The Chocolate Cat Caper by JoAnna Carl Page A

couldn’t imagine a woman with the ego Clementine Ripley must have had allowing her friends to laugh at her over her choice of a husband. Unless Joe had fooled her completely, and his behavior now was another act. I’d never know. It was, I reminded myself, none of my business.
    The catering crew huddled in the kitchen until we got the word that we could pack up and leave. Mike Herrera came in, smiled, and told us we were all wonderful employees, and he appreciated our calmness. The food, he said, was to be donated to the homeless shelter in Holland. He didn’t explain who made that decision.
    I didn’t quarrel with that—obviously, the party was off—but it made me wonder about Marion McCoy. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t out there giving orders. If she’d gone to Holland—which was an odd thing to do right before a party—hadn’t she taken a cell phone? Had anybody even told her that Ms. Ripley was dead?
    And Duncan Ainsley? Where was he? If he was a house guest—he’d told me he was staying in “the guest cottage”—you’d think he show some concern over the death of his hostess.
    All the Herrera Catering employees bustled around, putting the glasses, plates, and silverware back into their racks, wrapping rolls, refolding tablecloths, and stuffing napkins into sacks. I tried to help—I expected to be paid and wanted to earn my wages—but somebody had to explain everything about the routine to me.
    When the new excitement began I was in the dining room concentrating on refolding tablecloths. The others on the crew were nudging each other and whispering before I caught the raised voices from the big room and realized something was going on.
    “You’ve got to be wrong!” It sounded like a scream from a tortured animal. I had to listen to the second scream before I could identify the voice as coming from Marion McCoy.
    “I only ran into Holland for a few minutes! Clementine can’t be dead !”
    A low rumble answered her. It could have been either the police chief or Joe Woodyard. But whatever was said didn’t mollify Marion.
    “No! No! It can’t be true!”
    Then I heard Greg Glossop’s whiny tenor. “She may have been poisoned,” he said. He sounded self-important.
    “Poisoned!” Marion was still out of control. “That’s impossible!”
    Another voice tried to calm her. Was it Duncan Ainsley.
    Then Marion again. “It must have been natural causes! No one would have wanted to hurt Clementine!”
    That’s not the way I’d heard it, of course. I kept folding, resisting the temptation to look around. But I admit I was listening hard.
    “Nobody would have wanted to hurt Clementine.” Marion said it more quietly. Then she gave a gasp. “Except—except you!”
    Then I did look around. Marion was pointing at Joe Woodyard.
    “Don’t be silly, Marion,” Joe answered her calmly. “I know you and I never got along, but Clem and I had settled our differences two years ago.”
    “Oh, is that true? Then why were you arguing with her just a few hours ago?”
    “We didn’t have an argument.”
    “Didn’t you? You were here asking for money.”
    Joe didn’t answer, and when I looked through the archway that separated the dining room from the living room, I saw that his face was like a thundercloud rolling in over the lake.
    Marion McCoy evidently thought she was winning, and she pressed her advantage. “He was here, Chief Jones. And he did ask for money.” She looked around, her face furious and excited, and her eyes rested on me.
    “I can prove it, too,” she said. “There was another witness. That woman from TenHuis Chocolade!”
    She pointed at me, and everybody in the room turned in my direction. The chief, Joe, and Marion—all of them stared at me.
    “Lee McKinney!” Marion McCoy said. “She can back me up. She heard every word Joe said!”

Chapter 5
    I didn’t do the first thing that occurred to me—turn and run out the kitchen door. I stood still, looking at everybody