Read Online The Chocolate Bear Burglary by JoAnna Carl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: JoAnna Carl
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Mike is another transplanted Texan, raised near Dallas, and his accent is an interesting mix of Southern and Hispanic.
He looked at me. “And I know, Lee, that you can swear that this stepson of yours didn’t break the glass. But he is driving a Texas car.”
“That’s hardly incriminating,” I said.
“I know, I know—it’s that I’m concerned about that car they found over at the Superette.”
“What car?”
“Greg Glossop . . .”
I groaned. Greg Glossop operates the Superette’s pharmacy and he’s notorious as the biggest gossip in Warner Pier. Joe suspected Glossop was the pipeline to the tabloids.
Mike Herrera made a calming gesture. “I know, I know, Greg’s not the most popular man in Warner Pier, but he doesn’t miss much. He noticed a car with a Texas tag in the parking lot this morning. It had apparently been there overnight. Some kind of a small Ford, several years old. The chief says the gas tank was empty.”
I immediately thought of the car seen by Joe’s buddy who worked at the station out on the highway. It was likely the mayor had also heard the truck stop gossip and was thinking the same thing.
“Jeff wasn’t doing anything illegal last night,” Aunt Nettie said. “I’m not going to let anybody gossip about him. He kept the burglar from taking anything.” She gave Mike a firm look, then whammed another mold onto the stainless-steel table for emphasis.
Mike left, still frowning, and I called Gail Hess to ask her to come and get the molds. I got her answering machine.
I left a message, then hung up, wondering where Gail was. I also wondered why she hadn’t been over first thing in the morning, or even in the middle of the night. Everybody else in Warner Pier knew about our break-in.
Then I called Mercy Woodyard, Joe’s mother, because she handled our insurance. I got her answering machine, too, and left another message.
And I called the two Dallas numbers for Jeff’s parents. More answering machines. Was there a human being left near any telephone in the universe?
I got a packing box from the back room. I took all the antique molds down and heaped them on the counter. Then I wrapped each of them in tissue paper and packed them in the box. That made me feel better. If Gail didn’t show up to take them away, I’d take them home with me that night. Or put them in the bank. Or something.
I actually got some work done in the next thirty minutes, despite a call from the obnoxious George Palmer, our banker, reminding me we had an appointment at four o’clock. I’d just assured him that I’d be there when the bell on the street door chimed. I hung up on George to go out to the counter to wait on a customer, a great-looking guy.
He seemed familiar, but how did I know him?
His face was young, but his beautiful head of dark hair was beginning to be shot with silver. It looked soft and silky. I found myself wanting to rub my cheek against the top of his head. He would have had to sit down for that, because he was at least my height. His eyes were a dark brown, with black lashes. Then I recognized him, and I knew we had never met.
“I’m Hart VanHorn,” he said. “You must be Mrs. TenHuis’s niece.”
He was Olivia VanHorn’s son. The state senator who was rumored to be running for the U.S. House. Of course he looked familiar. Not only did he have his mother’s eyes, but I’d also seen him on the evening news and in the Grand Rapids Press . Neither medium had shown how sexy he was, however.
He smiled, giving me lots of eye contact. Aware that I was standing there gawking at him, I quickly extended my hand in shaking position. “I’m Lee McKinney.”
“Oh. It’s not TenHuis?” He took my hand.
“My mother was a TenHuis. My father is a Texan.”
“I see. Uncle Tim said you had a charming Southern accent.”
“I don’t know how charming it is, but I can legally y’all.” I realized I was still holding his hand. Yikes! I was about to drool on his snow
He looked at me. “And I know, Lee, that you can swear that this stepson of yours didn’t break the glass. But he is driving a Texas car.”
“That’s hardly incriminating,” I said.
“I know, I know—it’s that I’m concerned about that car they found over at the Superette.”
“What car?”
“Greg Glossop . . .”
I groaned. Greg Glossop operates the Superette’s pharmacy and he’s notorious as the biggest gossip in Warner Pier. Joe suspected Glossop was the pipeline to the tabloids.
Mike Herrera made a calming gesture. “I know, I know, Greg’s not the most popular man in Warner Pier, but he doesn’t miss much. He noticed a car with a Texas tag in the parking lot this morning. It had apparently been there overnight. Some kind of a small Ford, several years old. The chief says the gas tank was empty.”
I immediately thought of the car seen by Joe’s buddy who worked at the station out on the highway. It was likely the mayor had also heard the truck stop gossip and was thinking the same thing.
“Jeff wasn’t doing anything illegal last night,” Aunt Nettie said. “I’m not going to let anybody gossip about him. He kept the burglar from taking anything.” She gave Mike a firm look, then whammed another mold onto the stainless-steel table for emphasis.
Mike left, still frowning, and I called Gail Hess to ask her to come and get the molds. I got her answering machine.
I left a message, then hung up, wondering where Gail was. I also wondered why she hadn’t been over first thing in the morning, or even in the middle of the night. Everybody else in Warner Pier knew about our break-in.
Then I called Mercy Woodyard, Joe’s mother, because she handled our insurance. I got her answering machine, too, and left another message.
And I called the two Dallas numbers for Jeff’s parents. More answering machines. Was there a human being left near any telephone in the universe?
I got a packing box from the back room. I took all the antique molds down and heaped them on the counter. Then I wrapped each of them in tissue paper and packed them in the box. That made me feel better. If Gail didn’t show up to take them away, I’d take them home with me that night. Or put them in the bank. Or something.
I actually got some work done in the next thirty minutes, despite a call from the obnoxious George Palmer, our banker, reminding me we had an appointment at four o’clock. I’d just assured him that I’d be there when the bell on the street door chimed. I hung up on George to go out to the counter to wait on a customer, a great-looking guy.
He seemed familiar, but how did I know him?
His face was young, but his beautiful head of dark hair was beginning to be shot with silver. It looked soft and silky. I found myself wanting to rub my cheek against the top of his head. He would have had to sit down for that, because he was at least my height. His eyes were a dark brown, with black lashes. Then I recognized him, and I knew we had never met.
“I’m Hart VanHorn,” he said. “You must be Mrs. TenHuis’s niece.”
He was Olivia VanHorn’s son. The state senator who was rumored to be running for the U.S. House. Of course he looked familiar. Not only did he have his mother’s eyes, but I’d also seen him on the evening news and in the Grand Rapids Press . Neither medium had shown how sexy he was, however.
He smiled, giving me lots of eye contact. Aware that I was standing there gawking at him, I quickly extended my hand in shaking position. “I’m Lee McKinney.”
“Oh. It’s not TenHuis?” He took my hand.
“My mother was a TenHuis. My father is a Texan.”
“I see. Uncle Tim said you had a charming Southern accent.”
“I don’t know how charming it is, but I can legally y’all.” I realized I was still holding his hand. Yikes! I was about to drool on his snow
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