Read Online The Chocolate Cat Caper by JoAnna Carl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: JoAnna Carl
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Phil used to eat dinner there a lot.
Joe Woodyard frowned. “I guess you and your aunt live here.”
It wasn’t such an odd thing to say. Nearly all the “downtown” businesses in Warner Pier have apartments upstairs, and some of the merchants do live over their shops.
“No,” I said. “But Aunt Nettie’s hours are so long she must feel as if she lives here. She comes to work before eight in the morning, and since Uncle Phil died she’s been staying until closing a lot of the time.” I turned to face Joe. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“About what happened out at Warner Point.” He frowned again. I was beginning to get impatient with Mr. Woodyard. Had he come down to the shop to bawl me out?
“Listen,” he said. “I can handle the situation. Don’t get any dumb ideas about helping me out. Just keep your mouth shut.”
Actually, his remarks made me open my mouth. I was so astonished at what he had said that my jaw dropped like a drawbridge. I was so surprised that I didn’t even get mad, at least right away.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Just because we once knew each other, that doesn’t mean you have to cover up for me or anything. Don’t let anybody get the idea that we’re friends.”
What in the world was he talking about? Did he think that I’d refused to repeat his remarks to Chief Jones because I had a personal interest in him?
Suddenly I was furious. What a jerk!
Joe spoke again. “If Marion heard what I said to Clem, then you must have heard it, too. But you’ll be better off if you just say no comment.”
“What?”
“I had a legitimate reason for asking Clem for money. I simply don’t want—”
By then I knew what I wanted to say, and I said it. “Stop! You keep your mouth shut!”
He obeyed so fast his jaws snapped, and I was the one who went on.
“What I said out there had nothing to do with you. If the chief asks me, I’ll tell him exactly what I heard. I just didn’t want Marion McCoy ordering me around. And frankly, I don’t want you ordering me around, either.”
“What do you mean? Ordering you around?”
“Why did you come by here to tell me how to handle the situation?”
“The situation? What are you talking about?”
“Chief Jones, of course.”
“I don’t care about him. Tell him any damn thing you want!”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“I’m trying to warn you about the tabloids.”
“Tabloids? I’m not interested in the tabloids.” Joe laughed harshly. “About this time tomorrow you will be.”
“What do you mean?”
“After the tabloid reporters hit town, ready to make big bucks from Clementine’s death, then you’ll care. When you’ve seen your life displayed for the grocerystore checkout line, you get sort of paranoid.”
Maybe I looked surprised, because he laughed again.
“Oh, nobody reads them! Or admits it. But somehow all the people you thought were your friends know what was in the latest issue.”
“Why would the tabloids be interested in Clementine Ripley? She was a lawyer, not a movie star.”
“True, but she represented a lot of celebrities. When the word got out that we were married—God! It was awful. I was still with Legal Aid, but all of a sudden I couldn’t get any work done. I didn’t have a staff to insulate me from the reporters, the way Clem did. Can you imagine trying to represent some woman whose ex-husband has been using his court-ordered visitation to beat their baby—and you have to do it with a dozen photographers swarming you every time you came out of the courtroom?”
“You may have had problems, but . . .”
Joe didn’t hear me. “When we split and I started the boat business, it was worse. For about a month every time I dipped a brush in varnish or sawed a board, a strobe flashed.”
“But . . .”
Joe smiled, but he didn’t look amused. “I guess I deserved it. Obscure young lawyer walks out on famous wife, chucks law for manual labor,” he
Joe Woodyard frowned. “I guess you and your aunt live here.”
It wasn’t such an odd thing to say. Nearly all the “downtown” businesses in Warner Pier have apartments upstairs, and some of the merchants do live over their shops.
“No,” I said. “But Aunt Nettie’s hours are so long she must feel as if she lives here. She comes to work before eight in the morning, and since Uncle Phil died she’s been staying until closing a lot of the time.” I turned to face Joe. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“About what happened out at Warner Point.” He frowned again. I was beginning to get impatient with Mr. Woodyard. Had he come down to the shop to bawl me out?
“Listen,” he said. “I can handle the situation. Don’t get any dumb ideas about helping me out. Just keep your mouth shut.”
Actually, his remarks made me open my mouth. I was so astonished at what he had said that my jaw dropped like a drawbridge. I was so surprised that I didn’t even get mad, at least right away.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Just because we once knew each other, that doesn’t mean you have to cover up for me or anything. Don’t let anybody get the idea that we’re friends.”
What in the world was he talking about? Did he think that I’d refused to repeat his remarks to Chief Jones because I had a personal interest in him?
Suddenly I was furious. What a jerk!
Joe spoke again. “If Marion heard what I said to Clem, then you must have heard it, too. But you’ll be better off if you just say no comment.”
“What?”
“I had a legitimate reason for asking Clem for money. I simply don’t want—”
By then I knew what I wanted to say, and I said it. “Stop! You keep your mouth shut!”
He obeyed so fast his jaws snapped, and I was the one who went on.
“What I said out there had nothing to do with you. If the chief asks me, I’ll tell him exactly what I heard. I just didn’t want Marion McCoy ordering me around. And frankly, I don’t want you ordering me around, either.”
“What do you mean? Ordering you around?”
“Why did you come by here to tell me how to handle the situation?”
“The situation? What are you talking about?”
“Chief Jones, of course.”
“I don’t care about him. Tell him any damn thing you want!”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“I’m trying to warn you about the tabloids.”
“Tabloids? I’m not interested in the tabloids.” Joe laughed harshly. “About this time tomorrow you will be.”
“What do you mean?”
“After the tabloid reporters hit town, ready to make big bucks from Clementine’s death, then you’ll care. When you’ve seen your life displayed for the grocerystore checkout line, you get sort of paranoid.”
Maybe I looked surprised, because he laughed again.
“Oh, nobody reads them! Or admits it. But somehow all the people you thought were your friends know what was in the latest issue.”
“Why would the tabloids be interested in Clementine Ripley? She was a lawyer, not a movie star.”
“True, but she represented a lot of celebrities. When the word got out that we were married—God! It was awful. I was still with Legal Aid, but all of a sudden I couldn’t get any work done. I didn’t have a staff to insulate me from the reporters, the way Clem did. Can you imagine trying to represent some woman whose ex-husband has been using his court-ordered visitation to beat their baby—and you have to do it with a dozen photographers swarming you every time you came out of the courtroom?”
“You may have had problems, but . . .”
Joe didn’t hear me. “When we split and I started the boat business, it was worse. For about a month every time I dipped a brush in varnish or sawed a board, a strobe flashed.”
“But . . .”
Joe smiled, but he didn’t look amused. “I guess I deserved it. Obscure young lawyer walks out on famous wife, chucks law for manual labor,” he
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