Deadly Secrets on Mackinac Island Read online

And there was something about sitting in the middle of the woods by the pond that settled him at the end of a busy day. He could commune with God while he waited to see if anything bit on his bait. That led to peace in the midst of the chaos. With event planning, there was an abundance of that—almost too much.

  He just had to fish and avoid Alanna and the complications she brought.

  The thought tempted him to avoid the dock, but this long holiday weekend would fly by with a wedding and reception, so he’d better grab moments while he could. Jonathan locked up and hustled down the steps as he slipped his messenger bag over his neck then slid the bag to his back. At the side of the building, he unchained his mountain bike and straddled it. As soon as a gap appeared in the tourists on foot and bike, he pushed into the flow of traffic.

  Where most tourists continued along Lake View Boulevard, he veered up Cadotte Avenue and then biked steadily up the hill. His legs pumped in a steady rhythm as he worked the bike around a few others. This was what made the island such an ideal place. You worked hard all day then released the day’s cares and stress on the bike ride home. He couldn’t think of too many other places that allowed the same release.

  The yards evolved into thick woods, and still he hiked. His cabin hid on a road that most visitors never discovered. So while the island’s population swelled from a few hundred to several thousand during the summers, he still lived on an isolated patch of God’s creation.

  After fifteen minutes of steady pushing, he reached the turn to Scott’s Road and then the cutoff for his cabin and the Stones’ home. His house looked like it was constructed with a child’s Lincoln Logs compared to the Stones’ Victorian. His needed landscaping of some sort. Something to make it look like somebody who cared about the place lived there.

  He snorted at the thought. Since when had things like flowers and grass mattered to him?

  He parked his bike alongside the house and shook his head. Since a certain Stone had returned. He’d never bothered before because of the extra work it took to get anything onto Mackinac. It was difficult enough getting the groceries up from the dock or

  Doud’s, but plants? He’d never bothered.

  That settled it. He needed to get it out of his head that Alanna Stone was anything special. She’d left without a glance back only to return without warning. He stomped into the small living area. He bumped into the lone chair at the tiny table on his way to the refrigerator and growled. He had to evict her from his thoughts before she resumed permanent residence.

  The pond beckoned, but he couldn’t risk sitting on the dock. Not with his thoughts already filling with Alanna. Been down that road. Not willing to travel it again.

  He fiddled with the cans in the pantry until he settled on clam chowder. That should banish any romantic notions if she deigned to wander by. Or maybe he should go by her house.

  Stupid. He threw the can opener back in the drawer and dumped the soup in a bowl. While he waited for the microwave to work its magic, he stared out the window. Normally the view of the pond calmed him. Tonight all he could see was the past. Alanna and he laughing on the dock as they sat shoulder to shoulder. What had happened to that? To them?

  The clop of horses’ hooves and the jangle of harnesses along with the creak of wood reached him through the open window. A taxi bringing Alanna home?

  The microwave dinged, and he pulled the steaming bowl out, his attention focused on the road.

  “Hot dog.” He whistled and placed the bowl on the table before hurrying to stick his burning fingers under the faucet’s cold water. Fifteen minutes later, he placed the empty bowl into the sink when someone knocked at the door. Jonathan stared out the window a moment then brushed a hand over his hair.

  Sooner or later, they’d have to say hi. It’d be awkward if they didn’t.

  “Get it over with,” he muttered as he squared his shoulders.

  “She’s only someone you used to know.”

  Really well.

  Which she destroyed when she threw him away along with the island she’d learned to hate.

  5

  Alanna hadn’t felt this nervous since taking the bar exam. She tugged the hem of her shirt while she waited at Jonathan’s door. As the silence stretched, her ire grew. If he didn’t want to talk to her, fine. She wouldn’t beg.

  She turned from the door at the memory of Grady Cadieux’s body being pulled from the frigid water. He’d looked so blue. So dead. The paramedics had labored over him, and she’d prayed he’d make it—especially when she saw Trevor’s face as he struggled from the water. Brendan Tomkin’s saunter looked forced, but no one else seemed to notice as everyone focused on a too-still Grady. The paramedics loaded him in the ambulance and zipped him to the clinic before boarding the ferry that transported him closer to a hospital, yet all their efforts failed, and he still died.

  A stupid stunt by kids who liked to prove who was better than the other. And Trevor got pulled into their ridiculous cockfights. Then one kid died and another’s life was ruined by accusations, spoken and unspoken. Somehow Brendan slipped into the background and avoided attention. She’d never understood how he managed that. Guess it helped when your dad was the principal.

  To top off the memories, she’d left her keys at the Painted Stone. She fought the desire to disappear into the night and avoid Jonathan, but he had a spare key. She had no choice but to see him.. .after her embarrassing departure at lunch.

  What a perfect example of the disaster her decision to return was.

  Mom and Dad could have found someone else to run the studio. Then she’d be back in Grand Rapids in her well-ordered and controlled life rather than standing on Jonathan’s porch.

  The door opened, and she spun from the fence dividing the properties. Jonathan leaned against the door frame. Any concern that had been in his eyes at lunchtime was replaced with a studied distance.

  “Alanna.” He moved from the doorway and took a step toward her. “You’re really back.”

  She nodded, the motion jerky. “For the moment.”

  “Your mom talk you into this?” There was something hard, almost cruel, in his voice.

  “Mom said to see you if I needed help. Sorry to bother you. I’ll break a window.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s surreal seeing you. After all this time.”

  The words felt like an indictment. She didn’t need that. Not on top of the memories that flooded her on every corner of this island. “Good night, Jonathan.”

  “Wait. Do you need the spare key?”

  She nodded, wishing she could deny it. At this rate, he’d think she’d fallen apart. “I left mine downtown.”

  He ran a hand over the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks. “I’ve got a key in here.” He disappeared into the house, but she didn’t follow. A minute later, she heard what sounded like a junk drawer being dumped on a table. “Found it.” Footsteps hurried toward her. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” She stared at him, the weight of the past pressing against her.

  His phone rang, and he glanced at the screen. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.”

  “Well, good night.”

  “Night, Lanna.” Before she turned away, he’d opened the phone and said hello to Jaclyn. Her stomach lurched at the idea his girlfriend had interrupted their conversation.

  She climbed the fence and like a fool hoped he’d follow anyway. Cut the conversation short and come after her. Instead, muffled conversation followed her as she hurried home. She should be grateful for the thick stand of trees that stood between them. That hid him. Then she might be able to forget the divide. One she’d allowed with her loathing of this place. Trevor didn’t deserve the lies and tarring he received after Grady’s death. The blame could have been placed on anyone. But the island’s residents had thrust it squarely on his thin shoulders.

  The muffled conversation ended, and she sighed. Why, now that it was impossible to have Jonathan, did she wonder what they could have h
ad together?

  When she entered her parents’ home a minute later, she stood in the entryway taking in the living room. She’d return the key later. For now she wanted to relax. It didn’t look as if her mom had redecorated any space but Alanna’s room. If anything, she had added layers of paintings to the living room. Every square inch of wall was covered with landscapes in brilliant colors.

  The paintings looked. . . right. The way she remembered. Her mother had a distinctive flair for putting colors together in a rich, eye-catching manner. The style was that of an Impressionist master, but the colors danced with life and vibrancy. She approached the paintings over the fireplace. They were stacked three deep on the mantel. And the closer she came, the more she knew they were her mother’s work.

  With that realization came an inkling. Maybe the art professor wasn’t crazy to think someone else painted those at the studio. At least a few of them. She pulled a painting down and laid it on the couch. She repeated the process until artwork covered the couch and floor. Dusk filled the room, and Alanna flipped on one of the Tiffany floor lamps. The light splayed through the stained-glass shade, casting rose-colored shadows on the walls. No matter how she studied the paintings, she couldn’t find the nebulous something she looked for.

  There had to be some clue that indicated her mother and no one else painted them, but Alanna couldn’t identify it. Then as she scanned them again, Alanna noticed the red geraniums painted into the art. A potted plant sat next to most of the front doors. Hadn’t that been the flower Mom had used at her wedding reception to bring joy to each table?

  Her cell rang, a Matthew West song about not wanting to waste life. She fished the phone from her pocket and opened it. “Hello.”

  “Hey, girl.” Samantha Rice’s bubbly voice brought a smile to Alanna’s face. “Whatcha doing?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “That good?”

  “Better.” Alanna didn’t want to stir up all over again the crush of emotions she’d experienced in coming home.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

  “Let’s just say I’m settling in.”

  “Not too well, I hope. This apartment is empty and dull without you.” Sam’s pout made Alanna laugh, something she hadn’t done in too long.

  “It’s not like I’ve been around that much.”

  “Sure, the trial kept you busy, but you at least slept here most of the time.” Sam made an oooing sound, like a ghost. “It’s creepy here alone. You’ve never heard so many creaks and groans in one place.”

  “You could come here.” Alanna clapped a hand over her mouth. Returning home must bother her more than she realized.

  Sam snorted. “That would require me to have some idea of where you are. Tell me, and I’ll get the time off.”

  She opened her mouth but couldn’t do it. She needed the separation between her worlds. “Never mind.”

  “That’s what I figured. Well, glad to know you arrived wherever it is you went. Let me know if you need anything other than forwarding your mail to your mom and feeding your cat.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That’s what friends are for. Even if you’re being overly secretive. I’m ready to believe you’re a secret agent or something equally crazy!” As Alanna hung up, she wondered why she couldn’t just tell Sam the truth. Most people associated Mackinac Island with a relaxing getaway. Sam would probably think it was the perfect place to recover. Could it feel like a retreat? Maybe it should. The events that caused Alanna to run happened eleven years ago. Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

  The next morning, Alanna awoke to light streaming through the eyelet curtains. Her room had transformed from Pepto-Bismol pink to white and pristine. She stretched then burrowed back under the covers. How long would it take her to get down to the Painted Stone? Taking the taxi yesterday was an expense she couldn’t afford every day.

  A cool breeze fluttered the curtains. Maybe her old bike still rested in the storage shed. If so, she’d ride it down. Otherwise she’d need to find one. The island was too big to walk everywhere.

  Alanna got ready then grabbed the storage shed key from the junk drawer and walked out the back door to the storage building. It sat a few yards to the side of the house, surrounded by lilac trees. The paint peeled on the cream-colored building. She worked the key into the padlock then slid the door to the side. The early morning light penetrated the shadows in the small building. Cobwebs hung in strands from the rafters, making Alanna wonder when her parents had last used the building. Without a horse, she couldn’t imagine either of them walking into town every day. The walking in wouldn’t be a problem since it was primarily downhill, but returning was a doozy.

  Back in a corner, she found her old bike with the large basket on the front. She pulled it out and tested the tires. She’d need to find a pump, because those flat inner tubes weren’t taking her anywhere. After digging, she found a bicycle pump buried in a corner and got the tires filled. She hopped on and took it for a spin around the yard. The wide tires bounced across the lawn. She’d make it to the studio, no problem. She ran back inside, grabbed her purse, and headed down the road.

  As she pedaled to town, the bite in the morning air made her wish she’d grabbed an extra jacket and gloves. By noon the sun would burn off the clouds and warm the air, but late May mornings held on to the cold, with the temperature hanging in the forties. She shivered as she chained the bike behind the Painted Stone and unlocked the door. The downtown area held the calm of a waking town. The tourists remained ensconced in their warm rooms, leaving quiet in their absence.

  Alanna took advantage of the stillness to dust the paintings. The work of four or five artists dotted the walls. Everything from modern slashes of paint to her mother’s Impressionist leanings.

  Alanna considered rearranging the paintings to bring some order to the mismatched styles, but first she’d check the storage room. See if any paintings waited to replace any she sold. Somehow she had to get buying customers in the store while finding an employee.

  The bell dinged over the door, and she exited the storage room with a smile. Her steps faltered when she saw who entered. “Mr. Hoffmeister?”

  A short, balding man pivoted on his heel. His shoulders were slightly stooped from a lifetime of pushing fudge along marble tabletops. Gray curls ringed his head like a crown. The rich smell of chocolate flavored with mint clung to him. He appraised her with intelligent, chocolate-colored eyes, a cautious smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “Alanna Stone. I’d heard rumors you were back.”

  “The grapevine in action.”

  “This is a small place.”

  Alanna bit back a sharp retort. “Yes, sir.”

  “You here to help your parents?”

  “For a bit.”

  He nodded. “Is that it?”

  Alanna straightened the pens lined up on the counter, avoiding the old man’s searching gaze. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave as soon as I can find someone else to work here.”

  “No one wants to run you off. I’ve missed seeing you around.”

  “Unlike. . .”

  “No one ran you off then, Ms. Stone. You did that on your own.” It hadn’t felt that way. “Everyone assumed we did it.”

  “No one ordered Grady to jump into the water.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You young fools were down the hill from my house. Besides, Ginger filled me in.”

  Alanna’s mind spun with the possibilities. As an eighteen-year- old, she’d never stopped to think who might have seen the party. They’d all assumed they were too sneaky to have adults notice. “You could see?”

  “Of course. And with Ginger there, I kept an eye on things. How do you think the paramedics got there so fast? It would take a deaf and blind fool not to notice the bonfire.”

  The bell jangled as the door opened again. A couple walked in wearing the resort casual clothes indicative of guests at the Grand Hotel.
/>   The woman, looking like a flamingo in her head-to-toe pink ensemble, approached the wall of Stone originals. “Honey, look at these colors. Can’t you see this one over the fireplace?”

  “Sure, darling.” The man nodded with the bored air of someone who didn’t know an original from a paint-by-number kit and would rather hit the links on the hotel’s golf course.

  If he was that indifferent, Alanna could taste the sale. She glanced at Mr. Hoffmeister and then at the couple.

  He waved her off. “Stop by some night. I’ll get you some of your favorite fudge, and we can catch up. Maybe Ginger can come over and you can reconnect. She needs more friends.” He raised his fingers to his head in a salute. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Thank you.” She watched him leave then turned to the couple. Slight unease she couldn’t shake tightened her shoulder blades. Ginger had dated Grady, been certain they would have a fairy tale come to life. Then Grady died, and she changed, altering the close friendship Alanna and Ginger had shared throughout school.

  Alanna shook free of the thought. Maybe tonight she’d stop by Mr. Hoffmeister’s shop. Eat fudge and hear him out.

  “Ma’am, I think we’ll take this one.” The woman smiled broadly while her husband tugged at his back pocket.

  Right now she’d sold a painting. A surge of hope pulsed through her.

  6

  Jonathan hurried across the street and into the breach. Well, that’s what it felt like as he rushed to reach the foundation meeting. Having a four-color, glossy presentation for each member of the foundation’s board of directors wouldn’t do him a lick of good if he arrived late. He wished his printer had fed the paper without jamming on every other page.

  If Jaclyn hadn’t called as the printer jammed on the last brochure, he still might have arrived on time. But she’d cried through another crisis, and he’d listened because he couldn’t cut her off.

  The squat white building with a bright red door and black shutters on each side of the windows sat next to the community building. He sidestepped a tourist and opened the door. He eased his shoulders down and hoped his face didn’t reflect evidence he’d run across the business section to arrive late.