by Cara Putman
“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.”
28
It 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?
With a key, it wasn’t really breaking in—she hoped.
But if she stayed outside, she’d never find answers that waited on the other side of the door. With a murderer on the loose, she had to try. The Mackinac Island police weren’t any more equipped to investigate a murder than she. The difference was they thought she was a prime suspect.
She didn’t kill Mr. Hoffmeister. Now she had to prove it. She glanced at the man standing next to her, arms crossed. He’d brought her here, but would he go along with searching the house?
“So?” Jonathan studied her, his chin tilted toward the house. “Are we going in or waiting for someone to call the police?”
Alanna glanced around the houses that appeared empty. It only took one nosy neighbor to compound her problems with the police.
“In we go.” She slotted the key into the lock and listened for the click. The door swung open with a soft groan.
“Now what?”
Alanna let her eyes adjust to the dim light. “Let’s start with a quick survey of the rooms. That shouldn’t take long.” The front room stood pretty empty. A dilapidated couch pushed against one wall while a row of leaning bookcases lined another. She ran a finger along the spines. “He took such pride in his collection. And this room used to have nice furniture. I wonder what happened.”
Jonathan shrugged and then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not sure. I didn’t know him very well. Just friendly greetings when we bumped into each other. Maybe he had to help Ginger out when she got pregnant. She was pretty young when she became a mom.”
Nothing stuck out in the quick survey of the living area, so Alanna walked to the kitchen. “Did you know Mr. Hoffmeister was something of a gourmet cook?” Jonathan shook his head. “He favored vegetarian dishes, but I liked sampling them. Usually had hints of spices my mom never touched. Made for a new experience even if I did keep a glass of water close.”
“Did your family spend a lot of time here?”
“Maybe once a season. We all worked hard but liked to play when we peeled away the time.” Alanna opened drawers, finding only silverware and the expected hodgepodge drawer filled with junk. At this rate, she’d never find anything valuable.
Jonathan opened a couple of cupboards but didn’t seem to find anything interesting either. “Upstairs?”
“I guess.” Alanna had never been upstairs. Mr. Hoffmeister had treated it as off-limits, an easy request to comply with when a wide-open expanse around the house and the hike down to the beach awaited. As soon as she got upstairs, Alanna entered the bedroom that overlooked the beach. She pulled back the curtains.
“See anything?”
She shook her head. “Why did I think this view or perspective would make a difference? I was so much closer on the beach.”
“Maybe Hoffmeister saw something. Or maybe you wanted to believe this would add key data.”
“Maybe.” Alanna’s shoulders slumped forward under the challenge of finding answers. She shifted to try a different angle. “I just want to find the truth. Even if it’s not what I want, the truth is the key to bringing Trevor home. His paintings are too good not to sell with his name.”
Jonathan stood next to her, his shoulder brushing hers. He stared out the window, shifting his head slightly as he scanned. “Where exactly was the party?”
Alanna scanned over the trees, trying to find the crop of rocks where they had built the bonfire. Had the trees grown that much? She couldn’t find the rocks but pointed toward the left. “It should be down there.”
“Should be?” The skepticism in his words pierced her.
“Things have changed.” Even as she said the words, she heard her defensiveness. She couldn’t help wondering what else had changed that she hadn’t noticed. Alanna leaned against the windowsill, breaking contact with Jonathan. “What now?”
“We keep looking. Mr. Hoffmeister had something for you. We should at least check all the rooms. Maybe we’ll find it.” Jonathan moved to the small closet and opened the door. “I don’t see anything in here.”
“Why would he leave it in a closet? Unless he worried someone else would come?”
“Whoever killed him would have come up here next if there was something to find.”
It made sense. But it didn’t answer the question what that item could be. As they moved into the other bedroom, Alanna tried to imagine what it might be.
From the way Alanna’s nose screwed up, she was deep in thought. He gave her some space t
o formulate her thoughts while he surveyed this last room. So far nothing had jumped out at him—other than the fact that Alanna wasn’t finding anything from the view of the accident site or the elusive item Mr. Hoffmeister mentioned.
Had she imagined it?
He brushed the question aside. He didn’t want to think Alanna had fabricated the situation. Yet nothing added up.
He watched her, hoping something would exonerate her and remove the cloud of suspicion. The bedroom was a clean widower’s pad. If anyone came in to search the house after Hoffmeister’s death, they’d been extremely careful to leave no trace of their presence. The house didn’t look anything like the trashed houses he saw in movies. Instead, if anyone had come in, they’d done a thorough job of keeping their presence and identity hidden.
Alanna moved like one in a trance. Her steps faltered as she entered his bedroom. He couldn’t discern what had caught her attention, since the room looked like a typical man’s room. Plain bedspread in a deep navy with a couple of pillows tossed on top. A dresser with a cluttered surface. Closet door cracked.
“Why’s the door open?” Alanna’s whisper almost didn’t reach him.
“What?”
“All the other doors have been firmly closed. Yet this one is open.”
He studied it then turned to her. “I wouldn’t call it open.” Still, he could see her point. “Maybe it’s different because this was his room.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide. The door barged open, slapping the wall. A man barreled from it, gun drawn, but instead of shooting, he shoved into Alanna, knocking her to the ground. Clad in jeans, a hunting jacket, and stocking cap, the man rushed toward the stairs. Jonathan pushed after him, jumping over Alanna. She groaned but seemed okay. The man, however, would disappear if Jonathan couldn’t catch him.
“Stay here,” Jonathan yelled over his shoulder as he rushed after the man. The front door was flung open when he reached the main room. He raced toward it then stopped. What if the man had done that to get him to chase into the yard, leaving Alanna by herself? Then the invader could circle back upstairs and hurt her. He glanced around the room and stepped back to glance behind the couch. No one lurked there or in the kitchen, so he raced out the door and launched off the porch.
Jonathan froze, listening for any sound as he scanned the area. The bright hunting jacket disappeared into a copse of trees. Jonathan took off in that direction. The thrashing of breaking branches and leaves underfoot pulled him forward. He had to catch the man. Find out why he’d been in the house. The man left a trail as wide as an elephant, not slowing as he ran pell-mell through the trees. Jonathan huffed as he pushed to gain ground.
He pumped his arms. Willed his legs to move. For all the biking and walking the island required, he should be in good enough shape to catch the intruder. Instead, the distance spread between them.
Jonathan dug deep and pushed on with a spurt of energy. He had to catch this guy.
He tugged his cell phone from his pocket. No bars. Argh! He shoved it back in his pocket and sucked in a breath. The man stumbled, and Jonathan gained a few feet. There was something familiar about the way the man moved. Racing, Jonathan couldn’t identify him from behind. The man crossed a trail, and Jonathan skidded to a stop as a group on bicycles pedaled past. By the time the straggler cleared, the man had disappeared.
Jonathan raced across the trail but couldn’t see the man anywhere. Even with the bright hunting jacket, he’d disappeared. Jonathan hurried forward anyway. He had to try.
A bright blob of color caught his eye, and he sped toward it. He let out a groan when he got closer and saw the runner had hung the jacket from a branch.
He leaned over, hands on his knees, and gulped air. How could he explain this to Alanna?
Alanna rubbed her shoulder, massaging the spot that collided with the floor. It throbbed, but she ignored the pain. She hurried downstairs. She couldn’t leave Jonathan to catch the intruder alone. Yet when she made it to the porch, Jonathan and the brightly clothed stranger had disappeared.
A headache started to pound as she wandered back into the house. She’d barely settled on the saggy couch when the door banged open.
“Jonathan?”
“No, but I’d like to know what you’re doing here.”
She turned and froze. Detective Bull didn’t look any happier to see her there than he sounded. His brows were drawn together, his stance wide like he was ready for a fight. She slowly raised her hands. “Does it help that I was getting ready to call?”
“Good thing a neighbor took care of that, complaining about a lot of activity in a dead man’s house.”
“I had a key. And you saw the note. He wanted me to see something.”
“So you took it upon yourself to come? Without checking?” She nodded, knowing how foolish and ridiculous it sounded. And looked.
“I don’t know whether to haul you immediately to jail or laugh. You’re an attorney.”
“Maybe, but I’m also your prime suspect.” Alanna stood, refusing to let him intimidate her with his size. She thrust her hands on her hips and stepped closer. “I can’t rely on you to check things like this. Not when I might go to jail.”
“Am I interrupting anything?” A bedraggled Jonathan stood in the doorway, fire in his eyes.
“Just hauling this gal off to jail. You bring your girlfriend up here on that tandem bike?”
Alanna started to sputter. “We’re not. . .” But she couldn’t deny she wanted to be. Especially as she watched the fire in Jonathan’s eyes. He looked ready to attack the detective in an effort to protect her. How she longed for that security he offered. But what about Jaclyn and Dylan? She sank back to the saggy couch. This was too complicated.
Detective Bull looked at Jonathan, eyeing the coat he carried. “Why don’t you tell me what that’s about?”
“After you call down to Ryan and let him know that a guy in jeans and a stocking cap is running into town. He’ll be sweaty and out of breath. He was hiding in an upstairs closet when we got here. Knocked Alanna to the ground and kept running. Thought I had him, but he hung this on a tree to distract me.”
Detective Bull quirked an eyebrow. “Guess it worked.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan growled. He looked like he regretted every moment of their time up here. This probably wasn’t the time to remind him he’d gotten the tandem bike. If he hadn’t come, she’d have done this alone eventually, just not today. “Do you want this thing?”
The detective nodded. “I’ll have the techs look it over. I doubt it has any connection to the murder, but it’s worth evaluating.” He crossed his arms across his wide chest. “Let’s get back to what the two of you are doing here.”
29
The bald truth was there was no good reason.
Jonathan had a crazy idea, acted without thinking, and Alanna almost got killed. Now she sat on the couch probably headed straight to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. And it was his fault.
She’d been perfectly content working through her lists and phone calls. His teasing got her on the bike and up here. It was still a good idea but would have been better if he’d cleared it with the police first.
“You can blame me.”
Detective Bull studied him, skepticism tightening his already tense posture. “Really?”
“Alanna was at home working when I came up with the tandem bike. I steered us here.”
Alanna looked up and started to sputter. “I would have made the trip eventually. And since that other guy was here, better now than later. At least he didn’t get away with anything.”
“That we know of.” Jonathan shrugged. “He could have stuffed something in the jacket.”
“But we have that.”
Detective Bull glanced through the pockets. “Nothing clearly important.”
Alanna sighed. “That would be too easy.”
“Tell me everything that happened from the moment you hit this property.” Bull pul
led a chair over from the kitchen and took out a pen and notebook. Alanna and Jonathan tag-teamed the telling. When they were done, Bull studied Alanna. “Is there anything you aren’t telling me?”
“No.” She spread her hands in front of her. “That’s it. We didn’t see anything worth noting until that man opened the closet.”
“All right.” He closed his notebook and stood. “Then let’s finish searching.”
Jonathan couldn’t believe his ears. “What?”
“I don’t trust you two not to come back, so I’m staying right here while you satisfy yourselves that there’s no secret code.”
Alanna nodded. “I haven’t seen any records from I’m Not Sharing. He was also on a couple boards, but there’s no office. He had to keep those somewhere.”
“Some were at his shop, but not enough to run the business. Let’s start where Mystery Man waited.” Bull let them precede him up the stairs. Alanna looked back as she scurried up. He had an appraising look on his face as he watched her. While it bothered her to be under his scrutiny, maybe he didn’t think she’d committed a crime when she entered the house.
Now to find whatever Mr. Hoffmeister had left.
Mr. Tomkin seemed intent to point a finger at Mr. Hoffmeister, who had pointed the finger right back. They used to be good friends. Maybe it was one more thing her mind had altered with the distance and time.
As she reentered the bedroom, Alanna took in the details. Somewhere Mr. Hoffmeister had kept records. If he was like her clients, finding those documents could be key. Especially if Gerald Tomkins allegations were valid. She turned to Detective Bull. “Have you examined Mr. Hoffmeister’s finances?”
He shook his head with a barely audible snort. “I can’t comment