All Fudged Up (A Candy-Coated Mystery) (5 page)

I didn’t make the cutoff. I know, frustrating, right? I suppose I should have known better when I saw how many people were there and the fact that only forty-five minutes were left until closing. Probably the purple ribbons should have also been a clue, but I was as stubborn as the locals.

My only satisfaction was the fact that I made the clerk stay thirty minutes after closing. No, she didn’t help me. If I couldn’t go home happy, neither would she. I argued with her about closing for so long she had to get a local cop to come and throw me out.

Officer Charles Brown was the young cop from the night before. He recognized me immediately. “Ms. McMurphy, are you having trouble?” The man was straightforward, his green eyes sincere and his light brown hair gleamed like caramel in the sun.

“Someone accidently turned off power to the McMurphy,” I protested. “I have the paperwork right here authorizing it to be turned on in my name.”

“The office closes at five
PM
. Perhaps you should have come in earlier.” He was nearly a full head taller than me and he stood between me and the locked door to the utility. The gun on his hip was added incentive not to make too big a fuss.

“I came down the minute the power went out,” I explained. “My contractors need power and so do I—especially if I hope to have any protection from killers.”

“I’d be glad to walk you back to the McMurphy and check it out for you. But you’ll have to wait until the morning to get your power turned on.”

I noted that he wore a purple ribbon on his blue police jacket. “Officer Brown, is it?”

“Yes.” The wind was warmed by the sun and ruffled his hair.

“Look, I get that you don’t really know me.” I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “But I’m a nice person. I spent the last six years of my life preparing to make a career out of the McMurphy. I can’t do that without electricity.”

“I understand.” He pointed toward the McMurphy. “Shall we walk?”

“Fine.” I let him turn me away from the utility. That battle at least was already lost. “Look, I get the purple ribbon. You probably grew up with Trent Jessop.”

“He was in my class at school.”

“Really?” The scent of fudge and beach blew through the air. A horse-drawn taxi clomped by. It was empty. The pace on island was slower, more relaxed. It was one of the things I loved about it. “I thought you were younger.”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“Huh, okay.” I felt the heat of a blush rush up my cheeks as we walked back toward the hotel. “I want you to know that I have nothing against the Jessops. The last thing I want is to cause trouble on the island.”

“Good.”

“But I need power and apparently having a ticket doesn’t mean anything at the power office. People who came in after me were waited on first.”

“If you’re talking about Betty Hutchins, she has a long history of donations to the island community. In return she expects to avoid standing in line the day she gets back on island. It’s a perk.”

“It’s ridiculous,” I grumbled and shoved my hands deeper into my pockets.

“It’s a tight-knit community, Ms. McMurphy. I suggest you take some time to get to know the people and the culture before you barge in. Now the utility opens at—”

“Nine. Yes, I get it.”

“A word of advice, Ms. McMurphy.” Officer Brown stopped walking and leaned into me. “Don’t threaten the power company employees. It looks bad . . . considering.”

“Considering what?” I put my hands on my hips.

“Considering they found a dead man in your hotel.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

I rolled my eyes. “Please, I found a dead man. If I had killed him, do you really think I would have done something as foolish as call it in?”

“Serial killer 101, they insert themselves into an investigation.”

“Seriously?” I wanted to sneer, I really did, but he looked at me with his big green eyes and his hair flopping over his forehead and I didn’t have the heart. “Fine. I’ll be more careful how I treat people.”

“Good.” We continued walking toward the McMurphy. “You know the people on island are friendly once you get to know them.”

“How long does that take?”

He kept walking. “Depends.”

“On what?” I asked.

“On how well you treat them.”

“What? I treat them fine. It’s not like I’m going to go back and stalk the clerk or anything.”

“Just got to make sure that you don’t.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” I shoved my hands in my pocket and kept walking. “You’re walking me home, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said and stood between me and the electric company office. “It’s my duty to see to the safety of the community.”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about my safety or the power company clerk’s. Not that it mattered. I was doing my best to ignore the officer and go straight home when my eye caught the silhouette of a man in the alley behind the McMurphy. “Colin? Colin!”

Officer Brown stopped me with a hand to my arm. “Is that your maintenance man? We didn’t get a chance to interview him.”

“He hasn’t been around,” I said as whoever it was faded into the shadows of the alley.

“If it’s him, let him know we want him to come down to the station, okay?”

“Okay.” I strode off after the shadow in the alley.

“Be safe,” Officer Brown called after me.

“No worries,” I replied. “I have my cell phone and Charlene’s direct number. If I get into any trouble, I’ll call.” I waved my phone at him.

I think I saw him shake his head. I ignored it. “Colin,” I shouted as I went after my maintenance man. “Colin, I need to speak to you.”

Colin must have been deaf as a post because he never even turned around. He disappeared around a corner and was gone when I reached the back of the McMurphy. For an employee, he had been MIA. If he didn’t come into work by the end of the week I was going to have to fire him. Papa’s old friend or not, I needed workers who worked. Not drunks who showed up when their accounts ran dry.

Soak dried cherries in rum for at least 1 hour—drain just before use.

Butter an 8” × 8” × 2” pan, then line with wax paper or plastic wrap. (I prefer wax paper.)

Using a double boiler fill
of the bottom pan with water and heat on medium high until the water is boiling. Then you can turn the heat down to low and in the top section, melt chocolate, sweetened condensed milk, and butter until smooth and thick.

Remove from heat. Add vanilla and stir until combined. Add drained cherries and walnuts. Pour into pan. Cool. Tip: let cool outside of the refrigerator for 30 minutes so that no condensation mars the top. Refrigerate overnight. Remove from pan. Cut into pieces. Store in a covered container.

“I am not a fudgie.” I tried not to pout. “I have every right to cut in line as Mrs. Hutchins.”

“She donated a million dollars to the library last year,” Benny said. He waited near the reception desk for me to close up for the day.

Without any power, I’d been advised to spend one more night out of the McMurphy. I’d declined of course, but I still needed supplies—like flashlights and such. Staying in a dark building with no light or power was spooky. Knowing a guy had died there the night before made it creepier. Only my stubbornness kept me from running straight to Frances and asking for another night in her guest room.

Benny and his crew worked until they could no longer see well enough to paint. He’d sent his crew home and waited for me to close up.

“If I had that kind of money to give, I would. I’m a member of the community,” I insisted. “I shouldn’t have to pull a number. Besides, I need power to keep you guys working. Don’t you have another job in two weeks?”

“Yes, and that job is guaranteed, so we have to show up on that date.”

“Then, if you don’t get the McMurphy done . . .”

“It will have to wait.”

I scowled at the reality of contractors. “Great.”

“It’s been a long day.” Benny wrapped his coat around his white painter overalls. “I suggest you be first in line in the morning. I heard if you get there at eight forty-five you’ll be first when the doors open at nine
AM
.”

“Oh, I’ll be there by eight forty-five
AM
,” I said as I did a quick check of the lobby and pointed Benny toward the door. “And I’d better be first in line since I was the only person not helped by five
PM
tonight. I even kept my ticket.”

I waved the triangle-shaped paper, stepped out, and locked the McMurphy’s front door.

“Good night, Ms. Allie.” Benny gave me a short nod. “Never fear. Tomorrow will be a better day. You’ll see.”

“I certainly hope so, Benny. I certainly hope so.”

April evenings were cool on island. A few early-bird vacationers sat out on the front porch of one of the bed-and-breakfast hotels on Market Street. They had a fire going in a fire pit. The scent of wood smoke followed by their laughter blew across the street. A horse and buggy went by on its way back to the stables.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me and did my best to walk off my mad. It was something I’d learned as a teenager. When I felt threatened by injustice there was no calming me down. The only way to get through was to wear myself out. There really was nothing I could do but lodge a complaint with the electric co-op and even that wouldn’t help if I was seen as an outsider.

Daffodils waved in the flower borders of the Victorian summer homes. Someone had been brave and planted purple and yellow pansies. April was a funny time. It could be cold and snowing or it could be seventy degrees and sunny. It really depended on whether winter decided to fight for a few more weeks.

This year was warmer than usual. I had flown in for Papa’s funeral, then back to pack up my things for the move. By the time I returned, one of the ferry companies had started running routes, bringing in supplies and business people from St. Ignace. Most people left the island when the ferries quit running. They had homes in St. Ignace in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan or Mackinaw City on the Lower Peninsula. Some came from Chicago or Detroit and only lived on island during the season.

Papa had been an islander his entire life and refused to become a snowbird. Snowbirds, Papa used to say, left for the winter and came back in the spring. But they missed the best times on island. When the state parks were left to the wildlife and the streets, empty of horses and bicycles, held only footprints or snowmobile prints.

The general store was open along with two bars where locals gathered to check in on each other. The police force would be cut back to only a handful of men who were brave enough to live here year-round.

Market Street ended at the fort and I turned toward Main. The sound of my footfalls filled my ears and the warmth of my breath caused a mist in the cold air around me.

“Allie!”

I turned at the sound of my name and saw Frances hurrying toward me, a basket in her hands.

“Wait up.”

“Hello Frances, what’s up?” I asked as she came up beside me.

“I was thinking about you being all alone in the McMurphy and I was worried about you,” she said, her breath puffing out. She wore a long quilted coat that shone purple in the streetlight and a purple felt fedora on her head. Her gray-brown hair stuck out from under it.

“You don’t need to worry,” I said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll do another walk through before I go to bed tonight. It’s rare for a killer to return to the scene of the crime, anyway.”

“Well, that may be true, but I’d still worry so I decided to bring you something for your protection.” She stopped suddenly as if making up her mind.

“You didn’t have to bring me anything.” I was confused. The basket was too small to hold a baseball bat and I doubted she was going to hand me a gun. Then again, this was Frances.

“I know that it’s a bit presumptuous of me to bring you this, but I think it’s for the best.” She opened the top of the basket, pulled out a little ball of white fluff, and shoved it at me. “Allie, meet your new roommate.”

The tiny puppy reached for me and I took it out of instinct rather than desire. She put her front paws on either side of my face and licked me as if to say, “Mommy! Where have you been?” and I was lost.

“Oh.” Frances clasped her hands and tilted her head. “How sweet.”

I couldn’t help the dopey smile on my face as the puppy snuggled under my chin. “Frances, what have you done?”

“Don’t worry,” she said and linked her arm through mine. “She’s a bichon/poodle, completely shed free. I thought she’d be perfect for greeting customers. Socialize her well and she’ll never meet a stranger.”

Frances handed me the basket. “Here is some puppy food. It should last you about a week. There is a pack of puppy training pads, a collar, and a leash. She’ll need to be walked at least twice a day.”

I took the basket as the puppy shivered in my hand. “How old is she?” I said, blowing out a long breath that I refused to believe was a sigh. I opened my jacket and wrapped it around us both.

“Three months,” Frances said. “She’ll need to be spayed and finish her puppy shots. There’s a veterinarian who has a clinic in St. Ignace. He’s on island three times a week when the horses are here.” She handed me a business card. “His name is Ryan McCotter. I’ve already set you up an appointment time for next Wednesday.”

I studied the card. “I’m in the middle of renovations,” I protested. The little bundle snuggled harder against my chest and licked my collarbone. Frances simply walked me back toward the McMurphy.

“Fine.” I gave up. It was clear I had no real choice. Who could resist the warm little fluff ball snuggled against their heart?

She smiled. “I knew you’d see reason. This way you won’t be alone.”

“I don’t mind being alone,” I protested as I stopped to open the door of the McMurphy. The scent of fresh paint wafted through the air. A piece of crime-scene tape flapped in the entrance. It must have gotten stuck on someone’s shoe. The interior was cloaked in shadow, and I had to admit to a certain creepiness. I tried not to think about it too much.

“Do you want me to stay while you check the place out?” Frances eyed me. My expression must have given away my trepidation.

“No,” I said. “Benny just helped me close up. Besides, this is my home. I’m fine.” I clutched the small ball of fur inside my jacket. “Welcome to your new home, baby.” I stepped inside and closed the door, waving Frances on.

Frances waved back and continued down Main. I locked the doors behind me and put the puppy down on the dropcloth–covered floor.

“I think you’re going to love the McMurphy. I know I do.” I tried not to feel silly talking to a fluffy dog the size of my fist. “Come on. Let’s make sure we’re alone.”

While I checked all the closets and behind the counters of the first floor, the puppy piddled . . . twice. “Really?” I muttered and grabbed her up. I don’t know why I thought if I held her she would stop piddling.

Needless to say I shot out to the back door and across the alley to a small patch of grass. I kept the puppy at arm’s length until I set her in the grass. My jeans were wet and clung to my leg. As for the pup, she sniffed the grass, suddenly concerned about where she peed. I shivered while she turned figure eights until she found just the right spot and squatted.

The sides of the McMurphy were attached to the Bristol T-shirt shop on one side and the Old Tyme Photography shop on the other. Neither place was occupied at the moment. The McMurphy was wide. The back of each level had a prerequisite door. The second and third floors opened up to a black wrought-iron fire escape that had been put in sometime during the turn of the twentieth century.

There was a light outside of each door that turned on when the sun set. I noticed that the escape ladder was pulled down, meaning anyone could climb up to the second or third level.

“I wonder how long that’s been like that,” I said to myself.

“Are you talking to the dog?”

I gasped and turned to find Mr. Beecher, one of Papa’s card buddies, walking down the alley. He wore a brown coat that hung open to reveal a tweed sweater, a brown vest, and a white-and-brown button-down with the collar open. His corduroy pants and brown shoes lent him an air of old-world elegance. Maybe it was the cane he used or the fedora that sat on his head as if he stepped out of a 1940s movie. “Mr. Beecher, you startled me.”

His brown eyes were watery and gentle. “Your pup is wandering off.” He pointed with his cane. I followed it to see the puppy, nose to the ground, following the alleyway as if she could find her way back home.

“Thanks.” I scooped her up and she licked my chin. “What are you doing back here?”

“Shortcut to my place,” he stated as he strolled over and stopped to look at the McMurphy. “Heard about old Joe. Darned shame.” He eyed me. “It had to be difficult finding him so soon after your grandpa’s death.”

“It was,” I admitted and hugged the puppy.

“I heard that the town is taking sides over it.” He shook his head. “Darned fools. A man is dead and they’re making a game out of it.”

“Thank you.” It was good to finally find someone with reason. Then I noticed the purple ribbon on his coat. “Wait, you’re siding with the Jessops?”

He shrugged. “Liam beat me at the last ten card games, the old cheat.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake . . .”

“Now don’t get yourself all worked up,” he said. “My black coat has a green ribbon. Old Joe was a mean bastard. Like I said, foolish to take sides.”

I tried not to frown. “Just out of curiosity, how often do you walk back here?”

“Oh, once or twice a day depending on how my knees feel. I usually cut through when they’re unhappy. Why?”

“Do you have any idea how long the fire-escape ladder’s been down?” I pointed to the wrought-iron ladder hanging from the second-floor platform.

“Hmm, maybe two days.” He shrugged. “Don’t see as it’s a problem. All you have to do is jump up and pull it down.”

“Do you think Joe could jump up and pull it down?”

“Not likely,” Mr. Beecher said. “Old Joe had hip trouble.” Mr. Beecher walked over to the ladder. “Still . . .” He pushed it back up. The ladder rolled into place without so much as a squeak.

Odd, right? Considering the general condition the McMurphy was in.

Mr. Beecher took his cane and looped it around the last rung and gave it a good yank. The ladder slid down with surprising ease. “Joe had a cane.”

“Right.” A shiver ran through me. Could it be as easy as that?