All You Need Is Fudge

by Nancy CoCo

  I left Sandy to man the candy counter when the crowd dwindled away. Two demonstrations a day were enough to keep the business going. Outside, the streets were door-to-door people laughing and enjoying the warm sunshine, but I headed toward the stairs.

  Frances looked at me over the top of her glasses. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m going to be fine,” I reassured her. “I need a little time alone is all.”

  “Well, I can certainly understand that. Why don’t you make yourself a nice cup of tea.”

  “I’m actually headed up to pay bills. It might sound strange, but there is something nice about doing something as mundane as bill paying when I am upset.”

  “Make the tea and then pay the bills,” Frances said. “Trust me on this. Oh, and pet that cat.”

  Mal popped up from her bed behind the reservation counter where she kept Frances company when I was making candy. It was a safe place for her as I couldn’t have any animals underfoot when I was pouring boiling sugar. Quickly, she was three steps up the staircase, wagging her stubby tail at me as if to say, Come on. Let’s go.

  “It’s not as if Mella is neglected,” I said to Frances. “She gets as much attention as Mal. And if she doesn’t, she simply walks over the keys of my computer and demands it.”

  Frances laughed. “Fur babies are necessary to keep you grounded in the world and not stuck so much in your head.”

  I put my hands on my hips and made a face. “Why would you think I get stuck in my head?”

  Frances laughed again. “Honey, you are always creating a new recipe and when you aren’t you’re puzzling out a murder. If it weren’t for your fur babies, you wouldn’t even know what time of day it was.”

  I made a noise as if to protest her words, but it was only halfhearted. She was right. My mind was on Carin and why she died. I headed up the stairs and met my handyman Mr. Devaney on the third floor landing.

  “Do you have a moment?” he asked me.

  I was startled by the question. Mr. Devaney was a bit of a curmudgeon. He did a great job as my handyman, but he mostly talked only when he was addressed . . . unless he was with Frances. Those two had a thing for each other. It was kind of adorable.

  “Sure,” I said and stopped on the landing.

  He glanced around. “Can we go to your apartment?”

  “Sure. Is everything all right?” Mal and I headed up the stairs in front of him. “Are you feeling okay?” I paused on the fourth floor landing. “You aren’t retiring on me, are you?”

  “Let’s just talk in your apartment,” he said succinctly. “I’d rather no one have an opportunity to overhear us.”

  “Okay. You know Jenn stays in my spare bedroom.”

  “Yes, but she’s the only other person who I wouldn’t mind talking to about this. That said, she’s out at the yacht club. I checked.” He walked into my apartment with me and closed the door behind us. “I’d talk in your office, but Frances might pop in. Here, at least she’d knock before entering.”

  “Okay.” I picked up the cat from where she sat on top of the nearest chair.

  My apartment was small. It consisted of a combined living and dining area with a galley kitchen along the back wall. Behind the kitchen was the single bathroom and side by side bedrooms. My grandparents had lived above the McMurphy my entire life. When I would visit, I would stay in what was now Jenn’s room. When Papa died and I moved in, I didn’t want to sleep in his room. It was too filled with memories. It wasn’t until after Jenn showed up that I moved my stuff in and his stuff out. I still had to go through it and choose what to keep and what to give away. For now, his stuff was boxed up and stored in the attic above me. An attic I checked every Saturday to ensure that no one was squatting in. I’d once discovered a man living up there. Yeah, creepy, right?

  “I’m making tea. Do you want any?” I put the cat down and picked up my teapot and put water in it to boil.

  “Yes, thanks,” he said to my surprise and sat down on one of the two bar stools that were snugged up against the countertop separating the living area from the kitchen.

  Mr. Devaney had a round head and white hair that made a u-shape around his ears. He wore a cotton shirt with corduroy slacks, black athletic shoes, and a navy cardigan with patches on the elbows. He had hazel eyes and a thin mouth set above a strong chin with a dimple in it. He was so smart, I could see why Frances liked him. His gaze held a wealth of wisdom and knowledge.

  He used to teach school and once told me that people learned more from making mistakes than being told by someone what they were doing wrong. That’s why he didn’t say much. He usually waited for me to ask him questions and sometimes he even let me come to my own conclusions.

  I grabbed two thick white mugs from the shelf. One had an imprinted picture of a lilac on it from a lilac festival of long ago. The other had a sailboat. I handed him the boat mug and took down a box of assorted teas and offered him his choice. He took a peppermint tea. I took a chocolate tea and tore my package open, laying the pouch of tea in the cup and draping the cord along the side. “So, what’s up?”

  “I need your help,” he said quietly.

  That surprised me. Mr. Devaney was more the helping kind than one to ask for help. He seemed restless and a little out of sorts.

  “Sure, anything.” I controlled the urge to put my hand on his and bit my bottom lip to keep from asking if things were all right. He’d already answered that question.

  He glanced up at me. “It’s Frances—”

  My teapot decided at that moment to start screaming bloody murder.

  I sighed, grabbed a pot holder, and pulled the pot from the stove. I turned off the burner and poured the hot water into our mugs, returned the pot, and sent him an encouraging look. “What about Frances?”

  “You know she and I have been dating.”

  “Yes,” I replied with a nod. “Everyone suspected as much.” I dipped my tea bag. “It’s okay, you know. You two make a cute couple.”

  He cleared his throat and clung to his mug like a lifeline. “Yes, well, at our age there isn’t a lot of time to let things go slow.” He paused and studied the mug.

  I waited patiently, letting him gather his thoughts.

  “Anyway, don’t be shocked . . .”

  “Okay.”

  “I want to ask Frances to marry me,” he mumbled quickly to the countertop.

  I wasn’t quite sure I’d heard him. “You want to what?” I asked as gently as possible.

  He cleared his throat again. “I want to ask Frances to marry me.” He finally looked at me. “I’d like you and Jennifer to help me plan something special for her.”

  “Well”—I leaned my elbows on the counter, my fingers around my warm mug of tea—“before I give my blessing, I want to know how you plan to take care of her. She has been practically family to me my whole life and I won’t see her hurt.”

  “Right.” He straightened, undaunted by my reaction. “I have a nice three bedroom cottage not far from her apartment. I own mine outright and want to live there. She would have more room and I have a nice patio with a garden in the back.”

  “I see.” I sipped my drink thoughtfully. “What will you do with her things?”

  “I plan on letting her redecorate. The place has been a bit run down since my wife died so it needs a good remodel. I’d let Frances remodel it to her tastes. I trust her instincts and I want her to feel like it’s her home, too.”

  “And finances?” I pressed. “I know Frances has some money stashed. I don’t want to find out that you are itching to spend it.”

  He straightened farther, clearly offended. “I have more than enough to take care of both of us. I would never drain her money. She earned that. Besides”—his shoulders relaxed a bit—“we both have good jobs where our employer would be hard pressed to find replacements.”

  I let a hint of a smile cross my face. “So you don’t have any plans to run off to Europe or travel the world? Not that those are bad t
hings, but—”

  “I have enough money that we could do that if that is what will make Frances happy, but she told me just yesterday that she is happiest when she’s working at the reception desk of the McMurphy. It makes her feel useful, keeping an eye on you and Jenn and your pets.”

  As if on cue, Mella jumped up on the counter and brushed along Mr. Devaney’s arm, begging for pets. He absently brushed his hand along her back and down to the tip of her tail. She arched against him, turned, and asked for more.

  “So, what you are telling me is that you are going to ask Frances to marry you and you want my help planning something big.”

  “Yes,” he grumbled and put the mug to his lips to taste his tea.

  “And that you plan to let Frances remodel your home to her liking,” I added.

  “Yep.”

  “Ah, and you can stay in her apartment while the remodel is going on,” I surmised.

  “That’s the plan,” he said, his hazel eyes shining.

  I leaned in closer and Mella weaved her way over to me. “And you promise to take good care of her and that you will both continue to work at the McMurphy at least through this season.”

  “That’s the plan,” he said again.

  “Well, then, you have my blessing.” I lifted my mug up. “Cheers!”

  “I wasn’t asking for your blessing,” he muttered, and yet he clinked his mug with mine.

  “Don’t worry,” I said after I sipped tea. “Jenn will come up with something fabulous.”

  He nearly spit his tea out. “Oh, no, no. no, I don’t want one of those ridiculous proposals where everyone on the street starts dancing.” He waved his hand to emphasize. “I want something very small and intimate, but I want it to be a surprise. I need you girls to help me plan the right date and tell me if I’m dressed right. That sort of thing.”

  My grin grew.

  He scowled at me so I hid my happiness. “Of course. We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do.”

  “Good.” He stood. “I’ve got to go work on the closet door in 203. It’s sticking.”

  “Jenn is so going to love this,” I said as he walked toward the door.

  He stopped just at the door, let out a long exaggerated sigh, and walked out without a word. I grabbed Mal and danced her around my kitchen.

  Some things were worth celebrating with dance.

  Chapter 4

  “I heard some juicy gossip,” Jenn said as she walked into the business office the next afternoon. I looked up from my computer screen, which was filled with inventory and what I needed to order for the next two weeks of fudge making.

  The office was quite large, but crammed with file cases. In the center were the two big oak desks that faced each other. Jenn usually occupied one desk and I used the other. If I had things my way, she would start up her own event planning business and use my office. Right now, she worked for me, but was making a lot of connections on the island. She was the best event planner I’d ever known—not that I’d known a lot of them, but still. She had organized me in a matter of weeks and with her event ideas, was bringing in record attendance to the McMurphy.

  I hadn’t asked her yet, but I hoped that at the end of the season, I’d be able to convince her to stay and make a go of it. The fact that I’d introduced her to her current boyfriend, Shane, was all part of the plan. If they got serious, it would be another reason for her to stay.

  Not that I minded running the place alone, but it was nice to have friends about. And what wasn’t there to love about Mackinac Island?

  “Is your juicy gossip more important than the sixty pounds of cane sugar I need to order before they cut off shipping for today?”

  Jenn sat on the corner of my desk and crossed her arms over her spotless chiffon blouse. “Of course it is. It involves the investigation on the girl you pulled out of the lake.”

  I sat back and drew my brows together. “What do you know? Do they have any idea who did it?”

  “It’s serious stuff that could potentially rock your world,” Jenn hinted. Her poker face was strong. I had no idea what she was going to say next.

  “Spill,” I demanded. “If only so I can get the supplies ordered under the deadline”—I glanced at the clock—“which happens to be in the next fifteen minutes.”

  “Fine, don’t let me drag out the suspense.”

  “Tick, tick.” I tapped the watch I wasn’t wearing.

  “Carin was definitely murdered,” Jenn said with the matter-of-fact emotion of someone with inside information. “My secret source says that she wasn’t breathing when she hit the water.”

  “Oh, dear. That’s terrible. Do they know how she died? I didn’t see any gunshot wounds or knife marks.”

  “She was hit in the back of the head with a blunt instrument and snapped her spinal cord,” Jenn said with less enthusiasm. “She died instantly.”

  “That’s horrible,” I said. “So whoever killed her dumped her body in the water?”

  “Most likely.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t imagine.”

  “There’s more.”

  “Okay.” I leaned toward her. “Do you know the killer?”

  “No, but there is talk about a person of interest.”

  I sighed and glanced at the clock. “Seriously, Jenn, I’ve got five minutes before they make me wait a day on delivery.”

  “Oh, right.” She stood, making a shooing motion with her hands. “Get the inventory done. I’ll go downstairs and get us both some coffee. This might take awhile.”

  I rolled my eyes as she left the office. Who does that? Who leaves a person in suspense? This was not television. I did not need a commercial break. I worked hard to squash my curiosity and concentrate on the inventory order.

  Twenty minutes later, purchase order in place, inventory as done as I was going to get it, I walked into the living room of the apartment to see if Jenn had come upstairs yet. Mella jumped up to greet me and rubbed against my legs. I reached down to run my hands along her thick soft fur. “Hi baby. Where are Mal and Jenn?”

  She reacted to my question by jumping up on the countertop and looked at me with soulful kitty eyes.

  “Right, they’re not here and you are, so why do I need anyone else?” I muttered as I scratched her kitty ears.

  My cell phone rang. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Allie,” came a voice from the other side.

  “Jenn? Where are you?”

  “I’m downstairs. Rex is here. I told him you were doing inventory and weren’t to be disturbed, but he’s in his investigation mode.”

  “I’m done. I’ll be right down.” I ended the phone call and looked at the cat. “They’re downstairs. You could have told me.”

  She looked at me as if it wasn’t her job to keep track of anyone and then she nudged the counter door where the cat treats were kept.

  “Fine. You get a treat for letting me pet you. I am your faithful servant.” I opened the cupboard and pulled out the bag of cat treats and dumped a handful on the countertop. “We’ll keep this between you and me.” I kept Mella in the apartment as much as possible during the day when the fudge shop was open to people walking in and out. The last thing I needed was for her to get in the way of hot sugar and get hurt. She didn’t mind so much. I’d learned that she wasn’t a fan of the crowds that came in during demonstrations.

  We settled on her domain of the owner’s apartment during the day and the entire McMurphy during the night. Jenn said it was okay that Mella was an indoor/outdoor cat. When the weather was nice, sometimes I’d let her out to hang around the back deck and grab some sunshine. She rarely wandered off, which was odd since she had just shown up at my back door one day. I would have thought she was an alley cat, but she took to being indoors much better than being out.

  Since we’d had her spayed, I figured it was okay to let her choose when and where she wanted to be. I’d had the vet put a chip in her for identification
and she wore a soft pink collar with her name and my phone number on it in case she got lost.

  Downstairs was a madhouse. Sandy was doing the last of the day’s demonstrations of fudge making. Tourists were three deep around the fudge shop windows both inside and out. Mal jumped up from her bed beside Frances and the reception desk and greeted me as I came down the staircase. I patted her and picked her up to rub her ears. Jenn and Rex stood beside Frances who sat on her tall stool behind the receptionist desk.

  “Hey guys,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “Allie,” Rex sad, his blue police uniform perfectly pressed. How he managed to always be so well-groomed after a long day never ceased to amaze me. His hat was in his hand and he wore a gun on his hip. His bald head had that sexy as hell look of an action star.

  “Hi Rex. What’s going on? Is there news on Carin Moore?”

  He frowned. “Can we talk upstairs?”

  My gaze went to the filled lobby. Guests were sitting on the couches, enjoying the Wi-Fi. People near the coffee bar were enjoying a five o’clock cup.

  “Sure.” I gave Frances a look. “What’s with all the people?”

  “Downtown is hopping due to the yacht races,” she said. “People heard that you pulled a girl out of the marina this morning and wanted to be a part of the scene.”

  “Seriously?” I asked and glanced around. I noticed for the first time that it wasn’t the fudge making demonstration that people were looking at. They were here to get a glimpse of me and Rex. I swear they were leaning toward us as if to catch every last word.

  “Seriously,” Jenn said. “Liz McElroy published an early morning news blog about the incident and people have been coming in off and on all day. Sandy can’t keep up with the demand.”