Geared for the Grave (A Cycle Path Mystery) (19 page)

M
y brain snapped back to what Angelo had said about
think global, buy local
. “What if someone here on the island paid Bourne to off Bunny?” I said to Irish Donna as we clip-clopped our way out to British Landing. “A hit in New York doesn’t stand out like it does here—except Bunny got to Bourne before he got to her. Miss Congeniality probably suspected someone might be after her. She’d messed up Smithy’s marriage and kept Huffy and Dwight apart, and who knows what’s going on with Speed. She took the picture, and maybe she threatened to tweet it and ruin Bourne’s reputation. Something like
the worst hit man ever
would be really bad for Bourne’s business.”

“So ye think Bourne did the old biddy in here by cutting her brake cable when things fell apart in the city?”

“I think she blackmailed him with the pictures; that’s why he wanted them back. She was suddenly getting money from somewhere to start fixing up SeeFar. Either Bourne had enough of paying her off and decided to take his chances, or the person who hired him to do the deed in the first place took matters into his or her own hands.”

“So why was Bourne burning books?”

“He used the box of books to get the pictures out of the sale without looking suspicious. Bourne’s bookshelves are more Hemingway than
The Highwayman’s Revenge
,
so he got rid of them. I need to get back into Bourne’s house,” I said, thinking about the locked room. “He’s a businessman. He keeps records. If I can find something that links him to Bunny . . .”

“We can’t talk about that now, dear,” Donna said as British Landing came into view. “Sometimes even the rocks have ears, and things have a way of getting back.”

Soft waves lapped against the freight docks as workers off-loaded crates and boxes from a working ferry that was nothing like the sleek white ferries that whizzed fudgies to and from the mainland. Containers of trash from the island lined the dock to make the return trip. Living on an island was like living in a too-small house—there was only so much room and then something had to go, namely the garbage.

“There ye be, Captain,” Irish Donna called out to the guy I’d met that foggy morning in front of SeeFar. He had on the same stained sweatshirt and beat-up captain’s hat. “I’m checking on me stove that’s finally come in,” Donna said to the captain as she climbed down from the carriage. “Chicago here’s picking up two bikes.”

The captain tipped his hat to Donna, then sent her and a dockworker off to a storage building to find the stove. He checked his clipboard. “Only one bike made the trip this time,” he said to me. “The other one will be along in a day or so, and we’ll deliver it free, since the order got split. The boys here will load you up, but you need to sign the delivery papers in the office.” He gave me a once-over. “Don’t I know you from somewhere? Hard to tell with all that paint. You’re kind of splotchy.”

“Just here to help Rudy.” I gave him the
innocent
look and followed the captain to the front part of the storage building. Two desks, shelves, computers, printers, a bulletin board, a Keurig coffeemaker and a water cooler cluttered the little green room. The captain picked up a stack of papers and flipped through them, a photo of what looked like a cone of black-and-white waves slid out onto the desk. For a second I thought it was the lake or sky at night, except
Mackinac Straights Hospital and Health Center
was stamped at the bottom along with a date.

The captain caught me staring at the picture and scooped it into the top drawer of the desk and slammed it shut. “Sign here.” He thrust the papers at me, his brow furrowing. “I remember where I saw you. You were standing outside SeeFar that morning I was taking a walk.”

He leaned across the desk, eyes cold, voice low and menacing. “I told you to mind your own business then, and I’m telling you again. If you think you know something, you don’t know nothin’. It’s a deep lake we got out there, missy. I’d remember that if I were you.”

I dropped the clipboard on the desk and tried not to run as I went back to the safety of the buggy. Donna was ready to go, the box with the bike wedged in the back. “Is it the right stove?” I asked her as we started off.

“That it is, and I can’t wait to start baking. The boys will be bringing it on out tomorrow first thing. That old stove I have now is a time bomb waiting to go off.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean about waiting for time bombs.”

“Are ye feeling poorly, dear? You’re white as can be under all that . . . white.”

I could feel the captain watching us as we headed down Lake Shore. “Where is Mackinaw Straits Hospital?” I asked when we got out of sight of the captain.

“Over there in Mackinaw City. It’s where we go for the big health issues Doc Evers can’t handle. Pretty much where you’re born and where you die if you’re a local—and you’re looking like ye could be headed there right now.”

Born? The black-and-white picture was an ultrasound. I’d seen my share of them from the girls in the office back in Chicago. “You know how Huffy’s been a little intense lately, even for Huffy? She’s got a reason—she’s pregnant.”

Donna sniffed, her mouth in a deep frown. “I’m gone five minutes now, just five, been on this island for twenty-five years I have, and the captain takes you into his confidence as soon as I turn my back and tells you something like that? You sure know how to be sweet-talking a man.”

Oh for the love of . . .
“There was an ultrasound picture on his desk, and unless the captain’s personally headed for a medical miracle of that persuasion, I think it’s Huffy’s. The captain shoved the thing in his desk as soon as he saw me looking at it, then proceeded to inform me about the depth of the lake and told me that I should keep it in mind.”

Donna grinned. “Well, now I’m feeling better. Thought I was getting out-gossiped by a fudgie.”

“Saints preserve us.”

“Amen. The thing is, I’d be watching my step if I were you, me dear. The captain’s not one for saying something he doesn’t mean, and the man is sure protective of his Huffy. He always has been since Mrs. Captain ran off with the saxophone player from up at the Grand years ago. But you’re right in why Huffy’s acting like a nincompoop, and it explains plenty. She’s wanting a father for her baby before he comes into this here world, and she wants to be living at SeeFar.”

“And now the father is broke, he’s the cook for the mob and they’re the ones who own the house. Poor Huffy.”

“She’s never been a
poor Huffy
. The girl’s not a
sit back
kind of person, she’s more of a
this is mine and I’m taking it
kind of gal.”

“To the point where she’d knock off Bunny to make it happen?”

“Without blinking an eye, she would.” Donna leaned a little closer, even though no one else was around. “Just between us, I wouldn’t be putting it past her to have planned the whole thing—the being pregnant, I mean. She’s not getting any younger, and Dwight and that house of his are what she’s wanted her whole life. And the other part to be thinking about is that the Captain himself must be in a state that things aren’t going well for his little girl. Somebody needs to be paying for the situation. Dwight got her with child, lost the money and the house and has no way to take care of his Huffy the way she deserves.”

Donna heaved a long sigh. “Wouldn’t ya know it, we had this Bunny business figured out, we did, with Bourne being our man, and now I’m thinking Huffy or the captain himself coulda done the deed.”

Or Speed or Smithy.
Lake Shore
turned back into Main Street, and Paddy stopped at the curb in front of the yacht club. “I’ll drop off Ed’s bike,” I said to Donna as I wrestled the box out of the back of the carriage. “I can walk back to the shop from here.”

Donna and Paddy faded down the street, and after convincing the dock master that even though I was a little rough-looking at the moment I was indeed here to make a delivery and not to abscond with a pricey boat, I dragged the box across the wood planks till I got to
Helen’s Heaven
, a really fine sailboat if you liked sailboats. It was moored near the end and bobbing lazily with the lake swells.

I hated bobbing, swells or any up and down movement on the water. I was a
feet firmly on the ground
sort of girl who fervently believed that if God wanted us in or on the water we’d have gills.

I tore open the box and attached the pedals and seat to the really cool new folding bike that was perfect to store on a boat. My stomach rolled in time with the waves as I carried the bike onboard, then headed for home, the sun setting over Mission Point.

I checked in the few bikes we had rented, letting Rudy nurse his throbbing head, then closed up shop for the night. Miles Davis tunes drifted in from Marquette Park, but I was too beat to appreciate anything but a bath and sleep.

*   *   *

The next morning
I added the final touches to the white trim as Fiona, complete with purple sequin hat, stopped her horse cart at the curb beside the bike shop. “Girl,” she said as she climbed down, “every time I see you, you’re a different color.” She stepped closer. “Any fallout on our JB adventure?”

“That glass building we saw is in New York City. Maybe JB was hired to knock off you-know-who, and she figured it out and got a picture of him in the act and was blackmailing him.”

“And I thought my putting out a special edition on the great Mackinaw Bridge walk was exciting.”

“But I don’t have any proof . . . yet. So, tell me about the walk.”

“Every year they shut down the bridge and people walk across, unless it’s too windy and walkers might get blown into the lake. It’s been a tradition for as long as I can remember. The walk part, not the being blown into the lake part.”

Fiona sighed, a smile tripping across her face. “Ya know, I’m glad I’m back here, I really am. I was bummed I was fired from the
Inside Scoop
—kind of embarrassing to get the ax from a second-rate rag. But now you’re here and we’ve got suspects and bodies and talking motives.”

“Huffy’s dad threatened to throw me in the lake.”

“Well, there you go. This place is great. Think I’ll buy a new snowmobile for when the lake freezes over. Then we can buzz back and forth to the mainland.”

“Snowmobiles?”

“NASCAR, Mackinac style.” Fiona nodded at the Good Stuff. “That fudge Irma and I cooked up must be something. It’s not even ten o’clock and there’s a group of oldsters sitting on the rock wall, barefooted, scarfing chocolate fudge from there and giggling like preschoolers. There’s even fudgies coming out of Doud’s Market eating chips by the handful, bags from the Good Stuff swinging from their arms. And there’s a line of customers waiting outside Irma’s shop.”

“With a guy strumming a guitar,” I added as I closed the paint can and studied the scene. “Usually the only thing the senior set waits for around here is the early bird special over at the Yankee Rebel or the ferry. And why Irma’s fudge? There’s a bunch of them on the island. How much alcohol do you think Irma uses?”

Fiona gave me an
oh boy
look and we headed over to the Good Stuff. “Is the fudge here really that good that you’re willing to queue up for it?” I asked a blue-haired woman with a straw purse waiting in line.

A woman in a tangerine orange jacket and white slacks looked me dead in the eyes. “Honey, I’m here to tell you that my arthritis has never been better than when I eat the Good Stuff. That there Bourbon Bombshell fudge is mighty tasty, I’ll give you that, but it’s the Herbal Euphoria fudge that’s the best, and I’m keeping it all for myself and not sharing it with anyone, I don’t care who they are.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and a woman in a sun hat adorned with pink and purple straw flowers added, “Why, I haven’t felt this good since a jar of white lightning got accidentally-on-purpose dumped in the church punch five Christmases ago. It’s like I’m back in college again.”

“It’s better than Prozac for chasing the blues,” a bald-headed man added, the guitar player now strumming “Like a Rolling Stone,” with everyone swaying to the tune. Another guy took off his tie and fastened it across his forehead. The woman with the hat yanked off a big pink flower and stuck it in his headband.

Fiona and I looked from the happy guitarist to the people giggling on the rock wall to another group coming out of Doud’s. Fiona sucked in a breath. “We got bags of Doritos, Cheetos and Fritos and a guy with a flower in his bandana playing the guitar.”

“Herbal Euphoria?” I asked the bald-headed man.

“Gives you a terrible case of the munchies, but you sure do feel good.”

Fiona grabbed my hand and held it tight. “Smithy’s herbal butter, the munchies, giggling like kids and feeling really good?”

“Holy Chicago!”

“I
’m going to strangle Smithy with my own two hands,” Fiona growled as we pushed our way into Irma’s shop, Fiona elbowing customers to the side, something she probably learned in getting the
Inside Scoop.
“Do you know what you’re doing here?” Fiona asked Irma when we got to the marble-top table.

“Hello, dears. I’m selling fudge, lots and lots and lots of delicious fudge. Don’t you just love the rainbow icing peace signs I drizzled across the top of this batch, and the little flowers in the middle? Isn’t life won-der-ful, completely won-der-ful?” Irma was dressed in a flowered skirt with a pink geranium stuck in her hair and no shoes.

“Do you have any idea why everything is so wonderful?” I asked her.

“The fudge I’m making is won-der-ful; just ask anyone here.” She touched Fiona’s cheek and smiled. “I have so many won-der-ful customers buying my fudge and having fun. We’re having lots and lots and lots of fun. Don’t you love my skirt? I had it packed away in that box with my Lovelace books. No one even knows who she is. I think I’ll get the books out and read them again. They are won-der-ful, just like my fudge.”

“Look,” Fiona said, a hint of sternness to her voice to try and get Irma’s attention. “You can’t do what you’re doing, it’s against the law—at least in this state it’s against the law.”

“What’s against the law?” Rudy asked, shuffling out of the kitchen area. He had on shorts, sandals and a flowered shirt, with his hair pulled back into a . . . ponytail? Really? More peace signs decorated his cast, along with inscriptions like
We love you, man
and
Hang loose
.

Rudy gave Irma a peck on the cheek and put his arm around her. “We’re over twenty-one; we’re legal.”

Irma tickled Rudy. “And some of the stuff you do should be against the law, you silver fox.”

“What are
you
doing here?” I asked Rudy. “You’re already in enough trouble.”

“I’m making trail mix and helping Irma.”

“Let me guess,” Fiona said. “You’re both using the herb butter I got from my dear brother Smithy, whom I intend to beat to a pulp.”

“Best stuff ever,” Irma said, a silly grin tripping across her face. “Makes us even for you buying the peanut butter fudge over at Rita’s.” Irma kissed Fiona on the cheek. “You always were such a sweet girl. Maybe you can get more of that butter; business is booming. I bet Smithy’s cooking up another batch right this minute.”

Fiona gave me an
Oh dear God in heaven
look, and I said to Irma and Rudy
,
“You got to get rid of this . . . stuff—every bit of the Herbal Euphoria fudge. And the trail mix has got to go. If Fiona and I can figure this out, so can Nate, and he’s going to come barging in here and have to arrest his own mother and you’ll all be in jail braiding each other’s hair and singing ‘Kumbaya.’ Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Throw it out, both the fudge and the mix?” Rudy wagged his head. “Everything? Why?”

“Into the lake it goes,” Fiona said. “And you’ve got to do it immediately. Think of it this way: You’ll make a lot of fish really, really happy.”

“I don’t get it,” Irma said, her eyes dreamy.

“You lived the sixties,” I said, trying to reason with them. “Bob Dylan, flowers, lava lamps . . . you’re playing ‘In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida’ on a turntable, for God’s sake! Doesn’t this seem a little familiar? My guess is you both ordered beads and Birkenstocks online this morning, and Doud’s is no doubt completely out of every kind of chip imaginable by now.”

Rudy looked from me to the fudge, a hint of sanity returning. “Oh.”

“Yeah,
oh
. Fiona and I have to get to Smithy before this goes any further. Promise me you’ll shut down and clean this place out right now. And do not eat or sell any more fudge!”

Fiona and I ran for the door and climbed in her horse cart as Rudy started telling everyone the Good Stuff was shutting down for the day due to a family emergency . . . like the possibility of Irma winding up in the pokey stoned out of her gourd, with her son standing guard.

“If Smithy’s brewing another batch, we got to stop him before Nate shows up,” Fiona said. “If Smithy winds up in jail, the parents will totally blame me.”

We did a fast trot past Trayser’s Trading Post and Thunderbird Gifts. Fiona was the Tom Petty of the horse cart world. We passed Speed’s bike shop with a banner saying the Speedsters were having carb night at Goodfellows. Well dang, I should learn to ride a bike just for the pasta. We cut up Astor to Market Street, and the blacksmith shop was just ahead.

“The double doors are open,” Fiona said. “The blacksmith is in, probably lecturing a group of tourists. Just wait till he hears the lecture I’m going to give him.”

Fiona pulled the cart to a stop and hopped out, with me following, trying to think of some way to keep Fiona from flattening her brother. She made her way to the front of the crowd and growled to Smithy, “We got to talk.”

“I’m in the middle of a presentation.”

“We need to talk
now
,
brother dearest.” She looked Smithy right in the eyes; his face was red and sweaty from the hot coals. “Butter.”

Smithy dropped his hammer, his eyes now the size of goose eggs. “You know what happened to my butter?”

“It ain’t pretty.”

“That’s all for today, folks,” Smithy said to the crowd. “Everybody out. Come back tomorrow.” He spread his arms wide, backing everyone through the doors and onto the front lawn. “We got a horseshoe emergency here. I gotta make a barn call.”

Smithy came back into the barn and slammed the doors together, locked them then faced Fiona. “Where is it?”

“It wound up in fudge that is selling like all get-out over at Irma’s.”

“You took my herb butter?”

“How was I supposed to know it was that kind of herb! Now we have a bunch of toasted seniors wandering the streets and passing out flowers and flashing the peace sign. Chances are good they might start flashing something else.”

“You really need to give it back.”

“That’s the whole point—it’s gone, consumed, digested. I helped Irma with a new fudge recipe, and that butter was the new part and it’s a really big hit. You got a nice side business going on here, way beyond growing oregano and sage. Bet you’re making a killing with selling it off. How could you—”

“He’s not selling off anything,” Nurse Jane Porter said, coming down the steps from the loft, a bag of herbs in her hand. She sidled up close to Smithy and slid her arm through his. “This terrific guy is my hero; he’s a hero to a lot of people around here.”

“Let me guess,” I said, stepping in since Fiona looked close to a stroke. “You two are the president and vice president of the island feel-good society?”

Jane Porter smiled up at Smithy. “You could say that. The butter is for two ladies on chemo, a man suffering from depression and another from MS. They got prescriptions for the stuff, but do you have any idea how expensive those prescriptions are? And it’s not very good quality. I see these folks week in and week out struggling, and it just broke my heart. I knew Smithy had a garden and I asked him to help me to help them and we came up with a plan.” Jane batted her eyes and sighed. “He’s terrific.”

“P . . . Prescription?” Fiona muttered.

“Sorry about pushing you out of the loft,” Smithy said to me. “I couldn’t have you blowing the whistle on us.”

“I make
special
brownies once a week,” Jane went on. “Evie saw Smithy that night at the Grand. He was making a delivery to a bartender with MS. With the busy jazz weekend, he couldn’t get to the clinic.”

Fiona sank down onto a little wood bench by the forge and looked from Jane to Smithy. “So you two are an item?”

“For almost a year; ever since we started this.” Smithy winked at Jane. “We both had bad breakups, so we kept our relationship to ourselves. And I have a daughter to consider. We wanted to make sure this was the real thing before we let the cat out of the bag.”

“But I’m your sister.”

“And you’re a reporter.”

“And you didn’t kill Bunny?” I added.

Smithy looked confused. “I thought Rudy did her in—not that I blame the man.” Smithy hugged Jane. “Constance and I probably would have muddled through our marriage and been unhappy for years. Thanks to Bunny being Bunny, we didn’t. She did me a favor; probably the only favor she’s ever done in years, even if she didn’t mean to.”

“Listen to me,” Fiona said, wagging her finger big-sister-style. “You guys really need to lock up the butter and get it to a better hiding place.”

“Better hiding place for what?” Sutter asked, coming in through the side door, the screen slamming shut behind him and Jane standing right there with a bag of
prescription
in her hand.

Fiona and I exchanged
uh-oh
looks, and I stepped between Sutter and Jane, saying, “Smithy’s dried blueberries are so amazing that everyone on the island’s going to be wanting some, and they might even steal them, so he better hide them.”

Once again proving beyond all doubt that I sucked at lying.

“I think you’re all crazy.” Sutter sighed, then turned his attention to me. “But right now I don’t care. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Me?” I sighed. “Why?” There was getting to be a long list of
whys
, and at this particular moment I had Angelo’s lock-picking set in my back pocket so I could return it to him.

“There’s a woman over at the station,” Sutter said. “She won’t talk to anyone, won’t even give me her name, but she insists on talking to you, and she’s . . .”

“What?”

“Rich, demanding, obnoxious, a pain in the ass even worse than you—hard to imagine.” Sutter rocked back on his heels. “So which bluffie did you tick off now, Chicago, to get someone like this in your life?”

Lately that covered a lot of territory. “Let’s go,” I said, grateful for a reason to get Sutter out of the barn. I followed him to the side door and glanced back at Fiona giving me the
okay
sign.

The police station was close, so Sutter wouldn’t encounter many seniors off in la-la land. I figured if I could keep him occupied for a few more hours with this woman, the whole island would slowly shift back to reality. No matter who this bluffie was or how obnoxious or snotty, she was a blessing. I followed Sutter into the station, past Molly the desk clerk, her eyes round and terrified, then to his office door, which he opened to reveal . . .

“Mother?”