by CoCo, Nancy
“My friend Jenn taught her the trick.”
“Not every dog can learn it,” he said as he straightened with a twinkle in his eye. “Only a good prankster.”
“Sort of like Papa Liam,” I said.
“Yes.” he nodded. “Like Liam. I heard through the grapevine Liam made some counterfeit wine to prank Joe Jessop.”
“He did, that’s right.” I nodded. “There was some story about a rare wine he found as a kid.”
“I remember that,” Mr. Beecher said. “That wine was destroyed because of Prohibition.”
“I guess Papa tried to convince Joe he found some more bottles. So he took some cheap wine and bottled it with counterfeit labels.”
“It’s against the law, isn’t it?”
I shrugged. “As long as he didn’t sell it, or claim it was what it wasn’t there was no fraud.”
“That Liam, always a card.” Mr. Beecher chuckled. “You have a good day, young lady.”
“Thanks, Mr. Beecher. You, too.” Mal and I walked back to the McMurphy when Mal stopped suddenly and started to growl. “What is it?”
Emerson Todd emerged out of the shadows. “So it’s true? Your grandfather counterfeited that wine?”
“Yes, I believe so,” I said. Mal acted strangely. She was stiff and growling low. “I wouldn’t come any closer,” I said, drawing my eyebrows together. “Mal doesn’t really like you.”
“Smart pooch,” Mabel said as she stepped out behind Emerson. “Too bad for both of you.” It was then that I noticed the gun in Mabel’s hands.
“Mabel?” I looked from her to Emerson. “Wait—are you two related?”
“Everyone on island is related in some form or other,” Emerson said, “it’s a small community.”
“I’m starting to understand that,” I said. Emerson took a step forward. Mal barked at him.
“Shoot that damn dog,” Emerson told Mabel.
I dropped Mal’s leash. “Run, Mal!” I shouted. “Go!”
The puppy grabbed up her leash and took off around the building.
“Don’t think that will save you,” Mabel said. “Liam thought he was clever and that didn’t save him.”
“You poisoned him, didn’t you?”
Emerson grabbed me by the arm. “Don’t think you’re going to get me with your SING,” he said. “Mabel will shoot you the minute you make a wrong move. Now, let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” I asked. His hands bruised my arm as he dragged me through the alley.
“We’re going to the pool house,” he said. “I happen to know that wine was not fake.”
“We had it tested,” Mabel said. “We also know Liam had at least one more bottle in the basement. You’re going to tell us where you hid it.”
He dragged me through the bushes and into the pool house. It was quiet now, the pool drained. “I haven’t found any more,” I said. “You got the last two bottles.”
Emerson hit me with his fist and stars exploded in front of my left eye. “Don’t lie to us.”
“I’m not lying,” I said when I could breath. “Why would I lie? You have a gun.”
“Open the door to the tunnel,” Mabel ordered.
“I don’t have the key. Pete has the key.”
“Nonsense. You co-own the pool house. You have a key,” Mabel said.
“Papa Liam sold our shares in the pool house years ago,” I said. “I don’t have the key.”
“Liar!” Emerson hit me again and I fell to my knees.
“Freeze!” Nothing had ever sounded so sweet to me as Rex’s voice. “Put the gun down, Mabel.”
“Shoot me and you’re precious girl gets it,” Mabel said.
“I said put the gun down.”
“Do it,” Officer Brown said from behind her.
“This isn’t over,” Mabel said as she put down the gun. Officer Brown rushed up and kicked it away. He grabbed Mabel’s hands and cuffed them behind her. Rex had Emerson cuffed, and then he holstered his gun and hunkered down to check on me.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I said. “Maybe I should put my head down.”
The next thing I knew, George Marron was beside me with an ice pack. Mal leapt on me, licking me with warm puppy kisses.
“So it was Emerson and Mabel all along,” Jenn said once they got me up and resting in the lobby of the McMurphy.
“Do we know why?” I asked as I held an ice pack to my eye, which had begun to swell. George checked me out and pronounced that I would have a shiner, but my bones were not broken. He recommended ice and a few days of rest. This time I was happy to oblige.
“Mabel’s daughter married Emerson. When Emerson lost all their money in the stock market, Mabel sold her business to her daughter. But the tourism hasn’t been what it once was.”
“How did she find out about the wine?”
“When the last bottle was auctioned off. The auction house sent out a press release to indicate the value of the wine. Mabel saw the news clip on it online. She remembered the boys had found a few bottles in the 1950s and even though they supposedly destroyed the wine, it didn’t take much for Mable put two and two together.”
“She confronted Liam first, but he laughed her off.”
“So, she poisoned him?” I asked.
“In plain sight, too,” Frances said. “Brazen.”
“And Joe?”
“Joe figured it out, but before he could do anything he ran into Freddy.”
“And Mr. Finley?”
“Caught Emerson leaving the tunnel through the mechanical room under the pool,” Jenn said. “When Mr. Finley questioned Emerson’s reason for being in the mechanical room, Emerson killed Mr. Finley and then hurried over to arrive at the party. It’s why his coat was wet. He tossed him in the pool.”
“So it was Emerson who attacked me and ran off with two bottles of wine. Where did he put them? I mean, he met me at the lobby door shortly after and he was empty-handed.”
“When we searched his things, we discovered that the lining of his coat has two pockets where he hid the wine,” Officer Brown said. “In fact the wine was still in the coat. He may have kept them hidden so that he had two bottles of his own that Mabel didn’t know about.”
“Wow,” I said. “I thought the coat was heavy but I didn’t even suspect there might be wine bottles in the lining.”
“Now, are you ready for the good news?” Frances asked.
I laid my head back against the settee. “There’s good news?”
“Oh yes.” Jenn’s eyes sparkled.
“They recovered the wine bottles,” Frances said. “You have enough money to keep the McMurphy going for at least five years.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Rex said.
“That’s the best news.” I hugged Mal tight. “It looks like dreams really can come true.”
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to the owners, employees and patrons of The Island Bookstore on Mackinac Island. They not only answered the questions from an unknown writer, but they allowed me to run a Facebook Contest to determine what Allie’s occupation should be—Fudge Shop owner was number one with Horse Stables a close second. Readers, if you get the chance to visit Mackinac, be sure to stop into the bookstore for a great beach read and friendly and welcoming folks.
Next, I need to thank my own Facebook fans for helping me come up with Mal’s name (Marshmallow). It was perfect for a fluffy white dog that lives in a fudge shop.
Thank you to USDTL’s Research and Development committee for taste testing my fudge recipes and especially to Mary Jones for suggesting Captain Morgan Fudge—which got me started on my cocktail fudge idea.
I can’t thank enough my friends and family and the great community of writers who have supported me every step of the way.
Last but not least, thank you to my editor, Michaela Hamilton, and my agent, Paige Wheeler—your help and encouragement mean a lot.
Turn the page for a previ
ew
of the next Candy-Coated Mystery featuring
Allie and Mal . . .
TO FUDGE OR NOT TO FUDGE
Coming from Kensington in 2014!
Chapter 1
“A lilac by any other name still smells as sweet.”
“Mal, get out from under that lilac bush,” I called. It was almost time for the lilac festival and my bichon/poodle puppy Marshmallow had fallen in love with the fertilizer that was spread under the lilacs. For some reason she found the bushes next to the Town Crier, Mackinac Island’s newspaper, to be the most malodorous.
I tugged on her leash. Mal dug in her heels and refused to budge. Like a fisherman fighting a hook, I reeled in the leash. This served to pull on her pink harness and drag one stubborn doggie out from under the bush one inch at a time. “Come on, Mal, let’s at least pretend I’m in charge,” I muttered and pulled harder.
As the proud yet harried owner of the one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old McMurphy Hotel and Fudge Shoppe, I’d walked down to the newspaper to place a want ad for a part-time maid to help fill in during the busy times. Mackinac Island was known for its quaint Victorian feel. There were no cars. In fact they were banned from the island. Only bicycles and horse-drawn carriages filled the streets.
Mal was a gift from my dear friend and reservation manager, Frances Wentworth. The puppy was supposed to keep me safe from evildoers. She had done her job well last month when I found myself investigating my grandfather’s best friend’s murder. I kind of had to, as he had been murdered in my utility closet.
Still, on the days when she wasn’t protecting me, Mal had a tendency to boss me about. Especially when it came to doing things she was interested in doing . . . like sniffing under lilac bushes—instead of what I was supposed to be doing . . . placing an ad in the paper.
“Come on, Mal, I need to get this errand done before noon.” I yanked on the leash. Suddenly she popped out from under the bushes with a bone in her mouth.
I did a double take. Was that a sock hanging from that bone?
Surely not. I mean, on close inspection it had an argyle pattern like a sock. It was knitted like a sock. Okay, so there was a huge hole in what appeared to be a heel like a sock. But then Mal loved socks. Maybe other dogs did too. Maybe, just maybe, some dog buried their bone in their favorite sock. It could happen, right?
I mean, what were the chances that the sock belonged to the bone? Slim to none. Right?
Mal proudly dropped the sock-wrapped bone at my feet and nudged it as if to show me what she found. Her little stubby tail wagged.
“I sure hope that’s not what I think it is.” I poked it with my white Keds. There was no way I was going to pick it up.
She pushed the bone toward me, wagged her bobbed tail, and darted back under the lilac bush. “Mal, come on, I have work to do.” I yanked on her harness only for her to prance out from under the bush. This time she had what looked like part of a shoe in her mouth. She shook the shoe as if to kill it. Dirt and mulch went flying, along with hard pieces that hit my legs with a thump, thud, thump.
Those hard pieces had toenails—painted a neon orange.
The spit dried up in my mouth. Adrenaline washed through me. I did what any sane person would do. I scooped up my dog, yanked the shoe out of her mouth, dropped it next to the sock bone, and ran straight into the Town Crier.
There was no way I was going to be alone outside with portions of a dead person. I mean really, what if whoever it had been had been attacked by a wild animal and dragged under the bush to be saved for a later meal? Or worse. What if the animal was a rabid creature using the remains as bait? It could be true. There was no way I was going to hang around and find out.
“Dogs aren’t allowed in here,” said an older gentleman with a white beard, balding head, and a pair of reading-glasses perched at the edge of his nose.
“Right.” I faced him and held the door closed with my body. Mal leapt out of my arms and sat down to stare at the old guy as if to dare him to kick her out.
He stared at me. “The dog . . .”
I found my voice. “Just dug up remains from under your lilac bush.”
He drew his bushy white brows together over his dark brown eyes. “Excuse me?”
I swallowed and cleared my throat as I fumbled for my phone. “Call 9-1-1. I think there’s a dead guy under your lilac bush.”
“A dead . . . what?” He stood and took a step away from me, using his desk as a shield between him and the crazy woman at his door. It would have been funny if I weren’t the crazy woman.
“Person,” I said. “Well, not a whole person. A part of a person that wears argyle socks and leather shoes . . . oh, and paints their toenails orange.”
He picked up the phone and hit a single button. “Hi Charlene,” he said. “Get Officer Manning over here, will ya? There’s a crazy woman in my office. No, she doesn’t appear to have a weapon, just a small white dog. Um, hmm, hold on. Are you the McMurphy girl?”
“Yes,” I said, my hands fumbling with my phone. After last month’s trouble I had Officer Rex Manning on speed dial and hit the button.
“The one who found Joe Jessop dead in the McMurphy utility closet?”
“Yes.” I put the phone up to my ear and listened to it ring.
“It’s the same crazy woman,” the man said into his phone. “Right. Okay. Bye.” He hung up the phone and sat down slowly, watching me with narrowed eyes as the ringing on my phone dropped me into Rex’s voice mail.
“Hey, hi,” I said into my cell phone. “I hope you’re on your way to the Town Crier. I’m pretty sure Mal dug up a dead person.” I hit the END CALL button.
The old man studied me and I studied him. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled something out. Then he slapped it down in front of him. It was a rabbit’s foot.
Ew. Okay, I’d seen enough disembodied feet for one day, thank you very much. “What is that?”
He raised his right bushy eyebrow. “If you don’t know, I bet the dog could tell ya.”
I sighed and crossed my arms. “It’s a rabbit’s foot. I know what it is, I wanted to know why you got it out.”
“Because I don’t know how to make an evil eye.” He tipped back in his chair and it squeaked.
“An evil eye?” I shook my head, dazed. “I don’t get it.”
“It wards off bad omens and such,” he said and reached over to adjust his placement, ensuring the rabbit’s foot sat square between him and me.
“Um, okay. I’d join you behind your rabbit’s foot, but I’m currently busy making sure the door stays closed.”
“Now why would ya be doing that?”
“Because there is a killer out there. It might be a wild animal. It might be a serial murderer. Either way there is going to be a door between me and it.” I hated to sound smug, but really, a strong wooden door was a lot better at keeping a rabid animal away than a rabbit’s foot.
“Well, there, see, that’s where we disagree.”
“We do?” I scrunched up my eyebrows.
“As far as I can tell the bad luck is already inside with me.”
“What? Where?” I glanced around but there were only three of us inside: me, him, and Mal.
“I’m looking at it.” His gaze was steady on me.
“You mean me?” I pointed to my pink polo shirt.
“You’re the only one in this room that finds old men dead and seeing as how I’m an old man . . .”
“But you’re not dead.” I tried to reason with him.
“Thus the rabbit’s foot.”
“Okay, seriously, I don’t know what you heard, but I did not murder anyone.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But you just said . . .”
“That you have been known to be alone when you find old men dead.” He shrugged. “I’m hedging my bets.”
I didn’t know what to say to that so I simply glared at him. He glared back. Mal sneezed and we both jumped.
�
��Does the dog bite?” The man finally broke the silence.
“Mal? No, she’s a puppy.” I picked her up and decided to play nice. I stuck out my hand. “I didn’t properly introduce myself. I’m Allie. I run the McMurphy.”
“I know.” He sat back carefully, still wary. “Charlene told me.”
“Right.” I pulled my empty hand back.
“Besides, I’m a reporter. Not much escapes my notice.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest.
“Except a dead body under your bushes.”
“I thought you said it was a sock and shoe.”
“With bones and toenails.” I hugged Mal until she squeaked.
“Orange-painted toenails.” He pursed his mouth. “Yep, you told me that part, Ms. McMurphy.”
“I’m not crazy,” I said in my own defense.
“There are people on this island who would disagree with that.” He watched me from over the top of his eyeglasses.
“There are people on this island who think we should allow cars. Everything people think is not always right.”
“Well, you have me there.” He leaned back. “I’m Angus MacElroy.”
“I’d say it’s very nice to meet you, but right now I’m not so sure.” Mal wiggled, but I held her tight. Her fluffy fur was a comfort.
“Why’d you come here, Ms. McMurphy?” Angus asked.
“I came over to place a want ad, but instead it seems I’ve uncovered a dead body or possibly a murder victim.” I tilted my head and studied him as if he were the perfect suspect. For all I knew he was. “Being a reporter, you probably have seen a million dead bodies.”
“Only ten and they were open-casket funerals,” he admitted, his brown eyes twinkling. “A murder victim? Isn’t that jumping to conclusions?” he asked in a calm manner—too calm if you ask me.
“It looks like murder to me unless you purposefully buried someone under your lilac bushes.”
He leaned back and the squeak of his chair echoed around the room. “I didn’t bury anyone under the lilacs. There’s a law against that, you know.”
