by CoCo, Nancy
Rex hit the middle of the tiny walk-in space and turned on the light. The room had been built to hold enough coal to fuel the furnace. It had a twelve-by-twelve-inch opening in the wall where the coal wagon would pull up and slide coal down inside. That chute had been boarded up by Papa sometime in the fifties.
Now the tiny room was populated with a series of metal shelves. There was a faint aroma of grapes and yeast. Papa had been into making his own wine. The old bottles rested on their sides, dust covering the handmade labels.
“Someone was in here,” Rex said. His flashlight showed where two shelves had been moved from the wall that butted up against the Old Tyme Photography shop next door.
The idea made my skin crawl. “Do you think it was Joe’s killer?” I asked and peered over Rex’s shoulder at the heavy shelving. “Whoever it was had to be pretty big. Those shelves look like they weigh a ton.”
“It could have been more than one,” Rex said as he tried to move the shelves, but they didn’t budge.
Mal sniffed the air from her vantage point under my arm, and then she growled. The sound was so unexpected it had the hair on the back of my neck standing up. “Mal!”
She barked. It was a loud, ear-piercing sound that had Rex staring at her. I put my hand over her mouth to stop her. She growled.
“What is it, girl?” Rex asked.
“I think she feels my fear,” I said. “There’s no one here. There’s no room for them behind those shelves.” There was only six inches of air between the shelves and the rock wall that was the basement.
Rex shone his flashlight behind the shelves, throwing the shadows into the light. “I don’t like it,” he said.
“One thing’s for sure,” I said. “Rats did not move those shelves.”
“True,” he said and holstered his gun. “Did your grandfather ever tell you about a secret passage down here?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m sure he would have, too. He loved to tell ghost stories and such. I can’t imagine he’d keep something as cool as a secret passage from me. But I tell you what, I can call my dad and see if he knows of any.”
“That would be a good idea,” Rex said. “In the meantime, I suggest we board up this door for tonight and check it out in the morning.”
“Papa Liam kept his nails and tools near the stairs. I have no idea where I’d find boards.”
“Maybe you should spend the night with Frances,” he suggested.
I stopped short and sighed. “No.”
“Seriously, Allie.” He tugged me by the elbow until I faced him. “Someone was in your house.”
“I know,” I said. “But it’s a hotel. I’m sort of used to someone being in the house. I’ll lock my doors. Besides, I’m the murder suspect, right? So shouldn’t they be afraid of me?”
“How do you know it isn’t someone looking for revenge?”
“Then I’ll need police protection,” I quipped. “But I know, there’s little you can do if there’s no evidence of a crime.”
“Allie—”
“I’ll keep my phone handy,” I promised. “As long as you help me board up the coal bin, I’ll be fine.”
“Fine.”
“Good,” I said. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know when Joe’s memorial is, do you?”
“We released the body yesterday.” He moved some boxes. “Trent said the funeral is set for tomorrow at noon. Why did you want to know?”
“I wanted to go, you know, to show my community support.”
“If I were you, I’d stick to watching over your remodel.” He pulled two heavy boards out from behind a stack of boxes. “The Jessops have enough grief without you there to cause a scene. Where are the nails and tools?”
“Here.” I handed him a small glass jar full of nails from Papa’s workbench. “I would not cause any trouble,” I said and dug a hammer out of the workbench drawer. “Like I said, I don’t have anything against the Jessops. What happened between Papa Liam and Joe was between them. If I go to the funeral, then my actions speak louder than my words. No one believes my protests anyway.”
“Don’t do it, Allie,” he said as he set the board up against the door and nailed it shut. “Trust me. You at Joe’s funeral is bad news.”
“Let’s just agree to disagree,” I said and hugged Mal to my chest. “I for one think it’s important that I go. Besides, I have a handful of purple ribbons. It will be nice to have a place to wear them.”
Rex hammered the boards across the door, ensuring that no one could get in or out. “Why don’t you take a casserole over there while you’re at it,” he muttered.
“Great idea,” I said. “I may do just that.”
Chapter 18
“What do you think you’re doing here?” Trent Jessop scowled at me. He stood in the doorway of his family home. I could see people mingling behind him. At least they had been mingling, but Trent’s raised voice made everyone stop. You could hear a pin drop. My heart beat in my ears.
“I came to pay my respects,” I said. “I am so sorry for your loss. Here, I brought you a casserole.” I shoved the warm dish into his hands. “It’s three-meat lasagna. You can freeze it if you want.”
He scowled, but took the dish. Unfortunately he didn’t let me in the door, so it was rather awkward. Especially since I got my first good look at him in the daylight up close and personal. All I can say is, oh, man. Trent Jessop was one gorgeous cowboy. He had shoulders as wide as the Mackinac Bridge. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but they were nicely proportional to his body. The guy could wear a suit. It was black, of course, and the white shirt and blue tie were stunning. He even smelled good. Like warm starched linen and aftershave. You know, the kind of scent that was subtle but at the same time made a girl turn around and follow a guy. Yeah, that kind of nice.
He had black hair that curled at the edge of his collar. A strong stubborn jaw with a tick in it. Probably because I wasn’t budging . . . or intimidated by his dark brown stare. The man had thick black lashes any woman would have died to have. It made a girl start to think about having babies with black lashes.
“Well, okay,” I said, breaking the stare off. “I guess you get that I’m sorry for your loss. Heat the casserole at 325 degrees. Don’t worry about returning the dish. It’s not a family heirloom or anything.”
He didn’t say a word. He simply closed the door in my face. I suppose you could say he was the strong, silent type. Or maybe Rex had been right. Maybe it was stupid to come over and try to make peace. Trent was still hurting. I got that.
I stepped off the wide front porch of the painted-lady cottage that was the Jessop family retreat. It sat on a bluff overlooking Market Street and the lake. A girl in a gray maid’s uniform dusted the black wrought-iron fence that enclosed the perfectly manicured lawn. A young man in work clothes trimmed bushes. I walked down the long sidewalk and took three steps before I went through the gate and onto the street. A horse-drawn taxi pulled up filled with people dressed in Sunday black. Men in suits and women in dresses. They were perfectly groomed and looked like money. It was a cultural difference, I guess. People with old money always dressed differently. They wore elegant clothes with the same comfort level as most people wore jeans and T-shirts.
They glared at me as they passed by. I took note of the purple ribbons on their lapels. I, too, wore a purple ribbon. It had been a kind of joke. A hope that they would see that I was taking the thing in stride. But lightheartedness was not in the cards.
I tugged my black sweater around my waist and hurried back to the McMurphy. The streets were lined with pansies and horse-drawn taxis clomped by. There were several bicyclists enjoying the cool spring air. Today the lake was as smooth as glass. It was funny how quickly you became accustomed to the lack of traffic sounds. Instead, the gentle clip-clop of horses filled the air. Unless you were down by the docks. Then you had the sounds of the ferry motors and the crowds of tourists. The shouts of the dock workers.
It’s not like th
e island was completely sleepy. There were gardeners in the yards and painters touching up the cottage exteriors. The trash wagon rumbled by. Carriage drivers talked to their horses as they lined up waiting for fares. Shop owners swept their stoops while women in maids’ uniforms hurried off to work.
The island was a fun mix of time and place. The no-car rule and gorgeous, painted-lady cottages gave it a solid Victorian feel. Meanwhile, people walked by talking on cell phones or sat on Victorian chairs scrolling through their iPads and tablets. Time and place indeed.
Frances waited for me outside the McMurphy. “Where did you go?” she asked. Today she wore a bright red felt coat and matching red felt fedora with navy-blue trim and a peacock feather accent.
“I took a casserole to the Jessops.” I unlocked the McMurphy and turned on the chandelier that lit the big lobby. Mal got up from her bed inside her crate and stretched. I walked over and let her out. She ran to Frances.
“You did not.” Frances picked Mal up and petted and squeezed her.
“I did so. Joe’s daughter Elizabeth brought me a casserole when Papa died. The least I could do was return the sentiment.” I took the puppy from Frances and put on Mal’s halter and leash. I had read in a dog training book that you were supposed to take them out the moment you let them out of the crate. Since Mal had the unfortunate tendency to piddle, I wasn’t taking any chances.
Frances hung her coat and hat up as I went out the back door and across the alley to the tiny patch of grass. While Mal did her figure eights, I studied the back of the McMurphy. If there was really a secret tunnel in the basement, where would it go?
The McMurphy was built in the Victorian era, when storefronts and hotels tended to be attached. That way there were no fights over property rights. An alley ran down the back of the block allowing access for workers. Across the alley was a pool house that McMurphy guests shared with the Oakton Bed and Breakfast. Papa Liam and Pete Thompson’s grandfather Alfred had pooled their money and built a pool house. Sometime in the 1980s Papa had sold his share of the pool house back to the Thompson family with the condition that McMurphy guests had free access.
There had been talk of putting in a walkway from the second floor of the McMurphy to the pool house, which sat farther up the bluff and faced Market Street. But that had never happened.
Mal finished her business, and I cleaned up after her. We both went back inside to find Frances talking to Rex Manning.
“Hello,” I said and disappeared into the washroom to wash my hands.
“Why didn’t you call me last night?” Frances had her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “You should not have spent the night alone.”
“I was fine.” I wiped my hands on a towel. “We boarded up the coal bin. Besides, who knows if there even is an entrance through there.”
“It would explain how Joe Jessop was able to come and go at random,” Frances said.
“I can’t believe there was a secret door in the McMurphy that Papa didn’t know about. He lived his entire life here and he did most of the maintenance.” I turned to Officer Manning. “Hi Rex, what brings you into the McMurphy?”
He wore his pressed uniform complete with Kevlar vest and gun holster. His hat was in his hand. His blue eyes twinkled. “Hi Allie, I came by to check out the coal bin. I got Judge Astor to agree to ask your permission to check for any egress through the basement. It could explain how a killer got into the McMurphy to kill Joe.”
“Or could get in and kill you.” Frances picked up Mal and hugged her tight. “Seriously. You should not be staying here alone.”
“It’s okay, Frances. My friend Jennifer is coming in today. I’ve hired her for the season. We need the extra help.”
“I thought you’d hire some interns like your Papa always did.”
“I plan on it, but with the coffee bar and the fudge shop, we’ll need another full-time person on board. That way I can concentrate on building the fudge shop back up.”
“Humph.” Frances snorted. “Can you afford another full-time employee? You still need a new handyman.”
“I’ve got it handled,” I said. “Could you watch Mal while I take Officer Manning down to the basement?”
“Fine.” Frances turned on her heel. “Come on little dog, let’s see what mischief we can get into today.”
I rolled my eyes, and Rex stifled a chuckle. “Thanks for coming back.” I led him through the back and down the staircase. “Do you really think we boarded someone inside the coal bin?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I wanted to come down in the daylight and do a thorough search. I want you to know I didn’t get a warrant. This is a voluntary search.”
“I understand.” I turned on the fluorescent light. There were two window wells in the back, but it was still a bit dark. The light buzzed. The walls held a damp, musty smell. Shadows loomed along the dirt floor. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t want to have to search the walls by myself.”
He flicked on his flashlight and walked a grid from under the stairs toward the sunlight side. There were wood pallets on the floor that held stacks of boxes. I had no idea what all was in them. I imagined it was over one hundred years of old lamps, doorknobs, and other bits and pieces of junk.
I added a note to my mental list to go through the basement next fall and sell what I could to the scrap man and toss out the rest. It certainly wasn’t doing anyone any good sitting in the basement of the McMurphy gathering dust.
Rex nosed through boxes, and I went to Papa’s workbench and looked through old Mason jars filled with screws and nuts and bolts and such. Somewhere along the way, Papa had hung up PegBoard and then created metal holders that raised the glass bottles of metal up on the wall and off the work surface. There was an old band saw, three kinds of hammers, all kinds of saws and wrenches. There was a heavy metal box marked Craftsman. Inside was a wide array of tools.
“That box is worth a fortune,” Rex said over my shoulder. “If I were you I’d get the place inventoried sooner rather than later. It’s hard to tell if someone is stealing if you don’t know what you have.”
I closed the lid of the toolbox. “Right.” He was, I knew it, but I simply hadn’t had time to think about the basement. It took a good two hours of poking around before Rex was satisfied that there was nothing of much use to the investigation in the main part of the basement. We both stood outside the boarded coal bin. It wasn’t a bin, really, it was a small room that was maybe nine by nine foot wide.
If anyone were locked in there, I could imagine they’d be pretty claustrophobic fairly fast.
“Hammer?” Rex asked.
I handed him a claw-head hammer, and he gave me his flashlight. Then he dug under the nails with the forked part until it was snagged under tight, then leveraged the nail up and out of the board. In no time at all the boards were in a pile at his feet. The door to the bin was free.
“You two all right down here?” Frances asked from the top of the stairs.
“We’re good,” I called over. “We just unboarded the coal bin.
Frances came downstairs with Mal tucked under her arm. “I haven’t been down here in years.”
“Do you know if there is some sort of secret passage in the coal bin?” I asked.
“No.” Frances shook her head. “Liam never mentioned any secret passage. I can’t imagine what they would need one for . . .”
“We are reasonably close to Canada,” Rex said.
“So is Detroit,” I said. “It would seem Detroit would be easier than riding on a ferry on and off island.”
“Did you find a tunnel?” she asked and peered at the door.
“Not yet,” I said and took the hammer from Rex and handed back his flashlight. “After you.”
He pulled the gun from his belt and opened the door, careful to check the corners before he stepped in, gun first. “Police,” he said loud and clear. “Come out with your hands up.”
Chapter 19
I held my brea
th and listened. Nothing. Not a single sound. All I heard was my own heartbeat.
“I’m doing a sweep of the room,” Rex continued. “If I were you, I’d come out with my hands up before I got shot.”
“I know I would,” Frances said. She petted Mal, who whined.
I took my dog from Frances and snuggled her against my face in the hope of calming her down or maybe I hoped to calm myself down.
“Clear,” Rex called. I stepped inside the small room. It looked completely different in the daytime. The metal shelves looked dusty, and the jars that sat on them were empty and covered with dust.
“I thought I told Liam to have this place cleared.” Frances tsked. She ran a finger along a metal, gray shelf and lifted it up to show me the dirt. “This is appalling.”
“I’ll hire someone to clean it out,” I told Frances. “Right after we ensure there isn’t some sort of secret passage.”
“What makes you think that anyway?”
“I swear someone was down here moving shelves last night,” I said. “Rex heard it too.”
“There are marks where this shelf has been moved,” he said and holstered his gun. He put his shoulder into moving the shelf, but it didn’t budge. “There has to be some sort of locking mechanism.” He ran his capable, square hands along the underside of the shelf.
I walked the wall, looking for footprints. I felt a definite draft near the back corner and tucked Mal under my arm to take a closer look. On close inspection, there were tiny cracks in the mortar—outlining what looked to be a door about five feet in height and three feet wide.
“I think there’s a door.” I ran my finger along the edge. “There’s a breeze coming through here.”
“We need to figure out how to open it.” Rex came over to see where the door was. “Try pressing on the rocks of the wall.”
On one side of the coal bin was a large metal hook, and a set of heavy chains hung from it. I remember asking Papa about the chains as a kid. He had told me they were from a dark period in the history of Mackinac. I had made up a story in my head about escaped slaves. But the truth was most likely it was used for preparing pigs for slaughter.
