The Chocolate Snowman Murders by JoAnna Carl Read Free Book Online

in Michigan, the sun was down. I drove on home. The drive was not improved when it began to snow enough to slow traffic.
    I don’t like driving in snow, but I wasn’t sorry to have something to worry about besides my run-in with Dr. Fletcher Mendenhall and my frustrated attempts to tell somebody what had happened.
    Mad as I was, I was sensible enough to know that I didn’t want to tell the whole world. I had to assume that Mendenhall would sober up and fulfill his responsibilities as judge of the WinterFest art show. There was no purpose in humiliating George Jenkins and the WinterFest committee by making the out-of-town jerk’s transgressions generally known.
    So, when the phone rang as soon as I got in the house, I let the answering machine catch it. I snatched the receiver up as soon as I heard Joe’s voice.
    â€œPal, you are in trouble,” I said. “I’m not doing any more airport pickups for you.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    I gave him the full story, with embellishments. Joe’s only comments were along the line of “You’re kidding” and “I can’t believe this,” with one angry “I’ll kill the guy.”
    However, when I got to the description of Mendenhall running along the motel sidewalk, shaking his fist as I drove off, Joe blew it. He laughed.
    â€œThis is not funny!”
    â€œI know, Lee. I’m just so darn proud of you.”
    â€œYou’d better be!”
    â€œI am. That was quick thinking. Mendenhall deserved to be dumped in the snow out on the interstate. He deserved to be run over by a semi and flattened as flat as—as one of his acrylics. You handled it great.”
    I felt somewhat mollified. “What do we do now?”
    â€œI guess I’d better check on him. I’m still in Grand Rapids, so I’ll stop on my way out of town.”
    I told Joe the exit, the motel, and the room number. “I think you ought to leave him there tonight,” I said. “I left a message telling Sarajane he wouldn’t be at her B and B tonight. I can’t imagine that Mendenhall could have sobered up enough that she’d be willing to have him as a guest. She’s in the place alone this time of the year. George may have to find him another place to stay.”
    Joe promised to call after he’d stopped to check on Mendenhall. I began to think about dinner, although the snow might make him late getting home.
    About twenty minutes later, Joe called again. He started by repeating the exit number, motel name, and room number.
    â€œRoom one twenty-two,” I said. “I’m sure that’s right. Isn’t he there?”
    â€œI think he may have passed out. I banged on the door, but he didn’t answer. So I called his cell phone, and I can hear it ring—or peal; he’s got the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ on it. But he’s not answering.”
    â€œCould he have gone out for dinner? There’s a restaurant next door.”
    â€œHe doesn’t sound as if he would be thinking about food, but I’ll check everything within walking distance. I guess I’d better quiz the desk clerk, too. I’ll make sure Mendenhall didn’t call a cab.”
    But when Joe got home an hour and a half later, he said Mendenhall hadn’t been at any nearby restaurant, and the desk clerk claimed that he knew nothing about him. Apparently no cab had come to the motel.
    â€œLet’s forget him,” he said. “He probably passed out. I’ll go back first thing tomorrow morning.”
    I called Ramona and George all evening, as late as ten o’clock, but neither of them ever answered at their homes, and Ramona’s cell phone was turned off. I didn’t have George’s cell number.
    I was surprised by this lack of interest in where our juror was and why he hadn’t been delivered to Warner Pier. But I didn’t worry about it. Mendenhall was safely stowed