by Duffy Brown
“Holy freaking hell you have a gun!”
“I’m a cop, I have guns.”
“Including the one you need to pick up at my shop and is that glitter on the handle?”
“Long story.” Sutter opened the kitchen cabinet and put the gun next to a box of oatmeal. “For the record I didn’t know it was you.” He hunkered down. “Come here, Sunshine.”
In an instant the snarling canine transformed into a happy, yipping pet complete with wagging tail and perky ears. He bounded over to Sutter and licked his face. “Sunshine? More like Diablo and since when do you have a dog?”
“Since Mrs. Freemont went to live with her daughter and two cats over on Mahoney.”
I studied Sutter for a minute. “You’re not yelling or frothing at the mouth that I’m here. You weren’t sure it was me, but you’re not surprised to see me either.” I stepped back and folded my arms. “You knew I was in your office. You knew I’d show up here next.”
Sutter gave Sunshine a final pat, stood up, and stepped closer, the tips of his boots touching my Nikes and the heat from his body warming me clear through the fleece. “I always lock my office door and yet it wasn’t locked. Then you suddenly showed up in my office out of nowhere, the evidence bags in John’s box were put back in a different order than when I stored them, and whatever you think you know you don’t.”
“Let’s give that don’t know part a little test drive. I know you’re the guy John Bernard was looking for. It was your picture John was flashing around town and why you wore a white dinner jacket and had a blond ponytail has something to do with the undercover operation in Detroit though I can’t imagine what. No mob boss would be caught dead in those clothes. John thought you ran off with a lot of money and the Winnebago present and the Home Depot annex here in your house seem to confirm that. Except I don’t believe you stole money or that you’d kill John to keep him quiet. And I know the real killer is probably gunning for you and that somehow this is all tied to smuggling champagne into Canada but even Angelo can’t figure that one out. Your turn.”
“I got the money from Amazon.”
“And here I’ve been ordering books and makeup.”
Sutter swooped me up into his arms, completely taking my breath away. He smelled of spicy soap, fresh air, and a touch of danger. “I helped a Detroit finance guy change a tire on I-94 back in ’06. He said he had a good feeling about Amazon stock and I should look into it. He was driving a Porsche 911 turbo and I had a rusted pickup. I figured he might be onto something.”
Sutter strode to the back door, opened it, and stood me on the porch. “As for the rest of this, don’t meddle in the affairs of dragons for you are crunchy and tasty with ketchup.”
“What the heck does that mean?”
“It means I finally got your attention. You should butt out of police matters or I will throw you in jail, and I am not kidding, Evie Bloomfield. I’m not kidding at all.”
I pulled five dollars from my fleece pocket and slapped it in Sutter’s hand. “This is my chance to be police chief for a day and then I can lock you up. So what do you think about that?”
A slow grin spread across Sutter’s face, his eyes dark as the night around us. “I think I look forward to it.”
Then he kissed me. His lips were delicious, seductive, and completely intoxicating, like warm mulled wine on a cold winter night.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Sutter said in a whisper.
“It’s a full moon, these things happen.”
“Even when they shouldn’t.” Sutter closed the door in my face. At least I think he did except I couldn’t think straight. I felt dizzy and lightheaded, totally brain-scrambled and blistering hot all over.
Get a grip, Evie! He’s just a man. Yeah, but a really yummy man. That was not getting a grip! Sutter had kissed me before, but not lately. Two weeks ago we were having coffee and talking about Lettie McDonald and Becky Whitehead eloping to Vegas and how we should throw them a party when they got back to the island and the next day he wouldn’t return my calls. For sure this had to do with the Detroit undercover operation and Dead John. But what?
All I got tonight was Amazon, changing a tire, and getting eaten by a dragon. Sutter didn’t say boo about who was after him or the undercover sting or the smuggling. Well, if Nate Sutter thought he could bamboozle me with a kiss he was dead wrong. Okay, sort of wrong. There was definitely some bamboozling going on.
I pounded on the door. “I hate you, Nate Sutter.”
I didn’t really hate him, but I was frustrated on so many levels like not knowing what was going on, what he had done as an undercover boss, and where the heck the two of us stood - or didn’t stand. I kicked the rock I’d tripped over earlier, headed for the street, and pulled the scone from my pocket, not caring that it was loaded with fat and laced with yellow fleece fuzz.
No matter how crazy things were between us, Sutter needed help now. He’d helped me out on more than one occasion, so I figured I owed him, right? And there was the fact that he kissed me... whatever the heck that meant. Right now I was going with that it meant something and no way was I going to let Sutter get blown to smithereens without knowing what that something was.
At the crack of dawn, Sheldon’s alarm buzzed. Bambino and Cleveland leaped from the dresser onto my head to get my attention and remind me it was breakfast time. Everything I had to get done today flooded into my brain. I pushed myself up to find Finn sitting at the end of my bed drinking coffee. He shoved a steaming mug and glazed doughnut in my hands and asked, “Have any luck finding the mystery man from John’s wallet?”
Staring at the front of my pink nightshirt he added a grin and read, “Pajamas and pancakes forever?”
“My dream job. How’d you get in here and couldn’t this wait ’til later?”
“A hide-a-key rock by the back steps is a really bad idea especially when it’s the only rock around and if I wait till later that has you surrounded by customers. When you left the party early last night I suspected you were onto something. The good news is you don’t snore. The bad news is your hair looks like you got struck by lightning.”
I turned to the mirror over my dresser and stifled a scream by stuffing the doughnut in my mouth. “Well, for openers,” I said around a mouthful and trying to forget my Einstein hair, “Sutter is the guy John was looking for and it’s probably best I not tell you how I figured that out.”
Finn’s brows shot clear to his forehead. “John was looking for Nate?”
“The one and only.” I swiped crumbs from my lips as B and C paced the bed then sat on my pillow. “My guess is that John knew Sutter from his undercover days and for some reason thought Sutter ran off with the loot.”
I considered that for a second. “You know, what if the guy who actually ran off with the five million planted the idea that it was Sutter who has the loot. That way it got the heat off him and on Sutter.”
“You’re smarter than you look.” Finn added a sly grin. “Especially right now. The killer lures John to the docks saying he has information about Sutter being the undercover cop they’re looking for then kills John.”
“And frames Sutter and somehow a smuggling operation plays into all this.” I took a sip of coffee. “You don’t seem surprised by the smuggling.”
“The undercover operation in Detroit was smuggling champagne into Canada. Detroit is a stone’s throw away from Windsor with a lot of small boat harbors and inlets dotting the shorelines on both sides. Border patrol can only cover so much territory. Twin-engine bowriders can make the run in an hour at night, dropping the booze off at new locations each time, especially if they know the waters.”
“John’s job description was coxswain. That means he knew how to drive a boat? And his code name was Leadfoot. He had a fast boat.”
“John might be an ace at rum-running, or in this case champagne running, but I doubt if he’s the ringleader. Nate’s been on a spending spree lately so he looks like the money guy, making h
im the next target on the hit list. If the killer knocks off Nate, it’ll look like a revenge killing and the money trail ends with him dead.”
“And,” I added trying to think like a crook, “if the new smuggling operation ends too that really makes it look like Nate was the guy in charge all along and the real killer goes off into the sunset to enjoy his ill-gotten gains that he’s probably got stashed away in some offshore account. Framing Sutter ties up all those pesky loose ends.”
“Those offshore accounts let a lot of bad guys get away scot-free.” Finn arched his left brow. “You’re pretty good at this criminal stuff for a bike shop girl.”
“Due to my black cloud syndrome I’ve had more than my fair share of practice.
Finn finished off his coffee. “I’ll keep close to Nate. He’ll be at the fort most of the day to make sure the wedding of the century and blessed by the Governor goes off without a hitch. Not that anything will happen there with so many people around. I managed to finesse an invite by sending the bride a congratulatory bottle of champagne. I borrowed a coat and tie from Nate and I’m taking Fiona. She’s really psyched.”
“I’ll be serving cake and not psyched at all. I’ll cut you a big piece. Fiona loves wedding cake.”
Finn dropped the key in my hand then headed for the steps, the back door closing as he left. I turned back to Bambino and Cleveland, neither napping but both looking distressed. Usually that look was reserved for an empty food bowl and the threat of imminent Armageddon. “I get it, you like Nate and you’re worried. Yeah, me too.”
I fed the kits, grabbed a shower, and tried to tame my hair so as not to frighten small children and big horses. I then bribed Mother to help me get the bride and groom bikes up Fort Street, also known as the hill from hell, to Fort Mackinac. We dropped the bikes at the entrance. With me sweating like a roasting pig and Mother picture perfect in navy slacks and red blouse, we headed for the Blarney Scone, the bribe part of the deal. The last of the yellow climbing roses cascaded over the fence and doorway. On the inside, pink and yellow linens and china teapots graced every table and something by Mozart hummed in the background.
“Do I dare ask ye how your night surprise visit with Nate turned out?” Irish Donna poured Breakfast Earl Grey into Spode cups with pink roses. She added a wink. “Did ye manage to get his attention?”
“You could say that.” I stirred in two lumps of sugar as Mother added, “What visit? You? Nate? How’d I miss this?”
“Next time,” Irish Donna said to Mother. “You need to be lending Evie here one of your fancy-dancy red lace Carman dresses to seal the deal, if you know what I mean. We’re all thinking a little fancy-dancy might brighten Nate’s mood and that would do us all a world of good. And,” Donna said turning my way, “don’t you be forgetting to help me with the wedding cake. Be here around two to load things up proper. Can’t be getting there too early or all the buttercream icing will go sliding right off the cake.”
Irish Donna strolled over to another table to pour tea and Mother selected her second peach mini tart from the silver two-tiered tray. My second was blueberry. Okay, it was my third, but the way I saw it, mini-tarts meant mini-calories.
“Late night visit?” Mother arched her left brow and took a dainty nibble with not one crumb daring to fall. “Do tell and why are you on wedding cake duty? If you’re smart, and we know you are, get paid in buttercream icing and save me some.”
I bit into my tart as a blueberry squeezed out the side, dribbling down my chin and leaving a blue trail on my blouse before plopping onto the pink napkin in my lap. Whatever neat gene Mother possessed it had not been passed on to me. I wiped my chin, plucked the berry, and popped it in my mouth. No blueberry left behind on my watch. “I went to Sutter’s house to snoop and got nowhere, Irish Donna needs help with the cake delivery up at the fort, and have you heard anything about Sutter being undercover while in Detroit and involved in some smuggling operation?”
Mother stopped her tart midair and stared at me. “Detroit has their share of bad guys but Nate Sutter as one of them even undercover is absurd. He’s not the type to pull that off at all.”
“That’s pretty much what Angelo said and threw in something about salad dressing that didn’t make sense at all.”
“Angelo! Oh dear, I almost forgot.” Mother checked her watch. She put down her tart, retrieved her napkin, and stood. “The two of us are running up to Sault Ste. Marie and staying the night. One of these days Angelo and I plan to visit some of the other islands, they are all lovely.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Ta, darling, and Carman’s red lace dresses are yours any time you want. Nate’s a keeper, try to remember that.”
Mother sprinted out the yellow door, the little bell dinging as it closed. I paid the bill and headed for the bike shop. It wasn’t yet nine and a chill hung in the air with bright blue skies and puffy clouds overhead. The early-bird fudgies were out doing breakfast and window shopping, and I spotted Petula standing beside a buggy talking to Otis in front of Doud’s Market. Was she wearing two different shoes and was that a banker’s clip holding her hair in a ponytail?
“But you have everything in this store,” Petula wailed to Otis, who was wearing his official green Doud’s Market apron and matching bowtie. “All I need are a measly hundred little old wine glasses.” Eyes beady, she grabbed Otis by the apron and growled, “That’s not so many.”
“Only if you own a vineyard.” Otis shoved the two large boxes he’d been holding at Petula. “Like I said, I have these two dozen as in twenty-four wine glasses. Period.”
“What about water glasses, juice glasses, toddler sippy cups?”
Wide-eyed, Otis turned to me as I came up the sidewalk. “You wouldn’t happen to have eighty or so wine glasses over at the bike shop for this lady, would you?” He pointed to Petula and gave me the beware the crazy tourist look. “Please say yes for all our sakes.”
“We’re more a water bottle and granola bar kind of operation, but the Mustang Lounge might help.” I turned to Petula. It’s on Astor and not open yet, but you can go around back, tap on the window, and ask for Scooter. The password is I love micro-brewed beers and you’re in.”
Petula flung her arms around me, knocking me backwards. “Bless your little northern heart! I persuaded Eileen and a few maids from the Metivier Inn looking to make a few extra bucks to help out, but to tell you the truth I don’t know how this wedding is ever going to pull together at the last minute. Something’s going on with Bladen and he’s more scattered than ever, if that’s possible, and Daniela is madder than a wet hen. Bladen makes all the money and I do all the work. I need a raise something terrible!”
Petula slung the boxes into the buggy as if she’d done a lot of slinging in her life. She climbed up beside the driver, gave herself a little shake and pointed a stiff finger. “Onward to the Mustang Lounge.”
Dray, driver, and Petula trotted off at a fast clip and I turned to Otis. “I think she’s losing it.”
“And it’s never coming back.”
Otis helped a customer with a crying baby and I crossed to the bike shop. Customers were already lining up outside to pick out their bikes for the day. With the summer rush of kids and grandkids and demands for Batman, Spiderman, and Paw Patrol gone and those bikes now in the back of the shop, the attention was on bikes with themes for adults. Naming the bikes gave them a special personality and I was surprised how often returning customers asked for the bikes by name. Besides Bride and Groom, this year I’d added Garden Party, Gone Fishin’, Hole in One, Drinks On Me, Sail Away, and Shop ’til You Drop.
Once I got the early bike rush out of the way I dove into straightening up the workbench. Rudy was minding the shop today and I didn’t want him to see the place such a mess. Okay, I’d been busy, really busy, and there were other things on my mind like murder and mayhem, but a mess was a mess and even I, Pigpen Bloomfield, needed some order.
I put the screwdrivers, wrenches, sockets, and pliers on their hangers in th
e pegboard over the workbench and hung up hammers and snips. Jars of screws and bolts went to one side and the chili pepper red paint can plus notes went to the other side. The other paint cans and spare parts got stored alphabetically on the correct shelves, and the avocado green paint can that served as my cash register went under the workbench. I stood back, admired my pristine workbench, and took a pic with Sheldon since the workbench wasn’t likely to stay this neat very long. I was pretty much a bike slob. With everything ship-shape for a change, I rewarded myself with a chocolate chip cookie that somehow turned into three cookies as the next flood of mid-morning customers wandered in.
I helped a customer push the three-wheeled Birds of a Feather out the door and when I came back inside Rudy was sitting at the nice, neat workbench with Bambino and Cleveland snuggled on his lap. He was smiling and looking at my sketches for the soda shop bike.
“I like it.” He tapped the sketch. “Add Elvis’s blue suede shoes and you got yourself a winner here.”
“Your lap cats are on the fence about the whole idea.”
“The only themes these two would like are Where’s My Tuna and The Litter Needs Changing.”
Rudy had on khaki Dockers and a red Mickey Mouse t-shirt. He pointed to his chest. “Irma and I are already getting our Florida on. We’re doing Disney and Harry Potter and then Key West. Oprah has a house there and Irma’s determined to bring her fudge from the shop.”
Rudy stroked Bambino and Cleveland, who had once been his fur babies and were named after Mark Twain’s cats. With Mackinac Island having a patriotic parade for every occasion imaginable, the locals dressed up as historical figures to participate. Fiona was Betsy Ross, I graduated to Martha Washington since the other Martha retired to Arizona, and Rudy nailed Mark Twain perfectly. Most of us only dressed up for the parades except for Mark Twain, who popped up every now and then at other times to add some color to the town. In my humble opinion it was Rudy’s excuse to swill fine bourbon and smoke a cigar.
When Rudy married Irma, he moved in with her and together they ran the fudge shop. Many things taste great in fudge like walnuts, chocolate chips, and peanut butter - cat fur, not so much.