All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) (13 page)

“Your boy, Manning, was over at my place asking questions.” Pete Thompson watched me haul out trash from Papa’s apartment. “Thanks a lot for siccing him on me. I had nothing to do with Joe Jessop’s death.”

“I didn’t sic him on you, Pete.” I lifted the lid on the Dumpster and tossed in the two garbage bags. “He followed through on an intruder alert call.”

“What, you saw someone in the pool house?”

Mal pulled to the end of her leash and growled at Pete. I reached down and picked her up. “No, someone tried to break into the McMurphy.”

“Through the pool house? That’s ridiculous.” Pete snorted.

Mal barked at him.

“Look, I don’t care what you believe. I’m still shocked that you knew about the tunnel and didn’t tell me.”

“It’s an old maintenance tunnel for God’s sake,” Pete said. The man wore baggy blue jeans and a ridiculous sweatshirt. His cheeks were pink from the cold wind and his nose shone bright red. “I thought everyone knew about it. It’s probably in the city planning drawings. Anyone with any brains could go down to the courthouse and look at the old plans.”

“Wait, so Joe Jessop probably knew about the tunnel all along?”

“Sure, why?” He crossed his arms, but didn’t step closer. I got the distinct impression he was nervous around my puppy. Good. Maybe Mal really could put some distance between undesirables and the McMurphy. In fact, I might have to reward her with a treat when we went back inside.

“Frances tells me Joe and Papa Liam used to play tricks on each other. If Papa knew that Joe knew about the tunnel, then he should have bricked off the entrance long ago.” I put Mal down and walked her over to her patch of grass. Pete stepped back away from the fence.

Mal growled at him, then stuck her leg out and peed. I tried not to laugh.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you. Those old coots had some sort of secret society going. My grandfather and yours would meet down there twice a year. When the meeting was over, granddad would always come back with a wad of cash in his pocket. I used to think there was some sort of pirate’s treasure down there.”

“Did you ever look in there?” I had to ask because my own mind had gone to buried treasure.

“There’s nothing down there but rocks, dirt, and probably old photos Granddad had of your papa doing something illegal.”

“Papa would never do anything illegal. Grammy would have killed him.”

“Anyway, I came to tell you that I put a new lock on the pool house utility-room door. If someone is going down through that tunnel, it’s not my fault, so don’t try to pin any insurance claims on me.”

“Insurance claims? I would never.”

“You say that now. Wait until that money pit eats away all your cash. You’ll be looking for any way to make money, just like your precious papa did.”

Mal sniffed and wiped her feet in Pete’s direction, kicking up particles of grass and dirt.

“Hey.” he stepped back. “Control your mutt.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said and picked Mal up. “She’s just a puppy.”

I turned my back on Pete and walked back into the McMurphy fuming. I was glad Rex searched Pete’s place. Maybe he’d find a clue that would exonerate me from the investigation. Not that he would tell me, of course, it was a police matter and all. But darn it would be nice to know.

 

 

“We have a problem,” Frances said from her perch on the receptionist desk.

“Okay.” I took off Mal’s halter and leash and put her down. She ran off to get a drink from the downstairs dishes Frances had for her behind the desk. “Is it a good problem or a bad problem?”

She looked at me over the top of her glasses. “Is there such a thing as a good problem?”

“Sure.” I sat in the chair next to her. “Overbooking is a good problem.”

“Perhaps, but we have the opposite problem.”

“Oh. I thought you said we were booked solid from Memorial Day to the Fourth of July.”

“The key words being
were booked
.” Frances sighed. “Word has gotten out about Joe Jessop’s murder. People don’t come to Mackinac for the excitement, they come to relax. I’ve had five regulars cancel this morning alone.”

“Oh, no.” I frowned. “How do they find these things out?”

“Regulars have a subscription to the
Town Crier,
and then there’s this whole social media business . . .”

“Jenn is a wizard at social media spin. She’ll be able to help with that.”

“She’d better get on it right away because Paige Jessop just announced that she will be building a brand-new hotel just north of the Grand. It’s slated to open Fourth-of-July weekend.”

“What? Wait, there’s no way she can have a hotel built and operational in ten weeks.”

“Her press release says she has a Chicago firm designing a Victorian hotel built with modern materials and methods. They build it off-site in a factory and put it together on island.” Frances clicked her mouse and brought up the news story on her computer along with artist’s renderings. “I’ve had two customers cancel their July reservations. They want modern and new.”

“But they come to the island for the back-in-time feel,” I argued.

“Not this new generation,” Frances said. “And there’s more news.”

“All right.” I sat back. “Tell me.”

“The historical society is demanding a tour of the place before you open to ensure your renovations are within the latest historical standards.”

“Well, that’s an oxymoron, isn’t it? I mean, new historical standards?”

“It’s not a joke.” Frances’s expression was grave. “They can demand changes to paint schemes, etc., and they can fine you up to ten thousand dollars.”

“What? But Papa had the paint approved by the committee last fall.”

“That was before Liam and Joe died. The committee has no connection to you.”

“Because I’m not an islander,” I said. “Susan Goodfoot called me a fudgie. I tried to explain that I’m a McMurphy. That I spent my childhood summers on island with my grandparents, that I’m heir to the McMurphy, and that my family has been on island for one hundred and fifty years.”

“Honey, it’s a tight-knit community. You have to give them time to accept you. If they ever do.”

Mal whined and jumped up, begging to be let in my lap. I picked her up and snuggled into her soft fur. “There is only enough money in the funds Papa left me to go a full season if we are fully booked. There’s no room for fines or new paint schemes.”

“Then you need to get to work,” Frances said.

“Who’s the creeper nosing around the back of the McMurphy?” Jenn walked into the lobby from the back. Her checks were pink and her eyes sparkled. Her hair was still perfect and I envied her a bit. I mean, if I had just biked around the island my hair would be a tangled mess and my nose would be running.

“That’s Pete Thompson,” I said. “He owns the B and B behind us.”

“Oh, the guy with the pool house?” She poured herself coffee.

“Yes, he wants to buy the McMurphy.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen.” Jenn added cream and sugar. “This island is beautiful.”

“You biked the entire eight miles around?” Frances asked.

“I saw Arch Rock and the woods and all of Main and Market Streets. I even parked my bike and did a sneak peak around the Grand Hotel. Those lawns are impressive. Several of the hotels with lawns have fire pits scattered around with lawn chairs and blankets. I can imagine sitting around a warm fire and toasting marshmallows.”

Mal let up a loud whine. I covered her puppy ears. “Don’t say that in front of the puppy.”

“Why not?”

“Her full name is Marshmallow,” Frances said with a twitch around her mouth.

“Yikes, my bad,” Jenn said. “Sorry, pup.”

I took my hands off Mal’s ears and patted her. “She forgives you.”

“Did you know they’re setting a foundation for someplace huge above the Grand?”

I sighed. “Yes, Paige Jessop is building a new hotel with a Victorian theme.”

“It’s going to have great views.” Jenn sipped her coffee.

“And one hundred and fifty rooms.” Frances read from her computer screen. “A salon and spa, lawn tennis courts, Olympic-size pool, high-end restaurant with world-renowned chef Armond Calvarez.”

“There’s no competing with that.” Jenn sipped.

“Right?” I laughed at the absurdity of it all. “We have ten rooms, no lawn, but views of the harbor and Main Street.”

“We have the world’s best candy maker in the lobby,” Jenn said. “Period décor that is actual vintage.” She waved her hand. “Fireplaces in all ten rooms, cool creaky floors, and access to a pool house where twentieth-century vacationers actually swam.”

“Wow, you make it sound great.”

“Because it is great,” Jenn said. “It’s all how you spin it.”

“Tell that to the regulars who are cancelling bookings left and right.”

“What? Why?”

“They heard about Joe Jessop’s murder.”

“How?” Jenn drew her eyebrows together, marring her perfect skin.

“The
Town Crier
has an Internet subscription service,” Frances said.

The phone rang. “The McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe. This is Frances speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hello, Mrs. Zeiland.” Frances’s fingers clicked over her keyboard. “How are you? Uh-huh, and how’s Emily? Doesn’t she graduate from Northwestern? In two weeks? Wonderful, please tell her congratulations from us.” Frances made a note in the file to send a graduation card. “You’re most welcome. How can I help you today? Uh-huh, oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Frances shot me a look. “Is there anything we can do to change your mind? Okay, did you know we added Wi-Fi this year along with a coffee bar free of charge to our valued customers. Of course, we understand. I hope you do stop by when you’re on island and purchase some of our fudge.”

I wrote a quick note and slid it to Frances.

“Allie McMurphy is our new owner and is continuing the McMurphy fudge tradition with old favorites and a new line of fudges for adults based on the latest cocktail recipes.”

Frances hung up the phone and typed in silence. My heart was heavy. The Zeilands were long-standing clients who usually booked a weekend a month during the high season.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“They cancelled all four weekends,” Frances said. “They’re worried for the safety of their family and . . .”

“And they want to try out the new Grander Hotel,” I finished.

“Yes,” Frances said.

“How much is that going to cost us?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“It’s going to cost twenty-five hundred dollars for materials to shore up the basement so that we can wall off the tunnel entrance,” Mr. Devaney said. “I will need to order the materials today to get them in next week.”

“Can you have the project finished before Memorial Day?” I asked.

“As long as I don’t put any time into any other projects.” His brown eyes were serious. “Unless you want to hire brick layers.”

“How much would that be?”

“I could get a few quotes, but they usually run fifty dollars an hour.”

I tried not to wince. “We need to expand our security system to include the basement and possibly add cameras for all the public areas. Any idea how much that would cost?”

“I’ll quote it, but my guess is at least two thousand dollars for an advanced system.”

“Don’t forget the historical society,” Frances said. “They will want you to show them plans before you install anything. You can’t have anything that is too terribly obvious in a historical building.”

“How long will that take?”

“Depends on how many friends you have on the historical society committee,” Frances said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, I know how to help with that,” Jenn said. “Let’s plan a huge party for them. Maybe even a fund-raiser.” She rubbed her hands together. “We’ll serve cocktails and your new 21-and-over fudge flavors will be given as take-home treats.”

“That’s certainly a start,” Frances said.

“We’ll have to get all new plumbing before the party,” Mr. Devaney stated flatly.

“Okay,” I said. “Plumbing, fudge, what else?”

“Take an advert out in the
Town Crier,”
Jenn said. “Send a press release and let the local reporter get a preview tour.”

“Advertising, right. What else?”

“It never hurts to do things for the community,” Frances added.

“Like what?”

“Donate new park equipment.”

“Help clean up park trails.”

“Get involved in local societies.”

They all spoke at once, and I tried to write it all down. “Okay.” I held up my hand to stop them. “And where am I supposed to get the time and money to do any of these?”

“If you don’t make an effort, there won’t be a McMurphy,” Frances groused. “Is that what you really want?”

“No.” I slumped in my chair. “Fine. I’ll take ideas on how to stretch our time and money resources.”

There was a long drawn-out silence in my office. Mal stood up and stretched, then trotted over and licked my ankle under the flowing skirt of the shirt dress I wore.

“You need a silent partner,” Frances said. “Someone who will help financially without taking over management of the McMurphy.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” I said and put my chin in my palm, resting my elbow on my desk.

“There is one person.” Jenn looked me straight in the eye.

I sat up. “No, no, I said I wouldn’t, not unless I was in dire straits.”

“Straits don’t get much more dire,” Jenn said. “I mean, there is only so much we can do without capital.”

Frances and Mr. Devaney looked at us back and forth as if watching a tennis match.

“No.”

“Yes. You have to.” Jenn was firm.

I closed my eyes. “Fine.”

“Is there someone I should call?” Frances asked.

“No,” I said. “This is something I need to do by myself.”

“Good.” Jenn stood. “While you do that, we’ll make a plan. Frances, you make a list of things we can do for the community. Mr. Devaney, you make a list of things that must be done to ensure the remodel is completed and the extra security is installed and ready. I’m going to plan out the party and the Web site and social media.” Jenn gently shepherded the others out of the office. She grabbed the door handle, and as she closed the door she gave me a thumbs-up sign.

I sighed and hit the speed dial on my phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom, can I speak to Dad?”

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 Kool-Aid mix and stir until combined. Add rum and vodka 1 tablespoon at a time (to taste). Mix well. 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.