by Nancy CoCo
“Allie McMurphy,” I said, and shook his hand.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. He picked up the glass of wine that had been poured for him. “I’ve been following your story all summer.”
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“Jeffery’s been on the island since May,” Dirk said. “He’s been following your sleuthing.”
“Thanks for all the great plot ideas,” he said, and toasted me with his wineglass before taking a second gulp.
“I don’t want to seem rude,” I said. “But why haven’t I seen you before? It’s a small island. We should have run into each other at some point.”
“I’ve rented a room in the Sigmunds’ cottage on Mission Point,” he said. “Been writing a lot.” He finished his wine and raised his glass for the waiter to bring him more. “I’ve been by your fudge shop a couple of times, but then so have a lot of tourists.”
“You mean fudgies,” I said. “We affectionately call non-islanders fudgies.”
“Right,” he said, and raised his glass to toss down more wine. Then he leaned in toward me. “So, how’s the latest investigation going?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You know, the dead guy in your alley. Everyone knows you’re investigating. How is that going?”
“I’m not investigating,” I said, and drew my eyebrows together. “I’ve left that up to Rex Manning and our friend here.” I waved at Dirk.
“Dude, investigating is kinda boring,” Dirk said, and sipped his wine as they brought us our first course. “It’s a bunch of waiting for test results and looking at notices on the computer. Not a lot of action there.”
“Which brings me back to you, Ms. McMurphy,” Jeffery said, and waved his wineglass at me. “I understand you use the senior citizens to help you with your investigations.”
“I do?”
“You do,” he said with a sincere nod. “The word is that you go from finding a body straight to the senior center to get the dirt on people. I want to write that into the series. Tell me why you decided to ask the seniors at the center.”
“Oh, I know that one,” Dirk said. “The senior gossip line is fast and they usually know when anything is amiss on the island.” He turned and grinned at me. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “They are plugged into the community. Are you writing senior characters?”
“Nobody wants to watch old people on their televisions,” Jeffery said, and shoved the first course into his mouth.
“There are lots of good older characters on television,” I argued.
“We want the show to be a success,” Jeffery said with his mouth full. “It’s why they got Dirk involved. People can’t wait to see his mug on their televisions.”
“People also like good writing and a solid mystery,” I said pointedly. Then I turned to Dirk. “Not to diminish your appeal.”
“Hey, no worries,” he said, and sat back as the waiters removed our plates and poured the next course of wine. “I love a good puzzle.”
“Like my Papa Liam,” I said. “As for me, I’d rather spend my days making fudge than solving puzzles.”
“Could have fooled me,” Jeffery said.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying your reputation precedes you.”
“I think she makes a sexy sleuth,” Dirk said. “You’re writing her as a sexy sleuth, right?”
“You’re writing about me?”
“I told you,” Dirk said. “He’s a genius.”
Chapter 12
“Tell me this, fudge maker,” Jeffery said. It was well into dinner and he was on his fourth glass of wine. “How strategic are you in your sleuthing?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I bet you have an idea who the latest killer is, don’t you?”
“I don’t really think I’m strategic.” I had stopped eating at this point in the dinner. The waiters didn’t seem to notice, removing my plates and placing new ones in front of me with alarming regularity.
“I bet you are three steps ahead of the killer, aren’t you?” He waved his glass at me.
“Are you?” Dirk asked me. “Because it would be cool if you were.”
“I’m not allowed to talk about an ongoing investigation,” I hedged.
“That hasn’t stopped you from discussing the other cases,” Jeffery said, nailing me with his gaze. “This guy’s into chess, isn’t he? Are you going to play his game?”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I have my insider information,” he said.
“She found a toe the other day,” Dirk said. “It was disgusting.”
“Whose toe was it?” Jeffery asked.
“There is some thought it probably belonged to the victim,” I said. “But test results haven’t come out yet.”
“And didn’t you find another body that was cut up into pieces?”
“Did you?” Dirk asked as he followed the conversation between Jeffery and me like he was watching a tennis match.
“Earlier this spring,” I said with a shrug. “It wasn’t my best day and it was actually my puppy, Mal, who found it.”
“So the killer is copying the murders you already solved.”
“I certainly hope not,” I said.
“It’s a cool concept,” Jeffery said. “I’d write that into a television show.”
“Hey, maybe you should work with Allie to solve this new murder,” Dirk said.
“I’m not solving the murder,” I said.
“I heard the killer wasn’t really giving you much of a choice,” Jeffery said.
“Where did you hear that?” I drew my eyebrows together.
“I heard that he has made threats. I also heard that he hung a headless chicken in one of your guest’s windows.”
“First off, we don’t know if it is a he or a she who murdered Mr. Sharpe,” I said. “Second, we don’t know if there is any connection between the prank at the window last night and the killer.”
“There was a prank last night?” Dirk asked.
“Someone hung a freshly killed chicken in the window of one of my guests,” I said. “It made a terrible mess, but everyone is safe. There is no proof that it had anything to do with the murder.”
“How did you know about the prank?” Dirk asked Jeffery.
The writer shrugged. “I’m into all the gossip.” He shoveled fruit and cheese into his mouth.
I leaned back, impressed. “You go to the senior center?”
“I’ve got my connections,” he said. “I’m renting a room from Mrs. O’Connor. She knows pretty much anytime someone passes gas on the island.”
“Then she knows who killed Mr. Sharpe,” I said with a tilt of my head.
“Now that is something she hasn’t caught wind of yet,” he said with a mouthful of food, and pointed his fork at me. “She is waiting for you to figure it out. Or at least start asking questions so she and her friends can follow along with your train of thought.”
“Do you play chess, Mr. Jenas?” I had to ask.
“Sure, why?”
“The killer seems to think I’m playing chess with him.”
“Oh, I remember that from the notes at the scenes,” Dirk said, his eyes lighting up. “I did a Google check of the moves in the notes. It’s from some famous game with Bobby Fischer.”
“Seriously?” I asked, and leaned toward him. He pulled out his phone and hit the browser.
“See, I put in Nf3 Nf6 and it comes up Robert James Fischer,” he said, and showed me his phone.
“Crazy,” I said. “I wouldn’t have thought to Google it. But then I’m not good at chess.”
“Don’t you play?” Jeffery asked, and drew his eyebrows together as if confused.
“I played some as a kid, but nothing serious,” I said.
“Crazy,” he said, and snagged a petit four off the dessert plate. “I’d have thought you were good at the game.”
“Why?”
“You f
igure out the killers,” he said, and raised one eyebrow. “It means you think one step ahead of the criminal . . . or so your reputation says.”
“Criminals aren’t known for being smart,” I retorted.
“You should teach her,” Dirk said. “I bet you know a lot about the game.”
“I’ve got episodes to write,” he said, and sat back.
“It’s okay, I have signed up for lessons at the senior center.” I didn’t like the man too much. He seemed rude and his manners were horrible. But I didn’t want to insult Dirk. “Thanks for thinking of me,” I said to Dirk.
“Well, dinner was tasty,” Jeffery said, and stood up. “Thanks for inviting me.” He pocketed a couple of tarts and clapped Dirk on the back. Then he looked me in the eye. “I’m looking forward to seeing how you solve this one. See you later, Ms. McMurphy.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Jenas.”
“Well, that went well,” Dirk said with a smile, and waved the waiter down. “Can we get some coffee?”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter said, and disappeared.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said. “I’ve certainly had an interesting time.”
“That Jeffery, he’s a genius,” Dirk said. “I’m looking forward to reading his screenplays.”
“How many is he writing?” I asked as the waiter filled a china cup with coffee and placed it in front of me.
“He has the first seven episodes written,” Dirk said, and added sugar to his coffee.
“I thought you were filming the pilot,” I said, and added cream to my coffee. I was glad I hadn’t done much more than sip the glasses of wine that were served for dinner. I didn’t want to embarrass myself with this handsome man.
The dynamic had shifted subtly after Jeffery left. The tent seemed more intimate. The fairy lights twinkled behind him and I was strangely aware of my own skin.
“We are,” he said with a nod. “But I have a few connections. I happen to know that since I signed on, the network has agreed to a ten-episode season.”
“Well, congratulations,” I said, and toasted him with my coffee cup. I took a sip and studied him over the lip. “Will you be filming all the episodes here on Mackinac?”
“We’re shooting as many exterior shots as possible,” he said. “Then we’ll shoot the rest in the studio and they’ll put it all together with television magic.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling a touch of disappointment. “I guess you won’t be here that long, then.”
“About three weeks,” he said. “Shooting starts Monday. Then you’ll be lucky to see me. It will be all fourteen-hour days, morning shoots, night shoots and such.” He paused.
“What?”
“I’m going to miss shadowing Rex Manning. It’s been a real eye-opener.”
“I’m sure Rex is going to miss having you around, too,” I said with as straight a face as I could keep.
He leaned forward. “Do you think he will? I mean, I think I’ve learned a lot from him. I’m hoping to channel a bit of that swagger he has.” Dirk settled for a moment and then his facial muscles rearranged to match Rex’s expression. “I’m telling you, Allie, you need to leave the investigations to me.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped from me and Dirk grinned with pride. “That was Rex dead-on.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Are you going to imitate Rex in the series?”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t work,” he said with a shake of his head. He put his coffee cup down. “An actor studies his character. There should be a shade of the man but not an imitation. I thought I’d keep my hair, for one.” He ran his hand through his thick, blond waves.
“I agree,” I said. “The hair has to stay.”
“It’s my signature thing,” he said. “So then, what do I imitate to capture the character?” He placed his hands on the tabletop, fingers splayed. “I will imitate how he holds his hands—loose and yet always ready to take action when the moment arrives.” He raised his hands. “That’s a detail that I can take on. People will recognize it without understanding where it comes from.”
“That’s brilliant,” I said.
He sent me a crooked smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, and saluted him with my coffee cup. “This has been a lot of fun, but I should get home. I have to be to work at five thirty a.m.”
“Even with it being the off-season?” he asked.
“I have Internet sales I need to get out,” I explained. “That and my hotel manager is still on her honeymoon. The extra work of cleaning the rooms and checking people in and out of their rooms takes time.”
“So you don’t usually clean the bathrooms,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“No.” I felt the heat of a blush rush up my cheeks. “But it is my hotel and it’s good for me to see every room at least once a week to see if it’s being cleaned properly or needs any upkeep.”
“Beautiful, smart, and humble,” he said, and stood. “Come on, my friend. Let’s give people a photo op and take you home via an open carriage.”
“Oh,” I said, and stood. And took his arm. “Can we not? I’m not really one for all the attention.”
“Now, that is a lie,” he said as we walked out. I had to remember to keep my heels out of the ground. “I understand you were part of a reality television show earlier this summer.”
“I got roped into that,” I said.
“And I suppose you were roped into every single investigation they have attributed to you,” he said and his hand tightened on my hand for a brief second. “You are more than a simple fudge maker. I am convinced you are beautiful and brave and deserve the reputation you have received.” His gaze was warm on my face and I felt the heat of a blush rise up.
“Well, if I protest to that then I sound silly, now don’t I? You have me quite boxed in.” I patted his arm as I clung to him, trying to keep my heels out of the grass. “Truth? I don’t want to look as if I’m using your fame to further my fudge business.”
“Ah, propriety is everything, then?”
I laughed at that. “If that were the case I wouldn’t have given in to the desire to have dinner with you.”
He nodded as he waved down a carriage. “Let’s go back to your place in an open carriage. I promise not to think any worse of you.”
“How can I say no to a man who provided such a lovely dinner?” I let him help me up into the carriage. Somehow in the middle of the dinner, I’d forgotten the shortness of my skirt or the low cut of my bodice. Climbing into a public open carriage brought me back to reality. I tugged hard on the skirt to keep it from exposing too much thigh.
“You look amazing,” he said as he climbed in beside me. “I really appreciate you making me look good.”
I smiled at him. “Is that what this is all about?”
He leaned in close. “Everyone knows you are only as good as your last photo.”
“I thought that was as good as your last movie?”
“Not in this Instagram world in which we live,” he said, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Come on, let’s take a selfie.” He pulled me close and snapped a quick photo. “See? You look amazing.”
The photo had me looking at him with my head turned so that what people got was the side of my face and a direct shot of my cleavage. I did have to admit that I looked dazzled. Even if it all felt a bit staged.
Chapter 13
“You have to tell me everything,” Jenn said as I opened the door to my apartment. I had her shoes in my hands and walked on bare feet. Mal raced to the door and jumped up, begging for me to pick her up.
“There isn’t much to tell,” I said, and picked up Mal. I gave her a quick pat and walked the shoes over to Jenn. “Thank you for lending me these. They certainly aren’t practical for walking across lawns.”
“You walked across the lawn? Where? What happened? Oh, did he have a romantic picnic planned?” Jenn took the shoes from me. I’d
stopped downstairs and had wiped the dirt and grass off the heels.
“Not a picnic per se,” I said. “He had a private tent put up on the lawn of the Grand Hotel.”
“Nice,” Jenn said, her eyes growing wide. “What did you eat? How could you eat sitting next to Dirk? Did he kiss you? Was it all terribly romantic?”
“There were fairy lights,” I said, and walked to the bedroom. I put Mal down and Mella jumped up on the bed. I ran my hand along her back and over her tail, enjoying the feel of her soft fur.
“And?”
“Wine,” I said, sitting down on the bed. “There was so much wine—five courses’ worth.”
“You must be thoroughly relaxed. Did he kiss you?” She was on the edge of the bed hugging her shoes.
“No, he didn’t kiss me. It was actually a business dinner,” I said, and stood pulling off the dress. I placed it in the hamper and slipped on a bathrobe.
“A business dinner in a private tent with fairy lights and five courses of wine?” Jenn looked incredulous.
“He invited the show’s writer,” I said, and walked into the bathroom to wash the makeup off my face and brush my hair.
“Is the writer a woman or a man?” Jenn asked with narrowed eyes. She followed me into the bathroom. Mal danced around our feet.
“What has that got to do with anything?” I asked as I scrubbed my face with a soapy washcloth.
“It could still have been considered a date if the writer is a woman,” Jenn suggested.
“What?” I drew my eyebrows together. “No, no, no. It wasn’t a date. I knew it wasn’t going to be a date. Remember? I told you he wanted to be friends.”
Jenn pouted. “Then why did I dress you? That was my best outfit, you know.”
“Because Dirk said to dress sexy as people would be taking pictures,” I said.
“So it was all for show?”
“All for show,” I said. “The man is all about Dirk. Do you know he said his career was only as good as his latest Instagram picture?”
“Seriously?”
“I feel sorry for anyone who lives by their image,” I said, and moved into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. “We all get older.”
“Yes, well, tell that to some of those Hollywood actresses. Seriously, they never seem to age.”
