The Chocolate Mouse Trap by JoAnna Carl Read Free Book Online Page A

also keeps the short flagstone walk cleared. Luckily, he’d come that afternoon. I met Hogan at the kitchen door. It had occurred to me that he might know something I wanted to know, and I was pleased to have the opportunity to ask him.
    When I opened the door Hogan was stamping his boots on the sidewalk.
    “Come on in,” I said. “Aunt Nettie’s almost ready, but you and I get to talk for a minute.”
    “I need some calm conversation to settle my nerves after the drive out here. That new drop-off on Lake Shore Drive is a doozy.”
    Lake Shore Drive, of course, gets its name because it runs right along the shore of Lake Michigan. This is nice, in general, but if we have a winter with lots of west wind, there’s a drawback. Big chunks of ice—six or eight feet thick—form along the shore. They break off and float out into the water. Then a west wind comes and drives them right back to the lake’s edge, where they grind away at the beach and bank like bulldozers. That winter the ice had eaten the bank away at one spot until it was right up to the pavement. Get an inch too close to the edge, and the car would go tumbling down. The street department had put up a barricade, of course, but it didn’t look very substantial.
    “You’re chief of police,” I said. “Call the street department and tell ’em it’s a safety hazard.”
    “I already told them, and they already knew. But they’re trying to get some more concrete barriers. Until they can get hold of some, they’re stuck with that orange tape and a few wooden barriers with big spaces between.”
    “Well, since you made it safely, I wanted to ask you a question.”
    “I hope it’s not about Julie Singletree.” Hogan stepped inside the kitchen and wiped his boots on the throw rug. Hogan is in his midsixties, and he’s not handsome, but he has an appeal I can appreciate. It’s something about his close resemblance to Abraham Lincoln in both height and rugged features. He looks reliable, intelligent, humorous, and macho.
    “Why don’t you want me to ask about Julie’s death?” I said. “After all, Julie was a friend, or at least an acquaintance, of mine.”
    I gestured toward the living room, and Hogan followed me, frowning. “I don’t have any excuse for getting interested in a crime that happened in another city,” he said.
    “I did appreciate your getting some details for me the day after she was killed. But I’m not asking you to do that again. This time I just wanted an opinion.”
    “I got lots of those. And they’re worth every cent you pay for ’em.”
    “I went to Julie’s funeral today—the whole Food Group did—and Julie’s uncle told me her computer was stolen from her apartment.”
    “So?”
    “So, he said he found this very strange. But why? Isn’t a computer a common thing to steal? Like TV sets or CD players? Anything easy to hock?”
    Hogan frowned. “I don’t know that there’s a general rule about burglars, but yeah, they’ve been known to take computers.”
    “Then why was Martin Schrader surprised?”
    “Maybe he’s just dumb about how burglars operate.” The chief’s eyes shifted as he spoke, and I looked at him closely.
    “Do you know what else was taken?”
    “Not everything. Like I said, I don’t really have any excuse to ask about it.”
    “Aw, c’mon, Hogan. Don’t try to tell me cops don’t gossip just like the rest of us.”
    He grinned. “You know better than that, Lee.” Then he sighed. “I guess it won’t hurt to tell you what I heard on the grapevine. The word is that the burglar or killer or whoever it was didn’t take much. Just a few things. And he messed the apartment up some.”
    “Like he’d been searching for something?”
    “No, like he didn’t care if he left a mess behind him. Some drawers were pulled out. A couple of things were turned over.” Hogan cleared his throat. “The Holland detectives think he probably came on foot.”
    “Did they find tracks?”
    “Sure.