Oh Say Can You Fudge

by Nancy CoCo

  “Mal!” I shouted as the dog and cat chased round the chairs and settees in the lobby.

  “Cat!” Frances exclaimed from her post behind the reception desk.

  “I’ll get it,” Trent declared. Blocking the animals’ path, he swooped down to get the cat, but at the last second it dodged him. He turned to go after them when Mitzy Hanfer opened the front door to enter. She had her hands full with a paper tray filled with four ice cream cones and held the door with her elbow.

  “Watch out!” Trent yelled.

  But it was too late. The cat escaped out the door.

  Fortunately, I had caught up to Mal by then and scooped her up before she hit Mitzy’s legs. “Sorry,” I said to Mitzy.

  She looked startled and frozen to the spot. “What happened?” Her blond hair floated around her head as she glanced from me and Mal to the sidewalk behind the closed door.

  “Stray cat,” I said.

  “Do you have the dog?” Trent asked me.

  “Yes.” I took her over to her downstairs kennel. “Bad puppy.” I put her inside and closed and locked the kennel door.

  Mal’s tongue hung out and she looked pleased with herself. In fact, her expression seemed to say that while I put her in jail, she’d do it all over again if she got the chance.

  “I’ll check to see if the cat’s okay.” Trent pulled open the door and headed down the street in the direction of the cat.

  “Never a dull moment.” Shaking her head, Frances laughed.

  “I’m sorry I let your cat out.” Mitzy was staying the week with her parents. Mackinac was a pretty safe place and the sixteen-year-old had begun a habit of going for a long walk after dark to pick up ice creams and bring them back.

  “It’s okay,” I said, out of breath. I straightened to my full height. “The cat belongs out there.”

  “Where did Mal find it?” Frances asked me.

  “It was up on the fourth floor landing washing itself,” I said. “The cat let Trent pick it up. I was about to pet her when Mal came up and startled the cat who leapt out of Trent’s arms and, well, the rest you saw.”

  “Maybe it will think twice before coming back inside the McMurphy.” Frances studied me. “You look nice.”

  I adjusted my pashmina. “Thanks. We have reservations at the yacht club.”

  Trent came back inside. “Sorry, no cat.” He held out his hands. “I’m going to wash up and then we can go to the club. They won’t hold our reservations much longer.” He escaped into the men’s restroom behind the staircase.

  “I hope the cat is all right,” I said, drawing my eyebrows together.

  “Maybe it will go home to its owner.” Frances went back to watching her computer, her reading glasses firmly resting on her nose. “Have fun. I’m locking up at nine and heading home early. Last night was a long one.”

  “No problem,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”

  Trent came out of the bathroom. He’d adjusted his jacket and his black hair was carefully combed back. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” I said and put my arm through his. “After that little excitement, I need a drink.”

  “That certainly had to be tame compared to the fireworks explosion.”

  “Yes,” I said with a smile. “And certainly less bruising.”

  Chapter 6

  The next morning came early. I went downstairs in my chef’s coat to start making fudge at three AM. The ferries started running pretty early but, because most stores didn’t open until later, the tourists usually started to show up in bulk between nine and ten. I usually timed my batches so that the candy counter was filled by ten. Sure, I did demonstrations twice a day, but those small batches of fudge would never have kept the customers happy.

  Mal followed me down. I gave her a customary biscuit from the glass dog biscuit dish that sat on the receptionist desk. I liked the quiet of the early morning. I made the first two pots of coffee which would eventually fill the self-serve carafes. I liked to keep coffee on hand for my staff’s morning arrival and for guests who ventured down early to catch coffee before they went out for a day of island exploring.

  The sharp scent of coffee filled the air as Mal finished her treat and snuggled into the dog bed beside the reception area where she would wait for Frances to come in and feed her breakfast.

  The thing about Mal was that I’d trained her to never step foot inside the fudge shop. If I had a cat, I was pretty sure there was no training it to stay out of anywhere it didn’t want to go.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee, added a splash of half and half, and took a sip. The warm brew was a balm to my soul. Then I turned on the lights in the fudge shop and pulled down sugar, butter, milk, and cocoa. The basic ingredients rarely changed. With dark chocolate, milk chocolate, or white chocolate, plus ingredients from dried blueberries to Traverse City cherries to walnuts and pecans, I could vary the flavors, always with the same fudge base.

  I measured out ingredients and filled the large copper pot we cooked the fudge in, turned on the flame below and stirred the mixture with a wooden paddle, then left it to cook to a nice soft boil.

  I glanced outside to the quiet dark of Main Street. At this time of night, no one was out or about. The bars had closed a few hours prior. All the residents were still asleep. The stores were closed and the carriages not yet lined up, waiting to take tourists on tours or to their hotels.

  I liked Main Street best before the ferries deposited the first tourists—when the sky started to lighten with lighter and lighter blues chasing the thick dark night away. The morning star was shining bright in the night. I thought of the cat and wondered if it had a home. Maybe I would ask around town. If I knew that it was somewhere safe, I would feel much better.

  Three batches of fudge into my routine, the day had begun to bustle. Frances brought in the morning trays of donuts and Danish and bananas and juice. The first residents had headed down to snag some food before they went down to the docks to catch the ferry home. Sometimes people would check out and have us store their luggage in the big utility closet across from the bathrooms behind the stairs and go spend one more full day on the island, only to return to gather their things and leave on the five o’clock ferry out.

  “How was your date last night?” Jenn asked as she bounced down the stairs at ten dressed in black pedal pushers and a white short sleeved top with blue dots. Her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She went straight to the coffee bar and poured herself a cup then checked the pots and brewed some fresh. “You were out late.”

  “We went to the yacht club for dinner and dancing,” I said with a soft smile at the memory.

  “Sounds romantic.” Jenn leaned against the candy counter and sipped her coffee. She had made herself a latte with caramel and cocoa. I could tell from the delicious scent that emerged with the steam from her cup.

  “It was romantic, except for the fact that the dinner was with a couple business associates and their wives.”

  “That’s what happens when you date an important man.” Jenn wiggled her fingers at me. “They like to double dip their time.”

  “It was fine with me,” I said and cut thick chunks of caramel pecan fudge from the loaf that I had on the cooling table. Once I’d developed a feel for fudge, I could slice them almost exactly into one quarter pound slices. I transferred the slices to the tray. “There was an ego boasting pride in his eyes when he introduced me and he kept reaching for my hand at odd times. Plus the man can dance.”

  “Also a perk with a wealthy guy,” Jenn said with a sigh. “They usually learn to dance at boarding school.”

  “He wasn’t exactly happy to see my bruises,” I mentioned. “He insisted that I tell him the entire story.”

  “Did you walk back or take a carriage?”

  “It’s only a few blocks so we walked. We went down by the marina and strolled the walkway there.” I couldn’t help the secret smile that came with the memory of Trent’s kisses.

  “Oh, you�
�re smitten,” Jenn teased. “Good. It’s about time.”

  ‘Good morning, Jennifer,” Frances said as she came inside with Mal and took the leash and halter off the puppy.

  Mal came running up and stopped to slide on the polished wood floor before coming to a stop at the very edge of the floor where it changed to tile for the fudge shop. The puppy had become a master of the slide and rarely, if ever, touched the tile. She knew she would be put in time-out if she did.

  “Good morning, Frances,” Jenn said and stepped out to hunker down and give Mal a good and thorough rub and pat. “Any juicy gossip today?”

  “Besides the fact that you spent the night with a certain crime scene guy?” Frances raised her right eyebrow.

  Jenn grinned and shrugged. “We’ve been dating for two months.”

  “Sounds pretty serious,” Frances said. “I hope you know what you’re doing. You might end up on the island permanently.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I’m having fun.” Jenn stood. “We have an eightieth birthday party in two days. The Koontz are coming in today for a three day family extravaganza. I have the entire third floor booked for the families.”

  I put the tray of fudge into the candy counter and closed the sliding glass door. “Sandy is coming in this afternoon to make the chocolate sculpture for the tables.”

  “It’s going to be so much fun!” Jenn said. “Phyllis Koontz is turning eighty and she loves hot air balloons. So Sandy is going to cast one for each table of ten. There are fifty guests so five sculptures.”

  “Parties are such fun,” Frances said. “I’m glad you included those types of ideas in the McMurphy website and brochures.”

  “The cake is coming from All Things Bakery off Market Street,” Jenn said. “It’s a three tier chocolate and white checkered cake with a hot air balloon on the top. Before the party, they are meeting at Mackinaw City and taking a balloon ride over to the Mackinac Island airport. Then, after the party they will take the ferry back to home.”

  “I didn’t know there was a hot air balloon service,” I said.

  “There isn’t, but I asked Sophie Collins and she put me in touch with a guy who planned the whole thing.”

  “It’s too bad the warehouse is all black and burned. It has to ruin the scenery,” Frances said.

  “That reminds me.” I came around to the lobby. “Frances, with Jenn making up the third floor rooms, can you watch the fudge shop for an hour or so? I need to go see Rex.”

  “Sure, but why do you need to see Rex?” Frances asked.

  “I remembered something last night when I was telling Trent the story of the explosion.”

  “What did you remember?” Jenn’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  “There were two bikes parked outside the warehouse when I got there. When I left, mine was the only bike there.”

  “A clue,” Jenn said with a smile.

  “I certainly hope so.” I took off my chef coat and placed it on the coatrack near the back door. Mal poked me with her nose.

  “You can’t go, sweetie. You just went out with Frances.” I reached down and patted Mal on the head then grabbed my keys and handbag and went out through the alley that ran behind the McMurphy. The day was warm and the scent of flowers filled the air along with the sound of carriages, bikes, and birds.

  Locals often walked the alleys when the crowds on the streets swelled. Mr. Beecher, Papa’s old card buddy, was on his morning stroll down the alley that ran behind the Main Street buildings. He wore a pair of black slacks, a black and white tweed jacket over a white dress shirt. He had an old golf cap set on top of his head and his cane was black with silver tip and handle.

  “Good morning, Allie. Where’s your puppy?” Mr. Beecher always reminded me of the snowman from the old stop action Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer show.

  “Hi, Mr. Beecher. You just missed Frances and Mal. They came back from their walk not five minutes ago.”

  “My loss,” he said with a tip of his hat. “They are two of my favorite people to meet on my walks. You are my third.”

  “Oh.” I felt a blush in my cheeks. “You are always so sweet.” I gave him a hug. “I’m on my way to the police station to see Rex. It looks like you’re going home.”

  “I am.” He pointed his cane in the opposite direction of the police station. “One of these days we need to take a walk together.”

  “That would be nice.” I straddled my bike. “You take care.”

  “I will.” He gave s short nod of his head. “You do the same, young lady.”

  “I will.” I took off down the alley, rounded the end of it, and turned right toward Market Street and the police station. Liz was on the sidewalk when I emerged from the alley and I quickly braked to a stop. “Hi.”

  “Hey, Allie. Are you going to the police station?” Liz wore cargo shorts, a light green tank top, and a green and white blouse. Her bare legs were long and ended in socks and hiking boots.

  I drew my brows together. “Yes, how did you know?”

  “There’s been another fire. I figured you heard about it and—like me—were headed to see Rex and try to get the details out of him.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, like he’d give up details.”

  “To you, he might,” she said, her expression sober. “Seriously.”

  “Right and Papa Liam is really alive and living in my attic.”

  “Whatever.” She shrugged.

  “I’m sorry.” I put my hand on her arm. “That was rude. I hadn’t heard about the fire. I was going to see Rex because I remembered something from the day of the explosion.”

  She stopped short. “What did you remember?” She reached for a small notepad she kept in her breast pocket just like her grandfather did.

  “It has to do with where I parked my bike.” I paused. “You know what? I need to let Rex know first. Okay?

  “Sure.” She put away her notebook. “Let’s go hear what the man has to say about the fire and whatever you remembered. I’ll meet you there, since you have your bike.”

  “Now that’s a plan I can stick with,” I said.

  Liz arrived as I was locking my bike on the rack and we walked in tandem toward the big white building that housed the administration and police and fire stations. Ed Goodfoot was outside wiping down the fire truck. When it came to an ambulance and a fire truck, the island had state of the art vehicles. It looked so odd to see them parked next to bicycles and horse-drawn carriages, but when it came to essential equipment the island was ready.

  “Hi Ed.” Liz waved.

  “Hi Liz, hi Allie.” He stopped cleaning. “Nice day.”

  “It is,” I agreed.

  Liz steered us over to him. “I heard there was another fire.”

  “Yes,” Ed said, his mouth flat. “That makes two this week.”

  “Is that unusual?” I asked.

  “For Mackinac Island?” he asked. “Yes, there are maybe one or two a year.”

  “If you count today’s fire there have been five fires this year,” Liz said. “That is, if you don’t include the explosion. The first was an untended campfire.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Next was at the edge of Great Turtle Park that appeared to be from an unextinguished cigarette. The third was a trash barrel on Luke Archibald’s property. He was burning brush and the fire got too close to his shed and set it on fire. I always thought that was stupid, but then Luke isn’t known for being the brightest.”

  “What does Luke do again?” I asked. “I’ve seen him and his wife Clara and his son Sherman around, but I don’t know what they do.”

  “Luke’s a painter—and not the artistic kind. He’s the house and room kind. In the spring, many of the summer cottages need to be touched up for the season. Luke is always one of the first painters on the island to start the rush to the season,” Liz said. “Clara teaches school in St. Ignace. Her family has owned a cabin on Mackinac Island for eighty years. They come out on the weekends and keep
it up.”

  “Oh. Huh, my general contractor Benny didn’t hire Luke to do the subcontract work when we did our remodel.”

  “Benny and Luke don’t really get along,” Liz explained. “It happens when you’re competitors.” She waved her hands dismissively. “Let’s get back to the fires. There was one more before the warehouse. Trash and bicycle tires started on fire. It was a slow burn because the trash and tires were damp. When it took off, the fire was difficult to stop. Ed, are you telling me that all of those fires might be arson? If so, do you suspect one specific arsonist?”

  “I’m not saying,” Ed answered carefully. “Not on the record.”

  “Is there a pattern to the fires?” I asked. “On television, if one person is setting fires, they tend to have a pattern.”

  “No real pattern,” Ed said, “Unless you count the shed near each fire.”

  “But the first fire was a bonfire, right?” I asked. “No shed involved.”

  “No shed involved,” Ed agreed. “That’s what I was saying. If you look at the fires one by one, they all have reasonable explanations and don’t appear to be an arson pattern. They all seemed small and there was always a ready reason for the fire.”

  “And the newest fire? Does it have an easy explanation?” Liz asked.

  “No. Today’s fire was set under the front porch of the Fogarty B & B.”

  “It was a porch fire?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Ed said. “It didn’t get far before it was spotted. The owners had fire extinguishers and it was mostly out by the time we got there. I had the guys tear the porch off the house in case anything was smoldering that might reignite.”

  “How do you know it was arson?” Liz asked.

  “An accelerant was used,” Rex said behind us. We both turned toward the sound.

  As usual, he was dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform. His hat sat squarely on his head, his baby blue eyes shaded by the brim.

  As he walked up, Liz asked, “What kind of accelerant?”

  “Lighter fluid,” Rex said.

  “That’s got to be hard to trace,” I said. “I mean everyone has lighter fluid somewhere near their house. We all grill.”