Deadly Secrets on Mackinac Island

by Cara Putman

  “No. When I left, I didn’t see anyone.” Stick to the question, Alanna. Jonathan removed his hand and stepped back, and she felt cold and alone in his distance. She shivered and rubbed her hands along her arms. “When I got home and opened my bag of fudge, this fell out.” She slid the note from the folder and handed it over.

  The detective pulled on a glove and then accepted it. He took a moment to read it before handing it to Chief Ryan. “Why wouldn’t he just come out and say he needed to talk to you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was afraid of the man in the back.”

  “I thought you said he’d left?”

  Had she? Alanna couldn’t remember and understood why someone could get rattled in the middle of questioning. “Do you need anything else right now?”

  The detective studied her, seeming to test whether he could press her. Whatever he saw in her posture turned him to his notes, difficult to see now in the shadows created by the sinking sun. “Not at the moment.” He pinned her with his gaze. “However, I recommend you don’t leave the island. Certainly not without letting the chief know first.”

  “Excuse me?” Indignation flared in her chest at his order.

  “Right now you’re the last person who saw Mr. Hoffmeister. That either makes you his murderer or a material witness. We’ll be in touch.”

  The two men nodded then faded off the porch and into the shadows. A headache pounded at one temple. Alanna tried to regulate her breathing and force her muscles to relax. She might have sat in numerous interviews, but she’d never been the interviewee. She prayed she didn’t repeat the honor.

  “Are you going to tell me what that was about?”

  Jonathan’s voice snapped her head around. “Sorry?”

  “You had an exciting day yesterday.”

  “I had no idea how exciting until you told me about Mr. Hoffmeister.” She sighed.

  “Alanna, they think you did it.”

  “No, I wouldn’t still be here if they could prove that.”

  “There’s a step between believing and proving.”

  She shivered again and pushed out of the chair. “I’m going inside.” She left it open about whether he’d follow her. Maybe Jonathan didn’t want to stay. She wouldn’t blame him. It wasn’t every day the police interviewed her.

  “It’s not that simple.” Jonathan joined her in the kitchen.

  Alanna opened the freezer and pulled out some chocolate- chip cookie dough chunks. After turning on the oven, she plopped the pieces on a cookie tray. Chocolate-chip cookies and milk wouldn’t solve everything, but they made a good start on comfort food. It wasn’t like she could call her mom for commiseration. She rubbed her temple then slid the pan in the oven.

  “Alanna, sit down and explain what happened.” Jonathan pulled out a chair, led her to it, and eased her down.

  “Somehow the police knew I was at the shop last night.” How? It hit her. “The debit card. They must have checked the transactions. Makes sense.”

  “You don’t have anything to hide?” Hope edged his words.

  “No. In fact, I planned to sit down tonight and write out what I remembered and call Chief Ryan in the morning. Once you told me he was dead, I knew they needed the note. I couldn’t break away or organize my thoughts at work, or I’d have called him earlier. I wish Mr. Hoffmeister hadn’t locked the door after I left.”

  Jonathan frowned at her. “Why?”

  “Then someone else could have been the last person to see him alive.”

  25

  When he got home, Jonathan looked for something to distract him. Instead, he stalked the edges of the small cabin as questions chased him. How could one person get in so much trouble so quickly? He could tick off the problems: Alanna’s investigation into Grady’s death coupled with the odd things around her house and now becoming a person of interest in Mr. Hoffmeister’s death. He didn’t like any of them, including the fact there were no suspects involving the break-in at her shed. Could it have been a warning to back off that she’d missed?

  That girl knew how to return to town and wreak havoc.

  He’d never believe she had anything to do with Mr. Hoffmeister. Someone had. Someone who might still be on the island or left on the last ferry.

  Mr. Hoffmeister didn’t seem like the kind with enemies. Even his dispute with Gerald only led to silence or heated arguments. Never fists.

  Jonathan moved across the backyard and sat on the dock. For once the thought of finding that elusive bird or catching an elusive fish didn’t hold his thoughts.

  Not since Alanna arrived.

  Alanna.

  How could he help her? He doubted she’d call her parents. That left her alone since Trevor wouldn’t be much help. The kid had enough problems, and he was too selfish to notice others. Jonathan sighed. That wasn’t completely fair.

  His phone rang, and he tugged it from his pocket. Jaclyn. “Hey.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Sorry.” He could almost see her forehead wrinkle. “I know you too well.”

  “Just got back from Alanna’s. Long day with what happened to Mr. Hoffmeister.”

  “You were with Alanna?” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch.

  Jonathan rubbed his jaw. What did he say now? He could understand she wouldn’t be thrilled at the news, but Alanna had needed him. He heaved a sigh. “Yeah.”

  “I knew her being so close to you would be a problem.”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Sure you are.” She huffed. “Friends with quite the past.”

  “What did you need?”

  “Just wanted to talk to you. Never mind.” She clicked off, and Jonathan knew she was upset. He’d have to do something about that. Tomorrow.

  A breeze rippled small waves that were barely visible on the surface of the pond. He could almost hear God whispering in it. He needed to release Alanna and the whole mess to the Master. He gritted his teeth. He wanted to fix it. Make a plan like an event. Steps 1 through 144. Step by step, execution by execution, he’d manage her out of the mess.

  Too bad that wouldn’t work.

  If anyone could figure it out, Alanna would. She was the attorney, after all. She’d know what she needed to do. He was kidding himself to think he could do something she couldn’t.

  Except she hadn’t been on the island for years. He had.

  Surely he knew the players better than she did. He couldn’t imagine Rachelle keeping her up-to-date on all the gossip from here. Alanna had made it clear when she left that she was done with the island and its residents.

  He let his mind wander over the people Hoffmeister spent time with.

  Tomkin. Mrs. Washington. Who did he talk with over coffee in the winter? The list wasn’t very long.

  How could a man have spent a lifetime on the same small patch of earth and not have many friends? Everyone on the island knew him. . .but that was different than someone who would kill him.

  If something was taken, then the murder might make sense. Hoffmeister had simply been in the wrong place. It sounded cliche, but nothing else made sense. Not for the man he knew.

  He let his thoughts wander as the leaves rustled overhead. The soft scent of lilacs mixed with something sweet like vanilla alerted him to Alanna’s presence. She settled down next to him until their shoulders touched.

  “Hi.” The word was so quiet, he had to lean closer.

  They stared across the dark pond, nature providing the only backdrop and music. He lost track of time until he felt her shiver.

  “Come here.” He tugged her closer and put his arm around her shoulder. “Crazy night.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really. I’d rather think about something else.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’ve gone over yesterday a dozen times. I can’t think of anything to tell the police that can point them to who killed Mr. Hoffmeister.” Another shiver shook
her. “I wish I knew who was in the back of the shop. Maybe they didn’t leave. Maybe he left the back door unlocked, and the person came back. That’s all I have. A bunch of maybes while the police want facts.”

  “Then we’ll give them facts.”

  “How?”

  “Tell me what you remember about the voice. Could you identify the speaker?”

  “No, it was too muffled. Probably a man, but I’m not certain. See how helpful that is?”

  This didn’t look good. She hadn’t said anything that would direct the police to someone else. “Anyone loitering when you left?” She sighed and studied her hands. “No. It was a pretty dead night. See why I didn’t rush to the police? I don’t know anything. There has to be something. I didn’t do it.”

  He held up his hands to protect himself from the vehemence in her words. “Hey, I’m in your corner.”

  “I know.” Alanna rubbed her temple again. “This is so frustrating. How do I tell them anything that will prove I’m innocent? I don’t even have an alibi. No one saw me come home or spend the evening alone.”

  He grimaced. “Sorry I didn’t stop by.”

  “Who knew that would matter?”

  A seemingly simple decision—come to the island but keep people at arm’s length—might now turn her into a prime murder suspect. Anyone who knew her would know she couldn’t do something like that—ever. Yet Alanna had done nothing to endear herself to the community and rebuild friendships. As a result, she’d been alone last night, knowing if she’d invited Jonathan over—while it would have relieved her loneliness—it might further ignite the strong attraction between them.

  It had been late, and she’d thought the better decision was to remain alone.

  Now she wished she had a roommate, a talking parrot, a video system. . .anything that could vouch for her.

  “You still with me?” Jonathan’s voice tugged her from the quagmire of thoughts.

  She looked at him, pulled into the concern she saw etched on his face. He’d always had a face that would make a movie star proud. Part Brad Pitt and part Ethan Hawk. “I’m sorry.”

  “So what do we do to change this up?”

  There was only one thing. Stir up the hornet’s nest and see what flew out. “Guess we dig deeper.”

  “Into what?”

  “I want to know what was happening at I’m Not Sharing. Mr. Hoffmeister wasn’t alone.”

  “The police won’t like that.”

  “I don’t appreciate being their number one suspect.” Alanna stood. “Let’s go inside.” She stood and walked to the house and grabbed a pad of paper and pen. “I’m going to keep poking at Grady’s death. It’s unlikely they’re connected...but Mr. Hoffmeister was ready to tell me something.” She started listing the names of the kids at the bonfire. “I should have done this the moment I got back. With the help of my friend Google, I’ll track down my classmates and see what they remember. Maybe Grady’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  Jonathan grabbed her hand, and the pen stilled. “You understand what you’re saying?”

  Alanna nodded around the sudden boulder sitting in her throat. “It might have been murder.”

  “Why would teenagers do something like that?”

  “Maybe it was an accident that got covered up, and now they can’t afford to have the facts changed.”

  Jonathan’s eyebrows arched. “That’s a stretch. How does Hoffmeister tie in?”

  “I don’t know yet.” That was the problem. She only had suspicions. The kind that got people killed? “I’m checking anyway. There weren’t that many people. How long can it take?”

  “What about your mom and Trevor?”

  “You still have a party to plan.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “You have to make it the event of the season. Hold it during the lilac festival.”

  “Impossible! That’s a week away.”

  “I thought you liked doing the impossible for your clients.”

  He rubbed his square jaw, a flash of competition in his eyes. “Sure, but they have to give me time.”

  With her sweetest smile, she leaned across the island toward him. Only a breath separated them, and she felt the tug to lean closer. She licked her lips and tried to break the connection. “If you’re as good as you say, a week or two is plenty.”

  His laughter startled her. “Darling, I’ll take your challenge, but that also means you have a deadline. You can’t unveil your brother as the artist without clearing the air.”

  “I know.” One more reason to wrap everything up. As if avoiding jail wasn’t enough.

  Jonathan sobered, seeming to accept she was serious about investigating. That’s what attorneys do. Track down facts. And she’d check in to Mr. Tomkins accusations. Maybe they tied into Mr. Hoffmeister’s woes. All of a sudden she felt exhausted.

  “So what’s next?”

  Alanna smiled. “How good are you with numbers?”

  The next morning, Jonathan’s mind swam with the image of rows of numbers.

  He’d thought when he passed his accounting class in college he wouldn’t have to audit someone else’s books again. After a few hours trying to decipher the foundation’s books and comparing them to the various grants, he agreed with Mr. Tomkin. There were more accounts than grants.

  The problem was figuring out why. Was there a mistake with the bookkeeping or with the minutes? He hadn’t been on the foundation long enough to know if something had been missed. Mr. Hoffmeister could have helped since he served as president two of the four years prior to Tomkin assuming the role.

  Alanna had pretended to review the books as she sat next to him. If he inhaled, he could still smell her faint lilac perfume. Each time he’d looked up, she’d ducked as if he’d caught her in the middle of watching him.

  It wasn’t right to enjoy every moment with Alanna the way he did without addressing his relationship with Jaclyn. It wasn’t fair to either woman.

  Was what sparked between him and Alanna real? Or would it evaporate the moment she could leave Mackinac?

  He didn’t want to experience the desolation that blanketed him when she left and never looked back. It didn’t matter that they jumped back to their teenage dynamics. What mattered was whether they could build a lifetime together. Anything less didn’t interest him.

  All morning he worked through plans for clients. When those events had up-to-date checklists, he turned to his conversation with Alanna last night.

  She hadn’t murdered Hoffmeister. Period.

  No matter how much she’d changed in the eleven years she’d been gone, she couldn’t do something like that. Especially to someone she gave every indication of liking. That left one option. He had to help her clear up what happened.

  Too bad he didn’t know how to start.

  Jonathan closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, praying for wisdom. While Alanna might believe Grady’s death was connected to Hoffmeister’s murder, Jonathan would start with the more pressing issue: proving her innocence.

  Hoffmeister had kept to himself this season. Strange for a man who usually stood in the middle of every gathering sharing jokes and swapping stories. Jonathan couldn’t count the number of times Hoffmeister had introduced him to one more woman, this one guaranteed to be the love of his life. The twinkle in his brown eyes had made each exchange memorable. He’d had nothing but disdain in his eyes when Jonathan introduced him to Jaclyn—she hadn’t measured up. Instead, Hoffmeister had let him know she wasn’t the one.

  Hoffmeister had complained about Tomkin each time Jonathan ran into him that spring. Real trouble brewed between the two. So he’d start with a trip to Hoffmeister’s house. See what the man had grumbled about. Alanna could go with him.

  Maybe if she stood on the site and saw the past from a different perspective, she’d remember something. Now to figure out how to package the idea in a way she couldn’t refuse.

  26

  The cordless phone clicked into the handset even though Alanna want
ed to throw it across the room. The college gal had came in for her interview. But after the call any hopes Alanna had that the young woman would work out evaporated.

  She should have known from the moment the girl stepped inside that the job would remain open.

  She’d stood in the studio, a blank look on her face as she’d looked around the studio. “I really don’t know anything about art. Guess this isn’t for me.”

  “Do you want to talk about the responsibilities?”

  “I guess.”

  Now she’d called to let Alanna know that her father had told her she didn’t have to work over the summer after all. If she was going to spend time on Mackinac, she’d come as a tourist not an employee. Alanna sank onto the stool. At this rate, she would spend the summer on Mackinac.

  Considering that the police wouldn’t let her leave, she couldn’t return to Grand Rapids anytime soon. But the idea of taking even one day off a week sounded as exotic as tea with the queen of England at Buckingham Palace.

  Alanna dropped her forehead to her arms. She needed help, but where to get it? All the locals would have jobs. And she didn’t have the time to find an international student like so many hotels relied on to fill the summer season employment gap. Honestly, she didn’t want the headaches of helping someone find housing, even with the upstairs apartment. She didn’t have time to get it ready for a resident. Time to call someone in the know.

  The phone rang a couple of times before Patience picked up. “Hello?”

  “Patience, this is Alanna. I need help.”

  “At the studio? I wondered when you’d ask.”

  “What?”

  The woman snorted. “Who do you think gave your mom time off? Your dad hasn’t worked for a while.”

  Why didn’t Mom say anything? Alanna had no idea his health had deteriorated until he’d landed in the hospital. “Was I that out of touch?”

  “Protected is how I’d frame it. Want me to come tomorrow? I could work after services.”

  “That would be great. Any ideas who might like a job?”