by Duffy Brown
“The killer was probably hiding and whacked John over the head with...” I looked around. “Something hard and narrow. There’s a lot of recycling stuff to choose from and...” I snagged Sutter’s hand that held the flashlight and aimed the light onto the wood dock. “Look, blood drops, but we’re losing them in the rain.” I followed the dots with the light. “They lead over there to the edge of the pier.”
“Meaning the murder weapon’s in the drink. Probably halfway to Canada by now along with his cell phone since we didn’t find that either.”
Sutter picked something up off the dock that was tucked under a recycling bin, its blade catching the light.
“Box cutter?” I said.
“And it’s not inscribed,” Sutter muttered.
“Our guy was expecting trouble if he had his box cutter out.”
“Our guy?” Sutter gave me a good grief look.
“And it was under the recycling crate. Maybe the killer thought he tossed it in the lake with the murder weapon? It’s hard to see in all this fog.”
Not answering again, Sutter put the box cutter in a bag and sealed it, preserving any DNA evidence. Scary how much I knew about crime scenes these days. Sutter snapped pictures of the dock and blood drops then held his hand out to me. “Give me your jacket.”
“The man’s dead, Sherlock. There’s no warming him up now.”
Sutter stood. He turned slowly and offered a half smile. His body relaxed and he had a devilish glint in his eyes. The old Sutter was back. “Cute.”
“Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.”
“I’m always paying attention, Chicago. I’ll wrap the champagne in an evidence bag and then with your jacket so we don’t break it or screw up the fingerprints. I’ll put my jacket on this guy to protect the evidence. Doc’s due back from St. Ignace tomorrow and we can’t just leave the body lying here as a photo op for tourists biking the island. The dock’s covered in footprints and shrapnel from loading and unloading and the weather’s getting worse by the minute. Forensic anything is impossible. We’ll need to keep this quiet. I’ll take the body in the carriage to the medical center and put it in the cooler, you two take Shakespeare, and about why not dump the body off the pier...”
Sutter draped his arm over my shoulder and brought me close. “Bodies float, Chicago. They get washed ashore with the tides, especially with the big diesels churning up the water. Disposing of a body has to be done right. They have to be tied and weighed down and dumped out in the middle of the lake. Something to keep in mind the next time you and your sidekick here think about dragging me away from dessert. I can take care of things from here. You two take care of my horse, then get back to whatever you were doing.”
Before I could protest Sutter headed for the carriage, leaving Fiona and me alone on the dock. She zipped her fleece against the damp chill and pursed her lips. “Does Nate really think we’re going to let this dead guy on the docks thing go? We found him and like it or not your black cloud affliction might have something to do with the guy being dead.” She poked my forehead. “You owe him.”
“We owe him, but for right now we have other problems. First, we have to help Nate load up a dead body. Not my favorite pastime. Then...” I patted Shakespeare and handed Fiona the reins. “I sure hope you know how to drive this thing ‘cause I don’t have a clue.”
Chapter Two
“Hide me quick!” came a voice from below.
I teetered on the ladder while fastening a display kite to the ceiling of my bike shop... Well, Rudy’s Rides was half my shop. I looked down at the thirty-something guy standing beside the cluttered workbench that also served as my cluttered desk. He wore a wrinkled blue shirt and a tie in worse shape, with sweat dotting his forehead. He was a bit Jude Law, a bit James Franco, and a whole lot drop-dead gorgeous. For the first time all day I forgot about the poor dead guy on the dock and Sutter being totally grouchy and wished I’d combed my hair.
“She’s going to kill me.”
“This is Mackinac, we don’t get a lot of that.” If you disregard last night’s adventures on the dock. Since I didn’t need to add to the present body count I said, “What can I do to prevent this unfortunate-?”
“Where is that good-for-nothing rat fink!” boomed a voice outside the shop. A woman ran past the front windows of the bike shop, her footsteps clattering across the wooden porch and her white veil streaming behind her.
“Please?” Delicious gave me a desperate, totally charming look.
“I don’t care how dreamy Bladen Powers is or thinks he is, I’m going to wring his neck with my own two hands,” came more of the ear-piercing shriek that sent chills down my spine.
Cleveland and Bambino hissed and dove under the pool table that sat in the middle of the bike shop. I pointed to the door at the back of the shop and said to Delish, who I assumed was Bladen, “Run!”
He flashed a smile that had me teetering on the ladder again then dodged around the line of bikes waiting to be rented out. He closed the door to the kitchen just as Wild Woman banged open the front door. Panting, she swiped wedding veil tulle from her face, stomped her foot, and jabbed her bouquet of wilted lilies at me.
“I know Bladen’s here.” Her beady eyes darted from one corner of the shop, bedecked with vintage bike posters, to the other. “He was supposed to rent bride and groom bikes so Cuddle Cakes and I could pedal to our rehearsal dinner tomorrow night and ride down Fort Street after our wedding reception. It was Bladen’s idea. ‘This will be great for pictures, Daniela,’ he said. ‘Just think of your dress streaming out behind you like a Roman goddess,’ he said.”
Daniela fluffed her veil, looking wistful for a second before the scowl returned. “But then that stupid police chief Stutter or Smutter or whatever won’t give me a road variance to close down Fort Street so we can get the best pictures. And that’s not all. Bladen and that wimpy assistant of his were supposed to check with the caterer and the choir at St. Ann’s to make sure everything was ready and none of that is done! What kind of wedding planner does that?”
She spun around, but instead of leaving like I hoped she would, she pointed to Bride scripted in pink sequins across the back of her white fleece sweatshirt. “That’s me! This is my wedding week, my time to be diva divine and not worry about details. Bladen said he’d take care of everything and so far the only thing he’s taken care of is how much gel to put in his hair...though he does have really great hair. But what matters now is that I’m getting married up there at the Mackinac Fort in two days... Two!”
“At a reenactment?”
“Do I look like I’m going to a reenactment! I’m a bride, a real one. Not just anyone can get married at the fort, only people who count. My three-times great-grandfather was Daniel Robertson, a Revolutionary War hero and commander of the fort. He counts and I, Daniela Robertson Smithfield, count and the Governor said I can have my wedding at the fort when nobody else can and I want Bladen Palmer’s head on a platter right this minute!”
“I think it’s called Fort Mackinac and is the platter for after you strangle Bladen?”
That got me an eat dirt and die look. I tied a knot in the string to secure the yellow and blue striped kite to the rafters and climbed down the ladder. “The problem is,” I offered in my best mommy to screaming two-year-old voice, “I’ve already rented the bride and groom bikes but—“
“You what!” Daniela’s face blotched red and her nostrils flared giving her a pug nose that would have looked great on a little piggy, not so much on a bride-to-be. “Where is Bladen?!”
Behind her back, Bladen stuck his head out the door, his blue eyes huge with a touch of charming desperation. I had never mastered charming, but I could relate to the desperation part. I’d been there a time or two, though with me it was more Midwest girl caught between a rock and bigger rock.
“How about I paint up two more bikes,” I offered. I knew what it was like to have a messed up wedding and it wasn’t fun. “I can have
Bride and Groom bikes done by the day after tomorrow.” Thanks to Red Bull and 5-Hour Energy. “I’ll put a tux, top hat, champagne glasses, rings, and garter on one and a veil, flowers, cake, pearls, and lace on the other. We have so many weddings on the island I’ve been meaning to paint up another set of wedding bikes and you and Cuddle Bear—“
“Cuddle Cakes.”
“Cuddle Cakes can ride down the Fort Street hill and get your great wedding pictures. A few people make the photos look more natural.”
“I don’t want natural, I want perfection.” Daniela gave another swipe to her veil. “And I want a discount.”
“Uh, I’m doing you a favor here.”
“Bladen gets me discounts on everything, got me a great deal on the liquor. That and his hair and smile - he really has a sexy smile - are the reasons why I hired him in the first place. This wedding is costing me a fortune.”
“I can do a discount.” By overcharging, adding the discount, and ending up at the regular rate in the end. Whatever makes the customer happy.
Daniela snagged an orange Post-It pad off the workbench. “The wedding party’s staying at Cedarhill on the East Bluff and here’s the landline number if you need to reach me since cell phone service here is a joke. I swear the only bars around here are the drinking kind.” Daniela tore off the top sheet and stuck the sticky note to the middle of my forehead, making my eyes cross.
“No wonder nothing gets done in this place!” she added. “Have the bikes up at the fort in time for the wedding and if you see that weasel Bladen or that mousy assistant of his tell them to pull some strings and get Fort Street closed for my pictures. Everything better be done right or else and I’m not kidding about the or else.” Daniela snarled and stomped out of the shop, the door slamming behind her.
“You saved me.” Bladen batted his long lashes as he came from the back of the shop. “My head might really be on that platter right now if you hadn’t stepped in.”
I peeled the Post-It from my forehead and stuck it to a can of chili-red paint that had other Post-Its on it and was sitting in the middle of my messy workbench. “Daniela had her heart set on the bikes.”
“You know brides. They overreact.”
“I don’t think you’ve got a prayer of getting Fort Street closed, but you probably should finalize arrangements with the chair and table rental people? You got the cake, right?”
Bladen added a sheepish grin. “I’m thinking cupcakes. I’ll get Petula, my PA, to whip up a batch.”
“You whip up brownies, not a wedding cake.”
“Cupcakes are in. Hey, I’ve got the booze covered,” he went on. “That’s what really matters at a wedding, right? Having top shelf liquor? I was doing weddings in Detroit and Wedding Wonderland transferred me here to set things up at this end. I’ve been a little busy.”
The liquor comment got my attention. “Liquor as in champagne?”
“With all the weddings I handle I get a lot of it shipped here in bulk at the best rates and I pick the cases up at the docks. Can’t have good champagne and wine sitting in the hot sun. I have a barn to store supplies and … What’s with the twenty questions? You getting married?”
“Been there, done that. And crashed and burned. I was wondering about ... about delivery charges,” I lied since I was fishing for information about John Bernard and his champagne bottle and getting nowhere. “I have freight shipped in and the charges really add up.”
“It doesn’t really matter to me. All that’s included in the wedding fee.” Bladen checked his watch. “I’ve got an engagement dinner party at the Metivier Inn down the street and need to check on the future bride.” He added a wink. “That one’s kept me real busy and has some nice perks.” He laughed and was out the door, nearly colliding with Fiona carrying in a stack of newspapers.
She stopped, ogled, and stuck out her tongue and panted. “Holy wow, let me guess. Bladen Powers? I’ve heard the talk and I got to say that the visual does not disappoint.”
I picked up a Hello Kitty kite from the lower side of the workbench and untied the Hello Kitty ribbon that held it together for shipping. “He’s like my ex. Talks a mean game, but actually has no game other than the World Series game where my ex happened to be instead of at the church marrying me.”
“Girl, he did you a favor and you know it.”
“Mother did me the favor. She bought the tickets to get rid of the ignoramus. That was her fancy term of endearment for him.”
“In the newspaper world we just go straight to jackass.” Fiona dropped a stack of Town Criers on the workbench and handed me a box she’d balanced on top. “Nate’s award that he left at the Grand. I dropped off papers and they asked me to give it to him, but I’m giving it to you. The glass lid’s loose so be careful it doesn’t slide off and break and this is your excuse to talk to Nate and wheedle info about our dead guy. Pretty clever, huh?”
“I rent bikes. You’re the reporter, you wheedle.”
“I’m more of a cut the crap and give me the facts kind of gal and Nate’s never going to go for that. Besides I hate guns. You’re the one from Chicago.”
“FYI, island girl, not everyone in Chicago carries firearms.”
“For Pete’s sake,” Captain grumped as he stomped into the shop, “it’s the Good Soldier Award, a replica of an 1812 flintlock used here during that particular war of the same name and it’s even got his initials on the handle. I’m sure Nate’s mighty proud to get it, and it’ll look great on his office wall.”
“He would have rather had crème brûlée,” Fiona mumbled then added in a louder voice, “Hi, Captain. How’s it goin’.”
Captain was unkempt and unshaven as usual. He wore his forever mangled seaman’s cap and had his forever cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth, except this time it wasn’t lit.
“Don’t you ’Hi, Captain’ me.” As if by magic, the cigar didn’t budge. He glared at Fiona then took the cigar from his lips and jabbed it in my direction. “Is there some reason you couldn’t just pick the blasted lock instead of busting my dang window last night? Now my insurance company’s on the warpath about me rewiring the whole warehouse with some bells and whistles alarm system to bring it up to snuff.”
“Me? Pick a lock?” I tried to look horrified.
Captain harrumphed. “Everyone knows you and Lois Lane here are always sticking your noses in everyone’s business and now it’s costing me personal.”
“Hey, our nose sticking solved two murders on this island without ruffling tourist feathers.” Fiona hitched her hip onto the lower workbench and Cleveland jumped into her lap, purring his head off. “The fudgies had no idea what was going on with those two murders and we didn’t lose one iota of business around here the whole summer. You should be thanking us. So, did you know the dead guy or what?”
“And why should I be telling you?”
“’Cause gossip’s an Olympic sport on this island, right now you got the gold medal and we got to solve this murder fast and avoid a fudgie exodus.”
“Since you put it that way and appealing to my better business sense. The dead guy was a deckhand on the Barefoot Gal, one of the cargo ferries delivering goods. I knew him in passing, is all. He liked the island. Came back even when he wasn’t docked here to spend time and grab a brew.”
“Didn’t the Barefoot Gal realize all their crew wasn’t onboard when they left port?” I asked.
Captain jabbed the cigar back in his mouth and struck a match. “My daughter’s harping on me like a fishwife to quit smoking these things. Dang it all anyway.” He blew out the match. “Crews come and go, missy. They find a sweetheart, get to fighting, go gambling, and land in jail. When the ship leaves it shoves off no matter who’s on board. Now about my window - who’s gonna pay for that?”
Fiona sported a sassy grin. “The same guy who pays his workers under the table when putting in overtime and probably needs a new security system anyway.”
Captain gave a shrug. “You got me thi
s time. Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”
He turned to go and I shoved the Hello Kitty kite in his hand. “For that new granddaughter. So, did Sutter know the guy on the dock?”
Captain held up the kite. “A bribe?”
“Kids love kites and these new special ones do dips and dives and Sutter’s holding something back and I can’t figure out why.”
“More like you two can’t tolerate being out of the loop and it’s driving you crazy?”
“There is that.”
Chapter Three
Captain glanced at the kite tucked under his arm. “Well, since you’re asking nice and adding presents. The only thing I picked up on was Nate calling the guy Larry and we all knew him as John Bernard. Guess Nate thought he recognized him, but didn’t after all?” Captain took the cigar from his lips, giving it a long look. “Ya’ know, these things were my best friend, gave me pleasure, and didn’t ask a darn thing in return.”
“Best friends don’t sneak up on you and kill you.”
“Ya got a point there.” Captain tossed the cigar in the trash then sauntered out the door.
“So, what do you think?” I asked Fiona.
“I think we should send Captain’s daughter a Thank You card for making him give up those smelly cigars.” She scooted off the workbench and set Cleveland on the pool table beside a sleeping Bambino. “And I think I got to get the rest of the Criers delivered around town and you got a note taped to a paint can saying Nancy Drew needs to be delivered to the Metivier Inn by five. It’s five after, girlfriend, and for all our sakes, please tell me you’re not riding that bike to the inn to deliver it. It’s rush hour.”
“We have big horses, slow bikes, and rush hour doesn’t exist here. So what do you think about Sutter calling John Larry? Sutter doesn’t make mistakes like that and last night Sutter was... weird. He was quiet and he’s never quiet, especially when you and I are poking around his crime scene. It’s like his brain was somewhere else. There’s more here than mistaken identity, I can feel it in my bones.”
