All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) (12 page)

I had spent days in the pool house as a kid, floating on the surface, imagining who else had looked at the cedar ceiling over the years. I would wonder what it might have been like when the pool was first poured. Papa had lined the pool house with framed old photos of guests through the decades. Those pictures still hung on the walls. It had been years since I’d looked at them.

“There aren’t any cameras in here,” Rex said as he walked around the pool. He checked the doors. “Unlocked.”

“Well, yes, it’s against the fire code to lock people inside a building. Besides, it’s the weekend and this close to the season they may have guests already,” I said.

“Is the pool house kept open year-round?”

I turned myself away from the pictures. “Not that I’m aware of. Papa used to have the pool drained in October and then refilled in April. The pool house is open from April first until October thirtieth. That’s what we have posted on our Web site and our information, but I can ask Frances. She’d know for sure.”

Pete Thompson walked up the deck and stopped and stared at us. Then he opened the pool-house door. “How’d you two get in here?”

Soak oranges in Schnapps for at least 1 hour—drain just before use. Discard Schnapps.

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

In a double boiler, fill the bottom with water and place on high until it reaches a rolling boil then turn to low. In the top pan, melt chocolate, sweetened condensed milk, and butter until smooth and thick.

Remove from heat. Add vanilla and stir until combined. Add drained oranges. 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.

“What did you tell him?” Jennifer sat on one of two bar stools that allowed guests to look into the apartment’s tiny galley kitchen without getting in the way.

“I didn’t tell him anything. Rex asked Pete if he knew about the tunnel connecting our two hotels.” I poured chocolatinis into martini glasses and handed her one. “It took him a minute to answer.”

“Seriously?”

“I know, right? He looked at me first as if wondering how much I knew.” I pulled down all the ingredients for fudge. I wanted to try a new recipe. My idea was to base fudge flavors on different cocktail drinks. They would be part of my 21-and-up flavors. Fudge shouldn’t be only for kids.

“Creep. He did know about the tunnel. Oh, yuck, he might have been sneaking over here spying on you.”

“I thought of that. I think that’s worse than finding a dead body in my closet.” I mixed the sugar, coconut milk, spiced rum, and white chocolate chunks and placed them in the top of a double boiler. Stirring was my favorite part; most people hated how long it took to stir and carefully heat chocolate, but I loved it. There was a certain anticipation of watching for the moment when the mixture thickened and plopped like little volcanoes.

“I’m here now,” she said with satisfaction and sipped her drink. “Let him try to sneak in and scare you now.”

I laughed. “I hired a new handyman. He starts tomorrow and the first thing on his list is to wall off the basement door.”

“Wait, so the tunnel is still open? Can I see it?”

I stirred the melting ingredients with a wooden spoon. “No, Rex sent his cousin over to board up the coal bin. But I want it walled off. I need to inventory Papa’s things on the shelves in there.”

“Darn, it might be kind of fun to check out a tunnel with a cute policeman.” She waggled her eyebrows at me.

“Not as much fun as you might think,” I said and checked the temperature of the fudge with the candy thermometer.

“We don’t believe you,” Jennifer said in a falsetto voice. She had picked up Mal and moved the puppy’s front paws as if she were talking.

“I’m a person of interest in an ongoing murder investigation.” I stirred the fudge.

“And he’s a hot cop,” Jenn said. “We like him, don’t we, Mal?” She snuggled the puppy. “Yes, we do.”

“You haven’t even met him.” I rolled my eyes and removed the fudge from the stove and poured it on to the small marble candy slab I kept on my countertop.

“He has to be hot if he’s been married twice.” Jenn played with the puppy. “Isn’t that right?”

Mal answered with a bark of agreement.

“See?” Jenn’s blue eyes twinkled.

“Don’t you think married twice means something bad?” I asked as I scraped and turned the fudge, waiting for it to cool into a solid mass.

“Only that he has baggage.” Jenn put the puppy down and picked up her drink. “Didn’t you say his first wife was his high school sweetheart? Those kinds of marriages rarely last. I mean, would you have wanted to marry anyone you dated in high school?”

I frowned at the thought of marrying Mike Beis-terfield. He’d been a cute boy with a shock of black hair and sweet green eyes who’d gone on to run for state representative with dramatically opposed political views from me.

“And didn’t his second wife decide she didn’t like the isolation of island living in the winter?”

“That’s what Frances said.” I added chunks of pineapple and pecans and continued to mix the fudge as it cooled into the perfect texture. “For that matter, I’ve never spent a winter on island either. So who knows if I will like it?”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun with a local. How long has it been since you dated anyone, hmm?”

I finished up the fudge and left it to cool. “Two years.” I winced at the length of time. “In my own defense, I didn’t have time to date in culinary school. That place was cutthroat.”

“I’m here now,” Jenn said again, her eyes twinkling. “We’ll have this place running like a well-oiled machine and you’ll have your pick of hot cops and, hey, maybe even some rich dude from Chicago with a family cottage on island.” She grinned. “Then you’ll never have to know what it’s like to live on island during the winter.”

“That’s your idea of the perfect life.” I raised my martini glass to her. “This run-down place is mine.”

“Then here’s to being happy in our personal perfect lives.” Jenn lifted her glass and we toasted. “Now, how far is the yacht club from here and when does the season open?”

I laughed. “First things first, let’s make sure the McMurphy doesn’t go out of business.”

“I’m here.” Mr. Devaney arrived the next morning. His bushy eyebrows pushed together in a scowl. “I expect a fifteen-minute break in the morning, a half-hour lunch, and a fifteen-minute break in the afternoon.”

I smiled. He was the same grumpy man in jeans and a cotton work shirt as he had been in corduroy pants and a dress shirt when he’d taught me how to use the microfiche at the library.

“Of course,” I said. “There’s coffee on the back of the coffee bar. Feel free to help yourself.”

“I bring my own.”

“Okay, well if you ever forget it, I offer my employees free coffee.”

“I won’t forget.”

“There’s a fridge in the break room if you want to bring your own lunch.”

“I make my own lunch, have for years. I don’t need a fridge. I need a list of expectations and tools to do the work.”

“Let’s start in the basement.” I took him through the lobby.

“Good morning.” Frances sailed through the door. “Looks like the sun is out today.” She wore a pale green fedora with matching wool coat. “A great day to sell some room space.” She stopped short at the sight of Mr. Devaney. “Hello, who’s this?”

“Frances Wentworth, this is Mr. Devaney. He’s our new handyman starting today. Frances is my front-desk manager. She handles all the hotel reservations and manages the housekeeping staff.”

Frances gave his hand a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Devaney.”

“Pleasure is mine,” Mr. Devaney said, his gruff voice suddenly smooth. I swear there was a moment between them. It was kind of strange. I liked Mr. Devaney for his gruff, no-nonsense demeanor. But his gruffness completely disappeared the moment Frances walked in the door. “Excuse me. I’ve got work to do. Okay, young lady, show me where the tools are.”

“Right. The basement is through here.” I took him down into the bowels of the McMurphy, but not before noticing how Frances watched us leave. “The workbench and tools are all over here. Make a list of anything you think you need that you can’t find. Also, anything that is worn out or no longer of any use. I’ll have them replaced.”

“What’s going on over there?” He pointed at the coal bin with his chin.

I winced at the sloppy job of boarding. “That’s the first thing I need you to do.” I explained the tunnel and the need to have it mortared off.

“What was wrong with using a sturdy lock?” he asked.

“Officer Manning was concerned it would be too easy to take the door off its hinges.” I pointed out the ancient hinges on the coal bin. “The door was meant for access, not for keeping people in or out. Can you fix it?”

“I can fix anything.” He scowled at me. “If I couldn’t, you shouldn’t have hired me.”

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it,” I said. “I’ll be in the office on the third floor or in the fudge shop. If you need something and can’t find me, ask Frances or call my cell phone.”

“Got it.” He studied the door to the coal bin. I stood for a moment watching him. “What? Don’t you trust me to do my job?” he groused.

“No, no.” I hightailed it upstairs with a smile on my face. The man did so remind me of Papa in his younger days. I hoped that he was as good as he seemed. The McMurphy needed someone good with their hands to love it as much as I did.

 

 

“Oh, my, this spiced-rum fudge is to die for.” Jenn came down the stairs with one hand holding a piece of fudge and the other cupped under to catch crumbs. Mal followed her down the stairs, her little tail wagging with glee.

“Spiced-rum fudge?” Frances looked up from the reception desk where she sat working on her computer. She wore purple glasses on the edge of her nose with rhinestones on the frames. A beaded necklace held the ends of the glasses so that she could take them off and let them hang. Her soft lilac sweater had a V-neck and went well with her full navy skirt and jeweled belt.

“Yes, try this.” Jenn had never met a person who wasn’t an instant friend. My friend was a curvy size six with long black hair and bright blue eyes. At five foot nine in bare feet, she stood out in any crowd. Today she wore jeans and a pale blue long-sleeved T-shirt. Her feet were bare, but her toenails were painted a bright sparkly blue.

“Wow,” Frances said after tasting the fudge. “Did you make that?”

“Oh, no.” Jenn laughed. “I’m a hotelier, not a candy maker. She held out her hand. “I’m Jennifer Christensen.”

“Jenn is a dear friend from college. We both majored in hospitality. I went to get my culinary degree and Jenn worked as an event planner.”

“Well, hello, Jennifer,” Frances said. “Are you staying for a few days?”

Jenn’s laugh floated through the air. “Nope, I’m here for the season and longer if I have my way.”

“Jenn’s the friend I was telling you about. She’s going to stay with me in the apartment and help us get our first season off the ground.”

“Good,” Frances said. “We need more hands and I’m glad to hear you’re not staying here alone.”

“Did she tell you about the tunnel in the basement?” Jenn went over to the coffee bar and poured herself a cup.

“Yes, I was there when they figured out how it opened,” Frances said. “So strange that I’ve worked here for twenty years and never knew it was there.”

“Perhaps the guys who built it had a reason for keeping it secret.” Jenn sipped her coffee.

“What kind of reason?” I asked. Mal jumped up on me and I picked her up. She snuggled under my chin and gave me a kiss.

“I did some research on the patent number Officer Manning wrote down. According to the patent, the tunnel was built in the 20s,” Frances said. “Before my time even.”

“Papa would have been a little kid, so it must have been his father who had the tunnel built,” I said.

“Then we may never know.” Jenn sipped coffee.

“Maybe Mr. Devaney would know,” I mused and gave Mal a kiss and set her down to go play with her puppy toys. “He was an American history teacher.”

“Mr. Devaney?” Jenn asked.

“The new handyman,” I said at the same time Frances did.

“He was a teacher?” Frances asked thoughtfully.

“Yes.” I looked at her carefully. “So were you, right?”

Frances blushed. “Yes, English.” She went back to working on her computer.

I gave Jenn a look, letting her know that something was up there. Jenn picked up on it right away.

“Did you two work together?”

“No, I never met Mr. Devaney until this morning,” Frances said, her expression carefully composed as she studied her computer screen. “It is merely a coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Jenn said and sipped her coffee. “Or maybe Allie likes to hire teachers.”

“Have you ever been on island?” I asked Jenn, changing the subject.

“No.” She wandered to the front windows that looked out onto Main Street. “If you don’t mind I’m going to take a bicycle tour today. I want to get a feel for the place from the tourist point of view. I think it will help me develop a sweet Web site.”

“There’s a bike in the back utility shed,” Frances said. “Two actually, cruisers.”

“Sounds perfect. Allie, want to come along?”

“You go.” I smiled. “I’ve got to open the guest rooms, air them out, and make a list of things that need fixing.”

“I’ll be back by lunch,” Jenn said. “I’ll let you know if I see any hot yacht club members.” She winked at me.

“Take a jacket,” Frances said. “It’s sixty-eight degrees outside.”

“Right,” Jenn said and looked at me quizzically.

“There’s a hoodie hanging next to the back door of the apartment.”

“Thanks.” Jenn ran up the stairs. “See ya!”

Frances studied me. “Hot yacht clubbers?”

I shrugged. “Jenn’s from Chicago.” As if that explained anything, but Frances seemed to accept my answer. I grabbed the clipboard I had left on the reception desk. “I’m going up to go through the guest rooms.”

“Before you go, you’d better answer the door,” Frances said, her eyes not leaving the computer screen.

I frowned and looked from her to the front door. Standing in the doorway, scowling, was Trent Jessop. A pretty brunette stood beside him, wearing black cropped pants, a black blouse, and black pumps. She had the well-groomed look of money and in her manicured hands was my lasagna pan. Thankfully it was empty.

I unlocked the front doors and opened them. “Hello, can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Paige Jessop,” the young woman said warmly. “My brother and I came to return your dish. May we come in?”

“Certainly.” I opened the door wide and she came inside. I noticed that Trent shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and refused to smile as he entered.

“You’ve done a wonderful job redecorating,” Paige said as she looked around. “Seriously, it looks like a whole new place.”

“Thank you.” I took my dish from her. “Would you like coffee?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” Paige said. “I wanted to meet you and thank you for the lasagna. It was very good.”

“Allie is a chef and candy maker,” Frances said from her perch behind the receptionist desk.

Paige looked from Frances to me, her eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yes, I graduated with my master’s degree from the Culinary Institute.”

“See, I told you this was the best lasagna I have ever tasted. My silly brother was afraid to try it. He had some silly idea you were trying to poison us.”

“What?!”

“I told him he was way off base and that he had to come and apologize to you for not letting you into the memorial. Grandpa Joe would have been happy to have you there.” She nudged Trent. “Apologize.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel welcome,” he said, his voice gruff and his eyes narrowed slightly. “That was rude of me and it won’t happen again.”

“I didn’t hurt your grandfather,” I said. “I just lost mine a few weeks ago. I would never put anyone through that kind of pain.”

“See? I told you she was nice,” Paige said to her brother. “Well, we’ll be going now. Thank you for the lasagna and for thinking of our family.”

“You’re welcome.” I opened the door. Paige stepped out and I held my breath as Trent stopped beside me. He was one of those handsome men that made your brains fall out if he stood too close to you. I swear he smelled of expensive cologne, warm starch, and a tiny bit of horse. The man did own the island stables.

“Contrary to what my sister said, I did try the lasagna. It was very good,” he said, his voice low, and it vibrated through me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I squeaked. The man was hot. I don’t know, did I shiver when he came near because he was such wonderful eye candy? Or, was I insanely crazy attracted to him because he didn’t like me? I mean, everyone liked me. I’m likable. Why wouldn’t he like me?

Well, okay, so I wasn’t pretty like his sister or beautiful like Jennifer. But darn it, people usually liked me right off.

“Who was that piece of man candy?” Jenn stood next to the door. She had her hands on a beach cruiser bike that looked as old as it probably was.

“That is Trent Jessop.” I stepped outside, using the excuse that my friend stood on the sidewalk, when in reality I wanted to watch Trent walk away.

“The guy who thinks you killed his grandpa?”

“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “He owns the local stables.”

“Is she his girlfriend?”

“No, his sister, Paige,” I said. “They brought back my lasagna pan.”

“You took them lasagna?”

I sent her a look. “Did you see the man?”

Jenn laughed. “Let me guess, he lives on island year-round.”

“I’m not sure.” I frowned. “I think the horses go on one or two of the last ferries. So he may live in St. Ignace or Mackinaw City.”

“I wonder if he belongs to the yacht club?” Jenn’s eyes twinkled.

“Is that one of the bikes from the shed?” I changed the subject. I wasn’t ready to admit that Trent hated me and I didn’t have a chance in hell with him.

“Yes, I pumped up the tires and it could probably use some chain oil, but I think it will do for my purposes.” She patted the seat. “Want to come along?”

“No, thanks, I’ve been around the island every summer. You should know that bikes aren’t allowed in front of the Grand Hotel. They have people stationed at the road that will stop you before you get too close.”

“Seriously? It’s not even open yet.”

“Park the bike and walk,” I said. “That way you won’t make a bad first impression should there be anyone from the yacht club up there.”

“Right,” she said and winked at me. “I’ll be back.”

I watched her hop on the bike and head off down Main Street. Jenn would know everything and everyone by the end of the week. I bet no one would call her a fudgie.