Waterfront Weddings (58 page)

“I don’t do relationships well, Jonathan. I haven’t since. . .”

He could fill in the thought. “Since you left.” Me. “Funny, I don’t do relationships either.”

She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Guess we’re a mess.”

“Yeah.” He gave a final tug and pulled up nothing. The hook dangled naked.

“Guess he got away again.”

“Who?”

“Grandpappy.” She stood and disappeared down the dock.

As he watched the dusk wrap around her, Grandpappy wasn’t the only one who slipped away.

S
unday after church, Alanna returned home, grateful that Patience Matthews had been willing to work. As she settled at the small kitchen table with her laptop, Alanna knew she needed the break. Not just from the store, but to have time to investigate. The view of the pond and her mother’s gardens tried to woo her from her task of tracking down classmates. Instead, she lit a lavender candle and forced herself to focus on finding those on her list. Time passed and the distraction grew as her searches didn’t lead anywhere productive. She stared at the names she’d copied from her yearbook, slowly crossing off each one as she located former classmates.

With each mark, her hope that she’d learn something spiraled. Only a handful still lived on the island. She’d already run into Ginger and Piper and knew she’d bump into the other couple eventually. Still she wrote down phone numbers. A phone call might be easier than a face-to-face interview.

When she checked the last name, she pulled the cordless in front of her and started dialing. The first several numbers had jumped to voice mail, and she dutifully left messages. If her classmates listened, she had no doubt they’d find the calls odd. After all, she hadn’t contacted any in eleven years. After reaching voicemail again, she marked that she’d left a message next to a name then stood to stretch.
Guide me
,
Father
.

She would find the truth. She’d become tenacious to a fault for clients. Now that she could be the one landing in jail, she had even more reason to stick to this until she unraveled the tangled problem.

A knock at the door pulled her to the front room. She opened the door, uncertain whether to smile or close the door when she saw Jonathan on the other side. She hadn’t come here to break up his relationship. But she couldn’t deny the way her heart leapt when she saw him.

He stood a few feet back, his stance wide and hands behind him. He looked ready to tackle a day of hiking in his navy T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts. A grin tweaked only one side of his mouth, not the full-out glad-to-see-her smile she’d received even a day ago.

“What do you need, Jonathan?”

“Wondered if you had time for a field trip?”

“A field trip? This is my first day off, and I’ve got a list of calls to make.” Though she’d really wrapped those up.

“Since it’s your first day, let me take you on a tour.”

She studied him, uncertain what he was up to but knowing the unknown with him was more appealing than another round of messages. “I grew up here. I don’t think I need a tour.”

“You do today.”

Alanna crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame.

“I want to ride out to Hoffmeister’s house. He was having that property dispute.”

“I know that.”

“Let’s poke around. See if we can find anything up there that might shed some light on things. At the same time, you can see the perspective he had for the accident.”

A breeze ruffled her hair as if teasing her to go play. Maybe she could combine a bit of fun with investigating. She could maintain a professional distance with Jonathan. She did it all the time in Grand Rapids, though none of the men she worked with were her first love.

“Come on.”

“Let me lock up.” She grabbed her keys and cell phone then closed and locked the door. When she started toward the shed and her bike, Jonathan stopped her.

“I’ve got it covered.”

“Covered?”

“Come on.”

She hesitated then followed him toward the road. Only then did she notice the tandem bike leaning against the fence. “Jonathan. . .”

“I’ll ride in front, and this way you won’t confront a scene unexpectedly again. If you still freeze, I can get you home.”

She didn’t know whether to be touched or furious. “I’m not that weak.”

He held his hands up. “I never said you were.” He straddled the bike and steadied it. “Climb on.”

It seemed romantic and intimate, being that close and letting him control where they went. Still, she found herself climbing behind him and grasping the handlebars. It had been years since she’d ridden a tandem bike. She blocked the image of the romantic sunset picnic they’d shared from her mind. One stray thought that direction and she’d never recover. All the dreams she’d harbored for them would rush over her. She swallowed and closed her eyes, forcing herself to stay.

“It’ll take a few minutes to find our balance.” She wanted to correct him. Every time she was near him, her careful equilibrium abandoned her faster than a racehorse leaving the starting gate. He pushed off, and she gripped the handlebars. “Here we go.”

The bike teetered on the verge of calamity as they bumped across the path. Alanna tried to focus on the trail but decided it was better if she looked at anything except where they were headed. Nobody wanted a backseat driver, especially on a tandem bike. But when she pinned her gaze on what was in front of her, she stared at the expanse of his shoulders. Now she didn’t know where to look.

Finally, Jonathan steered them off the trail to a smoother path. Her teeth quit jarring, and she glanced around.

“Where does this path go?”

He glanced over his shoulder then turned back to the path. “I forgot it’s new since you left. It’s kind of a back pass as it skirts the golf course and then reaches that collection of homes where Hoffmeister lives.”

“Lived.”

Jonathan nodded. “It saves time from going through town to the paved street and then around the island on Lake Shore.”

Only the sound of the tires against the path broke the background music of tree branches fanning and birds singing. Alanna glanced around, trying to spot some of the songbirds, surprised Jonathan didn’t. “I thought you were a birder.”

“I am. There’s not much I haven’t seen along this path though. There are only so many places to go without swimming.”

Alanna laughed at the image that generated. Jonathan in full birding gear, vest stuffed with a guide in every pocket and a hat and binoculars, flailing his way to the mainland.

“So what are we hearing?”

Did she really want to know? Alanna had never expressed an interest before. Instead, she’d called it odd the summer he started getting interested. Maybe she needed the distraction right now. He could humor her.

“The
beecher-beecher-beecher
comes from a Connecticut warbler. I wouldn’t normally expect to hear one here. Guess the undergrowth is dense enough.” He listened a moment. “The abrupt clicking comes from a black-backed woodpecker. He must not like the company.” A small brown bird flew from one tree to another. “There goes the boreal chickadee.”

“Where do you like to go birding?”

“The backyard. With the pond and all the trees, I really don’t have to wander far to see a variety. To see any great number though, I do have to get to the mainland. Either side works, depending on my mood and how far I want to roam.” As a fork in the road neared, he slowed. “I haven’t gotten away for a while.” He pointed down one path. “After this turn, you’ll see the golf course. Watch for flying golf balls. Some of the visitors think they’re better golfers than they are.”

“Tell me about this neighborhood. Mr. Hoffmeister’s house sat by itself. . .”

He could hear her unspoken
back then
. A lot had changed. “He broke up his piece and subdivided it. Sold the lots and made a nice penny. You’ll see the homes are pretty standard. Small cottages with a Victorian flair. He sold the lot next to his house last.”

“How many houses?”

“Five or six. Not too many. And most of them are occupied by weekenders. They come for a week or two at a time and rent the homes the rest of the time.”

“Keep the tourists coming.”

Jonathan nodded as they rounded a corner and the gated entrance to the Wawashkamo Golf Course came into view.

“Jonathan, why didn’t we take Leslie Road? Why the roundabout?”

“It’s your day off.” Guess he should have known she’d question his path once she understood where they were.

“I think the thick trees will protect us from any misdirected golf balls.” Alanna seemed to turn behind him. “You sure you should be in front?”

He pushed harder against the pedals, propelling the tandem bike across the crushed gravel. “Yep.”

Quiet fell as they pedaled the rest of the way to Straits Trail. Here’s where Alanna needed him. She’d keep going on Stonecliffe, never connecting to Morton Trail. That trail hadn’t led much of anywhere when she lived here. Now the group of homes strung between the two.

The bike bounced across the trail. A mountain bike would have been better suited but not as much fun as having Alanna immediately behind him. He turned slightly and flicked a thumb in the other direction. “Here’s the start of the homes.” Alanna glanced around, and he turned back to the front. “Mr. Hoffmeister’s home is up here a bit.”

“He had such a great location. Secluded. Great view of Lake Huron. Relatively close to town. I wonder why he sold land.”

“I heard the fudge shop had money problems. Needed the cash infusion.” Could those cash-flow problems have pushed him to skim money from the foundation? He didn’t seem like the type to do anything like that. He’d always seemed like an honorable man when Jonathan interacted with him.

“Hmm. I’m surprised he didn’t find another way. He always valued his privacy.”

“Maybe he did. Do you think he could have created the fake accounts?”

Silence followed his question. “I don’t know.” Alanna sighed, her breath tickling his neck. “I hate to think about him that way.”

“Still, there are only a handful of people who would have access to create those accounts.”

“Guess we need to figure out who else could have done it. Those accounts were created during his presidency, so it’s not Tomkin.”

“Could be anyone on the board.”

“How easy would it be for someone on the board to do it?”

Jonathan thought a moment. “Outside the bookkeeper? It wouldn’t be easy at all.”

“Who was the bookkeeper then?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve only been on the board since Gerald came on. Here we are.” Jonathan stopped the bike in front of the small Victorian cottage. On the surface it looked well maintained, but when he looked closer, Jonathan saw peeling paint and a lack of landscaping. Mr. Hoffmeister had let the details go.

Alanna slid off the bike, and the weight shifted, bumping the bike against his calves. She walked toward the side yard and around to the front. “We came here once for a barbecue. It had been a hard winter. Lots of snow and bitter cold. Even more than usual.” She turned and studied the house. “Everybody was so glad to see the snow melt, and Mr. Hoffmeister invited the church over for a spring celebration. He loved the impromptu baseball game and the wild game of tag.”

“He didn’t do that anymore.”

She glanced around and swept the area with a hand. “He couldn’t after letting these other homes in. No space for baseballs to go wild.”

Jonathan scanned the area, trying to imagine what it had looked like before. The homes were tucked in the trees, and he couldn’t imagine a clearing large enough for baseball. “So where do we start?”

“Well. . .” Alanna frowned.

“What?”

“I don’t see any crime-scene tape.”

“Why would you? He was murdered in town, not down here.”

“True, but if I led the investigation, I’d want people to stay back.” She climbed the two stairs to the porch. She glanced around then hurried toward the front door. “That’s odd.”

“What?”

“Mr. Hoffmeister always had a life-size German shepherd statue right beside the door. Said since he was allergic, it was the closest he could come to a guard dog. I never thought he needed one out here by himself. He mentioned it in his note, so it should still be here.” She stopped and brushed the floor. “There’s still a mark where the dog sat.”

Jonathan glanced around. “No dog.”

“No dog.” Alanna tugged at a floorboard, scooped something out, and stood.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting us into the house.”

I
t didn’t feel right, but she knew where the key was. And Mr. Hoffmeister had invited her to explore his home with the note he gave her. No, it didn’t say anything about going inside his home if he were murdered, but in light of what happened, he seemed to know something was wrong. Maybe he’d left some indication in his home.

Alanna stood on the small porch, the spare key in her hand. Sometimes she wished people weren’t so stuck to their habits. If the key had disappeared, then she’d leave right then. Instead, the tiny key felt like it weighed a million pounds. Go in? Stay out?