All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) Page 6

  “Do you want me to stay while you check the place out?” Frances eyed me. My expression must have given away my trepidation.

  “No,” I said. “Benny just helped me close up. Besides, this is my home. I’m fine.” I clutched the small ball of fur inside my jacket. “Welcome to your new home, baby.” I stepped inside and closed the door, waving Frances on.

  Frances waved back and continued down Main. I locked the doors behind me and put the puppy down on the dropcloth–covered floor.

  “I think you’re going to love the McMurphy. I know I do.” I tried not to feel silly talking to a fluffy dog the size of my fist. “Come on. Let’s make sure we’re alone.”

  While I checked all the closets and behind the counters of the first floor, the puppy piddled . . . twice. “Really?” I muttered and grabbed her up. I don’t know why I thought if I held her she would stop piddling.

  Needless to say I shot out to the back door and across the alley to a small patch of grass. I kept the puppy at arm’s length until I set her in the grass. My jeans were wet and clung to my leg. As for the pup, she sniffed the grass, suddenly concerned about where she peed. I shivered while she turned figure eights until she found just the right spot and squatted.

  The sides of the McMurphy were attached to the Bristol T-shirt shop on one side and the Old Tyme Photography shop on the other. Neither place was occupied at the moment. The McMurphy was wide. The back of each level had a prerequisite door. The second and third floors opened up to a black wrought-iron fire escape that had been put in sometime during the turn of the twentieth century.

  There was a light outside of each door that turned on when the sun set. I noticed that the escape ladder was pulled down, meaning anyone could climb up to the second or third level.

  “I wonder how long that’s been like that,” I said to myself.

  “Are you talking to the dog?”

  I gasped and turned to find Mr. Beecher, one of Papa’s card buddies, walking down the alley. He wore a brown coat that hung open to reveal a tweed sweater, a brown vest, and a white-and-brown button-down with the collar open. His corduroy pants and brown shoes lent him an air of old-world elegance. Maybe it was the cane he used or the fedora that sat on his head as if he stepped out of a 1940s movie. “Mr. Beecher, you startled me.”

  His brown eyes were watery and gentle. “Your pup is wandering off.” He pointed with his cane. I followed it to see the puppy, nose to the ground, following the alleyway as if she could find her way back home.

  “Thanks.” I scooped her up and she licked my chin. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Shortcut to my place,” he stated as he strolled over and stopped to look at the McMurphy. “Heard about old Joe. Darned shame.” He eyed me. “It had to be difficult finding him so soon after your grandpa’s death.”

  “It was,” I admitted and hugged the puppy.

  “I heard that the town is taking sides over it.” He shook his head. “Darned fools. A man is dead and they’re making a game out of it.”

  “Thank you.” It was good to finally find someone with reason. Then I noticed the purple ribbon on his coat. “Wait, you’re siding with the Jessops?”

  He shrugged. “Liam beat me at the last ten card games, the old cheat.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake . . .”

  “Now don’t get yourself all worked up,” he said. “My black coat has a green ribbon. Old Joe was a mean bastard. Like I said, foolish to take sides.”

  I tried not to frown. “Just out of curiosity, how often do you walk back here?”

  “Oh, once or twice a day depending on how my knees feel. I usually cut through when they’re unhappy. Why?”

  “Do you have any idea how long the fire-escape ladder’s been down?” I pointed to the wrought-iron ladder hanging from the second-floor platform.

  “Hmm, maybe two days.” He shrugged. “Don’t see as it’s a problem. All you have to do is jump up and pull it down.”

  “Do you think Joe could jump up and pull it down?”

  “Not likely,” Mr. Beecher said. “Old Joe had hip trouble.” Mr. Beecher walked over to the ladder. “Still . . .” He pushed it back up. The ladder rolled into place without so much as a squeak.

  Odd, right? Considering the general condition the McMurphy was in.

  Mr. Beecher took his cane and looped it around the last rung and gave it a good yank. The ladder slid down with surprising ease. “Joe had a cane.”

  “Right.” A shiver ran through me. Could it be as easy as that?

  Chapter 9

  I overslept.

  It was the puppy actually who woke me by kissing me. I wasn’t used to wet tongue on my face or button eyes staring at me expectantly. I sat up like a shot. It was 9 AM. That meant the power company was already open and my vow to be first in line was shot.

  I scrambled out of bed so fast the puppy hopped down and piddled on my rug. “Great.” I picked her up and carried her over to the training papers on the floor of my bathroom. “Piddle here, please,” I begged her and splashed water on my face. One glance in the mirror told me I looked like death warmed over.

  Oh, well. It would have to do. I dressed in jeans and a pale blue work shirt. Pulled my hair into a ponytail and grabbed up the dog. I was going to have to name her sooner or later. Maybe when I had a moment to think.

  I ran down the stairs. Benny and his crew waited outside the door.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” He grinned at me when I let them in. “We still don’t have power.”

  “I’m on it,” I called as I grabbed my jacket from the coat tree near the door.

  “Hey, is that a puppy?” Benny asked.

  “Yes, Frances gave her to me for protection.”

  “Kinda small for the job,” Benny teased.

  “She’ll grow into it,” I replied and put the puppy in her basket, then picked up the paperwork I’d left on the receptionist’s desk the night before. “Have any of you seen Colin this morning? Do you think he’s coming in to work?”

  “I doubt it,” Benny answered. “I heard he was on a bender last night at the Sailor’s Bar and Grill. They had to kick his butt out after two-thirty. He’s probably sleeping it off.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “Well, I’m off to the second level of hell that is the power office,” I told him. “My cell phone is on if you need me. Let me know if Colin comes in this morning. Okay? I need to ask him some questions.”

  “What do I do if the cops want back in?” Benny asked.

  “Call me.” I opened the door. “I want to be here before they look around.”

  “Got it, boss.” He gave me a salute with his paintbrush to his painter’s cap.

  I stepped out onto the street to find that the ferry had come in with the first group of tourists and locals. The temperature had warmed to sixty degrees. The skies were blue and the lake was smooth as glass. Boxes of goods and merchandise were loaded up on horse-drawn flatbeds. The locals prepped for the season. As soon as it was warmer than fifty-five degrees, the entire island painted. With weather as rough as our winters can get, a fresh coat of paint was warranted nearly every year.

  The town prided itself on attention to detail in keeping up with Victorian standards of manicured grounds and fresh paint on the painted lady homes with three colors on the siding, shutters and gingerbread cutouts. The painting started as soon as the ferries began to run and bring in tourists. Before that the unpredicitable weather and expense of flying in workers and supplies kept them from doing much more than sweeping porches. Horses clip-clopped by as taxis ferried the summer homeowners back and forth. When the full season was up, there would be young men on bikes to porter the luggage and supplies as well as the horse-drawn flatbeds. But for now, there was only a fraction of the bustle summer would bring.

  I popped into the general store to buy puppy treats and more puppy piddle pads. I placed the basket on the counter and frowned at the display of purple and green ribbons. The purple ones were nearly gone
and the green board was half full.

  “What’s in the basket?” Mary Emry asked as she rang up the treats.

  “Frances Wentworth gifted me with a puppy,” I said and fingered the ribbons.

  “Oh, you have a puppy in the basket? Can I see?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  She opened the basket and peered in. “Ooh,” she cooed. “He’s sleeping.”

  I glanced in the basket to see that the dog was indeed sleeping. Something I wished I could be doing as well. “It’s a girl,” I said. “And she loves green.” I pointedly pulled all the green ribbons off the board. “And purple.” I picked up the entire board. “I’ll just buy them all.”

  “Oh.” Mary had the good grace to blush. “Right. They’re fifty cents each.”

  “Who benefits?” I asked and tilted my head.

  “The proceeds go to the senior center,” Mary said. “That will be forty-five dollars and fifty cents.”

  “Fine.” I handed her my debit card. “I’m glad it’s for a good cause.”

  “Oh, it is.” Mary looked at me. “Did you really hit Joe Jessop over the head with a baseball bat?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, I didn’t touch Mr. Jessop. I opened my utility-closet door and found him. Dead.”

  “Huh.” She handed me my receipt and a paper sack. “How did he get in your closet?”

  “I have no idea.” I gathered up my stuff. “Hopefully Officer Manning will figure it out and I won’t be seeing any more purple ribbons.”

  “If it helps any we were almost out,” Mary called after me as I took my basket full of puppy and my bag full of supplies and headed out to the power office.

  The pup woke up, pushing the top of the basket open with her nose. Two black button eyes looked at me with curiosity. “We’re going to get power turned back on at the McMurphy,” I told her. That seemed enough and the basket top closed. “I’m going to have to find you a name,” I muttered.

  I walked into the power office with yesterday’s number ticket in hand. They were up to 155. I sat down with a sigh. There were only two people besides me inside. As soon as the clerk saw me she got on the phone. The manager came out of his office. He was about six foot tall with dark hair and a wrinkled suit. His potbelly looked odd on his thin frame. It was almost as if he were wearing a baby belly prosthetic.

  “Miss McMurphy?” he asked and brushed his hair out of his face.

  “Yes.” I stood.

  “I’m Adam Early. How can I help you?”

  All right, I’ll play along. “The power has been turned off to the McMurphy,” I said. “I came in last week and changed the account out of my grandfather’s name and into mine. When I called yesterday I was told that there was no proof I had done so. I was told I had to come down and bring my paperwork.” I waved the paper under his nose. I bit my lip to keep from telling him that I didn’t appreciate waiting what seemed like forever the day before only to be told to come back today.

  He looked over my papers. “I see.” I waited as patiently as possible while he studied the words off the document.

  “I presume you brought in your grandfather’s death certificate?”

  What? “Yes, the first time I came in I brought in his death certificate. He was Liam McMurphy. Didn’t you go to his funeral service?”

  He turned five shades of red and adjusted his collar. “Of course, of course. Follow me.” He took me back behind the big desk to his office.

  I stuck out my tongue at the receptionist as I went by. Mr. Early ushered me into his glass-walled office and closed the door. “Please have a seat. This all seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding,” he said as he walked around to his desk and sat down. He put the paper on his desk and clasped his hands in front of me. “It seems that when you first changed the account my employee who helped you did not check your credit rating.”

  “I was not told that my credit rating mattered.” My back was poker straight, my chin high.

  “I’m afraid it does, Miss McMurphy.” He turned to his computer. “According to our records your credit score is quite low.”

  “I have always paid my bills on time,” I protested.

  “Right, well, you don’t have a good credit score due to the fact that you don’t currently have any credit cards or accounts in your name.”

  “I pay my bills on time,” I said. “My parents helped me through college, but I have always paid my rent and my utilities on time.”

  “Have you run a business before?” He clasped his hands in front of him on the desk.

  “No, I’ve been studying to prepare for owning the McMurphy.”

  “Have you interned at a hotel or fudge shop?”

  “No, I thought I would intern with Papa Liam this spring.”

  He sat back. “The electricity needed to run a hotel and a fudge shop is ten times what it takes to live in an apartment, Miss McMurphy. Even a Chicago apartment,” he said. “How can you assure me you can pay the bill?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake . . . I have a business plan, Mr. Early.” I clutched the basket to keep from showing my frustration. “I’m not doing this willy-nilly. Papa left me enough money to cover my first year of business. That includes utilities, based on the average from the previous five years.”

  “I see.” He turned back to his computer and pulled up my account. “The utility rules state that anyone with a credit score under six hundred will need to put down a deposit not less than two months of the average bill for the business.” He tapped on his computer keyboard. “For the McMurphy that means we need to have a deposit of two thousand dollars.” He eyed me. “If you don’t have it . . .”

  “I have it,” I said loud enough that I must have woke up the puppy. She started to stir in the basket. I ignored my pup and glared at Mr. Early. “I take it the deposit is fully refundable?”

  “Yes, as long as you have paid all your bills on time for the length of your account.”

  “Fine.” I pulled my debit card out of my wallet. “Here.”

  “I’m sorry. We take only cashier’s checks.” He didn’t look sorry as I stood and put my debit card in my purse.

  “I’ll go right down to the bank and get you that check,” I said and hitched my purse over my shoulder. “I expect not to have to wait in line when I get back.”

  “As long as it’s before lunch, you can come straight to my office and I’ll help you myself.”

  “Thank you,” I said. It took everything in me to not say what I really wanted to say. But I was an adult now and as an adult I would do whatever it took to save the McMurphy.

  “What’s in the basket?” he asked as I picked up the basket and my bags.

  “It’s my puppy,” I said. Oh how I wanted to take her out and let her piddle on his office floor, but I thought better of it. “We’ll be right back.”

  “That’s fine,” he said.

  I stormed out of his door and refused to look at either the purple-ribbon-wearing receptionist or the purple-ribbon-wearing customers in line. My anger helped me sail out of the building and down to the whitewashed limestone bank on Market Street.

  “Good morning, Allie,” Mrs. Amerson called from the art/photography gallery she ran on Market. She had a broom in her hand and was sweeping the front stoop.

  “Hi, Mrs. Amerson,” I said.

  “You look to be in a hurry.”

  “I found out I need a cashier’s check to get my power turned on.” I blew a breath that puffed the bangs out of my eyes.

  “What? That’s ridiculous,” she said. “The McMurphy has been in business for centuries.”

  “Yes, but I haven’t,” I said. The basket in my hands wiggled. I was afraid the puppy needed to piddle. The last thing I needed was for Spot? No, Sugar? Ugh, my puppy to piddle on the bank’s floor. “Do you like dogs, Mrs. Amerson?” I asked.

  “Sure, I have two pugs at home, why?”

  “Frances Wentworth gifted me with a puppy. Would you mind watching her until I get back from th
e bank?” I lifted the squirming basket and the pup stuck her nose out.

  “Ooh, sweetie,” she said and took the basket out of my hands. “Go on, don’t worry, I’ll see to the puppy’s needs. Does she have a name yet?”

  “I’m still working on that,” I said. “Let me know what you think.” I left my puppy in good hands and power walked to the bank. Inside, the white limestone building was quiet. It was richly appointed in dark wood and brass fixtures. A huge crystal chandelier illuminated the lobby. I got into the only line open. In front of me was a man with wide shoulders and a nice bum. He wore a plaid shirt and a pair of worn Levi’s. His dark hair was slightly shaggy and he smelled of horses and leather. His feet were clad in cowboy boots.

  I took a deep sniff and noted his warm cologne. The man looked good and smelled good. Why hadn’t I seen him around yet?

  He turned away and I noted the square jaw and handsome brown eyes of Joe Jessop’s grandson. “Excuse me,” Trent Jessop said as he popped a cowboy hat on his head.

  “No, problem,” I said. “You’re Joe Jessop’s grandson?”

  He tilted his head and studied me with male interest. “Yes, and you are?”

  “I’m Allie McMurphy.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  His face went frighteningly neutral. The silence buzzed through my ears.

  I pulled my hand back and shoved it in my back pocket. “I recently lost my grandfather as well.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “Good day.” He practically ran out of the bank.

  Well, I thought, that went well. I blew out a long breath and turned to the cashier, who watched me with too much interest.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes, I need a cashier’s check for two grand.” I handed her my debit card and glanced over my shoulder to watch Trent stride away.

  At least he wasn’t wearing a purple ribbon.

  Chapter 10

  “Honey, what are you doing?”

  “Now that the power is back on and the painters are done, I need to tackle the floors.” I looked up from my position on hands and knees. Frances stared down at me through her big, round, red-framed glasses.