All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) (8 page)

The fudge shop floor held black and white tiles that were easy to clean. I remember mopping them every night as a teenager. How I hated them then. The thought made me smile. I appreciated their efficiency now.

Finally, I included an old-fashioned watercooler in the corner next to the door, along with paper cups. The idea was to offer tourists a free drink and a respite from the busy street, while the hope was that they would wander into the fudge shop and find they had to take at least a quarter pound home.

Mike Proctor walked on the paper carpet runner that stretched from the bathrooms behind the elevator to the front door. He was tall, over six foot two inches, with sandy-colored hair and a large nose. Today he wore painters’ Dockers in khaki and a blue uniform shirt. His shoes were thick brown boots covered in multiple paint colors and a variety of stains. “There you are. What do you think of the floors?” he asked, waving toward the uncovered portion of freshly finished hardwood. “It took some sanding but I was able to polish out those stains.”

“It looks great,” I said. He was right. There was no sign of the reddish-brown stains left. Only the gleaming narrow-planked wood floors remained.

“You should be able to put the rugs and furniture back down in twenty-four hours.”

“Good.”

“Frances said to tell you that the puppy is in her crate in the office upstairs. You’ll need to walk her later.”

“Thanks.”

Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and studied me. “You’re really going to take on this monster all by yourself?”

“Yes.” I gave him a firm nod. “It’s been my dream since I was a little kid. Besides, I promised my Papa.”

“Well.” Mike shook his head. “Good luck to you. A building this old needs constant upkeep and the fudge shop business here on island can be a little cutthroat.”

“I know.” I raised an eyebrow and lifted the bag hanging from my wrist. “I’ve been scoping out the competition.”

Mike gave a hardy laugh. “Call me if you need anything else. Unlike you, we’re the only game on island. Besides, Emily can find practically anything you might need from antique fixtures to pictures and hat racks. She loves the thrill of the hunt.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

I walked him to the door and held it open. He stopped at the entrance, his brown eyes twinkling. “Don’t let the ghosts drive you out.”

“What rugs did you decide on?” Frances asked.

“Excuse me?” I looked up from my work arranging the kitchen portion of the fudge shop.

“Did you meet with Emily Proctor this morning?”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Yes, I’m getting three area rugs to define the space. One by the fireplace, one in front of your reception desk, and the final one is going in the small conversation space in front of the elevators.”

“Do I get to see the color and patterns you picked out?”

“Sure.” I pulled the samples out from under the cash register where I had temporarily put them down. “Here, what do you think?”

Frances took each pattern and eyed the spaces they were to create. “I like it. You and Emily have good design style.”

“Thanks, it was easy. I’d been looking at Victorian rug patterns for months and Emily had samples very close to what I was looking to buy.”

“Nice,” Frances said and handed me back the samples. “Just one thing. How are you going to keep the dog from chewing up your carpets?”

“She won’t chew them. We’ll watch her like a hawk and crate her if she ever thinks about it. I can’t afford to put thousands of dollars into wool rugs and then let a puppy chew on them.”

“Speaking of the puppy, have you decided on a name yet?” Frances asked as she grabbed a can of wood polish and a lintfree rag and polished the receptionist desk.

The puppy was under my feet, chewing on a toy that was a ball with a tail. The toy had a face and long ears. There were squeakers in the tail and in the ball. I wish I hadn’t gotten a gray toy, I thought. It was better not to think of mice while working in the McMurphy. I made a mental note to buy only neon-colored toys from now on. Some simply were too realistic for my frame of mind.

“Not really,” I said as I rearranged plastic tubs filled with the ingredients necessary to make fudge. A glass candy display separated the candy making from the rest of the lobby. It was important that people could see in, but just as important that they couldn’t crowd the kitchen. Hot sugar was lethal in the wrong hands. Inside the glass counter were glass shelves that held trays of fudge.

A scale sat on the top of the counter ready to weigh the pieces as they were wrapped in wax paper and placed in long boxes. A box of fudge could carry up to five pieces and cost upwards of twenty-five dollars. The key to surviving in the fudge shop business was to put on a good show and have a large selection. The bigger your selection, the more people bought. They got caught up in the idea of tasting every variety.

It was a great business if you were good at what you did. I promised Papa Liam I would be good. All my professors thought I was, if that counted for something. Now all I had to do was convince the people of Mackinac.

“I’ve thought of several but they don’t seem to really fit her.” I walked over and got down on the floor with the puppy. “Hello, what is your name?” I drummed my fingers on the tile floor and the puppy pounced on my hand. “Ow.” I laughed and wiggled my fingers in the air. The puppy tried to hold my hand with her paws and bite my fingers. “Silly little dog,” I said. “Whatever should I call you? Hmmm?”

“How about Killer?” Frances came over and watched us play together. The pup decided it was so exciting she had to piddle. I grabbed her up quick and put her on one of several piddle pads that worked their way out the back door.

“How about Fudgie?”

Frances frowned. “She’s too white for a name like that.”

“Piddle pot?”

The pup tried to eat the pee pad. She grabbed the plastic and paper pad between her teeth and shook her head. I tried to grab the pad and the puppy ran away with it, resulting in a mad dash around the lobby and a battle of wills. I triumphed finally by grabbing the pup, picking her up, and pulling the pad out of her mouth. “No, no!” I said and looked around for a place to confine her. “I need a playpen.”

“You should get a second crate—one for down here,” Frances said.

“No, I don’t want to have to lock her up like that.”

“It’s good for pups to be crate trained. It gives them a space of their own and sets boundaries.” Frances eyed me. “Part of being a grown-up is learning to set boundaries.”

“Okay, I have a feeling we’re not talking about the puppy anymore.”

“I’m talking about Colin. Has he shown up for work yet?”

I shook my head no.

“That man needs to be fired.”

“But he’s worked for Papa for years,” I said. “How can I fire him?”

“Easy, you hire someone else. Someone who actually shows up and does work.”

I frowned and cuddled the pup, who decided she was going to sleep. “So I have two handymen?”

“No, you fire Colin when he comes in to work, if he comes in to work.” She took the dog out of my hands and gave me a stern look. “The lobby bathroom fixtures are leaking again. The windows in room 206 are stuck and that’s only the beginning.”

I blew out a hard breath. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Call the newspaper and put in a classified. I’ll take the pup and find you a dog crate that’s the right size.”

“Fine.” I picked up my phone and remembered the fire escape. “Frances . . .”

“Yes?” She studied me through her thick glasses. They were round plastic frames that reminded me of that old cartoon character Mr. Magoo.

“Is there a reason the fire escape is so well oiled?”

Frances drew her brows together. “Maybe Liam told Colin to oil it so that it would be safe for you on the third floor.”

“Do you really think that Colin would oil the fire escape but not fix stuck windows or leaky faucets?” I had to ask her. It bothered me that it was so easy to climb up on the back balconies of the McMurphy.

“Now that you say it like that, I suppose the answer is no. Perhaps Liam did it?”

“Can you see Papa climbing the fire escape with a WD-40 can?”

“No, not this last year.”

“It’s a mystery.”

“Are you thinking that’s how Joe Jessop got into the McMurphy?” She cuddled the sleeping dog against her chest.

“I don’t know, but I think it bears looking into.” I moved up the stairs. First stop was the second-floor back door. The floor was deathly quiet. My footfalls were muffled by the dreadful carpet. The plaster on the ceiling mocked me. Benny said it could not safely be painted. My best bet was to bring in a plasterer and redo all the ceilings. I shuddered at the thought of how much that would cost.

Truth be told, the money Papa had left me disappeared at an alarming rate. If I didn’t get customers in here soon I’d be more than broke. I’d be penniless in a falling-down money pit.

I checked the back door. It was properly locked. I unlocked it and stuck my head out. The fire-escape ladder was still up from when Mr. Beecher and I put it up the night before. I probably ought to have Colin or his replacement tie the ladder so that it wouldn’t be so easy to scale.

I checked the doorjam. It looked a bit rough, as if someone had tried and failed to punch it open. The thought made my skin crawl. What if whoever murdered Joe had tried to come in through the fire escape? What if they had tried on the third-floor apartments?

The fact that it could have been me dead in the second-floor utility closet had not gone without notice. I tried to push the thought away, but it suddenly overwhelmed me. I braced myself on the locked door. I didn’t want to die. I had only begun to lay the foundation to live.

My cell phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket and did my best to stand up straight. “Hello?”

“Allie, it’s Frances. Officer Manning is here and he has a warrant to check your apartment.”

“What?” I took off toward the stairs.

“You have to stop him. He’s coming up. I’ll call my cousin.” The phone went dead in my hand as I strode to the stairs. I caught him on the landing. The man could rock a uniform.

“Hello,” I said. “Frances tells me you have a warrant?”

“Yes, I have a warrant to search the entire building—that includes your apartment.” His blue gaze was sympathetic. “I will need you to unlock all the rooms and let me in upstairs.”

“Wait.” I took the warrant he handed me. “What is your cause? Was the stain on the floor downstairs blood? If so, what does that have to do with my apartment?” I tried to read the warrant but it looked like a bunch of legal stuff that I couldn’t make heads or tails of.

“The coroner declared Joe Jessop’s death a murder.” His voice was as grim as his face.

“Well, I kind of figured that when I saw him lying there with blood all over his face.”

“Allie, I need to search the entire building,” he said in a strangely calm voice.

“So that stain was blood?”

“No, that stain is still undetermined. It is not relevant to Joe’s murder and my current investigation.” He tilted his head and repeated, “I need to search the entire building. The warrant gives me that power.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll open up the apartment.” I headed up the steps and took the keys out of my pocket. “While you’re searching, could you check the back doors for any evidence that they were broken into?”

“Why?”

“Because the whole place is falling apart, but the ladder to the fire escape was down and rolls silent as the day it was made. That seems fishy to me.” I unlocked my apartment. “Doesn’t that seem fishy to you?”

“I’ll check it,” he said. “Now you have to go.”

“Wait, I have to go? Does that mean I don’t get to watch you go through my underwear drawer?”

He paused and flashed me a look. “I don’t make it a habit of going through women’s underwear drawers. Officer Lasko will be looking through your drawers.”

“Who’s Officer Lasko and why is his going through my drawers any different than you going through my drawers?”

“Because I’m a woman.” A small blond woman in a blue police uniform stepped into the apartment. She tugged on blue latex gloves.

“Oh, good,” I said. “I’ll tell you what I told Officer Manning. I think someone has oiled the fire escape so they could break into one of the back doors unnoticed. I don’t know if it was Joe or his killer, but I’d like you to check it out.”

“How do we know you didn’t fake a break-in to cover your tracks?” she asked.

“Kelsey, no,” Officer Manning said, his tone soft but official.

“Is she for real?” I asked, then stopped when a thought crossed my mind. “Let me guess, Joe Jessop was your grandfather.”

“My relationship to Joe has no bearing on this case.”

“Wait, is that a purple ribbon on your Kevlar jacket?” I turned to Officer Manning. “Yeah, I’m not leaving. I’ll be here to ensure that anything you find is actually there and not planted, because I did not hurt Mr. Jessop. I only found him in my hall closet. Besides, I thought everyone was innocent until proven guilty.”

“Oh, you’re guilty and we’ll prove it,” Officer Lasko said with venom in her voice.

“I want someone else searching my place,” I said. “Or I’ll have my lawyer claim anything you find is not useable in court due to prejudice of the searching party.”

Officer Manning crossed his arms over his chest. “Kelsey, get out.”

“What? No, I’m here to search the McMurphy.”

“Not anymore,” he said. “Call Brown and get him down here.”

“Yes,” I sneered. “Call Officer Brown.”

“If I were you, I’d be quiet,” Officer Manning advised me. “Officer Brown is not exactly a fan of yours either.”

I snapped my mouth shut and sat on the arm of Papa’s old, stuffed green chair. It still smelled of his cigars. Grammy Alice would have cringed if she’d known he smoked in the chair after she was gone. I could almost hear her say that he was lucky he didn’t set himself on fire.

There was a wicked silent battle of wills until Officer Lasko finally gave up and huffed out. She left the door open and I was glad. I didn’t want to be alone with Officer Manning. I might confess to something I didn’t do just to feel safe. The man had a gun and he knew how to use it. Besides, he had this whole action-figure, tough-guy bit going on. I think I kind of liked that.

“What do you think you’ll find?” I asked, breaking the awkward silence.

“Nothing,” he said softly. “But we have to check.”

“Only a fool would keep a murder weapon in their apartment where you can find it,” I mentioned and crossed my arms. “Please do check the doors. I have a security service coming in the morning to install a system. I’d like to feel safe until then.”

“You do realize that Lasko was right,” he said. “Even if we find evidence of a jimmied door, there’s no proof of when it was done. For all we know your grandfather did it two months ago, or you did it last night.”

I rolled my eyes.

“But we’ll make sure there’s a patrol in your alley every couple of hours tonight.”

“Thanks,” I said out loud while my brain screamed no! How hard would it be for a killer to break in and finish me off between the first patrol and the next? “At least you’ll find my dead body sooner, I suppose.”

He gave me another one of his humorless cop stares and I realized I’d said that last part out loud.

“Okay then.” I sat down in Papa’s chair and waved my hand. “Start searching.”

“If you interfere I will have you tossed out.”

“I get it.” I crossed my arms. “I’m kind of getting used to being tossed out.” I sounded defiant but deep inside I was worried. I had not gone through Papa’s things and the idea that these strangers would go through them first made me angry with both them and myself. It didn’t matter that I’d been busy. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to face the grief going through his stuff would cause. What mattered was that I didn’t do it and now the police would.

Officer Manning put on a pair of blue gloves and started in the living room. I watched him do a thorough search moving around the room in a grid pattern. He went through Papa’s bookshelf, searching behind the books. He opened box after box and searched through them.