The Chocolate Pirate Plot (25 page)

“No. I'll come there.”

He hung up.

I told Aunt Nettie he was on the way; then I quietly described the call to Joe. “I've never heard him so mad, Joe. Annoyed, yes. But this time he was really angry.”

“Sounds as if the state police bounced him.”

I winced. Yes, Hogan liked being in charge in his own town. He kept a very friendly relationship with the Michigan State Police, but Joe could be right. In a case involving a crime that was sure to draw national attention, the state police might take over. Heck, the FBI could be taking over, and either agency could cut Hogan right out, even though the kidnapping occurred within his jurisdiction.

Besides, he'd been a witness to the kidnapping. The situation had to be humiliating for him.

So I waited for Hogan with some trepidation. But when he came in, he was his usual completely controlled self. He was definitely off duty, though. I could tell because he immediately ordered a small pepperoni pizza and a Labatt Blue to go with it. Hogan would never drink on duty.

Luckily, the younger generation was pretty much through eating, so Will, Carl, Tracy, and Brenda all left almost immediately.

Aunt Nettie, Hogan, Joe, and I gathered into a more compact group, and Hogan told us that the FBI had already been called in. “And I'm out,” he said. “Completely. They won't even use my office as HQ.”

“That's stupid of them,” I said. “You know this town inside and out.”

My sympathy didn't seem to be a lot of comfort. “I may know Warner Pier, but they know everything,” Hogan said grimly.

“It's pretty obvious that the pirates took Marco off the yacht,” Joe said.

I nodded. “That chest obviously must have been a piece of professional magic gear with a false bottom. All I can figure is that Marco met them on the swim platform and got into the chest voluntarily.”

Joe nodded. “He could have ducked into the garage and waited for them. He probably figured he'd pop out of the chest at the end of the act. But the pirates didn't let him out.”

“How could they keep him in it?”

“There was a hypodermic needle in the garage, so we assume they drugged him,” Hogan said quietly. “Then we all stood around and applauded while they carried him off the yacht. And they cut the power to the radar so we couldn't keep track of which direction they went.”

“How could they do that?”

“Somebody messed with the electrical panel. But that's not readily accessible to visitors on board.”

“When did it go out?” Joe said.

“The captain's not sure. Everybody got distracted by the pirates' show.”

“Could they have asked Marco to cut the power off himself?”

Hogan shrugged. “When Marco comes back, we'll ask him.”

We were all silent for a moment. Then Joe spoke. “The next question is, where have they hidden him now?”

“That's why the feds think I'm just some stupid hick cop,” Hogan said. “The pirates have been operating all summer. They've got to have a place to hide that inflatable dinghy and all their gear. But we've never figured out where.”

“But, Hogan,” Nettie said, “until tonight they weren't suspected of any crime. If you'd tried to track them down, you'd have been interfering with their constitutional rights.”

“That doesn't cut much ice with the feds. Or with me, for that matter. I didn't need to arrest them, but I ought to know what's going on in my own town.”

“It seems as if they'd need a fairly large place,” Aunt Nettie said. “A boathouse would be best. Plus a place where three or four people could hide out for several days, since they'll need guards.”

Joe chuckled, but it wasn't a humorous sound. “Sounds like my shop.”

“No, Joe, your shop isn't remote enough,” I said. “The neighbors could hear yelling from over there. Besides, you just have a dock, not a boathouse. I've always thought it was funny that boathouses are common back in Texas, where the weather is warm, and rare up here, where boats really need protection.”

Joe nodded. “Our boats need so much protection in the winter that we hoist them out of the water. For other seasons, a tarp is enough cover.”

I stared at the shaker of Parmesan cheese in the center of the table. We all sat glumly.

The theater group got up to leave, and Maggie and Ken stopped to talk. I tried to force myself to act normal. “Maggie! I hear you were directing tonight.”

“Max came in toward the end.”

“I did have a question. Mikki said Max didn't want
The Pirates of Penzance
to be campy. How can it not be? Isn't that the whole point of
Pirates
?”

I'll never know what Maggie answered, because as soon as the last sentence was out of my mouth I knew.

I knew where Marco was, and I knew who had kidnapped him.

I
thought Maggie and Ken were never going to leave. They kept standing there talking about comic opera, and I wanted to talk to Hogan about real life.

Hogan was eating pepperoni pizza, Aunt Nettie was drinking coffee, and Joe was finishing his beer. They were as worried as I was about Marco Spear, but each of them was managing to look placid in front of Maggie and Ken, who knew nothing about the kidnapping.

I don't know what I looked like, but internally I was a Texas tornado. My brain was whirling. I wanted to scream. Joe tells me I acted okay, although when Maggie told me that the character of the general in
The Pirates of Penzance
is supposedly based on an actual British military leader, I said, “Was the real guy a barleycorn? I mean, a baritone?” I guess Maggie left after that one. The comment certainly enhanced my reputation as the biggest ditz in Warner Pier.

As soon as Maggie and Ken were out the door, I leaned in toward the center of the table. I tried to whisper, but I may have hollered.

“Hogan! I know where they're hiding Marco!”

He didn't react as enthusiastically as I'd hoped. In fact, Hogan, Joe, and Aunt Nettie all looked as me as if I had completely lost my mind.

“I mean it!” I said. “I just realized it. I'm sure I know.”

Hogan spoke calmly. “Okay, Lee. Tell us about it.”

Suddenly I remembered why I had never told Hogan about my visit to Camp Sail-Along. It had included one of the most embarrassing moments in my entire life. But now I had to reveal all.

I sighed. “I didn't tell you about this, but last week I took a drive out to Camp Sail-Along.”

“Exactly where is that?” Joe said.

“What is it?” Aunt Nettie said.

“Why?” Hogan said.

I answered Hogan's question. “Because of Jeremy's T-shirt,” I said.

Quickly I explained that Jeremy had come into my office to bring Max a message, and he'd been wearing a Camp Sail-Along T-shirt.

“So after Joe and I became convinced that Jeremy had deliberately involved us in his fake drowning, I went out to the camp to ask if they knew anything about Jeremy, and I said something stupid.”

I described my conversation with Jack McGrath, and how it had ended with an unusually awful slip of the tongue.

Aunt Nettie said, “Oh, dear, Lee!” Hogan drank some of his beer, obviously trying to hide a smile.

Joe laughed. “I shouldn't let you out alone,” he said. “And I wouldn't, if I didn't know you're smart enough to get yourself out of these messes.”

“In the Camp Sail-Along case, I jumped in the van and drove off,” I said. “But I didn't think I'd accomplished anything, except feeling sorry for Jack McGrath and humiliating myself, so I didn't mention the trip except to Joe. And I didn't tell him the embarrassing part.”

“Why are you bringing it up now?”

“Partly because Camp Sail-Along—boathouse and lonely cabins . . . lonely cabins with padlocks on the doors—meets Aunt Nettie's description of the place needed to hold Marco prisoner until they get the ransom settled. And partly because I just placed the guy who looked familiar in that gymnastics team picture. The one that had Jeremy and Hal in it.”

“Who else was in it?”

“Jack McGrath. The manager of Camp Sail-Along. He's older, of course, and he's grown a mustache.”

“But, Lee, you looked at the cutline of that picture.”

“No, Hogan, I didn't. You handed it to me, and I looked at Jeremy. I read his name—Matlock—and realized he was using Mattox as an alias. But before I read the rest of the names, Joe came in and told us he'd once represented Hal Weldon. I forgot all about the cutline. So I never realized the picture included Jack McGrath.

“Anyway, that picture connects Jeremy with Jack McGrath, and Jack McGrath runs that camp.” I tapped my finger on the table for emphasis. “And I'm absolutely convinced Jeremy is mixed up in this deal.”

Hogan looked at me evenly. “You haven't explained why.”

I ticked off the reasons on my fingers. “First, Hal had a skull and crossbones tattoo, and he was a gymnast. He must have been the taller pirate. And Hal was the connection with Joe, since Joe had once represented him. Second, Hal and Jeremy were friends; their landlady said they were working up an acrobatic act. Third, after Hal was shot, Jeremy arranged his own disappearance at the same spot where Hal's body had been dumped. You'll never get me to believe he didn't do that on purpose, to make sure his friend's body would be found.”

Hogan nodded. “So you think that both Hal and Jeremy were mixed up with the pirates. There was some sort of falling out, and Hal was killed. Jeremy knew where his body had been dumped, and he arranged for it to be found.”

“Right.”

“You're trying to connect this to Camp Sail-Along, and to a major crime, with a T-shirt and an old teammate.”

“There are a few more reasons. Hal's landlady—Ella Van Ark—said Hal moved out of the Riverside because he had a new job that included room and board. That would fit in with Camp Sail-Along.”

“They should have plenty of spare bedrooms,” Joe said. “And if they'd bought or leased the whole camp, they wouldn't have had to pay rent if another guy moved in.”

“Yes. When Jack McGrath showed me around, he opened a door near the office in the main building, pointed inside, and said, ‘My humble abode.' There was nothing much in the room but two cots. One of them was messy. Clothes scattered around, and bed unmade. The other was ultraneat. Blankets tucked military style, and a footlocker at the end of the bed. It definitely looked as if two very different people had been staying there.”

Hogan frowned. “You think Jeremy and Hal planned the kidnapping?”

“No! In fact, I think they were trying to stop it.”

“Go on,” he said.

“Why else was Hal shot, for one thing? And why has Jeremy disappeared?” I dropped my voice again. “I think Jeremy must be dead. The mastermind of the kidnapping would be stupid not to kill him, too, once he'd tipped the cops—indirectly—to where Hal's body was. Unless Jeremy has managed to get away from ‘the mastermind.'” I put finger quotes around the final words.

“No,” Joe said. “Jeremy hasn't managed that, because he would have come out into the open. If Jeremy felt he was safe, he could have simply gone to a phone and called Hogan up to reveal the whole plan. Besides, Jeremy was one of the pirates who boarded the yacht tonight.”

My head whipped toward Joe. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure that the shorter pirate tonight was the same one who boarded our boat last June. He was the one who played the pennywhistle and danced. He did somersaults and other stunts. The ‘mastermind,' as you call him, needs Jeremy. He needs his athletic skills. Maybe his musical skills, too.”

“You're right!” I said. “Think of the pirates tonight. The one who came up from the swim platform first was no athlete. He did some dance moves, but he didn't stand on his hands or do a cartwheel or do anything that was precisely physical. In fact, he looked sort of tubby.”

“Plus,” Joe said, “the pirates didn't swim up and swim away tonight. They had to take the chest with them, true, but tonight's boarding followed a different pattern. No, Jeremy is still alive, and the pirates are using him—willingly or not.”

“Which means he's in danger of being killed.”

Hogan frowned. “Now, there's one part of all this that you haven't even mentioned, Lee. Why did someone lie in wait for you and Joe at Joe's dock?”

“Hogan, I have no idea! I guess they did it because they were stupid! Certainly, at that point neither Joe nor I was any threat to anybody. And they sure made an amateurish try at hurting us.”