The Chocolate Bear Burglary Read Online Free PDF

family treasures for filthy lucre, and I embarrashed her in front of your aunt and the antique woman.”
    I was beginning to figure out who this must be. “Are you Mrs. VanHorn’s brother?”
    “Timothy Hart, m’dear. An embarrassing limb of the Hart family tree.”
    “I’m Lee McKinney, Nettie TenHuis’s niece.” We shook hands.
    He looked at the display of chocolate molds behind me. “Mama’s collection looks very nice.”
    “My aunt arranged it. It’s a lovely collection. I understand why Mrs. VanHorn wants to keep it in the family.”
    “I don’t understand it! Olivia’s spent years trying to live down that particular side of the family. They’re my favorite anchestors, but she finds them a bit too earthy. She always wants to remember that Greatgrampa Amos invented the Hart centrif—centrifi—centrifugal molding machine and forget that he worked as a candy butcher. He walked up and down the cars of the Illinois Central, selling candy, apples, and bananas from a basket.”
    I warmed to Timothy. “But that’s inspiring! A real American success story. I can see y’all have a wonderful family connection with the chocolate business.”
    “But if Olivia values the collection so highly, why did she toss it in a box in the basement?”
    “Sometimes things get put away in the wrong place.”
    “True. I mustn’t be too hard on her. She hasn’t been around for the past fifteen years. Couldn’t face the Warner Pier house after Vic died there.”
    “Vic? Was that Mr. VanHorn?”
    “Congressman VanHorn. She’s spent fifteen years grooming her son to take his place. Though that ambition may elude her.”
    “A political career could be very rewarding, but it’s always uncertain.”
    “That’s so.” Timothy Hart shook his finger at me. “That sweet Southern accent has me pouring my heart out, Miss McKinney. I’d better leave.”
    “Not without a sample of TenHuis chocolate.”
    Mr. Hart selected a Jamaican rum truffle (“The ultimate dark chocolate truffle”). “A small additional taste of the good stuff won’t hurt,” he said. “I’m not driving. Lost m’license years ago.” Then he shook his finger at me again. “Now, don’t tell m’sister I came in here. She told me an apology would make things worse.”
    “You haven’t made things worse at all, and I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Hart.” I waved as he went out the door. Yes, Timothy Hart was quite pleasant—for a drunk. But if he pulled this stunt very often, I could see that his relatives would get tired of it.
    I sighed, looked at the clock and went back to the office. Closing time was almost here, and I hadn’t gotten started on the accounts payable or reached Jeff’s parents. I called Rich’s office and Dina’s shop again. Both still unavailable. I left new messages. I wanted them to know about Jeff as quickly as possible.
    I heard the UPS man come in the back, and Jeff appeared. I saw that Aunt Nettie had found him a baseball-style cap; at least he wouldn’t have to wear a hairnet.
    “They sent me for the UPS paperwork,” he said.
    I handed him the forms. “How’s it going?”
    “There’s a lot more to it than I thought there would be.” He took the papers and rushed back.
    I smiled as I went back to my computer. Maybe a few days as a peon would do Jeff some good. Every overprivileged kid needs a lesson or two before he develops respect for the skills ordinary working people have—such as packing fragile chocolate rabbits so carefully that they can be shipped clear across the country without arriving in pieces and ruining Easter bunny sales for Neiman Marcus.
    I had the bank figures done by quitting time. It was going to be close, but we weren’t going to have to increase our loan. Not that my report would suit our new loan officer. He wanted us to have to refinance; then he could increase our interest.
    I could hear Aunt Nettie’s hairnet ladies calling out as they left through the back door. Soon Jeff came up,