All You Need Is Fudge

by Nancy CoCo

  She turned on me. “I’m the director to one of the most prestigious clubs in the area. I have access to some of the wealthiest, most influential people in Michigan, Wisconsin, and Illinois. I think that’s much more important than operating an unimaginative fudge shop.”

  “My ambitions aren’t in question,” I said. “Yours are. If Rex asks Mrs. Jones who her son’s lady love is—”

  “She’d better say Eleanor,” a heavyset man my height said as he stepped out of the dark shadows of the patio. “I don’t like what you’re implying, Ms. McMurphy. Just because you think you’ve solved a few murders does not give you the right to cast aspersions on my girlfriend.”

  “You’re Harold Jones?”

  “Yes.” He was bald on top with a ring of dark hair around the sides of his head like an old-fashioned monk. He had small brown eyes and a wide nose that looked as if it were broken once or twice in a bar brawl. His meaty hands were fisted. He wore a short sleeved Hawaiian shirt, worn blue jeans, and tennis shoes. He stepped between me and Eleanor. “I don’t like where you’re going with this line of questioning.”

  “You’ve been watching a lot of cop shows,” I said. “And you are lying about seeing Paige on the pier that night.”

  “Yeah? Prove it.” He put his hand on Eleanor’s waist. “Don’t worry, baby. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she scolded him. “Not here. We had an agreement. Until the trial is over, we’re not going to be seen in public together.”

  “I know, baby. That’s why I was waiting out here in the shadows for you. But then I heard what this fudge maker was saying and well, I had to step in.”

  “Because I’m on to the truth, aren’t I?” I said, my eyes growing wide. “You were on the pier that night, weren’t you, Eleanor? You were the one who killed Carin and then covered it up.”

  “You have an amazing imagination,” Eleanor said. “I’m sorry, but you’ve crossed a line.”

  “Do you want me to take her out?” Harold asked.

  Eleanor looked me up and down. “Yes, take her out to the middle of the straits and dump her. With any luck, her body will wash up on shore after Paige has been convicted of killing Carin.”

  “What?” I looked at Eleanor. “Are you threatening me?” I took a step toward her.

  Harold wrapped his big hand around my arm and pulled me back.

  I did what any girl in my situation would do. I lifted my skirt and stomped my four-inch spiked heel into his instep.

  He gave a sharp howl and I kicked him in the groin. He doubled over in pain and I ran inside.

  The lights were low. Most people had gone, but a few die-hards were still on the dance floor. A quick glance around told me that Trent was in the far corner talking to Richard Blake. I lifted my skirt and ran toward him.

  He looked up and spotted me. His face went suddenly grim and he made a beeline to me. “What is it?” he asked as I put my arms around him and buried my head in his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now,” I said, out of breath and trembling.

  Eleanor came through the door, pointed a finger at me, and screeched, “Call the police. Allie McMurphy just assaulted a man. I saw everything.”

  Chapter 24

  “Is he going to press charges?” I asked Rex as I sat in a small interrogation room at the police station. Trent’s jacket over me helped to stop my shivering. I hugged my waist.

  Trent had not been let back into the room with me. He’d insisted on calling in his lawyer, but I knew Frances would call in her cousin, the man who had handled my previous run-ins with the law.

  Once Eleanor had made a scene, the lights had gone up at the club. Harold Jones had come limping in, his face red and his eyes watering. I could see he was hopping mad.

  So was Trent for that matter. If two of the young guys hadn’t stepped in to hold him back, we both might have been in custody on alleged assault charges. Richard Blake had had someone call the police and made everyone wait where they were until Rex could come and sort everything out.

  We all went down to the police station and Rex had escorted me into this tiny room. I was lucky he didn’t handcuff me. As it was, my shoes were taken into evidence. It seems I’d taken a nice chunk of skin out of Mr. Jones’s instep. Unfortunately, that was evidence that could prove I did indeed attack him.

  “The real question here is why?” Rex asked as he paced in the space between the table and the door.

  “I told you. I discovered that Eleanor and Harold are dating and thought it was suspicious. The only witness to put Paige at the scene of Carin’s murder was dating Carin’s best friend. After the gala ended, I asked her about it.”

  “And why didn’t you bring your suspicions to me?”

  I sighed. “Because I knew you would just say it was hearsay. That I needed proof.”

  “And you thought you would simply walk up to Eleanor and ask her if she was the one framing Paige for Carin’s murder?”

  I looked at Rex. “You know Paige is being framed?”

  He smirked. “I’m not stupid. I had to act on the information I had, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t working on other leads. You are right. I don’t have a solid case against Paige . . . or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “Huh. If you had told me, I would have been more forthcoming with my investigation.”

  “I can’t tell you.” He ran his hand over his face. “You are not a professional. Telling you would severely damage any case I could build against whoever is the killer.”

  “Please tell me you have Eleanor in custody.”

  “No, I don’t. She did nothing wrong.”

  “She told Harold to take me out to the straits and dump me.” I pointed in the direction of the lakes. “He grabbed my arm and started to pull me away. If I hadn’t acted, I would be out there right now and no one would be the wiser.”

  “Listen. We’re taking statements from everyone in the area,” Rex said. “Someone had to have seen him grab you.”

  I frowned. A purple handprint had developed on my forearm. “He grabbed me.”

  Rex scowled and a flash of anger appeared in his eyes. He was a sight to behold. He turned his back and walked carefully to the door. “I’ll have Shane document the bruise.” Rex left me in the room.

  There was a commotion down the hall. A door slammed and I jumped.

  Officer Heyes came in with a paper cup filled with coffee. “Hey. Rex said you might need a warm cup. I put cream in it. Do you want sugar?”

  “No, thank you.” Another door slammed and I jumped again.

  “Don’t let that bother you,” he said, his voice calm. He handed me the cup. “I’m going to stay here with you until your lawyer comes, okay?”

  “Okay.” I took the cup and wrapped my cold fingers around it, inhaling the scent of the thick brew. “Smells like you could stand a spoon up in it.”

  Officer Heyes lifted half his mouth in a quick wry smile. “Cop coffee. It’s all we have.”

  “I like it strong.” I took a sip. It was as strong as espresso.

  Officer Heyes answered the knock on the door. Shane stood in the hallway with his crime scene kit in his hand.

  “Come on in,” I said. “There’s a party going on in here.”

  “You look like you’ve been partying,” Shane said and gave a low whistle. “Nice dress.”

  “It’s a loaner so you can’t have it for evidence. I can’t afford to buy it and I really doubt the county can either.”

  “I see.” He put his kit on the table and opened it. Once gloves were on, he pulled out a camera. “I’m going to start by looking at your hands and arms for defensive wounds.”

  “Okay.” I put down the coffee and held out my hands.

  He took pictures of the red manicure that Jenn had given me earlier in the evening. When he motioned with his hand, I turned my palms up.

  “No obvious cuts,” I said.

  Shane glanced at me through his thic
k glasses. “There usually aren’t.”

  “I do have this bruise where he grabbed me.” I pushed up the sleeve and Shane took shots of the bruise—a palm and five finger marks showed as deep purple welts—and my other forearm. He asked me to place my forearm on the table beside a measuring stick to document the size and shape of my bruise.

  “You pulled away,” he said as he took pictures.

  I nodded. “I took a self-defense course in Chicago when I was living downtown. We were taught how to use the weakness of the attacker’s thumb to pull away. I then stomped on the instep of his foot with my heel. He let go and I turned, gave him a kick in the groin, and dashed away.”

  “I see,” he said judiciously.

  “I didn’t mean to do real harm,” I went on to explain. “Only to get away.”

  Shane put down his camera. “I’m going to take scraping from under your nails.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I don’t think I scratched him.”

  “It’s all part of the process. Please hold out your hands.”

  I did. They shook as he slipped paper under them and used an orange stick to gently scrape anything that had gotten caught under my nails.

  There was another knock at the door. It was Trent with a man in an Armani suit in tow.

  “What are you doing?” Armani Man asked.

  “Collecting evidence,” Shane said without so much as blinking. “I’m a neutral party. She didn’t say anything to me. Ask Officer Heyes.”

  Trent and Armani Man looked at Officer Heyes who shook his head. “I brought her coffee and am keeping her company until you got here.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m going now. Take care, Allie.”

  “Thanks.” I held my breath as Shane asked me to stand.

  “Coat off please,” he said.

  I handed the tux jacket back to Trent. He looked all sexy and undone in rolled up shirtsleeves and untied bow tie.

  Shane took more pictures of me, front and back, then asked for pictures of my feet and legs. I was lucky that he didn’t insist on taking the dress . . . although he did swab it. Then he packed up his kit and left without a word.

  “I’ll tell Jenn you said hello,” I said to his back.

  He didn’t even stop.

  “He’s trying to remain neutral,” Armani Man said as he took a chair across from me.

  Trent draped his jacket back on my shoulders and tipped my hand over to see the bruise on the underside of my arm. A muscle ticked in his jaw, then he looked at me. “Allie, this is Brent Childs, your attorney.”

  “Hello, Mr. Childs.” I shook his hand. “I’m sure I don’t need you. This was an act of self-defense.”

  “Until we know that no charges will be filed, I think I’ll stick around,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me in your own words what happened?”

  I related the scene the best that I could remember.

  Trent pulled a chair up next to mine and put my hands between his to warm them. “You told Eleanor outright that she was more likely to have murdered Carin than Paige?”

  I shrugged. “It seemed like the thing to say. I wanted to shock her into telling me what really happened that night.”

  “Instead, she told Harold Jones to drown you?” Mr. Childs asked.

  I nodded. “Yes, she actually did. I was stunned. I mean, I was there as your date, Trent. What was she going to say when I came up missing? I’m certain someone saw us step outside together.”

  “Eleanor is a master manipulator,” Trent said. “You should talk to Paige about her sometime.”

  “Did she tell you that she killed Carin?” Mr. Childs asked.

  “No”—I shook my head—“she didn’t. She said I was in the way and needed to be handled.”

  “She said you needed to be handled?” Mr. Childs asked.

  “Something like that,” I said.

  “I’m afraid something like that won’t hold up in a court of law.” Mr. Childs sat back. “This may turn into a case of he said-she said.”

  “Won’t Eleanor corroborate Harold’s statement?”

  “We can have her tossed out as a hostile witness,” Mr. Childs said.

  “Wait. I’ll have to go to trial?” I turned to Trent. “I was grabbed with the intent to kidnap and I’m the one who will have to go to trial?”

  “It will depend on the evidence.” He rubbed my back through his jacket. “It’s going to be okay. Mr. Childs is a very good lawyer.”

  “I can’t afford to go to trial,” I said, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “Seriously, I can’t. And I really can’t go to jail. I have the McMurphy to think about and the staff and the rest of the season and Mal and Caramella and Trent . . .”

  “Nice to know I was on that list somewhere,” he said with a low chuckle. “Even if I was last.”

  “Stop teasing me,” I said with tears gathering in my eyes. “This is serious. I did everything right. I got away. There’s a bruise to prove he grabbed me. What am I missing?”

  “Eleanor is saying you attacked her. That Harold grabbed you to stop you before you could touch her. Then you took your anger out on him,” Mr. Childs said.

  “But that’s a total fabrication,” I said.

  “We know.” Trent put his arm around me.

  “There seems to be a lot of fabrication going around lately,” Mr. Childs said.

  “It’s all Eleanor,” I said. “I’m certain she and Harold Jones are framing Paige.”

  “The problem is we need proof,” Trent said. “I’ll get Tom on it. If your theory about Eleanor is correct—”

  “It is,” I said, more certain than ever before. “Why else would she be accusing me of attacking her?”

  “There has to be evidence,” Trent said quietly.

  “Thank you for bringing the connection between Eleanor and Harold Jones to light,” Mr. Childs said. “We can use that as a negotiating point for Paige.”

  “See?” Trent leaned me against his chest. “What you did tonight was a good thing. Let me worry about your court costs and such. It’s the least I can do considering what you’ve been doing for Paige.”

  A thought occurred to me. “Who was the bartender on the Scoundrel the night of the murder?”

  “Why?” Mr. Childs asked.

  I looked at Trent. “Do you know who it was?”

  “I believe it was Scott Thomas. Why?”

  “Bartenders tend to hang out with each other, right? I mean, it’s a small island. Even if they don’t work at the same bar, they would connect just to keep their options open. Plus they have things in common.”

  “Okay,” Trent said. “What are you getting at?”

  “I suspect that Reggie and the others on the Scoundrel were drugged that night, causing them to pass out early.”

  “And Paige to not have an alibi,” Trent said.

  “Yes,” I said with a nod and then looked at Mr. Childs. “Harold Jones is a bartender at the Nag’s Head Bar and Grill. He could have had access to the alcohol that was served on the Scoundrel that night.”

  “That’s really a stretch,” Mr. Childs said.

  “Not so much of a stretch,” Trent said. “When we hire a bartender for a party on the boat, they usually bring their own stash. If Scott is friends with Harold there might have been an opportunity for him to spike the booze.”

  “I’ll have Tom check it out,” Mr. Childs said.

  “That makes Carin’s murder premeditated, doesn’t it?” I asked.

  “If there’s a connection, then yes,” Mr. Childs said.

  There was a knock on the door and Rex stuck his head into the room. “You’re free to go.”

  We stood.

  “Are they pressing charges?” I asked.

  “I’ve advised them that we have collected evidence from both sides and at first glance I don’t see anything that proves criminal assault . . . either way.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “But they tried to kidnap me,” I said.

  “And they sw
ear you attempted to assault Eleanor and did assault Harold,” Rex said. “I’m declaring there is too little evidence to charge anyone with a crime. That’s a good thing, Allie. Go home. Get some rest.”

  “Come on.” Trent put his arm around my waist. “Let me walk you home.”

  We stepped into the hallway and I stopped in front of Rex. “They tried to get rid of me because I suggested that Eleanor has a stronger motive to kill Carin than Paige does. How do you know they won’t come after me again?”

  “Because you told everyone here about your suspicions,” Rex said. “Hurting you now would only make them look guiltier. Go home, Allie. Get some rest.”

  Trent walked me out of the admin building. He shook Mr. Childs’s hand and the attorney headed back to his hotel. My shoes were still in EVIDENCE so my feet were bare. Officer Heyes came out of the station with a pair of disposable flip-flops in hand.

  “Miss McMurphy, I forgot to give these to you inside. You’re going to need something on your feet if you’re walking home.”

  “Thanks,” I said and slipped them on.

  Trent shook his head.

  In the soft street lighting, I could make out a grin on his face. “What?” I asked.

  “You. Only Allie McMurphy would not think twice about walking out of a police station barefoot while wearing a designer gown.”

  I had to giggle. “Truthfully? I forgot the gown was designer.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you home before anything else can go wrong.”

  Spicy Fudge Pudding

  Ingredients

  ⅔ cup sugar

  ⅓ cup dark cocoa

  3 tablespoons cornstarch

  ½ teaspoon of cayenne pepper

  Dash of salt

  2¼ cups milk (Do not use skim milk. Whole milk makes a creamier pudding.)

  2 tablespoons butter

  1 teaspoon vanilla