by Nancy CoCo
“How can I help?” I asked.
“We’re having a bake sale as a fund-raiser. Would you be interested in donating some fudge and a couple hours of your time?”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “When is it?”
“Saturday morning,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “We have a space on the lawn in front of the fort reserved. We hope that with it being Saturday we’ll get some traction from fudgies that come in for the day. The weather is supposed to be good.”
“What time do you need me there?” I asked. Mal jumped up on her begging for a head scratch.
“Nine thirty,” Mrs. O’Malley said, and patted Mal’s head. “The ferries run the first group over at ten.”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
“Say, I heard you found a second body.”
“Yes, but I haven’t heard if they have identified the poor man. Do you know?”
“Rumor is that it was Cyrus Johnson’s nephew.”
I drew my eyebrows together. “He looked older.”
Mrs. O’Malley laughed. “Cyrus is ninety. So I’m sure his nephew would be older to you.”
“Is his nephew missing?”
“The boy was always a bit of a hermit. Cyrus went out to his place this morning to see if he’s alive.”
“Wouldn’t the people he worked with know if he was missing?”
“The boy hasn’t worked since the 1990s. He was a postman. Did something to his back while working and they paid him a good sum for workman’s comp. He moved into the family house and has basically retired ever since.”
“Surely, he has some friends, someone to know if he is missing.”
She shrugged. “He’d go in spurts. Sometimes he’d be at the Nag’s Head Bar for days on end. Then he’d disappear for a month or so. Suddenly he’d pop up full of stories.” She leaned toward me. “The boy is a drunk,” she said in a stage whisper. “Everyone knew it.”
“Poor man,” I said. “That’s no way to live.”
“It’s the back injury. They say he got hooked on pain meds. Then when the doctors took those away he turned to drink.”
“I certainly hope he’s okay.”
“Well, I’m not hoping he’s dead, but it might be better than the way he’s been living.” She nodded and tightened her mouth into a straight line.
“If it is Mr. Johnson’s nephew, why would someone want to kill him? I mean, he seems harmless.”
“Probably a crime of opportunity,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “Just like the last dead man. A single guy, loner, no one the wiser when he goes missing.”
“Do you think the killer is looking for these kinds of marginalized men?”
“Marginalized?” she asked, tilting her head as she observed me.
“You know, living on the fringes of society.”
“Humph, they live there because they choose to, you know,” she said. “Not because anyone made them.”
“Right, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to imply . . .”
“Well, then you need to see that policeman boyfriend of yours and tell him to warn all the bachelors on the island. It could be that the killer doesn’t like single men.”
“Wait, my policeman boyfriend?”
“Honey, everyone knows you have a date with Rex Manning tonight.”
“Sheesh, there are no secrets on this island, are there?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know why anyone thinks they can get away with murder here. The truth always comes out in the end. Mark my words.”
“Right, well, I need to go see Mr. Beecher,” I said. “Thank you for your information.”
“I’ll see you Saturday morning bright and early, won’t I?” Mrs. O’Malley asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be there.” I tugged on Mal’s leash and pulled her away from whatever smells she was interested in and down the street toward Mr. Beecher’s house.
The good news was that Mr. Beecher was probably all right. Otherwise Mrs. O’Malley would have told me he wasn’t.
Mr. Beecher lived two roads behind the McMurphy and two blocks down in a small bungalow that was painted a sunny yellow with blue trim around the windows. The maple tree in his front yard had begun to turn bright red in patches. I walked up to the door and knocked.
This time I heard shuffling as he made his way to the door and opened it. “Allie?” he asked as he opened the door. He was dressed in a smoking jacket and a pair of pajama pants. His face looked drawn.
“Hi, Mr. Beecher,” I said. Mal pushed her way into the door and sniffed his leg. “I haven’t seen you in a while and got worried. Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Come on in. Don’t mind the mess. I’ve been under the weather lately. Can I get you some tea?”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” I said.
“No, no, I’m making it for myself as well,” he said, and waved me toward the living room. “Please, you and Mal have a seat. I’ll be right out.”
The home was small. You stepped into a small foyer that opened to a living area and dining area and then a small kitchen in the back. The place was decorated in dark wood and green and white paint with leather seating. There was a large fireplace off to the side and he had clearly been sitting near the fire reading a book.
Mal sniffed around. There was a pipe in a pipe tray. Next to a dark brown, leather-covered easy chair. I took a seat in the second chair. The chairs had tufted backs. The floor was covered in a plaid carpet. The wall opposite the fireplace was filled with bookshelves and books. The wall that was exposed was painted green. Mal enjoyed her sniff around. The room smelled of cherry pipe tobacco.
“Ah, I’ve made Earl Grey,” he said, coming in with a tray filled with a teapot, cream and sugar, slices of lemon, and two teacups with saucers. He set them down on the small table between us. “How do you take your tea? Milk? Sugar? Lemon?”
“A little lemon, please,” I said. He placed a slice of lemon on my saucer, poured the tea, and handed it to me. Then he made his with milk and sugar and settled back into his chair. His eyes shone with delight at the taste of his tea. “How have you been?”
“Ah, yes, just a little cold,” he said. “That’s what the doctor tells me. Plenty of tea and rest should do the trick.” Mal jumped her front feet on his knee. He patted her head. “Hello, my little friend. I’m afraid I don’t have any treats in my pocket today.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Mal missed you.”
“What has been happening? Any news on the capture of the murderer?”
“No,” I said. “I thought perhaps if I went to the senior center and tried to join the chess club I would learn something, but the trail had gone cold. That is until the other night.”
“The other night?”
“Yes, I took Mal out for a walk along the marina and, well, we found another body.”
“Oh dear,” Mr. Beecher said.
“The worst part was that the body was dressed like you. Right down to the same waistcoat. He even wore a fedora like yours. The poor man’s face was covered and I was so afraid something bad had happened to you.”
“Oh dear,” he said, and put down his cup. “Who was the poor victim?”
“We don’t know,” I said. “Rex hasn’t given me an identity yet. I ran into Mrs. O’Malley on the street today. She said there is some speculation it was Mr. Johnson’s nephew.”
“Another loner,” Mr. Beecher said.
“Yes,” I said, nodding, and I sipped my tea.
“Was there a note?”
“Yes, another chess move. There seems to be a theory that the killer is replaying all of my solved murders. For each one he replays he is writing a move from—”
“An old Bobby Fischer game,” he interrupted me.
“Yes,” I said, and drew my eyebrows together. “How did you know?”
“I did some research on it. It’s strange that he picked that game. I wonder if there is any significance?” The old man sipped his tea thoughtfully. “That
particular game was played in1956,” Mr. Beecher said. “Perhaps the killer wants you to know something about that year.”
“1956,” I said. “I think that’s the year my father was born. I need to check into that.”
“Do you think the killer might have known your father?”
“I don’t know. It seems though that they are busy killing men who live alone. It’s why I came to check on you.”
He laughed. “Oh, my dear, I am not even remotely a hermit like the first victim and the man we suspect was the second victim. My granddaughter comes to see me often. Plus, I have a housekeeper who comes in three times a week. I’m part of the library association and the Knights of Columbus on the island. People would miss me if I didn’t get out in a day or two. Why, you even came looking for me and I’ve been sick only a few days.”
“Oh,” I said, and sat back happier. “That is good. I was afraid at first that you might be a victim. I mean, why else would they dress the latest victim to match your usual mode of dressing?” I frowned. “Who else knows you are sick and haven’t been getting out?”
“I suppose anyone who is a regular on the island,” he said. “Like I said, I’m not a hermit.”
“Were you born in 1956?”
“I was ten in 1956,” he said.
“So that year doesn’t mean anything to you?”
“I was learning to play chess,” he said. “The chess club was quite the thing in those days. Nothing like it is today.”
“Do you know if my Papa Liam played chess back then?”
“Oh dear, yes,” he said, and drew his white bushy eyebrows together. “In fact Liam was very much involved in the chess club back then. I was a junior member of the team, but Liam was the one making all the waves. Your grandfather was a bit of a lothario in the day.”
“Not to change the subject, but do you know Jeffery Jenas ?”
“Hmm, no, why?”
“He’s the writer for the television mystery show that is filming on the island right now. I guess he has been on Mackinac Island since I got here in May. He’s spent the entire time writing half of a season’s worth of scripts.”
“What does this young man look like?”
I described Jeffery. “He’s staying with Mrs. O’Connor.”
“I have seen him on my walks,” he said. “I understand he takes a lot of walks. Not much for speaking though. Nothing past a quiet tug on his hat and an acknowledgment of you walking opposite of him.”
“I wonder if he has any ties to Mackinac,” I said, and made a mental note to ask the ladies at the senior center if they might have known any Jenases who would have been on the island in or around 1956.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Mr. Beecher said. “Unless he’s related to the island Jenases. But I doubt that. When he first got here, he got a lot of guidance from the welcome center.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know the ladies who volunteer there. They were always digging up old pamphlets and things to give him. The ladies were quite taken with him. Charming sort, I guess.”
“He would have been here from the start of my adventures when I found Mr. Jessop in my utility closet.”
“It could certainly be him,” Mr. Beecher said. “You should look into his background. He is a writer, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then he must have some sort of website or portfolio of work online. You should take a look. It could clear up a lot of things for you.”
“Oh, true,” I said. “I’ll do that.”
Mr. Beecher started coughing.
“Oh, let me get you some water.”
“Kitchen,” he gasped.
I went through the dining room and into the immaculate little kitchen. I opened the cabinets by the sink and found a glass, filled it with water, and brought it back to him.
He had a tissue in his hand and tears in his eyes and I handed him the glass. He took it and took a couple of swallows. “Thank you.”
“You look tired,” I said. “We’ll go. Do you want me to get you anything? Do you have groceries? I can go to the store for you.”
“I have chicken soup and crackers,” he said with a half smile. “I’ll be fine. The doctor says I need to give it time.”
“Can I come back sometime? Say in a day or two?”
“That would be lovely,” he said. “You can tell me what else you find out about this writer and if you find out for sure the name of the second dead man.”
“I will,” I said. “You get some rest and you really shouldn’t smoke. Even a pipe isn’t good for your lungs.”
He chuckled. “I know. My doctor has been after me. I promise I haven’t had a smoke since I got this darn cold.”
“Good,” I said, and leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Get well soon.” I straightened. “Come on, Mal, let’s go. Don’t get up. I’ll show myself out.” Mal and I stepped out into the cool air. The breeze off the lake had the faint scent of fall. “Let’s go see Rex, shall we?” I asked Mal. She jumped up. I knew she liked Rex. So did I.
The walk to the administration building was short and uneventful. We stepped inside the police station. Officer Pulaski sat at the front desk. “Hello, Brent,” I said. “How are you today?”
“I’m good, Allie,” he said. “Any problems at the McMurphy?”
“Not today. I was wondering if Rex was in?”
“I’ll ring him,” he said, and called Rex. “Allie McMurphy is here. Yes. I’ll let her know.” He hung up and looked at me. “He’ll come out and get you in a minute. You can have a seat.”
The hard plastic chairs in the foyer were familiar to me. I settled in and Mal begged for me to pick her up. So I held her in my lap. It didn’t take long for Rex to come out and get me. “Allie, come on back to my office.” He held the door open for me. I stepped inside and waited for him to walk me back to his office.
“What can I do for you today?” he asked as he showed me into his office and closed the door.
“I was wondering what you learned about Ryan. Did he admit to doing any of the pranks?”
“Yes,” Rex said, and took a seat behind his desk. “He admitted to the chicken and the bear and even locking Mal in the basement.”
“Horrible,” I said. “Did he tell you why?”
“He said that some guy paid him a couple hundred dollars to do it.”
“Really?” I leaned forward. “Did he say who?”
“No,” Rex said, and picked up a pen. He tapped the pen on the top of his desk. “He said he didn’t know.”
“How can he not know?”
“It was all done via e-mail. The request came through a social media direct message. Ryan told the guy that he needed to pay him before he did anything. The next day an envelope showed up at his door with fifty dollars in it.”
“Can I press charges?” I asked.
“Do you want to?” Rex asked. “I mean, the disruption to the McMurphy is minor.”
“The price of my security system is far from minor,” I groused.
“Better to have it put in place over a prank than another murder,” Rex pointed out. “You should talk to your insurance guy. I bet you get a better rate with the new system and cameras in place.”
“Why would someone pay a kid to play pranks? Did he want me to have to get a security system?”
“I don’t know,” Rex said, and leaned back in his chair.
“Do you think it’s the murderer trying to mess with me? If so, why wouldn’t he do these things himself ?”
“Maybe to throw us off the scent,” Rex said.
“Did you identify the second body?” I asked. “Mrs. O’Malley tells me they think it’s Cyrus Johnson’s nephew.”
“Yes,” Rex said. “Cyrus came to the morgue today and identified the body as that of his nephew, Tad. He also told us that those clothes didn’t belong to Tad Johnson.”
“I didn’t think they did,” I said. “I knew he was trying to make it look like Mr. Beecher was
dead. I came here from checking on Mr. Beecher. The poor man has a cold and has been home sick this week. Whoever the killer is, he knows the island and he knows that I talk to Mr. Beecher nearly every day when he walks down my alley.”
“That seems like a lot of work,” Rex said. “Do you think the killer is stalking you?”
“I think he’s familiar with the island,” I said. “It’s a small place. Whoever the killer is, they sure can scare me.”
“Yes, I figured it was a local.”
“Do you know what significance the year 1956 might have?”
“No, why?”
“It’s the year that Bobby Fischer beat Donald Byrne in a chess match. The moves the killer is writing in the letters come straight out of that particular game.”
“How do you know that?”
“I Googled it,” I said. “And Sandy told me. Oh, and Mr. Beecher has studied the game.”
“Interesting,” Rex said.
“So any idea why that was an important year? Mr. Beecher said the chess club was big back then. He and my grandfather were members.”
“Do you think Mr. Beecher is in trouble?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, and shrugged. “But it might not hurt to keep an eye on him. He was with me when I found the first body.”
“And the second body was dressed like him.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m not into chess, but Mr. Beecher was.”
“Interesting,” Rex said, and sat back.
“Do you think it was the killer who paid Ryan?”
“We’re looking into that.”
“Does that mean that Ryan might be in danger?”
“I had a good talk with him. He promised not to ever do anything like that again. Officer Lasko is looking at pressing charges for assault.”
“Oh,” I said, and sat forward in my chair. “What will happen to Ryan?”
“I’m going to recommend community service,” Rex said. “I know the judge.”
“But won’t it go on his record?” I asked. “The kid is young, it was a mistake.”
“I can’t tell Lasko not to press charges. He hit her hard.”
“I understand,” I said with a sigh, and sat back. “I wish he hadn’t done it.”
“I agree,” Rex said. His look warmed me. “Are we still on for eight tonight?”
