All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) Page 3

  “Are you a McMurphy?”

  “I heard Colin Ferber fell down the stairs. Is that true?”

  People talked all at once when we stepped toward the ambulance. “What?” I asked, trying to make sense of the questions.

  “Don’t say anything,” Frances reminded me and pulled me through the group. George Marron stepped out after us, and my neighbors mobbed him instead, looking for answers to their questions.

  Frances hadn’t answered mine. “They can’t go through my boxes, can they?”

  “The neighbors? No, the police will keep them out.”

  “No, the police,” I clarified. “They aren’t going to go through my drawers, are they?” Drawers made me think of lingerie and the fact that I hadn’t done laundry so there was a large pile of dirty clothes in the corner of my room. Mom always told me to keep up with my laundry. You never knew who would be going through your room. Who knew she was right?

  “They can if they have cause.” Frances flashed her perfect teeth. “I think a dead man is good cause.” Her flawless skin barely held a wrinkle, which was a trick considering she was seventy years old. Age didn’t matter for some people. Besides her perfect skin, Frances was smart as a whip. When she said she thought something was true, I believed her.

  “But only if he was murdered,” I stated. “And even then, if I’m a murder suspect, would I be stupid enough to call in the body? And then hide the murder weapon in my underwear drawer?” I was not about to let go of the idea of handsome Officer Manning rummaging through my dirty clothes.

  “People have been known to do sillier things.”

  I blew out a long breath. “Do you really think so little of me?”

  “Oh, goodness no.” She patted my hand. “I don’t, but even though you are Liam’s granddaughter, many people feel you are far from a local.”

  “What? I practically grew up here. I spent almost every summer of my childhood on island.”

  “That’s not living here full-time. Don’t worry, if you stick it out, maybe in twenty years or so you’ll be a local too . . . maybe.”

  Trouble was, I didn’t have twenty or thirty years to fit in. If I was to keep up appearances, I needed to be a local now. “Wait, do you think Joe was playing a prank on me when he died?” A cold wind blew in off Lake Huron. It hit me like a slap in the face. I walked the gaslit street, leaving my home because there was a dead man inside. My teeth chattered a bit.

  “No telling.” Frances shrugged. “Guess the final prank was on him.”

  “I suppose,” I muttered as I huddled into my down jacket and walked along the darkened sidewalk. I kept my head down against the cold and nearly ran smack into a solid, warm male figure who smelled good. My shoulder bounced off his chest, sending me sideways.

  “Hey!” He grabbed me by the forearm until I was steady. His dark eyes were shadowed by the streetlight. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, sorry,” I muttered.

  “Slow down,” he offered. “People’ll think you’re late for a funeral.”

  “Right.” I know it was a common saying, but his words could not be much closer to the truth. Only I wasn’t running toward a dead guy, I was running away from one.

  “That’s Trent Jessop,” Frances offered.

  “As in Joe Jessop’s son?” The man removed his cowboy hat and walked right into my hotel as if it were his. I turned to go back.

  “His grandson.” Frances put her arm through mine and dragged me toward her house. “He runs Jessop Stables. They’ve had horses on island for over a hundred years.”

  “Why’s he going into my hotel?” I hitched the strap of my overnight bag higher on my shoulder. “Shouldn’t I be there?”

  “I imagine Rex called him to identify the body, and no, you should not be there.”

  “But it’s my place.”

  “And it’s in good hands.” Frances patted my arm and pulled my attention back to her. “You keep your apartment locked, right?”

  I lifted my keys and jingled them. “Yes.” It was something Papa Liam had taught us early on. When you lived in a public venue, you always kept your door locked. Tourists seemed to have the idea that once you let them inside, the entire place was theirs.

  “Then they won’t search it without you there.” She stepped up to the porch of the painted lady that was now split into four condos. In the dark, it looked a bit like a spooky Addam’s Family house. I suppose that was part of the Meet Me in St. Louis feel. I loved that movie, and Frances’s house always made me feel as if Judy Garland could emerge from around the corner at any moment.

  She unlocked her condo door and waved me inside. “I suggest you let Rex Manning and my cousin, your lawyer, deal with Trent Jessop, my dear.”

  “Why? The man just lost his grandfather. I know how that feels. Are you sure I shouldn’t go back and talk to him?” I stepped into the lovely golden glow of warmed dark wood and plaster walls painted in a pale gold. It was significantly warmer inside than out.

  “Trent Jessop isn’t going to want to talk to you.” Frances made a firm line with her mouth. “Especially after he finds out that not only did his granddad die in the McMurphy, but Liam’s granddaughter was the one who called it in.”

  “None of that was my fault.” I followed her through the living room and into the spare bedroom. The condo was simple yet smart. The front held an office/den separated from the living area by pocket doors. It also had a master bedroom with a large walk-in closet. On the other side of the living space was a small spare bedroom and the kitchen, with a full bath tucked in between.

  “I know that his death wasn’t your fault and you know that.” She flicked on the light switch, illuminating a full-sized wrought-iron bed covered with thick blankets and one of those old bumpy knotted coverlets in pale green. She faced me, her brown eyes filled with concern. “But all Trent Jessop knows is that his granddad is dead and possibly at the hands of his worst enemy.”

  “Wait, what? I didn’t even know Joe.” I slid the overnight case off my shoulder. “I mean, I met him once or twice, sure, but that’s no reason to consider him my enemy or for me to do something crazy like kill him.”

  “Try telling a Jessop that.” She shook her head and tsked her tongue. “They love a good feud. It’s the Scotsman in them.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I muttered, following her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. “Surely everyone else on island will know better.”

  “My guess is they’re taking sides as we speak.” She took off her hat and hung it and her coat up on a coat tree in the corner. “Tea?”

  “Yes, please.” I hung my coat on the same tree and sat down at the round kitchenette table. “I think I’m going to need it.”

  “Don’t worry, dear,” Frances said with a serious nod. “All the best people will be on your side.”

  Chapter 5

  You know, it’s tough to pretend like everything is fine when you know that the coroner hauled a dead body out of your second-floor utility closet hours before. But I tried. Really I did. After all, Papa Liam would say, “Buck up, kid. It’s just a little bump in the road.”

  After listening to Frances talk for hours about the seasonal pranks Joe would play on Liam, I had to wonder what Papa did in return. In fact, now that I was back home, I was sorely tempted to go into the closet and look for Papa’s trap—the one that may have killed Joe.

  The thought had a shiver running down my back. How often can you say someone was killed by a dead guy? My next thought was worse. What if Papa had booby traps hidden all over the McMurphy? How could I protect the subcontractors or, worse, the customers? What was that going to do to my insurance?

  I sat at my office desk and dropped my forehead into my hands, then looked into Papa’s smiling portrait. “You would never actually endanger a life, would you?”

  Of course I wouldn’t really know anything until the coroner ruled on whether Joe died accidently or if he was murdered. I didn’t want to think about it. Murder wasn’t
exactly helpful in getting people to reserve rooms and stay the night, nor was it any good at selling fudge.

  I had just dialed the security company’s number when the power flickered and then went out. The window light in my office meant I could see easily. What I didn’t account for was the sudden emergence of an annoying beeping.

  “AlertMe Security, this is Kendall, how can I help you?” came the voice on the other side of the phone.

  “Hi.” I tried to ignore the incessant beeping noise. “This is Allie at the McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe. I had called last week about having a new security system installed. I was curious if there was any way I can get someone out here sooner??”

  “Let me check.” She tapped on some keys and clicked the mouse twice. Funny how the phone sounds didn’t help me ignore the beeping. I swear it grew louder with every passing minute. “Ms. McMurphy?”

  “Yes.” I strummed my fingers on Papa’s big old desk and looked for a source.

  “The soonest we can get anyone out there will be Saturday and there will be a five-hundred-dollar overtime fee. Do you still want it installed that early?”

  I thought about Joe’s dead body and my strong desire not to spend the next seven nights sleeping on Frances’s guest bed. “Yes, please, let’s have them out on Saturday.”

  “Okay.” I heard her tap more keys. “The boys will be out between eight AM and noon. Will someone be there to let them in?”

  “I’ll be here,” I said. Because I would. I lived here and only a man with a gun could pry me out. I pushed away any thought of the officer with the gorgeous blue eyes.

  “Excuse me, is your power out?”

  I glanced around, surprised that she knew that. “Yes, how can you tell? Is it out all over?”

  “Oh, no, we have power,” she replied. “It sounds like your Wi-Fi system has a battery backup.”

  “Is that what the beeping is?” I found the set of shelves with the Wi-Fi modem on it. Sure enough, there was a red light blinking in time with the beeping. “How did you know?”

  She giggled. “It happened to my mom when she had Wi-Fi installed and the power went out. It about drove her nuts . . . Oh, and FYI, the beeps will start to get closer together as time goes by, so you might want to get that fixed.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, hung up, and then dialed the power company number. Unfortunately I had to go through the inane computerized menu only to be told to “please hold.”

  I don’t know whose idea it was to have a battery backup beep. It was emotional blackmail, torture-camp stuff akin to the “Muzak-on-hold” playing in my ear.

  Here I’d thought I’d been clever when I had Wi-Fi installed. At the time I’d envisioned crowds of tourists in the big lobby sitting around the fireplace, drinking specialty coffee and teas, noshing on McMurphy fudge while checking in with their buddies back home.

  I hadn’t anticipated the electricity going out. I wondered how often it happened. It was another question to ask Papa—if he were here. The beeping battery backup’s insistent sound reminded me that Papa Liam wasn’t here and if I didn’t get the power problem fixed soon, not only would I lose a day of working on the hotel improvements, but I would be completely insane.

  I glared at the flashing light. Beep. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Beep. Was this part of Joe’s prank? If so, I might have had to—

  “Thank you for holding. Your call is important to us. A customer service representative will be with you shortly.”

  The man was already dead. No use in wishing bad things on him. For all I knew the power outage was due to a tree limb or something. I leaned my elbows on Papa Liam’s old pine desk and thought that when it was my time to go, I hoped it wasn’t in a powerless room listening to the maddening beep of a battery backup system.

  “I’m buying a generator,” I muttered and with my free hand added that task to my insanely huge to-do list. It was April 7 and, instead of being on spring break, I had three weeks to finish Papa’s renovations, hire seasonal help, and make a go of the place on my own. That is, if the blue-eyed police officer let me back onto the second floor.

  It took some fancy negotiation on the part of Frances’s cousin William, but Officer Manning finally allowed me to continue with my renovations on the first floor as long as we kept them to the first floor. Which was fine as it meant I wouldn’t lose my subcontractors to their next job.

  “This is Island Electric. My name is Steve. How can I help you?”

  Finally! “Hi Steve, this is Allie McMurphy. I’m at the McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe and I have no power . . . again.”

  “Let me look that up for you.”

  I could hear his fingers clacking on his keyboard as he breathed into my ear. “It looks like your power was shut off due to the certified death of Liam McMurphy. Are you saying you’re the new owner?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I’m the new owner. I’m Allie McMurphy. I’m the one who came down to the office, showed you guys the death certificate, and had the account moved over into my name.”

  “Huh.” There was more clacking. “When did you come down?”

  “Monday. I spoke to Heather. She said there would be no disruption in service.”

  “Did she give you a new account number?”

  Scowling, I dug through the papers in the “done” section of my in-box. “I’m not sure. She did give me a copy of a paper I signed.”

  “There isn’t anything I can do without an account number,” Steve warned me.

  “I realize that. I have the paperwork here. Hold on.” I put down my cell phone and dug through the big pile of papers, with the annoying beep in the background pushing me. “Darn it,” I muttered. It was right here. I know I put it here. I picked up my phone. “I’ll have to get back to you as soon as I find it.”

  “That’s fine. Our office hours are nine AM to five PM.”

  “Right.” I glanced at the time on my laptop. It was 3:30 PM. I pressed the OFF button, grabbed the big pile of papers, and left the incessant reminder of the battery backup. The office was on the same floor as Papa Liam’s apartment. I hadn’t gone in the apartment yet for fear Officer Manning would see it as an opening to search the room. It’s not that I had anything to hide, but I didn’t know for sure if Papa did.

  I took the stairs down to the lobby. The front door was currently wide-open even though it was all of forty-five degrees outside. Mackinac Island sat in the middle of Lake Huron on the northern edge of the Lower Peninsula of the state of Michigan, accessible by boat from either the Upper or Lower Peninsula. April, while lovely, wasn’t exactly steamy.

  The door was open because I had a painting crew working on the inside lobby walls and the exterior false front of the hotel. Papa’d left me money for repairs and general maintenance, along with scheduled subcontractors so I wasn’t entirely without a plan. But even with reservations from long-standing clients, I wasn’t rich by any means. If I didn’t make a go of things this season, there would be precious little leftover money for next season’s start-up.

  Which is why I couldn’t let anything—not even a dead man—stop me from opening on time. Not that I wasn’t sorry for Joe and his family. It’s hard when you lose a loved one. I’d gone through it last month with Papa.

  I paused for a moment on the stairs. Wait, had Joe been trying to prevent me from opening? The thought crossed my mind for a second time. The idea that Joe Jessop, or anyone for that matter, might want to see me fail made me realize I would do whatever it took not to let that happen.

  The lobby, where Benny Rodriquez and his crew of three worked painting fat pink-and-white stripes on the walls, was oddly quiet.

  “The power’s out,” Benny said when he saw me come down the stairs.

  “I know. I’m working on it.” I took the papers over to the fudge shop area and placed them on the long stainless-steel countertop.

  “My guys don’t work as fast without music,” Benny called over.

  “I get it.” I waved my hand at hi
m in a dismissing fashion. “I’m working on it.” I carefully sorted through the papers on the wide-open counter. Water account. Phone account. Cable account. Elevator inspection . . . wait. Was the inspector still coming? I would need to check into that. I made a note on the palm of my hand, then continued through the paperwork to find the hotel inspection report. Fire inspection. Health inspector for the fudge shop. Huh, that would probably have to be redone now that they found a dead body in the building.

  I made a face of disgust at the thought as I flipped through papers. There was the proof the boiler was replaced and the water was at a safe temperature for showers. Papers showing the down payment I had made on the new lobby carpet.

  Let’s face it. The McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe was a money pit. But it’d been in my family for one hundred and twenty years. It was important to me, as the only child of an only child, to keep the business going. If Papa Liam’s father could keep the place open through the Great Depression, then I could keep it open now. I pulled over a stainless-steel stool on rollers and sat down.

  It was too bad my dad didn’t want anything to do with the old place. He’d moved us to Detroit and become an architect. Growing up with Dad designing buildings and Mom teaching English at the local high school meant that the only time I’d seen my grandparents was in the summer. My parents would bring me up to play on the island and help around the shop.

  It was the influence of those long-ago summers and the stories Papa Liam would tell of the people he would meet from around the world that made me decide early on that I would see that the McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe stayed in the family.

  I loved the tradition of a family-owned place and the quaint elegance of the island. I loved the gentle lake breezes, the sounds of summer children laughing, the clomp of the carriage horses drawing their guests, the ring of bicycle bells. I loved the whole Victorian feel of the island, from the colorful painted ladies that passed as cottages to the old fort with its limestone surface.

  Mackinac Island didn’t allow cars. The locals were proud of the back-in-time feel. Tourists came for the day or to stay a while in one of the hotels and enjoy the ambience. They’d come to bike around the island or take the carriage rides. They’d come to visit the fort, but mostly they’d come for the fudge—Mackinac’s number one souvenir.