Chapter 3
“They identified the dead guy as Tim Slater,” Allie said as she came into the office. It was just after one in the afternoon, and I was working on my business plan in the McMurphy’s office on the fourth floor. If I wanted to stay on Mackinac, I had to have financial goals and strategies. I needed something concrete to take to the bankers to ask them to invest in my event-planning business. Allie had said I could go over the files from the events I planned this past summer so that I could forecast future earnings.
I sat at my old desk—an oak behemoth from 1910 that faced Allie’s desk—and laid out my files while I added data to a spreadsheet program on my laptop. Mella, the cat, kept me company. She was spread out on top of the bookcase over my left shoulder, lounging in the sunlight that entered from the lone window. “Tim Slater,” I repeated, sitting back. “Did you know him?” I bit my bottom lip and held my breath. I hoped Allie didn’t lose a friend.
“No,” Allie said.
I let out my breath in relief. “Good. So he was a random fudgie?”
Fudgie
was the nickname islanders had for the tourists who visited Mackinac Island. Known as the fudge capital of the world, it attracted many people who came for the sweet treats and the Victorian architecture.
“Yes,” Allie said. She took off her sugar-encrusted chef coat and hung it up on the wrought-iron coatrack in the corner.
“How did they find out his identity?”
“Well, pretty much the only way onto the island right now is by plane, so they cross-referenced airline tickets and narrowed it down to a few guys with his general age, height, and weight. Then they got some digital dental records e-mailed.”
“Huh,” I said. “Wait, if they can only fly people on and off the island, what did they do with the body? I mean, we don’t have an ME’s office here.”
“Sophie said she flew Shane and the body over to St. Ignace.”
I made a face. “Creepy.”
“Yeah,” Allie said, “a little. Rex should be giving you a call soon to see if you knew Tim.”
My cell phone rang as if on cue. I wiggled my eyebrows at Allie and answered it. “Hello?”
“Jennifer Christensen?” a deep male voice said.
“Yes,” I said, and smiled at Allie. “Is this Officer Manning?”
“Yes,” he said. “We have ID’d the victim.”
“Yes, I heard,” I said.
“Figures,” Rex muttered. “Did Shane tell you?”
I bit my bottom lip. “No, Shane isn’t talking to me.”
“Tell him it’s a small island.” Allie leaned her hip on the corner of the desktop.
“Allie says it’s a small island,” I said. “I’m putting you on speaker.” I hit the speaker button and set my phone down on the desk. “I don’t know a Tim Slater,” I said. “Is that why you called?”
“Yes,” he said. “Are you certain you don’t know the victim?”
“Positive,” I said. “Who was he?”
“He was a winemaker,” Rex replied, “from New York State.”
“Huh,” I said, leaning my elbows on the desk. “Who would want to kill a winemaker?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out,” Rex said. “Right now you are the closest thing to a person of interest we have.”
“That is ridiculous,” Allie stated. “Shane isn’t talking to her.”
“Which only strengthens the motive,” Rex said. How he could say such an outrageous thing without chuckling was beyond me.
“Please,” I said with a snort.
“How did he die?” Allie asked. “Was it exposure? If he was at the pub crawl last night, he could have wandered off and died.”
“Except for the bashed-in part of his temple,” I said, and pursed my lips. “Rex, do you really think I would dent some random guy’s head just to get Shane’s attention?”
“Don’t leave the island,” Rex warned.
“It’s Christmas vacation, Rex,” I said as cheerfully as possible. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“See that you don’t.” He hung up.
I looked at Allie. “He’s not serious.”
“Rex is always serious,” Allie said. “Do you have a search engine open on your computer?”
“Yes,” I said, and typed in
Tim Slater.
The victim’s picture came up, along with a Web site for Sara’s Vineyard. “Wow, he
was
kind of cute.”
Allie moved to where she could see my laptop screen. “The vineyard is along Lake Erie in New York State, near the Pennsylvania border.”
“There are a ton of vineyards there,” I said. “A friend and I once took Highway Five along the lake and stopped at all the wineries for tastings. It was a blast.”
“So you might have met our victim,” Allie mused.
I made a face. “I certainly hope not.” A thought came to me. “You know, a guy from New York State doesn’t necessarily travel to Mackinac by himself.”
“Unless he’s a serious runner and came for the race,” Allie said.
I sent her a look. “No serious runner comes to Mackinac for the Santa Fun Run, gets drunk, and dies in a snowbank.”
“True.” Allie looked at me. “Where did you find him, again?”
“I found him before the four-mile mark of the trail near Griffin Cove.”
“Was he on the lake side of Lake Shore Drive or the hill side?”
“The hill side,” I said. “Why?”
“Want to go for a walk?” Allie’s eyes sparkled. I could tell she was onto something.
“Sure,” I said. “Where are we going?”
“To see what’s at the top of the hill,” Allie said.
Walking through three feet of snow in the woods is a better workout than jogging along the well-plowed trail. I huffed and puffed as we moved through the wooded parcels of land that held random cottages old and new.
“How close are we to where you found him?” Allie asked.
We stood on the top of a ridge. I looked out at the cove. You could see the trail beneath us. The trees were bare; their trunks and roots buried in snow. In some places the snow was less thick and boulders stuck out.
“It’s kind of hard to tell,” I said, and tried to slow my heavy breathing. I hugged my side. “I think it’s beneath us right now, based on the cove outline.”
Suddenly we heard a loud thrashing noise and a giant golden retriever came bounding toward us. He stopped a few feet away and made a play bow, barking the entire time.
“Well, hello there,” I said. “Aren’t you handsome?” I held out my hand for the dog to sniff. He came right up to me, unafraid. I rubbed his head. “Are you lost?”
“He doesn’t look lost,” Allie said. “He has a collar and tags.”
The dog licked my face and I couldn’t help the giggle that came out. I hugged the dog and then reached down to read the name on the silver jewelry that hung from his collar. The name
Marley
was engraved on a rectangle that resembled a military ID. “Hello, Marley,” I said.
“His name is on the tag?” Allie asked.
“Yes, and so is an address.” I read the address and looked at Allie. “It says to contact Sara’s Vineyard.”
“Oh, boy,” Allie said.
I gave the dog a few more pats. “Are you here with your owner, Marley?” I asked. “Want to show us where you’re staying?”
The dog barked and ran off a few feet, then turned to see if we were coming. Allie and I exchanged looks and slogged after the dog, who seemed to be happy to have us follow him through the woods and the snow. About one hundred feet past the cliff, we saw a cabin. The door was wide open. There were several old footprints going in and out. These were mostly indents in the snow. It had snowed two inches overnight, but whoever made the tracks was heavy enough to make deep tracks so that the two inches didn’t blot them out.
“Wow,” I said. Marley went into the house and came back out, sat on the threshold, and barked at us.
“Do you think he’ll let us inside?” Allie asked.
“I think so,” I said. “Golden retrievers are usually not overly protective.” Allie didn’t know much about dogs. Mal was her first pet and she was still learning about the good, the bad, and the ugly ways of canines. I smiled at Marley. “Good boy,” I said. As we got close, he jumped up and went inside, coming back out with a giant red-and-beige candy cane replica made out of rawhide. “Well, someone is looking after him.”
“Yeah, that candy cane looks pretty fresh,” Allie admitted. “Hello?” she called as we approached the open door. Silence answered her.
I stepped up to the threshold and took the rawhide out of Marley’s mouth and tossed it for him to fetch. The friendly pup was game for the chase and tore off after the treat. “You go in. I’ll stay here and distract the dog.”
“Okay,” Allie said. She pushed past me and stepped over the threshold. “Hello, the house? Is anyone home?”
The cabin was a three-story rambling home that looked like it had been built in stages of additions over the years. The siding was rough cedar shingles, with green trim and shutters. The stoop was made of stone. Marley came running back to me with the candy cane in his mouth. He dropped it at my feet as if to say,
Throw it again!
So I did. I chucked it as far as I could in the opposite direction of the footprints in the snow. The last thing I wanted was to make a mess of a crime scene—if this was indeed a crime scene and not just a case of some drunken Santa who had forgotten to close his cabin door.
“The place is empty,” Allie said as she came back outside. “But there’s a couple of wineglasses with
Sara’s Vineyard
engraved on them on the counter and some bottles of pinot, also from Sara’s Vineyard. This may be where our victim was staying.”
“What should we do?”
“I’m calling Rex,” Allie said. She hit a button on her cell phone.
“You have him on
speed dial
?” I asked.
“Yes, I have since I first got to the island,” Allie said. “It’s come in very handy.” She raised her hand to signal to me that she was distracted from our conversation. “Hi, Rex, it’s Allie. We’re at 855 Pine Lane. We found a dog named Marley home alone and a cabin with its door wide open. We think . . . Oh, Jenn’s here with me. We think this might be where the victim was staying.” She paused as if listening. “Okay, we’ll wait here and I promise not to go back inside.” She hit
END
on her phone. “Rex is sending Officer Charles Brown up to check it out. He says he might have found someone the victim traveled with.”
“Oh, good,” I said, and hugged the dog as he returned and dropped the rawhide at my feet. “This guy shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“Looks like he’d rather play than chew on that rawhide,” Allie said.
“He really likes to play fetch,” I said. “Don’t you, boy? You are a beautiful puppy.” I petted him and ruffled his fur, then threw the rawhide in the opposite direction of the footprints. Marley went after it. “Plus, I figured we should try to keep the dog from messing with the crime scene. Shane would appreciate it, anyway.”
Just mentioning his name got me all choked up. Allie put an arm around me and said, “Don’t worry, hon. He’ll come around.”
I wiped the tears from my eyes before they could stain my cheeks. Collecting myself, I said, “Do you think our victim was visiting with his parents?”
“I don’t know,” Allie said. “I don’t remember seeing too many older couples on the island for the Fun Run. But there didn’t seem to be any evidence of a bunch of guys in the house.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Allie sent me a thoughtful look. “Usually, if there’s a bunch of men staying at a lake house, there’d be beer cans and snack bowls and hamburger wrappers strewn around. All I saw inside was a closed suitcase in the bedroom and two wineglasses and a half-empty bottle of wine, plus a couple of full bottles.”
“Sounds like he came with his wife or girlfriend,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s the impression I got.”
“Tim’s not local, so they must have rented the cabin.”
“Or the girlfriend or wife owns it.”
I made a face. “Can you imagine learning your husband or boyfriend was found in a snowbank with his head bashed in?”
“No,” Allie said, hugging herself. “I hope I never have to. . . .”
“Yeah,” I said as Marley raced back toward us. His expression looked like a full grin as he bounded through the snow with the candy cane in his mouth. “What a good boy!” I exclaimed. The sound of snowmobiles could be heard in the distance. Marley dropped the candy cane and took off in the direction of the sound. “Oh, boy, I hope Charles is ready for a one-hundred-and-twenty-pound playful dog jumping on him.”
“I told Rex we found the dog,” Allie said with a twinkle in her eye. “It’s not our fault if they aren’t prepared for an enthusiastic greeting.”
“Yow!”
The shout made us both turn in the direction of the snowmobiles. Then there was laughter. Charles Brown and Officer Kelsey Lasko came around the cabin on their vehicles. Charles, who was a tall man with wide shoulders, a square jaw, and a patrician nose, had a giant dog in his lap. Even though Charles was a sizeable guy, Marley was still far too large to be a lapdog. The sight made us both laugh out loud.
I waved them down and they cut their engines. Marley leapt off Charles’s lap and bounded toward me with his tongue hanging out. I had forgotten I had the rawhide in my hand until he tried to snag it from me. “Whoa!” I said. “No, you need to fetch.” I threw the rawhide and the dog went after it.
“That dog is messing up the crime scene,” Officer Lasko said. She flipped her visor up and removed her helmet. “We’d better catch him and put him on a leash.” Officer Lasko was a pretty, petite blonde about the same age as Allie and I were, but for some reason she didn’t like Allie—not one bit. I suspected it was because Officer Lasko had a thing for the handsome Rex Manning, and Rex, well, everyone knew he had a thing for Allie. The trouble was Allie was dating the heartbreakingly handsome Trent Jessop. If Rex had any eyes in his head, he’d take Officer Lasko out to dinner and maybe tensions would ease up a bit.