All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) (22 page)

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Authors: Nancy CoCo

BOOK: All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery)
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Acknowledgments
Many thanks to the owners, employees and patrons of The Island Bookstore on Mackinac Island. They not only answered the questions from an unknown writer, but they allowed me to run a Facebook Contest to determine what Allie’s occupation should be—Fudge Shop owner was number one with Horse Stables a close second. Readers, if you get the chance to visit Mackinac, be sure to stop into the bookstore for a great beach read and friendly and welcoming folks.
Next, I need to thank my own Facebook fans for helping me come up with Mal’s name (Marshmallow). It was perfect for a fluffy white dog that lives in a fudge shop.
Thank you to USDTL’s Research and Development committee for taste testing my fudge recipes and especially to Mary Jones for suggesting Captain Morgan Fudge—which got me started on my cocktail fudge idea.
I can’t thank enough my friends and family and the great community of writers who have supported me every step of the way.
Last but not least, thank you to my editor, Michaela Hamilton, and my agent, Paige Wheeler—your help and encouragement mean a lot.
Turn the page for a preview
of the next Candy-Coated Mystery featuring
Allie and Mal . . .
TO FUDGE OR NOT TO FUDGE
Coming from Kensington in 2014!
Chapter 1
“A lilac by any other name still smells as sweet.”
 
“Mal, get out from under that lilac bush,” I called. It was almost time for the lilac festival and my bichon/poodle puppy Marshmallow had fallen in love with the fertilizer that was spread under the lilacs. For some reason she found the bushes next to the
Town Crier,
Mackinac Island’s newspaper, to be the most malodorous.
I tugged on her leash. Mal dug in her heels and refused to budge. Like a fisherman fighting a hook, I reeled in the leash. This served to pull on her pink harness and drag one stubborn doggie out from under the bush one inch at a time. “Come on, Mal, let’s at least pretend I’m in charge,” I muttered and pulled harder.
As the proud yet harried owner of the one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe, I’d walked down to the newspaper to place a want ad for a part-time maid to help fill in during the busy times. Mackinac Island was known for its quaint Victorian feel. There were no cars. In fact they were banned from the island. Only bicycles and horse-drawn carriages filled the streets.
Mal was a gift from my dear friend and reservation manager, Frances Wentworth. The puppy was supposed to keep me safe from evildoers. She had done her job well last month when I found myself investigating my grandfather’s best friend’s murder. I kind of had to, as he had been murdered in my utility closet.
Still, on the days when she wasn’t protecting me, Mal had a tendency to boss me about. Especially when it came to doing things she was interested in doing . . . like sniffing under lilac bushes—instead of what I was supposed to be doing . . . placing an ad in the paper.
“Come on, Mal, I need to get this errand done before noon.” I yanked on the leash. Suddenly she popped out from under the bushes with a bone in her mouth.
I did a double take. Was that a sock hanging from that bone?
Surely not. I mean, on close inspection it had an argyle pattern like a sock. It was knitted like a sock. Okay, so there was a huge hole in what appeared to be a heel like a sock. But then Mal loved socks. Maybe other dogs did too. Maybe, just maybe, some dog buried their bone in their favorite sock. It could happen, right?
I mean, what were the chances that the sock belonged to the bone? Slim to none. Right?
Mal proudly dropped the sock-wrapped bone at my feet and nudged it as if to show me what she found. Her little stubby tail wagged.
“I sure hope that’s not what I think it is.” I poked it with my white Keds. There was no way I was going to pick it up.
She pushed the bone toward me, wagged her bobbed tail, and darted back under the lilac bush. “Mal, come on, I have work to do.” I yanked on her harness only for her to prance out from under the bush. This time she had what looked like part of a shoe in her mouth. She shook the shoe as if to kill it. Dirt and mulch went flying, along with hard pieces that hit my legs with a thump, thud, thump.
Those hard pieces had toenails—painted a neon orange.
The spit dried up in my mouth. Adrenaline washed through me. I did what any sane person would do. I scooped up my dog, yanked the shoe out of her mouth, dropped it next to the sock bone, and ran straight into the
Town Crier.
There was no way I was going to be alone outside with portions of a dead person. I mean really, what if whoever it had been had been attacked by a wild animal and dragged under the bush to be saved for a later meal? Or worse. What if the animal was a rabid creature using the remains as bait? It could be true. There was no way I was going to hang around and find out.
“Dogs aren’t allowed in here,” said an older gentleman with a white beard, balding head, and a pair of reading-glasses perched at the edge of his nose.
“Right.” I faced him and held the door closed with my body. Mal leapt out of my arms and sat down to stare at the old guy as if to dare him to kick her out.
He stared at me. “The dog . . .”
I found my voice. “Just dug up remains from under your lilac bush.”
He drew his bushy white brows together over his dark brown eyes. “Excuse me?”
I swallowed and cleared my throat as I fumbled for my phone. “Call 9-1-1. I think there’s a dead guy under your lilac bush.”
“A dead . . . what?” He stood and took a step away from me, using his desk as a shield between him and the crazy woman at his door. It would have been funny if I weren’t the crazy woman.
“Person,” I said. “Well, not a whole person. A part of a person that wears argyle socks and leather shoes . . . oh, and paints their toenails orange.”
He picked up the phone and hit a single button. “Hi Charlene,” he said. “Get Officer Manning over here, will ya? There’s a crazy woman in my office. No, she doesn’t appear to have a weapon, just a small white dog. Um, hmm, hold on. Are you the McMurphy girl?”
“Yes,” I said, my hands fumbling with my phone. After last month’s trouble I had Officer Rex Manning on speed dial and hit the button.
“The one who found Joe Jessop dead in the McMurphy utility closet?”
“Yes.” I put the phone up to my ear and listened to it ring.
“It’s the same crazy woman,” the man said into his phone. “Right. Okay. Bye.” He hung up the phone and sat down slowly, watching me with narrowed eyes as the ringing on my phone dropped me into Rex’s voice mail.
“Hey, hi,” I said into my cell phone. “I hope you’re on your way to the
Town Crier.
I’m pretty sure Mal dug up a dead person.” I hit the
END CALL
button.
The old man studied me and I studied him. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled something out. Then he slapped it down in front of him. It was a rabbit’s foot.
Ew. Okay, I’d seen enough disembodied feet for one day, thank you very much. “What is that?”
He raised his right bushy eyebrow. “If you don’t know, I bet the dog could tell ya.”
I sighed and crossed my arms. “It’s a rabbit’s foot. I know what it is, I wanted to know why you got it out.”
“Because I don’t know how to make an evil eye.” He tipped back in his chair and it squeaked.
“An evil eye?” I shook my head, dazed. “I don’t get it.”
“It wards off bad omens and such,” he said and reached over to adjust his placement, ensuring the rabbit’s foot sat square between him and me.
“Um, okay. I’d join you behind your rabbit’s foot, but I’m currently busy making sure the door stays closed.”
“Now why would ya be doing that?”
“Because there is a killer out there. It might be a wild animal. It might be a serial murderer. Either way there is going to be a door between me and it.” I hated to sound smug, but really, a strong wooden door was a lot better at keeping a rabid animal away than a rabbit’s foot.
“Well, there, see, that’s where we disagree.”
“We do?” I scrunched up my eyebrows.
“As far as I can tell the bad luck is already inside with me.”
“What? Where?” I glanced around but there were only three of us inside: me, him, and Mal.
“I’m looking at it.” His gaze was steady on me.
“You mean me?” I pointed to my pink polo shirt.
“You’re the only one in this room that finds old men dead and seeing as how I’m an old man . . .”
“But you’re not dead.” I tried to reason with him.
“Thus the rabbit’s foot.”
“Okay, seriously, I don’t know what you heard, but I did not murder anyone.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But you just said . . .”
“That you have been known to be alone when you find old men dead.” He shrugged. “I’m hedging my bets.”
I didn’t know what to say to that so I simply glared at him. He glared back. Mal sneezed and we both jumped.
“Does the dog bite?” The man finally broke the silence.
“Mal? No, she’s a puppy.” I picked her up and decided to play nice. I stuck out my hand. “I didn’t properly introduce myself. I’m Allie. I run the McMurphy.”
“I know.” He sat back carefully, still wary. “Charlene told me.”
“Right.” I pulled my empty hand back.
“Besides, I’m a reporter. Not much escapes my notice.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest.
“Except a dead body under your bushes.”
“I thought you said it was a sock and shoe.”
“With bones and toenails.” I hugged Mal until she squeaked.
“Orange-painted toenails.” He pursed his mouth. “Yep, you told me that part, Ms. McMurphy.”
“I’m not crazy,” I said in my own defense.
“There are people on this island who would disagree with that.” He watched me from over the top of his eyeglasses.
“There are people on this island who think we should allow cars. Everything people think is not always right.”
“Well, you have me there.” He leaned back. “I’m Angus MacElroy.”
“I’d say it’s very nice to meet you, but right now I’m not so sure.” Mal wiggled, but I held her tight. Her fluffy fur was a comfort.
“Why’d you come here, Ms. McMurphy?” Angus asked.
“I came over to place a want ad, but instead it seems I’ve uncovered a dead body or possibly a murder victim.” I tilted my head and studied him as if he were the perfect suspect. For all I knew he was. “Being a reporter, you probably have seen a million dead bodies.”
“Only ten and they were open-casket funerals,” he admitted, his brown eyes twinkling. “A murder victim? Isn’t that jumping to conclusions?” he asked in a calm manner—too calm if you ask me.
“It looks like murder to me unless you purposefully buried someone under your lilac bushes.”
He leaned back and the squeak of his chair echoed around the room. “I didn’t bury anyone under the lilacs. There’s a law against that, you know.”
“Grandpa, are you scaring away customers?” A woman about my age stepped out of the back room. She had dark black hair, a heart-shaped face, and soft blue eyes. She wore cargo pants and boots and a pale blue tank top under a red, white, and blue plaid shirt.
“She’s not a customer.” He glanced at me. “She’s a crazy woman who won’t leave the door. She has some ridiculous notion that holding the door will keep a wild animal from bursting in and killing us.”
“Don’t be silly.” She buzzed a kiss on his grizzled cheek. “It’s more likely she’s afraid to get near you.” She stepped around the desk. “Hi, I’m Elizabeth MacElroy. Everyone calls me Liz.”
I shook her hand. She had a nice firm grip. “Allie.”
“Hi Allie, who’s this sweet puppy?” She leaned in and Mal jumped into her arms and kissed her. Liz laughed and stood holding Mal. “Aren’t you the sweetest?”
“Oh, no.” I tried not to panic. “Don’t let her kiss you.”
“Why not? I love doggies.” Her blue eyes twinkled in delight as Mal proceeded to wash her face.
I winced. “She may have dead body breath.”
“What?” Liz froze.
“That’s what I told you.” Angus leaned back with a smug smile. “Ms. McMurphy seems to think she found a murder victim hidden in the lilacs. Anyone you know missing?”
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
 
Copyright © 2013 by Nancy J. Parra
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
 
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
 
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-8710-6
First Kensington Mass Market Edition: November 2013
 
eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8711-3
eISBN-10: 0-7582-8711-9
First Kensington Electronic Edition: November 2013
 

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