To Fudge or Not to Fudge (A Candy-Coated Mystery with Recipes) (8 page)

“You got a phone call from the film crew,” Frances said when I came through the back door. “Filming starts an hour early today. They want to see what different light looks like.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” I muttered. “When am I supposed to get my work done?”

Mal came running to greet me. She slid the last foot or so on the polished wood floor with a wild doggie grin.

“Well, hello there,” I said and reached down to give her pats. She immediately fell to the floor and rolled over to get her tummy rubbed. “Yes, you are cute,” I whispered as I rubbed her belly.

“Hi, Miss McMurphy.” Sandy walked out from a spotless fudge shop. “I’ve got all the supplies restocked and the dishes done.”

“Wow, this looks great.” I noted how she straightened the shelves and put everything back exactly where I preferred it to be.

“I know how important it is for a chef to keep their equipment and supplies stocked and in order. I remember where you kept things from the last time I was here and put them back in their place. I hope that’s okay.” Her brown eyes shone with the joy I felt whenever I was in the kitchen.

“Perfect, thanks,” I said. “Let me wash my hands and put on my chef coat and hat. I’ve posted my list of fudges and you can catch the orders as I start the show.”

“Great,” she replied. She wore a white polo and black slacks. I had ordered pink-and-white-striped bib aprons for whoever helped me at the counter. Her feet were clad in black athletic shoes that mirrored mine.

Her shoes were how I knew she was a serious chocolatier. Anyone who enjoyed being in the kitchen knew two truths: First, it was easy to get lost in creation and have time fly by unnoticed. Second, you needed good shoes to keep your legs from growing heavy from standing for untold hours.

I washed my hands, dressed for the kitchen, and went straight to work. Dark chocolate black cherry was the flavor of the day and had been nearly sold out. A quick peek told me that the cocktail fudges were still popular for the 21-and-over group. They were such a draw that I made sure I had at least one flavor always on the shelf.

“Cocktail fudges were a clever addition,” a male voice said behind me. I turned to find Chef Thomas in the lobby heading my way.

“Thanks.” I greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “How did you get away from the film crew?”

“The writers are working on script changes based on last night’s shoot.” He turned to Sandy. “Hello, I’m Peter Thomas.”

“I know,” Sandy gushed and shook his hand. “They spoke of you as a legend in my school in New York.”

“Really?” His eyes sparkled.

“This is Sandy Everheart,”—I introduced her—“my summer intern. Actually, she has an impressive resume herself as a chocolatier.”

“And you’re working in a fudge shop because?” He tilted his head and studied her.

She smiled. “My grandmother lives on Mackinac. I was born and raised here. It’s my home.”

“What made you decide to become a chocolatier? Isn’t that a bit unusual for a local?”

“Chef!” I was aghast at the rude question.

“No, it’s a good question,” she replied. “Many people thought I was crazy to leave and go all the way to New York to pursue my dream. But I grew up watching the fudgies’ delight at candy and vowed early I wanted to be able to put that joy on people’s faces. I specialized in cocoa because it is also a native American plant. What I learned is that sculpting in chocolate is as important a medium as sculpting in pottery. With the addition of joy at its consumption.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “There is something so incredible about art that is not meant to last. It makes it even more precious.”

“Good answer,” Peter said. “I’ll be here all summer. Perhaps I’ll commission a centerpiece for the close of the television shoot.”

“I think the staff will like that,” I said. Sandy was a small woman but my admiration for her grew with every word she said.

“I heard your pup found more bones this morning.” Peter turned to me. “Is that true?”

“Yes.” I offered him one of four stainless-steel barstools that were meant to give watchers a seat at the show. “She must know what the body smells like. As soon as we got close she knew right where to dig.”

“So what’s the story? Is there more than one body buried in the flowers?”

I gathered sugar and water and cocoa with a touch of salt. The base to the fudges was pretty much the same. It was how you put them together that made the difference. “They think it might be one body that ended up in the mulch and got spread about the island.”

“They should use your dog to find all the bones,” Peter said.

“That’s an idea,” Jenn said as she came around the fudge shop from the stairway where I assumed she had been working in the office. “We could charge a finder’s fee.”

“Har, har,” I said. “Then Mrs. Finch could hire out her Saint Bernard. So far Daisy has found as many bones as Mal. The only difference is Mal brings the bones to me. Daisy on the other hand has to be run down and the bones forcefully extracted from her jaws. In fact, the last time I saw Officer Manning he was chasing after Daisy.”

“Me, too.” Jenn’s blue gaze twinkled. “He and Daisy would make a great dog and pony show.”

The door to the McMurphy opened with a jangle of bells. I glanced up to see a woman in her thirties with brown hair and brown eyes walk into the lobby. Her entrance wouldn’t have been remarkable except she looked vaguely familiar, and I wanted to see what she said to Frances.

“It’s Tammy Gooseworthy,” Sandy said and blew out a long breath. “She’s the new pastry chef at the new Grander Hotel.”

“Really? I wonder why she’s here?” I watched her through the glass wall that separated the fudge shop from the rest of the lobby. I noted that Tammy wore a pair of dark-wash jeans, nude stilettos, and a crisp, white blouse. Not exactly the standard outfit of a pastry chef.

Frances pointed toward us, and Tammy turned. It was then I noticed she carried a basket. I looked from the basket to her face and noted that she was not looking at me. She was looking at Peter.

“I think you have a fan,” I said as she headed our way. I noted that her lipstick and fingernails matched with a bright red color. Again, most pastry chefs didn’t have their nails polished. It was best to keep them cut short and without polish. Clean hands were the epitome of good housekeeping in keeping a kitchen and all of its patrons healthy.

“Chef Thomas?” Tammy asked as she made her way toward Peter.

“How can I help you?” Peter asked. I noted that he didn’t get up off his stool. I saw a flash of emotion cross Tammy’s face. She hid it in a blink of an eye and pasted a smile on her face.

“Hi, Tammy Gooseworthy.” She held out her free hand. “I’m the new pastry chef at the Grander Hotel.”

“A pleasure,” he said as he let go of her hand after a few short shakes.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Tammy spoke again. “I heard you needed another chef for your reality show. I was hoping you would consider me for the part.” She held out the basket for him to take. “I’ve put a variety of fudges I’ve developed for the Grander inside. I hoped maybe you’d try them.” She shook her head so that her hair floated off her shoulders. There was a brief moment of disarray, and then her hair floated right back into place.

I tried not to think about my wavy hair and how if I didn’t tuck it up in my chef hat it would be a wild mop. In fact, I doubted if my hair had ever rippled like that when I shook my head.

Mixing ingredients for the next batch of fudge, I tried to ignore the conversation, but it was hard in such a small place.

“I’m afraid that space has already been filled,” Peter said as he pushed the basket back toward her. “I’m sure your fudges are fine, Ms. Gooseworthy—was it?”

“Yes,” she said with a sharp nod of her head. “If you don’t mind my asking, who did you get to fill the spot?”

“My ex-student.” He waved one hand in my direction. “Allie McMurphy. Have you met?”

“No.” She turned to me. I saw her slow perusal go from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. “Wait, aren’t you the one who killed Joe Jessop?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I found him already dead.”

Mal took that moment to come running out from behind the reception desk then tried to stop as she hit the tile of the kitchen floor. Instead of stopping she slid into Tammy with a solid thump. Mal didn’t weigh more than ten pounds, but she could trip you up if you didn’t know she was there.

I watched as everything seemed to go into slow motion. Mal hit the back of Tammy’s calf. Tammy wobbled on her precariously high heels, then lost the fight for balance and went down, hands thrown out, basket tumbling to the floor. She landed on all fours with a
woof
sound coming out of her chest.

Apologetic, Mal licked Tammy’s face. Wouldn’t you know Tammy’s hair swung out and then fell in a perfect bob as the woman tried to get her bearings.

“Mal!” I scolded the puppy, who looked up at me, then carefully backed up to the wooden floor of the lobby, plopped her bum down on the floor, and tilted her head as if to say, what? Do I get a cookie?

I handed the wooden stir spoon to Sandy and went to help Tammy up. “I’m so sorry. She’s just a puppy and has to learn better manners. Are you okay?”

I wrapped my hands around Tammy’s right elbow and helped her to her feet. Tammy yanked her arm out of my hand and brushed back her perfect hair. “She should not be allowed out if she isn’t trained. Really.” Tammy narrowed her eyes. “You could get sued for allowing that menace in a public lobby.”

“Mal isn’t a menace,” I said calmly and held up my hands to take a step back. “She’s a puppy and like most kids is still learning her boundaries. See—” I waved my hand toward Mal. “She knows she isn’t supposed to be in the kitchen area.”

“Look at my fudges,” Tammy cried out at the ruined basket and the lumps of fudge on the floor. She picked up the broken basket and put the floored fudge back inside.

“It’s a good thing you wrapped the fudge. No harm, no foul,” Jenn said as we all stood around and watched Tammy try to regain her dignity.

“I believe I’m done here,” Tammy said with a perfect clip. The only thing that gave away her anger was the stiffness in her shoulders. “Thank you for your time, Chef Thomas. If you decide that you want a camera-ready cast member, I hope you think of me and the Grander. We are new to the island and would like you to consider using us in your television shoot.”

“I appreciate the invitation.” Peter crossed his arms. “It’s not up to me to choose the location. I will, however, let the director and producer know of your offer. I’m sure they would be happy to consider it.”

“Thank you.” She reached her free hand into her pocket and withdrew a business card. “Here’s my card. Call me anytime. I do have some experience in front of the camera.”

“Right, will do,” he said and took her card.

She stared at him a moment as if debating whether to ask more of him, and then she must have decided not to do anything. “Okay,” she said. “Well, thank you for your time and consideration.” She gave a short nod and turned, making a wide berth around Mal.

The bells jangled on the door as she walked through it. We all watched as she seemed to gather herself together and head down the street toward the Grander Hotel.

“You should give Mal a treat,” Jenn said and drank coffee from the mug in her hand. “Your puppy has a way of making friends with all the appropriate people.”

I was back at the kettle stirring the cocoa and sugar mixture as it boiled to a soft-ball stage. “She looked upset,” I said as the candy reached the proper stage and I pulled it from the heat to add butter and vanilla and rum flavoring. “I couldn’t tell if it was because Mal slid into her or if it was the fact that I had already filled your open cast slot.”

“You’re on television now,” Peter said. “You should get used to people not liking you. It comes with the territory.”

“Wait.” I put my hands on my hips. “I thought I was doing the television thing to get more customers, not make enemies.”

“Honey, you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs,” Jenn said.

“Yes, well, let’s hope I didn’t just dump my eggs on the floor.”

Butter an 8” x 8” x 2” pan, then line with wax paper or parchment.

 

In a double boiler melt chocolate, sweetened condensed milk, and butter until smooth and thick.

 

Remove from heat. Add vanilla and stir until combined. Pour half of the fudge into the prepared pan and spread evenly. Press mint chips into the bottom layer of fudge. Cover the mint chip layer with the remainder of fudge. Cool. Refrigerate overnight. Remove from pan. Cut into pieces. Store in a covered container.

“I appreciate you loaning Mal to us,” Rex said as he brought my puppy out from the back of the police station. “I would have never thought to use her as a cadaver dog.”

“It was Jenn’s idea.” I said and took Mal’s leash from him. I stooped and picked her up. She licked my cheek and settled comfortably against my chest. “So she helped?”

“Yeah.” Rex put his hands in his back pockets. “I’ve got three teams out now digging through the first three spots she hit on. There were five more but I don’t have the manpower to safely extract bones so I’ve had Officer Wright rope them off with crime-scene tape. We needed to let everyone know that they were off-limits.”

“What about Daisy?” I asked with a grin, remembering him chasing after the surprisingly agile Saint Bernard.

“I put her in a cell in the back. I think she swallowed one of the bones. This way we can check if she passes it. Besides, it’s better to keep her locked up until we find all the bones. Since Mrs. Finch won’t lock her up, I did.”

“Good thinking,” I said. Then I thought of a cold, dark jail cell and had to ask, “Is Daisy comfortable?”

“She’s good. Officer Lasko brought in a big dog bed and water and food bowls.” He paused and then added, “She has a soft spot for dogs.”

I scratched Mal between the ears. “I can understand why. Our fur babies are important to us.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

The door to the police station opened behind me, and an older woman walked through. She had white hair curled closely around her rectangle-shaped face. Her back was hunched by osteoporosis as older women’s sometimes are. She wore a red maxi skirt with tiny white dots on it and a white T-shirt under a red, long-sleeved corduroy shirt. Over that was a jacket made of black polyester. On her feet were bright white athletic shoes.

I watched with fascination as she ignored both me and Rex and walked straight to the back.

“Hold on—” Rex told me, and then he followed her through the office to the back. I stepped over to the open door. This was going to be interesting. “Mrs. Finch, you can’t go back there.”

“I can darn right go wherever I want. I’m a taxpayer. This building and your salary are all paid for by me. I think that entitles me to come back here. Besides, you have my Daisy in here. I see her locked up like a common criminal.”

“Locking her up is for her own good,” Rex countered and stepped between Daisy’s jail cell and Mrs. Finch.

The old woman put her hands on her hips. “Don’t make me call your mother, young man, because I will if I have to.”

“You don’t scare me, Mrs. Finch,” Rex said and crossed his arms over his chest. “There is an ongoing crime-scene investigation. Daisy has removed two bones from two separate scenes. She is to remain in the jail cell until it has been determined that all the human bones that could be found were found.”

“Let her out and she’ll track down your bones for you.” The old woman waved her hands as if to shoo Rex out of her way.

“No,” he said clearly. “You need to turn around and go home, Mrs. Finch, or I will have to arrest you for impeding a police investigation.”

At that point Mrs. Finch gave him the stink eye and sat down on the jail-room floor. “I’m not leaving until Daisy gets to.” She crossed her arms and legs and stared straight ahead.

Daisy sniffed at her from behind bars and licked her ear.

“Mrs. Finch, please get up. I need you to leave, now.”

“This is a sit-in.” The old woman stared straight ahead.

“Mrs. Finch, please, don’t make me arrest you.”

“Do what you must,” she said with dramatic flair. “I won’t leave until Daisy can leave.”

“Fine.” Rex blew out a long breath. He reached for a key on his belt and unlocked the jail cell next to Daisy’s. “Then I have no choice but to incarcerate you.”

He bent down and picked up the stubborn old woman. She stiffened so that when he picked her up he could only lift her under her folded arms. She popped up, legs still crossed as if she were on a flying carpet. Rex unceremoniously took her into the cell and deposited her on the cot. Then he left her there, locking the jail cell behind him.

“I’m going to call the newspaper,” she threatened him. “They need to know about police brutality.”

“Have at it.” Rex waved her phone in the air. “I have your phone. You get one phone call. I suggest you call your lawyer.”

He turned on his heel and headed back to me. I hurried back to the space where he left me. “Crazy old woman,” he muttered as he came through the hall door.

“So that was Mrs. Finch? How old is she?”

“She must be in her nineties.”

“That’s a lot of gumption for a woman that old,” I said and bit my bottom lip. “What are you going to do if people rally around her? If Liz or Angus got wind of her protest it would be plastered all across the front page.”

“Then I’m sure I will be patted on the back for job well done. That woman and her dogs have been terrorizing the island for at least the last thirty years.”

I laughed. “If she’s in her nineties, I’d suspect she has been terrorizing for a lot longer than thirty years. What are you going to do if people really protest?”

“I’ll open the jail cell. Either she’ll go on her own or she’ll stay on her own. At least for now I know my crime scenes are safe.”

Mal wagged her tail in my arms and put her paw on Rex’s arm as if to agree with him.

“Thanks again for the use of Mal,” Rex said and glanced at the clock. “Wait, I thought you were supposed to be at the Grand by seven
PM
for that reality show.”

“I am,” I said. “How did you know?”

“It’s a small island,” he answered. “News travels and you are going to be late.”

I followed his gaze to the wall clock that read 6:50
PM
. “Oh, look at the time. You’re right. I’m going to be late. Best of luck with Mrs. Finch and let me know if you want Mal to help out any more.”

“I will—be careful out there,” Rex called after me. “Remember to lock your doors.”

“Okay, bye.” I waved behind me and scooted out the door. There was no time to let Mal walk and do her business. At this rate I’d be lucky to be only five minutes late. If I let Mal down, I’d either have to drag her after me or miss my curtain call altogether while she continued to sniff the local gardens.

Decision made. I scurried back to the McMurphy and put Mal in her crate. “You’ll get your walk when I get home, okay?”

Mal wagged her tail and circled her blanket-filled crate three times before she settled into a peaceful ball of fluffy curls. I raced upstairs and grabbed my duffel bag full of supplies. We’d been told we would need to bring clean underwear, a toothbrush, and toothpaste, along with a brush and face wipes.

The director couldn’t guarantee we’d get home until morning, and he wanted us to have an overnight bag just in case.

Duffel in hand, I slipped out the back of the McMurphy. The late-night light was soft as the moon had slipped over the horizon. Mackinac Island was far enough north that summer twilight lasted a long time as it fought with the sun and the darkness that followed it.

It occurred to me that I forgot to ask what kind of bones they had dug up. Did we know if the victim was a man or a woman? Or if they had been murdered or merely died of natural causes.

I guessed I’d find out more in the morning. But for now I was late, and I knew that wouldn’t sit well with Peter. If the great chef had one pet peeve, it was tardiness. I had learned that long ago when I was in school.

This would be my first time ever being tardy for Peter. I winced at the thought of how angry he’d be with me. Shaking off the haunting feeling of dread, I hurried faster to the Grand Hotel. I guessed I’d find out what my consequences for being late would be. Like it or not, I had signed a contract that listed the times I was supposed to report in. Would this be the last time I was allowed on set?