Under the top layer of boxes was a box marked S
COTT FOR
T
HE
S
COUNDREL.
I didn't want to touch anything in case there was evidence inside. A simple look around showed me a mop drying against the back of the building. I grabbed it and used the handle to push the top boxes away. Opening a flap of the box marked S
COTT,
I saw empty bottles inside. My heart pounded. This could be it.
Evidence!
I put the mop down and dialed Rex.
“Manning,” he said in his sexy authoritative voice.
“Hi Rex. It's Allie.”
“Is everything okay?”
I couldn't help my wry smile that he would assume I was in trouble every time I called. “Yes, everything is okay. I'm calling because I think I may have more evidence in Carin Moore's murder.”
His tone turned to scolding. “Allie, you need to let this one go.”
“I can't. Eleanor and Harold made it personal last night when they tried to kidnap me.”
“Allegedly,” he pointed out.
“That's your word not mine. But I didn't call to argue. I'm in the back alley behind McGriff's. Mal was sniffing around the Dumpster.”
“Not another murder.”
“No,” I confirmed with a sigh. “But there is a box with words
Scott
and
The Scoundrel
handwritten on the side. Inside are empty bottles. I think you should call Shane out here to collect them. There might be evidence inside one of them that Reggie and the others on the
Scoundrel
were drugged that night. Harold and Scott work freelance bartending for McGriff's and Alex told me he boxes up the inventory for each job. It sits for the bartenders to pick up. Harold could have slipped a tainted bottle into the mix. No way for Scott to know. The bartenders simply check that they have the requested inventory in the box and they go to the gig.”
“Allieâ”
“Please.” I cut him off. “I know it's a long shot, but just check it out. Mal sniffed up the box. She's been right a hundred percent of the time.”
Rex sighed. “Fine. I'll come collect the box myself and get it to Shane. Even if we find drugs on the bottles, there is no way to prove that Harold put them there.”
“Unless you find his fingerprints on the bottle,” I said.
“Allie, this isn't television. There are other reasons that his fingerprints might be on the bottles.”
“Are you coming down?”
“I'll be there.”
I hung up the phone and frowned. Rex was right. It was a long shot. I sighed and put the mop back where it was when I noticed Mal nosing around the wheel of the Dumpster. “What is it?”
I got down low and looked around. Behind the wheel was a syringe. My heart beat a little faster. Was this the evidence that would prove Harold had drugged those on the
Scoundrel
?
When I stood, I saw Rex coming down the alley. “All right,” he said, putting on evidence gloves. “Let's take a look at this Dumpster.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Thank you. And you might want to bag the syringe that's behind the wheel.”
“What?” His eyes narrowed.
“Mal said there was something near the wheel.” I squatted back down.
Rex did the same and got out his flashlight.
“Do you see what I see?”
“A syringe,” he said evenly.
“Yes,” I said. “An easy way to place a drug into a bottle of alcohol.”
“I'll bag it, but there's no guarantee it has anything to do with Carin's murder.”
“I know,” I said with a nod. “But it might.”
Chapter 26
I spent the rest of the morning making fudge and trying not to think about the evidence I found and whether Rex had sent it to Shane yet. Even if there was proof that Harold drugged people at the party so that Paige didn't have an alibi, it still didn't prove Eleanor killed Carin.
Plus the murder weapon was an issue. How do I put the oar in Eleanor's hands? How do I put Eleanor at the scene? It was pretty clear to me that Harold lied about who he saw on the pier that night.
* * *
Jenn popped her head into the fudge shop as I was washing the last dishes of the day. “You're on.”
My assignment was to keep Frances occupied for the rest of the afternoon while Jenn put the finishing touches on the rooftop. At five, she was going to go home with Frances and help her pick out an outfit. I was certain that would give away the entire surprise since she'd never helped Frances dress for a date. Jenn disagreed.
I let her win. She could charm the pants off anyone. Even if Frances became suspicious, in the end she would be happy that Jenn dressed her. The whole thing was being videotaped.
I put away the last dish. “Okay, I'm done here.”
“What are you going to do?” Jenn asked.
“I'm taking Frances out for a coffee,” I said. “Megan's in, right?”
“She just got here.”
“Super.” I wiped my hands on the lint-free dish towel, took off my chef's jacket, and walked out to the lobby. “Frances, Megan's here. Let's take Mal for a walk and go get a coffee.”
“Splendid idea.” She hopped off her stool. “Megan, the Hansons are the last to check in. They called to say they expected a late check-in. If they don't make the last ferry, call them and let them know we'll hold their room one more night, but their credit card will be charged for both nights if they aren't here by noon tomorrow.”
“Got it.” Megan's eyes were bright with intelligence.
I assumed Jenn had told her what was going on, but she acted as if she didn't know. She was good ... very good. I hoped she would come back next year.
Frances leashed Mal and I hung my chef coat up and grabbed my wallet and my phone. We stepped out into the early afternoon crowd. The numbers of tourists were down by half since the race had ended yesterday, making it easier to walk down Main Street. We headed toward the marina and my favorite coffee shop.
“I got wind of what happened last night,” Frances said. “I'd love to hear it from your own mouth.”
“Well, I was almost arrested for assault.”
“That's crazy,” Frances said as Mal proudly led us down the street.
“You and I both know I didn't do it. In the end, the evidence was inconclusive. Rex told me to go home and told Harold Jones there wasn't enough evidence to press charges.”
“Harold Jones,” Frances said. “We're to believe you assaulted Harold Jones? My friend Grace said that Harold is six foot two and two hundred and forty pounds.”
I raised an eyebrow. “He's a big guy, yes.”
“What did you do to him?” Frances asked, her gaze filled with laughter.
“It's a story,” I said as we crossed Main Street and walked to the end of the marina.
“Do tell. This should be interesting.”
“Let's get some coffee first. Or do you want tea? Scones?”
“Yes,” Frances said. “Chia latte and cherry scones. Mal and I will find a table outside.”
I went in and ordered the drinks and scones. Gail wasn't working. I glanced at the bright yellow walls and imagined stenciled cabbage roses. They might just work. When I came out, Frances had found an empty table with an umbrella and was facing the lake. I sat across from her and faced the marina. I handed her the tea and scone, then opened a bottle of water and poured some in a paper cup for Mal.
“I'm waiting for the story,” Frances said.
“Okay.” I leaned my arms on the table and wrapped my fingers around my cup of coffee. “It all began when I overheard two women talking in the yacht club bathroom about Eleanor, Carin, and Paige.”
“Who were the women?”
“I'm not sure.” I drew my eyebrows together. “They were very well dressed and looked to be in their early thirties. One was a blonde and one brunette.”
Frances sipped her tea. “They could be anyone.”
“I think they went to school with Paige or Eleanor. They seemed very familiar with the whole dynamic of Paige and Carin. In fact, they were talking about how surprised they were that Paige killed Carin.”
“Why?”
“Paige and Carin had made up at the Christmas fund-raiser and were working together on Carin's boyfriend James Jamison's run for Congress.”
“Now there's a bit of gossip I hadn't heard before.”
“Probably because he's running in Illinois. I don't think he is from Mackinac.”
“I agree. There aren't any Jamisons on the island.”
“From the discussion I overheard, it didn't take much to figure out that Harold Jones was dating Eleanor andâ”
“That meant he had a motive for telling the police that he saw Paige on the pier that night, Frances interrupted.
“Yes,” I said.
“How did this almost get you arrested?” Frances pinched off a bite of scone and fed it to Mal.
“After most of the people had gone, I confronted Eleanor about the connection between her and the eyewitness in Paige's murder case. When I started talking, she stepped outside in what I can only assume was an attempt to keep our conversation private.”
“What did she say when you told her what you knew?”
“She said I was mistaken. Then Harold Jones stepped out of the shadows and joined us on the patio.”
“Wait, Harold Jones was waiting outside the yacht club?”
I nodded. “Yes. He said he was waiting for Eleanor to be done working so he could walk her home.”
“That's a strange dynamic,” Frances said. “They're dating and she didn't invite him to the dance?”
“I don't think she wants anyone to know they are dating. It ruins his credibility as a witness. When I told Eleanor that she had more of a motive to want Carin gone than Paige did, she ordered Harold to take me out to the middle of the lake and dump me.”
“She did not!”
“She did,” I said. “I thought she was joking, but Harold grabbed me. I was so surprised. Long story short, before he could haul me off, instinct kicked in. I followed my self-defense training without really thinking about it. I dug my heels into his instep and then kicked him in the groin and ran back inside. Lucky for me, Trent was there to keep them from doing anything further. Then after the police arrived, Eleanor had the gall to say I assaulted Harold.”
“That's crazy.”
“I know it's crazy,” I said. “But he had a chunk of his instep missing from the force of my heel and was limping. Someone called the police and Rex took us all down to the station.”
A small smile teased Frances's face. “Rex Manning is a man of action.”
I shook my head. “I guess. Anyway, in the end, evidence was taken and Rex told us to all go home as he couldn't see anything criminal. I had bruises on my arm showing Harold had grabbed me so even though his instep was mashed we were both bruised. It became a he said-she said thing.”
“Well, good for Rex for taking your story seriously. They tried to kidnap you, for goodness sake,” Frances said with a scowl on her face. “You could press charges.” She slipped Mal another bite of scone.
I shrugged. “It would be my word against theirs. It's okay. I got away. Now they can't do anything to me or it will look suspicious.”
“Do you think it was Harold who put the bear trap on your doorstep?”
“I'm not sure.” I sipped my coffee. “I was narrowing down suspects before last night. I don't think I gave much thought to Eleanor as the killer until I realized that if Carin and Paige joined forces, Eleanor would be left out. Think about it. Eleanor has spent her entire life doing whatever Carin wanted. In return, Carin brought Eleanor into the social elite. But when Carin and Paige got together . . . well, they had more in common. They both live and work in Chicago. Carin's boyfriend runs in the same social circles as Paige and Reggie. Well, one of Carin's boyfriends anyway.”
“One of Carin's boyfriends?” Frances lifted an eyebrow. “Not Reggie.”
“No, Ronald Lorrie said he and Carin were having an affair, that Carin was thinking of leaving James for him.”
“No,” Frances shook her head. “Carin would never leave a political force like James Jamison. They say he might someday be in the White House. She had big plans.”
“Plans that left Eleanor out in the cold,” I said. “From the way she treated Harold, it was clear that he is the one in love, not Eleanor. She could hardly stand to look at him.”
“Maybe it was Eleanor Harold saw on the pier with Carin that night,” Frances suggested. “Maybe he was using his testimony to blackmail her into dating him.”
“That would be an interesting twist,” I said thoughtfully. “But that still leaves the problem of the oar.”
“The murder weapon?”
“Yes.” I grabbed a scone. One bite and I understood why Mal begged for the soft buttery treat. The cherries added just the right amount of sweet and tart. “How do I get it in Eleanor's hands? I mean, it says
Scoundrel
right on it and has Paige's fingerprints on it.”
“Did you ask Paige about that?”
“No, but I imagine Rex and her legal team did already. My asking isn't going to help. I'm trying to think outside the box. With Paige as a suspect, no one is looking anywhere else.” I studied the boats docked at the marina. “I've started Rex thinking about Eleanor, but without any real evidence there isn't any reason to charge her instead.”
“How has the new camera system been working?”
“Okay,” I said with a shrug. “I've mostly caught Caramella coming and going, and Mr. Beecher on his twice daily walks. A few people coming home late from the bars. Nothing sinister.”
“That's a relief,” Frances said.
I eyed the boats in the marina some more. “You've lived here all your life.”
“And?”
“You must know about boats.”
“I do,” Frances said with a nod. “Not the yachts of course. I never cared to run around with that crowd. But I can sail a small boat and I can use an outboard motor.”
“What do you know about oars?” I fiddled with my cup. “I mean, seriously, I didn't even think oars were needed on a yacht.”
“Some are purely decoration like the ones along the dock here. Others are kept on the lifeboats,” Frances said. “I can imagine it would be easy to take one and not have anyone notice it was missing. It's not like they inventory the safety gear every time they go out on the water.”
“They should,” I said.
“Yes, they should, but I imagine they don't. That night was a party night. They weren't going that far.”
“I'm sure Rex questioned the captain and crew about it.” I put my elbow on the table and my chin in my hand. “That would be one of the first things I would do.”
“Except I'm not certain the
Scoundrel
is big enough to warrant a crew,” Frances said. “It could just be one of Paige or Trent's friends that captained the
Scoundrel
out that night. You should ask Trent about that.”
“Wow, I will. I sort of think of it like that old movie
Overboard
where they had a captain and crew.”
Frances laughed. “I do love Goldie Hawn movies, but the
Scoundrel
isn't that big.”
“Everyone says the murder weapon came from the
Scoundrel
because it has the name painted on the handle,” I said. “What if someone painted it on to make it look like it came from there?”
Frances winced. “That's a lot of preplanning,” she pointed out. “There are more effective ways to kill someone. Think about it. If you were preplanning a murder, why wouldn't you use poison or a gun? Even a knife is more likely to kill than a boat oar.”
“True,” I said. “Unless you are trying to make it seem like a crime of passion.”
“Still, an oar turned sideways so the edge hits the right place on the back of the skull to kill her? That is not premeditated. That's anger.”
“If it wasn't premeditated, how did the oar get in the hands of the killer? How is it that so many people on the
Scoundrel
were passed out? That no one can recall seeing Paige during the window of opportunity the killer had to kill Carin?”
Frances had another question. “What if the killer was on the
Scoundrel
and didn't want anyone to know they were slipping off to meet Carin on the dock?”
“You mean someone other than Paige?”
She nodded. “Yes. Who was at the party that night?”
“Good question,” I said. “Let me text Trent and see if he can send me a list of guests.”
“Maybe the answer has been right under our noses all along.”
“Wouldn't that be something?” I hit SEND on my text to Trent. “Now, what's the big deal about tonight's date?”
Frances blushed. “It's our three month anniversary.”
“Oh, sweet,” I said. “You celebrate your anniversary each month?”
“At our age, we never know how many days we have left,” Frances said. “We try to celebrate as many anniversaries as possible.”
“What a great way to look at life,” I said. “We all need to celebrate more of the little things. Do you know where you're going?”