Alanna moved around the kitchen, her movements stilted and jerky. She must look like Mr. Hoffmeister had the night before—a tad off. Jonathan sat at the island, awkward and out of place like he didn’t know how to help and wondered if he should stay. She needed him here. While her mind knew whoever killed Mr. Hoffmeister had no reason to venture this far into the island, she couldn’t relax and feel safe.
She opened the refrigerator, scrambling for what to offer as a meal. “Sandwiches okay? It’s not glamorous. . .”
“I’m a bachelor.” Jonathan cut off her excuses. “Any meal I don’t prepare is a good one.”
She grabbed meat and cheese. Jonathan stood and selected glasses from the cabinet. “What would you like?”
Alanna pulled back from the fridge, her hands filled with ranch dressing and other condiments she set on the counter next to the ham and Swiss. “Water’s fine.”
He turned on the faucet and watched the water fill first one glass and then the other. The silence felt awkward yet necessary. Jonathan seemed lost in his thoughts, and she didn’t rush to fill the dead air as she sliced a tomato and some lettuce before arranging them in salad bowls. She didn’t blame him. Something like this didn’t happen on Mackinac.
She bet if she asked the police chief, the man would affirm her gut that no one had been murdered since before she was born. Still, in the age of the Internet, the outside world intruded on Mackinac. In a minute, she had sandwiches prepared and a simple salad for each of them.
“Mind if I grab some chips from the pantry? Your mom always keeps a stash.”
“No, but that’s Dad’s stash.” He’d always had a weakness for chips, especially Cheetos. The more fake cheese colored his fingers, the better.
Jonathan pulled back the door and tugged a tube of Pringles from the bottom shelf. “These work?”
“Sure.”
They sat at the table, and Jonathan said a quick grace.
“I talked to Rachelle yesterday.”
Her gaze collided with Jonathan’s. “And?”
“I asked her about commissioning a piece.”
“I bet that went well.”
He shrugged and shoved another Pringle in his mouth. “Not as bad as I expected. She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either. I insisted she had to paint, not Trevor, since that’s what the client wants.”
“She admitted the paintings aren’t hers?”
“Not in so many words, but I connected her with the Morrises. We’ll see what happens.”
Much would be resolved if Mom started painting again. Then Alanna wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with new paintings. Mom probably wouldn’t deliver any again.
As she took the last bite of her sandwich, someone knocked. She looked at Jonathan, and he shrugged.
“Expecting anyone?”
“No.” Who would it be? People hadn’t exactly lined up since she’d returned.
Jonathan followed her to the door and peeked out the window before she opened the door.
Police Chief Ryan stood there with a man in a bedraggled suit that identified him as an underpaid detective. They were here? With a murder to investigate? She straightened and quirked an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
“Alanna, this is Detective Brian Bull from the state police. Do you have a few minutes?”
Jonathan started to push past her, but she shook her head. He frowned but planted himself at her side. “What’s this about?”
“Don’t get worked up, Covington. This doesn’t concern you.”
By the way Jonathan’s chin hardened, the chief’s words were the wrong ones.
Alanna sucked in a breath. There weren’t any attorneys to call on the island, so she’d handle this on her own for the moment. Shouldn’t be too hard, even if the old saw stated only a fool had himself for an attorney.
“Alanna.” Chief Ryan frowned at her, his bushy gray eyebrows meeting in the middle of his face. “Shouldn’t take long, assuming you don’t have anything to hide.”
“I’d like to know the subject matter.” She studied him as carefully as he did her, not missing the challenge in his expression.
“Hoffmeister.”
Jonathan gaped at the police chief. “You think Alanna knows something?”
“Pretty certain.” The police chief studied Alanna coldly. Yet the detective was the one that worried Alanna. He had a slouched appearance, but his eyes moved constantly, taking in everything. What did the man expect to find here of all places?
Alanna sighed as she caught Jonathan’s shocked expression. Maybe she should have emphasized her visit. No, she didn’t know it would add anything to the investigation, and her plan to contact the police in the morning was sound. He’d have to understand when she explained later.
“I’ll answer your questions here on the porch, but first I need to grab something.” Alanna slipped inside and grabbed the folder she’d slid Mr. Hoffmeister’s note into last night. She also grabbed a pad of paper and pen before returning to the porch and sitting on the nearest white rocking chair. She placed the items in her lap and folded her hands across them. In a moment, her knuckles turned white from her laced fingers, and she tried to relax. She needed to remember all the advice she’d ever given clients when preparing for interviews or depositions. It had seemed easy then. Now she could barely pull the first word into her mind.
Jonathan stood in the doorway, the stiffness in his posture telegraphing he would stick close until she asked him to leave. Right now, that was the last thing she planned. She needed someone with her. A witness who could vouch for her in case things didn’t go well.
Detective Bull pulled a slim notepad from his inside breast pocket and flipped it open. He poised a pen over the paper. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Hoffmeister?”
“Yesterday.” No reason to hide that piece of information.
He jotted a note. “Where did you see him?”
“First at the studio. Later at the shop.”
Jonathan frowned at her. She ignored him. Her focus had to stay locked on the police chief and detective. She only hoped she could remember everything after they left. It seemed like her vision narrowed with gray areas on the outskirts. She wanted to shake it off, but would that look somehow guilty? She should have paid more attention in her criminal law continuing education classes.
“When you say, ‘the studio,’ where is that?”
“The Painted Stone, the studio my parents own.”
“Are they in town?”
“No, my father has a health issue, which is why I’m here.” She bit her lower lip to stop elaborating. Stick to the question asked. How many times had she instructed clients that way? But she’d also tell them never to talk to police without an attorney present.
Detective Bull studied her, and she relaxed her posture. He glanced at Chief Ryan, who nodded. “How long have you been on Mackinac?”
“Since the week before Memorial Day.”
“Have you spent much time with Mr. Hoffmeister?”
“We’ve talked a couple times.”
“Prior to yesterday?”
“Yes.” A trickle of sweat slid down her shoulder blade.
“What were those conversations about?”
Why wasn’t he asking her more about yesterday? “Different things. An accident from eleven years ago.”
“The one where the teenager died?” the detective asked.
Chief Ryan shook his head. “I warned you to leave it alone.”
At his words, Alanna wished she had her digital recorder out and on. He wouldn’t have inserted himself like that with a recorder capturing every word.
Detective Bull frowned at the chief then turned back at Alanna. “Why did you see Mr. Hoffmeister yesterday?”
“He came to the studio to tell me to quit looking into that death. It was unusual for him, especially since I haven’t done much other than talk to him once. He’d been pretty open then.”
“And last night?”
“I stopped by the fudge shop to see if he was all right.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know. He seemed out of character at the studio. I needed to know he was okay.”
Chief Ryan snorted. “Meaning you needed to harass him and the librarian last night.”
He knew she’d stopped at the library? She turned toward him.
“I flipped through an old yearbook. Nothing more. I need to piece together what happened. Since Mr. Hoffmeister lived near the accident location, he suggested he knew something.”
Jonathan placed a restraining hand on her arm. Alanna sucked in a breath and vowed not to say another word to the chief. Let him egg her on all he wanted; he wouldn’t get another word from her. Not now.
The chief crossed his arms and stared at her. Fine. She’d ignore him. She had bigger concerns with the detective leaning against the porch railing. Her eye was drawn to the peeling paint that had started to flake from the railing. Her dad always kept the house meticulously maintained. How many summers had he made Trevor and her scrape and paint? What had distracted him from the appearance of perfection?
“And last night?”
“I stopped at the shop on my way home. When I entered, nobody was out front. I waited a minute then heard voices in the back. After a minute, I rang the bell, a door closed, and Mr. Hoffmeister came out. He seemed agitated, but I bought a slice of fudge and left.”
“Did you see anyone around?”
“No. When I left, I didn’t see anyone.” Stick to the question, Alanna. Jonathan removed his hand and stepped back, and she felt cold and alone in his distance. She shivered and rubbed her hands along her arms. “When I got home and opened my bag of fudge, this fell out.” She slid the note from the folder and handed it over.
The detective pulled on a glove and then accepted it. He took a moment to read it before handing it to Chief Ryan. “Why wouldn’t he just come out and say he needed to talk to you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he was afraid of the man in the back.”
“I thought you said he’d left?”
Had she? Alanna couldn’t remember and understood why someone could get rattled in the middle of questioning. “Do you need anything else right now?”
The detective studied her, seeming to test whether he could press her. Whatever he saw in her posture turned him to his notes, difficult to see now in the shadows created by the sinking sun. “Not at the moment.” He pinned her with his gaze. “However, I recommend you don’t leave the island. Certainly not without letting the chief know first.”
“Excuse me?” Indignation flared in her chest at his order.
“Right now you’re the last person who saw Mr. Hoffmeister. That either makes you his murderer or a material witness. We’ll be in touch.”
The two men nodded then faded off the porch and into the shadows. A headache pounded at one temple. Alanna tried to regulate her breathing and force her muscles to relax. She might have sat in numerous interviews, but she’d never been the interviewee. She prayed she didn’t repeat the honor.
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?”
Jonathan’s voice snapped her head around. “Sorry?”
“You had an exciting day yesterday.”
“I had no idea how exciting until you told me about Mr. Hoffmeister.” She sighed.
“Alanna, they think you did it.”
“No, I wouldn’t still be here if they could prove that.”
“There’s a step between believing and proving.”
She shivered again and pushed out of the chair. “I’m going inside.” She left it open about whether he’d follow her. Maybe Jonathan didn’t want to stay. She wouldn’t blame him. It wasn’t every day the police interviewed her.
“It’s not that simple.” Jonathan joined her in the kitchen.
Alanna opened the freezer and pulled out some chocolate- chip cookie dough chunks. After turning on the oven, she plopped the pieces on a cookie tray. Chocolate-chip cookies and milk wouldn’t solve everything, but they made a good start on comfort food. It wasn’t like she could call her mom for commiseration. She rubbed her temple then slid the pan in the oven.
“Alanna, sit down and explain what happened.” Jonathan pulled out a chair, led her to it, and eased her down.
“Somehow the police knew I was at the shop last night.” How? It hit her. “The debit card. They must have checked the transactions. Makes sense.”
“You don’t have anything to hide?” Hope edged his words.
“No. In fact, I planned to sit down tonight and write out what I remembered and call Chief Ryan in the morning. Once you told me he was dead, I knew they needed the note. I couldn’t break away or organize my thoughts at work, or I’d have called him earlier. I wish Mr. Hoffmeister hadn’t locked the door after I left.”
Jonathan frowned at her. “Why?”
“Then someone else could have been the last person to see him alive.”