by Nancy CoCo
“I hear them coming,” I said into the phone. “Thanks, Charlene.”
“Take care, Allie.”
“Well, this certainly is an interesting turn of events.” Mr. Beecher kept his hands in his pockets and bent over to peer at the body. “I wonder what killed him?”
“Let’s hope it wasn’t foul play,” I said, and gathered Mal up in my arms. Movement caught the corner of my eye and I turned to see Rex come striding down the alleyway with a tall, impossibly handsome man behind him.
“Allie, Mal, Mr. Beecher.” Rex acknowledged us all but didn’t introduce the man with him. He turned to the body. “You reported him dead?”
“Yes,” I said. “Mal pointed him out and we thought he was sleeping. So I knelt and shook him to wake him up, but he was stiff and cold.”
“Wow, a real dead guy. Just like that . . . in the alley,” the handsome man said, and ran his hand through his mass of blond hair, which was thick and glossy.
“Hello,” Mr. Beecher said, and stuck out his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Right, Dirk Benjamin,” the man said, and shook Mr. Beecher’s hand. “You’re Beecher?”
“Mr. Beecher,” he replied.
“The man is definitely dead,” Rex said, interrupting. He knelt beside the body and used his pen to pull the hat off the dead man’s head. There was blood and gunk on the inside of the hat.
Dirk Benjamin turned very pale. “Is that like brains?”
“Yes,” Rex answered with his mouth in a grim line. Dirk turned and got sick on the other side of the Dumpster. “Amateurs . . .”
I looked from the hat to the dead man’s head and saw that he had a bullet hole right above the eyes.
“I’m thinking it was foul play,” Mr. Beecher said out loud.
“Do you think?” Rex muttered sarcastically.
The ambulance—one of only two motorized vehicles allowed on the island—cut its sirens as it crept along the alley toward us. George Marron and Walt Henderson got out of the vehicle. George had long, black hair that was pulled back in a single braid, copper skin, and high cheekbones of his Iroquois ancestry. Walt was a tall, thin man with gray hair and a hawklike nose. He had sharp features and dark brown eyes. His skin had the weathered look of a fisherman or at the least someone who knew his way around the water.
“Mr. Beecher, Allie,” George said. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Mr. Beecher said.
“Did either of you hear gunshots last night?” Rex asked as he stood.
“No,” I replied. “Mal would have barked.”
“It might be a body dump,” George said as he squatted down to take a look. “There’s not a lot of blood here.” He squinted up at us, his dark black gaze serious. “Probably killed somewhere else and moved here.”
“Why here?” I asked.
“People know you walk this alley,” Rex said. “And with your reputation . . .”
“What reputation?” I put one hand on my hip and held Mal with the other.
“Of finding dead men,” George said.
“Mal finds them,” I pointed out. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“They probably killed him, brought him back here, posed him to look like he was sleeping, and left him here for you to find.”
“Are you sure he didn’t kill himself ?” Mr. Beecher asked.
“No gun around,” Rex said, taking in the scene.
“It could be under the Dumpster,” I pointed out.
“Jack Sharpe was right-handed,” George said. “The Dumpster is on his left.”
“So it is Jack Sharpe,” Mr. Beecher said. “I thought so.”
“I’m going to have to rope off the crime scene until Shane can get here,” Rex said. Shane was the local crime scene investigator and Jenn’s boyfriend. “George, take a look at Mr. Benjamin. He lost his breakfast and might be in shock. Allie, keep Mal away from the body. You and Mr. Beecher should go sit on the steps to your apartment until I can square away the scene.”
“Yes, sir,” I muttered.
“Come on, Allie,” Mr. Beecher said, taking my elbow in his hand. “This is the best adventure of my life.”
“Well, Mal and I wish it wasn’t a normal occasion in ours,” I said as we scooted past the ambulance. Dirk Benjamin sat in the back of the ambulance. George had draped him in a blanket and was checking his pulse. I remembered seeing my first dead body. It didn’t make me sick, but it did put me into shock.
Mr. Beecher pulled another treat for Mal out of his pocket as we settled onto the steps to my apartment. “I don’t know why Rex leapt to the conclusion that the body was left for me to find.”
“It was my first thought, too,” Mr. Beecher said.
“Why?” I asked. “You walk down this alley twice a day. The body could have been there for you to find.”
“Then they were successful, as I did find it, too,” he said. “But most likely it was left for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “You can’t rule out Doud’s Market or Mackinac Gifts, their owners and patrons,” I said. “It’s a stretch to say that it was left for me.”
“Not much of a stretch,” Rex said as he approached, his latex-gloved hand holding the corner of a piece of paper. “They left you a note.”
Easy Butterscotch Fudge
11 oz. butterscotch baking chips
16 oz. vanilla frosting—any brand premade
Line an 8x8-inch pan with wax paper.
Microwave the butterscotch chips in a glass bowl until melted. Check every 15 seconds—takes about one minute. Mix with the vanilla frosting. Scoop into pan, even out, and chill until hardened, about an hour. Cut into pieces. Store in a covered container.
Chapter 2
“They left me a note?” I stood, surprised and dismayed. “Where did you find it? What does it say?”
“It was in Jack’s hand,” Rex said. “Did you know Jack?”
“No,” I said, and shook my head. “No.” I peered around Rex to get another look at the dead man. “He doesn’t look familiar.”
“The killer must know you, then,” Rex said. “This note was addressed to you.” He held up a blank note card with my name typed across the front. Allie McMurphy. “I don’t like it,” he said.
“What does it say inside?”
“kf3,” Rex said and he studied the paper. “What does it mean?”
“Is it a code?” I asked, and studied the paper over his shoulder.
“Sounds like chess to me,” Mr. Beecher said. “An opening move.”
“Chess?”
“Yes,” Mr. Beecher said. “The white knight opens.”
“Oh, that’s creepy,” I said, and got chills up and down my arms. “What do you think it means?”
Rex frowned at the paper. “I hope it doesn’t mean that the killer is playing games.” His warm gaze studied my face. “Do you play chess?”
“No,” I said. “Not really. I mean, it’s been a while. I used to play with Papa Liam, but I haven’t in years.” Papa Liam was my father’s father and the last owner of the Historic McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shop. Papa had died this spring, leaving the family business to me. “I have to admit, it’s very easy to beat me.”
“I play,” Mr. Beecher said with a twinkle in his dark blue eyes. “I happen to be the island’s reigning champion.”
“Is there a chess players group on the island?” I asked.
“Of course,” Mr. Beecher said. “Now most players gather at the senior center, but we do have some young ones who play at the high school.”
“It wouldn’t necessarily be an older person who wrote this note,” I said. And wrapped my arms around my waist. I looked at Rex. “Why would they want to play a game with me?”
“I don’t know.” Rex’s mouth was a thin line. “Is there anyone who you’ve upset recently?”
“What? No,” I said. “Why would you think I upset anyone?”
“No reason,” he s
aid. “I’m trying to understand why your name is on the front of this note card.”
Shane walked up carrying his evidence kit. He wore a navy-blue windbreaker with CSU on it and a ball cap. His glasses framed concern in his eyes. “Hello, guys and dolls,” he said. “What do we have here?”
“A dead guy,” Mr. Beecher said. “I’m pretty sure it’s Jack Sharpe.”
“Who is Jack Sharpe?” I asked.
“Jack is a stable hand at the Jessops’ stables,” Rex said.
“Oh, man,” I said, and covered my mouth with my palm. “Does this have anything to do with Trent? I mean, he and I are not on the best terms right now.”
“I thought you two were dating,” Mr. Beecher said with one eyebrow raised.
“We broke up,” I said, and did my best not to look at Rex. I had just broken up with Trent Jessop. Trent was very wealthy and his business obligations and family obligations had come between us. Then there was Rex. Since our kiss at Frances’s wedding reception, things had gotten a bit awkward between us. I know we needed to talk, but I wasn’t sure what I felt or what to do. I think he was letting things settle in my mind. I think I was letting things settle in my mind.
“Ah,” Mr. Beecher said.
“What does that mean?” I asked, and studied the older man.
He shrugged. “It means perhaps the killer didn’t know you weren’t dating.”
“You think the killer might have gone after Jack Sharpe because he worked for Trent and therefore I’d get involved in the investigation?”
“He made sure you were involved with that note,” Mr. Beecher said.
I held Mal close to my chest. “I feel terrible for Jack Sharpe and his family. No one should ever lose their life like this. It’s such a waste. How old was Jack?”
“He was in his fifties,” Mr. Beecher said. “I knew him well enough to say good morning, but that’s all. Jack usually kept to himself. I believe he was in Mr. Devaney’s English class in high school. You should ask him.”
“If he was in his fifties, it would have been before Mr. Devaney’s time, wouldn’t it?” I asked. Mr. Devaney was my handyman at the McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shop. He had recently married Frances, my general manager. The couple were off on an extended honeymoon. Both were retired teachers and in their seventies.
“Douglas Devaney started teaching here right out of college,” Mr. Beecher said. “His family was from Traverse City and he grew up visiting the island.”
“So I suppose he could have had Jack Sharpe in his class. Why did Jack work at the stables? I thought most of the stable hands were young guys looking for work over the summer breaks.”
“Jack grew up on the island,” Mr. Beecher said. “He wasn’t much for school. In fact, his main ambition was to enjoy fishing. He worked enough to afford to pay rent on a small cabin. He spent most of his free time out on the water. Sometimes he’d get paid as a tour guide for other fishermen who wanted to fish the area.”
“He was one of Trent’s regular guys?” I asked. Trent’s family owned one of the biggest stables on the island. Cars were not allowed, except for the ambulance and fire truck. People took horse-drawn carriages, rode bicycles, or walked everywhere they went. Horses were in big demand on the island.
“As far as I know,” Mr. Beecher said. “I see him . . . or saw him, most days when I walk by the stables. Seemed like a nice enough guy.”
“Did he have any family? Wife, children, girlfriend?”
“He was a confirmed bachelor,” Mr. Beecher said. “I think fishing was his first love.”
“Is this going to take long?” I asked Rex the moment I noticed he was free. “I’ve got a business to get back to and fudge to make.”
“You can go,” Rex said. “I’ll be by later to get your statement. I’m sure you know how this works.”
“I do,” I said, and stood, putting Mal down on the ground and attaching her leash. “I won’t speak to anyone about what I saw.”
“Good,” Rex said with a short nod. “Mr. Beecher, if you don’t mind, I need to take a statement from you.”
“Sure,” he stood as well. We had been seated on the back stoop of the McMurphy, waiting for Rex and his men to get the things they needed from the crime scene. Rex had taken the note into custody, but I remembered the chess move. A little research might tell me more about the chess move. Of course, that didn’t mean I could research what a killer meant by it.
“I’ll see you later, Mr. Beecher,” I said, and walked Mal inside the McMurphy.
“Where were you?” Jenn asked when I got in and let Mal off her leash. “You’ve been gone an hour.”
“Mal found a dead body,” I said with a deep sigh. “I can’t talk about it until I give Rex a statement. He was kind enough to let me come in as long as I promised not to say a word to anyone.”
“Oh, my goodness! Are you okay?” Jenn asked. “Is Mal okay?” She picked up Mal and gave her a squeeze.
“We’re fine,” I said, and checked the mail that sat on the receptionist desk. Frances Devaney was the hotel manager from way back and I had been happy to keep her on after Papa Liam died and I took on the ownership of the Historic McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shop. The reception desk was Frances’s normal perch, but as I mentioned before she was currently on her honeymoon with my handyman, Douglas Devaney. That meant that all of Frances’s and Mr. Devaney’s work was divided between myself, Jenn, my assistant manager, and my assistant candy maker and chocolatier Sandy Everheart.
Unfortunately, it was after Labor Day and my college intern had gone back to school. That meant we all had extra work. Thankfully, with the official tourist season finished, things in the fudge shop and the hotel could slow down a bit into fall.
I sorted the mail into bills, personal notes, and advertisements. The advertisements went straight into the recycle box next to Frances’s desk. “Has it been busy?”
“Nicely steady,” Jenn said. “Where did Mal find the body this time? It looks like they didn’t take your clothing for evidence. I bet that’s a first.”
“It is a first,” I said with a wry smile. “I didn’t get close enough to the body. Well, I shook his shoulder to ensure he was dead, but that’s it.”
“It was a guy? Anyone I know?”
“Darn it,” I muttered. Then I looked Jenn in the eye. “I really can’t tell you.”
“Oh, right, like I’m going to impede the investigation.” Jenn pouted.
“You know with my luck I’d start to tell you and Rex would show up and arrest me.”
“Rex will never know,” Jenn said.
The bells on the front door rang as the door opened and Rex stepped in.
“I told you,” I said, and gave Jenn a friendly smack on the arm. Mal barked and jumped out of Jenn’s arms and went over to jump up on Rex for her pets.
“That man is uncanny in his ability to walk in at the right moment,” Jenn said low. Then she brightened and smiled at Rex. “Officer Manning, what brings you to the McMurphy, as if I didn’t already know.”
“Jenn,” I said, and sent her a look of distress.
“What? He’s a friend of yours,” she said. “Of course he came to see you.”
“Hello, Jenn,” Rex said as he walked through the hotel lobby. Mal followed on his footsteps. My calico cat, Carmella, snuck out from her hiding place under one of the lobby’s wing-backed chairs. Everyone loved Rex—even my animals. Rex was one of the few people Mella would risk having to play with Mal to come see. The cat jumped up on the receptionist desk and purred in Rex’s direction. He reached out and absently stroked the cat’s back. “Allie, do you have time to give a statement?”
“Sure,” I said. “I didn’t expect you to get to me so quickly.”
“I’ve got my guys canvasing the area. Right now the only witnesses I have are you and Mr. Beecher. I’ve already gotten his statement.”
“Let’s go to my office,” I said, and waved him up the stairs. The McMurphy was a Victorian hotel in the middle o
f Main Street on Mackinac Island. It was four stories. The lower level held the fudge shop in the right-hand corner as you entered. To the left was a small area for Wi-Fi usage and gatherings. Behind the fudge shop was the lobby and reception area. I had remodeled the downstairs before I opened the McMurphy for the season, reclaiming the hardwood floors. I’d had the walls painted and wallpapered with a pink-and-white-stripe vintage paper that matched the original. The hotel rooms were on the second and third floors and reachable by stairs that went up the side behind reception. There was also a very old elevator that took guests up to the second and third floors in case they had special needs and couldn’t navigate the stairs. My office and apartment were on the fourth floor.
Rex knew both well as after a few murder investigations, he’d visited both my office and my home.
“Come on in,” I said, and opened the door to the owner’s office. The walls were surrounded by bookshelves and in the center of the room were two large oak desks that faced each other. One was mine and the other was where Jenn worked. Jenn wasn’t just my assistant manager. She also planned events on the island and did most of her planning in my office.
I pulled some ledgers off a chair next to my desk. “Please have a seat.”
“This is an official investigation, Allie,” he said.
“It doesn’t mean you can’t sit,” I said, and waved toward the seat as I took my chair. “You sit with me when you call me into the station for an official investigation.”
“Point taken,” he said, and sat. The man wasn’t super tall, maybe five foot ten, but he was built like an action hero. Sometimes the way he looked at me made my breath catch. He studied me for a minute.
“What?” I asked breathlessly.
“You told Mr. Beecher you weren’t dating Trent Jessop.”
My heart rate picked up. “I’m not. We’re not.”
“Does he know that?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because I want to take you out,” Rex said, his tone soft and sincere. “But I can wait until you are absolutely sure there’s nothing between you and Jessop.”
