The Chocolate Mouse Trap Read Online Free PDF Page A

had beautiful white hair, and her face was heavily lined. She looked like the personification of grief. But Julie’s snapping black eyes looked out from under her brows and met mine.
    I should have looked away, but I was mesmerized. That’s what Julie would have looked like in fifty years, I thought.
    It was obviously Julie’s grandmother.
    I forced my head to twist around and face the right direction—I have a few manners—but I don’t remember another thing about that service, except that it was brief. Twenty minutes was all it took to say good-bye to Julie Singletree.
    Mrs. Schrader and the other family members must have slipped out during the final prayer, because the back row was empty when the minister dismissed us and I was able to look around again. As we left the room, a handsome and distinguished man I thought must be the funeral director greeted the mourners. He invited us across the hall, into a dining room where coffee, cookies, and finger sandwiches were offered. No elaborate wake was planned, I gathered.
    The Food Group didn’t know any of the other guests, of course, so we stood around talking to each other in subdued voices. In a few minutes we were approached by a young guy—he had dark hair and eyes like Julie’s, but he was of normal height, not tiny as she had been. He wasn’t bad looking, but his dark suit looked as if he’d slept in it, and he had a hangdog expression.
    “We’re glad you came,” he said. His voice was high and almost squeaked. “I’m Julie’s cousin, Brad Schrader.”
    Jason, who seemed to be taking leadership for the occasion, introduced each of us. “We were in an informal networking group with Julie,” he said. “All of us are in the food and party business.”
    Brad Schrader nodded. “Seventh Major Food Group? Julie told me about you guys.”
    “None of us knew her too well,” Jason said.
    “Julie and I were the only two kids in our generation, the last of the Schrader clan,” Brad said. “We tried to keep in touch. But Julie was closer to your group than she was to me. She enjoyed your e-mails.”
    “Julie was the one who kept the group alive,” Jason said. He didn’t explain that Julie had more time to fool with e-mail than the rest of us did. Her business was just getting started; the rest of us were busy.
    “Julie loved Warner Pier,” Brad said. “Just the way I do. We both spent summers at Grandma’s place down there when we were growing up. It’s our real hometown.”
    “You grew up in Holland, too?” Carolyn Rose asked the question.
    “Not me. Can’t you tell by my accent? My dad was the Schrader kid who didn’t go into the family firm. He moved to New York and worked in publishing, which made us the poor relations. I grew up in the Bronx. Julie’s dad commuted to Grand Rapids and worked at Schrader Labs’ main installation.” He turned to me abruptly. “Miss McKinney? You’re with TenHuis Chocolade?”
    “Yes.” I was surprised at being singled out.
    “My grandmother wanted to meet you.”
    Brad Schrader made an awkward motion, pointing me toward the door into the next room, without so much as an “excuse me.” He had apparently made his token gesture of hospitality to the group. He certainly lacked Julie’s social skills. I felt rather sorry for him.
    Brad pushed me through the next room—a living room where about thirty mourners were standing around—then into a smaller sitting room. And all the way across the living room and into the smaller room I wondered why on earth Mrs. Schrader had singled me out. Was she a chocoholic hoping I had a few truffles in my pocket? Had she noticed me because I towered over all the other mourners? Was I going to be scolded for turning around during the opening prayer?
    The small room was decorated in classic Craftsman style. Mrs. Schrader sat in a wheelchair beside a fire, which burned in a fireplace embellished with beautiful ceramic tiles I was willing to bet were original to the house.