Deadly Secrets on Mackinac Island

by Cara Putman

  Her baby? Grady’s? How come she hadn’t heard that? She might have left Mackinac, but Mom had done a good job the first few years of keeping her up-to-date on the lives of her friends. Then she resigned herself to the reality Alanna wouldn’t return.

  Ginger’s daughter was Grady’s. Would her search hurt the girl? Bringing to the surface questions Ginger wouldn’t want to answer?

  A couple wandered in, both looking vaguely familiar, but Alanna couldn’t place them. A common occurrence after eleven years away. “Can I help you find anything?”

  “Looking for inspiration.” The tall woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Enjoy.” Alanna watched the two a minute then turned back to the file Ginger had thrown at her, thoughts spinning. She scanned the file but didn’t see anything she hadn’t expected. Still, she’d needed to look. Next she’d dig up news articles from Grady’s death. See what she could learn there.

  The door banged open, the bell jangling an angry song. Alanna looked up and straightened when Mr. Hoffmeister marched in. He nodded to the couple but didn’t slow as he approached Alanna.

  “Good morning.” The lines drawn deep in his face didn’t match the words. He wiped his hands on his formerly white apron, smudges of rich chocolate fudge coloring it. The cloud of chocolate following him made Alanna’s mouth water.

  “Mr. Hoffmeister. You just missed Ginger.”

  “I know. She’s why I’m here.” The lines around his eyes tightened, and Alanna could almost feel his pain.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.”

  She eyed him, unconvinced. “What are you doing away from the fudge?”

  “Needed to clear the air a bit.” His words bit between them.

  Alanna leaned back, wishing the stool had a backrest and slanting a quick glance at the couple. They seemed focused on the paintings, but the woman had pivoted slightly toward them. Great. “Okay.”

  “I know you’ve been away awhile. So you might have forgotten a few things. Like how those who live here take care of their own. Well, we do.”

  “Yes, sir. I remember.” The violation of that code had kept her away.

  “We don’t like people poking around in matters best left alone. You have to be careful, or you’ll get hurt.” He placed his palms on the counter as if to steady himself. “Leave the past where it belongs.”

  “I will if I can, but I need to see if I can uncover what happened. Free Trevor to return.”

  “There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.” He slammed a hand on the counter, and she jumped. What happened to the sweet man she’d always known? “Alanna, I’ve always liked you and your family. But if you dig into the past too deeply, it will only harm your parents. They still live here. . .try to make a living here. I know you don’t mean to jeopardize that. Please stop asking your questions.”

  What did he mean? She’d barely asked any. Her glance landed on the folder. Did this have something to do with Ginger? “I promise to be careful.”

  “I don’t want to see my daughter or granddaughter hurt. And be careful about Tomkin.”

  Alanna let that soak in as he studied her intently. She resisted the need to squirm. “I’ve known him a long time.”

  “But not the last eleven years. He’s changed. Devious.” Odd how his words mirrored the ones Mr. Tomkin said of him. Finally, he nodded. “Someone will get hurt if you don’t leave the past alone. I’ve said what I needed.”

  Alanna’s jaw dropped as he spun and marched out of the studio as abruptly as he’d appeared. What had happened to the man who wanted to talk to her? Share secrets from the past with her?

  She hurried to the windows and watched him hustle down the sidewalk. Where his posture had always been board straight, he now walked like a man burdened. He’d shoved his hands in the pockets of his navy Dockers and hunched his shoulders. Without much breeze, he didn’t fight the elements. No, it looked like he fought a war within himself. A battle she wanted to glimpse. Especially if that shed light on her brother’s mess.

  The rest of the morning passed with a few people glancing in the windows, but no one ventured inside the store. Once she’d freshly dusted each piece, Alanna sat back down at the computer. She pulled up an article on Grady’s death. As she read it, the details leaped into her mind in fresh color.

  It had been a quiet spring day. The kind that still had a chill that bit through clothes whenever the wind kicked in off the lake. That didn’t stop the high school seniors from heading to the narrow beach the moment Mr. Tomkin dismissed them. Within an hour, a towering bonfire burned, kicking heat around as the flames danced higher and higher, as if straining to touch the sky.

  Her classmates had paired off, but Alanna remained alone. If Jonathan had lived on the island, she wouldn’t have sat on a log by herself. Grady brought a cooler with him, and when she opened it, longneck bottles waited in a bed of ice. She closed the lid, refusing to join in that part of the celebration. As the alcohol flowed, each person’s plans for the future spiraled into crazier and crazier areas. According to them, she’d attended high school with a future president, cancer-eradicating doctor, and next NFL pro-bowl quarterback.

  The laughter rolled around the fire after Grady made that claim. She still lay awake some nights wondering if they had all backed off, would Grady have stopped there? Instead, the juniors and sophomores had arrived—Trevor with them. Grady scanned the group and launched to his full height.

  “Who wants to race?” He puffed out his chest and flexed his arms. “I can beat any of you to the round lighthouse.”

  “Don’t do it, Grady.” Alanna wrapped her arms around her and shivered. “It’s too cold to do anything in the water.”

  “Yeah, at least wait until summer to prove you’re a man. ’’Alanna had cringed as Brendan Tomkin egged Grady on. Didn’t he know that’s all it would take to make Grady follow his insane plan? One glance at his face reinforced that Brendan knew exactly what he was doing.

  From that moment, the afternoon spiraled along its deadly path. First Grady then Trevor had entered the water. She tried to pull Trevor back, but he wore his goofy grin. “It’s no big deal, sis.”

  Nobody had seen what was coming.

  The door opened, and the bell jarred Alanna from the past.

  Jonathan’s cell phone rang, and with a glance at the caller display, he reached for it then pulled back. What did he have to tell Edward Morris? Not what the man needed to hear. No, he’d let voice mail get the call then track down Rachelle Stone. He couldn’t wait any longer to let Edward know whether he could order a painting. She’d need time to create the perfect painting to honor Edward and

  Bonnies marriage. And he needed confirmation Rachelle would paint it. Trevor might be a capable artist, but without his name on it, Jonathan wouldn’t connect him to Mr. Morris.

  As soon as his phone beeped to indicate he had voice mail, he scrolled through his contacts until he found Rachelle’s cell number. He entered it then waited for an answer.

  It rang several times, and he wondered if he’d joined her do-not- talk-to list.

  “Hello?” The voice sounded bone weary, unlike the usual pep that filled her words.

  “Rachelle? This is Jonathan.”

  “Yes?”

  “A client would like to commission a painting.”

  “Jonathan, stop.”

  “He likes your work. This fits with commissions you’ve painted before.”

  “Used to. My time isn’t my own now.”

  “Wouldn’t the income help?”

  She sighed, and he heard her burdens. “You have no idea. I know Alanna is trying, but the studio must make more.” She was silent, and he waited. “Trevor could do something.”

  “Not good enough. This is to honor a client’s wife who’s fighting cancer. It has to be you or not at all.” He pushed back in his chair, gut tightening. Maybe she’d just say no again, and that would be the end. It felt like he’d crossed a line with his pushing
. Perhaps she couldn’t paint now. Maybe creative types needed more than physical energy to work their magic.

  A rustling sound like she’d placed her hand over the phone scratched his ear. Then muffled voices bantered for a moment.

  “Jonathan, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Can he contact you at this number?”

  “He can try. It all depends on how Don feels.”

  “Of course.” He couldn’t ask her to sacrifice her husband’s needs for a client. “You’ll hear from him soon.” He cleared his throat. “You didn’t need to leave this morning.”

  “I did.” An alarm sounded in the background. “I’ve got to go. Take care of my girl, Jonathan.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The call disconnected before he was certain she’d heard. Didn’t matter. She knew he’d do anything for Alanna.

  His e-mail dinged, and he opened the message. Edward. He smiled ruefully. The man knew how to get what he wanted. Jonathan composed a quick message and hit Send. Then he turned back to his plans for another wedding, this one a fifties theme. He wondered if the bridesmaids would wear poodle skirts. That would create unforgettable images for the photographer and make a fun reception. In fact, he knew the performer to call, an Upper Peninsula singer who specialized in the sounds of the fifties and sixties.

  He sketched out some thoughts and then sent an e-mail to the bride and her mother. With any luck, the women would sign off on his ideas and he could get the performer signed for the event.

  His phone rang and didn’t stop the rest of the afternoon. When he finally reached a break, he stood then stretched. He wandered to the window and looked down on the foot traffic. There weren’t many people around. Guess the tourists weren’t in the mood for a chilly last day of May on the island. It would pick up; it always did.

  Until then he knew the business owners would pray for the day the mainland folks flooded the island. Much as he loved the peace and tranquility, without the chaos of non-locals, the island remained a shell of itself.

  Something clomped against the stairs. He glanced at his watch. Company now?

  23

  As soon as the clock reached six, Alanna bolted. Tomorrow she’d interview potential employees by phone, but for now she needed to clear her head. Forget about everything.

  A trip around the island might clear her mind. At least that’s what she hoped as she mounted her bike. At the end of the street, she stopped at the library. Biking around the island could wait, but the search for answers couldn’t. She wandered the aisles of the small building until she found the slim section of yearbooks. She flipped through the one from her senior year. So many photos showed a small group of tightly knit teens. When there were only a couple handfuls of students in a class, you got to know each other well.

  Alanna stopped flipping when she reached Trevor’s picture. He looked so young and full of boyish excitement. He’d been all of a sophomore with the future waiting. A few pages more and she stared into Grady’s cocky face. He looked like he ruled the world rather than the small kingdom of the Mackinac Island school. Even her photo conveyed someone with big dreams.

  What happened to those? Somehow her vision of her future died along with Grady. She’d fled the island rather than return after college. She’d wanted to make a difference; now she invested herself in a job she was good at but didn’t love.

  Someone cleared her throat, and Alanna glanced up with a start. An elderly woman with gray hair cut in short layers around her face studied Alanna.

  “Sorry, ma’am, but it’s time to close.” She cocked her head.

  “Of course.” Alanna closed the yearbook. “I’ll get out of here now.”

  “Don’t I know you?”

  Alanna shrugged as she pulled the book close like a shield. “Maybe, but it’s been years since I’ve been in the library.”

  “Hmmm. I could swear you’re the image of Rachelle Stone.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Alanna?” The woman grinned. “Well, it’s time you came back, kid. You probably don’t remember me. Tricia McCormick. Went to college with your mom and followed her here.”

  “That’s right.” Alanna carried the yearbook to the copier and started copying the pages showing the classes. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

  “It’s been years.” Tricia’s look traveled to the bookshelf. “Reminiscing or searching?”

  “A bit of both.” Alanna returned the yearbook back to its slot.

  “Your mom said you could never let it go.” The woman sighed. “It was a sad day, but the rest of us moved on. Time for you to do the same.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Still stubborn I see. I don’t know what you’ll find here, but feel free to come back as often as you need.”

  Alanna nodded then hurried to her bike and away from the woman’s gaze. Tricia McCormick knew the old her as well as anyone on the island. Well enough to know she bulldogged questions. And this was one she couldn’t walk away from.

  Should she continue around the island?

  The shadows had lengthened while she read inside. Maybe she’d find Mr. Hoffmeister. See if he was still angry. It seemed so out of character for him to make accusations like he had. Especially when she hadn’t really started digging. After all, how would he know about her conversation with her mom? And what did that have to do with him? It wasn’t as if she’d done much yet to look into Grady’s death. Her presence alone couldn’t be enough to get him out of sorts. Could it? Had Ginger run to him after she dropped off the file? That seemed unlikely but possible.

  She eased her bike to a stop in front of I’m Not Sharing. The lights warmed the windows and inside of the shop. It looked empty, but she got off anyway. As long as the lights were on, the shop was open.

  The door opened easily as she pushed it, the bell announcing her entrance. As soon as she entered, the familiar fudge-laced air flooded around her. She waited inside the door on the mahogany- stained, plank floor. The display cases stood with shelves almost bare of fudge. Looked like the morning would be early and busy or the store wouldn’t have fudge to sell.

  Muffled voices whispered from the back area, but Alanna couldn’t see anyone. She waited a minute, taking in the shop. Whoever worked tonight had worked hard to get things ready for closing.

  A couple of empty marble tables sat in the prep area. Counters stood clean and ready for new batches of fudge to be worked and cut into yummy slabs. She waited a few minutes to give the conversation in the back a minute to wrap up, but still no one came out to check on who had entered. Had they missed the bells when the door opened? Must be an intense conversation.

  Guess she’d use the little bell resting on top of the glass case on the counter next to the old-fashioned cash register. None of those fancy computers for I’m Not Sharing employees. They still made change the old-fashioned way, one dime at a time.

  Alanna hit the bell, the tinny sound not reaching far. She waited a moment then knocked it again, harder this time. “Hello?”

  It sounded like a door in the back slammed, and she ran her hands over the smooth, walnut counter. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Hello? Mr. Hoffmeister?”

  Maybe someone else worked tonight.

  “Coming.” He huffed around the corner, sounding out of breath, then skidded to a stop when he spotted her. “Alanna Stone. You’re the last person I expected tonight.”

  “I know. I was headed home, but decided I needed to check on you.”

  “Why?”

  “This morning was. . .surreal. Have I done anything to offend you?”

  He pulled his glasses down and rubbed his eyes. “Just a long few weeks.”

  That didn’t explain why he’d come and publicly scolded her. He must have seen her skepticism.

  “I probably got carried away. Between your questions and that monstrosity Tomkin wants to build”—he shuddered at the words— “I’m distracted. But you need to let everything drop between Grady and Trevor. That�
��s done and over.”

  “Trevor still walks under a cloud of suspicion. Can you say you don’t blame him for the accident?”

  “Each of you played some part in it.”

  Alanna winced as his words slammed into her, the edge hard and on target. “Still. . .”

  “It’s unsolvable, so stop. Find an employee for the shop and go home.”

  “This is my home.” She paused at the word, shocked she’d said it and even more surprised that she meant it.

  “Hasn’t been for eleven years. A few weeks won’t make that much difference. Go back to your job, friends, and new life. Leave us alone.”

  Alanna stepped back, unsure what to do next. “Why warn me about Tomkin?”

  “No reason.”

  “Not buying it. You don’t make accusations unless you have something to back it up.”

  “Let’s not talk about this now. Come back tomorrow. It’s been a long day, and I’m ready to head home.”

  He looked exhausted, strung out, with crow’s feet etched into the corners of his eyes. “Just one minute.”

  “Fine.” He looked at the counter then raised worried eyes to hers. “Didn’t you ever find it odd the amount of thrashing out there?”

  “Out where?”

  “In the water. Think about who was there. And what happened. It wasn’t an accident. Roughhousing’s one thing. This wasn’t.”

  “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

  “What makes you think I didn’t?”

  A clang erupted from the back. Mr. Hoffmeister jerked as if he’d been prodded. “Think you want some fudge?”

  What had smelled so good when she stepped in now turned her stomach, but as she looked at Mr. Hoffmeister, she nodded. “A slice of the mint chocolate please.”

  The older man grabbed a piece of wax paper from the box and then reached into the display case, his hand shaking as he claimed a slice.

  “Not that one.” Alanna couldn’t remember him ever reaching for the wrong kind. Peanut-butter fudge didn’t look anything like the mint. “Mint please.”