Oh, Fudge!

by Nancy CoCo

  Once the crowd dissipated, I saw Officer Rex Manning come into the McMurphy. “Sandy, can you clean up?” I asked and took off my apron and chef’s coat leaving my white polo and black slacks. “I think Rex wants to talk with me about this morning.”

  “Sure,” Sandy said and turned to the sink.

  Sandy Everheart was a local girl and expert chocolatier. She had come back from culinary training in New York to take care of her ailing grandmother. Unfortunately for her, but fortunately for me, all the jobs on the island had been filled for the season. I needed an assistant, and Sandy—who was clearly overqualified—took the job. I couldn’t pay her what she was worth, but I paid her what I could and offered her space in my kitchen to create chocolate sculptures and build her own business. It had turned out to be a great partnership. Sandy’s sculptures brought people into the McMurphy who might have otherwise never stopped by. I was hoping to offer Sandy permanent space at the fudge shop.

  “Hello, Rex,” I said as I walked out of the kitchen and closed the glass door behind me so that the cat didn’t get into the area. “What brings you by today?”

  He took off his police hat. His steel blue gaze was welcoming but concerned. “I thought we could talk about what happened with your cousin this morning. Do you have time?”

  “Let’s go up to my office,” I suggested.

  Rex was a good-looking man with that muscled action hero look. He shaved his head, but it looked good on him. Whenever he was close, I felt all feminine. I had to work to remind myself that he was simply a good friend. That I was dating Trent Jessop.

  But Trent had been gone to Chicago on business for the last week. I pretended I wasn’t lonely when he went away.

  “Liz tells me that you brought Tori in for questioning,” I said. We entered my office. It was a nice space on the fourth floor beside the owner’s apartments. But it was crowded with file cabinets along the walls, and two desks in the center that faced each other. One desk was mine. The other was Jenn’s. Jenn was helping me with my first season as owner of the McMurphy, but like Sandy, she also was establishing a side business. Jenn was a party planner by profession and had taken to planning events on the island like a duck takes to water.

  I wonder what Papa Liam would think if he knew that we were running three businesses out of the McMurphy. They all went hand in hand as the party planning brought business to the hotel. Jenn booked weddings and anniversary parties and other family groups that would rent out the entire space.

  I was saving my pennies to reinforce the roof and create a rooftop area that looked out to the lake. The idea was that we could hold big events and parties up there. While I saved money for that project, I was also in the process of getting it permitted by the historical society and the neighboring establishments. I didn’t want any complaints about the change in the building or the noise that came off the roof.

  “Come on in.” I waved Rex toward a creaky wooden office chair. He took a seat and I sat across from him. “How’s the investigation going?”

  “It’s going,” Rex said and propped his hat on his knee. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened this morning?”

  “Again?”

  “Again,” he said. “You might remember something now that the shock of it has worn off.”

  “Okay,” I said and blew out a long breath. “Mal and I were going to the Butterfly House to meet with Mrs. Gilmore.”

  “Why?”

  “She wanted to talk to me about scheduling a tour group and putting up posters and possibly flyers in the McMurphy.”

  “I see. She wanted to meet before the museum opened?”

  “Yes. They get quite busy this time of year and she hoped to have a nice chat before things got crazy. I arrived with Mal, but the front doors weren’t open yet.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I went around the building to see if she had left the back doors open. I thought I saw someone in the glass area so I stopped and tried the door. It was open.”

  “Who did you see?”

  “Not anyone I could recognize. Mostly I saw movement and a shadow,” I said. “I wish I could be more specific. The vinyl strips distorted everything. I thought it was Mrs. Gilmore, but it had to have been Victoria.”

  “Or Barbara Smart,” Rex said.

  I sat up straight. “Do you think she was killed as I arrived?”

  “What happened when you found the door open?”

  “I entered the greenhouse with Mal and called out for Mrs. Gilmore.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” I said and sat back against my seat. “Mal pulled me toward the right and then I heard a noise.”

  “What was the noise?”

  “I’m not sure. It sounded like a small scream and someone moving through the building, bumping things, I guess.”

  “You called out for Mrs. Gilmore?”

  “Yes, when I first entered, but she didn’t answer. After I heard the scream, Mal and I hurried around a curve in the path and I stopped short. There was my cousin Victoria kneeling over the body of an older woman. Tori looked at me with desperation and shock on her face. Her hands were covered in blood and she had one hand on the handle of a garden trowel that was stuck in the chest of the body.” I shuddered at the memory.

  “And then what happened?”

  “Tori told me she found her like that and tried to pull out the spade, but it made things worse. Poor Tori. I told her to back away and sit down on the edge of the flower bed because she was pale as a ghost and looked like she was going to be sick. Which she was by the way—I don’t think a killer would stay there and be sick.”

  “I’m not making any judgment on whether she killed Barbara or not,” he said. “I’m simply gathering facts. What happened after Tori sat down?”

  “Mal jumped up to see her and that’s how she got blood on her paws.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “I called nine-one-one. Charlene asked me to check the body for a pulse and there wasn’t any. She wasn’t that warm—the victim, not Charlene. It wasn’t as if she just died. I imagine if I found someone dead within moments of their death there would still be heat in the body. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, she was cool. You remember. You arrived shortly after I checked for a pulse.”

  “You think that Barbara was dead when your cousin put her hand on the spade handle?”

  “Yes, don’t you remember that you told George you thought she had been dead a while?”

  He sent me a serious look. “You should have also heard me say I wasn’t a coroner.”

  “I remember,” I said. “We’re not doctors, but we’ve both been around enough dead bodies to know when someone has been lying dead for a while.”

  He sat back. “Did you know Victoria was in town?”

  “Why does that matter?” I muttered.

  He raised an eyebrow. “So you didn’t know.”

  “Apparently there’s a lot of things about my cousin I don’t know.”

  “Like whether she could kill someone when she felt threatened?”

  “What? No!” I sat up straight. “You didn’t see her face. She was scared and sick.”

  “It could have been from regret.”

  “Why would she stay there for me to find her? It doesn’t make any sense. She stumbled upon Barbara just as I stumbled upon her.”

  “That’s a lot of stumbling,” Rex pointed out.

  “Okay, I’m not liking you too much right now.” I glowered at him.

  He chuckled and stood. “I’m just doing my job, Allie.”

  I stood. “Good. Then you’ll find whoever killed Barbara.”

  “I have a strong lead,” he said.

  “Not Tori,” I pressed.

  “She had her hands on the murder weapon. I’ve got fingerprints and a witness.”

  “It doesn’t mean she did it,” I panicked.

  “Thanks for the informatio
n, Allie.” He stepped out of my office and I followed him.

  “My cousin didn’t kill her,” I pressed. “I’ll prove it if I have to.”

  He stopped short. “Trust me to do my job, Allie.”

  “I do trust you,” I said. “I trust you to know Tori didn’t do this.”

  “Have a good day, Allie.” He sent a small wave and took the stairs two at a time.

  I crossed my arms. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him to do his job. It’s that sometimes he got things wrong. I turned back to my office bound and determined to find out who really killed Barbara Smart.

  Chapter 5

  “You need to stop sleuthing,” Trent said through my cell phone. It was close to my bedtime and I had Trent on speaker. He’d been gone more and more on business these days and he had a ritual of calling before I went to sleep each night.

  I bristled at his tone of voice. “I really don’t appreciate you telling me what to do,” I said.

  “I’m not telling you what to do,” he said. “I’m simply telling you that I worry about you. It’s a lot of pressure to run the hotel and fudge shop for your first season—and without any experience to guide you.”

  “Frances is here,” I pointed out, scowling. “Jenn is a big help. I haven’t been doing that badly and I sleuthed for you.”

  “I didn’t want you to then and I don’t think you should now,” he stated. “Running a business is hard work, Allie. I know Liam made it seem like it was all fun and games, but by now you should have gotten the idea of how much work goes into it. Have you even taken a single day off?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, have you been off the island for a day? Have you even just gone to the beach and relaxed? No, you haven’t,” he said, and I thought I heard him running his hand through his hair. “All work and no play will burn you out.”

  “I’m not burned out,” I said and folded my pajama-covered legs under me on my bed. “I like to sleuth and I have you and my friends to keep me from burning out.”

  “Not if you don’t listen to us.”

  I let silence dance around my room for a couple of heartbeats. I pursed my lips in consternation. “I’ve spent my whole life preparing for ownership of the McMurphy. I’m not going to burn out three quarters of the way through the first season. I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”

  “Trust me, honey, I know how tough you are. But you don’t need to be that tough,” he pointed out. “Didn’t you say your cousin wasn’t even talking to you?”

  “She doesn’t know I will let her have partial ownership if she wants.”

  “You shouldn’t do that either,” he said. “The McMurphy is yours. If you give her half, she could sell you out.”

  “Tori wouldn’t sell me out.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked. “You didn’t even know she was angry at you in the first place.”

  “She’s my cousin. She wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  “You’d be surprised, honey, what people will do over inheritance. Trust me. I’ve watched the vultures fight over family fortunes one time too many in my life.”

  I gathered my hair in my hand and twisted it into a messy bun. “But Victoria is my family and we aren’t that way.”

  “Then why isn’t she talking to you?”

  He had a point. I scrunched up my face. “Fine, I’ll take your advice into consideration.” Oh, beware when I became agreeable. It meant I wasn’t happy, not happy at all. “Speaking of all work and no play, when are you going to be back on the island?”

  “I’ve got to be at our Chicago office for another week,” he said. “Henry reassured me that the stables are doing well and not to worry about the island business. The board of directors wants to acquire another company and that takes a lot of negotiation.”

  “I miss you,” I said. I did. Even if he was a little high-handed with his demand that I stop sleuthing.

  “I miss you, too,” he said. “Take care of my girl. Try to take a day off now and then.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  We said our good nights and I lay back on my bed and looked at the ceiling. I loved the McMurphy. I’d grown up spending most of my summers on Mackinac Island helping Papa Liam and Grammy Alice run the hotel and fudge shop. Grammy was the best at keeping the hotel clean and the patrons happy. Papa was the best at fudge making and storytelling. When Grammy Alice died, Papa had hired Frances. I was lucky to still have her, but Trent was right about one thing: I was trying to do two jobs at once and that was without sleuthing.

  That said, angry with me or not, I wasn’t about to let Victoria remain a suspect. My thoughts whirled. Who would kill Barbara Smart? Heck, I didn’t know Barbara enough to even begin to imagine. Whoever it was, I highly doubt it was planned. Killing someone with a hand spade had to be very difficult. Most likely, whoever killed Barbara was arguing with her, picked up whatever was nearby, and stabbed her.

  The real question in my mind was who was the shadow and movement I saw in the greenhouse? Was it Victoria looking for Barbara? Or was it the killer fleeing the scene?

  I rubbed my hand over my face, suddenly exhausted. I may never know who I saw. But that didn’t mean I shouldn’t try to find out.

  * * *

  The next morning, I made a trip to the senior center. I brought fudge with me because what senior didn’t want to be bribed with candy? I’d learned a few weeks back that the senior center was a wealth of local information. The seniors there all knew each other and they knew what happened on the island. My hope was that I could get a few of them to tell me everything they knew about Barbara Smart.

  “Allie, what kind of fudge did you bring?” Mrs. O’Malley asked. It was craft day and today the ladies were learning to crochet little animals. The senior center was a bright square building with a kitchen on one end and centers set up in the big open space. There were windows on three walls and the floors were smooth linoleum. This is where Papa Liam spent his last days. Here at the tables where the men sat playing cards.

  The ladies sat on a grouping of couches and chairs, patterns set out in large print on the coffee table between them. Mrs. O’Malley was a short, round-faced woman with dark black hair cut into a pixie and bright orange reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

  “I brought two kinds: chocolate cherry and peanut butter,” I said. “No nuts this time.”

  “Good,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “You’re learning.”

  “I like nuts,” Mrs. Morgan said from her perch on a wingback chair. She was a tiny older woman with snow white hair, mischievous eyes, and a pointy chin. She reminded me of an elf. Today she wore a T-shirt and cropped polyester pants. Her feet barely touched the ground.

  “They’ll break your teeth,” Mrs. O’Malley proclaimed as she selected a piece of the chocolate.

  “Maybe they’d break your teeth,” Mrs. Morgan said, “but mine are strong. We Morgans are known for our strong teeth. Allie, next time bring some of that wonderful pecan pie fudge you make.”

  “I can do that,” I said with a nod and passed her the platter of fudge. She selected a piece of peanut butter fudge.

  After handing out fudge to Mrs. Albert and Mrs. Helmsworth and Mrs. Tunisian, I sat down on the empty end of the couch.

  “We heard you found your cousin Victoria murdering Barbara Smart,” Mrs. O’Malley said and studied me over her glasses. “That must have been terrible.”

  “She wasn’t murdering her,” I protested. “She was trying to save her.”

  “I heard she had the handle of the garden trowel in her hand when you first saw her.”

  “She was trying to pull it out.”

  “That’s what she said,” Mrs. Abernathy said. Her fingers worked the yarn and hook. “We know the story, dear. We all know the story. It’s in the news. What we want to know is what really happened. You girls aren’t exactly on speaking terms. Still you insist that she is innocent. Why?”

  “Because Victoria would nev
er do this.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Morgan said. “We all heard that she was seen arguing with Barbara the night before.”

  “Why would they argue?” I had to ask. “What could Mrs. Smart possibly do that would motivate Tori to kill her?”

  “We heard Barbara told Wanda Sikes that Tori’s father was embezzling from the yacht club,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “Wanda told Harriet Gross, who told Victoria. Tori confronted Barbara about it the night before the murder.”

  “If that’s true, why would Tori agree to meet with Barbara in the morning? She would have told her to forget about her working with them on the fund-raiser.”

  “Of course she did,” Mrs. Helmsworth said. “But then Wanda Sikes called Victoria and assured her that no one else believed the rumor. Wanda offered to meet Victoria instead of Barbara. But it seems Barbara showed up and Victoria got angry.”

  “Why would Barbara say such a thing about Tori’s father?”

  “There was a rumor that when Tori’s dad was young, he was a busboy for the yacht club and took some money out of petty cash.”

  “That’s hardly embezzlement,” I pointed out. “How old was he? Sixteen? How much could he have taken out of petty cash?”

  “He took a thousand dollars, which made him a felon.”

  “How come I didn’t know this?” I asked. “Did he go to jail?”

  “Actually he came forward and told the board,” Mrs. Morgan said. “It seems that his father needed the money for surgery. Alex—Tori’s father—didn’t think the money would be missed. He was right. If he hadn’t come forward and admitted what he had done, no one would have ever known.”

  “Why did he?”

  “Come forward?” Mrs. O’Malley asked. “Alex wanted to pay them back. In order to do so, he had to pay them off slowly so he went to the board, admitted what he did and why, and then worked out a plan to pay them back with interest.”