Read Online The Chocolate Book Bandit by JoAnna Carl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: JoAnna Carl
Tags: Mystery
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almost falling over someone I knew.
I had become vaguely aware that someone was sitting on a driftwood log ahead of me, but I had my head ducked, so I hadn’t taken in any details.
I was within fifteen feet of the person when I heard a deep voice. “Hello, Mrs. Woodyard. Lee.”
I looked up and saw Butch Cassidy.
“Oh! I didn’t see you. I mean, I didn’t see who was there. What a coherence! I mean, what a coincidence.”
“I guess we both felt the need for a little fresh air after our sessions with the cops.”
“I often come here. It’s close to our house.” I walked a step closer. “Where are you living?”
“For the moment I’m in a place owned by Rhonda Ringer-Riley. She calls it a summer rental. I think this means I need to get out before the first hard freeze.”
I smiled, but I was afraid that he was right. The Ringer-Riley place—a house with several small cottages Rhonda rented to tourists—was a mile south of us on Lake Shore Drive.
“Do you have heat?”
“Yes, there’s an electric heater. So far the house has been very comfortable. And I have lake access. I walked up the shore. I hope I’m not trespassing.”
“I think you’re legal. As I understand it, the water and the area right along it are public, so anybody can walk up and down. You might have trouble if you go up toward one of the houses along the bluff.”
I turned to see exactly where we were and saw the corner of a large brick house about thirty feet above us. “Oh, golly! We’re right beside Abigail Montgomery’s house. Talk about fate! She’s haunting us.”
Butch groaned, put his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head to his hands. “What a mess!”
Butch was attractive even when he was discouraged. I gave a silly giggle. “Don’t despair! If you’re worried about that letter—well, I imagine that Lieutenant Underwood dropped it on the way to the car. Eventually they’ll figure out that it had nothing to do with either of us.”
Butch looked up. “Oh, they’ll figure it out sooner, rather than later. I’ve decided I have to go explain.”
“Explain?”
“Yes. When everybody dropped to their knees to look for your keys . . . Well, the letter was the second thing in the bin of plastic envelopes. I just slid it inside my jacket and walked off with it. I’m the one who took the mysterious letter.”
Chapter 8
I was so surprised that I nearly collapsed in the sand. Actually, I did collapse as far as dropping my fanny onto the tree trunk. I perched on the opposite end from where Butch was sitting, and I stared at him.
Finally I spoke. “You took it! Why?”
Butch gave me an annoyed look.
“Oh! Right,” I said. “You didn’t want the cops to look at it.”
And the reason he didn’t want the cops to see it was obviously none of my business.
“There’s nothing in it that’s incriminating,” Butch said. “I haven’t murdered anybody—not Abigail Montgomery or anybody else. I haven’t blackmailed, stolen, perjured, defrauded, or done anything else illegal. I just didn’t want them to see that letter.”
“So you took it.”
“Yes, and now I see that taking it was incredibly stupid. I took it because I knew it had nothing to do with Mrs. Montgomery’s death, and I thought it might mislead the detectives. Now I see that by making it disappear, I gave it an artificial importance.”
“The effect turned out to be the opposite of what you wanted.”
“Exactly. And I inadvertently involved you. But don’t worry. I’ll go back and tell Chief Jones what I did. At least that will get you off the hook.”
I stared at the lake. Butch had acted stupidly, but who among us hasn’t? I’ve certainly done things impulsively, then regretted them.
Butch spoke again. “I’m really sorry, because I think the letter will focus attention on something extraneous, a situation that can’t possibly have any relation to the death of Abigail Montgomery.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“As
I had become vaguely aware that someone was sitting on a driftwood log ahead of me, but I had my head ducked, so I hadn’t taken in any details.
I was within fifteen feet of the person when I heard a deep voice. “Hello, Mrs. Woodyard. Lee.”
I looked up and saw Butch Cassidy.
“Oh! I didn’t see you. I mean, I didn’t see who was there. What a coherence! I mean, what a coincidence.”
“I guess we both felt the need for a little fresh air after our sessions with the cops.”
“I often come here. It’s close to our house.” I walked a step closer. “Where are you living?”
“For the moment I’m in a place owned by Rhonda Ringer-Riley. She calls it a summer rental. I think this means I need to get out before the first hard freeze.”
I smiled, but I was afraid that he was right. The Ringer-Riley place—a house with several small cottages Rhonda rented to tourists—was a mile south of us on Lake Shore Drive.
“Do you have heat?”
“Yes, there’s an electric heater. So far the house has been very comfortable. And I have lake access. I walked up the shore. I hope I’m not trespassing.”
“I think you’re legal. As I understand it, the water and the area right along it are public, so anybody can walk up and down. You might have trouble if you go up toward one of the houses along the bluff.”
I turned to see exactly where we were and saw the corner of a large brick house about thirty feet above us. “Oh, golly! We’re right beside Abigail Montgomery’s house. Talk about fate! She’s haunting us.”
Butch groaned, put his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head to his hands. “What a mess!”
Butch was attractive even when he was discouraged. I gave a silly giggle. “Don’t despair! If you’re worried about that letter—well, I imagine that Lieutenant Underwood dropped it on the way to the car. Eventually they’ll figure out that it had nothing to do with either of us.”
Butch looked up. “Oh, they’ll figure it out sooner, rather than later. I’ve decided I have to go explain.”
“Explain?”
“Yes. When everybody dropped to their knees to look for your keys . . . Well, the letter was the second thing in the bin of plastic envelopes. I just slid it inside my jacket and walked off with it. I’m the one who took the mysterious letter.”
Chapter 8
I was so surprised that I nearly collapsed in the sand. Actually, I did collapse as far as dropping my fanny onto the tree trunk. I perched on the opposite end from where Butch was sitting, and I stared at him.
Finally I spoke. “You took it! Why?”
Butch gave me an annoyed look.
“Oh! Right,” I said. “You didn’t want the cops to look at it.”
And the reason he didn’t want the cops to see it was obviously none of my business.
“There’s nothing in it that’s incriminating,” Butch said. “I haven’t murdered anybody—not Abigail Montgomery or anybody else. I haven’t blackmailed, stolen, perjured, defrauded, or done anything else illegal. I just didn’t want them to see that letter.”
“So you took it.”
“Yes, and now I see that taking it was incredibly stupid. I took it because I knew it had nothing to do with Mrs. Montgomery’s death, and I thought it might mislead the detectives. Now I see that by making it disappear, I gave it an artificial importance.”
“The effect turned out to be the opposite of what you wanted.”
“Exactly. And I inadvertently involved you. But don’t worry. I’ll go back and tell Chief Jones what I did. At least that will get you off the hook.”
I stared at the lake. Butch had acted stupidly, but who among us hasn’t? I’ve certainly done things impulsively, then regretted them.
Butch spoke again. “I’m really sorry, because I think the letter will focus attention on something extraneous, a situation that can’t possibly have any relation to the death of Abigail Montgomery.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“As
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