by Duffy Brown
“Well done,” Sutter said from the steps.
“Yeah.” I pulled in a deep breath to get my heart rate out of the danger zone. “Carman aka Ann Louise Bloomfield is the best.”
“I was talking about you.”
I turned to Sutter. His eyes were dark, his hair still wet from the shower, and the Hello Kitty robe was exposing some mighty fine chest hair. I knew for sure there had never been a more handsome man and with the police breathing down our necks, this was not the time to do anything about it. “Abrams will be back, won’t he?”
“Yeah. He’ll call some judge and he’ll get his warrant. You’re on thin ice, Chicago, all because of me and things are not going to play well for Finn either. He’s bound to catch a lot of flack for letting me get away.”
I dumped the clothes in the washer and added extra detergent and some lavender fabric softener I got in mail. These clothes needed all the help they could get. “You mean my cake ruse didn’t ring true?” I pulled out the skillet and set it on the stove.
“Probably doing great on YouTube, but in the land of law and order we’re screwed. So, did you find out anything from Eileen?” Sutter sat on the third step and Bambino and Cleveland snuggled together on the bottom step with their favorite new toy bunched between them. “And when did you start wearing bowties?” Sutter picked up the mangled swath of material.
“Curtis left it and the kits took it over. Better than a squeaky mouse, especially at three in the morning when I step on it. As for Eileen, she has an alibi.”
I got eggs, bacon, and cheese from the fridge and popped bread in the toaster. “She was getting it on with some guy and won’t say who because it will get him in trouble.”
“Meaning he’s married.”
I lined the skillet with the bacon and cracked four eggs in a bowl. “But beyond that,” I added while whisking, something that always made me feel like a real cook though I was anything but. “I don’t think she killed Bladen. She’s seems too happy to go around shooting people.”
“Unless she’s happy because she shot him.”
“It was like a content blissful happy more than a yippee I did it happy.” I flipped the bacon. “Next on the who did in Bladen list was Curtis, but he wasn’t at the fort to that rules him out, and then there’s Petula, Bladen’s assistant. She was royally ticked that Bladen wasn’t paying attention to wedding details, but killing him over flowers and cake and risking prison over tables and chairs is a stretch. Got any suggestions?”
I looked back to Sutter, turning the mangled bowtie over and over in his hand while he was thinking. “Curtis was at the fort. I only saw him from the back and at the time I didn’t know it was him. I caught a glimpse of his shirt.”
Sutter held up the bowtie. “The shirt was this same pattern. I mean how many guys around here have bowler hats on their shirts and ties?”
“A brown shirt, right? Yeah, I saw him too. He ducked behind the quartermaster’s house and I figured he was getting help.”
“Except Doc never mentioned someone coming to get him. Cal called Doc on the landline inside the Visitors’ Center and your bacon’s burning.”
“Oh, it’s more like Curtis’ bacon is burning. This is really good news.” I scooped the slabs onto a plate, blotted with a paper towel to get the grease then dumped the eggs into the pan. I tossed in a handful of cheese. “There was no reason for Curtis to be at the fort other than to hunt Bladen. Curtis wasn’t the one getting married and I doubt if he even knew Daniela.”
“And Bladen caused Curtis a lot of grief and money and Curtis was mad at me.”
I gave the eggs a flip. “I think we got ourselves a viable suspect, Sherlock.” I slid the eggs onto the bacon plate, added the toast and handed it to Sutter. “I saw Petula, who looked a lot more like a wedding planner than a frumpy assistant today. She said that Curtis was in a good mood, even paid off the outstanding bill for his ruined engagement party. I need to find out what’s got Curtis doing the happy dance, like maybe Bladen dead as landed mackerel.”
“Be cool and don’t tip your hand that you’re onto him. If you get something, find Finn.” Sutter held up the plate. “Don’t you want some of this?”
This? I considered what was under Hello Kitty. Holy freaking...! “Loaded question.” I handed Sutter a fork and ran out the door.
I hurried down Main Street to closing shops, nightlife taking over from fudge-hunting tourists, and twinkle lights adding a fairytale quality. I tried to push all thoughts of Naked Nate out of my brain and think about where Curtis could be at this time of night.
“Evie?” Fiona huffed as she ran up to me. “Are you ignoring me or what? Seems like all I do is run after you these days. I called to you three times and you didn’t even slow down, girl. I told you not to go sleuthing around without me and I know that’s what you’re up to. Did your hair and teeth fall out? Have you seen Nate?”
“Not as much of him as I wanted to and hair and teeth are still attached. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Like buying a new jacket? Duct tape? Really?”
“Duct tape is in and as for the killer, I think I might be onto something. I thought Eileen, a maid over at the Metivier Inn might have done in Bladen, but she was enjoyably occupied at the time though she won’t say who.”
“She could be lying, you know. Killers tend to do that.”
“Except she had the same twinkle in her eyes and flushed glow as you do and probably for the same reason. Anyway, this Curtis guy was at the fort when Bladen was shot and Bladen slept with his fiancée causing a seriously expensive end to the wedding. I’m trying to find him and have a chat.”
Fiona hooked her arm though mine. “So tonight we’re on a manhunt? Since I’m free as a bird you can consider me your wingman. There’s this horrid cop from Detroit—“
“Abrams. We’ve met.”
“And he’s following Finn around. Now we have no time together at all. The sooner you and I nail the real killer, the sooner I get my man back. I say we start with the Pink Pony. Bars are the perfect place to find a jilted male licking his wounds.”
We walked into the Pony with its mural of dancing pink horses and a guitarist strumming out Sweet Caroline. Tourists in North Face fleeces sat at the bar swilling local Michigan brews and taking selfies. Some rougher types in green Barefoot Gal windbreakers occupied a table in the back cluttered with bottles of Bud. I turned to Fiona. “He’s not here.”
“Never fear.” We headed for the door. “This island may have a ton of fudge shops but you and I know there are even more bars. We’re just getting started.”
Fiona and I crossed Main to Horn’s Bar, finding pretty much the same scene as at the Pony. Then we headed for the Seabiscuit that was equal parts good booze and good food.
“There,” I said as we came in the front door with Seabiscuit the racing wonder horse stenciled on the glass in case anyone forgot Mackinac Island was crazy about horses. I nodded at a guy alone in a booth having a lobster BLT, side of onion rings, and a brew.
“Hi,” I said sliding into the bench across from Curtis with Fiona pulling in next to me. “So, how are you doing? Looks like you got your appetite back.”
“And then some.” Curtis patted his belly that could do with a little gym time. “All thanks to your mother. She’s negotiating a buy-out with Katie-the-tramp also known as my ex-fiancée.” Curtis wiped his mouth and took a gulp of beer. “And the guy she was tramping around with is at present occupying space at what passes for a morgue on this island. If you ask me all is right with the world.”
“So now you’re headed home?” Fiona said and snagged one of Curtis’s onion rings.
“You know, the island is pretty great. Came here a lot as a kid and it’s one of the reasons why I wanted to have my engagement party... Well, you get the idea. I hate having those good memories ruined, so I’m thinking of hanging around and making some new ones. My hotel is terrific and things are kind of looking up for me now.”
“And y
ou can celebrate the nice job you did on hiding the pistol you used to shoot Bladen and framing Nate Sutter for the deed.” I snagged an onion ring and held it up in salute. “Congrats.”
Curtis put down his sandwich. “Hey, I may not have liked Bladen or even that local sheriff guy, but I had nothing to do with Bladen’s demise. I can’t say I didn’t fantasize about it a few times, though.” Curtis took another gulp of beer. “You and that Mark Twain person had a point about getting on with my life. So I did it. I was with someone when Bladen got shot, not that I can tell you who. I finally got a hold of my lawyer, your mamma, and she said I need to look like the wronged party so Ms. Hot-to-Trot looks like she’s the guilty party out to fleece me. I need to be the innocent victim in all this.”
Curtis picked up his sandwich and studied it. “Ya know,” he said in a thoughtful voice, “they say stuff happens for a reason and I believe the reason I got dumped was to find true love with someone who’s been though the same thing I have.”
Curtis got a dreamy look in his eyes. “I was walking through town and she was buying all these baskets and needed help hauling them. I offered and we got talking how she was doing this for the money and that she hated the guy paying her and then we got to laughing about all the things we had in common and... Well, things sort of progressed from there. It was love at first sight if you believe in such things and I sure do now.” Curtis puffed out his chest and bit into the sandwich. “You’re looking at a lucky man,” he said around lobster and mayo.
“And I’m sure Eileen feels the same way about you.” I swiped another onion ring as Curtis sloshed beer all over the table. “And,” Fiona continued, “just maybe as you and Eileen were talking, you both realized not only did you know the same people but you had it in for them. Then you set up this great plan to knock off Bladen and frame Sutter? Sounds like the perfect ending to a bad experience and I’m sure the police will think so too.”
“Now wait just a minute.” Curtis fisted his hands on the table.
“You took the pistol out of my shop.” I nodded to drive home the point. “You were there, you had to see it. Eileen’s been on the island for years and her father was a reenactor, so she knows the fort and muskets and drill schedules.”
“You...you think my precious Eileen and I... That’s ridiculous. That other wedding planner Petal or whatever her name is ran by us together in the guardhouse when Bladen bought the farm and Eileen and I weren’t exactly holding hands at the time. I paid Petal off to keep her yap shut ’cause of my Katie problems. She’s one of those who’d do anything for a buck and if you two say anything about Eileen and me and this murder, I’ll sue. Now get out of here and stay away from Eileen.”
“Dang, I thought we had this all tied up,” Fiona said when we left the Seabiscuit. We zipped our jackets against the drizzling fog as a gust whipped off the lake and chased leaves across Main Street. “We were really good back there.”
“Except we were wrong. We accused an innocent guy and his new love of murder, and I don’t have a clue where to go now. Look, it’s getting late and even rotten overbearing cops from Detroit sleep. Maybe you should check on Finn. Maybe pick up a pizza at Island Slice and a six pack and try to salvage something from this rotten night.”
“And,” Fiona said, when we stopped in front of Mighty Mac Hamburgers, the scent of grilled cow and fries reminding me that I was starved. “You’re not going off and doing something stupid on your own? Remember the hair and teeth.”
“Maybe I’ll write an apology letter.”
“We’ll send flowers. We’re not going to get it right all the time, you know, but something will give. It’s like Finn says, you got to trust the system.”
“The only way I’m going to trust the system is when I see Sutter sitting behind his desk at the police station and Abrams getting on a ferry and heading back where he came from. Tell Finn I said hey.”
I watched Fiona skip down Main Street. I headed for the bike shop as a flash of lightning cracked out over the lake. Sutter would be gone by now, and the kits would be watching Animal Planet. Sitting around waiting for Abrams to show up with a warrant was as appealing as a trip to the dentist.
Picking up the pace to outrun the rain, I headed for the Blarney Scone. Not that it would be open at this hour, but Irish Donna would be making scones for tomorrow. The ultimate comfort food came from her oven and I was in desperate need of comfort.
“Blessed be the saints, what are you doing here at this hour and with a storm hot on your heels?” Irish Donna wiped her hands on her shamrock print apron smeared with stuff that makes up all things yummy. She closed the door behind me as another lightning strike hit closer and rattled the windows. I didn’t realize how tired I was until the warmth of the little kitchen with white ruffled curtains at the windows and green and pink walls seeped into my bones.
Smells of butter, flour, and vanilla filled the air and golden brown puffs of blueberry-lemon, mocha, cranberry-orange, classic cream, and bacon-cheddar scones lined long, stainless steel cooling racks.
“If I get to heaven it’ll look just like this,” I said to Donna and meant every word. Fat raindrops smacked the windows and I parked myself on one of the stools at the cooling counter, feeling better than I had all day.
“And there ye go with the flattery. That must be meaning you need something? Tea and a nice scone do the trick, will it?”
“Tea and a scone would be salvation. Why so many scones tonight, not that I’m complaining. The world can’t have too many scones.”
“I’m putting that on the side of my buggy and riding it around town,” Donna said with a laugh. She lit the flame under the teakettle on the massive stove and set a blueberry-lemon scone in front of me knowing it was my fave. I wasn’t up on the requirements needed for a person to be dubbed a saint but this had to be close.
“The baking is for a rush order I just got today,” Saint Donna added while pulling another tray of golden pastries from the over. “Seems that Petula person is making a fine name for herself. The mahjong club planned a small convention here on the island and that Bladen person didn’t do a blessed thing about the opening breakfast at the butterfly house like he should. I don’t know what the man could have been thinking.”
Rain fell harder as Irish Donna slid her spatula under the scones and added them to the cooling racks. “But now Petula’s paying me double and she’s setting things to right. Going to make everyone happy.”
Donna pulled off her oven mitts, poured tea, and handed me a business card. “Petula had these done up using the printer over at the library and they turned out nice. I like the little cake and champagne bottle in the corner. She’s on the ball, that one is. No grass growing under her feet. I think she intends to make a go of it here on the island.”
I sipped the tea. “Says on the card that she has a hospitality degree from Henry Ford College? That’s in Detroit.”
Donna sifted flour into a mixing bowl. “I suppose. That’s where Henry be making his cars.”
“Of course,” I said talking to myself now more than Irish Donna. “Petula was from Detroit too. She worked for Bladen there and she had to know John. And she had to know Sutter and she was probably part of the gang. She had to be part of the undercover operation.”
“Who’s having an operation, dear?” Donna asked over the whirl of the electric mixer.
“It all fits. Sutter was the scapegoat while she had the money all along. She probably started the rumor that he took the money to take any suspicion off herself. She always flew under the radar, a hard worker and a little ditzy. She dressed like a bag lady so no one would suspect she had five million-”
“Five million dollars?” Irish Donna stopped the mixer, grabbed the gold shamrock around her neck, and stared at me. “Mercy be, now who be having that kind of money around these parts.” Donna shook her head and cranked up the mixer.
“It’s the perfect cover.” I pointed to the little champagne bottle on the card. “Petula was at
the fort, she ran by Curtis and Eileen so she was running from where? Knocking off Bladen maybe? And she knows the island and the Detroit area. She knows everything and everyone and she’s been here all along. How could I be so blind? How could I be so stupid!”
Chapter Fourteen
“She’s the brains behind the whole operation.” I bit into a blueberry-lemon scone. “It’s perfect.”
“Why thank ye, dear.” Irish Donna beamed.
“She’s probably been spearheading the whole smuggling thing all along in Detroit then here on the island. Bladen had no idea.”
I turned to Donna and yelled over the whirl of the mixer. “Do you know who rented Bladen Powers’ barn space? It’s probably on the east side of the island and not too far from the freight dock.”
Irish Donna gave a final stir of chocolate chips into the batter with a big wooden spoon. “And I take it this barn might have something to do with all that stuff you’ve been babbling on about? Well, now that barn just might be up there at Overlook Cottage on Huron Road. Huron runs along behind the fort. It’s the Linder place and Helen’s having herself a fit that Frank’s gone to renting out rooms in their Victorian trying to keep up with taxes that are getting to be a king’s ransom these days. Frank’s using that Airbnb you hear so much about. He rented the barn to Bladen to store wedding paraphernalia, but something’s a bit off if ye asking me.”
Donna dropped dollops of batter on cookie sheets. “At bingo on Tuesday Helen said she tried to take a little peek around the barn just to see what’s what, but she couldn’t get in. The locks were changed, do you believe, and there was newspaper taped over the windows so you couldn’t see in. She thought there might be some hoochy-coochy going on, with Bladen being the Mr. Studly about town. Frank said Bladen was paying his rent on time and if the man was running a house of ill repute, it was none of his concern or hers and Helen should mind her own business. ’cept Helen was never one for that.”
