Tandem Demise

by Duffy Brown

  “Winter’s coming, that’s what’s wrong with your bones. They don’t like the cold.”

  I grabbed a Batman kite from the box Fiona and I got from the pier last night, untied the ribbon holding it together, shook out the folds to unfurl the kite, and started up the ladder. “Calling Mackinac Island winters cold is like calling the Hope Diamond a bauble.”

  “You’re a little old sissy pants from tropical Chicago and sometimes mistaken identity is just mistaken identity. Nate said he didn’t know the guy, so why would he lie about it?

  “And that is definitely the sixty-four dollar question of the day. The locals got the 4-1-1 on the dead guy the minute I smashed that warehouse window. So...”

  “So you want me to ask around when I deliver the papers?” Fiona tipped me her sequin hat and headed for the door. “And for the low, low price of one beer at the Stang tonight I might even share the info. And you really need to straighten up this workbench.”

  “Then I’ll never find anything.”

  “Don’t forget about the glass lid and the wheedling.”

  Fiona closed the door behind her and I suspended Batman from the rafters and thought about Sutter. He e Hrecognized the guy on the dock, I could tell. So why not say so? What was the big deal? What was he hiding and he was definitely hiding something. I added a sunflower kite to the ceiling display then stored the ladder, stuffed the box of kites under the workbench, and tied the glass award box together with the Hello Kitty ribbon now smeared with bike grease. Yeah, I really did need to clean up the workbench.

  I wound my way through the labyrinth of bikes to Nancy Drew. She was a red and black bike with the old grandfather clock on the back, the hidden staircase on the front, and a wicker basket with a magnifying glass strapped to the handlebars. I toed up the kickstand and grabbed my yellow fleece jacket.

  “Don’t give me that look,” I said to Bambino and Cleveland, who were glaring at me from the middle of the pool table that took up residence in the bike shop each summer. In the winter the table literally got paraded back to the Mustang Lounge, aka the Stang, so the five-hundred locals braving the winters here of minus twenty and beyond could play, drink beer, and swap crazy tourist stories.

  “I’m not riding this thing,” I went on to the kits. “Just delivering it and I am getting better at staying upright, no matter what you think.” I shoved up my sleeve and jutted my elbow. “See, the scab’s nearly healed and the one on my knee is better and two years is not that long to learn how to ride a bike, so give me a break already.”

  Not looking one bit convinced, the disapproving duo went back to sleep as I pushed Nancy toward the door. I flipped the cardboard sign on the door from Open to Closed and arranged the hands on the little cardboard clock thing to the twelve and the six indicating I’d be back then. Not that there would be much bike renting at that hour, but there would be bike returns and when I got back I could start on the bride and groom bikes. I locked the door and headed down Main Street.

  Twinkle lights already brightened the trees lining the street, highlighting the fact that the days were getting shorter and the nights longer. There were several customers in the Good Stuff Fudge Shop next to the bike shop. I waved to Rudy through the big plate glass window. Using what looked like a boat paddle, he flipped a behemoth slab of chocolate fudge cooling on the big marble table. Flipping fudge in windows was a great crowd pleaser on the island and sold a lot of fudge.

  Restaurants and bars hummed with tourists bustling in and out. There were no motors, horns, or traffic lights with bikes, horses, and carriages as the approved modes of transportation on Fudge Island. The place was called that because the Good Stuff and seventeen other fudge shops sold tons of fudge to fudgies every year. The place should really be called Dentists’ Paradise or Where Weight Watchers Comes to Die.

  “Tell me you’re not going to ride that thing,” Nate Sutter said as he pedaled up beside me on his official, black bike with Police stenciled on the fender. “You’ll weave, scream, wreck, and scare the heck out of the horses.”

  Nate Sutter was born and raised on the island. His mother owned the Good Stuff Fudge Shop next to the bike shop and was married to Rudy, my business partner. Sutter was now our vigilant and, most of the time, beloved police chief after a ten year detour with the Detroit PD. Due to my stubborn streak and black cloud condition and Sutter’s equally stubborn streak plus being the sheriff, our paths crossed a lot. We had one of those I can do anything you can do better relationships. Although he was better at finding the bad guys, my way was more exciting and included Nutty Buddies.

  Every female on the island regarded Sutter as one of those ruggedly handsome types that got women all hot and bothered without trying. There was talk of the island minting their own money so his likeness could be on the bills - face on the front, butt on the back. This is the kind of girl talk that goes on at the Stang on those long, cold, winter nights.

  “Think of it this way,” Sutter carried on. “Your lack of biking ability gives your shop a bad rep and that’s bad for business. If there’s one thing you care about, it’s business.”

  “Biking season is only seven months long at best around here and that doesn’t give me much time to make ends meet. And if you think I’m bad for business?” I got set for some wheedling even though I had forgotten the blasted award thing. “What about a guy prone on the dock, staring up at the stars and not in a gee isn’t this romantic kind of way? My biking doesn’t hold a candle to that and what have you found out about him, huh?” I threw in that last part hoping it sounded like ordinary conversation or as much as a conversation could sound normal when talking about a corpse.

  “Doc Prichard’s with him now.”

  “And you’ll tell me what Doc finds out?” We stopped in front of the Seabiscuit Café. The scent of burgers and fries wafting out onto the porch along with strands of American Pie reminded me I was starving!

  “Sure, I will.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re not going to tell me squat. You’re going to give me the mushroom treatment, keep me in the dark and feed me manure. So, I’ll tell you what I already know and I’m not going to stop. John/Larry was a dockhand working on Barefoot Girl.”

  Sutter’s lips thinned. “Stay out of this one, Chicago.”

  “He liked the island,” I added in my best I am not staying out of anything voice. “Even came here to the island to visit on days off. That’s strange, don’t you think? Most deckhands go home or find the nearest bar or newest fling and you’re ticked off at me for some reason and it has to do with Larry or John or whatever his name is. Since Fiona and I found him we owe him and I got this black cloud so maybe I caused it to happen and I need to make things right.”

  “Newsflash - clouds don’t kill people.”

  “How do you know for sure? Things that we can’t explain happen all the time especially on this island. Izzy McDonald’s son finally got a job last week, Jennie over at Millie’s on Main got my order right for the first time in two years, and the Captain’s given up smoking and he seemed to like John so he was probably an okay guy. How’d somebody like that wind up dead on an island dedicated to escaping the real world and all things fudge?”

  “This is a police matter and you are not the police.”

  “How about you could deputize me.” I added a toothy grin for effect.

  “How about law enforcement would never recover.”

  “If I don’t help find who did this guy in my cloud could get worse. More bad stuff will happen around here. And I’ll be in your hair even more. Think of that,” I added, getting more ticked off by the minute. “And for your information, I am getting better at bike riding, a lot better, and I’ll prove it.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I believe you. You don’t have to prove anything.”

  Pride edged out common sense and I straddled the bike, put my foot on the pedal, and shoved off. Granted five AM would be a better time than five PM to prove my case, but I was fed up with Sut
ter stonewalling me and I had to do something other than stand there and argue and get nowhere.

  I dodged the local wagon taxi that transported folks from ferry dock to hotel at the rip-roaring speed of five miles per hour. I maneuvered around the kid on a red bike, though he actually did more of the maneuvering. I steered by a family crossing the street and only slightly clipped the old lady with the walker, but why-oh-why was there a delivery dray coming right at me with the biggest horses ever?

  I hit the brakes, stifled a scream, and swerved onto Hoban Street with my back tire fishtailing. I sideswiped the pink rosebush in front of the Metivier Inn, missed the lethal pointy picket fence by a hair, and swung onto the side lane. The fact that it was secluded, free from gaping tourists, and had the medical center located at the end gave me some comfort. Nancy jumped the curb. Her tire hit a rock and together we crashed onto the grass next to a pot of red geraniums and white petunias. If I died here at least the flowers were already in place.

  Panting, I flopped onto my back, staring up at the sky and … at Bladen Powers shimmying down the ivy trellis on the side of the lovely Victorian hotel? A mid-thirties-ish woman with long blonde hair, wearing a white negligee and a really neat top hat of all things, waved at Bladen. She was partially hidden behind a potted palm on the second story balcony with an Engaged Katie and Curtis banner hanging from its railing. Bladen jumped from the trellis, flashed a grin at her, and waved back. Tucking in his shirt, he spotted me on the ground, winked at me, and jogged around to the back of the building. No wonder Daniela didn’t have a wedding cake, Powers was too busy playing patty cake with another bride-to-be.

  A cyclist pulled up beside me and I crossed my fingers it was a sympathetic bystander offering a bottle of water. But deep down inside I knew it was Sutter. I braced myself for the If that was doing better I’d hate to see worse, but it never came. I cut my eyes to our dear police chief who was staring at the inn.

  “What’s he doing here?” Sutter said with a faraway look.

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Your concern is so touching, memorable and heartfelt and just so you know, that guy running off is not Curtis from the Katie and Curtis banner. Bladen Powers is our resident wedding planner and troublemaker from Detroit and... You know him?”

  That seemed to snap Sutter back into the present, and he looked down at me. “Why would I know a wedding planner from Detroit?”

  “And why would you know a dead guy on the dock?”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes!”

  “I gotta go.” Sutter glanced back at the inn and grabbed his handlebars tighter. “Do us all a big favor and don’t ride any more bikes.”

  “I own the shop!”

  Muttering something about the mysteries of the universe, Sutter raced off while I stayed put waiting for my backbones to find their designated positions before I tried to stand. Sutter didn’t deny he knew the dead guy or Powers. So, how did he know them? Did they all know each other? What would bring a cop, a wedding planner, and a dockworker together? It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke you told when half plastered. And why wouldn’t Sutter tell me about it?

  I pushed Nancy across the brick sidewalk toward the rear service entrance of the Metivier Inn. I parked the bike by the back door and rounded the far corner to take a shortcut to the Stang. Up ahead a party graced the side patio lit with candles and lanterns. Vases and bouquets of white flowers occupied every nook and cranny and a quartet played When a Man Loves a Woman. White-gloved waiters roamed about, plates and tableware clanked, glassed clinked, and a guy maybe in his early fifties sat alone at a head table with a Katie and Curtis Forever streamer across the front. Curtis’s brows were knit, and he clutched an empty champagne glass in each hand. Did that bowtie hanging loose around his neck have little red bowler hats on it? And Katie had the top hat? A themed engagement party?

  Looking for the shortcut, I cut across a rose garden then between a stack of firewood and row of boxwoods as, “Bladen, you are such a naughty, naughty boy ducking out in the middle of your event to be with me,” came from the other side.

  The middle bush rustled followed by more giggling and rustling and Bladen Powers whispering, “Only for you, babe. Only for you.”

  People were entitled to their privacy. I got that. The antics on the other side of the hedge were none of my business. I got that too. Except this was Mackinac where privacy didn’t count for much and I personally knew how badly being two-timed sucked whether it was by World Series tickets or the resident wedding planner. Shoving aside the branches I came eye to eye with a woman. She yelped, I did the same, we both jumped, and Bladen Powers flipped off a hammock, landing face down on the ground.

  “What in the world do you want?” the woman gasped as she stumbled to her feet. She straightened her black dress with frilly white maid apron and readjusted her starched white cap.

  Bladen propped his head up on his hand. “You sure get around, bike lady. Got a lot of energy, do you?”

  “Hey, I’m not the only one with surplus energy.” I turned to the maid. “I’m here to drop off a bike for one of your guests.”

  “Do I look like I’m waiting for a blasted bike? I’m on my break! I’m allowed to have a break, any kind of break I want and some are a lot more fun than others.” She winked at Bladen. “So you can get lost.”

  The maid tucked strands of hair under her cap while slipping on her left shoe. Bladen gave me a little finger wave then pointed toward the lane, suggesting I should leave. “Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong can be bad for your health,” he sneered.

  “So can sliding down the trellis. I bet that guy sitting over there at his engagement party on the patio - Curtis isn’t it, the guy with the cute bowtie? - might be wondering what’s keeping his lovely young fiancée. Katie, is it? Wearing a top hat? And a white negligee? Second floor balcony with the potted palm? Oh, and there she is now and looking a little disheveled.”

  I pointed to the gal strolling across the patio. “I wonder what she did with the hat? And I wonder what she’s been up to? Got any ideas why she’s looking all flushed? Hey, Bladen, is that ivy stuck in your hair?”

  Bladen reached for his hair that didn’t actually have ivy in it as the maid’s sexy grin vanished and she glared at Bladen. “You’re the one doing the fast and furious with our resident gold digger? You’re the one tearing up our trellis and smashing our flowers? You’re giving our hotel a bad name. I could lose my job.”

  “But... But...” Bladen batted his lashes. “She seduced me. It’s all her fault.”

  “Bunk! This is all bunk, isn’t it.” The maid’s lip curled, her penciled-in brows narrowing. “You’re not really going to hire me on, are you? I’m not going to be your new assistant? You’re just playing me to get a little something on the side when you’re already getting a whole lot of something on the side.”

  She stomped her foot. “I gave up Ralphie for you. Ralphie treated me good and we would have been married by now. Ralphie loved me and I fell for your bag of bologna and job with a promising career. You double-crossing, no-good… “

  “Ignoramus,” I chimed in.

  “Yeah, that’s what you are, a big old ignoramus.” The maid yanked off her cap, threw it at Bladen, and kicked him in the butt. “No one plays Eileen Fisher. I bet the cook has a nice carving knife I could borrow or my daddy has a gun from when he was a soldier up at the fort.”

  “Now, just a minute.” Bladen bolted straight up. I added, “I think we should just neuter him.”

  Eileen flashed me a big grin. “Now there’s an idea.” She turned for the gardening shack and called to me, “Hold him down, honey, and don’t let him get away. I’ll find the hedge clippers. That should do the trick.”

  “What?” Bladen jumped up, eyes bulging. “Wait. No. You can’t do that. This was just a bit of fun.”

  “Fun? I’ll show you fun.” Eileen yanked open the door to the shed. “You better start sleeping with one eye open, Mr. Wedding Plan
ner ‘cause I got a little snip job planned and if I don’t get you tonight there are other nights. I just love working nights.” She wagged her brows and made a cutting motion with her fingers.

  Bladen gave me an evil look and a hand gesture to match and hobbled off with his hand protecting the family jewels. Eileen gave me a little salute, closed the shed door, and skipped off to the patio. The island might have crappy cell phone service but the fudge vine was on high alert twenty-four-seven. By the time I got to the Stang the word would be out about sleazebag Bladen and his bed-hopping days would be history. Who knows, with all this free time, maybe the creep would have time to get Daniela a wedding cake after all.

  I cut behind the historic Biddle House that still had a huge working fireplace where reenactors demonstrated cooking in the 1800s. They made the chicken soup in cast iron pots and their biscuits and apple butter were to die for. I came out on Market Street with lamplight dotting the sidewalk and the full moon low in a star-filled sky. The barn doors of the blacksmith shop were shut for the night, but faint whiffs of smoke from the dying forge still curled into the dark. Blacksmithing was another popular fudgie attraction with sparks flying, earsplitting hammering guaranteed to bring on a migraine, and glowing, red-hot metal.

  A white clapboard building sat just ahead with the police station on the bottom floor, the courthouse on the second, and a hexagonal cupola perched on the roof. It was a charming one-stop-shop for bad guys with nab ‘em, nail ‘em, and jail ‘em all in one place. No doubt Molly was on duty and Sutter wasn’t, and I had a little time before meeting Fiona at the Stang. This was a great time to pump Molly for the latest info on the dead guy. Strawberry smoothies put Molly in a chatty mood, but with me having only a half-gone roll of cherry Lifesavers in my pocket I’d have to wing it.

  I opened the door to the wood staircase on the left that led up to the courtroom. Pictures of grumpy Sutter, smiling Molly, and two part-time officers hung on the wall with the police reception desk straight ahead. Molly sat on one side of the desk cluttered with files, computer, phone, and a framed picture of Luca. She leaned across the desk, nearly touching noses with the actual, dreamy-eyed Luca sitting on the other side.