Hot Fudge Frame-Up: A Fudge Shop Mystery (5 page)

Lloyd said, “You might consider Miss King needs a ticket out of here, too.”

My stomach tightened. “Is there something I should know about her?”

“Let’s just say she likes to be friendly to get what she wants. How well did you vet these chefs? Is either of them real?”

“Actually, John Schultz found them. And what do you mean she’s ‘friendly’?”

He waved me off. “Do you trust this Schultz guy?”

Pauline stood up, flipping her hair off her shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with John. He runs a tour business. I’m sure he checked into their backgrounds.”

But doubt lingered in the air as Lloyd’s potent insinuation hung there. I also recalled now how he had practically glared at the two chefs, particularly Kelsey, when Lloyd walked in on all the trouble. I had the ugly thought that maybe Piers was part of some Chicago mobster element. And Kelsey cooked with dirt because of some trendy thing going on, so who knew what she was willing to do? “Friendly” had a sexual connotation. I shivered again.

Lloyd said, “Be careful who you trust, Ava, as you embark on your new venture for your fudge shop and for our community. You can have access to my entire library for your research on Door County’s history, food, and fudge. I’ll give you a key to the house.”

“That’s nice of you, but these cookbooks will be enough. Thanks, Lloyd.”

“No, it’s not enough. You and I received a threatening note. We must find the culprit. And you deserve more than my forcing you to move into your fudge shop.”

“That was my choice.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but I feel awful now. Would you consider moving into the Blue Heron Inn after I secure its purchase tomorrow night?”

Unease swept through me like a gale off the lake. The inn was the location of the murderous debut of my Cinderella Pink Fairy Tale Fudge. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Lloyd.”

Pauline waved her hand around like one of her kindergarten kids. “She’d love to make fudge in that big, new kitchen in the inn. She accepts.”

Lloyd’s chuckle turned into a cough. He backed away from us to withdraw a handkerchief from a pocket. My instincts said he’d been lying about his health being fine.

I said, “It’d have to be temporary, Lloyd. It’s just too big a place for me to think about keeping up alone.”

“Let me clarify,” he said. “I’ll kick you out of the inn within a few weeks. I haven’t told anybody, but I plan to turn it into elderly housing for people like me, single and ready to live simply with others of my own age who aren’t boring.”

“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Fishers’ Harbor has nothing like it.”

“So you’ll move into the inn on Sunday and stay for a few weeks? And fight this fudge terrorism we’re up against?”

“If our village president and Piers Molinsky are up to no good trying to make me back out of my own contest, I can’t take that lying down. So, yes, Lloyd,” I said, attempting to keep the tremulousness out of my voice, “I’ll move into the Blue Heron Inn on Sunday.”

Pauline was clapping. “So, who are you going to tell first? Dillon or Sam? This is the finest fudge contest and festival for old flames and confectionary flavor aficionados far and wide.”

“It’s F week, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

W
hen we left Lloyd to get in my truck, we found the fudge-colored dog lying in the water in the fountain’s bottom tier. He was lapping at cascading droplets.

“Harbor, get out of there!” He was decidedly not “Lucky” at the moment.

He leaped out with a splash, then shook, spraying me. Water went up my nose. He trotted to my truck door.

“Oh no, you don’t.” I went to the back to open the tailgate. He leaped in, his tail wagging, his pink tongue flicking droplets into the air. I pulled at my soaked pink blouse, plastered to my skin and bra. “Darn dog.”

Pauline said, “You can’t fault the dog for that. He’s a water spaniel, after all. Blame Dillon.”

“You think Dillon planned for me to get soaked?”

“He may not have planned this, but Dillon is about fun and I suspect he doesn’t mind thinking about his dog with you. Sure gives him an excuse to come by all the time.”

“That’s just plain silly.”

“No, it’s good. You need more fun in your life. And the guy isn’t all bad, not if he owns a dog that loves the smell of your fudge.”

I kept the speedometer under twenty miles an hour so I didn’t bounce Lucky Harbor out onto the streets. I didn’t see Dillon as we passed orange cones around the construction at the intersection of Main Street and the side street that took us down to the harbor. But Dillon was waiting for me in the shop. So was Sam.

The centrifugal pull of the two handsome men overwhelmed me as I paused inside the front door, hugging Lloyd’s moldering cookbooks. Dillon’s tan was getting deeper by the day from his construction work, his biceps and shoulders becoming more sculpted under his neon yellow T-shirt. Sam was no slouch, either. He was a runner and enjoyed fishing, activities that gave him a burnished, rough edge in summer. A sun-bleached lock of his blond hair rested unnoticed and rakish on his forehead. I pivoted toward some customers to regulate my breathing.

Pauline’s Butterflies were there, too, with Bethany. They’d gone to the lighthouse for their tour.

The littlest Butterfly, five-year-old Verona Klubertanz, who was Dotty’s granddaughter, danced to me with her shoulder-length dark curls bouncing. “Hello, Miss Oosterling. We came to make fudge! Look. I made fairy wings!”

She held out a hand filled with squishy pink fudge that had to be the leftovers from this morning’s fight. I bent down, but had to compete with Lucky Harbor’s nose poking at the girl’s fudge.

Dillon rescued us, reaching for the dog’s collar. “Lucky, let’s put you outside.”

“Miss Oosterling,” Cody called from the cash register counter. “I let the Butterflies use the messy pieces you wouldn’t be able to sell anyway.” Ordinarily, when the Butterflies came to the shop for an artful experience, I mixed up chocolate modeling paste. The girls loved making edible objects and creatures.

I told Verona, “Those are perfect wings. You’re going to be a first-rate confectioner someday.”

“I want to be a fairy. They can fly. Look!” In her other sticky hand, she held up one of the dolls we had for sale and floated it through the air.

Bethany rushed over to take the doll. “Not today, honey. Let’s put that back on the shelf, please. Sorry, Ava.” As Bethany shooed the girl away, she said, “While you were gone, Verona’s dad stopped by with a box of fresh jams for you and Gil. He brought raspberry, denim, and hedgerow.” Travis’s denim flavor was the color of denim and came from blueberries and rhubarb combined. Hedgerow was a blend from bushes supposedly found along hedgerows, such as blackberry, raspberry, and blueberry. “I put the jars on the kitchen counter until you could price them, and gave Travis fudge to sell at the market.”

“Thanks, Bethany.” The strawberries and rhubarb seasons were pretty much past now, but the raspberries were just coming on in the county. In a week or so, we’d also be picking the county’s famous and bountiful cherries. Travis made a cherry-apple butter that used to be served at the Blue Heron Inn. I made a mental note of what I would serve at the inn—then caught myself. I reminded myself I would be moving in temporarily only and alone and not as a bed-and-breakfast operator, and only because of the industrial kitchen.

Pauline hurried after Bethany and the little girls gathering in the doll aisle like real butterflies puddling around a water puddle.

I headed behind the cash register counter to stash the cookbooks for later reading when the shop wasn’t busy.

The cash register
ka-chinged
as Cody rang up purchases of fudge he’d neatly wrapped. We’d just sold out of the Cinderella Pink Fudge and Cody said we also needed more luster dust. Cody loved how luster dust made fudge sparkle. I’d need to get busy with my kettles and make fudge fast in order to fulfill my obligations for sharing my fudge with businesses this weekend. A quick sweep with my eyes told me Piers and Kelsey weren’t around. I relaxed, but only a little. Dillon and Sam were there for a reason—probably me.

Dillon was now outside the bay window, tossing something into the water. His dog flew into the harbor in a belly-flop splash. The sight made me smile because of the pure joy I saw in both man and dog. Pauline was right; I hungered for such play myself.

Sam, on the other hand, was standing at the glass-enclosed fudge case with a list. He’d told me that family counseling went better when everybody was fed fudge first. He said that fudge got them reminiscing about old times. I also found that a surprising number of people remembered making fudge with their grandmothers or mothers on a Saturday night or at holidays. They’d watch television or a rental movie while eating a fresh batch of the savory, sugary chocolate treat. The thought made me feel good about Lloyd’s suggestion that I should become more knowledgeable about my shop’s heritage. I’d have to sit down soon with a copy of Alex Faust’s cookbook to see what he’d said about the bait shop’s history.

Sam said, “I finished moving your boxes from the cabin into the back storage room for you. Your grandmother asked me to help you out.”

I realized the healthy glow I’d seen earlier on him was actually sweat. His white shirt had wilted. I didn’t have the heart to tell Sam I didn’t need to move into the shop.

“Thanks. Can you excuse me, Sam? I’ve got more of the maple fudge back in the kitchen for you.”

Sam followed me to the kitchen to the right, uncharacteristic of him. I was nervous, thinking something intimate was about to happen. Was I hoping for it?

“Is there something you need to talk to me about, Sam?”

“No, but I wondered if you needed those boxes moved around in that room.”

So that was all he wanted—to lug boxes. “No, but thanks. My grandfather sort of chucked stuff in there over the years, and we’ll have to sort through it all. But you can help me haul fudge ingredients out to the copper kettles if you’re in a mood to move things.”

I had Sam reach up high for the kilo bars of white chocolate where the dog couldn’t reach them while I checked the refrigerator for cream. Mom had been back sometime during my absence and had left plenty.

Sam said, “Let me get the cream for you.”

“Thanks, Sam.” His closeness created an agitation in my veins, but he seemed oblivious as his arms grew fuller. “Don’t you have other appointments today?”

“It’s lunch hour.”

I’d forgotten. That’s why Dillon was here, too. He’d promised to check on me. Maybe I was like a sister to Sam and Dillon, and that’s all we had. As I reached up for some more chocolate bars, Sam came behind me to reach over my head. His breaths puffed into my hair in a ragged rhythm. My imagination saw his lips edging forward to kiss my ear. I held my breath, but Sam just went ahead and got the chocolate down.

Sam had forgiven me for jilting him, but his social worker training made him live by plans. He preferred an orderly life. I’d been a messy character in his past, and I was messy now. He likely wanted to fix me, or at least analyze what he’d done wrong to make me leave him. The thing that scared me was that Sam probably did indeed have all the answers to retool my life. If I wanted to let him, he’d make me his “project.” He’d had college classes about love. He was trained to run personality tests on people. Sam would know who might be a perfect match for me. Or not. I wondered what he’d say about a fabric swatch test.

I took frozen Door County cherries out of the freezer and put them in the microwave to thaw. Some batches of Cinderella Pink Fudge I made with dried cherries and other batches with whole berries. I was still wishing a new fairy-tale flavor would pop into my head that would have a winning edge. Goldilocks still didn’t seem right to me. Gold-colored things were butter, dandelions, and maybe yellow tomatoes. None of those would work for a fudge flavor.

“Can you put the kilo bars in the melter and turn it on, Sam?”

“Sure, Ava.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him lick his lips, as if he were nervous. My insides began to flutter. I stared through the microwave window at my thawing cherries.

Then Sam’s hands touched my shoulders from behind and turned me around. His blue eyes looked confused. I put my hands on his chest, intending to push him away, but his heartbeat tickled my right palm. My heartbeat quickened a little, but I had to admit Sam was taking way too long to sweep me into his arms for a kiss. I was beginning to wonder about my attractiveness.

His blue gaze swept me up and down. “Would it be okay if we met sometime to discuss things?”

“What things?”

“Well, I thought we might need to meet to discuss possibly dating.”

Any sexy feelings I’d had a moment ago evaporated. “Have a meeting to discuss dating?”

Oh dear. I’d obviously become unapproachable, not worth romancing at all. I was merely an item on a meeting agenda. But I’d been a sucker for his politeness since high school. He’d been a senior football player and I’d been a sophomore starter in basketball when we noticed each other. He always dry-cleaned his letter jacket before he’d give it to me to wear. I had ached when he graduated before me and left Door County for college. And then we’d reconnected and fallen in love all over again, becoming engaged. After all that history he wanted a
meeting
? About the possibility of
dating
? Would I need to do research or fill out questionnaires and report back at future meetings? I was being treated like a client, not a sexy woman worth romancing. What had happened to us? To me? Why hadn’t he grabbed me and tried to have his way with me right here on the floor?

Dillon poked his head in, saving me. Sam and I turned to unwrapping the chocolate bars to put in the industrial melter. Dillon said, “Hey, Ava, you going to the fish boil tonight? I heard they have a good band.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I said.

“Great. I have something to talk to you about. I’ll save ya a spot on the beach.”

Dillon left.

Sam started to say something but then excused himself, too.

I collapsed against my counter until my phone buzzed in the pocket of my denim shorts. It was Libby. She reminded me she needed more fudge for the weekend. “You can deliver it anytime later tonight, Ava. I’m going to the fish boil, but I plan to come back out to the lighthouse to catch up on cleaning. I keep finding broken glass in the oddest places.”

“I’ll stop by, Libby.” I was glad to have an excuse to leave the fish boil early, in case I needed to escape Dillon. Or Sam.

I also didn’t want to meet up with Piers and Kelsey tonight, or Erik Gustafson. I’d be tempted to ask him why he’d accepted a bribe from Piers and then written a silly note to toss through a window with a rock. I imagined Kelsey karate-kicking both of them and Piers trying to toss Kelsey into the steel drum used to boil the fish.

For the remainder of the afternoon I made fudge in my copper kettles, showing the process to tourists. They loved trying their hand at raising the long wooden paddles to whip the mixture. The whipping was essential to get the crystals just right so that the fudge came out smooth and not too grainy. Everything had to be timed right and at the right temperature or you could end up with something hard as glass or rubbery as taffy.

To my surprise, Piers and Kelsey took over the kettles around two o’clock while I loafed my fresh pink fudge on the marble slab at the front window. The chefs were quiet, as if they’d vowed over lunchtime to change their personalities. I swallowed my trepidations and asked them to join me at the fish boil; after all, it was even more important now to get the judges and contestants together for a chat about how the judging would be presented to the public a week from Saturday. And watching Lloyd and Piers interact could get interesting, since Lloyd knew about the bribe.

When I got to the fish boil that evening behind the Troubled Trout, a good country-swing band provided the music and Piers and Kelsey were engaged in separate conversations on opposite sides of the crowd on the beach. It almost didn’t register with me that the man Kelsey was talking with was Lloyd, of all people. At first I assumed it was merely a judge-contestant conversation, but then they walked together behind a potted evergreen near the path to the parking lot. They were still in my view, though hidden from most of the crowd, including my grandparents and Libby. My grandparents and Libby sat near the big fire and its boiling pot, where the big fillets of fish were lowered in for cooking. Professor Faust was walking up to them.

Back behind the evergreen, Kelsey had one hand on Lloyd’s forearm, with a drink in her other hand. Then her free hand traveled up to touch his cheek. I gulped at her brazenness. She wore a smile that was so big it gave “friendly” a new definition. My heart was racing. Was she coming on to him right here in public? It grew more curious when Lloyd headed back to the outdoor bar, where he seemed to be lecturing Erik, maybe to cut off Kelsey’s drinks. Erik scowled at Lloyd, said something, then gave him the brush-off, walking away while Lloyd’s mouth still moved, presumably spewing more advice to Erik. Lloyd limped from the bar and made his way toward Libby and my grandparents. Kelsey, still by herself at the edge of the crowd, was watching Lloyd’s retreat and laughing.