As soon as the clock reached six, Alanna bolted. Tomorrow she’d interview potential employees by phone, but for now she needed to clear her head. Forget about everything.
A trip around the island might clear her mind. At least that’s what she hoped as she mounted her bike. At the end of the street, she stopped at the library. Biking around the island could wait, but the search for answers couldn’t. She wandered the aisles of the small building until she found the slim section of yearbooks. She flipped through the one from her senior year. So many photos showed a small group of tightly knit teens. When there were only a couple handfuls of students in a class, you got to know each other well.
Alanna stopped flipping when she reached Trevor’s picture. He looked so young and full of boyish excitement. He’d been all of a sophomore with the future waiting. A few pages more and she stared into Grady’s cocky face. He looked like he ruled the world rather than the small kingdom of the Mackinac Island school. Even her photo conveyed someone with big dreams.
What happened to those? Somehow her vision of her future died along with Grady. She’d fled the island rather than return after college. She’d wanted to make a difference; now she invested herself in a job she was good at but didn’t love.
Someone cleared her throat, and Alanna glanced up with a start. An elderly woman with gray hair cut in short layers around her face studied Alanna.
“Sorry, ma’am, but it’s time to close.” She cocked her head.
“Of course.” Alanna closed the yearbook. “I’ll get out of here now.”
“Don’t I know you?”
Alanna shrugged as she pulled the book close like a shield. “Maybe, but it’s been years since I’ve been in the library.”
“Hmmm. I could swear you’re the image of Rachelle Stone.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Alanna?” The woman grinned. “Well, it’s time you came back, kid. You probably don’t remember me. Tricia McCormick. Went to college with your mom and followed her here.”
“That’s right.” Alanna carried the yearbook to the copier and started copying the pages showing the classes. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”
“It’s been years.” Tricia’s look traveled to the bookshelf. “Reminiscing or searching?”
“A bit of both.” Alanna returned the yearbook back to its slot.
“Your mom said you could never let it go.” The woman sighed. “It was a sad day, but the rest of us moved on. Time for you to do the same.”
“I can’t.”
“Still stubborn I see. I don’t know what you’ll find here, but feel free to come back as often as you need.”
Alanna nodded then hurried to her bike and away from the woman’s gaze. Tricia McCormick knew the old her as well as anyone on the island. Well enough to know she bulldogged questions. And this was one she couldn’t walk away from.
Should she continue around the island?
The shadows had lengthened while she read inside. Maybe she’d find Mr. Hoffmeister. See if he was still angry. It seemed so out of character for him to make accusations like he had. Especially when she hadn’t really started digging. After all, how would he know about her conversation with her mom? And what did that have to do with him? It wasn’t as if she’d done much yet to look into Grady’s death. Her presence alone couldn’t be enough to get him out of sorts. Could it? Had Ginger run to him after she dropped off the file? That seemed unlikely but possible.
She eased her bike to a stop in front of I’m Not Sharing. The lights warmed the windows and inside of the shop. It looked empty, but she got off anyway. As long as the lights were on, the shop was open.
The door opened easily as she pushed it, the bell announcing her entrance. As soon as she entered, the familiar fudge-laced air flooded around her. She waited inside the door on the mahogany- stained, plank floor. The display cases stood with shelves almost bare of fudge. Looked like the morning would be early and busy or the store wouldn’t have fudge to sell.
Muffled voices whispered from the back area, but Alanna couldn’t see anyone. She waited a minute, taking in the shop. Whoever worked tonight had worked hard to get things ready for closing.
A couple of empty marble tables sat in the prep area. Counters stood clean and ready for new batches of fudge to be worked and cut into yummy slabs. She waited a few minutes to give the conversation in the back a minute to wrap up, but still no one came out to check on who had entered. Had they missed the bells when the door opened? Must be an intense conversation.
Guess she’d use the little bell resting on top of the glass case on the counter next to the old-fashioned cash register. None of those fancy computers for I’m Not Sharing employees. They still made change the old-fashioned way, one dime at a time.
Alanna hit the bell, the tinny sound not reaching far. She waited a moment then knocked it again, harder this time. “Hello?”
It sounded like a door in the back slammed, and she ran her hands over the smooth, walnut counter. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Hello? Mr. Hoffmeister?”
Maybe someone else worked tonight.
“Coming.” He huffed around the corner, sounding out of breath, then skidded to a stop when he spotted her. “Alanna Stone. You’re the last person I expected tonight.”
“I know. I was headed home, but decided I needed to check on you.”
“Why?”
“This morning was. . .surreal. Have I done anything to offend you?”
He pulled his glasses down and rubbed his eyes. “Just a long few weeks.”
That didn’t explain why he’d come and publicly scolded her. He must have seen her skepticism.
“I probably got carried away. Between your questions and that monstrosity Tomkin wants to build”—he shuddered at the words— “I’m distracted. But you need to let everything drop between Grady and Trevor. That’s done and over.”
“Trevor still walks under a cloud of suspicion. Can you say you don’t blame him for the accident?”
“Each of you played some part in it.”
Alanna winced as his words slammed into her, the edge hard and on target. “Still. . .”
“It’s unsolvable, so stop. Find an employee for the shop and go home.”
“This is my home.” She paused at the word, shocked she’d said it and even more surprised that she meant it.
“Hasn’t been for eleven years. A few weeks won’t make that much difference. Go back to your job, friends, and new life. Leave us alone.”
Alanna stepped back, unsure what to do next. “Why warn me about Tomkin?”
“No reason.”
“Not buying it. You don’t make accusations unless you have something to back it up.”
“Let’s not talk about this now. Come back tomorrow. It’s been a long day, and I’m ready to head home.”
He looked exhausted, strung out, with crow’s feet etched into the corners of his eyes. “Just one minute.”
“Fine.” He looked at the counter then raised worried eyes to hers. “Didn’t you ever find it odd the amount of thrashing out there?”
“Out where?”
“In the water. Think about who was there. And what happened. It wasn’t an accident. Roughhousing’s one thing. This wasn’t.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“What makes you think I didn’t?”
A clang erupted from the back. Mr. Hoffmeister jerked as if he’d been prodded. “Think you want some fudge?”
What had smelled so good when she stepped in now turned her stomach, but as she looked at Mr. Hoffmeister, she nodded. “A slice of the mint chocolate please.”
The older man grabbed a piece of wax paper from the box and then reached into the display case, his hand shaking as he claimed a slice.
“Not that one.” Alanna couldn’t remember him ever reaching for the wrong kind. Peanut-butter fudge didn’t look anything like the mint. “Mint please.”
“That’s right. Old brain is fuddled at the moment.” He chuckled weakly as he grabbed the right kind. He pulled out a bag but seemed to take extra time before he handed it over. He ran her debit card through the machine that looked oddly out of place next to the giant cash register. His movements jerked abnormally as he slid the receipt to her. “Have a good evening.”
“You, too, Mr. Hoffmeister.” Alanna left the store then turned to watch him from the window. He shuffled across the floor as if he carried the weight of a hundred problems then locked the door and flipped the sign. She waved, and he lifted a hand.
The street was quiet as she shoved off and pedaled home. The white bag glowed like a flag in her bike’s basket, waving a surrender to all who passed her. When she got home, she opened the bag. A small piece of paper, like it had been torn from the cash-register tape, fluttered to the table. Mr. Hoffmeister’s scrawl had her squinting as she tried to decipher it.
Alanna, come by my house tomorrow night. I’ll explain then. If I don’t answer, you’ll find the key by the German shepherd. She guards the house for me.
She stared at the slip. When had he found time to write it? She’d been there the whole time. And why not just tell her when she was in the shop? Why all the secrecy?
The questions bothered her as she tried to go to sleep and woke her during the night.
The next morning Alanna got a late start after her restless sleep. She slipped a headband on to hold back damp hair as she hurried to the studio. She slowed when she approached I’m Not Sharing. Police crime-scene tape fluttered around the outside. Dread sank like a weight through her at the image. What happened after she left? A few of the island police officers stood around the perimeter of the tape, their expressions hard and unwelcoming.
She eased to a stop.
“Keep moving, miss.” A uniformed officer still wearing his bike helmet gestured her on.
“What happened?”
“Can’t say.” He waved his arm. “Please keep moving.”
She eased back into the bike traffic. After she opened the Painted Stone, she’d call the island grapevine to find out what happened. Until then she had a couple of job interviews to conduct. At the pace her investigation wasn’t moving, she needed to leave the island as soon as possible. In fact, yesterday sounded better all the time.
With a last glance at the yellow tape flapping across the shop’s door, Alanna finished biking to work, her thoughts shadowed by the unknown. She focused on the interviews, which passed smoothly enough, with only one of the candidates showing enough interest to invite for an in-person interview. It helped that the college student lived in St. Ignace during the summer. After arranging the interview for the following morning, Alanna helped several people who wandered into the store. She sold paintings with mixed emotions.
She vowed to unravel the twisted mire around the art as soon as humanly possible. She munched a sandwich at the counter, counting down until she could take a legitimate lunch break again. Peanut butter and jelly had never been her favorite sandwich, and right now she’d give anything for a pot roast sandwich at the Yankee Rebel. She tried to imagine the nutty aroma of her sandwich was the meaty one the Yankee Rebel served instead, but her imagination couldn’t quite make the transition.
She finished the sandwich then placed a want ad in another paper. Eventually one would work. It had to.
Early that afternoon she looked up from the web page she’d opened. Jonathan stormed into the studio, a frown creasing the bridge of his nose.
“Jonathan, what’s wrong?”
“Didn’t you hear?”
She shook her head. “Hear what?”
“Mr. Hoffmeister was murdered last night.”
The blood drained from her face, and she felt an accompanying dizziness. “The tape. . .”
“The state police detective and crime scene unit have been at I’m Not Sharing since one of the employees discovered him this morning.” Jonathan leaned against the counter. “I can’t imagine who would kill him.”
Alanna sagged against the wall. A weight plunged her stomach to her toes while spots danced in her vision. “He seemed all right.” Just distracted. Her thoughts spiraled as she considered what could have happened.
“He seemed all right?”
“Last night. I stopped to get some fudge on the way home.” Jonathan didn’t need to know what they discussed. Or about Mr. H.’s odd actions when he came to the studio. “That poor man.”
Jonathan nodded. “I can’t imagine anyone killing him. It must have been a botched robbery. The island’s been so quiet, I can’t imagine whoever did this got away with much money.”
“I hope you’re right.” The idea that a murderer could be a neighbor chilled her.
“How did he seem when you saw him?”
“Okay. Distracted.” What more could she say? She hadn’t been Mr. Hoffmeister’s closest friend, but she’d always liked the man. He’d been like the uncle you loved to be annoyed at. Soft and gushy sometimes and mildly odd the rest. She hadn’t spent enough time with him since returning though. Whatever he might have known about Grady’s death had died with him.
Alanna tried to rein in her thoughts, but they returned to what he might have known.
“I hope the police close this soon.” Jonathan rubbed his face as if trying to wipe away his grief. “I always liked him. Nobody deserves to die like that.”
“How. . .how was he killed?”
“I don’t know. Nobody knew at lunch.” His face clouded as if listening again.
“I got here and forgot. I assumed it was a robbery.” She shivered as a deep chill settled over her and the words of his note waved through her mind. He’d known. Somehow he’d known. “How horrible.”
Jonathan nodded. After a minute, he pushed back from the counter. “Be careful. We don’t know who did this.”
“You, too.”
“Promise you’ll wait for me to ride home. Your parents won’t want you out alone.”
Alanna considered protesting but realized he was right. The thought that someone would murder anyone. . .on Mackinac? It didn’t compute. She couldn’t think of a time someone had been killed. Maybe the island had changed in ways too terrible to contemplate.
The rest of the afternoon evaporated as Alanna searched the online news services for information. As she scanned for anything, she wondered if she should give the note to the police. The lack of details had her nerves bunched. Was it important? As she considered its cryptic message, she decided to wait until she had time to collect what she knew in an organized manner for the police. As the stream of customers continued, she knew she’d have to wait until she reached the sanctuary of her home.
The shadows had started to lengthen by the time Jonathan returned. She hurried out to meet him, locking the door behind her. The cleaning and prep for tomorrow would wait. Right now she wanted to feel safe within the four walls of her house.
The silent ride up the hills felt rushed. Like they both fled to a place of peace, but Jonathan wouldn’t do that. Usually she wouldn’t either. What if she’d been the last person other than the killer to see Mr. Hofffmeister alive? After she got home, she’d write down everything she could remember from his rush into the studio to their short conversation and his halting actions at the shop. Then she’d talk to the police. If only she’d caught a glimpse of whoever had been there when she’d arrived.
Her sigh must have reached Jonathan as he pumped up the hill in front of her.
He turned in his seat and glanced at her. “You okay?”
She swallowed. How to answer that? She hadn’t been great friends with Mr. Hoffmeister, yet she felt his death.
They reached her driveway and turned down it. Once she parked her bike, he followed her to the door and then walked through the house with her.
“This is silly.” A giggle ended the sentence, one she’d love to swallow back. “It’s not like whoever did this would come here. Mr. Hoffmeister lived on the opposite side of the island.”
Jonathan continued his search, opening the pantry door. “Better safe. . .”
Alanna didn’t say anything else until he’d looked in each of the upstairs rooms. “Would you like to stay for supper?”
“The last time I did that, your mom left.”
“Tonight will be different.” As she studied his serious eyes, she wished she could form the words. Please stay. Don’t leave me alone. Instead, she prayed he could read it in her gaze. What happened to the independent woman from Grand Rapids?
Murders normally didn’t affect her.
Usually she didn’t know the victim.