Braking for Bodies

by Duffy Brown

  I headed for the patch of grass that connected the back of the bike shop to the back of the fudge shop and retrieved the key from under the mat.

  “Fiona?” I whispered into the dark as I stepped inside. “It’s Evie.”

  “Over here.” Fiona clicked a flashlight on the kitchen table. She was eating a cheeseburger and fried green beans and held up one in salute. “The Stang delivers to felons, and they also gossip with felons. No Zo?”

  “And presumed dead.” I sat across from Fiona and snagged a bean. “Sutter thinks you and Idle stuffed her in a refrigerator bound for a recycle center and she’s halfway to Timbuktu by now.”

  Fiona chomped a bean and shook her head. “Well, dang! Why didn’t I think of that, it’s brilliant.”

  “What if Idle did think of it?”

  “Idle didn’t knock off Peep or Zo.” Fiona let out a long, tired sigh and took a bite of burger. “She has people depending on her and she wouldn’t risk jail . . . again. And the fewer people who know about the other Idle Summers, the better. She screwed up, Evie, but she turned over a new leaf and she’s making a go of it.”

  “Everyone in Hollywood has screwed up. I think it’s a requirement to live there. What’s the big deal?”

  “There are screwups and then there are screwups. If this one got out, hotels where she performs would have nothing to do with her. The Grand wouldn’t have touched her with a ten-foot pole.”

  “Well, if she killed people she’d still be in jail, so that’s not what got her in trouble. She’s too healthy to be peddling drugs. Burglary? Burglary would be a big no-no in the hotel business.”

  “Especially of the feline variety. She was good, really good.”

  “But not quite good enough,” Sutter said as he opened the back door and stepped inside.

  17

  Sutter held up a key, his silhouette framed in the doorway. Of course he had a key; his mom owned the place. “I thought you were headed out to British Landing? You’re a rotten sneak, you know that.”

  “Right back at ya.” Sutter turned on the kitchen lights.

  “Idle didn’t kill Peep, and neither did I,” Fiona said around a mouthful of cheeseburger, too tired to even be panicked. “Idle served her time, and that part of her life is over with.”

  “Because she changed her name and got a new identity. That worked until somehow Peep found out, and that means Zo found out. You shut them both up, or you and Idle did, and right now the evidence I have with the olive oil bottle and turtle necklace says it was you. Fiona McBride, you’re under arrest for the murder of Peephole Perry and Zo . . . when we find the body.”

  “If you find the body.” I jumped up. “You can’t arrest on an if. Didn’t the Supreme Court rule on that, and how can you think Fiona would trap me in that room and threaten Bambino and Cleveland?”

  “And nothing happened. It was a great way to shift the blame.”

  “There is no shift because Fiona’s innocent. Remember when you arrested Rudy? You were wrong then and this is the same thing all over again and . . . and what about the mystery weekend up at the Grand, huh? You’re really going to mess that up big-time, and the Grand will not be happy, and if the guests think this was all a sham they will be really ticked off at all of us. At least wait to see where Zo turns up.”

  “So you can have Fiona halfway to God knows where. The Crusaders found the bracelet. We’ll say that led to Zo’s body like they suspected, and Fiona guilty. Fiona in jail proves the point, and they win. That gives them a free weekend at the Grand, and that should make them happy, and finally, thank God, we are done with the mystery weekend.”

  “Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater.” I had to say something and was so ticked off I couldn’t think of anything else . . . except there was something else to say, something important. “At least put Fiona in the good cell where I was. It has the nice chair, a special treat where you can escape your problems.”

  “Must be some chair.” Fiona shoved the burger and beans to my side of the table and stood. She licked the spice from her fingers and wiped them with a napkin. She flashed me a weak smile, then hugged me tight. “You’ll find the killer, I know you will, and I’ll be okay. I had Doud’s put back the last bottle of OPI nail polish, Go with the Lava Flow, for you. Great shade of pink.”

  I grabbed Fiona by the shoulders and looked her dead in the eyes. “When you’re sitting in the chair, think of me, I mean really think of me.”

  Sutter held on to Fiona’s arm and turned my way. “Don’t come anywhere near the jail. Do not go out to British Landing.”

  “Because there’s a killer on the loose and it would be dangerous, but this isn’t over,” I called to Sutter, who was leading Fiona out the door. “I’m going to find the real killer if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Fiona knew how to get out of the police station window, and if she found the cell key I’d stuffed in the Pottery Barn chair, she’d be free as a bird by morning. Not that the Mackinac jail was terrible, but it made getting her off the island a real possibility. If I didn’t find the killer, off-island was plan B. Fiona being on the run sucked big-time, but it beat rotting in jail for something she didn’t do and being somebody’s bitch for the rest of her life.

  Desperate for a new take on who knocked off the Peepster, I opened the murder cupboard to see if Irma and Rudy had thoughts on the subject. I picked up a bean and chomped as a knock came from the back door. I jumped, stumbled and banged my shin on Irma’s industrial-size Viking stove and hit my head against the string of big copper ladles dangling above. Door knocking didn’t usually have this effect on me, but I’d been locked in a room and hunting for a body in a fridge. It was a jumpy kind of night. I couldn’t see anyone out the window, not even a shadow of anyone. The handle turned. I grabbed a big ladle from above as the door opened to . . .

  “Cal? Oh, thank heavens.”

  “That’s what all the girls say.” He flashed his dimpled smile, laughed and rolled into the kitchen. I hung the ladle back with its family.

  “I was at the bike shop putting stuff away,” he said. “And saw Nate and Fiona leave. When the lights stayed on I figured you were over here.”

  “Sutter sent you to spy on me, didn’t he? I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Let’s go with keeping you out of trouble.” Cal rested his hands on his knees, looking way older than thirty whatever and a lot wiser. “God works in mysterious ways, trust me on that, and so does Nate Sutter, you can trust me on that one too. Sometimes you gotta believe in the system or at least that Sutter knows what he’s doing. He’s a smart man, Evie. He’s a really good cop; that’s one of the reasons you like him.”

  “I don’t like him. I want to put him in a sack, weight it with a rock and toss him in the lake.”

  “I don’t think Fiona killed that Peep guy, and I’m not sure Nate does either. But he has his reasons for putting her in jail, and for now, like it or not, you’ll have to live with it.”

  “Unless I can make that sack plan work.”

  Cal pointed to the board. “So, what’s this all about?”

  I snagged another bean. “Sure, why not. Maybe you’ll see something I don’t and we can put an end to this.” I pointed to one door. “Here in Kelly green marker we have the non-suspect list. There’s Madonna the jealous wife, who couldn’t have whacked the Peepster with an olive oil bottle because she was wearing Dior silk and having dinner at the time and not a drop of oil on her anywhere. Then there’s Zo the mistress/secretary, out bike riding. If she pushed Peep off the porch, the dinner crowd at the Grand would have noticed her decked out in red biker spandex, her outfit of choice for the evening. I thought she might be the killer, but now she’s missing, suggesting that the same person who did in Peep did her in as well.”

  “Walt and Geraldine? Really?” Cal asked. “Then again, I think Walt probably wanted Peep dead more than anyo
ne. He always felt that Peep had something on Fiona and that’s why she stayed in L.A.”

  “Sutter thinks Walt and Geraldine wouldn’t do anything to implicate their daughter, and if Peep turned up dead they knew she’d get the blame. For once we agreed on something. Luka and Molly are an item. Luka being a killer while dating a cop seems a little extreme even for the family. And there’s Idle Summers.”

  “She did a great job with the music tonight, and isn’t she performing up at the Grand?”

  “She’s big on my who-done-it list, but since she just sang ‘I Will Always Love You’ at the wedding she’s on Rudy and Irma’s non-suspects board.”

  Cal tapped Penelope’s name listed under the black marker suspect side. “Who’s this?”

  “According to Sutter, she’s the freaking employee of the year.” I stood and closed the cupboard. “I’m going to bed, and you can tell the local rat-fink police chief to take a long walk off a short pier and go straight to the devil.” I tossed Cal the key. “Lock up when you leave and slide the key under the mat. I’m going home and putting on my quitters, also known as jammy pants, fuzzy robe, and bunny slippers. I’ve had enough for one day; I’m done.”

  I cut across the yard and let myself into the bike shop that at present looked more Martha Stewart than Lance Armstrong. It would take a week to make the transformation back to bike shop, and there wasn’t a piece of saved wedding cake anywhere. I found a can of tuna, a plastic spoon and two paper plates with silver wedding bells and went upstairs. Bambino and Cleveland sat in the middle of my bed looking even more pissed than usual since they were surrounded by bikes. Actually it was more their bed, but I liked to pretend it was mine ’cause I changed the sheets once a week and made the thing every day.

  “This is not my fault,” I said, peeling back the pull tab and scooping out the tuna. “And I want you to listen to me for a change. You’re getting death threats, so I need you to be on your worst behavior tonight. Come on, snarl it up, guys, give me some hiss and a big bushy tail, and make with the glowing eyes and sharp claws.”

  I stood back and watched them scarf tuna. Cats . . . did they ever do what they were told? There was a reason cat obedience school did not exist! My only hope was that if someone did take the fearsome feline duo, a bit of “The Ransom of Red Chief” would kick in and they’d be so horrible that the captors would give them back to me as punishment.

  I exchanged my lovely dress for dirty jeans and a black fleece. I took Babe Ruth from my bedroom because it was one of the bikes with a headlight. I locked the bedroom door and put the key in my pocket. If someone really wanted the daring duo inside, they could break down the door, but this was an old house and built to withstand Michigan winters. It would take a lot of breaking to get inside.

  I hauled Babe downstairs, banging up my walls and beating up my shins. Bikes down steps was no easy job and made me appreciate how the guys got the bikes up here in the first place. I checked to make sure the lights were out at the Good Stuff, meaning Cal was gone, then started for the back door and—

  “Faith and begorrah, what’s a woman got to do around here to get a bit of sleep after a hard day’s work?”

  I spun around to Irish Donna standing in the doorway between the shop and the kitchen rubbing sleep from her eyes. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Waiting up for you, I was, and then I wasn’t. A bit of the bubbly can do that to a woman. We all figured you were off trying to save Fiona somehow. I fell asleep in Rudy’s old wicker rocker out there in front, I did. Right comfortable in a pinch.”

  She eyed Babe. “If ye be off to where I think ye are, can you be a-waiting till tomorrow at this time? I got four-to-one odds, I do, and having just made up a fine cake for ye on a moment’s notice, I figure you can hold off.”

  “Sutter just arrested Fiona, of all the dumbass things to do, and I’m on my way out to British Landing to see if Zo’s body’s in a fridge on the dock waiting to be recycled, and if it is, I’m dumping it in the lake.”

  “Blessed Saint Patrick, you need to run that by me again.” She held up her hand, blinked a few times, then reached for a half-finished bottle of champagne and polished it off. “Now I got it.” She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and burped. “All I can tell ye is that the Zo woman wasn’t much good the first time around; recycling seems a waste of time and effort, so I see your point with the dumping part.”

  “This has to do with Fiona charged with Peep’s and now Zo’s murder. She didn’t do either, and at least I can take care of one of the problems.”

  “Good thinking. Paddy’s parked down the street; we best shake a leg.” Irish Donna snagged her long green velvet coat that put my fleece to shame and started for the door. I held her arm.

  “You don’t have to go. Like you said, you already baked a wedding cake today. You’ve done your part and you have to be tired.”

  “Me dear girl, the only things I have to be doing in this here world is dying and paying taxes. Getting Fiona out of a fix is sure beating either of those, and I’ve never been to a body-dumping before. Could be right interesting and get my Facebook page a-buzzing, been kind of dull lately. Now let’s get a move on before Nate beats us to that body and goes and spoils our bit of fun. Oh, and I put aside a slice of wedding cake for ye and Sergeant Molly. I hid it under the workbench. Turned out right nice, it did.”

  * * *

  “’Tis a lovely evening for a body-dumping,” Irish Donna said to me as we clip-clopped along Lake Shore Drive, with the Mackinac Bridge off in the distance. There were no houses or businesses out this way, only night birds warbling in the pines, water lapping the shoreline and moonlight slipping in and out of overhanging branches.

  “Thanks for the wedding cake.” I licked icing from my fingers and zipped my fleece against the chill. “It’s great. You should offer it on the menu; people would love it. Who wouldn’t stop in for tea and wedding cake?”

  “Someone who’s just gotten divorced, be my guess.” Donna pointed up ahead to the docks dotted with dim fluorescents out in the water. “There be the landing. We should leave old Paddy here to rest up and go the rest of the way on foot. Dillard Prescott’s the night watchman and probably sleeping in the warehouse, but we don’t need to be caught snooping around all the same. Telling him about Zo in the fridge is sure to get him on the phone to Nate.”

  “There’s a boat at the end of the dock.” I pointed to a dim light at the end of the pier. A low engine rumble drifted our way, as thin curls of gray diesel exhaust faded into the dark.

  “Looks like she’s a hauler. Could be here to get our fridge, and there’s a load waiting for pickup right there on the dock. I think we got ourselves a winner.”

  Donna started off, but I didn’t budge. I pulled in a deep breath. “I . . . I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I’m ready to face another dead body.”

  “Are ye ready to be facing Fiona in jail?”

  Staying close to the line of parked drays—the horsepower in the barn behind us resting up—we made our way to the pier. The wind kicked up Donna’s coat, floating out around her like an Irish Batman. The concrete was worn rough from brutal winters of ice and snow, but tonight moonlight danced across the gentle swells out in the lake.

  “What’s this refrigerator be looking like?” Donna asked as we hurried along.

  “Rectangle, white, GE stamped on the front, big enough to hold a body.”

  “Nothing here on the dock like that. Must be onboard.” Before I could stop her, Donna was halfway up the gangplank. I hurried after her, the drone of the engine vibrating through the boat and into our bones, the scent of fuel heavy around us. Stepping over cables and around big metal things I couldn’t see over, we headed to the back.

  Donna parked her hands on her hips as the lake breeze tossed her hair in her face. “A bunch of big machines for construction or dredging is all tha
t’s here. Zo must have caught an earlier ride. Rotten shame that.” Donna pulled her iPhone from her coat pocket. “I was ready for some fine body-dumping Instagram shots. Would have been a big hit too and—uh-oh.” Donna pointed down to the dock and the shadow of a man approaching. He aimed for the gangplank, the light catching an earring and reflecting off a dingy blond ponytail.

  “I . . . I know him,” I whispered.

  “Lucky you.”

  “At least I think I know him. Hard to tell from this far away.” I leaned out over the railing to get a better look as the guy stepped onboard. A whining motor sounded somewhere up front, cutting through the stillness of the night. The gangplank inched off the ground and Donna grabbed my hand. The plank rose higher, then higher still and slid neatly back onto the boat. The diesel engine revved and we slid gently away from the dock.

  18

  “Where have you been?” Mother gasped as I hobbled in the back door of the bike shop the next morning.

  “You . . . cleaned?”

  “I was worried sick, I had to do something. They found Paddy and wedding cake crumbs in the cart out by British Landing around dawn and there’s some story about Zo’s body in a refrigerator and . . . Dear God, Evie, I’ll have to go back to Chicago for a vacation if you keep this up.”

  Mother put her arms around me and hugged. “You smell like . . .” She sniffed my hair. “Gasoline?”

  “Evie?” Sutter stopped dead in the back doorway. “Where have you . . . I’m going to wring . . .” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is why cops drink.”

  “I got lost . . . we got lost.”

  “On an eight-mile island?”

  “It happens,” I said, all calm and cool just like Irish Donna and I had practiced, huddled together in the back of the boat from hell. “You see, Donna and I did go looking for Zo in the refrigerator.” I held up my hand to stop Sutter from blowing yet another gasket. He had to be running low on gaskets by now. “Then we decided that you were right and it was too dangerous and it was trespassing and that’s against the law.”