by Nancy CoCo
“Allie, I’m very serious—”
“I’m being careful, really. I promise, I won’t open the door or anything. I’m only going to peek inside.” I slowly made it across the bay to see a light on in the second office. “The light is on. I’m sure it will be fine. Phil’s probably inside unaware that I’m skulking around.”
“Darn it, Allie.”
I peeked inside the window and stopped cold. “Oh, no.”
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“There’s a man slumped across the desk, faceup.” I couldn’t help the wince in my voice. “I can see his expression and his eyes have the same look that Joe Jessop’s did. I’m pretty sure he’s dead. And—”
“And what?!”
“Weird. Little paper chickens are all kind of tethered together. It’s like a string of lights or something draped over him. Do you want me to go in and see?” I reached out toward the office doorknob.
“Freeze!” Rex’s voice echoed from the phone and the hall behind me.
I screamed a little and wheeled around to see him striding purposefully toward me dressed in full police uniform, his bike helmet still on his head. He had one hand out in the universal sign of stop and the other hand on the butt of the gun on his hip.
“Darn it! You scared me half to death.” I scowled at him. “How did you get here so fast?”
“Frances called me the minute you left the McMurphy.”
“Figures,” I muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in the building?”
“Get your hand off that doorknob, Allie.” Rex was serious and his seriousness got to me.
It was one thing for him to be authoritative on the phone and quite something different to see him face-to-face in full cop mode. I raised both hands slowly in the air. “I’m not touching it.”
Just then there was a sharp screaming sound and a little pop coming from the other side of the glass. I whirled to see that the little chickens were tethered together by a fuse. They were fireworks. The screaming sound and pop repeated itself over and over as the chickens lit up.
“What the heck?” he asked beside me.
“Fireworks are going off in there,” I said as he looked inside.
“Hang up your phone,” Rex ordered. His cop’s gaze took in everything at once. “Gosh darn it, you’re right. He has the blank stare of a dead man and those are screaming chickens going off. Did you see anyone else in the room?”
“Nope.”
“You need to get out of the building.” He put his hand on my arm and gently led me to the entrance door beside the bay door. He stopped and carefully inspected the door, running his hand along the edges. “Feels clean.” He cautiously opened the door and alarms went off, blaring.
I covered my ears and let him lead me outside and a few hundred feet from the building. We stood where the surrounding parking lot gave way to woods.
“Charlene,” Rex said into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. “We need the fire department, the EMTs, and call in a bomb squad from Mackinaw City.”
“Bomb squad?” I heard Charlene parrot.
“That’s right.” Rex studied me. “Allie McMurphy reported a phone message that someone tampered with the fireworks. When we arrived some minor fireworks started to go off. I didn’t see anyone so they were most likely lit with a slow fuse. I want a bomb squad here to check out the warehouse before anyone goes back in there.”
“I’ve got a call into Mackinaw City,” Charlene replied over the crackle of the walkie-talkie. “Do I need to send in Shane?”
“What makes you think we need a crime scene investigator?”
“Allie McMurphy’s there, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s a ninety-eight percent chance she found another dead body.”
Rex’s mouth went flat, making a thin line of disgust. “Get the fire department out here.”
“Yes, sir.” Charlene didn’t sound the least bit contrite. “That girl is trouble, Officer Manning. Be careful.”
“Allie didn’t find a dead body,” he said sharply. “She called in the bomb threat like a responsible adult.”
“I’m sure she did.” The communicator went dead as they hung up.
I hugged my arms around my chest. “You’re right. He only looked dead. You should have let me go check on him. What if he needed help?”
“Let me hear your phone messages.” Rex held out his big hand.
I called up the voice mail, tapped in my password, and handed the phone to him.
His frown grew darker as he listened. “I’m going to have to keep these. They’re evidence.”
“What about Mr. Rivers? If you won’t let me, shouldn’t you at least go and check on him?”
“You recognized the guy in the office?”
“Yes, I think it was Rodney Rivers. He is the lead pyro tech I hired to do the Star Spangled Fourth fireworks shows.”
Rex shook his head. “Dead or not, I can’t take the chance that the place isn’t rigged to blow. That’s a warehouse full of fireworks. If it explodes, he really will be dead, along with anyone else inside.”
I heard sirens in the distance. The island was anti motor vehicle except for first responders. Then all rules were broken. It only made sense that we had an ambulance and fire truck. There was a limit to charm when people needed help.
“Stay put!” Rex ordered and stepped out to direct the vehicles.
I stuck my tongue out at his back. He whirled around, but I put my hands up and blinked innocently. “I’m staying right here.”
Rex was not much taller than me, but he was a big man with shoulders as wide as a mountain, a thick neck, and a shaved head in the fit manner of an action hero. In the last few months, I’d gotten to know him well. He had even asked me out once, but I’d already said yes to my current boyfriend Trent Jessop. It’s not that Rex wasn’t attractive, but Trent left me feeling like the luckiest girl alive. Rex was a bit bossy . . . if you haven’t already noticed.
Thirty minutes later, I still didn’t have my phone and had finally given up and sat down on the curb of the parking area. I watched as Sophie had flown out right after the call and came back with the crew from Mackinaw City. Three guys in thick bomb suits, with helmets in hand, strolled around the corner where the fire truck and ambulance sat.
I was far enough away from the vehicles that I couldn’t hear what Rex said to the men, but their expressions were deadly serious as they put on the helmets and carefully entered the building through the door Rex had pushed me out.
“First time I ever had to escort a bomb squad on the island,” Sophie said as she walked toward me from the far edge of the parking lot. “It must be serious for Rex to call in trolls.”
Some people called anyone from the Lower Peninsula trolls because they lived under (south of) the Mackinac Bridge. The suspension bridge is the longest in the western hemisphere and the fifth longest bridge in the world. People around Mackinac were proud that it was nearly twice as long as the Golden Gate Bridge, but the claim to fame ended there as it was not nearly as wide.
“Frances told him I had phone messages about trouble at the fireworks warehouse,” I said as she sat down on the curb next to me. “He got all bossy and practically dragged me out of the warehouse.”
“If Rex called the troll bomb squad he had good reason to drag you out,” Sophie said. “I’ve known him for years and have never seen him panic.”
“In my defense, I didn’t see anything to worry about until I peeked into the last office.” I hugged my knees to my chest.
“Rumor has it you found yet another dead guy.” Sophie stretched her long legs out in front of her. “Kind of have a knack for that, don’t you?”
“It’s a newfound talent.” I sighed. “I’d much rather be making fudge right now.”
“I heard you hired Sandy Everheart as your assistant. That was good. She’s one of the best chocolatiers I’ve ever met. And living on the island, I’ve met more than my fair s
hare.”
I turned my gaze from the goings on at the warehouse to Sophie. “Sandy is good. She should have her own shop.”
“Well, some of us don’t have family businesses to go into.”
“Ouch.”
Sophie sighed and leaned back onto her hands. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right.” She straightened. “I’m glad you gave her a chance. No one else would.”
“I needed the help and she’s good . . . better than me with the chocolate sculpture.” I studied the building. “Do you think the warehouse will really blow up?”
“No, not unless the bomb guys come across something they haven’t seen before.”
I winced. “I hope they don’t blow up. I’ve seen enough death in the last few months.”
“I’m sure it’s just Rex being overly cautious—”
Sudden motion from the emergency guys caught our attention. They were running and hopping into the vehicles and moving them away from the warehouse.
“Where are they going?” I stood and drew my eyebrows together in concern.
Sophie stood with me. “This does not look good.” She took my arm and pulled me back to the woods.
Rex sent a quick shout to the last responder and ran at us. “Get back!” He waved his hands and Sophie linked her arm in mine and ran headfirst into the woods.
Panic had my heart racing and my feet pounding over uneven ground. We jumped over fallen logs. Ferns and scrub and wild raspberries ripped at our pants and tore at our shirts. Rex caught up with us and pushed us even faster until we hit the top of a hill and half ran, half slid at least one hundred feet down.
The loudest explosion I’d ever heard erupted from the trees above us. Rex shoved us into the earth, shielding us with as much of his body as possible as dust and rocks rolled over us. I inhaled dust and dry pine needle bits and coughed, my eyes watering. Pushing to sit up and get some fresh air, I watched in amazement as fireworks whistled into the air, exploding at low angles. Their color and sparkles lost in the daylight, they showered the dry woods.
“Get down!” Rex ordered, dragging me back into the dirt as a second loud explosion rumbled, raining more rocks and dust.
The walkie-talkie on his shoulder squawked. “Rex, what’s going on? Are you all right?” Charlene sounded more worried than usual.
“Call everyone you can,” he barked into the communicator. “We’ve got a potential wildfire at the airport.”
“Roger,” Charlene said. “I’m calling up the volunteers.”
“What about the airport?” Sophie asked. Her blue eyes shone in her dirt-covered face. “What about my plane?”
Another explosion filled the air. We ducked. I covered my head with my hands as rocks and branches rained down. We were lucky the small ridge above us sheltered us from most of the blast.
The scent of smoke and dirt and fireworks filled my senses. Falling ash burned my hand and I shook it off. Rex moved and I looked up to see him stomping out sparks as they threatened the dry pine needles.
Sophie and I got up. She tore off her over shirt, leaving her white athletic T-shirt on and used the shirt to beat out small fires. I kicked dirt over the sparks that fell near me. The fireworks continued to scream overhead. Their whistles and winding patterns drove them to various heights through the air, showering the area in ear-shattering explosions and sparkles of red, white, and blue.
My first Star Spangled Fourth had just become the worst disaster Mackinac Island had ever seen. Considering the War of 1812, that was saying a lot.
Chapter 2
“We were lucky that it rained all last week,” Ed Goodfoot said. “The wildfire index was low and kept the fire contained to a quarter mile perimeter.” He wore the heavy beige and yellow-trimmed firefighter’s coat, pants, and boots. He held his fireman’s hard hat in his strong, square-palmed, long-fingered hands. He had a thick smudge down the side of his strong, high cheekbones.
I stood with Ed, Rex, and a small crowd of smoke-smudged locals who had come out to stamp out any hot coals or ash left over from the warehouse explosion. In front of us, a large blackened hole gaped out of the cinder blocks in what used to be the roof of the warehouse. Glass was shattered and crumbled on the ground as the explosion had blown out every window and door. The back bay door had come up out of the hole in the roof and folded over the top of the cinder block like the peeled back top of a sardine can.
“We’ve walked the half-mile perimeter,” Luke Archibald reported to Bruce Miller, the acting fire chief. “We’re as sure as a person can be that the cinders are out.” A small man of average size, Luke wore his balding, blond hair carefully brushed back and held into place by hair gel. He wore a dark green T-shirt underneath a green and white patterned, short sleeved cotton shirt. His shirt and his jeans were soot coated. He wore athletic shoes that had been gray and blue at one point but were now dust-covered brown.
His son Sherman stood beside him. Seventeen, with shaggy blond hair, braces on his teeth, and freckles across a little nose, his hazel eyes took in the sights of explosion and mayhem with a sort of wonder. He was busy snapping pictures with his phone and sending them off to people unknown. He stood a little taller than Luke, but it was difficult to tell because he hunched his shoulders and slouched his way around. That is, when he wasn’t sneaking phone pictures.
“Thanks for your help.” Bruce was tall with broad shoulders encased in a fireman’s coat. He looked to be about forty years old, wore a fireman’s hard hat, and his brown eyes seemed to take in all the damage with a knowing eye. “We’ll have the public keep an eye out for any fires that pop up, but it’s unlikely any more damage will happen.” He moved on to another weary group of volunteers emerging from the other side of the airport.
“Those fireworks should have never exploded,” Angus MacElroy said. “I know Rodney Rivers. He knew his way around pyrotechnics. There’s no way he would have let them be handled or exposed in an unauthorized way.” His hazel eyes sparkled with indignation and intelligence.
Angus ran the Town Crier, Mackinac Island’s local newspaper. He was a senior gentleman who walked with a cane. His head was bald on top, with white hair around the edges and a short, cropped, white beard. He wore a blue knit cardigan over a blue and white striped polo and dark blue cotton slacks with topsider shoes. He was a big man, about six-foot-two if you caught him standing up straight—something that seemed difficult on most days.
Unlike the rest of us, he was free from soot and dirt. His old knees would never have let him search the brush for cinders and ash. Instead, he’d hung a camera around his neck and taken action shots for the paper and notes on the notepad in his breast pocket. Angus was smart as a whip, but still old school when it came to reporting. His granddaughter Liz worked with him. She had told me he even took notes in his own shorthand.
“The place was rigged to blow.” Rex wiped his forehead with what used to be a white handkerchief. It was as soot covered as his hands. “Transport and handling of fireworks is strictly regulated, but it’s also where most firework accidents happen. This was no accident. One of the guys hit a trip wire. He froze long enough for us to move the trucks back then Charles grabbed him and they hit the ground running.” Rex motioned toward the back of the ambulance.
The doors were open and Officer Charles Brown sat on the back. His shirt was off and EMT George Marron was cleaning up the blisters where the shrapnel had burned through Charles’s coat and uniform.
A young guy in firefighter gear who looked to be eighteen years old sat beside Officer Brown. The kid appeared dirty but unharmed. His brown hair stood up in short spikes and his brown eyes glittered as he talked fast and furiously motioned with his hands. He was too far away for us to hear what he was saying but it was obvious from the rise of his shoulders and the action of his hands that he was still very excited.
“Looks like the kid has a story to tell for the rest of his life,” Ed said. “Wait until the adrenaline crash. Poor kid is going to pass out cold.”
“Thankfully no one was badly hurt. I checked on the planes and there was only minor damage.” Sophie looked a little worse for wear with dirt in her hair and soot on her face. Her once spotless uniform was a mess and yet she was still cute. Go figure.
“Every one of you was darn lucky.” Angus narrowed his eyes at me. “I still have my rabbit’s foot right here in my pocket.” He patted his breast pocket where his notepad peeked out. There was a bump at the bottom of the pocket. “So don’t get any ideas of finding any dead guys.”
“Too late,” I said and shrugged.
Angus had this idea that I was bad luck for old men. He’d started carrying a rabbit’s foot for luck against what he called my bad juju ever since Joe Jessop was found dead in my hotel. I don’t know why Angus was worried. I’d only found two dead old men so far. . . .
“What do you mean, too late?” His eyes narrowed farther.
“There was a dead man in the warehouse.” Rex shook his head and squinted at the burned-out building. “The fire trashed the crime scene.”
“Crime scene?” Angus pulled his notepad back out of his pocket. “What kind of crime scene? Messy from a fight? Was there blood from a bullet wound or did you find him hanging?”
“No details at this point.” Rex held out his hand in a stop fashion. He looked straight at me. “Not a word.”
“What?” I shrugged and gave him my best innocent look.
Officer Lasko approached the group, her blond ponytail bouncing as she walked. Kelsey Lasko was petite, thin, and my age. Her blue eyes sent me a thinly veiled look of contempt. “You seem to be at a lot of crime scenes, Ms. McMurphy. Why is that?”
“Just lucky, I guess.” I shrugged then put my hands in the pocket of my jacket. Thankfully, my jean jacket had not taken any burning shrapnel and remained in one dirty piece.
“Were they able to retrieve the body?” Rex asked.
