by Nancy CoCo
I paused. “They do that?”
“Yes. It’s a cat thing.” Frances smiled fondly. “I used to have a cat named Tiger. He was orange with brown stripes. We were very creative at naming our pets back then. He lived sixteen years, and then one day just disappeared.” She sighed. “But he would come inside at night to sleep with the family. He was famous for the three AM sprints about the house.”
“Everyone’s had a cat, but me,” I said with what I’ll admit was a tiny pout. “I have no cat stories.”
“Douglas . . . Mr. Devaney”—Frances put the sheets into the soiled linen bin on the housekeepers cart—“had the best idea.”
“What was that?”
“Let’s put some tuna inside the dog carrier. The cat will get hungry, eventually, and Douglas said he could rig the carrier to shut like a trap whatever critter went inside to eat the tuna.”
“Just as long as he doesn’t hurt the cat,” I warned. “I won’t have innocent creatures hurt.”
“We won’t hurt it.” Frances’s brown eyes glittered. “We love all critters. You should know that.”
I sighed and dropped my shoulders. “I do. I’m just worried about the poor thing getting stuck somewhere where we won’t be able to find it or help it.”
“We’ll be easy with it,” Frances said and pulled fresh sheets off the cart. It was her day to make up the second floor and Jenn’s to make up the third. I really needed to get at least one maid. But the ad in the Town Crier wasn’t doing much good. I considered sending an ad to St. Ignace or Mackinaw City.
“Fine. I’ll be up in the office. I just got a call from Mrs. Amerson. She is hopping mad that the fireworks shows are ruined. I promised I’d get us more fireworks and the world’s next best pyro technic company.”
“You know we’ve never had an issue with storage of the fireworks before. Why is she so mad about this year’s? Is it because they exploded? I mean that is always a possibility, isn’t it?” Frances asked as she put the sheets on the dresser and opened the bottom sheet and started making the bed.
“I changed things,” I admitted and felt the heat of a blush rush over my cheeks. “The usual company stores the fireworks on the Lower Peninsula, then sets them up on barges and shoots them off from the lake. Rodney said he would do better by setting them up on the hillside a little higher than the fort. That’s why he had them airlifted in and installed magazines in the warehouse to hold them. It’s also why they were stored at the airport—to avoid the ferries and the busy docks. Plus the warehouse was made of concrete and the magazines were all properly locked per regulations.”
“And still they got blown up,” Frances said as she ran her hands over the tucked in sheet to smooth it.
“It was sabotage. Or murder. I told you I found the dead guy before the fireworks blew.”
“Yes, the early edition of the Town Crier said they identified the body as Rodney Rivers.”
“Oh, no,” I said and leaned against the door jamb. “I was afraid that it was him but still held out hope. Did the paper say how he was identified? Rex wouldn’t say last night and according to Officer Lasko yesterday the explosion sort of evaporated the body.”
“Liz wrote that his identity was confirmed by an unusual ring that Mr. Rivers was known to wear and bridgework found in a partial jawbone.”
“That’s horrible.” I made a face. “I take it Rex contacted Rodney’s family and business partner, Henry Schulte.”
“You know he had to or he would have never let Liz print the man’s name.” Frances unfolded the top sheet and floated it in the air so that it came down perfectly square on the bed.
I tapped the edge of my phone against my chin in thought. “I wonder if Henry would know where we can get replacement fireworks. They have to be insured for that kind of thing, right?”
“I don’t know,” Frances said. “Call him and find out.”
Calling Henry Schulte was easy. Getting him to answer was a problem. I had only talked to him once on the phone and had never met him in person. For that matter, I’d only met with Rodney once and therefore, hadn’t been able to reliably identify him as the man lying faceup on the desk in the warehouse. I could blame the angle and the lack of light and such, but mostly I really didn’t put much stock into appearances and sometimes I had to know someone for a year before I even realized what color their eyes were.
I left several voice messages. An hour later, I called again. The phone message said no one was available at this time, please leave a message. “Hello, Mr. Schulte,” I said into the phone. “It’s me again, Allie McMurphy on Mackinac Island. I was going over the contract we have with your company. It clearly says here that in the unlikely event of an accident that Rivers Productions will replace all materials needed for the show to go on as planned. I really need to know if you have a backup plan and if so, how you intend to execute it. Please call me back at 906-555-2222.”
I hung up the phone and studied the contract that was spread out on the top of my office desk. The contract clearly stated that Rivers Productions was fully bonded and insured in case of accident or loss. We were only days away from the Fourth of July. What if he couldn’t get any fireworks in that little time?
I ran my hands over my face and tugged at my dark brown ponytail. I picked up the phone and called my mother in Detroit. The phone rang a few times and I started to drum my fingers on the desktop.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi Allie. How are you? Are you able to get down for the Independence Day celebration?”
“No, Mom. I’ve got to make fudge and ensure the McMurphy is working well, remember? The summer season can get crazy around the festival weeks and the Star Spangled Fourth is one of those weeks.”
“Of course,” my mother said, her tone clearly disappointed. “That’s fine. I understand the business comes before your father and me . . .”
“I love you, Mom.” Sometimes those simple words would disarm her before she went too deeply down that path of why did you leave us—even though I’d been living in Chicago for the last five years. I think she somehow thought I’d eventually give up on my “crazy” idea of taking over the family business.
“I love you, too, dear. Your father says that he saw something on the news about an explosion on the island. Did you hear about that?”
“Yes.” I ran my hand over my face again. “Someone set fire to the warehouse that stored the fireworks. Rodney Rivers died in the explosion. Well, no. Actually, he may have been dead before the explosion. There is some speculation he was murdered. I can’t get into the details until we know more.
“Oh, no, not another murder,” My mother’s tone turned serious. “That’s one a month since you got there. I don’t like that kind of trend. Are you safe?”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “I’m safe, Mom. Really, it’s simply been a run of unusual things. But I’m in charge of the fireworks and now I have to get us an entirely new show. I have calls in to his business partner. It’s just that we don’t have a lot of time left and I know that the supply of professional, arsenal-style fireworks can’t be so big that we will have our choice of shows now.”
“Surely they have insurance to cover any incidents,” Mom said. “I’ll ask my cousin Helen. She’s the one who recommended them. Maybe she can point us in the right direction to get this taken care of.”
“Really?” I asked, hope rising in my chest.
“Sure. I’ll call her and let you know.”
“Great.” I slumped with relief. “Could you? Tell her to let them know there are multiple shows. If they go well, we can negotiate a long-term contract.”
“I’ll tell her,” Mom reassured me. ”I’ll let you know what she says.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. Come visit us soon, okay? Before it’s fall?”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Bye.”
Maybe, just maybe we’d get lucky and my mom’s cousin Hele
n would come through for us. In the meantime, I would Google the world’s best pyrotechnic groups and see if I couldn’t find someone who was not only really good, but also wasn’t under contract to already do a show those nights.
I had a feeling I was going to have to get very, very lucky.
Banana Cream Pie Fudge
½ cup butter, melted plus 1 teaspoon to prep pan (coconut oil is a good nondairy substitute)
¼ cup milk (almond milk is a good nondairy substitute)
1 3.4 ounce package of banana cream instant pudding and pie filling
1 teaspoon vanilla
6 cups powdered sugar, sifted.
1 cup dried banana chips, chopped (I actually crunched them up by pounding the bag. They crumble easily.)
Butter 8x8x2 inch cake pan.
Mix butter, milk, unprepared instant pudding, vanilla. Add powdered sugar 1 cup at a time until you reach the desired thickness. Fold in banana chips.
Scoop into prepared pan. Pat until smooth. Score into 1-inch pieces with butter knife.
Refrigerate for 2-3 hours until set. Break into 1-inch pieces along score. Serve in individual paper candy cups or on a platter. Store leftover in covered container in the refrigerator.
Enjoy!
Chapter 5
Trent showed up at my door with a bouquet of gorgeous flowers in his hand and a bottle of merlot.
“Hi,” I said as I opened the door. Simply by looking at him, my heart was all aflutter.
The epitome of tall, dark and handsome, he stood a head taller than me with gorgeous brown eyes that were rimmed with black lashes a woman would envy. He had a long straight nose, a square jaw, and a mouth that made me want to sink my teeth into it. His skin glowed a golden tan.
Tonight, he wore a tan shirt with an open collar, a dark brown velvet suit jacket, and light brown slacks. His brown shoes had square toes.
“You look amazing,” he said.
I smiled and did a little twirl, causing the skirt of my sleeveless, red dress to bell out. “You said to dress pretty. Is this pretty enough?”
“Oh, now you’re fishing for compliments.” His voice had a low tremble that made gooseflesh rise on my arms.
“Yes,” I said, owning up to my need for validation. “Yes, I am. So please give it to me.”
He stepped into the apartment and handed me the flowers. “You are stunning. Let’s stay in and take that off—”
“Wait.” I held up my hand in a motion of stop. A blush rushed up my cheeks. “I like the sound of that, but it took me an hour to get dressed. So you have to take me out.”
He grinned and bussed a kiss on my cheek. “I suppose I can wait.”
“Good.” I walked over to the galley kitchen separated from the living room area by a breakfast bar. I put the flowers on the counter and reached into the cupboard underneath to pull out a vase. Filling the vase with water, I smiled. “What do you have in mind for tonight?”
“There’s a social over at the yacht club. I need to see a couple guys to talk business.”
I turned and let my disappointment show on my face. “Oh, and here I thought it was going to be a romantic dinner.”
“It will be,” he promised and set the bottle of merlot on the counter. “There’s no reason I can’t mix a little business with pleasure. Besides, I want to show you off.”
I picked up the flowers and stuck them in the water without taking the time to trim or arrange them. “Okay, so that last part makes me feel a little bit better.”
Trent’s expression turned to one of concern. He reached over and took my hand and held it up. “What happened?” he asked as he brought my cut and bruised hands to the light.
“Yesterday’s explosion,” I explained.
“Explosion? You didn’t say anything about an explosion.” His eyebrows drew in closer. A muscle on his jawbone ticked and his sensuous mouth went flat. He gently ran his thumb across the back of my hand. “You were in an explosion. Was that what happened with the fireworks?”
“Yes.” I felt the color in my face rise. I didn’t expect him to look so upset. “You should see the other guy,” I teased.
“There was another guy?” His eyes narrowed.
“Oh, boy.” I sighed and walked around the bar and drew him to the couch to sit with me. “I had hoped to tell you over dinner. You know, when you ask me about my day.”
“I don’t think the yacht club is the appropriate place to tell this story.” He gathered me against him. “I’m just going to hold on to you while you tell me. Please tell me you were not near the explosion.”
“Well, see, now I can’t do that.” I leaned back against his chest and felt his heart racing under me.
He put his arms around me and took my hands in his. “Then tell me what happened from the beginning.”
“I got a call from the pyro technician I’d hired to do the fireworks show for the Fourth of July. Really, I got three calls because I got caught up making fudge and forgot to check my phone.”
“You do get caught up in your fudge.” He slipped his fingers between mine and rubbed them gently. I could feel him smile as he kissed the top of my head. “Go on.”
“The last message Rodney sent asked me to come to the warehouse as soon as possible. Someone had messed with the fireworks.”
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t he call the police?”
“I don’t think he thought it was anything he couldn’t handle. He’s been working with these things for twenty years. I’m pretty sure he wanted to figure out logistics for bringing in new fireworks or he wanted to discuss what to do about the price of replacement fireworks. Those would be things I would need to handle.”
“Okay. So you went up to the warehouse? Which warehouse?”
“The big cinder block one near the airport. Rodney had brought in magazines and stored them in the warehouse. I rode my bike up and left it—” I paused.
“What?”
“There was another bike when I got there.” I sat up fast. So fast I narrowly missed hitting Trent’s chin with my head. I turned to him, my eyes large with concern. “There were two bikes there when I arrived, but after the explosion one of the bikes was gone.” I scrambled up, went over to the breakfast bar, and took my cell phone out of the date-night handbag I’d chosen to take tonight. “I need to call Rex.”
“Hey now,” Trent said, staying my hand. “I’m sure Rex doesn’t need this information tonight.”
I paused and looked into his handsome face. “Are you sure?”
“What would he do with the information?”
“He could track down the bike.”
“In the dark?” Trent pointed to the windows to show me that our eight PM date was happening under the dew-tipped stars.
“Right. Okay.”
“We have reservations. This sounds like a long and complicated story.”
“It is.” I made a face to show my regret. “And it’s not exactly romantic.”
“So before we go, tell me. How badly are you hurt?”
I lifted my cheeks and squinted my eyes. “I’ve got a few cuts and bruises, but nothing broken.”
He took my hand and stepped back at arm’s length and twirled me around. “I hadn’t noticed the bruising on your legs earlier. I was too busy admiring the dress.”
“If you don’t want to show me off—”
“Oh, no, I’m showing you off,” he said firmly. “As my beautiful and brave date.”
“I like the sound of that.” I let go of his hand.
“I’m ready.” I put the cell phone in the night clutch and walked with him to the door. As we passed the wrought iron coatrack and umbrella stand, I snagged my white pashmina scarf and slung it around my shoulders.
Trent opened the door and I walked into the hall with him, turned and locked the door.
“Do you have a cat?” he asked.
I froze for a moment. “Not on purpose. Do you see it?”
“Yeah,” he answered and nodded.
<
br /> I followed his gaze. The cat was at the top of the stairs. It looked for all the world as if it belonged there as it sat and licked its front right paw.
“We need to catch it,” I said. “Rex let it in last night and we have had the devil of a time trying to catch it.”
“It’s just a cat,” Trent said with laugher in his eyes. “You just go get it.” He strode toward the cat with confidence. “Hello cat.” He leaned down and picked it up.
I swear that the cat let him. It did not run or even mildly protest as he lifted it up and slung it over his arm so he could scratch it behind the ears.
“She’s pretty,” Trent said.
I approached the two slowly and held out my hand for the cat to sniff first. “Yes, she is. Wait.Is it a she?”
Trent laughed. “I’m pretty sure.”
I gave the cat a scratch behind the ear. At that moment, Mal decided to come bounding up the stairs. She barked, startling me. I jumped and the cat leapt out of Trent’s hands and onto the ground and the chase was on.
“Mal! No!” I called as we hurried down the stairs after the cat and dog.
Mr. and Mrs. Bertnell were coming up the staircase as the cat and dog hit the second floor and raced passed them.
“Oh!” Mrs. Bertnell cried, her hand going to her mouth, her eyes wide as she stepped to the side to let them by. Thankfully, she was wearing jeans and athletic shoes. Her sweatshirt had WORLD’S BEST GRANDMA printed on it.
“What the—” Mr. Bertnell was just as startled as he high stepped it around the cat and dog as the two raced by. He also wore jeans, white athletic shoes, and a sweatshirt printed with I’M WITH THE WORLD’S GREATEST GRANDMA.
“Sorry,” I said as Trent and I brushed by.
“Animals are a hazard in a hotel,” Mr. Bertnell shouted behind us.
“I know. Sorry,” I shouted to the ceiling, hoping it would carry up.
Trent beat me down the stairs . . . mostly because I was wearing four-inch heels. Sexy heels I might add. The sacrifice in wearing sexy heels was that I was slower. Hurrying kind of hurt my bruised body parts.