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

by Nancy CoCo

  “That makes sense,” Peter said. “Obvious assumptions are sometimes obvious and sometimes misleading.”

  “What is Cathy’s death going to do for tonight’s shoot?” Jenn asked.

  “I have no idea,” Peter said. “But I’ll find out.” He turned to leave, went to the front door, and paused. “They found her at the Grand?”

  “Yes, in the bathroom in the hallway where the sets are,” I replied.

  He pushed through the door and put on his sunglasses, then melted into the swelling crowds of Main Street. In the coming week the crowds would get even larger as Mackinac Island celebrated the Lilac Festival.

  “Are you okay?” Jenn asked me again.

  “Yes,” I said and stood. “I think all I need is a good four or five hours of solid sleep.”

  “Good morning, gang.” Sandy came in from the back, cheery. “How’s everything?”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Jenn said. “Sandy, can you handle the fudge shop? I’m going to take Allie upstairs. She needs some sleep.”

  “Sure, not a problem.” Sandy grabbed a striped apron and wrapped it around her waist. “Looks like all the fudges are already made. Go on, boss. Get some sleep. You know the first rule of the kitchen . . .”

  “Don’t be late?” Jenn said.

  I laughed. “No, it’s don’t work sleep or health impaired. It’s simply too easy to get burned or maimed or any number of awful things.”

  “I can do this,” Sandy reassured. “Go on, get some rest. Things will look better with proper rest.”

  “I certainly hope so . . .”

  CHAPTER 18

  I woke up to pounding on the door to the apartment. It matched the pounding of my head. I hate how much it hurts to wake up from a nap. Especially when you haven’t gotten enough sleep.

  “I’m coming,” I held my head as the pounding started again. I wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of silky boxers. My hair was mashed up on one side of my head. I suspected I had dried drool running down the right side of my mouth. Too bad. Whoever woke me deserved to be frightened by my appearance.

  “Allie, open up.”

  That was a familiar voice. Darn it. I opened the door to see Trent Jessop standing at my door. The man was a gorgeous sight for the eyes. Well over six feet tall, he had broad shoulders, dark eyes, and dark hair that was so expertly cut it didn’t matter who touched it, it fell right back into place. Next to him I felt even more roughed up. “I’m up,” I turned my back on him so he was saved from the full effect of me after a three-hour nap. I was up, but I was not awake.

  “Are we alone?”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Excuse me?”

  “Okay, I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “I’m sorry, why are you here, Trent?” I made my way to the kitchen and put water in the teakettle and put it on the stove. I went through the steps for making French press coffee. The French press took more effort than a drip machine, but the coffee was worth it. I’d been making it so long that I could and often did make it in my sleep.

  He followed me to the kitchen. “Rex sent me over.”

  “Okay . . . why? I was sleeping—something I’d rather do at night but the television show tapes all blessed night long.”

  Trent chuckled and crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorjamb. “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

  “What gave me away?” I sat down on the stool and realized that I was in pajamas with bed-head hair in front of the hottest guy on island, and in several states, if you asked me. I jumped up. “Can you watch the water? I need to get dressed.”

  “You don’t have to dress on my account.”

  I turned to see him smiling, his eyes on my bare legs. “Yes, I do.” I scurried off to my bedroom, ripped off the T-shirt, and put on proper undergarments and a fresh McMurphy pink polo and a pair of black jeans. Then I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and brushed my hair. A look in the mirror reminded me that I was who I was and that was all that mattered.

  I walked back into the kitchen to find that he had made the coffee in the press and set it in a cozy to steep.

  “Where do you keep your mugs?” he asked as he opened then closed cupboard doors.

  “Here,” I said and walked over to the sink. “I keep them to the right of the sink with the glasses.” I put down the mugs. “Actually, Grammy Alice kept them there, Papa Liam left them there, and now I leave them there.” I shrugged. “I guess they’re there no matter who owns the kitchen.”

  “That’s deep for a woman who just woke up and has yet to have a cup of coffee.” His eyes twinkled at me as he picked up the French press and poured us both a cup.

  “Half-and-half?” I asked and pulled out the pint from inside the refrigerator.

  “No, I like mine straight-up black.”

  “I like cream.” I splashed more than enough to turn my coffee a lovely creamy brown. I put the pint back in the refrigerator and took a sip. My eyes rolled back and the pounding in my head lessened. “Now, let’s try this again. Why are you here?”

  I opened my eyes to see that he was once again leaning on the breakfast bar. This time he had a deep-red mug in his hands.

  “Did you know that the cops got a warrant to search Jessop Compost and Mulch?”

  “I heard them talking about that being a possibility,” I said. “Mal found more bones with those unusual cuts. Since the bones were found in the mulch in two different yards, the natural conclusion was—”

  “—they came with the mulch,” he finished.

  “Exactly, and Rex told me that there are only two companies who sell mulch on island, you and Gooseworthy—”

  “—so they got a warrant for both.”

  “You have to quit doing that,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Finishing my sentences. It’s unnerving.”

  “Unnerving?”

  “Yes.” I contemplated him over the edge of the mug. “It’s something old married couples do.”

  He broke out in a deep, rich laugh. “And we’re—”

  “—not even dating,” I finished.

  He laughed even harder. “Someday we’re going to have to remedy the situation.”

  Okay, I had been lifting my cup to my mouth. His words made me bobble the mug and splash coffee all over the floor. “Darn.” I put the cup on the counter and grabbed a paper towel to wipe it up.

  “Didn’t mean to make you spill your coffee.” He raised one eyebrow. “Does the thought of us dating make you nervous?”

  “I am not awake enough for this conversation,” I muttered and threw the paper towel in the trash. “Why are you here, Trent?”

  “Apparently I’m here to terrorize you.” He sipped his coffee.

  “That is not an answer.” I hugged myself and leaned against the counter.

  “Okay, that’s fair. I guess I needed to know what was going on with this investigation of yours.”

  “My investigation? Oh, you mean the bones Mal found?”

  “There’s another investigation?”

  My head had cleared from my nap. “Yeah, one of the cast members of the reality show died last night.” I picked up my coffee and took it to the small dining table on the other side of the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living space. “At least that’s what Liz told me. I had an hour’s sleep before I had to get up to make today’s fudge. It’s why the nap.”

  He sat down across from me. “What made you agree to do the reality show? I mean, aren’t those shows about people humiliating themselves for money? You don’t seem that type to me.”

  “Huh, thanks,” I said. “I didn’t think I was the type either, but my old mentor, Chef Thomas, is hosting the thing. They had a cast member bow out and he was looking for a quick fill-in.” I shrugged. “I thought I’d only be shooting one or two and it seemed like a quick favor.”

  He tilted his head and studied me. “You are loyal to your friends, aren’t you?”

  “Isn’t everyone?�
�

  “No.” He shook his head. “In my experience your loyalty is a rare gift.”

  “Huh.”

  “Okay, so I don’t need to worry about you investigating me, right?”

  “Right.” I sent him a wry smile. “If anything, I need to worry about them investigating me.”

  He drew his eyebrows together. “Why?”

  “It seems that I was the last person to see Cathy alive.”

  Almond Butter Fudge

  For the First Layer

  1 cup dark chocolate chunks

  1 cup smooth almond butter

  2 T. corn syrup

  ½ t. sea salt

  For the Second Layer

  1 cup full-fat coconut milk

  2-¾ cups semi-sweet chocolate chips

  Prepare the first layer. Line a 1-½ quart square baking dish with wax paper so that, when pressed, just an inch or so hangs off around the edges. Set aside. In a double boiler melt the chocolate chunks completely. Stir in the almond butter, corn syrup, and salt, mixing until smooth and until all ingredients are incorporated. Spread into the bottom of the lined dish and set aside.

  Prepare the second layer. In a small saucepan over low heat, combine the coconut milk and chocolate chips. Stirring frequently, cook until the mixture is well combined and the chocolate has a glossy finish. Pour this mixture over the first almond butter-chocolate layer, smoothing slightly with a spatula. Score with a sharp knife into 1-inch squares.

  Chill in the refrigerator for 6 hours or overnight. When ready to cut and serve, remove the fudge from the pan by lifting out the paper. Place on a cutting board, and then use a sharp knife and cut into 1-inch pieces following the score marks. Serve.

  CHAPTER 19

  “The Lilac Festival starts in tomorrow,” Jenn reminded me after I walked Trent out of the apartment and went into the office. The business office for the McMurphy was located on the fourth floor next to the owner’s apartments.

  When Jenn, my best friend from the hotel management degree program, offered to come out and spend the summer on island and help me run my first season with the McMurphy, I had moved a couple of bookshelves and tucked a second desk in the small twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot room.

  Our desks faced each other, computer monitors on opposite sides so that we could see each other. Unfortunately, the rest of the office was a mess of stacked files, books, and on Jenn’s side, a giant box of samples for linens, print materials, and all the things an event planner might want to order for an event.

  Behind me the entire wall was filled with bookshelves—one dedicated to fudge recipe books old and new, one filled with Papa’s books and paraphernalia, and the final one held cloth boxes that served as my filing system.

  “Oh, man,” I sat down. “Lilac Festival . . . I still feel as if it’s May.”

  “The parade floats are looking awesome,” Jenn said. “Frances went over to the exchange building and snapped some pictures on the work in progress. I understand it’s a flurry of activity. You really should consider entering a float in next year’s parade.”

  I turned on my computer, then put my left elbow on the top of Papa’s big mahogany desk that now served as my desk. “I hoped to have a float this year, but there is simply no time.”

  “No worries, it’s best to scope out the floats this year. I’ll snap some pictures of the ones we like best and we can brainstorm at the end of season for what our float will look like. I understand the planning starts in January.”

  “Yes.” My computer booted up, and I typed in my password. “Frances is cutting lilacs to festoon the hotel lobby. I have lilac fudge and candied lilacs on my planning sheet.”

  “I love the smell of lilacs in bloom, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said with a smile. “Grammy Alice used to love Lilac Festival. She was on one of the first planning committees. It was thought that we should have a horse-drawn float parade. Then the best time for it would be when the whole island smells of lilacs and all the flowers are in bloom so that the soft scent of flowers would fill the air. Quite a difference from the busy, smoggy summer days in Chicago or Detroit.”

  “I’m excited to see it up close.” Jenn scrolled through the pictures she had in her e-mail. “We should offer a lilac tea on Sunday. What do you think? We could set up the front half of the lobby with three or four round tables and use fine china and offer a variety of delicate teas, plus lilac petit fours, cucumber sandwiches, and ladyfingers adorned with sugared lilacs.”

  “Sounds fabulous,” I said. “We could see if Sandy wants to make white chocolate centerpieces—perhaps a small replica horse-drawn carriage? If there are only only three or four tables that need centerpieces, she might be able to sculpt multiples if she keeps it simple.”

  “Oh, great idea,” Jenn said. “I’ll go down and see what Frances and Sandy think. If we’re going to do this, we need to act quickly. We should leave an invitation in the mailbox of every guest room. I can make some simple posters to go up around town. Is it a go?”

  “Yes, maybe we can take donations for the Mackinac Island Children’s Clinic,” I said. “Let’s see if we can have a presence in the festival without a float.”

  “Great idea.” Jenn left filled with excitement.

  I was deep into bill paying when the phone rang. “McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe, Allie speaking.”

  “Allie, Peter Thomas,” his voice boomed through the phone line. “We’re having a cast meeting for the show in an hour. Can you be at the Grand? Salon A.”

  “As long as I don’t have to be ready to shoot, I’ll be there,” I promised.

  “Great, thanks.”

  I finished my bills, made a long list of other things I needed to attend to, and headed downstairs. Mal greeted me with a running slide into my legs. I picked her up and patted her on the head. “Are you being a good pup?”

  Mal licked my cheek as her answer.

  “Hey, Allie,” Jenn said from behind the reservation desk. “Frances and Sandy are on board with the tea. We were thinking of offering it on both Sunday afternoons.”

  “That way, it takes advantage of all ten days of festival time,” Frances added from her perch behind the reception desk.

  “It will give me time to craft something for the last tea’s centerpieces,” Sandy chimed in. She wore a pink bandana over her black braided hair, a pink McMurphy polo, black slacks, and the pink-and-white apron of our uniform. “The first tea is four days from now. I can craft something simple for that tea.”

  “I like it,” I said to my smiling team and put Mal down. She wandered off to snag a dog toy and shake it.

  Mr. Devaney came up from the basement. Mal dropped her toy and ran over to get her pets from the new person in the room. “There’s a plumbing issue in 221 and stuck windows in 333.” He reached down and patted Mal.

  “Mr. Devaney, have you ever worked on a Lilac Festival float?” I asked.

  He straightened and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

  “We’re thinking we should enter a float next year,” I said.

  “That’s a year away. I could be dead by then,” he groused.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Well, if you’re alive next spring can you help with the float? Frances will be in charge of overseeing the project.”

  He looked at Frances and then the hopeful faces of everyone else. “I suppose.”

  “Good.” I looked at my team. “Let’s get on the festival tea. I have to go to the Grand—they’re having an emergency meeting of the show cast.”

  “When will you be back?” Jenn asked.

  “I’m hoping to be back in time for the evening fudge demonstration.”

  “Good,” Frances said. “Let those reality folks know that you’re running a business. Put your foot down, young lady. You need to sleep.”

  “Are the bags under my eyes that noticeable?”

  “Yes,” all three women said at the same time.

  I made a face. The front doorbells jangled,
and a couple came in. “Hello folks, how can we help you?”

  My team scrambled to their various work pursuits.

  “We’re planning a wedding on island in September and are looking for a place to house the family,” the young man said. His green eyes sparkled in delight as his right hand brushed the woman’s left arm.

  “We offer a special if you rent the entire hotel for a weekend,” I said. “We also offer an event planner’s services as part of the weekend fee.” I waved toward the reservation desk, where Frances and Jenn were. “Please come in. I’m Allie McMurphy. My family has owned the hotel for over one hundred years.”

  Mal raced up to greet the newcomers. Thankfully, she didn’t slide into them but did a pretty pirouette and then sat and held her paw out to shake.

  The woman laughed. “Hello, are you the entertainment here?” She reached down, patted Mal on the head, then straightened. “What we love about the island,” the woman said, “is all the tradition in this lovely, peaceful setting.”

  “I’m Thad. This is my fiancée, Rose. We are looking for a place where we could rent either an entire floor or an entire building,” he said.

  “Depending on the dates we can certainly help you.” I glanced at my watch. It was time for me to go. “Frances, this is Thad and Rose. See if we can meet their dates. If so, please give them a tour.”

  “Will do.” Frances waved the couple over. “Let’s see what we can do to accommodate you.”

  “I have to get going before I’m late again,” I told Jenn. “You can reach me by text or cell.”

  The air outside was soft and fragrant. My thoughts were not on the walk down the alley that split the block between Main Street and Market Street. I felt bad for Cathy. She would never again know the sights and smells of early summer.

  “You just think you’re so much better than us.”

  “What?” I turned to see Tammy Gooseworthy hovering by the side door to the part of the Grand Hotel where the cast and crew entered for shooting. Her brown hair was hair sprayed to create a helmet-like bob. She wore a white short-sleeved button-down shirt with the Grander Hotel logo embroidered on the top pocket, black slacks, and athletic shoes.