All You Need Is Fudge

by Nancy CoCo

  “So am I, Maggs, so am I. More than you will ever know.”

  Not only did I learn more about Frances, but I learned that the senior center was the best place for gossip. I’d somehow doubled my duty. Not bad for a few hours away from fudge making.

  Chapter 12

  “Reggie Owens stopped by to see you,” Frances said when I entered the McMurphy. “What did you learn at the senior center?”

  I’d told Frances I was going to see what gossip I could turn up. I was lucky to have some to report. “The murder weapon was an oar with the name of the Jessops’ boat, the Scoundrel, printed right on it.”

  “That’s weirdly obvious,” Frances said.

  “I agree and so do the ladies at the senior center.” I grabbed my chef’s coat and pulled it on. “I’ve got a demonstration in ten minutes. Did Reggie leave a message?”

  “Yes. He said he’ll meet you at three PM at the Boar’s Head if you can make it.”

  I glanced at my watch. There was just enough time for the fudge demonstration and a change of clothes. “Great, how late are you working?”

  “I’ll be here until seven, then Megan takes over.”

  “Perfect. Thanks, Frances.” I paused and added, “Oh, I ran into Margaret Vanderbilt. We had lunch together. She’s great.”

  Frances nodded. “Maggs is one of a kind.”

  “So are you,” I said and went into the fudge shop.

  Outside, the streets were wall-to-wall tourists. We locals affectionately called them Fudgies as they came for the fudge as well as the sites. Main Street heralded a fudge shop on every block. That meant the competition was fierce. Every fudge maker had to be good at catching people’s attention.

  The yacht races had been going on for over one hundred years and each year they drew more and more people. Each boat had a crew of ten to twenty. As they came in, they would hit the bars and parties. The horse-drawn taxis were in direct competition for space. People outside the McMurphy windows moved in a fluid stream.

  Only half a block off the dock where the ferries loaded and unloaded passengers, the McMurphy was in a prime spot. Porters on bikes would pick up luggage and deliver it to the various hotels around. The bigger hotels used horse-drawn trailers to move the luggage.

  I hooked a microphone up to my chef’s coat and started talking as I poured ingredients into the giant copper fudge pot. Demonstrations were between ten and twenty minutes long. People would come and go at first but near the end they would gather to watch the fudge solidify and grab a taste of the fresh batch.

  That was when we would entice them into buying. Making just enough fudge to sell out each day was our goal. The McMurphy was known for small batches and specialty fudges. We rarely had leftovers.

  The crowd gathered as I buttered the marble fudge table. “The marble is cooled with ice water that runs underneath the table top,” I explained. “We use marble because it absorbs the heat from the fudge slowly and consistently. That way, we can control the fudge’s cooling and add air to give it a light texture.”

  Jenn stepped into the kitchen area to help me lift the pot and pour the hot fudge onto the table.

  “Pouring the fudge is always a two-man job—for safety reasons and because the pot is so large,” I explained. “It allows me to scrape all the goodness out onto the table. Thanks, Jenn.” She nodded and took the empty pot over to the sink.

  “You’ll notice the stainless steel edges I’ve added to the table. This keeps the liquid from dripping off onto the floor as I stir it with a long-handled scraper.” I picked up the stirrer and began the lifting and twisting motion that was so familiar to me I swear I did it in my sleep. “This lifting and stirring adds air to the fudge and helps it cool at a consistent rate. As a candy maker becomes skilled, we learn to tell by feel how long to use this method before the fudge needs to be formed and the extra ingredients added.”

  I switched to the short-handed scraper and continued on with the demonstration. More crowd gathered as I added a premixed bucket of nuts and cranberries to the fudge and folded it into a long loaf. When it had set, I cut the loaf into one-pound sections. Jenn put taster pieces on a platter and opened the door, handing the tasters out to the crowd. As their eyes grew wide, little kids held out their hands to get a taste of fudge. Adults, as well, were eager to taste and compare my fudge to the others that were available just blocks away.

  “Hey,” someone in the crowd said. “Are you that fudge maker on the candy cook off show?”

  Surprised, I turned to them. “Yes, but I didn’t think it was showing yet.”

  “I saw the previews,” the man went on.

  “Do you win?” one of the women asked as she tasted my fudge. “Because this is really good fudge.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But you’ll have to watch the show to find out what happens.”

  “Aw, spoiler,” the man said and then grinned.

  “It starts airing next month,” I said. “I hope you enjoy watching.”

  Jenn and I were busy measuring out boxes and selling fudge as the crowd flowed out of the McMurphy and back into the streets. A glance at the time told me it was already 4:30.

  I turned to her. “Can you handle the rest of this? I’ve got a meeting with Paige’s boyfriend Reggie at five.”

  “Sure thing,” Jenn said. “How’d it go at the senior center?”

  “Great.” I stepped closer. “I found Frances’s best friend. Her name is Margaret Vanderbilt.”

  “Oh, Maggs?” Jenn said.

  “Yes.” I shook my head. “How do you know her?”

  “She does these great craft events. I looked into using her for a birthday party. She’s a real artist and a sweetheart.”

  “I need to get out of the McMurphy more often,” I muttered.

  Jenn grinned at me. “Yes, you do.”

  “Maggs gave me some great ideas for you know what,” I said.

  “Perfect. We’ll talk later. Have you heard from Trent or Paige today?”

  “No.” I tried not to let the disappointment show in my voice. “I called and left a message and I texted twice, but he’s completely shut me out at this point.”

  “I wouldn’t take it personal,” Jenn said. “Powerful families are known to do that when threatened.”

  “Well, it only makes me more wanting to prove that I can help them. I’m going to find out what Reggie knows. Then I’m going to go see if I can’t get Rex to talk to me.”

  “Good luck.” Jenn waved me off. “I’ll see you after dinner.”

  “Do you have a date with Shane tonight?”

  “Yes . . . and yes, I’ll see if I can’t convince him to tell me more. We’ll see what a little wine and nookie can do.”

  “You are a woman after my own heart,” I teased.

  “Together we’ll get this thing figured out.”

  * * *

  Reggie was tall and sun-kissed handsome in that preppy sort of manner that rich boys had. His light brown hair was styled perfectly. He wore a white polo, khaki shorts, and deck shoes. His nose was long and thin, his jaw square and his brown eyes charming. “Allie,” he called when I walked into the busy bar.

  I moved to him as he snagged two craft beers off the bar and handed me one. “I’m thinking you need this as much as I do. Let’s go out on the deck and see if we can’t get a seat.”

  The deck overlooked the marina and was filled with people. Throbbing music poured out of speakers attached to the building. A portico gave off just enough shade that we didn’t need a hat.

  “I guess this really isn’t the best place to talk,” he shouted over the top of the music.

  “Let’s grab a bench by the marina.”

  He nodded his agreement. We went out the gate and down the crowded sidewalk to the soft grass and benches that faced the boats. At least there we could hear each other, even if it wasn’t very private.

  I sat on the bench and took a swig of the cold beer. It was bright and fizzy.

  “How are
you holding up?” he asked.

  “I’m okay. I’m missing Trent. The Jessops have completely shut me out. He’s not even returning my texts. How about you? Have you heard from Paige?”

  “Only through her lawyer.” He scowled and took a long draught of his beer. “It’s as if I’ve done something wrong.”

  “I know what you mean.” I studied the waterfront. “I feel like they should let me in. I could help them figure this out. Paige is innocent. Right? Why are they shutting us out?”

  “It’s a Jessop thing,” he said, his tone flat. “Blood is thicker than water. If you plan on being part of the clan, then expect this kind of treatment.” He glanced my way. “Once you have kids, you’re in—at least your kids are in. I’m not sure non-blood relatives are ever truly let into the Jessop family.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “I’m Paige’s friend. I love Trent. Should we get married, I would be family.”

  “It’s a different way of looking at things. Trust me. If you ever marry Trent, there will be a prenup and you won’t get squat.”

  “I’m okay with that. I’m not dating him for his family’s money.”

  “Yeah, I told Paige that, as well. My family has its own issues and its own money.” Reggie shrugged.

  “Do you have any idea why they arrested Paige? I heard they discovered a murder weapon. Do you know anything about that?”

  “I heard a rumor. Nothing official. I wish I knew how Paige is. She must be going through hell right now.”

  “Have you called her?”

  “Called and texted. Like you, they shut me out.”

  “I’m certain she’s innocent.”

  “Yeah, there’s no way she would have done it. I’m pissed off at Rex Manning for even going so far as to arrest her.”

  “Did you go to the bail hearing? Do you know what the charges are?”

  “The bail hearing was closed.” He glanced at me. “I figured you knew that.”

  “No, I’ve been busy with the shop and didn’t get a chance to go. Besides, Rex has shut me out of this one.”

  “Well, that stinks.” Reggie swigged his beer. “I was hoping you could clue me in on things. You are the one who seems to have the in with the cops and the locals.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m working on the investigation. Were you with Paige that night?” I wasn’t about to tell him what the senior rumors were where he was concerned.

  “Yeah, we had a date. Paige wanted to take a bunch of us out on the yacht for dinner and drinks and dancing. A party, really. I got to the boat at seven. Some of her friends were already there.”

  “Who was invited? Do you know?”

  “The usual crew,” he said with a shrug. “Paige and her best friend Beatrice. Ashley Warner, Meghan Bush, and their boyfriends Matt and Christen. Beatrice’s boyfriend Jacob was on one of the yachts racing up from Chicago so he wasn’t there. “Reggie raised his hands and ticked off people as he named them. “Ryan and Amy, Brian and Sue, and me. You and Trent didn’t come.”

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  He shrugged. “Paige said it was just her gang. Even the old folks weren’t there.”

  “You mean Paige’s mom and dad?”

  “Yeah. Mostly it was Paige’s crew. We took the boat out into the straits . . . just on the other side of the bridge and watched the sunset. There was an open bar and a lot of drinking and goofing around.”

  “How late did you stay out?” I didn’t want to tell him I hadn’t seen the Scoundrel at the marina the morning I found Carin. I wondered if I had just missed the boat or if in fact it hadn’t been there.

  “We didn’t get back to the marina until around noon the next day. It’s why I don’t understand them pinning this murder on Paige. We were all out on the boat when Carin went into the water.”

  “I heard Paige and Carin fought over you.” I sipped my drink and watched his reaction out of the corner of my eye.

  He seemed taken aback by my suggestion. “What? No. I haven’t seen Carin since I broke it off with her and started dating Paige.”

  “There’s an eyewitness who said she saw you and Carin in a compromising position at the yacht club two days before the murder.”

  “Yeah, well, your eyewitness has the wrong guy. Two days before the party, I was in Chicago at a conference. I’ve got 300 witnesses.” He glanced at me. “I did a seminar that took up the entire day.”

  “You could have flown back to the island that night,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t,” he said, his mouth set in a grim line. “I was tired. I went to my room and went to bed. You can check the flight manifests.”

  “I’m sure the police already did.” I frowned. “If it wasn’t you with Carin, who was it?”

  “Got me.” He shrugged. “Look, her brother and I are good friends, but that girl was grade A nutso. I was lucky to get away from her.”

  “If it wasn’t you Carin and Paige fought over, who was it?” I muttered. “Were you with Paige all night the night Carin died? I mean, aren’t you her alibi?”

  “Yeah, well, I sort of got drunk and passed out early. Paige was pissed at me. We had a fight about it the next morning.”

  “Do you know what they think the murder weapon is?”

  “No.” He turned toward me. “Do you?”

  “I heard a rumor that Carin was hit in the back of the skull with an oar from the Scoundrel.”

  “An oar? Off the yacht? Do they even have oars?”

  I shook my head. “That’s what I said. I guess they are part of the lifeboats. Anyway, the oar had the Scoundrel’s name printed on it and Carin’s blood on the edge of the blade.”

  “Well, shoot,” he said and took another swig of his drink. “Anyone could have taken that oar off the boat. No one uses them. They have to have some evidence that traces it to Paige.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “I was hoping you could help me with that.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “I heard you were an eyewitness to the fight on the dock.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous.” He scowled. “First off, I was on the boat in the middle of the straits at the time. Second, I was passed out. There’s no way I saw anything.” He shook his head. “What a day to choose to drink. If I had been sober that night, I could be Paige’s alibi and she wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Why did you get drunk?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I was just having a beer or two when it hit me like a ton of bricks. I heard I simply lay down on the cabin floor and passed out.”

  “You could have been drugged.” I tapped my chin. “You should get checked. There may still be some drugs in your system.”

  “Huh. I wouldn’t have thought of that. Drugged, like in date rape?”

  “Maybe. If Carin’s murder was premeditated, someone on the Scoundrel could have taken the oar earlier and then drugged you, knowing you would be unable to alibi Paige.”

  “What about the others on the boat?” he asked. “Can’t Beatrice or any of the others alibi Paige?”

  “Someone is clearly framing Paige. I don’t know why and I don’t know who, but I’m going to find out. I wish I knew what evidence Rex has that condemns her. Right now, I can only guess that he has someone who witnessed an argument between Paige and Carin. Then there’s the oar with the Scoundrel’s name and Carin’s blood. But what puts the oar in Paige’s hands?”

  “I suppose they could have fingerprints or DNA from Paige,” Reggie said with a shrug.

  “That only means Paige handled the oar, not that she swung it.”

  “Reasonable doubt. All they have to do is convince a jury that the evidence proves Paige did it beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  “Things aren’t adding up. I have Eleanor who told me that she and Janet Biggs saw you and Carin in a compromising position in the hall at the yacht club.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  I raised my hand. “Hold on a minute. Let me c
ontinue. Here’s what I’ve learned. Eleanor then told Paige that you and Carin have been fooling around and Paige confronted Carin at the yacht club. Janet and Eleanor stepped between them and cooled things off.

  “The next morning, I found Carin floating in the marina. She was dead when she hit the water from a blow to the base of the skull. The island rumor mill tells me the murder weapon is a lifeboat oar emblazoned with the name of the Jessops’ yacht—the Scoundrel. It has Carin’s blood on it. We assume it has Paige’s fingerprints and DNA. No one has come forward to alibi Paige.”

  “And we’re locked out of the Jessops’ family circle left to guess at what else the cops may have that points to Paige in this terrible thing.”

  “Exactly.” I nodded. “Someone is lying.”

  “Someone has framed Paige. Who would do that and why? Paige isn’t exactly a saint, but she never hurt anyone on purpose.”

  “Someone said they thought it was a crime of passion,” I said. “It had to be premeditated in order for them to have the oar and to ensure no one was able to alibi Paige.”

  “Maybe it was a crime of revenge rather than passion,” Reggie said. “Carin was no saint either, if you get my drift.”

  “That’s it!” I stood. “I’ve been spending my time looking into Paige’s activities. Perhaps what I should have been doing was looking into Carin’s.”

  “Someone killed Carin for a reason,” Reggie said with a nod. “Paige might simply have been the easiest person to frame.”

  “I agree. Most likely the real killer is a woman. Even though Carin was hit with an oar, I can’t imagine a man premeditating this kind of frame up with Paige at the center.”

  “Somehow that makes sense to me,” Reggie said. “A dude would frame another dude . . . unless he really hated the chick. I tell you what. I’ll poke around and see if any other guys hit on Paige lately. But even if she turned them down, they wouldn’t want to frame her by killing Carin. It’s too indirect for a dude, you know?”

  “Yes, I know.” I held out my hand to shake his. “Thanks for the beer, Reggie. Keep me posted if you learn anything or if you get into the Jessops’. Okay?”

  “Deal.” He shook my hand and then snagged the glass bottle. “Thanks for the talk, Allie. Trent doesn’t know it, but he has a real catch in you.”