by Nancy CoCo
“Oh, please, honey,” Mom said. “We have the money to help you. Why don’t you let us?”
“Yes, Allie, why don’t you let them?” Jenn echoed, and I gave her the stink eye.
“Because family loans come with expectations that a bank doesn’t have.”
“Like what?” Mom put her hands on her hips, and I inhaled sharply. I knew that look. She was about to fight to the death.
“I already owe you and Dad from my start-up costs,” I said.
“You’re paying us back.”
“By mandatory visits and winters off island. How can I create a life here if I’m always off somewhere to please you?”
“This place is a family business,” Mom said, waving her hands in the air. “That means the family is responsible—not just you.”
“The more money you and Dad pour into the Mc Murphy, the bigger say you have in its fate.”
“So?”
Jenn leaned over and stage-whispered, “If I were you, I’d quit while I’m ahead.”
I did the grown-up thing and stuck my tongue out at her.
“Allie, really,” Mom said. “Your father and I are as invested in the McMurphy as you are. We never would have sold it.”
“But you don’t want to live here and run it.”
“That’s right. I prefer my friends around me, but that doesn’t mean we expect you to keep it going without family support. You have to think of it as family support.”
“Tell her what you want to do next year,” Jenn pushed.
“Fine, I was thinking about adding another floor. It would be set up as a ballroom and possibly have movable walls so that we can split it up into salons.”
“That’s interesting,” Mom said. “Why not move the apartment up and turn the current apartment into a ballroom. Don’t you want to keep the customers separate from you?”
“But that would destroy Grammy and Papa’s home.”
“You can’t think of it like that,” Mom said. “We’ll get your father involved. He can come up here and get some measurements and look at the foundation. We have to ensure first that the foundation will take the weight of another floor.”
“Then there’s the historical society.” I sat down in front of the fireplace. “I’m certain any changes to the building will have to go through them.”
“Of course.” Mom tapped her mouth in thought. “You’ll have to work with the society until they agree. I’m still considered a foreigner. I’ll call your father and schedule for him to come up and take a look.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said and put on the clean apron that hung from the coat hooks. “I’ve got to do a demonstration. . . Oh, wait, Mom?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Do you remember a cult on the island in the late sixties?”
“A cult? No. There was a group that tried to start a commune but the island zoning board would not zone the property they wanted.”
“Why?”
“They would have had to clear-cut the woods to grow the gardens they talked about and then they wanted to raise goats and chickens and—I’ll never forget this—the marina club put their considerable weight and cash behind leash laws and animal control. They couched everything as conservation. Also, they put a limit on the number of people per dwelling. I think it was something like only two people per every one bedroom in a home or business.”
“Crazy.”
“Funny, I hadn’t thought of that in years.” Mom shrugged. “I think there was another group that tried to get Wiccans to come up for the solstices and celebrate. But I’m not certain if that ever came together. Why all the questions?”
“Mrs. Finch said she doesn’t need a leash to control her Saint Bernard, Daisy. She uses Transcendental Meditation and thought control.”
“Oh . . . dear.”
“Right?” I shook my head. “Rex . . . er, Officer Manning, told me that Mrs. Finch used to be a member of a group of hippies. Do you remember if that’s true?”
Mom shrugged. “That was a very long time ago. And most of the commune people were from off the island. I remember they held a sit-in protest, but soon found themselves sitting in on the ferry that carried them back to St. Ignace, where they found less resistance in the Upper Peninsula.”
“Do you know where they wanted to put their commune?” I asked as I took off the dirty apron and put on a chef’s coat then gathered the ingredients I would need for today’s candy-bar fudge. This time I was making Almond Joy and Mounds fudge. The first would have a milk chocolate base and coconut and almonds. The other would have dark chocolate base fudge and contain only coconut.
“I think it was on the Lake Huron side between Mission Point and downtown. Why?”
“I followed Mrs. Finch from town, but lost her in some deep woods on the other side of Jessop’s Compost and Mulch. I’ll have to see if there is a building there or not.”
“If there is, then it has been registered to the island planning authority.”
“I can’t leave the building. At least not until this bracelet is off.”
“I’ll go,” Jenn said. “I want to see Shane anyway.”
“Okay.” I measured out the chocolate, the cream, and the sugar.
“What am I looking for?”
“Anything that might explain where Mrs. Finch was going and what she was going to do.”
“That’s a tall order from some dry zoning papers.”
“I suppose I could try Zillow, but they only list what properties are for sale and what their list price is . . . I’m not certain that information will help.”
“You make fudge.” Jenn swept the air toward me. “I’ll go dig around in the public records. I promise to let you know the minute I find anything that might suggest what Mrs. Finch is up to.”
“Thanks!”
CHAPTER 31
“You are very good at that,” Mom said. It was Wednesday and the shop had emptied of the crowd that always gathered when I did a demonstration.
“Thanks,” I said as I scrubbed dishes. “A good demonstration can draw them in to buy like a carnival barker. Only, I don’t think I’m selling snake oil.” I shrugged. “Half the draw is to see how the candy is made.”
“I remember how your grandfather loved to do a demonstration because he could get quite a crowd to form while he told his stories.” Mom sat on one of the stools just inside the tiled area that separated the fudge shop from the hotel. “Your father says that that kind of storytelling is classically Irish.”
I laughed at that. “You know, sometimes I feel as if I’m channeling Papa Liam. I’ll start off talking about the fudge and before I know it, I’m telling one Mackinac Island story after another. Thank goodness the fudge cools at a certain rate. It gives me a natural timer. When the fudge is done and samples are ready to go out, the story is over.”
“Your Papa was quite the character.” Mom shook her head. “I’ll never forget the first time I met him. He was all gruff and bushy but underneath was this warm teddy-bear heart.”
“How are you and Dad doing?” I asked as I rinsed the copper kettle I’d been scrubbing.
“What do you mean?”
“It can’t have been easy for Dad to lose his dad and you to lose Papa as well. We never talked about it. I was all caught up in getting my stuff together to open the place in time for the season. I didn’t think of you and Dad.”
Mom smiled. “There’s the woman I raised.”
I gave her a quizzical look.
“The woman I raised thinks about her family and her friends and sees beyond the end of her nose.”
I felt the heat of a blush rush up my neck. I tried to cover it by concentrating on the dishes.
“Your father has his moments,” Mom said. “Grief may have stages but everyone experiences them in different ways and in different order.”
“What about you?” I asked as I wiped down the counters and the marble cooling block.
“I underestimated Liam’s role in my life,” she sai
d. “When my parents died, he was right there taking up the space in my life, lessening my grief.”
A thought occurred to me. “Your parents died the summer I was ten. I remember Papa and Grammy coming to the funeral and whisking me away to stay the summer with them. That was the year I decided I wanted to keep up the McMurphy tradition. I guess I thought by taking on the McMurphy I could keep my grandparents always with me.”
“That’s how family traditions get started,” Mom said. “They are created to heal the grief we experience when we lose someone so close to us.”
“Why are you here, Mom? Are you and Dad okay?”
“Your father needed some time alone.” She ran her manicured fingers along the edge of the class counter, then looked up. “You’re the only person I have to go to.”
My stomach lurched into my throat. I dropped my dishcloth and went straight to her and hugged her tight. “I love you, Mommy.”
She put her head on my shoulder, and tears welled up and spilled over. I held her and patted her back. I noticed that people looked in the windows with concern. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I kept my arm around her slender shoulders and sent Frances a look that asked her to cover the fudge shop. She nodded and mouthed, “Is everything okay?”
I nodded and bundled Mom into the elevator.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do this,” Mom said when we got off the elevator and I opened the apartment door. I headed straight to the tissue box and pulled her out a couple of tissues.
She took them and blew her nose. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“How about grief?” I asked. “Please have a seat. I’ll get us some water.” I hurried into the kitchen, pulled down two tall glasses, and filled them with ice and filtered water. I turned to see Mom had taken a seat on the barstools that went with the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living area.
“Here.” I passed her a glass of water, keeping the bar between us to give her some space. She sipped the water and dabbed at her cheeks with a clean tissue from the box.
“Well, I had no idea that was going to happen,” Mom said when she had gotten control of herself. “I know you think I didn’t like Liam or the McMurphy or even the island. But that’s simply not true.”
“I believe you,” I said, my heart squeezing. “What’s going on with Dad?”
“He’s really taking Liam’s passing hard.” Mom paused and played with the condensation on her glass. She looked at me. “He regrets not doing what you’re doing and being a part of Liam’s day-to-day life.”
“But Dad always wanted to be an architect, right?”
“Yes,” Mom said. “It was a point of contention with them. Your father felt so much guilt in disappointing Liam. I made the decision to help them figure out their relationship.”
It hit me then what had really happened. “You told Dad you didn’t like the island.”
“Yes.” Mom blew out a long breath. “I took away the decision. As long as I was the bad guy, your father could accept the great job in Detroit and your grandfather could accept that his son wasn’t going to go into the family business.”
“Oh, Mom.” I went around and hugged her. “You know you don’t have to keep up the ruse anymore.”
“I know, but your father’s at the stage of grief when he’s blaming me. He feels that if he only took on the fudge shop Liam would have had less stress and would be here today.”
“But that’s not true—”
“We know.” Mom patted my hand. “He knows. He simply needed some room to work out the feelings. We all know that emotions take time to settle.”
“That’s why you jumped on putting money into the McMurphy. Here I thought you and Dad didn’t trust me to make good decisions.”
“Life isn’t always all about you,” Mom said. “It’s something I need to remind myself of every now and then.”
“As long as you don’t want me to build a second apartment for you to move into, I think we’ll be all right,” I teased.
“What? You don’t want me in your hip pocket telling you how best to run your life?”
“Um, no, thanks. I love you but . . . no.”
We both laughed, and I suddenly understood that sometimes you need each other even when you want to be independent. Family is a tricky thing to navigate, but that’s a universal thing.
CHAPTER 32
“Allie McMurphy?”
“Yes?”
“Peter Thomas is awake.”
“Really? I’ll be right there.” I dropped everything and left the McMurphy in Frances’s capable hands, the fudge shop in Sandy’s more than capable hands, and I caught the first ferry off the island.
I stood on the top deck and watched the mainland grow bigger and bigger. Rex Manning stood beside me. “You know he has to speak to the authorities first,” he said. “Usually when they wake up from a coma they get tired very quickly. You may be going all this way and not get to see him.”
“That’s a chance I’ll take,” I said and tightened my hands on the guardrail. It was one of those perfect days when the sun is brilliant, the lake is calm, and the air is that combination of summer warmth, low humidity, and soft breeze caused by the movement of the boat. It smelled of fresh water and clean ozone. The sound of the motor roared behind us as we danced along the top of the surf.
“Thanks for taking off the bracelet,” I said. I’d met Rex at the pier, and he’d removed my ankle bracelet before I’d gotten on the boat. Thankfully, he’d agreed that I no longer needed to wear it.
“I’ve noticed that since they cast Tammy as a replacement the assaults stopped,” Rex said. “It doesn’t make any sense to have you as a suspect. I’ve got permission from the judge to drop the charges.”
“Great, but that still doesn’t prove Tammy had anything to do with Cathy’s death,” I said. I hadn’t had any time to change, so I wore my usual uniform of black slacks and pink polo with the McMurphy logo embroidered on the front left.
“My hope is that Peter will remember something that will help me bring the perpetrator to justice.”
“What about Heather’s death? Do you know anything more?”
“I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you, Allie. You know that, right?”
“Yes,” I said and looked away from his pretty blue gaze. “I know, I just forget.”
“Hey, you two,” Liz came up the steps to the top deck. “I guess we all got the call about Chef Thomas.”
“I’ve put in a strict order that no press be allowed near Chef Thomas.”
“Oh, Rex, you are such a buzzkill.” Liz shook her head. Her dark curls blew riotously in the wind. “I’m not going to interview the man. I’m going to interview the hospital staff and his family. A girl has to do her job.”
At the Mackinaw City docks Rex had a ride waiting for him in the form of the local police cruiser. I had paused to call a cab.
“Do you want a ride?” Liz asked as she approached a dark blue Ford truck. The truck looked like it had been in use for almost twenty years and had seen the very worst the weather and the lake could throw at it.
“Sure.”
She unlocked the passenger door with her key and then ran around the front to climb in the driver’s seat as I climbed inside. It smelled of old vinyl and dust. The interior was done in dark gray. A hula girl bobble figure sat on the dash swinging her hips. Liz started the truck up and put it into reverse. “It’s not pretty but it’s functional,” Liz said as she peeled out and followed the police cruiser. “I wanted a brand-new car, but my father wanted to know why. So I said what any teen would say because, you know, I knew better. I wanted the coolest shiny sports car because it was awesome and everyone would be my friend and look twice when I drove around.”
“Was it a little red sports car?”
“Close—it was an awesome blue Camaro. I worked for four years to save up my money for a down payment. I bought it, paid my insurance, and
then parked it in the lot and took the ferry back to the island. I felt so amazingly proud of my accomplishment. A week later I caught the ferry back to the mainland to do some shopping and generally bum around in my cool ride.”
“Let me guess—someone had scratched it.” Parking lots were notorious for scratching cars.
“Even better, I got there and the car was gone.”
“Gone? As in stolen?”
“Stolen. You see, I used up all my money on gas and insurance. I didn’t pay the extra to park the car in a locked parking space. Someone else had seen my cool ride and decided to make it theirs.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I filed a report and my insurance covered a third of the money I’d invested.” She turned the car right, keeping a respectful distance from the cop car. “I kept checking the police blotter for any word on my stolen car. A week or two went by and I knew my car was most likely gone for good. That’s when I put my money down on old Bertha here.” Liz patted her dash. “She runs like a nice quiet top, but no one would know that looking at her. She’s so old there isn’t even a need for parts from her.”
“I get it. No one wants to steal the old battered Ford.”
“Exactly. If they need parts that bad they simply drive through the country and pick one that the owner has sitting out in the field.” She turned again, and the hospital came into view. “Lesson learned. I never again asked Angus for a brand-new car.”
“I haven’t had a car since I left Detroit. In Chicago there was public transportation. Between the ‘L’ and the Metra and the bus system, it simply wasn’t worth paying the extra for parking.”
“And now you live on the island, which has a no-car rule.”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “I don’t miss it. Although I do make sure I drive at least forty hours every six months. I need to keep my skills up. You simply never know when you may need a vehicle.”
“You should get a truck like Bertha here.” She patted the dash. “All I keep on her is liability insurance. She’s so old that if she ever got hit she would be totaled. If she got stolen there wouldn’t be that much to replace.”
