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Authors: JoAnna Carl
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TenHuis Chocolade would be open another hour. I dropped Lindy off at her house and declined her halfhearted invitation to come in. Tony came out to the car and we spoke briefly; I wouldn’t have known him as the skinny kid who used to flirt with Lindy over a limeade at the Downtown Drugs soda fountain. He’d grown five or six inches and gained forty pounds in the ten years since I’d seen him.
I saw what Lindy meant about his trying to get in touch with his Hispanic heritage. When we’d been in high school, Tony had tried hard not to look Mexican, while his father had been definitely Latino. Now his father just looked like a dark-haired American, and Tony had grown a mustache and sideburns.
I drove back to the chocolate shop and parked in the alley. As soon as I walked inside, Aunt Nettie ran to meet me. “Lee! Are you all right?”
“Of course. What are you doing here? You were supposed to go home at four.”
“I had to make sure you were okay. I went out to Clementine Ripley’s house, but they wouldn’t let me in. What happened?”
I told her the story, but I slurred over the chocolates and the accusations that Gregory Glossop had made about one of them containing cyanide. I told her he had suggested cyanide poisoning, but I didn’t specifically say that he’d accused an Amaretto truffle of being responsible for her death.
As I finished, Aunt Nettie shook her head. “Terrible, terrible. Such a thing to happen. And that Gregory Gossip! He’s terrible, too.”
“Then you don’t trust his opinion on the cause of death?”
“Of course not. Greg always wants things to be as bad as possible. Nobody would poison anybody in Warner Pier. It’s just a little place!”
I was torn. Should I tell her the rest, prepare her for the worst? Or let well enough alone? Which cliché applied?
Before I could decide, the phone rang.
I answered. “TenHuis Chocolade.”
“Oh! Are yew open?” The voice on the phone was startled, but it still sounded Texan.
I checked my watch. Eight-thirty. “We close in half an hour.”
“Ah see. Is this Lee McKinney?”
“Yes.” The accent made the caller’s identity plain. “Is this Mr. Ainsley?”
He laughed. “Shore is. I guess it’s impossible for me to hid, up here in Michigan. But if I try to talk different, it’s like putting a high-dollar saddle on a jackass.”
Why on earth was he calling? I wondered, but I tried to be polite. “My Texas grandma would have said your accent sounds as nice as a cotton hat.”
“I’d better watch you, young lady. A Texas gal can tell when I’m bullin’. But when I called I was expectin’ an answerin’ machine. Do y’all work round the clock?”
“The shop is open from ten a.m. until nine p.m. My aunt comes in at eight, since she’s in charge of making the chocolates. I come in at noon and work until the place is closed and the cleanup finished. Why? Did you need chocolates tonight?”
Ainsley chuckled. “An emergency chocolate attack? No, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry Ms. McPicky”—his voice was scornful—“tried to put you on the spot, and to tell you that you handled her as smart as a tree full of owls.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ainsley.” I assumed he was trying to explain the wink. “I know Ms. McCoy’s really upset.”
“She is, as we all are, so we have to make allowances. But she shouldn’t have asked you to make a statement discrediting your friend.”
“You mean Joe Woodyard? I really can’t claim him as a friend. I was one of the girls who used to hang around on the beach when he was a lifeguard. That was twelve years ago. I doubt he even remembered me, except as a face in the crowd.”
“Oh, then you’re not seeing him—socially?”
“Oh, no! I hadn’t thought of him in years. When we ran into each other this afternoon, it took me a few minutes to figure out who he was.”
“I see. Well, in that case . . .” He paused for a moment, then spoke again. “Well, before I go back to
I saw what Lindy meant about his trying to get in touch with his Hispanic heritage. When we’d been in high school, Tony had tried hard not to look Mexican, while his father had been definitely Latino. Now his father just looked like a dark-haired American, and Tony had grown a mustache and sideburns.
I drove back to the chocolate shop and parked in the alley. As soon as I walked inside, Aunt Nettie ran to meet me. “Lee! Are you all right?”
“Of course. What are you doing here? You were supposed to go home at four.”
“I had to make sure you were okay. I went out to Clementine Ripley’s house, but they wouldn’t let me in. What happened?”
I told her the story, but I slurred over the chocolates and the accusations that Gregory Glossop had made about one of them containing cyanide. I told her he had suggested cyanide poisoning, but I didn’t specifically say that he’d accused an Amaretto truffle of being responsible for her death.
As I finished, Aunt Nettie shook her head. “Terrible, terrible. Such a thing to happen. And that Gregory Gossip! He’s terrible, too.”
“Then you don’t trust his opinion on the cause of death?”
“Of course not. Greg always wants things to be as bad as possible. Nobody would poison anybody in Warner Pier. It’s just a little place!”
I was torn. Should I tell her the rest, prepare her for the worst? Or let well enough alone? Which cliché applied?
Before I could decide, the phone rang.
I answered. “TenHuis Chocolade.”
“Oh! Are yew open?” The voice on the phone was startled, but it still sounded Texan.
I checked my watch. Eight-thirty. “We close in half an hour.”
“Ah see. Is this Lee McKinney?”
“Yes.” The accent made the caller’s identity plain. “Is this Mr. Ainsley?”
He laughed. “Shore is. I guess it’s impossible for me to hid, up here in Michigan. But if I try to talk different, it’s like putting a high-dollar saddle on a jackass.”
Why on earth was he calling? I wondered, but I tried to be polite. “My Texas grandma would have said your accent sounds as nice as a cotton hat.”
“I’d better watch you, young lady. A Texas gal can tell when I’m bullin’. But when I called I was expectin’ an answerin’ machine. Do y’all work round the clock?”
“The shop is open from ten a.m. until nine p.m. My aunt comes in at eight, since she’s in charge of making the chocolates. I come in at noon and work until the place is closed and the cleanup finished. Why? Did you need chocolates tonight?”
Ainsley chuckled. “An emergency chocolate attack? No, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry Ms. McPicky”—his voice was scornful—“tried to put you on the spot, and to tell you that you handled her as smart as a tree full of owls.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ainsley.” I assumed he was trying to explain the wink. “I know Ms. McCoy’s really upset.”
“She is, as we all are, so we have to make allowances. But she shouldn’t have asked you to make a statement discrediting your friend.”
“You mean Joe Woodyard? I really can’t claim him as a friend. I was one of the girls who used to hang around on the beach when he was a lifeguard. That was twelve years ago. I doubt he even remembered me, except as a face in the crowd.”
“Oh, then you’re not seeing him—socially?”
“Oh, no! I hadn’t thought of him in years. When we ran into each other this afternoon, it took me a few minutes to figure out who he was.”
“I see. Well, in that case . . .” He paused for a moment, then spoke again. “Well, before I go back to
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