All You Need Is Fudge (17 page)

“I know Paige is athletic, but it was dark and the waves get pretty high in the straits. I've seen the ferries get yanked about.”

“The weather said it was calm that night,” Tom said. “It was the first thing I checked.”

“And if it hadn't been calm?” I asked.

“The DA thinks Paige may have had an accomplice,” Trent said. “Witnesses say they last saw her in a cocktail dress and heels.”

“I've got a couple who claim to have seen her sitting on the deck of the
Scoundrel
in that outfit at four
AM.
She supposedly got up and told them good night.” He flipped through his notebook. “That was Tori Scott and her boyfriend Richard Allen. They had decided to take a walk on the deck before they retired that night.”

“Paige was alone?” I asked.

“Yes.” He reread his notes. “They said she seemed contemplative but okay. They couldn't imagine she would look like that hours after murdering someone.”

“That's good, right?” I said.

“Yes, that's good.” Trent patted my knee. “It would have been better if Reggie hadn't passed out on her that night.”

I nodded. “I think he was drugged. I talked to him and he said he couldn't believe that he'd passed out after two drinks. I told him he should get tested to see if there was any drug left in his urine or blood. Sometimes there's residue.”

“Who would drug him and why?” Trent asked, seemingly surprised by the idea.

“My theory is that whoever killed Carin did not do it on the spur of the moment. I think they planned it out carefully. I think they drugged Reggie and most of the people on the
Scoundrel
. I think they took the oar ahead of time and then put it back on the
Scoundrel
once the boat docked.”

“That's stretching things a bit, don't you think?” Tom said with a frown. “How do you drug a boatful of people and not Paige? Also, it's clear that Tori Scott and Richard Allen were not drugged as they are very aware of their entire night.”

I frowned. “I suppose that does seem odd.”

“You're really reaching,” Tom said. “If the killer had an accomplice on the
Scoundrel
that night, why would they take the chance of not drugging everyone? What if Tori and Richard went on the deck earlier and were able to alibi Paige?”

“Yes,” I said wryly. “I can see the flaw in that idea. They are sure they were awake and aware the entire night?”

“They were and so was the crew,” Tom said. “The captain was aboard that night along with two servers and a bartender.”

“Did the crew see anyone leave the boat?” I asked. “If Paige had taken a lifeboat and gone to the pier, someone would have seen it, right? I mean she would have had to untie it and lower it to the water. Then somehow tie it back to the boat upon return. Not to mention the time it would take for her to row here and back.”

“She would have had to have an accomplice,” Trent muttered.

“Exactly,” I said. “If the killer didn't have an accomplice aboard, Paige wouldn't have had an accomplice either.”

“She has a point,” Tom said and made a note. “We need to find out if the crew noticed the missing lifeboat or if they noticed a lifeboat that was wet or untied and had obvious signs of use that night.”

“That makes sense,” Trent said. “Go back and interview the crew. See if anyone noticed anything out of order with the lifeboats.”

“Got it.” Tom got up. “Thank you, Miss McMurphy. Keep in touch.”

“I will.” I stood. “Shall I walk you out?”

Tom shook his head. “No. I can show myself out.”

“Go out the front,” I said when he headed toward the back door. “I've been threatened from the alley and I don't want anyone to get hurt.”

He frowned. “What kind of threats?”

“Someone left an open baited bear trap at my back door. There was a note, suggesting I watch my step. The message was pretty clear.”

“Hmm.” He made a note then slipped his notebook in his breast pocket. “A threat like that is tough to pull off without someone seeing something.”

“If you find someone,” I said, “let me know. So far, no one has a clue how that trap got there or why.”

* * *

Later that afternoon Jenn and I met at the coffee shop on the marina. I ordered tea and Jenn ordered iced coffee along with a plate of scones. The clerk gave us a number and we sat out on the tiny deck to catch the lake breeze and watch the yachts move in and out of the marina.

Our plan was to talk about Douglas's proposal to Frances, but being so close to the spot where I first saw Carin made me more uncomfortable than I'd thought. I watched the boats to see what size had lifeboats on the sides and what size craft must have had inflatables.

“Well, look who's here,” Gail Hall said as she brought us our coffee order. She placed the tea and iced coffee down on the table along with our plate of scones, then picked up the cardboard number.

“Hi Gail,” I said. “How are you?”

“I'm doing well. How about you? How are you holding up through all the hoopla?”

“I'm hanging in there. How's the painting going?” I noticed that her hands were free of black paint.

“The painting?”

“The dresser you were refinishing,” I reminded her.

She laughed. “Oh, yes. As I said, it doesn't look as good as what they show you on television. I guess I'm not a good do-it-yourselfer, but I keep trying. I was thinking of stenciling a chair rail around the coffee shop next. What do you think?”

“Like vines?” Jenn asked.

“I think flowers are more Victorian,” she said. “Maybe cabbage roses?”

“That would be pretty,” I said.

“Pretty ambitious”—she laughed again—“considering how bad the dresser turned out.” She winked at me. “You girls have a nice visit and enjoy your drinks.”

“We will,” I said and picked up my tea.

Jenn picked up her coffee.

“Here's to us,” I said. “The best people we know.”

“I'll drink to that.” Jenn touched her glass to mine, then we sipped. “You talked to Frances's best friend, right? How was that?”

“Maggs is great,” I said and drew my gaze to Jenn.

She wore her hair down and it floated around her shoulders like a thick black veil, smooth and shiny in the afternoon sun. Her skin was tan and her body toned. She wore a white sundress with tiny flowers sprinkled on it and sandals. I still had on my McMurphy pink and white polo and black slacks. My hair was pulled back in the perpetual ponytail of a candy maker. I was lucky enough to remember to take off the hairnet before I left the hotel.

“So? What does she suggest for romance for Frances?”

“She thought the McMurphy would be great since they met there and work together there,” I said.

Jenn grinned. “Of course it would be perfect! But we need two other ideas so that we can give Mr. Devaney choices.”

“Well, Maggs suggested a moonlight carriage ride around the island and a candlelight picnic at Lover's Point.”

“Oh, I like that, too!” Jenn's eyes lit up.

“Finally, she suggested the most obvious—that he rent the sunporch at the Grand Hotel and hire a tiny three-piece orchestra so they can dance and have a candlelight dinner for two.”

Jenn sighed and put her chin on her hand. “All great ideas. I hope you know I'm going to use them should I ever get asked to plan an engagement again.”

“Great,” I said. “The thing to do now is to come up with menus and price each one so that he can see the entire picture. I know that when it comes to love, money is no object, but if we are going to be professionals . . .”

“I'll work up quotes,” Jenn said.

“You should be careful about it because people talk. If anyone suspects this is for Frances, they will tell her.”

“Oh, right.” Jenn bit the inside of her mouth. “I didn't think of that. Good thing you're on the case. I'll make up some couple that called from Chicago. I can even tell Frances about it and see what she thinks.”

I winced. “I wouldn't go that far. If she asks, tell her what you're working on like you do with the other things you propose.”

“I get it.” Jenn winked. “We have a no ask, no tell policy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Just be careful, okay? We really need this to be a surprise.”

“Should we have Sandy make a chocolate sculpture? Like a wedding cake or something?”

“Maybe an open ring box?” I suggested.

“Or a horse and buggy with
Will you marry me?
on a banner on the back?”

“Oh, this is fun . . . but we don't want to give too much away, too soon,” I said.

“I'll ask Sandy.” Jenn made a note. “She's great at these things.”

“Maybe a champagne bottle?” I suggested.

“Or roses?” Jenn was writing fast.

“Let's hope that Frances is amazed and delighted and says yes.”

“Oh, she will,” Jenn said. “I'm certain of that. Even if covered in sweat and sawdust, he asked her in the middle of the alley.”

“That reminds me,” I said. “We need to get someone to video the moment.”

“What? How did that remind you of video?”

“Because I'm having a camera installed on the back of the McMurphy and a motion sensor light,” I said.

“That's a great idea,” Jenn said.

“Trent suggested it. He called the guy he uses for the stables and the bars. They're coming over tomorrow to install.”

“Did you let Mr. Devaney know?”

“I sure did. He was excited and called the installation guy to find out all the specs and to make sure he had any gear they might need.”

“That's Mr. Devaney, always on top of things,” Jenn said.

“I know. He's the best. Let's give him and Frances a night to remember. They deserve it.”

“Do you know Mr. Harold Jones?” I asked Frances the next morning. My date with Trent the night before was wonderful and I felt energized knowing that my love life was back on track. It made me want to help Paige even more.

“Harold Jones?” Frances pursed her lips and tapped a pen against her cheek. She sat perched behind the receptionist desk. Her black and white polka dotted reading glasses coordinated with the polka dots showing on the underside of the rolled-up sleeves of her black and red striped shirt. Her long black skirt was belted by a thick red patent-leather belt.

I had teased her that she looked like an older version of Minnie Mouse. She'd retorted that she didn't have the right shoes.

“Yes, Harold Jones,” I said. “I was told he likes to star gaze and uses a telescope that he can focus on the water so he can see the boats and the pier.”

“Hmm. I don't know a Harold Jones. There's an Irene Jones who comes to the senior center now and again. Poor dear is in a wheelchair so she doesn't get out much. Perhaps Harold is her son.”

“Funny. You know everyone on the island. Why don't you know if Irene Jones has a son named Harold?”

“Oh, she is the stepsister of Cassandra English. Cassandra owns a big Victorian with a view of the straits. Irene came to live on the island a few years ago when her husband died. I don't know much about it except that Cassandra was kind enough to take her in and see that she gets the nursing care she needs.” Frances frowned. “Now, tell me why you need to know about Harold Jones.”

“The Jessops' investigator told me that Harold Jones is Rex's eyewitness. Apparently he was out stargazing and heard a commotion on the pier around three
AM
. He turned his telescope on the pier and saw two women fighting. One stepped into the circle of light from the lamp and he recognized Paige Jessop.”

“He's saying he saw Paige kill Carin and didn't do anything?”

“No, he says he was distracted by a meteor and when he turned his lens back on the pier both women were gone. He didn't think anything about it until I found Carin's dead body. Then he went to the police to tell them what he saw.”

“He knows Paige well enough that he can identify her through a lens? How far away was he?” Frances asked.

“I didn't get those details.” I cocked my head to the side. “You make a good investigator.”

“It doesn't make sense that he knows Paige and I don't know who he is . . . unless he somehow works for the Jessops.”

“That could be.” I tapped my chin. “The Jessops own quite a few businesses in town. You and I don't go to the bars very often. I suppose he could work at one of them.”

“I have friends who might know.” Frances frowned again. “What? Are you surprised that seniors go to bars? Simply because my friends are old does not mean they are dead.”

I waved my hands. “I didn't mean any disrespect. Papa Liam was always up for a drink or two. Can I have Cassandra English's address? Mal and I will walk up there and see what the view is like.”

“Sure.” Frances wrote down the address and handed me the notepaper. “It's a nice walk from here. I'm sure Mal will enjoy it.”

I put Mal's harness and leash on and headed toward the back of the building. She was scrambling toward the door, happy to go out. The back door was held open by a rock.

“Be careful coming out!” Mr. Devaney shouted.

Oh no, I forgot I had asked everyone to go out the front. I slowed Mal down and took a careful step out. A ladder leaned against the side of the building. Mr. Devaney was holding it as a gentleman in overalls ran wiring along the gutter. The security guys were installing the motion sensor lights and the camera.

“How's it going?”

“It's going,” Mr. Devaney said. “These gentlemen have their system of installation down pretty well.”

“Yes, ma'am,” a second man said as he leaned over the rail of the deck off my apartment. “You'll be set up and rolling by dinnertime. From now on, you'll have a video record of anyone who comes and goes through the alley here.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Our pleasure,” he replied and went back to work.

I leaned toward Mr. Devaney. “Who will have access to that information?” It struck me that it was my back door and there were a lot of gossips on the island. The last thing I needed was someone like Charlene knowing everyone who came and went from my home and at what times.

“They will set up a closed circuit digital stream,” Mr. Devaney said softly, “and a password protected site where the files will be stored. Every time the motion sensor is activated, the camera will record. The recording will be stored on the site. You can set up the password and grant access to anyone you wish. I put the system literature on your desk. They'll show you how to set it up before they leave.”

“Thanks.” I headed down the alley with Mal. She had waited patiently during the exchange. It was a relief to know that only I would have access to the videos. I'm certain the company would have the ability to get into the site should anything happen to me, but I was glad to know that no one would be monitoring my private life. There was safety and then there was privacy. A girl needed both.

* * *

The English cottage was on the highest point of the island that looked out over Main Street and the marina. Off the main road, the driveway was long and windy. I let Mal go. She picked up her leash and ran up the drive. My baby knew her tricks.

“Mal,” I called after her and raced up the drive. “Mal come here.”

She stopped halfway, looked at me, then turned and hurried up onto the front porch of the magnificent Victorian cottage.

It looked like something right out of a period movie It had two turrets and multiple pointy roofs with colorful gingerbread accents. Attached to the house was a rain roof for carriages to stop under to unload passengers before circling around to the carriage house and back down the winding drive. Made of all white gypsum, the drive shone in the morning sun.

The house was painted blue and white with accents of red. Beside windows that shone as if they were freshly cleaned were old-fashioned shutters that could be pulled over to protect the glass. Flowers danced in the carefully groomed beds. Evidently, a gardener went out daily to keep all the plants in shape. There was a hush about the place. The sound of the trees swaying in the breeze was very different from the busy bustle of Main Street where I lived.

I could have been transported back in time 150 years and still seen the exact thing. Sometimes the island struck me that way—as if it were a place where time stood still. Usually my cell phone would ring about then and pull me out. It was Mal who barked and wagged her stub tail as if to remind me that she had done her job.

“Mal!” I scolded and went up on the porch. “Come here.”

She dutifully came straight to me. I bent over and slipped her a dog treat as I took the leash. A look around told me that the porch was empty. A glance in the beveled glass front door showed me the front hall was also empty. If anyone was about, they were out of sight—perhaps upstairs or in the back of the house.

I kept up my pretense though in case they could hear me. “Silly doggie. This is not where Frances lives.” I straightened, taking note of the view of Main Street from the front porch. It was lovely. Mostly the tops of the buildings. I could see the flat top of the McMurphy right after the pointed top of the hotel behind and the rounded top of the pool house between. I turned to see if I could see the fort. Yes, there it was and the tops of the boats, but I couldn't see the pier or docks from there. At least not with the naked eye. But then the witness had said he'd had a telescope.

“Come on, Mal.” I started down the stairs with her leash in my hands.

Suddenly she pulled away from me.

That was not part of our routine. “Mal?”

She raced down the stairs and around the far corner of the house.

“Mal!” I went after her only to discover a sunporch on the side of the home. On the porch was an old woman in a wheelchair. She was dressed in a lovely, lightweight, long-sleeved dress that fluttered in the breeze. Her white hair was pulled back into a bun on the top of her head. Her face was pale, but her smile lifted her cheeks and sparkled through her watery blue eyes. Mal stood on her hind legs on the side of the wheelchair. The lady made a slight patting motion with her hand and Mal was up in her lap.

“Mal!” I hurried over. I knew not everyone loved little fluffy dogs. I thought I had taught Mal to be more polite. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't worry,” the old woman said and waved her hand as if to brush away my protest. She patted Mal on the head. “What a pretty little doggie. How nice to have visitors.”

“Are you sure she's okay?” I asked as I faced the woman. I crouched down to look her in the eye.

She appeared to be all there. I could see the intelligence shine.

“She's fine, dear,” the older woman said. “What did you call her?”

“Mal. It's short for Marshmallow. I'm Allie. Allie McMurphy.”

“Hello, Mal.” The older woman scratched her behind the ears. “Are you out on a walk this fine morning? Did you come all the way from Main Street?”

“She likes her walks,” I said. “I'm so sorry.”

“Please have a seat, dear.” She pointed toward the white, wrought iron garden chair next to a matching bistro table. On top were a bright blue tablecloth, a set of white teacups, and a teapot. “I was having a refreshment. Would you like something?”

“Oh, no thank you,” I said and took a seat. “Are you Mrs. English?”

“Oh, no, dear. Cassandra is my stepsister. I'm Mrs. Jones.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jones,” I said. “I'm relatively new to the island. I used to come to Mackinac every summer growing up, but I'm living here now and getting to know all the locals.”

“That's right. Your grandfather died this spring, didn't he? I was so sorry to hear that. He was a jolly fellow.”

“He had his moments,” I agreed. “Did you know him well?”

“Oh, no. I've only been here with Cassandra for a year . . . but I did see him on occasion at the senior center when they had their monthly birthday lunches.” Mrs. Jones leaned toward me. “I like to go for the cake.”

“I like birthday cake, too,” I said with a smile. “Mal seems to be really taken with you.”

“She's a dear. She reminds me of my Fluffy. Fluffy was a bichon. She lived to be seventeen years old. Almost as old in dog years as I am now. She would have liked you, Mal.” The old woman lifted Mal's chin and looked her in the button eyes. “Bichons love other bichons.”

“Mal has a good eye for nice people,” I said.

“And a good nose for the dead, I hear.” Mrs. Jones looked at me. “You're the one who keeps finding the murdered souls.”

“Oh, um, not on purpose,” I said. “Angus McElroy keeps pulling out his lucky rabbit's foot around me. He's worried about the number of dead people I've found, but I swear I don't make it a habit.”

She laughed and reached for her cup of tea. “It's okay. I don't hold it against you.”

“Mal, get down.”

“Oh, no, she's fine,” the woman said and put her hand on Mal's back. “She's not begging.”

“I don't let her near a table,” I said. “She has to learn manners.”

I went over and lifted Mal from her lap. “We are so sorry to interrupt your morning. We should be going.”

“Oh, no, dear. You aren't interrupting.” Mrs. Jones put two sugar cubes in her teacup and stirred. “I fully expected you to come around sooner or later.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have been investigating that poor girl's murder. The one you pulled from the water.” She took a sip from her teacup, her gaze filled with mischief. “It was only a matter of time before you found out my son Harold was the key witness. I was certain you would be coming by to check out his story.”

“Oh.” I sat down.

Mal wiggled in my arms.

“Right.”

“What would you like to know, dear?”

I swallowed hard. “Well, I guess I wanted to know if your son truly is a stargazer. I'm sure the police have checked out his story, but I wondered how good the view was from your home.”

“I see.” She sipped her tea. “The telescope belonged to my stepsister's grandfather. It has been in the house for over a hundred years. It's on the roof near the first turret. There's a widow's walk there. The old man had it installed so that his wife could look for his ship when he was out on the lake. You see, he was a merchant and owned quite a few ships that moved through the lakes to Chicago and down the rivers. It was quite the waterway at the time. A lot of goods still move through the lakes. Sadly, it's mostly sand, gravel, and oil these days. We don't move manufactured goods this way much anymore.”

“I see. Everyone knows that the telescope is there?”

“Oh, yes, it's quite a fact. I believe my stepsister's mother has a biography in the library where she talks about the widow's walk and the telescope.” She eyed me over her cup. “Anyone with a library card would know it's there.”

“Does your son use it?”

“You'd have to ask him,” she said with a slight shrug. “I'm usually in bed by nine
PM.
He has a job at the Nag's Head that keeps him out quite late. And then, there's his new lady love. He doesn't think I know about her, but I do.”

“Who is she?” I asked.