Fudge Bites Read online

  “Well, that doesn’t sound like a reason to kill a man,” I said.

  “Google it. It was a really rough review. It was the talk of the island for a full month. You see, people loved Anthony, and they took his side. And the review was pretty negative, so even strangers took it seriously. Philip hasn’t had a tour on the island since.”

  “How long ago was that?” I asked.

  “Three months ago,” Brenda said. “Check out the reviews for Northwest Adventure Tours.”

  I grabbed my phone and did a search for a few review sites that Brenda told me to check. “Wow,” I said after going to the fourth review site. “Anthony made sure each site had a bad review.” I looked at Brenda. “This hurt his business even off the island?”

  “That’s the rumor,” Brenda said. “Philip grew up in Petoskey and spent summers working on Mackinac Island before he started his adventure tours business.”

  “It’s a small world,” Frances said. “What does the review say?”

  “It says that Northwest Adventure doesn’t respect the environment on their tours. They do unethical things and leave trash wherever they go.”

  “Oh, that’s not good,” Frances said.

  “It seems that Philip was just going to leave the tour group’s trash on the ground in the park, and he walked away and left a fire going. People around here pride themselves on stewardship of the parks and the land. Everyone is a fan of Smokey Bear.” Brenda shook her head in disgust.

  “Having that get out would ruin him,” I agreed. “Now, he could have answered it and done restitution, and put in place some guidelines for his tours, but I’m not seeing any response at all to the reviews.”

  “The word is that Philip thought the review wasn’t worth addressing. Then his business fell off, and he started blaming Anthony and told everyone who would listen.”

  “Was Philip on the island that night?”

  “Yes,” Brenda said. “I have proof.” She pulled out her phone. “I was taking pictures that night. That’s me in the zombie waitress outfit. See this guy here? The one with the Day of the Dead face paint and the Beetlejuice costume? That’s Philip. Now look.” She thumbed through the photos until she got to the one she wanted. “This is Philip watching Anthony. See that look on his face?”

  “Yes, he looks angry,” I said. “You can tell even through the makeup.”

  “Now look at this picture.”

  The next photo was one of Philip lunging at Anthony. Two of Philip’s friends held him back. It was clear angry words had been said. I don’t know how Anthony’s friends missed this altercation.”

  “Looks pretty bad,” I said. “You should take these to the police. Maggs would really appreciate it.”

  “Well, see, I brought it to you because the police have already talked to Philip. He’s telling people that the cops have ruled him out. That’s not right.”

  “No, that’s not right,” I said. “Do you want me to dig into this?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it’s why I came to you. I’ll send the photos to your phone.” She swiped, and they showed up on my phone. She stood. “Thanks for the coffee. I know if Philip did it, you’ll be able to prove it. Thanks Allie.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said. After she left, I studied the pictures more carefully. It was a lead. Unfortunately, we thought the killer planned the murder. Yet this looked spontaneous. Maybe we were looking at things all wrong.

  Chapter 10

  “Do you know Philip Lemkin?” I asked Liz later that night. Liz had been working on the story of the senior center bombing and stopped by after Frances and Mr. Devaney—I mean, Douglas—had gone home. We were upstairs in my apartment with Mal sleeping at my feet and Mella curled up on Papa Liam’s favorite chair.

  I’d poured us both a glass of wine. Liz was draped across the couch, and I sat in my second-favorite chair.

  “I know of Philip Lemkin. He tried to get his tours in the newspaper. Grandpa told him that he had to pay for an ad. Lemkin refused, and that was that.”

  “Did you know of the feud between him and Anthony?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a feud,” she said. She sipped her wine. “Seriously. If it was a feud, don’t you think Philip would have been the first person I suspected?”

  I frowned. She was right. “So if it wasn’t a feud, why did Brenda think it was? Why were they fighting the night of the zombie walk?”

  She sat up. “What do you mean, they were fighting?”

  “Brenda had pictures.” I pulled out my phone and thumbed open the pictures. “See.” I turned my phone to Liz.

  “Okay. I see Philip looking angry, and here I see Philip being restrained, but who is he trying to fight? This guy?” She pointed to the back of Anthony’s head.

  “Yes, Anthony.”

  “I don’t think that’s Anthony,” she said with a shake of her head. “I think it’s the other guy. Do you still have the pictures I gave you?”

  “Yes, keep scrolling.”

  She swiped through my phone photo album until she came across the pictures from the zombie walk. “See, look, this is the other guy. He has a wedding ring on and so does the Wannabe Anthony or should we call him Anthony two-point-oh?”

  I took my phone back and studied the photos. Sure enough, Philip wasn’t lunging at Anthony. He was lunging at the guy who was dressed the same, maybe Josh Spalding. “I see what you mean. It really is easy to get them confused. If we made that mistake, and Brenda did, too, it’s looking more likely that the killer thought this guy was Anthony.”

  “I agree. Do you think we can rule out someone killing Anthony on purpose?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Brenda also said that the police have already questioned Philip and let him go. Rex would have told me if they had a suspect.”

  “Would he, now?” Liz said in a singsong voice. She waggled her eyebrows. “Why would he do that? Unless the island scuttlebutt is true.”

  “What scuttlebutt?” I asked, trying to remain calm. Did someone besides Frances see Rex leaving in the wee hours?

  “That you and a certain hunky police officer are enjoying each other’s company.”

  “I mean, everyone knows we tried to have a date last month. But then with everything that happened, the date didn’t end up actually being a date.”

  “And now?”

  “Why are you so curious?” I asked, trying to dodge the question.

  She shrugged. “I’m a reporter. I’m nosey by profession. Plus, I don’t have a love life of my own right now, so I have to live vicariously through you. And the word is that Rex was seen leaving your apartment pretty darn late last night—or very early this morning, if you know what I mean. And you know what I mean. What happened to Trent?”

  “Trent and I are broken up,” I said with a sigh. “He’s spent the last month in Chicago helping his father transfer control of the businesses to his children. And Trent’s mom pulled both Trent and Paige off the island. Can you blame her, after what happened to them both this year?”

  Liz shook her head and leaned back against the couch, swirling her wine. “No, I can’t blame her. Lots of people are concerned about the recent rise in crime. It’s bad enough we have an aging population living on the island full time. Now we’re bombing them? People are going to leave here in droves.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Mackinac Island is filled with very strong, sturdy people. They’ve seen wars and terrible storms, droughts, fires, severe cold, and snow. An exploding building isn’t going to keep them down. In fact, I’m having them come to the McMurphy twice a week for cards and crafts. I’m going to bring the senior center to me. I’ve even called and gotten the go-ahead to cater lunches on those days.”

  “That’s cool,” she said. “But aren’t you worried you’ll just bring the bomber to the McMurphy?”

  “No,” I said, reaching down to pet Mal. “I don’t think the bomber would strike twice. Why would he? He’s already sent his message. Besides, the McMurphy has
cameras everywhere and a darn good security system.”

  “I did notice you’re a bit of a Fort Knox around here.”

  “Experience has taught me to be prepared. If a bomber tried to take down the McMurphy, I’d catch him on camera.”

  “So what’s our next step in the investigation?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Did you have a chance to talk to Anthony’s friend Steve? Sorry again for bailing on you.”

  “Yes,” she said and blew out a breath. “He told the same story as Justin. They noticed the double, but not enough to identify him. They were drinking.”

  “And he doesn’t know who might want Anthony dead?”

  “No. Again, it’s the same story. Anthony was a great guy.”

  “Sounds like the investigation is stalled. That said, tomorrow is Thursday, and the seniors will be coming for the first ‘lunch and learn.’ Maybe I’ll learn more about Anthony or the bomber.”

  “What’s the ‘learn’ part? Are you going to teach fudge making?”

  “No, I’ve asked Haley Manx to come and show them how to make glass-bottom pottery.”

  “That sound like fun,” Liz said. “Maybe I’ll come and do a story on it for the newspaper. It could be a nice follow-up to the story about the bombing.”

  “That would be wonderful,” I said, sitting up. “It would be good for the island to see that others still care.”

  “Yes, well, I’d better head out if I’m going to get any work done tonight.” Liz stood. Mella got up with her and stretched. She came with me to walk Liz to the outside door of my apartment.

  “I almost forgot to ask. Any more news on your grandfather?” I asked.

  “They’ve moved him into a nursing home.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Oh, it’s not permanent. It’s to give him a month of full-time therapy and rehab. We hope to have him back at my mom’s house in early December.”

  “Oh, good.” I relaxed my posture as she opened the door and stepped out into the cold, clear night. I reached down and picked up Mal before my pup could run outside. “Thanks for stopping by. Keep your eye out for Anthony’s double, okay? I’d love to talk to him about what happened that night.”

  “I will,” Liz said with a smile. “I’m sure there are a lot of people who would like to talk to him.” Mella slipped out the door with Liz and raced down the stairs and into the alley. “Oh, no!”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Mella likes to go off and explore at night. She always comes back.”

  “Be careful feeding strays,” Liz said with a quick grin. “You might get too many coming back.” She waved, and Mal and I watched as she walked down the alley the half a block to Main Street, where she turned right and disappeared into the night.

  There was a party going on somewhere. I could hear the “Monster Mash” being played and excited chatter mixed with laughter and the clink of glass. It was a surreal reminder that there were still tourists on the island—and that not all zombie parties ended in death.

  * * *

  Mella didn’t come back right away the next morning, which worried me a little. She usually showed up after a night of prowling when I took Mal out for her quick walk first thing each morning.

  I called her name. “Mella, Mella girl. Here kitty, kitty.” I made kissing sounds with my lips, and Mal joined in with a bark or two before I stopped her so she didn’t wake the neighbors. After all, not everyone was in the habit of walking their dog at 5 A.M.

  Sadly, Mal and I went back inside to start our day alone. I trusted that Mella would return eventually. She always did. But I also made a mental note to keep an eye out for her. The longest she had ever stayed away was twenty-four hours, and that was when she first started to come around.

  The rest of the morning went by quickly. Frances had spread the word that I was having the senior center meeting at the McMurphy, so we needed to get the space ready for that. The workmen were busy on the second floor, painting. They had spent yesterday taping off corners and pushing furniture to the middle of the rooms. The mattresses had all been pulled out and hauled away. Papa Liam liked to change them out every three years, which was a good hotel business practice. At least painting wasn’t much noise or bother for the seniors. They were shaken up enough from the explosion—they didn’t need more construction noise.

  I had finished making and shipping my fudge for the day by 9 A.M., and Frances had everything covered with the catering service, who would bring in two kinds of soup, salad, and plates filled with sandwiches, from turkey to roast beef and even vegetarian with cheese. By ten-thirty, we had two long tables set up near the coffee bar, waiting to be filled with food.

  Then Frances, Douglas, and I worked to organize the rest of the lobby for the event. Frances covered the tables near the coffee bar with white tablecloths. Douglas and I moved the chairs and settee over to the other side of the lobby, near the seating area by the front window. We grouped all of the furniture together like a lounge area to sit.

  “We had better make the aisle wide,” Douglas said. “We have a few using wheelchairs and walkers.”

  “Got it,” I said, scooching the settee a little closer to the other chairs and widening the aisle. I figured the seniors would move them to their liking, anyway.

  I pulled out my phone and texted Haley to see what she needed for the demonstration. She texted back that she just needed a table. She was going to bring everything else, including a microphone and speakers.

  Great, I texted back. Speakers are a good idea. I didn’t think of that.

  “I’ve got a demonstration table set up in front of the elevator,” Douglas said.

  “Haley’s bringing speakers, too,” I said.

  “Good, I’ll set them around the room so that everyone can hear.”

  We then brought four more long tables up from the basement and unfolded the legs, setting them up in two rows. It filled the lobby with just enough room for wheelchairs to get around. The doorbells jangled, and Mal barked and ran to greet our guest. It was Haley. She carried a big box and pulled a wagon behind her. I hurried over to help out. “Hi, Haley. Thanks for coming. That’s a lot of stuff, what can I do to help?”

  “I’ve got everything packed in the boxes, but they keep tipping off the wagon.” Her wagon was a little pull cart with no sides.

  “I’ll hold on until we get you all the way in. We have a table set up in the back for your demonstration.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “Oh, hello, Mr. Devaney. How are you?”

  “Good,” he replied gruffly.

  “Do you know each other?” I asked as we stopped in front of the table.

  Haley put the big box on the table and opened it. “Mr. Devaney taught English when I was a senior in high school,” she said. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re pretty young,” I protested.

  “I’m thirty-five,” she replied as she pulled out speakers and set them up.

  “I would have never guessed,” I said.

  We took her materials and tools out of the boxes. She had brought a table cover, clay wrapped in plastic—which I assumed was to keep it from drying out—and smaller boxes filled with tiny shards of colorful glass.

  “I’m going to have them make pinch pots,” she said. “I’ll take them and fire them in my kiln. This time next week, we can meet again and distribute the pots.”

  “Oh, how nice,” I said. “I can’t wait to learn how to make them.”

  “Pinch pots are the simplest introduction to pottery. They may be far too easy for some of your participants,” she warned.

  “But not for me!” I said.

  The doorbells rang. I turned to see Mrs. Tunisian and Mrs. Elliot come in.

  “Hi, ladies, thanks for coming. You’re a bit early. We’re still setting up.”

  “Well, that’s why we are here,” Mrs. Tunisian said. “To help you set up. But it looks like you have most things done.”

  “You can put a small p
acket of clay in front of each chair,” Haley said. “I’ve also got placemats to help contain any mess.”

  “Very smart,” Mrs. Elliot said, taking the pile of placemats. The two ladies and I helped Haley finish. It went very quickly, and I showed the seniors where the coffee was and waved them toward the sitting area near the door. By this time, more people had started showing up. By 11 A.M., we had a packed house.

  While Frances emceed the event, I took Mal outside for a short walk. She was enjoying all the attention from the seniors, but her presence was taking attention away from Haley’s teaching. I checked the alley for Mella while Mal did her business. “Here kitty, kitty,” I called. “I’ve got some treats!” That made Mal’s ears perk up, but it didn’t draw out Mella. We walked our usual route down the alley, along the road toward the lake. I kept my eye out, but there was no sign of my wily cat.

  “Well, at least she isn’t finding dead bodies,” I said to Mal. “Come on, let’s go home.”

  “Allie.”

  I turned to see Mr. Beecher walking toward me. A dapper dresser, today Mr. Beecher wore a fedora and a waistcoat, jacket, and pants. He had also begun using a cane recently, and I hadn’t seen him out walking for a while. We stopped, and Mal sniffed two jack-o’-lanterns while I huddled in my jacket. Fall was truly upon us.

  “Hi, Mr. Beecher,” I said. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, thanks. I hear you found another poor dead soul. Was it Mal who found him again?”

  “No, this time it was Sophie and my cat, Mella,” I said. “You haven’t happened to see her, have you? She’s a lovely calico. She went out last night and hasn’t returned yet.”

  “No, I haven’t seen a calico. There was Percy—a gray-striped fellow who belongs to Mrs. Anderson—and Rex, a nice brown cat, but no Mella.” He looked at me. “I’ve been on the lookout for a cat, too. I like to say hi to the cats when I walk, and I’ve been looking for Angel. I’d also like to see a black cat—black cats are special this time of year.”

  “You certainly know everyone and their pets,” I said. “Wait, perhaps you can help me with identifying someone.”

  “Well, I can try.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a small dog treat, which he offered to Mal. She wagged her stub of a tail in puppy happiness and took it eagerly.