The Chocolate Pirate Plot (10 page)

The motel wasn't even in a very convenient location for the Showboat personnel, since it was on the opposite side of the river from the theater. There is a little ferry, but it was strictly for tourists—foot traffic only—and it quit running long before the final curtain on performance nights.

As I pulled into the motel's drive, I realized that I didn't know where I was going. Who was assigned to which little house? Luckily, there was a sign that read MANAGER outside the structure nearest the street. I parked in front of it.

This little boathouse seemed to be living quarters, rather than an office. A sign on the door said PLEASE KNOCK, so I did. At first I thought no one was going to answer, but I wasn't eager to make the rounds of the motel, rapping on each door, so I stood on the porch, looking around the area for someone else I could quiz. Then I heard footsteps dragging inside, and the door opened.

A bone-thin woman stood in the doorway. Her hair was dyed that dead black that means an amateur job, and it was teased as high as 1968.

“Yes?” Her voice was whiny, and somehow her face looked whiny as well. She had that hollow-jawed look that nineteenth-century pioneers had, the look that meant they'd lost their molars.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” I said. “I'm looking for Jill Campbell.”

“She's in cottage number three, honey. With Mikki White.”

“Thanks.” I turned away, then thought of another question. “Did Jeremy Mattox live here? I mean, does he live here?”

To my dismay, tears began to run down the woman's face. “Oh, honey, I'm so upset about his accident.”

“Yes, it's terrible.”

“It was just yesterday he was out back, practicing. I can't believe he's gone!” Her face screwed up like that of a baby about to wail. But she sounded calm enough when she spoke again. “Had you known Jeremy long?”

“I didn't know him at all, I'm afraid. His accident happened near our house. My husband was part of the rescue team.” I didn't want to tell her that I was there simply out of nosiness.

Warner Pier is such a small town. This woman probably knew Aunt Nettie. I decided I'd better act polite. “I'm Lee Woodyard. You may know my aunt, Nettie Jones. I work for her at TenHuis Chocolade.”

“Nettie Jones? She wasn't Nettie Vanderheide?”

“Yes, she was. She married my uncle, Phil TenHuis. He died five years ago, and last year she remarried.”

“I'm Ella Van Ark. I knew Nettie when we were girls. I just moved back home, got the job managing this place.” She pulled out a Kleenex and patted her eye. “And now Jeremy is gone. Such a sweet boy!”

“We mustn't give up hope, Mrs. Van Ark. They haven't found him yet.”

“True, true. But we'd better prepare ourselves for the worst.” She seemed to relish the prospect, although genuine tears were welling in her eyes. “What the theater will do without him, I don't know.”

“I understand he was a key employee.” I moved to the edge of the porch. I had come to talk to Jill, not a woman who dyed her hair with shoe polish. Then another question occurred to me. “Did Jeremy have a roommate?”

“At first he did, but Harold moved out the second week in June.”

“Harold?”

“Yes. Jeremy and Harold Weldon came at the same time, and they roomed together. Seemed to be old friends. Both worked at the theater. Then all of a sudden Harold came over, paid his rent up, and said he had quit his job and was leaving.”

I stopped. This Harold might know more about Jeremy than anyone. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Said he had a new job, and it included room and board. I never saw him around again.”

“Harold Weldon? Was that his name?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Van Ark sighed deeply. “He and Jeremy used to do their tricks out back of their cottage.”

“Tricks?”

“They were wonderful. Harold did the lifts, of course. He was big, you know. Big and strong. Jeremy was—is—small. It was a wonder to see him leap right up onto Harold's shoulders.”

“Did they perform at the Showboat?”

“They were good enough to. But they never wanted anybody to see them do their act. They said it was ‘under development.'”

My heart was going pitter-patter. Had I found two of the pirates? They certainly sounded like the two guys who had boarded our boat. A big guy and a little guy, both trained acrobats.

I found myself longing for a look at Harold. “You don't know where Harold was working?”

“No! He just said that Jeremy would forward any mail he got. And now Jeremy is gone, too. I don't know what I'll do with the things in his cottage.”

I assured Mrs. Van Ark that someone, either the authorities or Max Morgan, would contact Jeremy's family. Then I started toward Boathouse 3. Luckily the numbers were clearly marked on the porches.

As I walked, I thought over what Mrs. Van Ark had said. Jeremy and his roommate had apparently been acrobats. She didn't mention them being expert swimmers, but acrobatics was definitely one of the skills the pirates used. Jeremy and Harold would be strong possibilities as the two male pirates.

Could Harold be the man found drowned that morning? Had Jeremy known his body was near Beech Tree Public Access Area? Had Jeremy faked his own drowning to force a search of the area?

But why not just call the authorities and say, “Hey, my buddy was going swimming alone at Beech Tree beach, and he never came home—maybe we'd better look for him”?

But even if I knew the answer to that question, it wouldn't explain why Jill had been programmed to come to Joe and me for help. What did we have to do with a drowning—either of Jeremy or of Harold?

I was so deep in thought that I had walked onto the porch of Boathouse 3 and had raised my hand to rap on the door before I realized where I was.

I didn't have my questions ready. Besides, I was looking for Maggie, not Jill, and I could see that Maggie's car wasn't there. I turned to go away, but the door swung open and a young woman spoke.

“I'd about given up on you!” Then she did a double take. “Oh! I thought you were my roommate.”

The most striking thing about the young woman was that she was looking me in the eye. I'm so tall, I rarely look another woman directly in the eye unless she's standing on a footstool.

This girl was not only tall; she was also attractive, with dark hair and smoky gray eyes. Her figure might have been her only drawback; like lots of us tall girls, she was on the thin side—bony rather than curvy.

I prepared to speak politely and go on my way. “Hi. I'm Lee Woodyard—”

The girl gasped so loudly that I quit talking. “I thought you were a guy!”

“No. I'm a gal. Had you heard my name?”

“Hal talked about you. He was supposed to come by to meet you, but he hasn't showed up.”

“I think there's some mistake . . .”

“No, no! I'm sure Woodyard was the name. It's—you know—kinda odd.”

“Yes, it's unusual, but—”

“I guess I was just being sexist. I mean, I expected a man.” She rolled her eyes. “Dumb me!”

I threw up my hands in a stop-traffic gesture. “Wait a minute! I think we're mixed up.”

“I sure was.”

“Look, is this where Jill Campbell lives?”

“Yes, but she doesn't have anything to do with it.”

“You're right. I'm looking for a woman named Maggie McNutt—”

“Oh, I know Maggie!”

“If you're connected with the Showboat, I'm sure you do. Maggie is a friend of mine. She was supposed to be bringing Jill home. I want to talk to Maggie. She didn't answer her cell phone. So I came over.” The girl started to say something else, but by using a gesture that was slightly short of putting my hand over her mouth, I managed to keep her from speaking. “I have nothing to do with Hal.”

“But you're supposed to!”

“Why?”

“He said you were going to help him.”

“I'll be happy to help Hal any way I can. But right now I need to talk to Maggie. Since she's not here, I'll be on my way.”

I turned around and started to walk off the porch.

“Don't leave!” the dark-haired girl almost wailed. “Hal will be really mad if he comes and you're not here!”

I turned back. “I've never even heard of Hal. What could he possibly want with me?”

“It was a professional engagement! Hal was ready to pay you.”

“Pay me? He wanted chocolate?”

“Chocolate?” Now complete confusion came over the girl's face. “He's a health-food nut. I never saw him eat chocolate.”

“Look,” I said, “we're obviously talking about two different things. If Hal wants to talk to me, ask him to call TenHuis and ask for Lee.”

I started toward my van again, this time determined to get in it and drive away, despite the dark girl, who was following along, yapping at my back like an unruly Great Dane.

But when I turned my back on her and looked at the van, the situation became clear.

Joe's truck was parked next to my van, and he was leaning against the fender, arms folded, watching my approach.

I began to laugh, and I spun around to face the girl.

“I get it! Hal is looking for a lawyer.”

T
he dark-haired girl stared at me. “Well, duh!” she said. “Why else would Hal call you?”

“If he wanted a lawyer, he wouldn't call me. But he might call my husband.” I pointed at Joe. “Come on, I'll introduce you to the attorney in the family.”