

“I didn't think so. I guess he appealed to Julie. And she was a knockout in those days.”

“I've seen a picture of her, and it's hard to think she wouldn't have had her pick of the guys in Warner Pier. Phin must have had something going for him.”

“I never saw what it was,” Shep said. “But at least two girls went for him big-time.”

I nodded. “Aunt Nettie told me that Kathy made a play for him.”