by Nancy CoCo
“I know.” Jenn went on. “The person to fire them has to be certified. I can’t find anyone who fits the bill who isn’t busy already.”
I drew my eyebrows together and frowned as I poured soap and water into the pot. “I wonder if Rodney’s partner is certified to run the show. I mean, he is Rodney’s partner. That means he has to have some kind of license. Right?”
“He must,” Jenn agreed. “Do you still have his number?”
“I do. I’ll call as soon as I finish this batch.”
“Do you think he’ll do it?” Jenn asked, her eyebrows drawn together.
“I’m betting he can’t say no. We do have a contract. I’ll pull it out and see what it says. If we have fireworks, then he has to do the show, right?”
“That would be ideal.”
“Thanks, Jenn.” I finished washing and drying the pot in time for the timer to go off.
“You’re welcome. I love watching you make fudge. It never gets old,” Jenn said as I removed the frame from around the fudge and it set in place, slipping only slightly toward the edge of the table.
“I know what you mean.” I grabbed a long-handled spatula and started to flip the fudge. “Where are the fireworks? Can we get them here in time?”
“Yes, if we expedite the shipping.”
“Do it. I’ll call Henry and send him a copy of the contract if he needs to see it. We paid them fifty percent down. I think that entitles us to someone to run the show, don’t you?” I switched from the long handle to the short-handled scraper and turned the fudge into a long loaf. Then made short work of cutting quarter-pound pieces and placing them on a tray.
“Sure do,” Jenn said with a grin.
“Thanks for tracking them down.”
“That’s my job.” She curtsied and bowed.
“Remind me to give you a raise someday.”
“I’m counting on it.”
A few minutes later, I was upstairs in my office with the Rivers Productions contract in my hands. I dialed the phone and put it on speaker.
“Rivers Productions. This is Henry Schulte. I’m unable to get the phone. Leave your name and number and reason for calling and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
The phone beeped and I frowned. “Hi, Mr. Schulte. This is Allie McMurphy. We were able to find enough fireworks to do the shows we contracted Rodney to do. What we need now is someone to light them and do the show. I’ve got a contract in my hand that says Rivers Productions will supply the personnel to do the show. I know Rodney is dead, but you are still alive. Please call me back. The show must go on.”
I left my number and hit END, scowling at my phone and willing it to ring. Henry Schulte had been the most difficult person to get ahold of. If he didn’t call back by this time tomorrow, I’d go see Rex. He had somehow gotten Henry to come down to the station. Maybe he could help me track him down again.
You know, maybe if I hurried I could find Henry still at the police station. I yanked off my sticky chef coat, tossed it on the back of my desk chair, grabbed my copy of the contract, and headed down the hall to the apartment. I’d take the fire escape down to the alley. It would keep me from running into too many people. It sometimes took an hour to get out of the McMurphy. People always wanted to know about fudge making, or they had an issue in their room, or they needed directions.
It wasn’t that I minded so much talking with them and helping them out. But I had a feeling if I didn’t hurry, I might miss Henry altogether. And that was not something I was going to take a chance on.
I stuffed the contract in my purse and opened the kitchen door and stepped out onto the fire escape to find the beautiful black, white, and orange kitten sitting on the stoop, licking its paw as if he belonged there.
“Hello. So you’re back.” I paused, careful to ensure the door was closed tightly behind me. The last thing I needed was another episode of loose cat in the McMurphy. “Do you live nearby?”
The cat didn’t answer. In fact, he barely paid me any mind at all. If it was a he. Or was it a she? I couldn’t remember what Trent had told me he thought the sex was. Not that it mattered. I like boys and girls.
I squatted down and held out my hand. “Pretty kitty.”
The cat continued to ignore me.
I studied its shiny fur and bright eyes. It looked to be of medium size and didn’t have any of the awkwardness of a kitten. “Are you an alley cat? Or does someone nearby love you?”
Slowly, I reached into my pocket and took out my cell phone. Then I aimed the camera at the cat and snapped a nice picture. I sent the picture to Jenn in a text. Look who is outside on the fire escape.
She texted back immediately. Pretty!
Do you think I should bring him out some tuna?
If you feed it, it will keep coming back.
I laughed. Some guys I know are like that. She texted, *snicker*.
Can you create a flyer? That way if the cat has an owner we can let them know not to worry.
Sure thing was her texted reply.
I stood and studied the cat who continued to act as if I didn’t exist. “If you’re still here when I get back, I’ll bring out some tuna and water,” I promised.
The cat seemed to expect me to do just that. I sighed and climbed down the metal stairs. I was supposed to be going to find Henry Schulte. A glance at the time told me I’d be lucky to catch him still at the police station. It was growing later in the evening and Rex would have no real reason to keep Henry. That is, if he hadn’t left the island right after he walked out of my shop this morning.
I pushed open the door to the white administration building and went straight to the police department. “Hello,” I said to the officer on desk duty.
He looked up and I realized it was Officer Brown. He was about my age with dark green eyes and caramel colored hair. He had nice broad shoulders and wore the uniform crisply pressed.
“Oh, hi, Charles.”
“Hey, Allie, what brings you by?” He put down his pen and gave me his full attention.
“I was looking for Henry Schulte. I know that he was here earlier to see Rex. Is he still around?”
“Rex or this Schulte?” Charles asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Schulte, actually.” I scrounged around in my purse until I came up with the contract. “I’ve located replacement fireworks for the shows, but I need a tech to light them. Since we still have a contract with Rivers Productions I want to see if Henry will run the show in Rodney Rivers’ place.”
“That’s smart,” Charles said. “Where did you find replacement fireworks at this late date?”
“Jenn found them. She is amazing at scrounging up stuff.”
“I’ll give Rex a ring and see if he knows where Schulte is. Why don’t you have a seat?” Charles pointed at the four plastic chairs across from the desk.
“Sure.” I sat down and watched him pick up the phone and place the call.
“Hey, Rex. Allie McMurphy’s here looking for Henry Schulte. Is he still around?”
I could hear Charles’ deep voice over the top of the wooden reception desk. The floor between him and the chairs where I sat was tiled and polished to a deep shine. A five-by-seven foot rug filled up most of the space so that it was difficult to slip or fall on all that shine.
“I see. Okay. I’ll let her know.” He hung up the phone.
I stood. “Is he here?”
“Rex asked him to stay on the island for a few days. He got a room over at the Hamilton B & B. You can try him there.”
“Thanks. Have a great day.”
“You, too.”
“Oh, wait.” I turned on my heel and pulled out my phone. “You wouldn’t happen to know if anyone is missing this cat, would you?” I showed him the picture on my phone.
He studied it carefully then shook his head. “No. Nice cat, though. Is that the one Rex let into the McMurphy?”
I couldn’t help but match the grin on Charles’ face. “Yes. This time it was
sitting on the fire escape. I was careful not to let it inside.”
“Don’t feed it,” he warned. “It will never go away if you do.”
“I’m having Jenn put up signs. It’s a pretty cat. Someone must be missing it.”
“I’ll let you know if anyone calls. Usually they call animal control, but sometimes they call here, too.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Is the shelter here on the island?”
“No, Mackinac County Animal Shelter is in St. Ignace.”
“Okay.” St. Ignace was the closest town on the Upper Peninsula side of the island. Several ferries went to and from there daily. “I’ll have Jenn fax them a picture.”
“Good luck,” Charles said with a grin.
“Thanks.” I texted Jenn about the animal shelter. I wanted her to let them know we had the cat if anyone was looking, but I didn’t want them to get the cat. I had no idea if they were a no-kill shelter or not. I couldn’t live with the idea that that beautiful cat might be no more.
The Hamilton B & B was just off Market Street less than a mile from the police station and two blocks behind the McMurphy on Main. It was a lovely old cottage that had been turned into rooms. I walked up the sidewalk and enjoyed the fresh air and the cool flutter of the leaves on the tree-lined street.
The Hamilton was deep sage green with orange and white painted trim. It had a wide front porch that overlooked a deep front lawn. It was times like this I wished the McMurphy had a wide front lawn or any lawn for that matter, but my family had given up the lawn for prime real estate on Main Street. The Hamilton had a fire pit in the center of its lawn and several comfy looking metal Adirondack chairs. Two big oaks framed the four-story house. It had pitched roofs and gingerbread trim in all the corners.
The porch held several rocking chairs. Two chairs were currently filled by a middle-aged man in denim shorts and a navy T-shirt and a middle-aged woman in shorts and a white tee with a big flower print.
“Hello,” I said as I reached for the brass handle on the door.
“Hello,” they said, revealing their Chicago accents. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
“It sure is.” I opened the door.
The inside smelled of beeswax and old wood. The house had a central foyer and hall. To the right of the door was a large wrought iron coatrack. To the left was a mirrored, oak foyer bench and coatrack.
“Hello?” I called.
A woman with short gray hair and oversized black glasses stepped out from the far left doorway. “Hello. I’m Susan Hamilton. How can I help you?”
“Hi Susan.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Allie McMurphy. We’re neighbors, sort of. . . .”
“Ah, the McMurphy girl,” Susan said, her pale blue eyes sparkling behind her glasses. “Nice to meet you, dear.” She shook my hand. “I knew your grandparents well. I’m so sorry for your loss. Liam was a gentleman through and through.”
“Thank-you.”
Mrs. H was about five foot six inches tall and wore a sweatshirt with a Michigan State logo on it over jeans and athletic shoes. “What brings you to the Hamilton?”
“I suppose you heard about the fireworks explosion,” I said.
“Oh, dear, me, yes. I was in the kitchen when it happened. I could hear the booms and see the smoke. What a ruckus.” She shook her head. “I understand you were there.”
“Yes,” I said with a nod. “It was not fun. We lost all the fireworks for the Star Spangled Fourth.”
“Oh, dear.” She pushed her glasses farther up on her nose and blinked at me. “That won’t do. That won’t do at all. What is the committee doing about it?”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m the person in charge of the fireworks. I’ve been lucky enough to find replacements. All we need now is someone qualified to fire them.”
“I see.” She frowned. “I don’t know what that has to do with me. I’m certainly not qualified.”
“Oh, no.” I touched her forearm in reassurance. “I’m here to see your latest guest, Henry Schulte. He’s the partner of Rodney Rivers, the technician we lost in the explosion.”
“Oh, dear, someone died?” Mrs. H asked. “Why did I not hear about that?”
“The death is still under investigation, but I’m pretty sure it was reported in the Town Crier. I know that Liz was at the scene.”
“Well, that’s the reason. I’ve been in Petoskey visiting my sister. She lives on a farm and when we get together we do so much chin wagging that we don’t even turn on the television, let alone read a paper.”
“That makes sense,” I said. “Can you tell me if Mr. Schulte is in?”
“I saw him about an hour ago when he checked in.” Mrs. H went to a small desk on the wall across from the staircase. “I can’t give out his room number, but you can leave him a message.” She handed me a notepad and a pen.
“Wow, that is old-fashioned.” I laughed.
“You’d be surprised at how many people pay attention to a handwritten note over a text message.”
“Okay.” I wrote out a small note asking Henry to call me and gave my number. “I don’t think he’ll follow up, but it’s worth a try.” I tore off the note, folded it, and put his name on the underside then gave her the note. “It was nice to meet you, Susan.”
“You, too, Allie,” she said and took the note. “I’ll give this to him right away. Best of luck with your search for the fireworks technician. We really count on the shows.”
“I know you do. I certainly know you do.”
Chapter 9
“I heard that Rodney Rivers was getting death threats,” Jenn said as we gathered for our nightly staff meeting in my apartment.
I poured sangria for myself, Jenn, Frances, and Mr. Devaney. Sandy Everheart, my part-time chocolatier, had ducked out to spend time with her family. The apartment windows were all wide open and the cool breeze off the lake made the curtains flutter.
“Where’d you hear that?” I asked as I curled up in my favorite chair. “Oh, no, wait—” I held up my hand. “Was it your inside source?” I grinned.
“Yes.” Jenn tried to hide a secret smile by taking a sip of her drink.
“How does Shane know?” Frances asked.
“It’s a small department,” Mr. Devaney said. “I imagine there is some water cooler talk.”
“Actually, Rex sent Rodney’s smartphone out to be forensically searched. Shane is interested in the process for electronic evidence and was chatting the guys up who did the work. They told him that usually there isn’t much to be found on a victim’s phone, but Rodney did most of his business on his phone so there were all kinds of receipts, e-mails, and documents.”
“And they found threats? What kind of threats, viruses?” I asked.
Mal jumped up onto the chair beside me and with a comfortable turn she settled into my lap.
“He was getting e-mail messages from collectors about unpaid bills. There were also phone messages that were quite explicit.”
“Yikes. That’s scary,” I said.
“I imagine Rex is looking into Rivers’ finances,” Mr. Devaney said.
“Unpaid bills aren’t exactly a motive for murder,” Frances said. “If that were the case, there would be a lot of dead people in this world.”
“I suppose that’s true.” I tilted my head. “Were the threats only from collectors?”
“No.” Jenn’s blue eyes sparkled with interest. “There were a couple unidentified e-mail threats.”
“I thought all e-mails could be identified these days.” Mr. Devaney pulled his left ankle up to rest on his right knee exposing argyle socks and dark brown shoes. His slouchy corduroy pants were dusty from today’s work. His dress shirt was checkered red, cream, and brown and protected by the deep brown cardigan he wore over the top.
“It’s true most can be eventually traced to an IP address, but sometimes that takes time and a whole lot of effort.” Jenn sipped her drink. “The police would have to be really convinced that those threats were worth the t
ime and effort to dig up the source. Even then, it might be a library or Internet café used by multiple people during the day.”
“You sound like you know a lot about cyber stalking.” Frances waggled her eyebrows. Her short brown hair shone in the lamplight.
“I love to watch those television crime shows,” Jenn said. “Shane tells me things are so much different in real life. There are labs full of evidence waiting to be looked at, but there isn’t time, money, or good equipment always available. So they make you think that bad guys will be caught, but that’s not always the case.”
“Poor Rodney,” I said. “His threats turned out to be real.”
“Or they may not have been related to the murder at all,” Jenn said. “Shane was telling me of this case in Ann Arbor where some woman had a stalker, but as we all know there isn’t much the police can do unless some harm comes to a person. Well, she was shot and in a coma for a week. The Ann Arbor police pulled in her known stalker, but couldn’t connect him to the gun or the alley where she was shot.”
“What happened?” Frances asked as she settled slowly into the couch until she rested ever so carefully, nonchalantly touching Mr. Devaney. Seriously, we all knew about those two, so why did she continue to pretend nothing was going on?
“Oh, the woman woke up and, once the doctors intubated her, the police listened to her story and discovered she could identify her attacker and it wasn’t the stalker. It turns out it was a random mugging that had nothing to do with the fact that she had a stalker. The stalker was let go because the woman was able to identify her mugger as a different man in a lineup.”
“Wow,” I said. “Poor gal. To have a stalker is scary enough, but then to get mugged in a separate incident. Terrible.”
“Speaking of terrible, did you find out if Rodney’s partner will conduct the fireworks show with our new fireworks?” Jenn asked.