The Chocolate Snowman Murders by JoAnna Carl Read Free Book Online Page A

away—unless he decided to leave his motel—and my responsibility was over. Joe could take it from here.
    And he did. At eight fifteen the next morning, I heard him asking the motel clerk to connect him with room 122. But he didn’t say anything else.
    When I brought the coffee to the breakfast table, I said, “Is Mendenhall too hungover to answer the phone?”
    â€œI guess so. I’ve tried his cell phone and the motel phone, but he’s not answering either.”
    â€œI hope he didn’t take a cab back to the airport and go home, or that he’s not sick. Dead would be okay.”
    Joe laughed. “I’ll go up there as soon as I finish breakfast. You get hold of George. I’m sure he expected Mendenhall to judge the show today.”
    â€œIf he’s as hungover as he deserves to be, I pity the artists.”
    We left it at that. And that morning I was able to catch George Jenkins, who was properly shocked and apologetic about my experience. He was also relieved to hear that Joe had gone back to Grand Rapids to bring Mendenhall down.
    He apologized for not being available by phone the evening before. “I had to run into Holland,” he said.
    I went on to the office. An hour later I was immersed in an order for fifty large Valentine hearts filled with tiny cupids, a special design for a Detroit gift shop, when the phone rang. I saw Joe’s number on the caller ID.
    â€œHowdy,” I said. “Is Mendenhall on his feet?”
    Joe didn’t answer for a long moment. “Not really.”
    â€œDon’t tell me he’s still drunk!”
    â€œNo. He’s not drunk. But you’d better clear your calendar for today. You probably should come up here to make a statement.”
    â€œA statement! That jerk had better not be filing some sort of complaint!”
    â€œNo, Mendenhall doesn’t have any complaint.”
    â€œThen what’s going on?”
    â€œHe didn’t answer when I banged on his door, so I got the desk clerk to open up. Mendenhall’s lying on the floor. He’s dead.”
    â€œOh, no! If he wasn’t drunk yesterday—if he was sick and I abandoned him, I’ll never forgive myself.”
    â€œSick or drunk, it doesn’t really matter. His prior condition doesn’t seem to have anything to do with his death.”
    â€œWhat happened to him?”
    â€œSomebody bashed his head in with the desk lamp, Lee. It looks like murder.”

Chapter 4

    I was clear out onto Peach Street, headed for the interstate, before I thought of George Jenkins. I might not have thought of him then if I hadn’t driven past his business, Peach Street Gallery of Art.
    â€œOh, my gosh!” I was so startled I spoke out loud. “George has lost another juror.”
    I wheeled the van into the curb and ran for the door. The gallery wasn’t open yet, but I could see movement, so I pounded on the glass until George came to let me in, looking astonished. “Lee?”
    â€œDid Joe call you? Just now?”
    â€œNo, Joe hasn’t called today.”
    â€œThen you haven’t heard about Mendenhall.”
    George rolled his eyes. “What now?”
    I refused to come inside, so George and I stood on the sidewalk, and I told him that Joe had found the art show juror beaten to death. “I thought you needed to know right away,” I said.
    George grabbed his head with both hands. “I know I should be shocked and horrified, but all I can think about is how I’ll find another juror.”
    â€œThat,” I said, “is your problem. Sorry to dump it on you and run, George, but Joe says I need to come up there and make a statement.”
    â€œYes, I see that.” George shook his head. “I hope they figure out what happened. He did sound peculiar when he called last night.”
    â€œDid you talk to him?”
    â€œNo. He left a message on my cell.”
    I drove to Grand Rapids