by Nancy CoCo
“It is hard to trace,” Ed agreed.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but the fires seem to be coming closer together,” Liz said.
“It certainly appears that way.” Ed glanced at the clear blue sky. “Let’s hope the humid weather holds. We’ve never had a fire sweep the island. I don’t want to have one now.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” I looked back at the barely visible roof of the McMurphy. “Too many people’s livelihoods would be ruined. Not to mention over a century of historical buildings and such.”
“Whoever is setting the fires isn’t thinking about history,” Rex said, his expression stern.
“No, arsonists that escalate like that are usually addicted to seeing the fire burn,” Liz said. “Some describe fire as an animal and arsonists tend to have a love-hate relationship with it.”
“How do you know this?” I asked.
Liz smiled. “I watch television.”
“Life is not like television,” Rex said carefully.
“Okay. So, there have been random fires over the last three months and they may or may not have been arson with a consistent accelerant of lighter fluid,” Liz said. “That’s all on the record.”
“What about Rodney Rivers?” I asked. “Was his death caused by arson or was the arson used to cover up his death?”
“We’re still investigating,” Rex said, his expression like a stone wall.
“Okay.” I raised both hands in innocence. “I’m not investigating. I was coming to see you, actually.”
Rex put his hands on his hips and scowled. “Why?”
“I remembered something about the day of the explosion.”
He glanced at Liz’s eager expression and Ed’s curious looks. “Let’s take this into my office.”
“You don’t have to keep it secret,” Liz said. “She already told me it has to do with where her bike was parked.”
“Liz,” I said and sent her a look of dismay.
She shrugged. “I’m an investigative journalist.” Rex tilted his head, lowered his shoulders, and sent me a look of disappointment. “Allie, I thought I asked you to let me know first if you remembered anything.”
I winced. “I know. I’m sorry. All I told her was that it had to do with my bike.”
“Fine.” Rex pulled out his notebook. “Since you’ve already told the press, who can’t print this because it may hinder my investigation—”
Liz held up her hands in an innocent gesture.
“Tell me what you remembered.”
“It really might not be anything important,” I said. “But when I arrived at the warehouse, I parked my bike at the bike rack outside the door.”
He frowned. “Yes, I know. I helped dig out your bike so you could ride it back home.”
“Well, when I parked it, there were two bikes in the slots beside it.”
“I remember you telling me about the bikes when you were on the phone.” Rex narrowed his eyes. “Wait—yours was the only bike left after the fire.”
“Exactly.”
“Did you see anyone ride away from the warehouse?”
“No.” I frowned. “I’ve been trying to remember. Once you forced me out, I sat on the curb and watched the firemen come and then waited for the bomb squad. There were a lot of guys coming and going.”
“That’s true,” Ed said as his dark brown eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember seeing anyone on a bike, but I was concentrating on the potential hazards.”
“I’ll ask around,” Rex said. “A lot of people were there. Someone might have seen something. I’m glad you remembered that, Allie.”
I smiled. “I’m happy to be of help. By the way, the cat ran back out the door.”
“What?” Liz cocked her head. “Is that code for something?”
I laughed. “No, Rex let a stray cat into the McMurphy the other night. We spent hours trying to find it but finally gave up. Rex went home and I went to bed. Then I spotted it once or twice before Mal got involved and chased it for a while until someone walked in and it went out the door.”
“Mal didn’t follow, did she?” Liz looked horrified.
“No, I caught her before she could. Trent went out looking for the cat, but it was long gone.”
“Weird.”
“Right.” I said. “It was a very pretty black and orange and white calico. So if you see it or hear of one missing . . .”
“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” Liz said.
“She’s got all the gossip in town,” Ed teased.
“Hey.” Liz smacked him in the arm. “I’m a reporter. It’s my job to be nosey.”
“It was a pretty cat,” I said. “I might have never seen it if Rex hadn’t let it in.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” he said. “I held the door open to leave and the darn thing just slid right in faster than lightning.”
“Well, this might be a story for the society page,” Liz said with a grin. “Police officer invites strays to live in the Historic McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shop.” She splashed the words across an imaginary headline. “Do you have a picture of the cat?”
I pulled out my phone. “All I’ve got is this sort of orange streak.” I flipped through my pictures and pulled up the blurred one.
“Huh. Well, that sort of looks like a cat,” Liz said, studying the image on my phone. “Maybe we can call in a sketch artist to do a rendering. We can put up the picture as part of a wanted poster.”
“Okay, now you’re just being silly,” I said and everyone laughed. “So, Rex, that was all I had. I’ll let you know if I remember anything else, but I think that was pretty much it.”
“Okay. I suppose it’s something.”
“What about the arsons?” Liz asked, wanting to get back to the topic. “Doing the math from the first fire, they are escalating. That can’t be good.”
“I don’t think the arson and the murder are connected,” Rex said. “Rodney Rivers was only on the island for two weeks.”
“I agree,” Ed said.
“So as Officer Lasko originally thought, we might have two problems,” I said. “A murderer and a fire starter. Which one is more important?”
“Both,” Rex said, his expression suddenly grim. “There isn’t a lot of crime on Mackinac Island and I aim to keep it that way.”
“All of us would like that,” Liz said. “I’ll do what I can to keep specific facts out of the paper for now. But if things don’t get solved soon, I’m going to have to post something. Seriously Rex, someone might know something. This is a small island. Murder doesn’t happen without someone knowing something.”
“Have you been able to get ahold of Rodney’s partner?” I asked. “Because I’ve left several phone messages and he’s not answering.”
“Henry is scheduled to come in tomorrow. I’ll let him know to stop by the McMurphy.”
“Please do,” I said. “We have a contract with his company and he needs to help us get replacement fireworks.”
“That may not be possible at this late date,” Liz said.
I frowned. “I know, but I have to try.”
“Good luck with that,” Liz said.
I knew I was going to need it.
White Chocolate Blueberry Cream Pie Fudge
2 cups white chocolate
1 14 ounce can sweetened condensed milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon orange extract
1 cup blanched almonds, chopped
1 cup dried blueberries
1 tablespoon grated orange zest
1 teaspoon butter to prep pan
Butter 8x8x2-inch pan.
In a double boiler melt white chocolate and sweetened condensed milk. Stir until smooth. Remove from heat.
Beat in vanilla and orange extract.
In a medium size bowl, mix orange zest, blueberries, and almonds. Pour chocolate mixture into bowl and combine thoroughly.
Pour into prepared pan and refrigerate for 3 hours or overnight.
Cut into 1-inch pieces. Serve in paper candy cups or on a platter. Store in air tight container.
Enjoy!
Chapter 7
The next day, I was working on my red, white, and blue fudges for the Star Spangled Fourth celebration. I had three suggestions for the red—Traverse City cherry, red velvet, or raspberry. I lined up all three on a table at the entrance to the McMurphy. People were allowed to taste test and then vote for their favorite.
The white was simple. It would be white chocolate with almonds and coconut. What had me stuck was the blue. Blueberry was kind of a tradition for the blue part of any Independence Day celebration. But I wasn’t certain I wanted to go with something so expected.
“What other foods are blue?” Jenn asked as she arranged flowers for the lobby.
“I Googled blue foods,” I said as I stared at my cell phone’s browser. “They suggest blue cheese, blueberries, bilberries, blue corn, blue potatoes, and some cabbages that give off a blue color. Who wants potato or cabbage fudge?”
Jenn made a face. “I know I don’t.”
“I suppose blue cheese fudge might be interesting,” I mused.
“Oh, but not with cherry,” Jenn said. “Plus blue cheese isn’t really all that blue. I mean, it’s mostly white, right?”
“So, blue corn or blueberries?”
“I think you’re stuck with blueberries. There’s nothing wrong with that, you know. They are a traditional Michigan fruit. They would go well no matter which red fudge wins the contest.”
I rested my elbows on the registration desk and placed my chin in my hands. Frances was off on her lunch break and I was hanging out near the room keys. I liked the fact that the McMurphy used actual keys and that we hung them from a hook above a small mailbox for each room. It seemed so quaint and cool.
But guarding over the keys should be a twenty-four hour a day, seven days a week kind of job. But who had the money to staff that much? So I’d decided to have a contractor put a sliding Plexiglas door in front of the keys and cubbies. That way, one lock would keep everything in place for those times when the front desk wasn’t manned. Like when I was making fudge and Jenn was planning an event and Frances was out running errands. The only problem was the contractor wasn’t due to start working on it until after the Fourth of July.
That left me in front of the room keys debating on what kind of blue fudge would be best.
“Hello. I’m looking for Allie McMurphy.”
I glanced up to see a guy who appeared to be in his mid-thirties approaching the desk. He was about five foot ten with a round face, spiked hair with blue tips, and wore a grunge T-shirt and jeans.
I stood. “I’m Allie. How can I help you?”
“Henry Schulte,” he said and shoved his hand in his pockets. “Officer Manning said you were looking for me.”
“Oh, hi.” I came around the desk and stuck out my hand.
He ignored it.
I was not put off by his lack of social graces. Rodney had also struggled with social niceties. I guess one had to be a bit of a nerd to want to own a fireworks company. “Yes, first off, my condolences on the loss of your partner. Rodney seemed like a great guy.”
“He was the world’s best pyro artist,” Henry said. “He’s going to be hard to replace. That is, if I can replace him.”
“And that is why I need to speak to you. Do you have replacement fireworks for the ones that were lost in the explosion? The Star Spangled Fourth committee is very concerned. The island is known for our three fireworks shows and it’s important that we continue on with that tradition.”
“Yeah, well, fireworks themselves are pretty scarce this time of year.”
“That’s what I thought.” My shoulders slumped. “You have insurance, right?”
“Yeah, but we have to wait for an adjuster to come out and compare the list of fireworks purchased for the show with the lost inventory. Then it’s mainly a money thing. They pay us. We pay you.”
That did not get my hopes up. “I’m not concerned with the money. I’m really concerned about having a show this year.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got a lot of crap to do now that Rodney bit the bullet. So good luck with the show.” Henry turned to leave.
“Wait!” I rushed around him to stand between him and the door. “I don’t need luck. I need you to come through per our contract.”
“The contract was pretty much void the minute Rodney bit it. Insurance will pay me for the loss of revenue, but the show is your gig.”
“Wait! No—What am I supposed to do now?”
Henry shrugged. “Who’d you use last year? Call them.” He walked around me and out the door.
“Well, that wasn’t helpful at all,” Jenn said as she stood beside me to watch my hope of having a fireworks show walk across the street.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I am not exactly on the best side of last year’s guys. They were pretty ticked off that I went with someone new.”
“Ticked off enough to kill him?” Jenn asked.
“Well, I hadn’t thought about that.” I frowned. “I doubt it. I mean the business is kind of cutthroat, but not really worth killing someone over.”
“I don’t know. I don’t like that partner guy. He seemed to not care at all about Rodney or his customers.”
“I know, right? Do you know any good pyro companies?”
“I might have some strings,” Jenn said. “Let me make some phone calls.”
“Great. I’ll do the same. And I haven’t heard back from my mom, yet. There has to be someone who can fill in the gap.”
“I’m sure there is,” Jenn agreed. “We’ll find them.”
The afternoon was busy with two fudge making demonstrations. The crowds had begun to swell in anticipation of the Star Spangled Fourth celebration. I tried not to panic as I searched for a new pyro technic company. The fudge contest was going well and from the looks of things the red velvet fudge was going to be the ultimate winner. That still left me with trying to figure out a blue fudge. The idea was to layer the three flavors so that it was not only attractive and relevant but also tasty.
My cell phone rang. “This is Allie McMurphy. How can I help you?”
“Allie, it’s Mrs. Amerson again. I heard that Rodney Rivers partner was in the McMurphy speaking with you. What’s going on with the show?”
I sat down on the stool behind the candy counter. My feet hurt from standing and thankfully there was a lull in the crowd at the moment. “Hello, Mrs. Amerson. The good news is that the fireworks are covered by insurance. The bad news is that the insurance won’t replace them in time for the Fourth.”
“I see.” She sounded very unhappy. “What are you going to do about this? We have never missed a Fourth of July show. Our Fudgies are counting on it.”
Fudgie was a happy term for the tourists who came to the island. Mackinac was the fudge capital of the world. A lot of people came strictly for the fudge and nothing else. The fudge lovers earned the name of Fudgie.
“I’ve got some calls in to other companies,” I said. “I’m going to make the firework shows happen.”
“You’d better,” she said. “You were the one who pushed for a new company. Now make it happen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I stood.
She hung up on me.
I sighed and called Trent.
“Trent Jessop.” He sounded busy.
“Hi Trent. It’s Allie. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure, Allie. What’s up?”
“Your family has been part of the island community for generations, right?”
“Yes, we were one of the founding families.”
“So someone in your family, at some point had to be part of the Fourth of July celebrations.”
“Sure.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “Do you have any connections when it comes to fireworks shows?” I had my fingers crossed.
“No, not that I’m aware of.” His tone
was serious business. “But I can put some calls out if you need me to.”
“I think I need you to. Rodney’s partner says we’re covered for losses of the fireworks and may get some return on our deposit, but that’s it. Mrs. Amerson is on me to fix this problem. We can’t not have a show this year.”
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Thanks, Trent. I owe you.”
“No, that’s what friends are for.”
I hung up and realized that I was making friends on Mackinac Island. I had slowly but surely moved away from knowing only Papa Liam and Grammy Alice’s friends to building my own relationships. It would be nice if I could keep people from reaching for good luck symbols and get them all to trust that I would follow through on a commitment, no matter how difficult.
Finding replacement fireworks would help.
Chapter 8
“Happy news. I’ve found a company with fireworks,” Jenn said as she hustled into the fudge shop kitchen where I was in the process of cooking a batch of Maple Walnut Fudge.
“Great!” I stirred the sugar and cream as it cooked. “What’s the cost?”
“It’s in line with your budget and they can get them to us on the dates we need them.”
“Sounds perfect,” I said as I removed the syrupy base from the heat and added butter and maple flavoring.
“There’s just one catch,” Jenn added hesitantly.
“Well, I figured. What is it? Are they brand new? Will the fireworks show times be less?”
“No, the company has been in business for fifteen years and have loads of references.” Jenn leaned against the counter, watching me pour the hot candy onto the cooling table. The metal frame caught the liquid like a dam around the edges.
I paused before scraping the pan and studied my friend. “What’s the catch?”
“They have only fireworks. All their technicians are booked. They don’t have a good technician to put the show together and light the fireworks.”
I grabbed a handheld spatula and scrapped the pan clean then put it back into its holder. I set the timer for ten minutes. The fudge had to cool to a certain consistence before I began to stir it. “Fireworks don’t do us much good if there’s no one to fire them.”
