All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) Read online

“Don’t know, do you?” The corners of her mouth went up slightly.

  “I certainly do,” I blustered through and prayed my brain would come up with a name. Luckily the bulky bald guy turned enough I could see his face. “That’s Pete Thompson . . . and the thin guy is . . .”

  “A tourist,” she stated.

  “Next,” came the call as the old woman shuffled to the side.

  The Chippewa woman stood and grabbed her tote.

  “Wait!” I held out my hand as if that could stop her. Strangely, she stopped and looked at me, her brown eyes laughing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. I’m Allie McMurphy.”

  “Susan Goodfoot.”

  “Next.”

  Susan headed for the desk. I sat back deflated. I suppose she was right on some respects. I was a tourist. It was pretty clear I didn’t know who she was and clearly she lived on island. In fact, the only people I knew on island were friends of Papa Liam or Grammy Alice. I was more likely to know everyone at the senior center than the townies standing in line.

  I frowned. Why did so many of them wear a purple ribbon? Did they all see me as a stranger? A murderer? Or merely Papa Liam’s silly granddaughter?

  “Well, well, well.” Pete Thompson stood in front of me with his hands in his pockets. “If it isn’t the little McMurphy girl all grown up.” He held out his hand. “Pete Thompson, I own the Oakton B and B behind the McMurphy.”

  “I know who you are.” I remember the summer I was twelve. Pete followed me everywhere, taunting me, pulling my hair, and generally being a bully.

  He barked out a laugh and pulled his hand back. “Spunky, like I remember. Well, little girl, I heard you killed Joe Jessop.” He tapped the purple ribbon on his chest.

  I scowled. I was not a little girl. I was thirty years old. “I am going to say this for the last time—” My voice rose loud enough to echo through the lobby. “I didn’t kill anyone. I found a dead man in my closet and called the police. End of story.”

  “Really?” His obnoxious grin widened. “I saw the painters out front today. I figure you’re sprucing up the old family place to sell. Maybe cut your losses and run. Am I right? Because I can make you a decent offer.”

  I raised my chin. “I’m not selling. The place has been in our family for a hundred and twenty years.”

  He rubbed his right earlobe. “Not selling, huh? Don’t tell me you’re going to try to make a go of it. . . .”

  I stood. “What if I am?”

  His laughter rang through the room, drawing the attention of townie and tourist alike. “Then good luck to you, little girl. That place hasn’t been profitable in fifty years.”

  I fisted my hands, the paper crumpled. My eyebrows furrowed. I could feel the heat rising in my face. “You’re wrong. I’ve been over the books. Papa left me enough to prove the place was profitable.”

  Pete’s smile widened. “Oh, sweet, sweet, little girl.”

  Every time he called me that I swear I wanted to deck him. If he patted me on the head, I was going to take him down. Even if it meant everyone would think I really was a killer.

  “Your granddad’s profits didn’t come from the hotel business. I suppose if he didn’t tell you where they came from, then I’ll let you figure that out on your own.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “Next.”

  “That’s me. Nice to see you again, little girl.” He turned on his heel. “Good luck with the fudge business.” His laughter took the sincerity right out of his words. I swear the other people laughed with him. What did they know that I didn’t?

  Chapter 7

  I didn’t make the cutoff. I know, frustrating, right? I suppose I should have known better when I saw how many people were there and the fact that only forty-five minutes were left until closing. Probably the purple ribbons should have also been a clue, but I was as stubborn as the locals.

  My only satisfaction was the fact that I made the clerk stay thirty minutes after closing. No, she didn’t help me. If I couldn’t go home happy, neither would she. I argued with her about closing for so long she had to get a local cop to come and throw me out.

  Officer Charles Brown was the young cop from the night before. He recognized me immediately. “Ms. McMurphy, are you having trouble?” The man was straightforward, his green eyes sincere and his light brown hair gleamed like caramel in the sun.

  “Someone accidently turned off power to the McMurphy,” I protested. “I have the paperwork right here authorizing it to be turned on in my name.”

  “The office closes at five PM. Perhaps you should have come in earlier.” He was nearly a full head taller than me and he stood between me and the locked door to the utility. The gun on his hip was added incentive not to make too big a fuss.

  “I came down the minute the power went out,” I explained. “My contractors need power and so do I—especially if I hope to have any protection from killers.”

  “I’d be glad to walk you back to the McMurphy and check it out for you. But you’ll have to wait until the morning to get your power turned on.”

  I noted that he wore a purple ribbon on his blue police jacket. “Officer Brown, is it?”

  “Yes.” The wind was warmed by the sun and ruffled his hair.

  “Look, I get that you don’t really know me.” I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “But I’m a nice person. I spent the last six years of my life preparing to make a career out of the McMurphy. I can’t do that without electricity.”

  “I understand.” He pointed toward the McMurphy. “Shall we walk?”

  “Fine.” I let him turn me away from the utility. That battle at least was already lost. “Look, I get the purple ribbon. You probably grew up with Trent Jessop.”

  “He was in my class at school.”

  “Really?” The scent of fudge and beach blew through the air. A horse-drawn taxi clomped by. It was empty. The pace on island was slower, more relaxed. It was one of the things I loved about it. “I thought you were younger.”

  “I’m thirty-three.”

  “Huh, okay.” I felt the heat of a blush rush up my cheeks as we walked back toward the hotel. “I want you to know that I have nothing against the Jessops. The last thing I want is to cause trouble on the island.”

  “Good.”

  “But I need power and apparently having a ticket doesn’t mean anything at the power office. People who came in after me were waited on first.”

  “If you’re talking about Betty Hutchins, she has a long history of donations to the island community. In return she expects to avoid standing in line the day she gets back on island. It’s a perk.”

  “It’s ridiculous,” I grumbled and shoved my hands deeper into my pockets.

  “It’s a tight-knit community, Ms. McMurphy. I suggest you take some time to get to know the people and the culture before you barge in. Now the utility opens at—”

  “Nine. Yes, I get it.”

  “A word of advice, Ms. McMurphy.” Officer Brown stopped walking and leaned into me. “Don’t threaten the power company employees. It looks bad . . . considering.”

  “Considering what?” I put my hands on my hips.

  “Considering they found a dead man in your hotel.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  I rolled my eyes. “Please, I found a dead man. If I had killed him, do you really think I would have done something as foolish as call it in?”

  “Serial killer 101, they insert themselves into an investigation.”

  “Seriously?” I wanted to sneer, I really did, but he looked at me with his big green eyes and his hair flopping over his forehead and I didn’t have the heart. “Fine. I’ll be more careful how I treat people.”

  “Good.” We continued walking toward the McMurphy. “You know the people on island are friendly once you get to know them.”

  “How long does that take?”

  He kept walking. “Depends.”

  “On what?” I asked.
r />   “On how well you treat them.”

  “What? I treat them fine. It’s not like I’m going to go back and stalk the clerk or anything.”

  “Just got to make sure that you don’t.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” I shoved my hands in my pocket and kept walking. “You’re walking me home, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” he said and stood between me and the electric company office. “It’s my duty to see to the safety of the community.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was talking about my safety or the power company clerk’s. Not that it mattered. I was doing my best to ignore the officer and go straight home when my eye caught the silhouette of a man in the alley behind the McMurphy. “Colin? Colin!”

  Officer Brown stopped me with a hand to my arm. “Is that your maintenance man? We didn’t get a chance to interview him.”

  “He hasn’t been around,” I said as whoever it was faded into the shadows of the alley.

  “If it’s him, let him know we want him to come down to the station, okay?”

  “Okay.” I strode off after the shadow in the alley.

  “Be safe,” Officer Brown called after me.

  “No worries,” I replied. “I have my cell phone and Charlene’s direct number. If I get into any trouble, I’ll call.” I waved my phone at him.

  I think I saw him shake his head. I ignored it. “Colin,” I shouted as I went after my maintenance man. “Colin, I need to speak to you.”

  Colin must have been deaf as a post because he never even turned around. He disappeared around a corner and was gone when I reached the back of the McMurphy. For an employee, he had been MIA. If he didn’t come into work by the end of the week I was going to have to fire him. Papa’s old friend or not, I needed workers who worked. Not drunks who showed up when their accounts ran dry.

  Easy Dark Chocolate Rum Cherry Fudge

  1 cup dried red sour cherries

  4 ounces spiced rum

  4 cups dark chocolate chips (2 bags)

  1 can sweetened condensed milk

  4 tablespoons butter

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  1 cup chopped walnuts

  Soak dried cherries in rum for at least 1 hour—drain just before use.

  Butter an 8” × 8” × 2” pan, then line with wax paper or plastic wrap. (I prefer wax paper.)

  Using a double boiler fill of the bottom pan with water and heat on medium high until the water is boiling. Then you can turn the heat down to low and in the top section, melt chocolate, sweetened condensed milk, and butter until smooth and thick.

  Remove from heat. Add vanilla and stir until combined. Add drained cherries and walnuts. Pour into pan. Cool. Tip: let cool outside of the refrigerator for 30 minutes so that no condensation mars the top. Refrigerate overnight. Remove from pan. Cut into pieces. Store in a covered container.

  Chapter 8

  “I am not a fudgie.” I tried not to pout. “I have every right to cut in line as Mrs. Hutchins.”

  “She donated a million dollars to the library last year,” Benny said. He waited near the reception desk for me to close up for the day.

  Without any power, I’d been advised to spend one more night out of the McMurphy. I’d declined of course, but I still needed supplies—like flashlights and such. Staying in a dark building with no light or power was spooky. Knowing a guy had died there the night before made it creepier. Only my stubbornness kept me from running straight to Frances and asking for another night in her guest room.

  Benny and his crew worked until they could no longer see well enough to paint. He’d sent his crew home and waited for me to close up.

  “If I had that kind of money to give, I would. I’m a member of the community,” I insisted. “I shouldn’t have to pull a number. Besides, I need power to keep you guys working. Don’t you have another job in two weeks?”

  “Yes, and that job is guaranteed, so we have to show up on that date.”

  “Then, if you don’t get the McMurphy done . . .”

  “It will have to wait.”

  I scowled at the reality of contractors. “Great.”

  “It’s been a long day.” Benny wrapped his coat around his white painter overalls. “I suggest you be first in line in the morning. I heard if you get there at eight forty-five you’ll be first when the doors open at nine AM.”

  “Oh, I’ll be there by eight forty-five AM,” I said as I did a quick check of the lobby and pointed Benny toward the door. “And I’d better be first in line since I was the only person not helped by five PM tonight. I even kept my ticket.”

  I waved the triangle-shaped paper, stepped out, and locked the McMurphy’s front door.

  “Good night, Ms. Allie.” Benny gave me a short nod. “Never fear. Tomorrow will be a better day. You’ll see.”

  “I certainly hope so, Benny. I certainly hope so.”

  April evenings were cool on island. A few early-bird vacationers sat out on the front porch of one of the bed-and-breakfast hotels on Market Street. They had a fire going in a fire pit. The scent of wood smoke followed by their laughter blew across the street. A horse and buggy went by on its way back to the stables.

  I pulled my jacket tighter around me and did my best to walk off my mad. It was something I’d learned as a teenager. When I felt threatened by injustice there was no calming me down. The only way to get through was to wear myself out. There really was nothing I could do but lodge a complaint with the electric co-op and even that wouldn’t help if I was seen as an outsider.

  Daffodils waved in the flower borders of the Victorian summer homes. Someone had been brave and planted purple and yellow pansies. April was a funny time. It could be cold and snowing or it could be seventy degrees and sunny. It really depended on whether winter decided to fight for a few more weeks.

  This year was warmer than usual. I had flown in for Papa’s funeral, then back to pack up my things for the move. By the time I returned, one of the ferry companies had started running routes, bringing in supplies and business people from St. Ignace. Most people left the island when the ferries quit running. They had homes in St. Ignace in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan or Mackinaw City on the Lower Peninsula. Some came from Chicago or Detroit and only lived on island during the season.

  Papa had been an islander his entire life and refused to become a snowbird. Snowbirds, Papa used to say, left for the winter and came back in the spring. But they missed the best times on island. When the state parks were left to the wildlife and the streets, empty of horses and bicycles, held only footprints or snowmobile prints.

  The general store was open along with two bars where locals gathered to check in on each other. The police force would be cut back to only a handful of men who were brave enough to live here year-round.

  Market Street ended at the fort and I turned toward Main. The sound of my footfalls filled my ears and the warmth of my breath caused a mist in the cold air around me.

  “Allie!”

  I turned at the sound of my name and saw Frances hurrying toward me, a basket in her hands.

  “Wait up.”

  “Hello Frances, what’s up?” I asked as she came up beside me.

  “I was thinking about you being all alone in the McMurphy and I was worried about you,” she said, her breath puffing out. She wore a long quilted coat that shone purple in the streetlight and a purple felt fedora on her head. Her gray-brown hair stuck out from under it.

  “You don’t need to worry,” I said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll do another walk through before I go to bed tonight. It’s rare for a killer to return to the scene of the crime, anyway.”

  “Well, that may be true, but I’d still worry so I decided to bring you something for your protection.” She stopped suddenly as if making up her mind.

  “You didn’t have to bring me anything.” I was confused. The basket was too small to hold a baseball bat and I doubted she was going to hand me a gun. Then again, this was Frances.

  “I know that it’s a
bit presumptuous of me to bring you this, but I think it’s for the best.” She opened the top of the basket, pulled out a little ball of white fluff, and shoved it at me. “Allie, meet your new roommate.”

  The tiny puppy reached for me and I took it out of instinct rather than desire. She put her front paws on either side of my face and licked me as if to say, “Mommy! Where have you been?” and I was lost.

  “Oh.” Frances clasped her hands and tilted her head. “How sweet.”

  I couldn’t help the dopey smile on my face as the puppy snuggled under my chin. “Frances, what have you done?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said and linked her arm through mine. “She’s a bichon/poodle, completely shed free. I thought she’d be perfect for greeting customers. Socialize her well and she’ll never meet a stranger.”

  Frances handed me the basket. “Here is some puppy food. It should last you about a week. There is a pack of puppy training pads, a collar, and a leash. She’ll need to be walked at least twice a day.”

  I took the basket as the puppy shivered in my hand. “How old is she?” I said, blowing out a long breath that I refused to believe was a sigh. I opened my jacket and wrapped it around us both.

  “Three months,” Frances said. “She’ll need to be spayed and finish her puppy shots. There’s a veterinarian who has a clinic in St. Ignace. He’s on island three times a week when the horses are here.” She handed me a business card. “His name is Ryan McCotter. I’ve already set you up an appointment time for next Wednesday.”

  I studied the card. “I’m in the middle of renovations,” I protested. The little bundle snuggled harder against my chest and licked my collarbone. Frances simply walked me back toward the McMurphy.

  “Fine.” I gave up. It was clear I had no real choice. Who could resist the warm little fluff ball snuggled against their heart?

  She smiled. “I knew you’d see reason. This way you won’t be alone.”

  “I don’t mind being alone,” I protested as I stopped to open the door of the McMurphy. The scent of fresh paint wafted through the air. A piece of crime-scene tape flapped in the entrance. It must have gotten stuck on someone’s shoe. The interior was cloaked in shadow, and I had to admit to a certain creepiness. I tried not to think about it too much.