by Nancy CoCo
“Because you aren’t,” I said firmly. “What I don’t understand is what happened that night. Why did you skip dinner with Jenn?”
“You tried to slip that one in, didn’t you?” He shook his head at me. “I’m not going to talk about it.”
“But not talking about it is hurting Jenn,” I said. “I can’t imagine you want to hurt her.”
“Hurting Jenn is the last thing I ever wanted to do. Which is why I’m not talking about it. I don’t want to put her in harm’s way.”
“Who would harm her? The actual killer? Do you know who that is?”
He frowned at me. “Don’t you think if I knew who the killer was, they’d already be in jail?”
“Of course,” I said and tried to change tactics. “Look,” I stopped him by putting my hand on his arm. “I figure you were walking by the alley and heard Becky screaming. So you rushed down and shouted at the killer, who dropped the knife . . .”
He rolled his eyes.
“Okay, he didn’t drop the knife. You wrenched it from him and he ran off before you could stop him.”
“Sounds like a fairy tale,” he said.
“Was the killer wearing a mask or a hoodie?” I asked. “Is that why you didn’t know who they were? Were they short, tall, fat, thin? Could it have been a woman? Did they seem young or old?”
“I’m not going to tell you, Allie,” he said. “Let Rex handle it.”
“Right, because he wants to indict you for the murder of Christopher and for the assault on Becky,” I said.
“He doesn’t have anything but circumstantial evidence,” Shane said.
“Becky was your ex-fiancée, wasn’t she?” I said. “Did you come to her rescue?”
“I don’t want to talk about Becky. I’m marrying Jenn.” He turned to go, but I stepped out in front of him.
“Let me help you,” I said. “I’m pretty good at helping, you know.”
“Then help Jenn put together our wedding, okay?” He stormed off and I stood there for a moment, watching him go.
He moved away from the administration building, which meant he had either just come from the police department and seeing Rex or he was out looking for the killer. Did he suspect who did it and was trying to find concrete evidence? If so, why didn’t he let me help?
Chapter 8
Liz met me at the McMurphy at one forty-five in the afternoon. She was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt with a flannel shirt over it, and hiking boots.
“I’m wearing a sundress,” I said. “So I can get in and out of it quickly for the fitting.”
“Well, I only wear dresses on important occasions, like my friend Jenn’s wedding. I prefer jeans,” Liz said.
We both gathered up the long dress bags that held our dresses.
“We’ll be back in an hour or so,” I told Frances.
“Go, have fun,” she said. “We’ll look after the McMurphy.”
“Have you seen Jenn?” Liz asked me.
“This morning,” I said. “She had a lot of errands to run for the Wilkins wedding.”
“She’s nuts worrying about planning someone else’s wedding with hers so close,” Liz said.
“I think it keeps her busy so she doesn’t worry,” I said. “So, did you get any more information about the murder for your column?”
“Rex is pretty tight-lipped about this one,” Liz said. “I think because Shane’s involved. The police like to keep things close to their vest when it involves one of their own.”
“I suppose that’s true,” I said. We went four blocks east and two blocks north and stopped in front of a tiny cottage with a sign on the front porch offering fittings and alterations. “This is it.”
Liz went to knock on the open screen door as we heard Sara call out.
“Come on in, ladies,” she said quite clearly, considering that when we made our way inside she had her mouth full of pins. She took out the pins. “Well, what do you think?” She waved her hand toward Jenn, who stood on a small ottoman dressed in a magnificent ball gown with an illusion neckline and lace sleeves. Her waist looked so tiny.
“You look gorgeous,” I said.
“A knockout,” Liz said.
“I hope so,” Jenn said. “The color is champagne, so I don’t want to look like a huge marshmallow coming down the aisle.”
The top was lace on illusion material so it looked like she was brushed with lace on her bust and arms, which flowed into a corseted waist.
“This is definitely a Victorian era dress,” Sara said. “It’s such a pleasure to work with it.”
“It fits like a glove,” I said, staring at the vision that was Jenn.
“All that’s left is the hem,” Sara said. “Why don’t you two ladies take your dresses and go into those curtained dressing areas in the back? Slip on the dress and the shoes you’re going to wear and we can see what I have to do.”
Liz and I changed quickly into our dresses, mine blush and hers pink. Then we attached the lace corsets with full, see-through lace skirts that landed at the floor. I slipped my feet into nude pumps and stepped out to admire myself in the mirror.
“I’m just glad we didn’t have to wear a bustle,” Liz muttered as she came out and put on her nude pumps. “Can you imagine me in a bustle?”
I was taken aback by Liz in a gown. She had quite a figure and looked like a lost Gibson Girl with her curly hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. “You look amazing,” I said. “You should wear dresses more often.”
“Naw,” she said. “I’m not a fan of all the rigmarole that happens when you wear a dress. I mean, how exactly do you get around in these without showing off something you don’t want other people to see?”
“You have to act like a lady,” I said lovingly. “I know you can do that.”
“Yes, but why?”
We both laughed and walked into the main room. Sara was putting in a final pin on Jenn’s dress. The lace of our sheer maxi skirts and corsets matched the lace on the large ball gown.
“What a wonderful complement those dresses are to your gown,” Sara said. “Come here, ladies.” She pulled us into the center of the room, positioning us on either side of Jenn. “Look in the mirror. So pretty!”
We did indeed complement Jenn and I was glad. The idea that Shane could go to jail and Jenn not get to have her wedding made me even more determined to figure out who committed this heinous crime and how I could bring them to justice.
* * *
After the fitting I went down to the docks to see if anyone there could tell me where Shane went after he got off the ferry that fateful day. I knocked on the manager’s door at the first dock. “Come in.”
“Hi,” I said to Bill Blast.
“Hey, Allie. What brings you to the docks?”
“I was wondering if I could ask a favor,” I said.
“Depends on the favor,” he said and leaned back in his chair. Bill was a bald man with a square body. He had hazel eyes and wore a plaid shirt and jeans. My guess would be he was in his mid-fifties.
I took the seat in front of his desk. “I was wondering if I could talk to your staff,” I said. “I know they have work to do, but I need to know if any of them saw Shane get off the boat the night Christopher died.”
“Well, we have a record of him buying a ticket and using it,” Bill said. “I already told Rex that.”
“I was hoping to find out if anyone saw what direction Shane went when he got off the boat,” I said and sent him a look that meant I was saying “please.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to ask,” Bill said. “Lacey, Jared, Ethan, and Brandon were working that shift. You’re in luck; they are working right now.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be docking soon. I’ll give you five minutes, but you can’t delay our schedule.”
“Thanks!” I jumped up. “I promise, no delays.”
“Okay,” he said and went back to his work. “You can go.” He waved me off.
“I’ll bring you
some fudge,” I said.
“I like peanut butter,” he replied.
I walked out of the dock office and glanced at the time. It was four o’clock. I had half an hour before I was to go to Harry’s bed and breakfast. I should have plenty of time. Five minutes later the ferry came in. It slowly edged toward the dock and the workers carefully jumped out and tied the boat in place. They lowered the gangplank and people started to walk off. It was a light crowd because it was cold on the island and most people didn’t come this late unless they lived here or were going fishing in the morning.
I found Lacey first. She stood near the gangplank and helped people who were unsteady on their feet to safely make it to the dock. The boat shifted with the waves and people liked the helping hand.
“Hi, Lacey,” I said. “How are you?”
“Allie, what brings you to the docks?”
“I asked Bill if I could get a moment of your time and he said yes.” I pulled out my phone and hit RECORD.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
“Bill said you were part of the crew working the night Christopher Harris died.”
“Yeah, sad that happened. He was a nice guy and easy on the eyes.” Lacey was in her twenties, born and raised on the island. “He was always kind to my grandmother.”
“I was wondering if you saw which direction Shane Carpenter went when he got off the ferry.”
“Oh, hmmm.” Lacey helped a gray-haired woman safely to the dock. “I don’t really pay attention once they get off the ferry. I’m usually focused on the next part of my job. You know, helping to check the boat over for safety and such before the next round of passengers board.”
“Oh okay,” I said.
“But I did see him when we got off work,” she said.
“Wow, where?” I asked.
“The crew and I went to the Boar’s Head for drinks after, and he was there.”
“What time was that?”
“Around seven,” she said. “Give or take.”
“That was close to the eight o’clock dinner date he had set with Jenn,” I said. “Was he alone?”
“No, he was with someone. They were wearing a hoodie and jeans. I couldn’t see the face, but they were about my height and thin.” She shrugged. “It could have been a guy or a girl. It’s hard to tell because they were sitting down.”
“That’s very helpful, thanks,” I said. “I’ll let you get back to your job.”
Next I interviewed Ethan, Jared, and Brandon. They all told me the same story. They saw Shane in the back corner of the bar, talking to someone. None of them could identify who the person was.
I left the docks thinking I should head into the Boar’s Head to see who had been working that night and if they knew who Shane was talking to.
Justin Alders was working the bar when I entered. The place was about half full of regulars who had finished their shifts for the day, interspersed with construction workers who stopped in for a drink before they took the ferry home.
“Hi, Allie,” Justin said. “I don’t see you in here very often. What can I get you to drink?”
“Oh, I’m not here for a drink,” I said. “I’ve got a four thirty appointment, but I wanted to pop in to ask you a question.”
“Sure, what is it?” Justin worked full time at the Boar’s Head. If anyone knew who worked that night, it would be him.
“The night Christopher Harris was murdered, Shane Carpenter was seen here in the far corner,” I said.
“True,” he said. “I was here, tending bar.”
“I was told he was with someone. Do you know who that was?”
“Ah, the real question,” he said and shrugged. “The police were in here earlier asking the same thing.”
“Do you know?”
“I didn’t recognize them,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Do you know if the person was male or female?”
“It was a girl,” Terry Tarrant said from the barstool next to me. “I saw her go into the ladies’ room.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said. “Did you recognize her?”
“Maybe,” Terry said and took a swig of his beer.
“Justin, pour this man another round on me,” I said and dug some money out of my pocket.
“Thanks,” Terry said and saluted me with his current mug of beer. “I thought she looked like Annie Hawthorne.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard that name before,” I said as I paid the tab.
“She’s from St. Ignace. She’s not a regular on the island,” Terry said. “So you won’t know her from the town hall meetings or anything like that.”
“How do you know her?” I asked.
“She’s my neighbor,” Terry said.
“Oh, you live in St. Ignace?”
“Yep,” he said and took a swig from his new glass of beer. “I work here, that’s why I’m a regular. Ain’t that right, Justin?”
“Yep,” Justin said as he wiped a glass with a bar towel.
“Annie Hawthorne,” I repeated. “Thanks for the intel.” I glanced at my phone, which said I had ten minutes to get to Harry’s bed and breakfast before I was late.
* * *
I arrived with two minutes to spare. Nothing like a power walk up and down the Mackinac Island hills to get your blood pumping. I stopped and ran my hand over my hair to ensure I didn’t look like a wild thing, then knocked on the door.
The bed and breakfast was a huge Victorian cottage. The paint on the outside was peeling and faded, but it looked as if it once was painted three colors. Most of the gingerbread cutouts were still intact.
The door opened and Harry’s face lit up. “You came!”
Now who could resist those broad shoulders and that gorgeous jawline? He kind of reminded me of the guy who played Thor in the movies.
“I came,” I said.
He motioned his strong arm to welcome me inside. “Come on in and take a look at the place.”
I stepped in, brushing past him and fully aware of the smell of his spicy cologne. Inside there were stairs going up on the right side, a large hall in the center, and to the left was a parlor that had a bay window that curved out onto the porch, which ran the length of the front and wrapped around the side.
“Very nice,” I said, studying all the wood trim and paneling that was chair-rail height. The floors appeared to be newly sanded and refinished. I marveled at the bright blue tones of the parlor. Running my hand along the wall nearest me, I asked, “Is this the original color scheme?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m glad you can tell. I got the specs on the original house paints from the historical society. I was able to match them at the hardware store.”
“Thank goodness for color matching,” I said. “The Victorians sure did like their bright colors.”
“They layered them so elegantly,” he said. “I painted the ceiling a soft white to highlight the blue. What do you think of the chandelier?”
I stood under the magnificent crystal chandelier and studied it. “This is gorgeous. Where did you find it?”
“In the attic, of all places,” he said. “I cleaned it up and put in new wiring and put it back in the parlor. It was a labor of love, actually.”
“I can only imagine,” I said. There must have been dozens of crystals. Something like that stored in an attic meant years of dirt and took careful washing. There wasn’t a speck of dust on it now.
“And in here is the dining area,” he said and waved me into the three-toned, green room. All the rooms were bare; he still had some paint cloths on the floor. “I know it’s empty, but imagine five little café tables with four chairs each.”
“Will you have a buffet?” I asked. “When I do offer a hot breakfast we do it buffet style.”
“Yes,” he said. “I plan on a large hot breakfast for my guests.”
“How many guests will the B and B hold?” I asked.
“There are six bedrooms,” he said. “I’m living in the carriage house above
the old horse stalls and carriage area.”
“Are you going to have horses?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But I do have a lovely carriage in the outbuildings so my guests can view up close the type of transportation used in the Victorian era.”
“Oh good,” I said. “I can’t imagine what it would be like living over the top of horses.”
“That’s really old world, isn’t it?” he asked. Then he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the den across the hall. “This is where I’m going to offer a library. I put in all the bookcases floor to ceiling and this great library ladder to help them reach the top books.”
“This is marvelous,” I said. “It looks very much like you know what you’re doing. Is the entire inside finished?”
“Except for the touch-ups and the first-floor furniture,” he said. “It’s just the outside that needs painting. I’ve got a call in with Mike Hangleford. He’s going to send out a crew as soon as they finish with the McMurphy.”
“Oh, I do recommend him,” I said. “His crew has been great working with us at the McMurphy.”
“I saw that,” he said. “It’s why I called him. Good thing I did, too, because I got the last opening. They are swamped for the rest of the season.”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll make your old girl look as good as new.”
“Oh, and I have an elevator here.” He pointed out where it was tucked beside the stairs and across from the dining room. “Let’s go up.”
I stepped into the elevator with him. It was a small box and rattled a bit on the way to the third floor. “It only goes three floors?”
“Yes,” he said. “The fourth floor was the attic, but I remodeled it into a suite, so I will rent it only to people who can climb the stairs.”
I peeked into each of the five bedrooms. He had them decorated with various flower and sailing themes and antique furniture to match. “The Victorians loved their bright colors,” I repeated.
“Is it too much?” he asked.
“No, no,” I reassured him. “People like the Victorian flavor when they come here. They expect it. Plus, in a bed and breakfast they want to feel as if they’ve gone back in time. Do you know your price point?”
