by Nancy CoCo
“There’s a special on fresh French bread,” Mary said, nodding toward the rolling shelf with the day’s baked goods. She rang me up as I grabbed a loaf plus some butter and garlic.
“Did you know Anthony?” I asked.
“He was in the class below me in school,” Mary said, continuing to ring up and bag my items. “He was a nice guy. Didn’t deserve to die so soon.” She looked at me as she totaled my purchases. “I hope you catch the killer.”
“I’m sure that Rex will see that whoever did this is caught.”
Mary watched as I swiped my debit card and paid my bill. “You catch this guy,” she said. “Everyone’s counting on you.”
“Everyone?” I asked, drawing my eyebrows together as I gathered up my bags.
“Everyone on the island loves Maggs,” she said. “If I were you, I would make sure you catch him soon.”
“No pressure,” I said under my breath.
The walk to Maggs’s place was quick. She lived in an old Victorian a few blocks from Main Street—right in front of the place where we had found her son’s body just a few days ago. No wonder she was having trouble. I stepped up on the wraparound porch and knocked on the door.
“Allie, come on in,” Frances said as she opened the door. “What did you bring?”
“Lasagna fixings,” I said, entering the hallway. This was my first time in Maggs’s home. There was a parlor on the left and stairs to the right. Frances led me down a hall that went straight back to the kitchen. Off the hall to the left, between the parlor and the kitchen, was a cozy den and a bathroom. On the right was a long dining room. The kitchen covered the entire back of the house. I put the bags on the counter and started to take things out of the bag. “How’s Maggs?”
“Things have been difficult today,” Frances said. “I understand, though. A mother should never have to bury their child. Anthony was her world, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” I said, pulling out a bottle of red wine. “But I can imagine.” Frances took the bottle, uncorked it, and left it to breathe as I started putting the casserole together. “I’m so sorry this happened. How else can I help?”
“We need to find this killer and bring them to justice.”
“I wish I could help, but Rex hasn’t told me anything. I didn’t really see anything in the alley.”
“No,” Frances said. She poured three glasses of the wine. “But I heard you and Liz were looking at pictures of the zombie walk.”
“Yeah. Anthony was with his friends Justin and Steve. Liz and I were just at the Nag’s Head this afternoon talking to Justin about it.”
“What did you learn?” Maggs asked from the kitchen doorway. She hovered there, unsure and trembling, as if the slightest breeze might knock her over. She was dressed in sweatpants, a tee shirt, and a bathrobe that had seen better days. Her eyes were swollen, and her nose was red. She wrapped her arms around herself, her fists filled with used tissues.
“Not much,” I said. I went over to give her a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss. This is terrible. Everyone loved Anthony.”
“We’re going to find this killer,” Maggs said. “I’m going to get justice for my boy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Come on, let’s go sit down in the den,” Frances said. She handed me a glass of wine. I shepherded Maggs down the hall and into the den. The walls were painted a pale, calming green, only covered in a few places by tall wooden bookshelves and several pieces of art. Four easy chairs huddled around a fireplace where a fire crackled softly.
I set my wineglass on an end table next to one of the chairs before helping Maggs into her own chair. Frances handed her a glass of wine, then tucked a plaid blanket around her knees. I sat in the chair next to my wine and waited for Frances to settle into the chair beside Maggs. The only sound was the crackling of the fire. I noticed a statue of a black cat wearing a witch’s hat by the fireplace—a single nod to the Halloween season. Finally, I broke the silence. “I made a lasagna. It will be ready soon. You should try to eat.”
Maggs nodded. “Maybe.”
“It’ll freeze well,” I said. “You can get a few good meals out of it.”
“Anthony was looking forward to the zombie walk,” Maggs said, her tone low. It was clear food was far from her mind. “He was one of the people who suggested the event to the senior center. I helped him with his costume. The man was thirty years old and still loved to dress up. When he was excited about something, he was like a little kid again.”
“Who did his makeup?” I asked.
“His friend Eric,” Maggs said. “He’s heading to Hollywood to do movie makeup soon. Anyway, he did a lot of people’s makeup. He’d been designing looks for the last six weeks. The guys made Eric come to their homes one at a time so they could keep their looks secret until they met up at one.”
“The walk wasn’t until seven,” I pointed out. “That was a long time of gathering and drinking beforehand.”
“The kids loved having a reason to get together,” Maggs said. “Anthony was in the middle of making a career move, you know. He was going to head to Saginaw for a job in a school district down there.”
“A school district? I thought Anthony was a lawyer.”
“He wanted to be a fourth-grade teacher,” Maggs said. “He loved kids. His undergraduate degree was in mathematics and he went on to law, but he preferred teaching. He was so excited to get this new job, you know? The teaching jobs on Mackinac are few and far between. Teachers come here and they don’t leave.”
“I can attest to that,” Frances said. “I was lucky to get my job when I was twenty-five, and I stayed until I retired.”
“Anthony got his teaching certificate last summer. He was substituting here on the island when he got the call. The job in Saginaw happened when their fourth-grade teacher was in a car accident and broke both legs. That poor man has a lot of surgeries in front of him, plus physical therapy. Anthony was going to finish the year out for him.”
“I’m so sorry, Maggs,” I said. What else could I say?
“What did you and Liz learn when you went through some of the photographs from that day? You have to have seen something.”
“Yes,” I said. “At first, we thought he was with a girl in some of the pictures, but then we realized that the person with the girl just had a similar costume on. We were able to separate the two and could track some of the hours before he died.”
“Do you think he was killed by mistake?” Maggs asked. “I mean, if someone else had a similar costume, couldn’t the killer have mistaken Anthony for the other guy?”
“That’s what we’re wondering,” I said. “Liz is looking to see if she can figure out who the other guy was. In the meantime, do you know of anyone who might want to hurt Anthony? Was he fighting with his friends? Did he have a girlfriend? What was his regular life like?”
“Rex already asked me if I thought anyone would want to hurt Anthony. There’s simply no way. He was going to be a teacher, for goodness sakes. He loved kids. He was a God-fearing man who went to church with me on Sundays. Who would want to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” I said with a shake of my head. I reached over and hugged her. “I’m going to try to find out.”
“Thank you. I know Rex won’t like it if you interfere,” Maggs said. “And I would be so upset if anything happened to jeopardize the case. But you won’t do that, right? You’ll help find my Anthony justice?”
“I promise I’ll help, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize the case.”
“Thank you, Allie,” Frances said. “I’ll help, too. I can talk to the senior citizen network. Someone will know something. “
“Frances and I can go to the senior center in the morning. I hear they’re having a card tournament. Frances and Mr. Devaney can play in the tournament, and I’ll serve refreshments. I think people will tell me things just because I’m there, without me even having to ask many questions. That way, Rex can’t complain
that I’m investigating or ruining his case.”
“It might just work,” Frances said. “I’m sure Douglas would love to join the tournament. We’re pretty good. We’ll keep our ears open. That place is a hotbed of gossip.”
“Someone knows something,” I said. “Don’t worry, Maggs. We’ll make sure whoever did this pays.”
Maggs started to look overwhelmed again. “I’m tired,” she said, a waver in her voice. She stood up. “I’m going to go lie down.”
We watched her slowly move to the bedroom. “I’ll stay with her,” Frances said. “And see that she eats a little something. Thanks for making lasagna. I’ll text Douglas to make sure he’s part of the tournament tomorrow.”
“Are you sure she’s going to be all right?”
“I don’t know,” Frances said. “She lost her only boy.”
“I feel like there must be something else I can do.”
“You’re doing enough,” Frances said. “Make some fudge for the seniors. The tournament starts at ten.”
“I’ll be there.”
APPLE CINNAMON WHITE CHOCOLATE FUDGE
2 cups white chocolate chips
1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
½ cup diced dried apple
1 teaspoon apple cider
1 cup cinnamon chips
Prepare an 8-inch pan by lining it with parchment paper and buttering the paper. In a microwave-safe bowl, combine white chocolate chips and sweetened condensed milk. Microwave on high for one minute. Stir. Microwave for 20 seconds more if needed to create a smooth mix. Add apple pieces and apple cider, and mix until combined. Finally, add cinnamon chips and pour into the prepared pan. Place in refrigerator until completely cool. Take out of pan, remove parchment, and cut into ½-inch pieces. Enjoy!
Makes about 32 pieces of fudge.
Chapter 8
The next morning, I left the McMurphy in Sandy’s hands. She wouldn’t start at the Grander Hotel until the spring season, so for now, she was still cooking in my kitchen. Mr. Devaney was seeing to the last two guests. The hotel would be fully vacant until Friday night. That meant that the remodeling crew could start on the second-floor remodel today without waking any of the guests.
I arrived at the senior citizen center a little early, three batches of fudge in hand. The place was decorated for the season with pumpkins, black cats, and witch hats.
“Hey, Allie, did you bring the fudge with nuts?” The question came from Mrs. Addison, one of my favorite seniors, almost as soon as I walked through the door.
“I have dark chocolate cherry and walnut,” I said. “I also have pecan pie and pumpkin. So I brought two kinds with nuts.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Mrs. Tunisian said. “But not for you, Jenny.” She swooped in and took the tray of fudge away from me, moving in the opposite direction from Mrs. Addison. “You’re allergic to nuts, remember?”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t like them,” Mrs. Addison pouted. She was a heavyset woman with a face full of freckles and red-orange hair.
“Allie, did you come to watch the tournament?” Mrs. Platty asked. She was the event coordinator for the senior center. She was all of four foot ten, with bright white hair curled tight around her head and wide, cat-eye glasses.
“I did,” I said. “Frances and Mr. Devaney entered. I came to cheer them on.”
“Oh, good,” Mrs. Platty said. “It would be nice if more young people came to cheer us on.”
“Where’s Mal?” Mrs. Tunisian asked. “I hope she is okay.”
“She’s fine,” I reassured her. “They’re starting construction on the second floor of the McMurphy, and my cat, Carmella, is bothered by all the coming and going. So I left Mal with her to help her feel safe.”
“Leaving a puppy for company does not make a cat feel safe,” Mrs. Tunisian said.
“At the very least, Mal will distract Mella and give her someone to tell her troubles to.”
“Who’s doing the remodel work on your place?”
“I’m having Elmer Faber and his crew do the second-floor work and the roof.”
“Oh, I like Elmer,” Mrs. Addison said. “He did a nice job on my niece’s place.”
“I like him, too,” I said. “He subcontracted some of the work on the lobby when I remodeled it this spring.”
“Are you redoing your roof, too, honey?” Mr. Bluto said. “I thought that Liam just put that roof on ten years ago.”
“He did,” I said with a smile at the memory of my Papa. “But I’m going to add a rooftop deck space. I’ve got a great view of the straits, and I can rent out the space for events. The only trouble is that the deck isn’t supportive enough for more than five people on it, so we have to do a bit more than just add a deck on top of what we’ve already got.”
“You need to have the trusses redone,” Mr. Bluto said with a nod. “I know a guy who can do that for you.”
“Faber Roofing?” I said with a smile.
“That’s the guy.”
“His crew starts work tomorrow.”
“Oh my goodness, you’re going to have the roof worked on and the second floor remodeled at the same time?” Mrs. Tunisian asked. “I hope you don’t have any guests.”
“Only a few, and they’ll stay on the third floor,” I said.
“What about the fudge?” Mrs. Addison said, a look of horror on her face. “Don’t you have an online business to take care of?”
“What about Sandy Everheart’s business?” Mrs. Tunisian asked, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Our businesses will be fine,” I said. “The crew shouldn’t bother the lobby or the fudge shop kitchen.”
“I heard Sandy was going to take her grandmother to Florida next month,” Mrs. Addison said. “She should move down there in the winter. That woman deserves to be a snowbird. My Emmerson and I are heading down that way next week, too. The winters up here are lovely, but I’m too old to deal with all that snow.” She made a motion with her hand as if she were done with the whole business. “You should come with us, Irene.”
“I’ve got train tickets to Texas to visit my kids,” Mrs. Tunisian replied with a half-smile. “Look around, Allie. This is the last visit to the senior center for most of us this season. We all travel south for the winter, except for the diehards. Are Frances and Douglas going south, too?”
“I don’t think so,” I said with a slight frown. “They haven’t told me they were going.”
“Well, maybe they’ll stay for your first winter, but after that they should go. It’s hard on old people—all that snow and ice. No one want’s to be a shut-in.”
“I’m sure they’ll go if they want to,” I said. “But last I heard, they were planning to help me keep the McMurphy open in the off-season.”
“It’s okay, dear,” Mrs. Tunisian said, patting my arm. “Everyone thinks they should be open in the off-season at first, but you’ll learn that your grandfather was right. Closing for the winter is best. Why, you might even go down to Chicago to spend time with your friend Jenn.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I want to make Mackinac my year-round home.”
“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug and a smile. “You’ll learn.”
Mrs. Tunisian put my fudge down on a table laden with treats and snacks. A scan of the room had me honing in on Frances and Mr. Devaney at one of the card tables near the center of the room. The games had started. I worked my way over to see how they were doing.
“Oh, Allie, you’re here,” Frances said when she spotted me. “I was just telling Ethel how we’re helping Maggs by investigating her son’s murder.”
“I heard that there were two zombies who looked alike,” Ethel Thigbee said while studying her cards. “My guess is that whoever killed Anthony killed the wrong zombie.”
“We’re sort of thinking the same thing,” I said.
“So the real question is who could the other zombie be, and why would someone want him dead?” Ethel went on to say.
&
nbsp; “Exactly.”
“Do you have those pictures?” Ethel asked as she put down cards and made her move. Douglas moved in swiftly to pick up her hand and discard something he didn’t want. Ethel didn’t seem too concerned about the blunder. “Did you bring them?”
“She did,” Frances said. “I told her to. Show her the pictures, Allie. Ethel might know who it is.”
I pulled the pictures I’d printed out for today’s event from my jean jacket pocket. “We can only see the back of the guy’s head, so I’m not sure you’ll be able to tell who it is . . .”
Ethel took the first picture out of my hand and studied it through her bright orange, cat-eye glasses. “That’s Josh Spalding,” she said. “I’d know those shoulders anywhere.” She glanced up at me. “Not to mention that butt.”
“Ethel!” Frances looked shocked.
“What? A woman can look,” she said, handing me the picture. “I’m old, not dead. I’d bet my life that it’s Josh Spalding.”
I studied the picture and frowned. “How do you know? I mean, look at this other picture. The silhouette is so similar.”
She grabbed the photo of Anthony out of my hand. “That’s definitely Anthony,” she said immediately, handing the picture back to me. “It’s the backside. Josh’s is a little higher and tighter. You’re young. You should be able to see the difference.”
I studied the pictures and frowned. They looked too much alike. “I guess I’m no expert on men’s backsides.”
“Let me guess, it’s their eyes that draw you,” Ethel said.
“Um, yes . . .”
“Figures.” She played her next round just as quickly as the last. Douglas took advantage of her recklessness and finished the hand.
“Well, shoot,” Ethel said.
“You need to keep your head in the game,” her partner, Cecilia Rig, chided her. “Let me look at the pictures.”
I moved around the table and presented both pictures to Cecilia. She studied them closely. “I agree with Ethel. This one is Anthony and the other is Josh Spalding.” She looked up at me and handed me the pictures. “You need to find out who wanted to kill Josh.”