To Fudge or Not to Fudge (A Candy-Coated Mystery with Recipes) (19 page)

“Can’t say or won’t say?” I asked as we walked out, leaving Constance with Peter.

Rex turned his angry gaze on me. “Either way, I don’t like to see this kind of abuse on my island. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

I watched him storm off. Liz came down the hall and stopped by me, her gaze on the hard expression on Rex’s face. “Whoever did this is going to be in a world of hurt.”

“When he’s done with them it will be my turn.”

“Is that a fact?” Liz asked, her pen and paper ready.

“That is a fact.”

“You’re contractually obligated to finish shooting the reality show,” Caroline said on the phone. “So get your bum over here.”

“Peter is awake. I promised I’d stay with him.”

“Look, it’s great he’s awake and such but that doesn’t mean you can skate out of your shoot. If I have to, I will call our lawyers. This time they won’t be defending you.”

“What about the new cast? Haven’t you been shooting with new people?”

“The producers hated the reshoot. We have to go with the cast we have and that means you.”

I glanced at my phone for the time. “It’s seven
PM
.”

“And the ferries are making a couple more runs. Get your lovely self back here or you will be fined ten thousand dollars per episode delayed.”

“Fine,” I frowned. “When does shooting start?”

“Nine—and this time don’t be late. I don’t care if your mom is dying or your right hand needs stitches. Am I making myself clear?”

“Clear as crystal,” I said and hit
END.
I had been sitting on the chair in the corner of Peter’s room so that I would be there if he woke up asking for me again. When my phone rang, I’d stepped out. The scowls from the nursing staff and the points to the posted sign regarding cell phones had pushed me out into the stairwell.

I walked back to the room’s doorway and looked inside. Constance sat in the seat closest to Peter. She looked exhausted. I had thought I could sit with Peter while she took a nap, but it wasn’t meant to be. She glanced up, and I waved her out to the hall.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“I have to go. Caroline called me back to do the next shoot and threatened to sue me if I don’t show.”

“Caroline is a jerk.”

“Can I do anything for you before I go?”

“No, go. Dad’s most likely to sleep through the night. I’ll call you if he remembers anything.”

“I hate that I can’t stay.”

She gave me a weak smile. “Go find out who did this to him. Okay?”

“I trust Officer Manning.” I patted her. “If anyone can figure this out, he can.”

“That’s something, right?”

“Right. If he remembers anything, please call, okay?”

“I will.” She hugged me, and I left her standing in the hall, cold artificial light flickering above her. The policeman who had stopped us earlier now stood beside her, his expression flat. There was no telling what he really thought. Not that it mattered. What mattered now was that Peter got well and no one got past the cops to hurt him.

Prepare an 8” x 8” x 2” pan—butter pan, cover the inside with parchment paper or wax paper. Butter the paper and set the pan aside.

 

In a large, heavy saucepan mix sugar, salt, cocoa powder, and milk. Stir over medium heat until the ingredients reach a full boil. Let boil unstirred until a candy thermometer reads 125°F or the soft-ball stage is reached. Remove from heat.

 

Add butter and vanilla—do not mix. Cool until the thermometer reads 110°F, then beat until fudge thickens and just begins to lose its gloss. Quickly add cereal, mix, and pour into prepared pan. Cool completely. Cut into 1” pieces. Enjoy!

“You talked to Chef Thomas?” Austin, my stylist, asked as he handed me my clothes for the episode.

“Yes,” I said and went behind the curtain to change. I had ten minutes for hair and makeup before I would be expected to be on my
X
and ready for another crazy episode.

“How is he?”

“He looks like a bad banana. I’ve never seen a human being so bruised.” I pulled on the jean skirt and shoved my arms into the pale pink camp shirt. I stepped out while I buttoned it.

“Did he tell you anything?” Austin asked. “Do you know who did it?”

“Yeah, I can’t say. That would hurt the investigation.”

“Oh, right, of course.” He walked me over to hair and makeup. “Let’s give her a ponytail and sweetheart makeup. She’s very close to winning this thing and we want viewers to want her to win.”

“I thought they liked to champion underdogs,” I said as I sat in the black chair in front of a mirror surrounded by lights so bright I could see every pore on my skin.

“They do,” he said. “And who better than a girl wrongly accused of murder? We’re going to add some biting comments about you being let back into the competition. While you were under house arrest we shot some confession scenes.”

“Wait until you see tonight’s helpers,” Justine, my makeup artist, said. “It will be shocking.”

“Okay.” I felt confused. “Why would I be shocked?”

She stopped with her hands full of makeup and brushes. “If I told you that you wouldn’t give them a proper reaction.”

Fabulous,
I thought. Who could possibly be a shocking helper? I suppose my mother would be one. That thought made me laugh.

“Hold still,” she scolded. “I need to get your eyeliner right.”

I schooled my expression and concentrated on sending Peter good thoughts. Five minutes later I was pushed through the hall to the kitchen set where I took my mark behind the fudge cooling tables.

“What are you doing here?” Erin hissed at me.

I looked around to see it was only me, Erin, and Tim. “Where is everyone else?”

“This is it,” she stage-whispered. “This is the final show.”

“What?”

“While you took your house-arrest break we shot two episodes.”

“Wait.” I raised my hand. “Excuse me. Am I supposed to be here?”

The director turned toward me. “Yes. Take your mark.”

I watched as the cameras panned the group. Clearly the remaining contestants were not happy to see me standing beside them.

“For the finale, you will have an hour to make four original fudges and create a display for tonight’s fund-raiser for the Women and Children’s Center,” the director read from a paper. We stood and listened as if the host were narrating. “To aid you in this endeavor, each of you will be given a team of three.”

The teams were sent in. They consisted of the voted-off contestants. I was given the two men who were voted off the same day I was berated for being late. They did not look happy being a part of my team. Tony had his arms folded, and Jabar stared at me through narrowed eyes.

“What?” I stage-whispered.

“You killed Cathy,” Tony stated. “You should know she was practically a sister to us.”

“I did not kill Cathy,” I said and got hushed by the director’s assistant.

“Right. Don’t expect to win this,” came the rumbled threat from Tony.

“Each team will be given a handyman to create the appropriate displays.”

At this point three handsome men in plaid shirts, jeans, and work boots entered. They wore tool belts on their hips. It was then that I noticed one of the handymen looked familiar. He had sun-streaked hair, brilliant blue eyes, and that I-can-do-push-ups-with-one-hand physique. Officer Polaski gave his head a short shake indicating to me not to say anything.

He took his place as my team’s handyman.

“Contestants, sixty minutes has been put on the clock. On your mark, get set, go!”

The other two teams sprang into action. I turned to the first of the big guys. “Tony, Cathy told me you made the Swiss cheese garnish. Can you make fudge?”

“I’m not doing anything for you.”

I swung to Jabar. “Can you make a fudge base?”

He stared at me in sullen silence. “Okay,” I said as the camera was shoved in my face. “Looks like it’s just me making fudge.” I went to work quickly preparing a dark chocolate base that I would use to create three classic candy-bar flavors.

“Can I give you design details while I make the fudge base?” I asked Brent. His shirt had the name “Mike” embroidered on it. “Um, Mike?”

“Yeah, okay.” Officer Polaski picked up a pad of paper and pulled a pencil out from behind his ear. “What do you want?”

“The fund-raiser is for the women and children’s center on island,” I spoke out loud while I measured sugar, dark cocoa, and water into the largest copper kettle I could find. “What makes Mackinac Island special is the beautiful parks, the bicycle trails, and horse carriages,” I muttered. “Can you make an old-fashioned bike with the superlarge wheel in the front? You know the kind from the 1800s?”

“Okay—like this?” He dashed off a few lines and the image of an old-fashioned big-wheeled bike became visible on the pad.

“Wow, you’re good.” I met his gaze, and he let me know that I wasn’t supposed to know who he was. “But you’re a handyman, so you should be good. Yes, that’s perfect. Can we get maybe a couple of baskets on the sides so we can fill the display with fudge and lilacs?”

“Got it.” He put the pencil back behind his ear. “I’ll get started on it right away.”

“Great, thanks.” Brent went off stage to make the display. I stirred my fudge until it boiled long enough to reach soft-ball stage.

I noticed that the other two contestants had people making three separate fudge bases on my right and cutting up add-in ingredients on the left.

Meanwhile, my two “helpers” stood grim watch over me like a pair of angry genies.

“I thought Cathy said you two were nice guys,” I muttered.

“Did you hear something?” Jabar asked Tony.

“Something buzzing like a mosquito,” Tony replied.

“We should squish it if it gets too close.”

“Really?” I put my hands on my hips. “Really? This is how you’re going to play this?”

Neither said a word.

I shook my head and poured the chocolate base on the cooling table and started talking as I folded and cooled it. “My Papa Liam McMurphy made fudge demonstrations a true entertainer’s art. He would fold the fudge in long streams and create art outlines in the air as he told his story. One of my favorite stories was a take on the old Henny Penny story. Do you know that story?”

I glanced up, but all I saw were folded arms and unsmiling faces. “I see that you need to hear this story. There once was a little rabbit who said to her friends, ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we shared carrot fudge?’”

I tossed the cooling fudge in the air and created the outline of bunny ears that fell back to the table as I talked and scraped and folded. “‘Who’s going to get the carrots?’ Little bunny asked.” I tossed the outline of a carrot. “All of bunny’s friends had things to do and were too busy to gather carrots. So little bunny did. ‘Who’s going to peel the carrots?’ bunny asked. Again all her friends were busy. So little bunny peeled the carrots.” Again I tossed the outline of a carrot. “‘Who is going to get the cocoa and the sugar and the milk?’ bunny asked. Again every one of her friends was too busy to gather the other ingredients. So little bunny did.”

I noticed how the cameras were focused on me and Papa’s story. “Little bunny was getting tired of doing everything herself. So she asked her friends, ‘Who is going to cook the fudge?’ But no one had the time to cook the fudge. So little bunny did.” I outlined a spoon with the twist of my wrist. The fudge was growing thicker, and I hurried my story. “When the fudge was cooked, little bunny asked, ‘Who is going to cool the fudge?’ Again no one had the time to cool the fudge. Finally, a sad little bunny added carrots to her fudge.”

I separated the base into three parts. For the first part I sprinkled crispy rice and caramel pieces on the top of the cooling fudge and carefully folded it in to create a crunch-bar fudge. On the middle piece I added peanuts and caramel for a Snickers-bar fudge, and on the third part I added coconuts and almonds for an Almond Joy fudge.

“Finally, it came time to cut and serve the fudge. Little bunny asked, ‘Who will cut and serve the fudge?’ No one volunteered, and so bunny cut and plated her own fudge.”

I sliced up the fudge into the appropriate piece count and placed each piece in a tiny paper cup the color of a Reese’s candy holder. I kept talking as I worked quickly. “When little bunny’s friends gathered to eat the fudge she reminded them, ‘Who gathered the carrots?’ ‘You did, little bunny.’ ‘And who cut the pieces?’ ‘You did, little bunny.’ ‘Who gathered the other ingredients and cooked the fudge and cooled the fudge and folded and cut the fudge?’ ‘You did, little bunny.’ ‘Ah yes, so I did. And who is going to eat the fudge?’”

I paused and let the silence draw out. “‘That’s right,’ said little bunny. ‘I am going to eat the fudge.’ And so she did, giving none to anyone who didn’t want to help.”

“That’s a stupid story,” said Jabar. “There’s no way you can eat all that fudge.”

“In the end,” I said, “all the viewers will know who deserved to win the fudge challenge.”

For the final type of fudge I created pourable chocolate fudge and used it to coat fresh popped popcorn, then added peanuts to the mix and cut it up into a chocolate version of Cracker Jack fudge.

By this time Brent came in pushing the bicycle display. He stayed to help me fill the display with plated fudge as the audience started the countdown of “Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”

“Time’s up.”

I put my last piece of fudge on the display and put my hands in the air. A quick look around showed everyone on set with their hands in the air.

“Team members, thank you for your help. You may now leave the kitchen.”

My team was the first to leave. I noted that Brent hung back and watched as the team helpers left the studio to go to the greenroom and await word of the winner.

The other two finalists explained their fudge choices and displays. The man had a baseball diamond display and made classic ball-game fudges—including a hot dog–inspired fudge and a nacho-inspired fudge. I gave the guy points for originality. The other woman had a big birthday cake display with balloons. Her fudges included vanilla cake batter flavored with sprinkles, red-velvet fudge, and German chocolate fudge with pecan and coconut frosting. My teeth hurt looking at her sweets.

It came time for me to explain my fudges. “I created an old-fashioned bicycle display because bicycles are iconic to Mackinac Island.”

“Why the big-wheel bike?” the director asked.

“Because it recalls nostalgic Victorian times, also a hallmark of Mackinac Island. I then chose to create candy-bar fudges because candy bars and Cracker Jacks are all served on the boardwalks where summer and bicycles meet.”

The director dismissed me so that he could have the surprise judge do the taste test and judge on presentation, variety, and taste.

I walked to the greenroom, where they had a camera set up to capture us waiting and sweating out our final judgment.

“Good job, you two,” I said and shook their hands. “Your displays and fudge varieties were truly lovely.”

“Thanks,” Mark said.

“How do you feel?” I asked Erin.

“I think I could win,” she said and sat back. “My fudges speak of the wonder of childhood.”

“And you?” I asked Mark.

“There’s nothing more iconic than baseball on a summer afternoon,” he said. “With my savory fudges I’m pretty sure I won this hands down.”

“Wait, savory fudge is not something little kids will eat,” Erin said. “I think mine is better.”

“I disagree,” Mark said. They stood and went toe-to-toe for a while. The camera guy ate it up, sticking the camera into their faces to show the emotion on their faces as fingers pointed back and forth and faces turned red and arguments turned heated.

I moved away from the fight scene, disappointed with what they called good television these days. While I was scooting away from the other two finalists and the camera guy, something caught my eye as out of place.

Tilting my head, I looked again and saw what looked like the handle of a baseball bat sticking out from the skirt of a table that was set up with food and beverages for the cast and crew. Was I seeing things? Was Peter’s story going through my mind? I mean, who would bring a bat on set? And who would be silly enough to leave it lying around if they used it on someone?

I went over and got down on the floor to take a closer look. Lifting the skirt to the table, I saw there were a number of boxes under there containing a croquet set, a volleyball set, and bats and gloves for softball.

“What are you doing?” Brian asked.

“Oh.” My heart rate picked up. It was a bit like being caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “I dropped . . .”

“What? Did you lose a contact or something?”

“That’s it,” I said and pretended to feel around on the floor near the table. “Don’t move.”

“Surely you wear disposables.” He tapped his toe.

“Wait! Found it.” I sat back on my heels and pretended to put in the contact. I batted my eyes a couple of times and then stood. “Much better. Strange how contacts still pop out sometimes.”

He gave me a narrow-eyed stare. “Go sit down on your mark.”

“Right.” I scurried over and took my seat on the waiting couch where we pretended to be on pins and needles over who would be the winner. For a moment I contemplated whether it would be Mark or Erin who won. Neither one had made friends or real enemies on set so I guess it didn’t matter who won.