Oh Say Can You Fudge (16 page)

I sighed and leaned into him. I could hear his steady heartbeat under my ear. “It’s embarrassing to have everyone in the room hear my mom tell me I need to see a shrink.”

Jenn came around with her own glass of ice tea and settled sideways into the chair. “It’s not just Rodney. You’ve been through several traumas, including two explosions. It might not hurt for you to talk to someone about them before things get bad.”

“You really mean it.” I frowned at her.

“We both do.” Trent kissed the top of my head.

I tried to sit up, but his arm kept me gently against him. “I’m not crazy.”

“That’s why you should see someone,” he insisted. “Only a crazy person could go through what you have gone through since your grandfather died and not need to talk to a professional about it.”

I wanted so badly to stick out my tongue at them both and flounce off in a huff, but I was tired and as much as I hated to hear it, I had begun to realize they might be right.

Time to change the subject. “Rex wouldn’t tell me what happened with Henry Schulte,” I said, my thoughts tumbling to the first explosion. “Do we know why he killed Rodney?”

“The official statement was simply that they had arrested Henry for the crime and that the evidence against him would be presented in court.” Jenn made a face. “Not very satisfying.”

“No,” I agreed and wrinkled my brow. “I’d love to hear Liz’s take on it. Did Henry use Rodney’s threatening e-mails as a decoy to murder him? If so, why murder him here on Mackinac? Why not kill him someplace less dramatic. I mean, if I wanted it to seem like a professional murder, I wouldn’t have killed him in a warehouse on a small island, lit the fuse on a string of screaming chickens, and then blown up the fireworks inside.”

“I see what you mean,” Jenn said, her expression puzzled.

“Also, when he left me the last message, Rodney said that someone was messing with the fireworks and I swear he saw someone in the warehouse.”

“He could have seen Henry,” Trent suggested.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think he said something like ‘Hey, you. What are you doing here?’ Which means—”

“He didn’t recognize whoever was in the warehouse with him,” Jenn finished my thought.

“The two things may not be connected,” Trent said. “Anyone could have been in the warehouse before Henry killed Rodney.”

“So why kill him here?” I asked again. “I mean, why not kill him someplace closer to home?”

“Or why not wait and make it seem like an accident?” Jenn said. “If it was that premeditated, I think Henry could have thought out the murder better. I mean, what better way than to have the fireworks backfire and explode in Rodney’s face when he was doing a show? That makes more sense than using the death threats as a motive to throw the cops off his trail.”

“Maybe that’s what Henry was doing in the warehouse when Rodney saw him,” Trent suggested. “Maybe Rodney caught Henry sabotaging the fireworks. Then Henry wouldn’t have had a choice. He would have had to kill Rodney then and there.”

“Again, it goes back to Rodney not seeming to recognize the person he caught messing with the fireworks. Do we know what Rex thinks the motive is?” I asked.

“Liz said something about issues with the accounts,” Jenn said. “That plus a ten million dollar life insurance policy are pretty good motives to me.”

I bit my bottom lip. “Yes, I suppose I can see that. Thankfully, I never saw Henry at the warehouse. I shouldn’t be called upon to testify, anyway.”

“Speaking of witnessing crimes, did you see anyone at the scene of the fire?” Trent asked.

“No.” I shook my head. “Rex asked me the same thing, but I didn’t. It was eerily quiet. That’s why I called 9-1-1 right away. I knew no one was home to call in the fire.”

“So why start a fire and leave it?” Jenn tapped her lips then shrugged and got up. “We’re just talking in circles and it’s late. I think I’ll head to bed.” She poured the remains of her drink in the sink, rinsed her glass, and wiped her hands. “Don’t stay up too late, kids.” She winked at us. “Sweet dreams.”

“Good night, Jenn.” Trent’s voice rumbled through his chest and comforted me.

Mal slept beside me and for a moment, I drank in the warmth of being surrounded by love. “Thanks for being so nice to my parents. I know they can be a little strange sometimes.”

Trent chuckled. “They’re good people. I’m glad they came up.”

“But you didn’t have to invite them on our date.” I pouted.

His chuckled deepened. “I was being polite.” He tilted my chin up so he could look me in the eye. “I like your folks, but I enjoy being with you. I figured it was better to invite them on our date than to miss out altogether because you wanted to spend time with them while they are here.”

“Oh.”

He kissed me then and the evening was perfect.

Chapter 17

Two days later, I felt better and excited for the holiday. July third dawned bright and beautiful. The whole island was gearing up for the celebrations to come. Mom and Dad came in from a morning walk with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“Did you have fun?” I asked.

“Oh, my,” Mom said. “I forget how much fun the Fourth is here on Mackinac.”

“We have one of the only two remaining all original Revolutionary War forts in America,” I said with pride. “They have so much going on. There’s a thirty-one gun salute and tomorrow there’s a picnic at the lawn at the foot of the fort catered by the Grand Hotel. Everyone will be there.”

“If I remember right, doesn’t the fire department put on a shindig?” Dad asked and pushed the hair out of his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. McMurphy,” Jenn said from her station at the reception desk. She was covering for Frances while the older woman ran some errands. “They host the Fun and Games at Windermere Point.”

“Right,” Dad said with a fond smile. “They have the Greasy Pole Climb and old-fashioned sack races.”

“The Ladies Auxiliary hosts a lemonade stand,” Sandy said as she leaned on the back of the candy counter. We had finished our first demonstration of the day. She had done the work, while I walked around telling the crowd the story of fudge making.

It actually worked out well. I was able to cut off some small bites with my good hand and a stainless steel scraper. I passed them around to the delighted crowd and then took orders filling pink paper boxes with pounds of fudge. As much as I missed doing the work myself, I knew the McMurphy fudge was in good hands with Sandy.

The crowds had dissipated after Mom and Dad came inside.

“Do they still have a three-legged race?” Mom asked. “Honey, remember the time you and Allie tried the three-legged race?”

“I think Dad cheated.” I smiled at the happy memory.

“It wasn’t cheating,” he protested.

“You picked me up and ran with me under your arm,” I pointed out.

“Papa jumped the gun and had a three-stride lead,” Dad said. “As I saw it, the old man should not get to win. Besides, your leg moved with mine.”

“If I remember right, you and Papa both tripped and Pat Keller and his son Marvin won that year,” Mom said, her eyes sparkling.

“Papa tripped us,” my father grumbled. He went to the coffee bar and poured two fat cups of coffee. From the way he fixed them, I knew he filled one for Mom and one for himself.

It made me smile to see the simple act of getting coffee for my mom. It meant that things were okay between them. My heart blossomed. After Mom’s last visit, I wasn’t sure how things were going, but watching Dad take her an unasked for cup of coffee with two creams and no sugar let me know that things were okay.

“That sounds like something Liam would do,” Frances said as she came in through the back hallway. She let go of Mal’s leash. My puppy gathered it up and raced toward me to say hi.

I bent down and patted Mal on the head. Then I gently took off her halter and leash. “There you go, little girl.” Thankfully, the clip leash was easy to work with my left hand.

I stood. “I was reminding Mom and Dad of all the things going on around the island this week,” I said to Frances.

She wore a long, comfy brown skirt with a red, white, and blue, long-sleeved blouse that was untucked, but pulled together with a brown belt that had a gold, star shaped buckle. “Always lot’s going on.”

She waved Jenn away from her perch behind the receptionist desk. “The three nights of fireworks, which Allie put together, starts tonight. I recommend you take chairs and set them up in the schoolyard early. I was just by that way and people were already staking claim to the best spots.”

“But the fireworks are twelve hours away,” Mom said, checking her watch.

“There are some folding chairs in the basement,” I said. “If you hurry there might still be a few good spots left.”

Dad nodded. “I’ll get on it.” He went to the basement.

Mom looked from me to Frances. “Really? Twelve hours before?”

“It gets crowded,” Frances said.

“Do you stay there all day?” Mom asked. “Because if that’s what is happening, then I need to go up and make some picnic food for Allie’s dad.”

“You can leave the chairs and blanket there,” Frances said. “People are good about respecting staked out spots.”

“Until about seven
PM
. Then all bets are off.” Sandy turned from the counter to the dishes in the sink behind it.

“Oh, good,” Mom said. “Two hours outside is much better than twelve hours.”

“When was the last time you and Dad were here for the Star Spangled Fourth celebrations?” I searched my memory and didn’t recall them being there since I turned twelve.

“It’s been forever,” Mom said. “Your father’s office has a mandatory company picnic on the Fourth.”

“How did you get out of it this year?” Jenn asked as she grabbed her own coffee mug and draped her lanky body across one of the overstuffed chairs. Her dark hair floated over her shoulders in a soft cloud. She wore a pale blue sundress with cream-colored flowers sprinkled on it. It was pretty and went well with the thick blue and white stripes of the chair.

“Allie being hurt was our excuse,” Mom said, her gaze going to my bandaged arm and my splinted thumb. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” Mom narrowed her eyes. “You look a little pale.”

“Sandy did all the work,” I said quickly.

Jenn ratted me out. “But you have been working since five o’clock this morning.” She ignored my stink eye and sipped her coffee. “I’m just saying that it’s been five hours. You should sit down and take a break.”

“Allie, sit down before you fall down,” Mom commanded and pointed to the pale pink chair that sat across from Jenn’s blue and white one.

“I’m not going to fall down,” I muttered. Sulking, I scooted over to sit in the chair.

Mom shook her head, her mouth flat and slightly down turned. “You almost died in an explosion three days ago. Don’t push it, young lady.”

“It’s not like I’m going to cheat at a three-legged race,” I muttered. Still, I had to admit to myself that it felt good to sit and take the pressure off my legs.

The McMurphy’s front door opened with the accompanying jingle of the bells attached it. I glanced over to see Liz walk in. Her curly hair was put up in a messy bun. She wore tan peddle pusher shorts, a white tank top, and a green camp shirt with the tail hanging out over the top. “Hey kids, what’s shaking?” she asked with a big smile.

“Someone’s happy,” I observed as she made her way to the coffee bar and poured herself a cup.

“New boyfriend? Jenn asked. “Spill.”

“I take it you know her,” my mom stage whispered to me. She was dressed in pressed blue jeans and a polo shirt in a lovely mint green. Her dark hair was perfect in its low bun at the nape of her neck.

“Mom, this is Liz MacElroy. Liz, this is my mother, Ann McMurphy.” I waved my introductions.

“Hi.” Liz came over with her coffee in her left hand and shook my mom’s hand with her right.

“Liz works with her grandfather Angus at the
Town Crier
,” I added.

“Oh,” Mom said. “I remember Angus as a nice fellow—a little nosey but nice.”

“Mom!”

Liz laughed and sat on the arm of Jenn’s chair. “It’s okay. He is nosey. So am I, I suppose.” She sipped her drink. “It’s what makes us good journalists. If we weren’t nosey, there’d never be investigative journalism.”

“So, who’s the guy?” Jenn asked, her blue eyes crinkling.

“No guy,” Liz said. “But I may have solved the arson problem.”

“Really?” I sat up straight. “Who? How? Did you tell Rex?”

Liz put her hand up in a
stop
motion. “I said, I
may have
solved them. Remember, Rex doesn’t want theories. You can’t prosecute theories.”

“What is your theory?” I asked.

Dad came through the basement door. “Got four chairs, a tarp, and a blanket.” He grinned. His arms were full of rolled up bundles. “Do you think we’ll need more?”

“Do you think a tarp is necessary?” Mom moved toward him. “How can we see the fireworks if we have a tarp over us?”

“The tarp is for the picnic,” Dad said, his face darkening a bit. We can tear it down after the sun sets.”

“Sounds perfect.” I stood. I was set to defuse the brewing argument, but it wasn’t necessary.

“Oh, of course. What a great idea.” Mom kissed Dad on the cheek, restoring his smile. “Pat, this is Liz MacElroy. She is a reporter at the
Town Crier
.”

“Oh, hi,” Dad said. “I would shake your hand, but mine are full.” He raised his to show off the bundles he juggled.

“Liz has a theory on the arsons.” Mom put her hands around Dad’s bicep.

“Great.” Dad moved forward. “Are they arresting the jerk who hurt my little girl?”

“Not yet,” Liz said with a twinkle in her eye. “I have a theory. What I need to do now is see if I can shake the arsonist into admitting their guilt.”

“How are you going to do that?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” Liz said. “Like I said, I have a theory. I thought I’d ask you all what your opinions are about it.”

“Let me put this stuff down, Dad said.

Mom stopped him. “No, we don’t want to lose a spot at the fireworks display.”

“She’s right,” Frances said from her perch behind the receptionist desk. “Spots were going fast.”

“Not fair.” Dad blew a puff of bangs from in front of his face.

“It’s all right, Mr. McMurphy,” Liz said. “We can fill you in on the plan when you get back.”

“Fine.” His shoulders sagged a bit in disappointment. “I’ll be back in a few.”

We watched him walk out, hands full and shoulders square with purpose.

“Theory?” I asked Liz, bringing everyone’s attention back to the story at hand.

“Do you have a white board?” Liz asked.

“Oh, are we going to do a murder board?” Jenn asked, sitting up. “I love how they do that on crime shows. Except ours will be an arson board, I guess.”

I frowned. “No . . . Wait.” I went out to the sidewalk and grabbed the
SPECIALS
board and its easel. I tucked the board under my left arm and Jenn held the door as I brought them inside. “We can use this.” I set it up in the lobby near the chairs and settees beside the basement door and erased the words
Today’s Specials—Red, White, and Blue Fudge and Apple Pie Fudge.

“Oh, apple pie fudge,” Liz said. “Really? Grandpa would love that.”

“I’ll box you up a pound,” Sandy said.

“Allie has a whole series of pie fudges,” Frances said as she came around the receptionist desk to join us in front of the arson board. “I was skeptical at first, but the lemon meringue won me over.”

“Okay.” I handed the erasable markers to Liz. “Spill your thoughts.”

“Okay, this is the island.” She quickly sketched the familiar outline of Mackinac. The island was thought to be the back of a great turtle. Liz had done a good job with it. “Now”—she put down the black marker and grabbed red—“these
X
es are where the fires have been since February.”

“There were fires in the winter? Jenn asked. “Isn’t it kind of cold and snowy for that?”

“Yes,” Liz said. “That’s why no one realized it was arson at first. The snow kept the damage to a minimum and it was thought that someone was out snowmobiling and stopped to eat lunch and built a fire to keep warm.”

“That could have been the case at first,” Frances pointed out.

“Sure.” Liz nodded her agreement as she made X marks on the board. “It may have started that way. The fires may have started even earlier but they might never have come under the notice of the fire department.” She pointed to a mark in the east portion of the state park near Eagle Point Cave. “This is the first that we can reasonably call part of the arsonist’s series. It was a large bonfire. The starter had piled huge branches and twigs and pine needles. The wood was wet and the smoke was thick and black. People called it in because it looked so out of place.”

“Is there anything around where this fire was started? Like a shed or something that gave the person a reason to be in the area in the first place? Did the arsonist talk to anyone?” I asked.

“No, by the time the guys got the truck out there, it was out of hand and whoever started it was gone. The only clue was the snowmobile tracks that led back to town so it was dismissed as a tourist who didn’t know what they were doing.”

“Because everyone knows that wet wood does not make for a warm fire,” I said.

“And it looked like it got out of hand because they kept adding more wet fuel in an attempt get it to burn warm,” Liz said.

“Since there were snowmobile tracks there must have been snow on the ground, right?” I asked.

“Yes,” Liz confirmed. “I checked the weather report for that day. There were ten inches of snow. Whoever started the fire really had to work to collect combustibles. That means they were at it for some time.”

“Do we know anything about the tracks?” I asked. “Do we know how many snowmobiles were in the area? What sizes? It could be a good clue to the identity of the arsonist.”

“That’s what I thought, but the report only mentions the fire, which was substantial by the time the firemen got there. Even with the snow and damp the fire crew had quite a time to get in there and douse it.”

“Did you interview the guys? Did anyone remember the fire?”

“I did,” Liz said with a nod. “Frank Blessing said there were plenty of boot tracks. He figured it was two guys, but one snowmobile.”

“Two of them.” Jenn pursed her mouth. “Do arsonists work in pairs?” She grabbed her phone. “Let me do a Web search on that.”

“Actually, I already did,” Liz said. “The profile for arson is rarely more than one person. It was why the thought of arson never crossed anyone’s minds. They figured whoever started that fire were kids or ignorant tourists.”