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

by Nancy CoCo

  “Yes,” I said and smiled back. “I hope they don’t have me scripted to win. I’ve got a business to run and these early morning shoots are killing me.”

  “It’s worse if you’re a loser. They take you out to the mansion they supposedly have us housed at and shoot some ‘off-kitchen footage’ to put in between the contests. Jabar and Tony were handed a huge script to flesh out the conflict between them. They’ll be shooting until noon tomorrow.”

  “Good Lord,” I muttered and splashed water on my face. “I guess then I should be happy to be let go at only . . .” I checked my watch. “Three-thirty AM.”

  Cathy laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the odd hours if you do any more of these reality shows.”

  “Have you done others?” I asked, drawing my eyebrows together.

  “Sure.” She patted my shoulder. “Everyone on the circuit knows each other. Jabar and Tony have played best friends and worst enemies. It depends on the direction of the show. In reality they’re life partners saving up to buy a house in San Diego. Jabar wants to own a candle shop. Tony wants to counsel boys in trouble.”

  “Then why do reality shows?” I asked as I took out a facial wipe and carefully took the television makeup off.

  “Reality shows pay well, silly. Why else would we all be doing this?”

  “Publicity?” My voice rose up an octave. “That’s why I agreed. Well, that and Peter asked me to fill in for a cast member who didn’t show.”

  “Oh, yes, Aimee. She got a callback as a Broadway stand-in. Lucky girl is off the reality circuit.”

  “So you’re an actress?”

  She laughed. “Sure. Of course. If you get a big enough fan following in reality shows you can move on to talk-show hosting or being a reporter on the entertainment channels. My agent is angling for me to have my own Web series. Getting Chatty with Cathy.” She splashed the words across the air, then shrugged. “Web series are the next big thing.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that nothing is what it appears?”

  “Pretty much.” She applied mascara.

  “Wait, if you are all actors, then who makes the fudge?”

  “Oh, ha, we memorize the recipes the night before. That was a really great trick by the way . . .”

  “What trick?” I asked as I splashed water on my face and patted it dry.

  “Coming in late. It gave your character an edge.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Having been singled out more people will be aware of who you are and will begin to either root for or against you depending on their desire. Did they script you as late?”

  “No,” I said with a shake of my head. “I was stuck at the police station.”

  “Wow.” She lowered her arm and looked me in the eye. “Why? Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I sent her a half smile. “My dog dug up more bones today. I loaned her to the police to check out other yards and see if she sniffed out any more.”

  “Crazy, I thought you finding that dead guy was part of the script.”

  “No.” I shook my head and zipped up my duffel bag. “I actually found him.”

  “Was it horrifying?”

  “It wasn’t pretty. Anyway, I was late because I went in to pick up my dog and get her back home. It took them longer than I thought it would. So no, being late wasn’t planned.”

  “Wow, the director acted very fast then. Good show.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Good show.”

  “So wait, if the dead guy story is real then you really make candy for a living?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m Allie McMurphy. I run the family business—the historic McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe.”

  “Wow, cool. Tony spent two weeks studying how to make that cheese-flavored garnish. The rest of the cast will think it’s awesome that you made the fudge yourself. A real candy maker . . . that’s so cool.”

  “Have a good night,” I said and opened the bathroom door.

  “See you tomorrow,” Cathy said and went back to her grooming.

  I had to wonder what would happen if word got out that the show was rigged. Would people even care?

  The next morning I stumbled around the fudge-shop kitchen, exhausted but triumphant. I managed to cook up the fudge of the day—a plain chocolate, a dark chocolate, and a caramel. I was placing the last tray in the candy display case when Jenn came downstairs.

  “You look like you need this.” She handed me a mug of thick, bold coffee with a splash of half-and-half from the coffee bar that Frances had set out when she came in at seven AM.

  “Oh my gosh, thank you!” I sipped the coffee and closed my eyes as the warm, creamy beverage slid down my throat. I felt like an addict getting their first hit of the day. Shamefully, my coffee addiction was just that—an addiction. Thankfully it didn’t cause me trouble like it did my mom. She had to limit herself to one caffeinated beverage a day or she got the shakes.

  “You came stumbling in very early this morning,” Jenn said and sipped her mug. “Who is he?”

  “I wish.” I sat on one of the stainless-steel stools. “Unfortunately it was all work.”

  “The reality show?” Jenn sat down beside me, her hair perfectly in place, her makeup at a minimum because unlike me she didn’t have huge bags under her eyes. That was due to a solid eight hours of sleep. “How’s that going? Have they eliminated you yet?”

  “It’s going.” I made a face and wrapped my hands around the mug and drew it to my chest. “And no.” I sighed. “It seems I’m creating a ‘fan base.’” I said the last with one-handed air quotes.

  Jenn laughed. The sound of it was bell-like and sweet. “How are you creating fans? Well, besides being your wonderful self.”

  “That’s just it, I’m not myself. I’m playing the girl-next-door.”

  “I can see that.”

  “They try to cast to type,” I repeated the words the producer had told me. “Anyway, I was late to the shoot last night.”

  “Oh, boy . . .”

  “I got waylaid picking Mal up from the police station.”

  “Oh, remind me to ask you how that’s going,” Jenn said. “But first continue with this . . . you were late . . .”

  “And they made a giant deal over it.” I winced again at the thought. “I’m going to be so humiliated when this episode airs.”

  “Really, what happened?”

  “I got the ‘no excuses’ talk from Peter in full professor mode.”

  “Ouch.” Jenn had heard of Peter in full professor mode countless times from me and my classmates who she was friends with.

  “Right? Then the director had me singled out to accomplish a team task on my own with six minutes less time.”

  “And you exceeded all expectations.”

  “I can’t help myself.” I shrugged. “I get in competition mode and it’s all over.” I frowned. “Come to think of it, I should have failed miserably and let them eliminate me.” I hit my forehead with my right palm. “Darn it.”

  “It’s okay,” Jenn said. “I think they might have a twelve-step program for people with your competition problem.”

  “I think you’re right. What’s the first step?”

  “Admitting you have a problem,” we both said at the same time.

  I shook my head and drank more coffee.

  The front doorbells jangled as Chef Thomas walked in. “Good morning, ladies,” he said, far too chipper for my liking.

  I gave him the stink eye. “I need to have a word with you,” I grumped. “You promised I only had to do one or two shoots. Why didn’t you remind me last night that I was supposed to fail?”

  “I told them you would get wound up and actually win the thing. They didn’t believe me.” Peter went to the coffee bar and poured himself a cup of bold, black coffee.

  “Hey,” I said. “I thought you didn’t drink non-gourmet coffee?”

  He chuckled on his way over to where we sat. “This morning I’ll
drink anything with caffeine. This late night taping is going to be the death of me yet.” He sat down next to me. “How’s it feel to win?”

  “But I didn’t win,” I said.

  “Yes, you did.” He took a slug of coffee. His blue eyes twinkled at me. “No one else could have done what you did in that short of time with those ingredients. It seems I taught you well.”

  “What did you have to put in the fudge?” Jenn asked.

  “Can’t say.” Peter and I spoke at the same time.

  “Not until the episode airs,” I said and touched her arm. “But I don’t want to watch.”

  “Interesting,” Jenn said. “When does the first episode air?”

  “It’s a late-summer fill-in show. The first date it airs is July third,” Peter said.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this show.” I sighed. “Right now all I want to do is go to bed and sleep for twenty-four hours.”

  “What’s the deal, anyway?” Jenn asked Peter. “Why shoot so late into the night?”

  “The hotel is quieter at night. That means less background noise for the mics to pick up.”

  “Huh, never thought of that,” I said. “So the other members of the team sleep during the day?”

  “Yes,” Peter said. “It’s the perfect job for a night owl. I’ve never been able to work all night and sleep all day.”

  “I have my day job.” I waved at the full candy counter. “I don’t have time to sleep.”

  “Just don’t be late again,” Peter said pointedly. “You’ll be in breach of contract if you do.”

  Frances walked into the lobby from the back door. She took Mal’s leash and harness off and let the puppy go. Mal hit the floor running and did her stop-and-slide routine to Peter. He was ready and had braced himself. Only his coffee splashed when she hit his legs with her entire weight.

  “Well, hello, Mal.” He reached down and patted her on the head.

  When he straightened, Mal went to Jenn and begged for pets from her. Finally she came to me. I picked her up and squeezed her until she squeaked.

  “Hey, puppy. Did you have a good walk?” I glanced over to Frances. She left her walking shoes on the mat in the hall and had slipped into more comfortable house shoes.

  “She did fine,” Frances said as she went for more coffee. “I heard from the gossip trail today that they are close to identifying the bones Mal dug up yesterday.”

  “They are?”

  “Mal dug up bones?” Peter asked.

  “Yes, it’s why I was late last night. She found a second area of mulch with bone deposits in it. So I loaned her out to the police to see if she could find any more sites.”

  “Did she?” Peter asked.

  “Yes, she found six sites in all,” I said. “There may be more but last I heard those sites were keeping the police busy.”

  “Word is they found a partial jawbone,” Frances said. “There was some distinctive dental work done.”

  “Ah, so the mysterious person will soon be announced?” Jenn said.

  “According to Mr. Beecher, the authorities think they can find out the ‘who’ in this mystery but are still tracking down the ‘where’ and the ‘why.’”

  “I bet it all falls into place when they identify the body . . . well, in this case the bones,” I said.

  “Allie, what was going on with Mrs. Finch and Daisy? I heard they were both arrested and detained against their will.”

  “Oh, right.” I put my coffee down and stood so that Frances could have my stool. “It was the oddest thing. Rex detained Daisy—the dog.” I added the last bit to clue Peter in on the topic. “She keeps taking the bones that Mal digs up and has to be chased down. Then the last time, she swallowed the evidence so Rex took her in and put her in a cell until she passes the evidence.”

  “That’s one way to do it,” Jenn said.

  “It was smart,” I said. “There aren’t enough police on one shift to protect the crime scenes. With Daisy locked up they’re certain to stop at least one plunder of their sites.”

  “And Mrs. Finch—why did she get arrested?”

  “She wasn’t actually arrested. She staged a sit-in in protest of Daisy’s freedom being curtailed. Rex told her she could sit-in as long as she wanted but she had to do it in the locked cell next to Daisy. The last I saw Mrs. Finch was sitting cross-legged on the cot while Daisy sat beside her on the other side of the bars.”

  “A sit-in? Now that is a story for the paper,” Jenn said. “Where is Liz?”

  “Angus is on it,” Frances said. “I passed him on Mal’s morning walk. He had a camera in hand and was quite happy to create a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “I think Liz is still investigating the reality team.” I turned to Peter. “No worries. I told her I was under contract to keep the details quiet. But the last I saw her, she was headed to the Grand to find out what she could figure out on her own.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” Peter said. “I understand that the crew is surrounded by security. Which is another reason to shoot at night—no curious tourists wanting to see us film.”

  My cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket. “Hello?”

  “Allie, it’s Liz.”

  “Hey, Liz, we were just talking about you.”

  “Well, you’re going to be talking more. I walked in on a crime scene.”

  “What? Where?” My voice grew loud. Everyone with me turned to stare. I raised my hand to let them know I needed to hear more before I would repeat any information.

  “Do you know the ladies’ room in the ballroom area where the show is being taped?”

  “Yes, I was just there last night. It’s where the girls in the group change into our street clothes. Why?”

  “There is a dead woman on the floor. Her purse is emptied out beside her.”

  “Oh, no, do you know who it is?” My group of friends stepped in close to figure out what I was talking about. I held out my hand to indicate they needed to wait.

  “I only caught a glimpse but I think she had caramel brown hair.”

  “Cathy,” I muttered and slumped against the wall. “I was just talking to her there.”

  “There’s one more thing, Allie.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She had a half-eaten piece of fudge wrapped in red, white, and blue checkered cloth beside her.”

  “Oh, no . . .”

  “Shane says it looks like poisoning. He’s already bagged the fudge. So quick question . . . was your fudge from last night plated on that material?”

  CHAPTER 17

  I hugged my waist. “I can’t say.”

  “So that’s a yes?” Liz pressed through the phone.

  “No, it’s an ‘I can neither confirm nor deny anything about the show.’”

  “What’s going on?” Peter asked behind me.

  I put my hand over the phone. “Cathy’s been found dead.”

  “What? When? Where?”

  “Who’s that with you?” Liz asked.

  “It’s Chef Thomas.”

  “Oh, I want to talk to him.”

  I held out the phone. “It’s Liz MacElroy, reporter for the Town Crier—our local paper. She wants to talk to you.”

  Peter stared at my phone as if it might bite him. “Can’t,” he said and crossed his arms.

  I put the phone back to my ear. “He can’t.”

  “What do you mean he can’t? He doesn’t know how to or he won’t?”

  I looked at Peter’s closed-off face. “He won’t.”

  “Darn it,” Liz muttered. “Okay, look, I’m hearing your name getting thrown around. If you give me an exclusive, I’ll give you a heads-up on what’s going on.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. It was a tough decision. I had a signed contract saying I would forfeit all payment for the show plus have to pay them $20,000 in fines for each time they could follow a source back to me. That said, I needed to know why my name had come up. Had I been the last person to s
ee Cathy alive?

  “I can’t say anything about the show.”

  “Fine,” Liz said. “So tell me, did you see Cathy in the bathroom this morning?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “What is going on?” Jenn asked.

  I held up my finger, asking her to wait.

  “She was alive when I left her,” I stated. “That’s a fact.”

  “Okay,” Liz said. “If you learn anything else you’ll give me the exclusive?”

  “Yes, of course, we’re friends, right?”

  “Yes. Okay, so it turns out that the hotel installed cameras in the hallways where the show is being shot to keep anyone from trying to steal a prop.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Word is that the video shows Cathy going into the bathroom last night and five minutes later you go in. Twenty minutes later you come out. Cathy never does. No one thought anything about it. They figured she left earlier than you when the camera monitor was looking at other footage.”

  “No,” I said in horror. “No, she was alive when I left.”

  “Let’s hope you don’t have to prove that.”

  I hung up the phone, grabbed an empty stainless-steel stool, and sat down hard.

  Frances and Jenn surrounded me. “Are you okay?”

  “You look white as a sheet. Are you in shock?”

  “What? No,” I said.

  Frances put the back of her hand on my forehead. “You’re clammy. Put your head between your knees.”

  I allowed them to guide me into a folded position.

  “Breathe,” Jenn said. “In and out—whoosh.”

  “Cathy died?” Peter asked.

  I turned my head to look him in the eye. “Yes. Apparently two of us went into the ladies’ room and only one came out.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible,” Frances said.

  Mal barked at her tone.

  “It’s okay, puppy,” I said from my folded position. I tried to sit up. “I think I’m okay.”

  “Do they know how she died? Was it a heart attack or something more sinister?” Frances asked.

  “They wouldn’t know for sure yet,” Jenn said. “Shane tells me it takes a full autopsy before they determine cause of death—even if they find a person hanging. They are to presume nothing and make their evaluation based on the evidence. If the body is inconclusive, then they go to the evidence around the body.”