Free The Chocolate Bear Burglary by JoAnna Carl

boots. I dropped his hand and stepped back behind the counter. “I enjoyed meeting your uncle yesterday. He’s a charmer.”
    Hart VanHorn grinned. “Uncle Tim is one of my favorite people. He has his problems, but ordinary human meanness was simply left out of his character.”
    Also sobriety. Time to change the subject. “Did you come in to see the mules? I mean the molds.” Curses! My tongue was tangled up again. “I already packed them up.”
    “Oh? You’re not going to display them?”
    “After the break-in, I didn’t want to take the chance.”
    “Mother wouldn’t mind, but I understand how you must feel. I wanted to make sure that you and your aunt weren’t upset by the excitement last night.”
    “We were just grateful that the burglars didn’t take anything. Particularly the molds.”
    “Down at the post office I heard that your stepson scared the burglars off.”
    “My former stepson. Yes. He saw someone moving around in the shop as he drove by, so he stopped. Then he saw that the glass in the door was broken.”
    “I’d like to give him a reward.”
    “That’s not necessary, but it’s very nice of you.”
    “May I meet the young man?”
    “Not right now. We all slept late, and Jeff isn’t here yet. I’ll tell him you came in.”
    That seemed to bring the conversation to a halt, and I expected Hart VanHorn to smile his beautiful smile and say good-bye. But he lingered. “I also need some candy.”
    “That I can take care of!”
    I didn’t correct his terminology directly. In the chocolate business, the word “candy” means hard candy—lemon drops and jawbreakers. Our product is “chocolate.”
    “We have lots of chocolate,” I said, “and it’s all for sale. What do you need?”
    “Well, the board members from a Grand Rapids shelter for battered women helped push a bill I’m sponsoring in the legislature. They worked really hard, and I’d like to give them all something in recognition. It should be versions of the same gift—you know, not singling any one person out. So, my mother suggested a box of candy for each of the twelve board members.”
    “Of course. I think they’d all be delighted. We have four-ounce, eight-ounce, and one-pound boxes.”
    “Oh, I think at least a pound.”
    “That would make a very nice gift. The one-pound boxes are thirty dollars. If you want tins, it’s a dollar more.” I always work the prices in early in the conversation. Not everybody is pleased to pay thirty dollars for a pound of chocolates—even chocolates as delicious as TenHuis’s. A purchase of twelve boxes could run him three hundred sixty dollars, plus tax. That would make some people decide on a thank-you note instead.
    But Hart VanHorn didn’t turn a hair of that beautiful head. “Fine,” he said. “And the boxes are okay. But—well, could you put one of those chocolate teddy bears in each? They’re collecting teddy bears for the children who come to the shelter. And could you wrap each box a little differently? I mean, different-colored ribbon or something?”
    “I’m sure I can come up with something. And for an order that size I can give you a fifteen percent discount. When do you need them?”
    “Today, I’m afraid. I have to run up to Grand Rapids, and I wanted to take them along.” He smiled. “Their board meets tomorrow. Is that too soon?”
    “Oh, no. I have enough ready. Unless you want them individually packed?” I pulled ready-to-go boxes from a shelf against the wall and showed him the assortments inside. I demonstrated how I could substitute a molded teddy bear for four of the chocolates, and Hart VanHorn approved the plan. Then we discussed the decorations. I found ribbons in different colors—gold, silver, red, green, blue, plaid, peppermint stripe. And the boxes came in white, gold, and silver, so making each one different from the others wasn’t difficult.
    I gave Hart VanHorn a dozen gift cards, and he stood at the counter writing them out