by Duffy Brown
Bladen snarled, took two more steps away from me, climbed onto the dray, and glanced around. “Okay, so where the heck did the driver go? He was just here and I’m paying him by the hour and we need to get this wine to the dock right now.”
“Hey, Bladen,” Fiona started, “by any chance did you happen to know that guy Joh—“
“Otis,” I blurted and kicked Fiona in the shins. “He makes great coffee over at Doud’s across the street and you really should get to know him. I bet that’s where your driver is. Everyone loves Otis’s coffee.”
“And the driver’s probably shooting the breeze,” Bladen huffed and climbed off the dray. “That’s all you people do around here. Now I got to find him and get this champagne out of the sun before that goes right to hell too.”
Bladen stomped off toward Doud’s and Fiona rubbed her shins growling, “Why’d you kick me? I saw the money clip and so did you and it was the same as John’s. I was going to ask Bladen if he knew John and you know he does. The clip is dead on proof and--”
“And what if Bladen’s the killer, huh? Did you think of that?” I said in a hushed whisper. “If we ask him a bunch of questions then he’ll know we’re on to him and that could be real bad for our health.”
Fiona parked her hand on her hip. “You seriously think pretty boy Bladen is the killer? Girl, from what I hear that man’s a lover not a fighter, and besides that, why would he kill John?”
“I don’t know about the why, but the how is easy enough. It doesn’t take much to bonk someone on the head. It’s not like stabbing where blood spurts everywhere.”
“Thank you so much for that delightful image at eight in the morning.”
“Are you sure you’re a reporter? John worked the docks,” I went on, trying to figure things out. “Bladen got deliveries there and they both have the same money clip. I bet Captain knows if there’s a connection between those two. Not much gets past the man.”
I shimmied into her carriage and Fiona didn’t budge. “Well, what are you waiting for?” I grumped. “Come on, make Byline go. We need to get to the dock. Cal will be back in a few minutes to run the shop, so I can leave now. This is our best lead yet. Get a move on.”
“I really do have a newspaper to run, you know.”
“And you have your mani-pedi appointment to squeeze in and you need time to primp, and you don’t want to go anywhere right now, I get it. But think of this, do you really want to impress the new BF? What if we find the killer, that’ll impress the bejeebers out of him? Brains and beauty, right? Aren’t brains the new sexy these days?”
“Actually, I think a push-up bra and bikini panties from Victoria Secret are, but okay, okay, I’ll go and just for the record, what the heck’s a bejeeber? I don’t think I have one so how can it get scared out of me?”
“This is what I get for being friends with an English major. Just put the pedal to the metal or whatever. Why in the world aren’t there cup holders in a buggy? I could really do with a cup of Otis’s coffee.”
Fiona hoisted herself into the carriage. “Any more caffeine and I’d make you get out and push. Did you notice that Bladen didn’t look nearly as handsome today?” Fiona flicked the reins and Byline trotted off. “I think his hair is thinning and he’s getting a fat-man paunch.”
“You think that because you now have Finn the fabulous in your life.”
Fiona grinned and batted her eyes. “Ain’t life grand?”
We clip-clopped passed the gazebo then Marquette Park as Main turned into Lake Shore. The public docks with pleasure boats bobbing in the gentle waves sat to the right and a taxi headed for the ferries coming into port and loaded with fudgies passed us on the left. “So, just how much do you like this Mr. Fabulous?”
“We... get along.” Fiona steered around two bikers with balancing problems even worse than mine then we took the bend for Mission Point as a V of geese cut across the bright blue sky. “He makes an effort, he always smells good, he lets me know he cares, he’s a friend to Nate so you know he’s one of the good guys, and he makes me laugh. He brought me flowers. Sunflowers.” Fiona had a dreamy look in her eyes. “He said I’m his Michigan sunshine.”
“A Detroit cop said that?”
“Exact words.” We turned down the lane toward the freight dock.
“Are we really sure this guy’s a Detroit cop?”
“Got the scars to prove it.” Fiona laughed and blushed. “I can attest to that firsthand.”
The scent of diesel hung in the air as a gray cloud of exhaust billowed off the port bow of a cargo ferry motoring away from the pier. Or maybe it was that the stern side of the boat that had the exhaust? Why they just didn’t say front and back like everyone else and-- “It’s Barefoot Gal.”
“As in the fourth race at Hialeah?”
“As in the boat John worked on.” I jabbed my finger toward the dock. “And she’s getting away.”
I slapped my palm to my forehead. “I didn’t think about the boat coming back here! How could I not think of that? It’s not like boats leave port and drop off the end of the earth never to return. Nancy Drew would have thought of the boat returning and so would have Sherlock Holmes,” I whined. “We could have asked around, see what her captain and dockhands had to say. We could have gotten some great info.”
“Oh, yeah, because dockhands have so much to say to a reporter and her friend when they’re hustling around unloading freight.”
“Hey, we could have strutted our stuff. We’re still young. We could have used our womanly wiles. Guys can get real chatty over wiles.”
“Are you looking for a good time, baby is not the kind of chatty we need right now.” Fiona pulled to a stop in front of the corrugated metal warehouse, with dockhands hoisting crates and boxes onto waiting drays to make daily deliveries to shops and hotels.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.” Captain chomped his unlit cigar, readjusted his beat-up seaman’s hat, and ambled down the lane toward us. Fiona tied up Byline and stepped out of the way of the workers. Big wagons lined the lane on either side as behemoth horses shook their heavy leather harnesses. A few drank from water troughs, which were everywhere on the island. Water troughs here were like gas stations in other towns, only they smelled better. Then again, some of the natural habits of horses didn’t smell all that great either.
“Why’d you think we’d be coming?” I asked Captain while hopping down from the carriage.
“Nate. He said the two biggest busybodies on the island would be showing up this morning with Barefoot Gal being in port.”
Ugh! Even Sutter thought I’d pick up on the returning boat thing.
“And I am supposed to tell you to...” Captain went on as he flipped back a paper on his clipboard and read, “To mind your own business for a change, stop pestering people, and let the police take care of things.” Captain chuckled. “Nate’s words, not mine.”
“Okay, we can do that,” I said and Fiona added, “We can?”
I flashed my goody-two-shoes smile. “We don’t want to upset anyone or get in the way of the police and we can mind our own business. But...”
Captain rocked back on his heels. “I can’t wait to hear this but.”
“But maybe we can do it a little later. Right now we’re wondering if there’s a connection between John the dead guy and Bladen Powers, that new wedding planner here on the island.”
“Maybe.” Captain stood on one foot then the other and shrugged his shoulders.
“And?”
Captain puffed on his cigar that wouldn’t puff and grinned.
“So, what’s it going to cost me to find out about the connection?”
“A Daniel Tiger kite. My little Effie loved the kite you gave me, but she’d really love one of Daniel Tiger.”
“Hello Kitty’s big brother?” Fiona asked. “I never did get the white cat and a pink bow thing.”
“Daniel’s on TV. He tells kids to mind their manners, eat their vegetables, and return librar
y books on time. Effie would get a big kick out of a Daniel Tiger kite.”
“Sutter didn’t have to bribe you with a kite,” I groused.
“Sutter has a badge, a gun, and a jail cell.” Captain took another non-drag off his cigar. “When that Bladen guy showed up this morning, he asked where John was, and I remembered those two knew each other. Maybe not well, like exchanging Christmas cards, but they talked. John helped Bladen load and unload the liquor when he didn’t have to, guess that’s how they got friendly. Anyway, this morning Bladen was real upset when he found out about John being dead and took right off without unloading that wine he had on his wagon. Can’t say if this means anything one way or the other but—”
“But what does Bladen have to unload? He picks up stuff like wedding supplies.”
“If he orders too much liquor, he sends cases back. That’s what all the venues on the island do unless it’s some popular booze they can hold onto for another affair. It costs money and it takes a bit of time to return orders to Detroit but it’s better than letting inventory sit around and go bad. Remember, you promised the kite. Daniel Tiger. Don’t forget.”
Whistling, Captain headed for the warehouse, checking his clipboard. I turned to Fiona. “Holy cow, John and Bladen did for sure know each other and—“
“Not here,” Fiona hissed. “We’re attracting attention and looking a little conspicuous.”
We got in the carriage and Fiona maneuvered around the big drays as if she’d done it all her life, which she had. I couldn’t even parallel park a Honda Civic... when I had a Honda Civic.
“Okay, so John and Bladen had a connection,” I said as Byline hoofed his way up the lane to the main road. “And the two had the same money clip. They could have been in the same wedding, but since when do a swanky wedding planner and dockworker called Leadfoot run in the same social circles?”
“They don’t. Gifts, maybe?” Fiona steered past the white clapboard Old Mission Church with its octagonal wood belfry and past the cut off for the butterfly house. “Maybe Bladen gave the money clip, flask, and knife to John for helping him with loading and unloading? Bladen’s a wedding planner and there could have been leftovers from a cancelled wedding or something was inscribed wrong or whatever.”
“And the watch was a present too? That explains why there wasn’t any mention of John having a wife in the police report.”
“What police report?”
Oh, boy. “The one I found when I broke into Sutter’s office.”
“Waitaminute! What?” Fiona pulled Byline to a stop right in the middle of Lake Shore. “You did a break-in? What happened to I hold the flashlight and you pick the lock? That’s how we roll! How could you do a break-in without me?”
“It was a spontaneous occurrence and you’re dating a cop.”
“So we won’t bring him with us.”
“Yeah, well, I’m no romance expert but getting arrested by the boyfriend isn’t the primrose path to happily ever after.”
Fiona flicked the reins. “So we don’t get caught. Problem solved.”
My guess was that Finn didn’t tell Fiona all the nitty-gritty about Sutter undercover and Dead John because he wanted to keep her out of harm’s way. I got that, even admired it. He suspected I was involved because I dialed his number. Also Sutter told him I was a total pain meaning I’d be in the mix somewhere.
“Hey, look at me.” Fiona jabbed me in the ribs snapping me back to the moment. “What are you thinking? We’re gal pals, together through thick and thin, wherever that takes us. There’s no more thinking without me, right?” She stopped the carriage in front of Rudy’s Rides.
“Right,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back. “It’s you and me. All we know for sure is that John and Bladen were friends and Bladen gave John some presents. It doesn’t make sense that Bladen had anything to do with John’s murder, meaning Bladen’s off the hook.”
“And that puts us right back to square one?”
“Pretty much.” But not really. Bladen and John knew each other and they knew Sutter. Sutter had the same knife as John so that tied the three of them - Sutter, John and Bladen - together and it led straight back to the undercover gig. John was looking for the guy in his wallet, making it a party of four. Did picture guy run off with the money? Did he find John first and knock him off because he was getting too close? Was Sutter next like Finn suspected? Whoever this picture guy was, he played into all this big time. I needed that picture.
I could have Finn get it but then Sutter would know I was involved. That would lead to another butt-out lecture and Sutter might tell Finn to go home. I needed Finn. This was getting a little hairy and I was no Xena Warrior Princess, though I bet I could really rock the outfit.
“You’re thinking again, I can tell,” Fiona grumbled. “There’re little rings of smoke curling from your ears.”
I gave Fiona a hug. “See you at the Stang, girlfriend.”
“Can’t wait for you to meet Finn. So, why did you leave the Stang so early last night?”
“Got a phone number off a bathroom wall.” I held Fiona a little tighter and rushed on with, “Sounds like Finn really cares for you.”
“Yep, I think he does and the feeling’s mutual and getting more mutual every day.”
By noon my workbench looked like a tornado had struck. The bride and groom bikes were finished, we’d rented out half our stock - thank you, Lord - and Cal was off to musket/cannon duty at the fort. We didn’t talk about Fiona. We didn’t have time with all the customers, but in any case a broken heart didn’t mend overnight.
So that I didn’t wind up with scurvy or rickets or whatever you got from carb overload, I popped a veggie burger in the nuker and gulped down a spoonful of foul-smelling tuna to satisfy some dietary requirement I read about on Facebook. I dumped the rest of the tuna onto a plate for Bambino and Cleveland, told them they had the culinary palate of a goat, and pulled the tab on a can of diet Coke. A body can only stand so much healthy at one time without going into shock.
I bandaged the knee of a customer who took a spill on Tulips and Lighthouses, one of my fave creations, and gave the rider a free dinner at Goodfellows. The saying you never forget how to ride a bike was pure crap. People forgot all the time, although they refused to believe it because of the stupid saying. That’s why they signed waivers, and that’s why I gave them free dinners when they crashed.
With the midday lull in effect, I pulled out a sketchpad for some spit-balling of new bike ideas. “Maybe a fifties themed bike?” I said to Bambino and Cleveland, asleep on the pool table and not raising one brow at my great inspiration. “What if I put vinyl records, an ice cream soda, and a poodle skirt on the front fender? Everybody loves poodle skirts! Great idea, huh?” I showed them the drawings.
No response.
“A jukebox, Elvis, a red convertible, and blue suede shoes for the back fender? Real crowd pleaser, right?”
Nothing.
“If I add a pink fuzzy seat and pink and black streamers on the handlebars, the bike will be downright adorable. Don’t you agree?”
Still nothing. B and C were a tough sell.
The shop bell tinkled and abandoned fiancé Curtis from over at the Metivier Inn shuffled in. He stopped by the Spring Garden bike, his eyes beady, shirt half open, and bowler bowtie sagging around his neck. “My fiancée would love this one. Well...” He clenched his fists, his jaw tightened. “Who knows what that woman likes now but it sure isn’t me, blast her lying, cheating heart and I hope she rots in Walmart’s bargain basement for all eternity!”
I wasn’t sure if Walmart had a bargain basement, but I handed Curtis a bottle of water, wishing it were laced with Prozac. “You know, sometimes a good ride can make you feel much better about things. It kind of gets rid of all those pent up frustrations and the raging anger tearing up and down your spine. If you’re a golfer I have the Arnold Palmer bike or if you fish there’s Outdoor Angler next to—“
“I don’t want a
blasted bike!” Curtis yanked off his bowtie and threw it across the workbench, the cats chasing it like a toy. “I don’t want to get calm! I want an attorney, blast it all. I want a good one! I was looking for Bloomfield, Attorney at Law. I took the walkway to the office around back but no one’s there. The note on the door says Be back by two. It’s ten after. Where in the blazes is he!”
“She and that’s my mother. She’s running a little late. With a client, no doubt.”
Truth be told, she was lunching with Angelo and probably having a great dessert to wind things up. Although being her daughter, I really didn’t want to think about the dessert part. Mother came to the island to start afresh, told everyone her name was Carman, switched out her Ann Taylor attire for Mae West, and started dating Angelo, a retired mob boss. Bloomfields never did anything half-assed.
“Is your mother any good as an attorney?” Curtis ran his hand through his thinning hair. “I need someone tough.” He pounded the workbench, causing me and the paint cans to jump. “I got myself into a mess and signed a prenup that’s going to cost me a bundle and make Ms. Hot-pants rich. I need a shark of a lawyer. I need a shark who eats other sharks.”
“Well, two summers ago Father left Mother for a Parisian fan dancer and took up drinking wine and painting nudes on the Left Bank. Mother now owns the house in Chicago, the condo in Naples and the family shotgun and no one can find the fan dancer.”
“Sold! I’ll go check if she’s back. I got to get this legal stuff settled.” Curtis took a few steps and turned back to me. “I’d appreciate you not mentioning any of this.”
“What happens at the bike shop stays at the bike shop.”
Hoping to minimize any potential carnage, I followed Curtis, engaging in harmless chitchat about the weather and fudge as we made our way up the brick walkway that led to Mother’s office. It was a white cottage with red awnings and red geraniums in the window boxes. Mother lived on the top floor with a balcony overlooking the lake. It was the perfect mother-daughter arrangement. Close but not too close, Haagen Dazs in the freezer, Hershey kisses in the refrigerator, Kentucky bourbon for when things went straight to hell, and I had an attorney on speed-dial.
