Read The Chocolate Snowman Murders for Free Online Page B

The idea of touching my lips to something that Mendenhall’s mouth had been on was nauseating. I could barely stand to hold it in my hand.
    â€œI’ll keep this,” I said. “You go in and get a room.”
    Instead, he leaned toward me, apparently deciding my new attitude deserved a kiss.
    Again, I gently shoved him away with my palm. “Get a room.”
    He almost fell getting out of the truck, and he staggered slightly as he went into the office. As soon as he was inside, I grabbed my phone and tried to call Joe. His phone was out of service. I debated throwing Mendenhall’s suitcase out right there, but by the time I’d left a message for Joe, Mendenhall was coming back out. I put the phone away.
    Mendenhall got into the truck and held up a key card. “Around to the right,” he said, “and I want to assure you that I consider myself a very lucky man.”
    â€œWhat’s the room number?”
    â€œOne twenty-two.”
    â€œGood. You’re on the ground floor.”
    There was a parking spot in front of 122, and I pulled into it. Mendenhall got out and went to the door. By the time he’d fumbled through opening it—he tried at least four times before he got the card in the slot the right way up—I had taken his suitcase out from behind the seat.
    He turned around, smiling, and motioned for me to precede him into the room.
    I crossed the walkway and dropped the suitcase in front of him. I handed him the flask. I presented him with the box of chocolate snowmen I’d forgotten to give him earlier.
    â€œGood-bye,” I said.
    Then I got back in the truck and locked the doors. Mendenhall was still standing there, looking stupid, as I backed out of my parking place.
    I rolled the window down a few inches and yelled through it. “Someone will pick you up in the morning!” Then I drove off.
    I was halfway back to the office before Mendenhall ran after me, shaking his fist. I could see his lips move, but I was too far away to understand what he was saying.
    Leaving the motel, I turned right so that I wouldn’t have to wait for traffic to clear. This meant I had to turn around in the parking lot of the supermarket across the street to head back to I-196, but I did not want to linger on the motel grounds.
    Once I was on I-196, headed toward Warner Pier, the pace of traffic had picked up, and I was able to drive at top speed for five miles. My phone rang twice, but when I checked the number, I saw it was the one I’d called to reach Mendenhall. I turned the phone off.
    I pulled off at an exit that advertised a McDonald’s. I went inside, ordered a cup of coffee, sat down at a table, and shook. I don’t know if the shaking was caused by nervousness or fury.
    After a couple of sips of caffeine, I turned my phone back on and tried to call Joe again. Still no answer. Mendenhall hadn’t left a message, and he had apparently quit trying to reach me. I scanned the numbers I had saved in my cell phone. I didn’t have George Jenkins’ number, and I needed to tell him I’d dumped his juror. I found Ramona’s number, however, and she needed to be told, too. I called her, but she wasn’t answering. I didn’t leave a message. Somehow I didn’t want a permanent record of anything I might say at that moment.
    By then I’d stopped shaking, and I remembered that Joe kept a Warner County phone book in his truck. I put the lid on my coffee, got back in the vehicle, found the phone book, and called George Jenkins. He didn’t answer either.
    Sarajane Foster needed to know she’d have an empty room at the B and B that night, and I tried to call her. No answer there, either, but the answering machine picked up. I left a message saying Mendenhall wouldn’t be there until the next day, but I didn’t explain why. I simply said he was staying in Grand Rapids that night.
    Since it was then after five p.m., in December,