Chapter 12

I wanted to shake her—if I’d only been able to get my hands on her.

“Dolly’s the one who needs to worry! First she agrees to hide out with Mike, then she backs out and tells us not to worry? What does she think we’re all going to do?”

I was furious. Where would Dolly have gone? Had she left on her own? Or was she forced to go away with someone? Could she have been kidnapped? But if she left a note—well, did that mean she went willingly? Or that someone had forced her to write the note?

Joe asked the logical question. “Exactly what did the note say?”

“It says she isn’t unhappy about leaving,” Hogan said. “She simply felt she couldn’t hide out with Mike. So she’s gone, but she promised to get in touch.”

Naturally, my first idea was to call Dolly’s cell phone. All I got were instructions to leave a message. A try at sending her an e-mail was equally unsuccessful; she didn’t answer. This did not reassure me. I worried all day.

I worried and agonized and pulled my hair and chewed my nails and worried some more. That was all I could do; Hogan wouldn’t allow either Joe or me to do anything else, such as get out and look for her.

No. He said it firmly. Dolly had left a note. There was no reason to think she was in danger. But the whole plan had been for Mike and Dolly to leave town together. If her friends rushed around, making noise about her disappearing, it might raise suspicions about Mike’s whereabouts. No, we must keep this a secret.

Joe and I had worked with Hogan on a number of cases—his force was tiny, and he called on volunteers when he needed help. But we understood that he was in charge. Our situation was nothing like one of those mystery stories with an idiot professional detective who had to be led along by the amateurs. No, Hogan was the boss.

So I understood what he was saying, but I hated doing nothing. I was ready to spend the whole day on the phone, calling all of Dolly’s friends and relatives to find out if she had turned up on anyone’s doorstep. I wanted to plaster the television and radio news shows with alerts about a missing woman, patrol the streets in police cars with loud sirens, and send up flares.

I dragged myself into work a couple of hours late. Aunt Nettie met me there, as tired and worried about Dolly as I was. At least she brought doughnuts; Aunt Nettie never forgets the comfort food.

When she and I discovered a big box of homemade cookies in the break room, with a note from Dolly taped on top, we both cried.

“Please eat these,” the note said. “I don’t want them to get stale.”

After we got the tears over, we washed our faces, refreshed our makeup, and put on smiles so that all the ladies who made our wonderful chocolate would not guess there was anything wrong. We practiced saying that Dolly had taken a day off for personal business.

But the first phone call of the day was a supplier asking for Dolly, and it nearly knocked me flat. How could I answer in a pleasant voice, “She’s not here today. May I help you?” But I managed to do it.

The morning crawled along, and when twelve o’clock finally rolled around, Hogan took Aunt Nettie and me to lunch. He reassured us that Dolly had gone—wherever—of her own volition.

As we came back from picking at our lunch, I saw a gorgeous silver Corvette parked a few slots down from us in our alley.

My mood lifted, and I crowed. “Alex! He’s back!”

“You go check on him,” Aunt Nettie said. “I’ll finish packing the March’s order and go down to say hi to Alex later.”

I ran next door and pounded on the back door of Alex Gold’s jewelry shop. In a few seconds, our neighbor—both at home and in downtown Warner Pier—opened his door and invited me in.

“I’m so glad to see you,” I said. “And you look just fine. As if nothing had happened.”

“I feel fine, too,” Alex said. “Once I got Garnet to stop hovering over me, it was as if nothing had happened. I still don’t understand why on earth these crooks don’t take anything! It’s not good for my reputation as a jeweler if I’m not wearing anything a burglar thinks is worth stealing! But come on in. I want to show you my new security system.”

The security system was impressive—much like the one Aunt Nettie and I were to have installed later that day.

“Have you tested it?” I asked.

“Here, I’ll set the back-door alarm, and you can test it.”

I laughed. “We’ll have the cops here in a minute!”

“I’ll call the company and tell them we’re testing it.”

Alex made his call, and I tried to open the back door. In a second, a piercing alarm stabbed my ears. I hastily stuck my fingers in them, and Alex tapped a code into the panel near the door. Silence fell immediately.

The noise was certainly effective. Alex had pasted sheets of brown paper over the front windows, but I could tell by the shadows against the glass that passersby were stopping to see what had caused the din.

“That ought to scare off an intruder,” Alex said.

“That’ll send them running for the hills,” I agreed. “I only hope our system works as well.”

Alex leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Did you ever wonder if these break-ins are secretly orchestrated by alarm companies?”

“Huh?”

“Sure. Look how many systems they’re selling because all the Warner Pier merchants are scared out of their khakis over these intruders.”

We laughed. Then Alex showed me around the shop and explained where everything would go. He pointed out the display cases, the hidden cameras, the office with a one-way window overlooking the sales room, and the safe, where a lot of the stock would be tucked away each evening. A nook with a small table would allow customers to sit down and try on items they were drooling over.

The color scheme was black-and-white. “It’s got to suit both modern items and antiques,” Alex said.

“And engagement rings?” I asked.

“Of course. It’s not a jewelry store without engagement rings. But our emphasis will be antique and handmade jewelry. Some of it will be—well, folksy. It will have a handcrafted look.”

I saw that Alex had been eating his own lunch in the back room. A colorful book with beautiful photographs of showy jewelry sat in front of his carton of yogurt.

I pointed to it. “I see you think about jewelry even during meals.”

Alex laughed, but the sound seemed a bit forced. “I’m a fifth-generation jeweler, Lee. Our blood runs ruby red.”

He reached over and picked up a small bag of potato chips with one hand, then closed the book with the other. Then he dropped the chips, which somehow managed to land on the title of the book.

Then he looked at me rather slyly. For a moment I felt that I’d surprised Alex looking at dirty pictures, not beautiful jewels.

I swallowed a giggle as I said good-bye and headed to the back door. Alex promised to set the new alarm system while he was in the building alone.

“Even though there’s nothing valuable here now,” he said.

“You’re here! None of us could get along without you.”

I said good-bye and left through the back door. I pondered the Gold family as I walked back to the shop. Alex’s mother had been the famed opera singer Opal Diamonte. She married a well-to-do jeweler named Reuben Gold. Since Rubin means “ruby” in German, and diamante translates from Italian as “diamond,” they each had two names that were similar to precious stones or precious metals. This inspired the Golds to name their children after jewels—Ruby, Pearl, and Alexandrite, which was Alex’s full name. Alex also had two nieces, Garnet and Jade.

But Garnet, our neighbor across Lake Shore Drive, and her sister, Jade, had declared an end to the jewel names. Garnet’s children were named Mary and Richard Junior, and Jade’s daughters were Carol and Beth.

The Gold family’s unusual names brought my thoughts back to Dolly Jolly, who had a sister named Molly. Despite a lot of good-natured teasing, they denied that they had an aunt named Polly or a brother named Wally.

That thought made me smile, but also brought a tear to my eye. Where was Dolly? She was my friend, and I missed her. And I was terribly worried about her, even if she claimed to be perfectly safe.

I swallowed my worry and went through the back door of TenHuis Chocolade. I was immediately waylaid by Aunt Nettie, who whispered in my ear, “Look at your e-mail! Quick!”

The first item was from Dolly.

Aunt Nettie and I hugged each other enthusiastically, even though the e-mail was merely a copy of an order sent to our nut supplier. Wherever she was, Dolly was on the job.

I whispered, “Oh, Aunt Nettie! I feel so much better.”

I tried again to e-mail and text Dolly, but she didn’t answer. Still, wherever she was, she was working. This discovery helped me feel ready to meet the installer from the security company a half hour later.

The installer worked efficiently, walking around the shop with Aunt Nettie and me, describing what he could install to make our doors and windows safe from intruders. He also checked our fire alarms. Then he produced a tool kit, and in less than an hour, we were all set up with a sophisticated alarm system.

I was impressed and admitted it out loud. “This is great!”

The installer smiled. “I hope you never need it. But if you ever do, it will call the police and our regional office.”

As he left, Aunt Nettie presented him with a half-pound box of strawberry truffles (“white chocolate interior enrobed in dark chocolate and decorated with dark chocolate sprinkles”) and mocha pyramids (“milky coffee interior inside a dark chocolate pyramid”).

“I’m surprised at how much more secure I feel already,” I said.

“I feel secure, too,” Aunt Nettie said. “And it didn’t take long.”

Then I laughed. “We’ll be safe from intruders, but not from raccoons,” I said. “An electronic system won’t help a bit with stopping them. And with Watt Wicker still out, that project has come to a standstill.”

Aunt Nettie sighed. “I hate to replace Watt after he was injured. I’ll call Hogan and ask what his status is. I meant to ask at lunch.”

In a few minutes she came into my office. She was frowning.

“I talked to Hogan,” she said. “And it seems that Watt is out of pocket, too.”

“What?! Like Dolly?”

“No. No, Hogan thinks Watt simply wandered away from where Mike and Hogan had hidden him. There’s no reason to think he’s in danger, but they don’t know where he is.”

“Can I help search for him?”

“Hogan says no. He’s got Mike back in his hiding place and wants him to stay there. I think he feels that Watt is simply wandering and will turn up. Then they’ll find a better hiding place.”

She gave me a pat on the back. “Lee, you seem awfully tired. Why don’t you go home?”

“It’s only four o’clock.”

“But you came in an hour early.”

She was right, and I agreed that I’d had such a bad night the previous night that I was ready to take a hot shower, eat a cheese sandwich and some tomato soup, and hit the rack.

I kissed Aunt Nettie on the cheek. “And I recommend that you do the same thing.”

“I might,” she said. “I could leave Bunny in charge.”

“She can handle it until closing. I’ll go over the new lockup rules with her.”

I was still parking at the municipal lot, since Watt’s raccoon trap was taking my parking space. After I talked to Bunny, I gathered my belongings and headed out the front door. I was absolutely exhausted, and I still had to walk uphill for four blocks to get to my car.

I’ll swear I fell asleep at Warner Pier’s one stoplight as I left town. But I made it out to Lake Shore Drive to our lane, stopped to pick up the mail, then parked the van in my usual spot in the drive. The click of the key in the back door’s lock sounded like the door to heaven opening, and I quietly went inside.

I walked into the dining room, stood by the table, and started sorting the mail. As usual, it was mostly junk.

I had just reached the third charity donation request when the upstairs shower came on.