First-Degree Fudge: A Fudge Shop Mystery (17 page)
Read First-Degree Fudge: A Fudge Shop Mystery Online
Authors: Christine DeSmet
He went wide-eyed, then saw that nobody was left in the shop. He took over with the long wood spatula. “Just fifteen. I gotta get on down to Sturgeon Bay and pick up a new skiff before my next fishing tour later today.”
“You’re doing a lot of investing in new boats lately.”
“Oh, this isn’t an investment. Insurance’ll pay for this. The darn thing unhitched somehow, and I didn’t notice it was plumb gone before it was too late.”
The skiff was a tiny lifeboat with a motor, usually tied to the side of his big cruiser and used if the big boat’s motors went out. Which had to be never on his new boat. Gilpa didn’t have an auxiliary boat, so I couldn’t offer to help Moose.
“Somebody will find it out in the bay and bring it back for you, Moose. Maybe you should look for it again. The currents might have shifted.”
“I looked enough. Nothing.”
“It’ll turn up.”
“Not soon enough for business. Can’t be out there without one, not with customers. Might get stuck if the motors die, like . . .”
My face flushed hot. He was referring to my grandpa getting stuck out at the Chambers Island Lighthouse with the four residents of the inn on Sunday. Instead of waiting half the night for a Coast Guard rescue, they could have motored back in the skiff. If Gilpa had had a skiff. Sunday’s mishap seemed like an eternity ago to me, though it was only Wednesday.
“Damn this smells good,” Moose said. “My mouth is watering.”
To my surprise, he was grinning like a kid at the white chocolate fudge mixture bubbling away. His nose was twitching as he snorted in the vapors while he stirred.
“When the fudge is done and ready tomorrow, I’ll bring you some pieces to sell on your boat.”
“Too girly. No, thanks.” He wrinkled his nose.
“But don’t you get women on the boat?”
“Not much. They don’t like all the fish guts and sea gulls flapping around when we bring in a catch.”
I still had my grandpa’s idea swimming in my head, though, about selling fudge on the boats. “So what would help me sell more fudge to the fishermen?”
“In the morning? I make ’em eggs and bacon and pancakes on my boat at seven a.m. A few guys pop their first beer of the day then. Men aren’t really a fudge crowd. Maybe you’d do better over on Main Street somewhere. Especially now, what with you probably closin’ down.”
“I’m not closing. I’m expanding.” The words spurted out. I surprised myself. But I also knew if I didn’t nip rumors in the bud, they’d not only flourish in Fishers’ Harbor but condemn me by becoming real. My mother and father wanted me to shut down. And all it would take to ruin my fudge venture was for the whole town to side with Mercy Fogg. It was me versus Mercy’s push to get a stoplight.
“You got your grandpa’s stubbornness.” Moose dipped a beefy finger into the hot fudge mixture before I could stop him. He didn’t even flinch from the boiling temperature, but he had a workingman’s hands that never wore gloves to do much in icy winter weather, either. Gilpa’s hands were the same way—strong and impervious to pain. Moose popped the finger into his mouth. His eyes lit up like firecrackers. “Damn, that’s good stuff. Floaty in my mouth like heady foam on a hoppy beer.”
“Wait until I add the cherry juice and tart cherries. Want to help me pour it into the copper kettle?”
He obliged, sneaking a finger into it again. He snorted at the air one last time, enjoying the perfume of the shop before he scooted on his way.
I sighed, watching his broad back go on down the dock toward the
Super Catch I.
There had to be a way to sell more fudge to fishermen. If I was going to stick it out here with my grandpa, I had to find a different way of selling fudge. Cody had been excited about our Fisherman’s Catch Tall Tale line of fudge that we hadn’t even begun yet. What flavors might entice fishermen? How I wished Cody were back. I had to find him.
I dipped a finger into the creamy white confection. Indeed, it was “floaty, foamy” soft, fit for an Oscar party. I put in the touch of cherry juice to turn it pink, then realized I wasn’t capable of stirring it with my one good hand. Maybe I had broken the wrist and should have it checked, but I just didn’t have the time. But how would I save this batch of fudge? Panic set in. Until I remembered the church ladies were probably still at my grandma Sophie’s.
Stuffing my nerves down into my stomach, I ventured over to Grandma’s house, where I found Dotty Klubertanz and Lois Forbes more than happy to come over again—if I’d do a favor in return.
Dotty, dressed in pink as usual and wearing some flower clip in her short, white hair, said, “We want to feature your fudge at the Brussels Booyah Bash in two weeks. It’s set for that Sunday after Mass.”
Since I hadn’t been around for eight years and I’d been at college down in Madison before that for a few years, I needed a refresher course. “What exactly are you talking about?”
The ladies reminded me that booyah was like the story of stone soup. Everybody brings an ingredient, like onions, celery, potatoes, cabbage, and stewing chickens, and then the church volunteers stir up batches of delectable soup in fifty-five-gallon drums over an outdoor fire. Everybody then buys booyah to support the fund-raising effort. They take the thick soup home in plastic ice cream buckets. It’s a Belgian tradition.
Grandma Sophie spoke up from her perch on the couch in the living room. “Honey, this is a high honor. Every year we ask somebody who’s especially well known for excellence in baking to be featured at the Booyah Bash. We raffle off the desserts to help support the free community dinners we hold. Cinderella Pink Fudge will be raffled off to the highest bidders.”
I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time at this ridiculousness. But their faces said they were serious. And I could see that Grandma Sophie needed to think about this rather than Gilpa being in jail because of me. This lady was built of stern stuff, but she also had a tender spot in her heart for her man. I so wanted to be like her. But didn’t she and these ladies know that pink fudge was likely not going to get very high bids? I couldn’t imagine that a man like Moose Lindstrom, for example, would want to be seen bidding on pink fudge. But one look at Grandma Sophie’s beseeching eyes—on the verge of tears from her stress—and I knew what I had to do.
“I’m in.” Then I stupidly blurted out, “And we’ll introduce my secret new flavor of Fisherman’s Catch Tall Tale Fudge.”
The women glowed with eager smiles. Lois Forbes asked, “What is it?”
I flashed a fake, crafty smile. “Now, it wouldn’t be a secret if I told. But those who help me in my shop will, of course, be part of the secret society of fudge that learns the recipe.” My lying reminded me of how I bluffed my way through my TV show meetings in Hollywood.
Dotty, Lois, and the other women purged from my grandma’s house in a blink, pleased and excited about my offer.
Awkwardness set in as I stood there looking down at Grandma Sophie on the couch, her broken leg stretched out.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I lied to them. I’ve been lying a lot lately. I’m the reason Grandpa’s in jail. I’m truly sorry.”
She heaved a heavy sigh. “You better be.”
Gulp. “I’ll get Gilpa out of jail.”
“How?”
The look she flashed me could freeze fudge from forty paces. And I felt even sicker knowing I was alliterating in my thoughts like Pauline. It had to be a sign I was in trouble.
I said, “I’m pretty sure I know who murdered Rainetta Johnson. I just have to put the pieces together.”
“Then what are you standing here for? Get going and find those pieces.” She thumped the arm of the couch next to her. “Come here, dear, and give me a hug.”
Gladly, I sank next to her on the couch. We hugged long enough for her love to pour from her into me, almost like I was a baby bird being fed by a mother bird.
I left Grandma Sophie’s house knowing I had to hurry and do something to clean up my messy life, which was harming everybody around me. Grandpa was in jail, Cody had run away, Sam thought I needed to grow up, and my parents were disappointed and scared for me. Heck, I was scared for me. Somebody had planted the jewelry in my shop, and somebody had tossed me down the stairs. Was it Cody? I just couldn’t believe he’d do those things. And yet a lot of evidence pointed to him. But I must be missing some clue. I had the feeling you get when you know somebody is right behind you, watching you. But who? Jeremy Stone? Sam? Mercy? I shivered.
As I stood under the maples listening to raucous robins fighting over territory, I phoned Pauline. It was the school’s lunch hour.
She answered amid the racket of the cafeteria.
I yelled, “What time do you get out of school today?”
“In a half hour. Early release for a big track meet. The whole school gets to go. We might make State this year.”
“Perfect. You and I are going to crash the lunch at the Blue Heron Inn. Bring the diamonds.”
“This sounds like trouble, Ava.”
“Everything I touch turns to terrible trouble. Alliteration to entice you, Pauline. Now, please get your tush over to my house with the diamonds. We catch mice with cheese, but murderers with diamonds.”
P
auline and I had walked inside the foyer of the Blue Heron Inn before I realized my mistake in bringing her. She was craning her neck every which way and doing so with a glint in her eyes.
I had to remind her, “We’re not here so you can flirt with John Schultz. He could be a party to a diamond heist or worse.”
“Fat chance. He was out in the boat that day, and the man is a tour guide and travel agent. You’ll be jealous when he offers to take me to Paris during my summer break.”
I’d called Izzy as we’d walked up the hill, so she was expecting us. She entered the sparkling reception hall looking especially elegant. Her petite frame was wrapped in a long lavender shirt cinched at the waist with a black leather belt that matched black denims and ballerina flats.
Pauline had dressed up for John of course. Because she was a kindergarten teacher and had to deal with mishaps before important meetings, she always had a change of clothes at school and in the car. She wore tan chinos, new matching pumps, and a long-sleeved aqua T-shirt that, with her long, glossy and loose black hair, gave her an alluring look that threw a twinge of jealousy into me. I had on my usual boring work boots and blue jeans with specks of fudge on them, but had changed into a clean white shirt. “Izzy, is there a special occasion?” I asked, indicating her attire.
Her dark eyes grew brighter, sparkling with the reflection of the Steuben statues. “The sheriff called to say that he’ll allow everybody to go home tomorrow. My guests are ecstatic, so I thought I’d dress up for their bon voyage day.”
Panic threatened to close my throat. “But he can’t let them go. We haven’t revealed who the murderer is. Or who stole the diamonds.”
Izzy bit her lower lip. She glanced over at Pauline.
Pauline nudged me. “Ava, I think this means . . .”
“Gilpa is not guilty. The sheriff can’t possibly think he’s solved the crime.” Or maybe he could, if the look on Izzy’s face was to be believed.
Izzy gave me a hug, an extralong one. She smelled of expensive perfume, like carnations and gardenias and exotic spices stirred together. It bothered me that she was accepting what the sheriff had said, but then, what choice did she have? Her guests wanted to leave. Was the killer and diamond thief about to leave town? My gut said so.
“Izzy, I have to talk to Jeremy Stone. Is he here?”
“Unusual for him, but yes. I guess he stayed inside today so he can pack.”
“Where is he? Are you eating in the kitchen?”
“Yes, but he went upstairs to his room already.”
“Perfect.”
I hurried up the blue-carpeted staircase with Pauline in tow. We paused at the head of the stairs in the dark hallway. We were next to the Earlywines’ room to the left.
“You have the diamonds with you, right?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Let’s look for a good place to put them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“To catch our murderer, we’re going to leave the diamonds in a room, then ask Jeremy Stone to come with us as we search the rooms right now. We’ll find the diamonds and the case will be reopened and the person arrested.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Yes, but at least that will get my grandfather out of jail. Which room should we put them in?”
“Not John’s.”
His room was to our immediate right. “Fine. What if we put them in the room next to Rainetta’s? That’s Taylor Chin-Chavez’s room.”
Pauline grabbed my left arm too hard. I muttered an “ouch.”
She whispered, “She’s in her twenties, just a kid. You can’t do this to her. I’m leaving right now, and you better do the same.”
I grabbed the strap on her purse as she tried to head back down the stairs. “You heard Izzy. Sheriff Tollefson has let them all go as of tomorrow, so we have to act fast. We have to talk with Jeremy Stone to see what he knows, so while I distract him with my questions, you dump the diamonds in his room. Then, while I’m still talking with him, you leave and call Jordy to tell him what we’ve found. He’ll arrest Jeremy Stone. You don’t like him, either, so what’s the harm in that? My grandfather will be freed, and Jeremy has a whole newspaper enterprise that can hire a lawyer to free him. And none of this will have cost me or my family a dime.”
Pauline stared down her nose at me in her annoying way. She thought being taller than me meant she was smarter.
She finally muttered, “You’re starting to sound like a cheap buffalo, like your grandfather, in fact.”
Since a “buffalo” was a Belgian, I wasn’t too offended. The cheap part stung, but right now I was okay being like my grandfather. He’d risked everything to set me up in business. He let me take the “Beer” word off the building, after all, and put up “Fudge.” If he could make room in his life for me, I could make room in my life to save him.
I took a quick peek into all the rooms before we got to Jeremy’s at the end of the hall. Nobody was around. Voices were coming through his door. I couldn’t place the other voice, a man’s. Pauline made motions to leave, so before she could, I knocked on the door.
“Jeremy? It’s Ava Oosterling and Pauline Mertens. We’d like to talk with you.”
When the door opened, to my surprise, the man was Hans Bjorklund, Bethany’s father.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said. “Hi, Hans. Bethany’s okay?”
Pauline said, “We can come back another time.”
Jeremy stepped up beside Hans. “No, that’s okay. We were just finishing an interview.”
The men shook hands; then Hans sauntered down the hallway.
Jeremy wrinkled his crooked nose at me. “Bringing me poison fudge for a good-bye gift?”
“Not this time.” Frustration heated my insides already. “We’re here because, with your help, we’re going to solve the murder. The wrong man is in jail, but you know that. And obviously you don’t care.”
His countenance shifted from slimy to something approaching indignation. “I’m a journalist. Of course I care about the truth.”
I’d found his Achilles’ heel. Who knew a reporter valued the truth? They certainly didn’t in Hollywood, not the ones I’d seen in action mobbing the stars of our show. But I was back in Wisconsin; little things like the truth mattered to folks here, maybe even to Jeremy Stone.
I sat down on one of the small cream-and-blue couches that surrounded the table where I’d seen the wine the other day. Jeremy sat opposite me. Pauline stood clutching her bag—and the diamonds—in the doorway.
“What do you know about the diamond heist in New York, Jeremy?” I had to get right to it since he’d be leaving by tomorrow probably. “Are the diamonds connected? And what do you know about Rainetta Johnson’s family? Any connection?”
“Wow. Want a job at the
Madison Herald
?”
“No. But you want to keep your job. So spill. You and I have to solve a murder case in about twenty-four hours, I figure.”
His mouth gaped for only two seconds before his brain seemed to engage. His eyes grew darker. His crooked nose twitched. He dug out his notepad from the pocket of his shirt and flipped through it. “The heist happened a week ago today in upstate New York in Corning.”
“Corning?” I’d heard of Corning glass, of course.
“There are summer homes of the rich in the area, many at local vineyards or wineries. One of those homes belongs to a man by the name of Kruppenmeier. The diamonds were stolen from the safe in his home.”
“These are the same diamonds that were found here?”
“It looks like it,” he said. “My colleagues out there tell me the Kruppenmeiers were in a feud over the rocks with a cousin’s son by the name of Benton Alpanelp. Benton had purchased the raw diamonds from a blood-mine situation in an African country.”
“You’re talking about a dictatorship, slavery, that sort of thing?”
“Yeah. But it seems Benton bought the diamonds with the intent of giving them back to the workers of the mine. He’s a philanthropist and an activist.”
I moved to the edge of my seat, fascinated. “And the Kruppenmeiers didn’t like that? They wanted the diamonds, I bet, because many are colored diamonds, worth much more than usual.”
“How did you know that?” He smiled sheepishly. “You saw them, of course.”
“So the Kruppenmeiers had them stolen from Benton Alpanelp?”
“No,” Jeremy said, to my surprise. “It seems a third party was aware of the flap and hired a professional to steal them, and I suspect they thought that the feud between the families might help cover up who really did it.”
“And you know who did it?”
Jeremy flopped back on the sofa in defeat. “No.”
“Could it be the Reeds? They’re from New York.”
“I’m looking into that possibility, of course. But because of the diamonds showing up here at the same time as Rainetta Johnson, I paid a genealogist to see if there was a connection between Rainetta and these families. And there was.”
I leaned forward in my seat with glee. “There is? Oh my gosh. Jeremy, why haven’t you told us this before?”
“I just found it out today. These things take time. But she’s only a shirttail relation, way off the grid really. But I did find out her last name used to be Kruppenmeier.”
My brain went into overdrive with possibilities. “Had Rainetta visited them recently?”
“No. I’ve traced her steps, and she was in Chicago until she came here on late Saturday afternoon to stay over for the fund-raiser party on Sunday. I spoke with Isabelle already, thinking maybe security people had come ahead of time to check out the place and maybe be the connection to the thieves, but that didn’t happen either.”
“But it’s weird that Rainetta is a relation and the diamonds end up here. She likely knew about the feud between the families.”
“I have an idea,” Pauline said, making Jeremy and me jerk. I’d forgotten she was in the room. She stood behind the kitchenette counter. “What if somebody knew either the Alpanelps or Kruppenmeiers intimately and was sick of their feuding, so decided to teach them a lesson?”
Pauline sounded like a teacher. Everything in life was about learning lessons.
Jeremy sat forward, worrying his hands. His nose wiggled. “I’m pretty sure that by now all the maids, mechanics, gardeners, vineyard workers, and whoever else they employ have been questioned.”
Pauline looked slapped down by Jeremy’s dismissal. I felt sorry for her, so I said, “But maybe there are former employees of those estates who should be questioned. Were they, Jeremy?”
“Hmm.” He made notes in his notepad. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”
“That still leaves us with this question: Why me? Why hide the diamonds in my sugar? Why was Rainetta’s necklace in my cookie jar?”
Jeremy wrote down those questions, too, which felt good because I felt validated, as if he took me seriously now.
Then he looked me square in the eyes. “It has to mean that someone around here knew the diamonds were coming to town but was smart enough not to keep them at their place.”
“Jeremy, they were smart enough not to keep them here at the Blue Heron. Have you noticed that none of the doors have locks? Izzy has kept the place historically accurate. So that has to mean the thief is somebody staying here. At least that’s my theory.”
“I like it.” He made another note. “And the nearest place that seemed innocent enough for a cover would be a bait and fudge shop. Nobody would suspect an all-American, true-blue establishment like Oosterlings’.”
“I appreciate the compliment, Jeremy, about our shop, but maybe we’ve been an easy target because the shop is hidden behind Main Street and the bustle there, not to mention the lights at night. It’s pretty dark on the docks at night and after we shut off our shop’s lights.”
“And so the guilty person or persons also had somewhat easy access in and out of your shop and knew they could pick up the jewels anytime.”
“Except Ranger and I made fudge with the wrong sack and the diamond thief didn’t expect that.”
Pauline said, “We’ve known that all along. What we don’t know is who was expecting the diamonds.” She helped herself to a glass of water at Jeremy’s sink.
The lighting in the room caught Pauline’s water glass just right and reminded me of Isabelle’s party and how disgusted she’d been with Rainetta’s cheap offer for the unicorn figurine. If Rainetta was loaded—or was about to become filthy rich from the sale of stolen diamonds—I didn’t think she’d want to bother with a mere glass unicorn. Or would she? Just as I’d been about to let Rainetta off the hook, I wondered if she were casing Isabelle’s collection, trying to buy—or steal—pieces and then sell them for profit? I’d had that thought previously concerning somebody after Isabelle’s collection. What about Rainetta’s manager?
“Rainetta’s career was definitely on the wane. Would her manager be behind this?”
Jeremy said, “I don’t know the guy. Refuses to talk with reporters.”
But the manager had talked with Isabelle about collecting Rainetta’s luggage and clothes, Izzy had said. Which meant we had to check on those things before the luggage and clothes disappeared.
I hurried from Jeremy’s room.
Pauline caught up with me halfway down the staircase. “What’s the rush?”